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.