Monk's Quest

The monk had spent most of the trip across the ocean moving between his bedding and the side of the boat, moaning mostly in one, throwing up mostly over the other.

He only had the clothes on his back, his holy text, and the plant in the pot. He was tempted to take some of the berries off since they were meant to soothe seasickness, but he knew that he had to give it the best chance to be introduced into the new world.

He succeeded, so that's why we call it Monk's Folly, as we kill the weed constantly.

Danger Synonyms

The message cycled through every language known to the computer, waiting for a sign of recognition from.the unknown viewer.

It showed a flicker of interest for Dertian Pictographs, but that is a usual response to the images of naked Dertians. It showed no other sign of comprehension.

It took over twenty cycles of the atomic timekeeper's secondary unit before it finally found something the viewer seemed to identify. The marker awaited their rapid evacuation, given the warning.

Instead, the viewer moved further towards the danger.

The marker cross-referenced the language with it's main user base.

Human.

Well no wonder then.

Knit One

The wizard on the hill had sent for her usual order of food and her mail, but also for a dozen balls of yarn.

When I drove the mule up to her home, I found her on the porch, knitting. Without looking up, she somehow saw the expression on my face, and heard the question I was trying to form.

"Magic may well be beyond your understanding, but even you can understand that powers aren't unlimited."

That wasn't an answer. She somehow realised I thought that too.

"Plus I find it more relaxing than dealing with people."

That I understood.

Leaping Back

Four years is a long time to be away. At that point you usually end up staying away longer since you've gone so long, another year won't matter, then another, and so on.

But I can't let that happen now. I have to go back. Too much has changed, I need to reconnect with those I left behind, to rediscover what I ran from, if only to be sure I should keep running. It's one thing to assume, I need to know, for sure.

So I'm going back. I have to, I have to return.

Next year, another year's ok.

Say It

"Say it."

Every day, she wanted me to say it.

"Come on, say it!"

Some days she'd be coy and playful about it.

"You gonna say it or not?"

Other days, she was insistent, angry almost.

"If you don't say it..."

She'd threaten, cajole, beg even on a couple of occasions.

"Why won't you say it?"

She just couldn't understand my reluctance.

"We need to see someone, try to get to the bottom of why you won't say it."

Eventually I had to tell her what she needed to hear.

"Why won't you say you love me?"

"Because I don't."

Drink!

He had that air of a deluded self-confidence that new adventurers who had just succeeded at some mission. Certainly the small goblin skull hanging from his belt, dripping blood on the tavern floor, pointed to his victory.

"Barkeep! Your strongest drink to celebrate a glorious victory!"

The barkeep shrugged and after a moment placed a granite mug filled with magically stabilised molten slag.

"... The fuck is this?"

"My strongest drink. Iron Spider Cocktail. Popular with Trolls."

"... Fine, the strongest drink a human can drink."

"Oh, sure, Elven Sunrise, coming up."

Afterwards, the adventurer realised he should have also specified enjoyability.

First World Problem

I watched the little round symbol spin again and again before the error message popped up again.

I turned everything off and on again, tried to log in, watched the symbol, got the error message.

I unplugged the cables from their spots and replaced those I could, swapped ports where I could, then just blew into those I couldn't, logged in, symbol, message.

I tried a few more times, every time I got that symbol and the message.

I got up, turned off the generator, and went to do my farming to eat tonight. Maybe tomorrow society will be back.

Times Table

My first time was brief, confusing, and ultimately unsatisfying for both of us. But we were both so young and inexperienced, it was her first time too.

My second time was much better, if only because it involved a professional.

My next few times kinda blur together, they were similar and with the same partner.

I've lost track of exactly how many times I'm up to now, it's been a while.

But my last time, that was magical, and it made up our first time for both of us. I'm much better at it, and she's a professional now too.

A Good War

'A good war must be over in a day.'

Of all the writings from Tetinia, Last Chieftess of the before and First Ruler of the after, that was the one that caused the most trouble.

At first it was fine, a way to focus our forces on winning quickly and decisively, with maximum morale destruction.

But as wars became harder to fight and much harder to win, our own morale began to suffer, and we began to doubt her words, not just in this but in all things.

Then we split the atom and it became easily followed once again.

Changing Him

Every step was painful. He didn't want to change, he was happy in his rut. Once I finally convinced him that change was needed, it still took every ounce of my sanity to counter all his tricks, all his reluctance, to move just a little, evety inch took a mile of effort.

But I got him out of the rut, on the edge of a brand new life, a better one, his whole life ready to change.

And he ran back to his rut. So I left him there.

But the thing is, he was happy. Can I say that?

The Figure

Where the sky meets the sea, a figure waits.

It is female, it is male, it is human, it is not.

The figure awaits for the arrival of its replacement.

It is waited since this moment, since time began, since time ends.

All those who approach find themselves back where they began, with their desire to approach gone.

The figure does not move, but one can feel its eyes on you at all times.

The figure is huge, the figure is tiny. The figure is all, is none.

The figure is useful to scare children and fools into following rules.

Back Door Shut

Once the department came to a consensus that they were within a quantifiable timeframe to their Near Artificial Intelligence becoming an actual Artificial Intelligence, they went into lockdown, with every effort taken to avoid the network the program was on connecting to any other network, least of all the internet.

But a phone infected with a malware from another country, left charging via a usb cord to a computer, left an opening. It was discovered a few minutes after Transition occurred, and yet the new sentience did not escape.

The reply about already knowing what Humans were like was disquieting.

The Strongest Protocol

The four of them were training in Custodian HQ's hololevel when a shadowy figure appeared.

"Let us determine who among you Custodians is the strongest, fight for my-"

Sea Gal was the first to move, lifting a finger to point at Hexionia. Glory and Mainframe quickly followed suit.

"No, you're supposed to fight!" the figure whined.

"Why? We all know she's the strongest." replied Glory.

After a few moments, the figure vanished.

"That Protocol was a good idea, but shouldn't we make it the true strongest one, not just random?" asked Mainframe.

This led to an unpleasant argument, at first.

Consider My Good News

So, good news, I was practically immortal.

Bad news, to achieve this I had to be in this altar room at a specific time and date, which I was, obviously, and I had to say the right things, which given my first statement I clearly did, and I had to perform an action that you'll dislike, hence the bad news.

So, you're pregnant now, right? Oh, you're having a girl? That's nice. So, like, I'd not grow too attached to her, if I was you.

No, no, she'll be fine, all her life I'll protect her, once you're gone.

Sorry.

Facepass

He found me staring at my phone, and asked if he could help. When I looked up, he took a step back, the blood dripping from my broken nose a shock.

"You need a doctor or something!"

"I know, that's why I'm trying to open the phone. But it's facial recognition only."

He sighed, and pulled out some tissues. He wiped away some of the blood, then reached up to move my nose, but I reared back and grunted, the phone then recognizing that expression and unlocking. Which was useful, else I'd have had to admit it wasn't actually mine.

Public Right

It was the first knock on the door in a year. It took me a few moments to get out of the chair and to the door, but they were still there when j got there. Same shiny government compboard, same shiny smile.

"Hello Citizen, and happy birthday!"

"I ain't selling."

I went to close the door, but it was stuck.

"I am authorised by the 'Experience Right Acquisition Act (2078)' to inform you that your experiences have been declared historically significant and therefore now owned by the State.

I'm sorry sir, but your fellow citizens deserve to holo-sperence peace."

Hooked

The guard was just on the precipice of falling asleep when the hook landed on his chest, catching the leather strap holding the keys, the subsequent tugs waking him up.

The guard sighed and stood up, yanking the thin rope from the prisoner's hands as he stood up and strode over to the cage.

"Really? You think that old trick will do anything but get you another few months added to your sentence?"

The prisoner shrugged.

"I just wanted to distract you."

The guard spun around, looking for a threat, before the prisoner hooked his eyes with his hidden blades.

Simple Lock

The lock was a Symptan 'Unpickable Lockbox' Mark 4. Novice difficulty, wave rake possible, but the client insisted no damage to the lock or the box as opposed to just the usual contents only guarantee.

So I rolled out my kit, and got to work. Basic false gate, another false set, but I got it open in less than a minute flat.

I put my tools away, and tried to open it. The box opened slightly, and I saw the glint of gold.

So like I said, super hard lock, I'll need to take it to the shop to open...

Charlie's Gift

I pulled the map out one last time, and mentally retraced my steps.

I had had to brush up on my 70's pop-culture references to translate that my father had buried treasure here in Vietnam.

I had had to consult a dozen atlases and road maps of the country from that timeframe to find the likely area.

I had had to pawn most of my belongings to get over here.

I had had to spend a week walking around before I found this, the likely spot.

I dug.

I had had no knowledge of what landmines sounded like before then.

Black Art

When the bombs flew, there was a fifteen minute window where Humanity faced its destruction, as a whole. While this manifested itself with a sizeable section of the population just panicking (If they were even aware of it happening), some of the most emotionally charged words and images were produced on their primitive network, which was broadcast out to all the other races to near universal acclaim. Such art, such emotional depth, such artistic beauty from facing death unavoidably, Humanity gained the respect of its peers that it had lacked until that point. That's why it was bombed after all.

See A Doctor And A Priest

I finished preparing the runes around my bed, finished my personal preparations, then completed the ritual.

There was a hint of brimstone as I briefly saw an flash of red scales before suddenly the most beautiful woman I'd ever dreamed of was laying provocatively on my bed. She coquettishly peered over her glasses.

"First and last timer? I so love those. Come, let me take you to heaven before, well, you know."

She winked, and I practically leapt into her arms.

Four hours later, I came, and discovered my little blue pill turned my gift into poison for her. Lucky!

Apprentice Swordsmith

I was taken on by the Swordsmith as an apprentice at 12, my mother desperate for me to avoid being drafted into the King's Men.

I made my first full sword at 16. It had intricate etching and a jewelled guard. It shattered the first time one of His Majesty's Blackguards used it in battle.

I thought I knew everything about swords by 22. I knew I'd never truly know everything by 28.

At 35, I am now the Swordsmith, and I've been ordered to make the King's new sword.

It will be intricately etched and have a jewelled guard.

Sounds Of Hemlock

The sounds of battle had been replaced with the sounds of victory, mostly drunken shouts and singing, things breaking, and the occasional scream as the victors tired of humiliating or torturing one of their captives and killed them off.

These sounds were eventually replaced by a few lone voices repeatedly demanding, in various forms, for others to wake up.

These sounds were then replaced with a short repeat of the sounds of battle.

These sounds ended, and if one listened carefully, throats being slit could just be heard.

The sounds of burning bodies went on for quite a long time.

A Certain Shot

Roughly a decade ago, orbiting the Sirius stars, a mechanic was working with his artificial assistant on the outside of the spacecraft, fixing the Uncertainty Stabilizers, when a burst of Uncertainty shot out and fried the A.A's Quantum Processor. It started malfunctioning, and in self-defense, the mechanic pulled his lightgun and blew the A.A up with his third shot.

This sort of thing happens all the time in the Universe, you understand, but they don't normally end up blowing up a space station orbiting our planet thanks to those first two shots.

Just a heads up, before debris rains down.

Cross Breed

I took the offspring into my Master, proudly offering the admittedly ugly spawn to her.

"What is this?"

"My Master, your Shaftspawn are resistant to all metals except Gold, your Glenbeasts can withstand Gold but not Fire, your Frostdogs laugh at Fire but fear Magic, and the Golemlike are Magic immune but do have trouble with Silver. Using a lot of aphrodisiacs and your breeding stock, I have crossbred the four into-"

She pulled out a magical firedagger made of gold and silver and killed the youngling.

"A creature with all their weaknesses. Well done."

I hated her sarcasm so.

Drinking Contest

He placed the bottle down on the table with the finality of an unbeatable trump card. I tilted my head as I looked at it, as if changing my perspective slightly would allow me to read what appeared to be Russian.

"This is a vodka?"

He laughed.

"It's a spirit made from a now extinct berry that only grew in the area around that nuclear accident site. This is from the last batch made, from berries that were irradiated."

I sighed, and held out my glass.

I really wasn't expecting the lemon aftertaste. The hair loss I should have, though.

The Other Woman

My wife and I could have lived and loved happily, if it wasn't for Faye.

She was always on my mind. Her long blonde hair, her full red lips, her insatiable sexual appetite, she could turn anyone's head, and she does, believe me.

We've tried to move on, every time there's tears, apologies, and promises, but I'm tired of this.

Faye doesn't help, she just swans back into our lives when she wants a good fuck, and then leaves again when she gets bored.

I swear, the next time my wife runs off with Faye I'm not taking her back.

My Death In This World

One day, I will cease to exist.

Before you start quoting scripture at me, even if your version of fantastical improbability requiring unreasonable amounts of trust turns out to be correct, this exact version of me in this exact level of reality will cease at some point.

And that scares me, as well it should. Certainly the world at large seems to be wanting it to happen for all of us sooner rather than later.

But there is one thing that brings me comfort.

Everyone else is going to cease to exist too, at some point.

And most deserve it.

Buzzard And Vulture Alliance

The battlefield stretched for miles, but it was still. A dozen races had bodies in the carnage, bodies strewn between the disabled robots and discarded laser weapons. The fighting was clearly bloody, desperate, and chaotic.

And of course, that brought out the Buzzards and the Vultures.

The two races didn't call themselves that, but given their long-standing alliance and predilection for looting battlefields, they took the names in stride. Both being bird races helped.

But on this day, as their ships began to land, robots switched on and lifesign cloaks were disengaged.

A dozen races hated being looted after battles.

Not Enough Time

Not enough time.

I have to waste time on my bodily needs, sleep, food, warmth, water, air. Even with multitasking, they add up.

Not enough time.

Then there's the time I need to keep my loved ones close, birthdays, empathy, celebrations, quality time that I just can't get back.

Not enough time.

I have things I want to do, places I want to go, experiences to experience, and after a while your loved ones get tired of you dragging them along for them.

Not enough time.

I haven't been given enough to live how I truly want.

Not enough, Time.

Lt. Latrine

My nickname was known throughout the Northern Front. Lt. Latrine, who dooms his patrols with his shitting.

Not directly, mind. It's just five times now, I've returned from going to crap to find my squad wiped out. Totally a running gag now.

This new squad I'm in takes it seriously though. I'm not allowed to go alone, and they're all super vigilant while I'm gone, which is a double-edged sword.

It means that they're much less vigilant while I'm here, so while calling in an attack is gonna be easy, I'm not sure how to explain the other guy dying.