[Other Original] Pastel Notebook 2.0

So I previously posted a thread under this title, but it became largely new stuff. Right now, I have some stuff from last year, mostly prompt/flash fiction. I'd like to post it just to get maybe feedback on it, or at least see what worked in the past. As you can probably guess by the "flash", most of these are pretty short reads, and almost none of them actually have a title. So enjoy!

Untitled 1: "Red" Attempted Genre: Horror. Rating T? Maybe M? Very minor drug references.

Notes: The prompt for this one was to attempt a Lovecraft style monster. As such, this is kind of vague and... indirect. Not a whole lot of action in this one.

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For as long as we have existed, we've lived in fear of the abominations that lurk just out of sight in the night. Where we have once seen heavens above us, we now look at that star filled sky and realize that between the faint twinkles of light from these far suns houses an indescribable amount of nothingness. It is in that nothingness where mankind faces the most fear, the ability to recognize true nothingness being one of the largest flaws of the human mind. The lack of sight is impossible to explain to someone who has lived their entire life with that particular sense, and the fear of nothingness after death has pushed many a man to religion. This may be a flaw of out own perspective on our little globe, where the most nothingness we experience, air, is still comprised of something.

It is with this perspective that I first stepped into the house that was sure to be my undoing, oh that accursed house. My job was simple, the house had been foreclosed by the bank my company had a major contract with, and it was my job to evaluate the security and safety of the house and determine if it was fit for market. I stepped past the front door expecting the worst horrors I spotted to be rats, stains, and damaged structures. At the very worst I would experience an unhappy homeowner or squatter, in which case my job was done until the police had time to do their job. Much to my surprise, the house was in pristine condition. The walls were unmolested by pen or fist, and even the carpet looked as if I had been the first living creature to walk upon it since it had been laid. The overall cleanliness was a little unnerving, the papers had stated that up to a month ago someone had been living in this house, and in total the house had been inhabited for some forty odd years.

My second thought was that the house had some other secret further in. While non as pristine as this one, I had experience many a house that where the initial room was in a much better shape than any room preceding it. To the average outsider at the door the first room is often enough to leave a positive message about the owner, while the back rooms can hide any number of illicit activities. I braced myself for the worst as I began my walk from room to room, half expecting to see some hastily shut down meth-lab or hoarder's den behind every door I opened. Thankfully, there was nary a piece of trash or crack pipe to be seen, and whoever had owned the house for those forty years must had just been a perfectionist of the highest order, or suffering from some mental illness that required the house to be spotless.
Unfortunately, this illusion of mine would only persist until I had wandered into the basement of this normal suburban house.

At first look the basement seemed like the rest of the house. While some boxes remained from the previous owner neglecting or deciding not to move them, even they had seemed deliberate in their placement. For some reason, the position of the boxes seemed natural and not at all out of place, as if the architect had decided that they should go there to accent the room. Out of curiosity I trifled through the contents of the box, hoping to gain some insight into the person who had inhabited the house and kept it looking as if it had been built yesterday. Inside I found the typical sort of thing one would store in the basement, toys and clothes from a child who outgrew them, old albums full of the memories of a happy family, and various memorabilia or knickknacks that one likely couldn't throw away due to the memories attached. All had seemed normal until in the last box I discovered a piece of cloth sewn with an odd symbol. The cloth was unusual for it's size, large enough to be a banner on an old medieval castle, yet far too large to display in the house without it dragging on the floor. I could not discern any purpose for the cloth, and the stitching of the odd symbol seemed to suggest it was made by hand with either very inexperienced, or very shaky hands. The symbol itself seemed to be a single line, twisting and folding in on itself many times. Each fold of the line seemed very deliberate, as if it was made to be placed there, yet ultimately the symbol as a whole failed to invoke any semblance of unified design aside from purposeful chaos.

Putting aside the cloth back into the box it was produced from, I decided to finish my inspection and leave the house as soon as possible. Something about the cleanliness combined with the odd cloth produced a sense of unease in me, and my mind was starting to create doubts towards my safety if I continued to spend time in the house. The rest of my inspection of the basement proved fruitless until I approached the last corner of the room. To this day I am not sure what drew me towards that corner, however even looking at it was not enough, for some reason I had to prove that it existed. That corner in particular seemed darker than the rest of the basement, and even as I shined my flashlight towards that area of the room it seemed to remain cloaked in shadows. Even as I walked towards it, the corner seemed to maintain it's same distance, as if I was standing still and watching it. Soon enough I began to pick up speed in my attempt to reach it, soon even breaking into an all out sprint. The basement was large, but even at a full sprint I should have been able to clear that basement in a few mere seconds, and yet here I was making no headway. In my dogmatic pursuit of that elusive corner, I had failed to notice how the darkness seemed to expand and swarm around me. When I had finally realized that I was surrounded in the same darkness that hid the corner I turned around to find that the light I had came from seemed oh so far away.

Before I could begin to make my crawl back towards the world I left behind, I felt a presence similar to inexplicable feeling of being watched. Turning around suddenly, I saw what appeared to be the figure of a person draped in a fine red cloth dart suddenly out of my vision. My look around the darkness failed to uncover where the figure came from, and I almost dismissed it as a trick of the mind until I saw what appeared to be a trap door in the direction that the figure disappeared. Unsettled, but the urge to make sense of the bizarre world around me overpowering any urge to turn and run, I made my way to the door. The trap door was a solid piece of wood with what appeared to be old iron bars for support and a ring to pull the door open. The door seemed more at home in an ancient European castle, leading to some kind of prison or torture room, rather than in the basement of a modern American house. Grabbing the ring and pulling with all my might, I was able to pull the door open and saw a small crawl space leading even deeper into the earth.

The tunnel was a small fit for my body, and required me to crawl on my stomach to traverse. The tunnel itself seemed to be carved out of stone, despite the house itself having had been built on a normal dirt lot. The stone scraped my skin, and every so often I would move too much and hit my back slightly against the ceiling, however something drove me to continue my descent. As I continued my crawl for what seemed like hours, I could feel the ceiling of the tunnel gradually began to touch my back, soon gently squeezing my body and requiring more effort to pull myself through, however despite the shrinking of my crawling room I never seemed to find myself caught. Most disturbing about the tunnel to me, however, was the occasional flash of red cloth in the darkness before me, as if the figure from before was traversing the same tunnel I was, but I surely would have heard them open the door before me. Every so often I felt something carved into the floor of the tunnel, and despite the lack of light examination with the fingers seemed to confirm it was the same symbol that I had seen sewn on the cloth before.

Eventually, after what had seemed like an entire day, I emerged into a room. The room seemed to be carved out of the same stone that the tunnel was, and adorning the walls were large pieces of cloth with the same line symbol. The room seemed to emit a strange heat, not enough to break a sweat but stuffy enough to cause discomfort. On the far wall, near a doorway I could only presume lead to another room, I noticed what seemed to be more carving, and upon closer inspection appeared to be crude symbols of various men looking up to a figure adorned in cloth upon a pillar. The clothed figure's limbs seemed larger and lankier than the men around it, and most curiously the face of the figure was blank except for a large smile. The other side of the wall next to the doorway had similar carvings, except this time the people were on their knees, seeming lead by the clothed figure in prayer. The area they were praying to seemed to be carved like the rest of the wall, but it just seemed to be a carving of a shapeless blob with no identifying figures. The shape didn't seem to be vandalized, however, as the carving was just a deep, and seem to be just as carefully made as the rest of the depiction. Swallowing my fear, I began to open the door between the carvings, seemingly carved of the same wood as the trapdoor. If any answers for this were to be seen, they would be further in.

Beyond the door was no room, nor was there another tunnel. The room seemed to lead to a large expanse of darkness similar to that of the room corner. Despite a seeming lack of flooring, I was able to walk upon the darkness and my flashlight failed to illuminate anything around me. Off in the near distance was what appeared to be an antiquated full body mirror, surrounded by several candles. I slowly made my way to the mirror, heart racing all the while, until I was just to the side of it. Gathering the last remnants of my failing willpower, I stepped in front of it. What I saw was not my own reflection, but a figure draped in red cloth. The figure stood taller than me, atop long, spindly legs and reached towards me with a four fingered hand, connected to a thin arm. Most unsettling about the figure was the face. The face seemed very similar in structure to a normal human face, but it lacked any features at all. Hair, eyes, nose, lips, none of those existed, replaced with smooth skin. The only feature the face actually had was a long crack one could only assume was a mouth, stretched into a wide smile with occasionally allowed a glimpse of sharpened fang. As the hand of the creature reached towards me, my legs suddenly began to respond to my mind and I began to run back to where I came. I ran past the etched room towards the tunnel, and even my crawl up seemed to take less time than down. Most frightening of all was the only sound being my own ragged breath, I had no idea if the creature was even following me or not. Eventually I found myself back in the darkness of the corner, with the light growing ever closer. Soon enough I emerged into the light and made my way through the house back outside, where I collapsed and allowed myself to rest. I called the police, but their own search failed to find anything, and in their presence I seemingly was unable to go back into the darkness.

I would have been happy to end my little adventure there, deeming the house unfit for market least anyone else follow the same path I did, but that day was not the end of my experience. That night, and every night after, I found myself dreaming of the clothed figure, most often as a part of the crowd worshiping with the faceless figure. It was there that I began to understand what that faceless blob was. In my dreams I stood on my knees before an entity seemingly made of the same darkness I had experienced that day. It seemingly existed in contrast to the world around it, neither illuminating in the sun or blending with the scenery like normal darkness. Occasionally in my dreams the darkness would show stars, as if a piece of the night sky fell to the earth during the day. Most nights the faceless figure kneeled and prayed with us, however every once in a while it spoke what seemed to be a prayer to the masses in a language the human tongue could seemingly not replicate. On specific night in particular I woke up at my desk, pen in hand and drying on a piece of paper. The writing on the page was my own, and only one sentence existed, and I recognized it from the faceless one's speech that night.

"Uh'e hupadgh shugg mg ch'shoggagl n'gha stell'bsna syha'h"

Even beyond the dreams, I eventually began to see the faceless figure in mirrors. It first happened while I was walking down a busy street, and gave me a fright when the figure popped up in a mirror on display at an antique store. In the coming days I saw the figure in more and more mirrors, the mirrors of passing cars, in the rearview mirror of my own car, even in the mirrors in the bathrooms at work. Eventually I began to see it no matter what mirror I looked into, even in puddles of water and the reflection of my watch.

It was a full month later that I finally broke down and came back to the house. The figure still interfered in my life, and seemingly only visiting the house would cure myself of it. As I began my descent down the stairs to the basement I spotted the corner, as dark and foreboding as the first time I saw it. As I traversed the darkness I saw the figure in the corner of my eye from time to time, guiding me back to the trap door. The tunnel felt as long as the first time I traversed it, and the flashes of red happened much more frequently. The carved room seemed the same as I had left it, nary a new dust mote in sight. With a shaking hand I opened the door to the darkness, revealing the mirror inside. The walk to the mirror seemed longer, and on the walk I began to feel nothing. As I stepped up to the mirror my fear was seemingly gone, and I stepped in front to confront the red figure once again.

Only to see myself staring back at me.

I wanted to laugh, all this work for nothing. I felt my throat move and my vocal cords vibrate, yet I heard nothing. Slumping to my knees, I saw tears falling from my face onto my arms despite the laughing, yet I felt nothing there.

I closed my eyes, and then I saw nothing.

Untitled 2: "Black" Attempted Genre: Comedy? Offbeat?
Notes: Another prompt piece. I wrote a few pieces about the afterlife, and several upon a basic idea like this. I just like the idea of a very friendly death who needs a day off more than anything.

The first few moments were a blur. The loss of control, a hard skid, the sound of a crash, a sudden impact, and then nothing. The nothingness felt like it dragged on forever, and it very well could of until I suddenly awoke. Although it seems like no more than a few seconds passed it felt like I had spent an eternity in the void, although the sight I woke up to was not much better. The wreckage of my beloved car was bad enough, but seeing your own corpse twisted at an odd angle over the steering wheel is something else. I felt sick just looking at it, if I had a stomach I probably would have hurled at the sight of it. The other driver didn't fare much better when he saw the scene either, for some reason he was unharmed but looking at my corpse started causing him to have a panic attack.

I probably should have had more of a response to the whole being dead thing, but honestly I couldn't muster up much of anything. I guess it might have been some form of shock, but all I could really think to do was stare at the morbid scene in front of me. The panic of what was happening didn't hit me until I heard the sirens, I was dead. I always thought it was funny how in the movies the person who is obviously dead, like walking through walls and staring at their own corpse dead, would always try to get people to notice them as if Bob Jones with the sheriff's department is suddenly going to develop paranormal sight at that moment just in time to see you. But damn if I didn't try the exact same thing. A couple of minutes of shouting and arm flailing later let the hard truth sink in. No one could see me.

Well, almost no one... Someone, for some odd reason, was walking directly towards me. For a second I thought it was a coincidence, but no matter how far I moved from the wreckage he walked straight towards me. He didn't really seem that out of place, and if I saw him on a normal city street I wouldn't think twice about it. Yet, for some reason I was getting chills from him but couldn't tear my eyes from him for the (un)life of me. He was dressed fairly nicely, in a black three-piece suit and longish black hair slicked back executive style. The only things really off about him was how pale he was and the pin he wore on the collar of his suit jacket. He looked like he hadn't seen the sun for months, and when he got closer it became obvious that the little pin he had was of some sort of skull and cross-bones design.

"Very sorry about that, there have been an awful lot of stragglers like you today." He said once he was within arms length. I wanted to reach out and touch him, as if to confirm if he was real, but fought the instinct. His voice was oddly calming, soft enough to be gentle, yet firm enough to almost seem trustworthy. "Glad you didn't run off though, as some are apt to do. Makes my job a whole lot easier."

For a second I didn't even realize what he was saying, I was too mesmerized by him. I quickly snapped out of it and looked around to ensure he was actually talking to me, but there was no one else around he could have been addressing, and none of the people at the scene even seemed to take notice of him.

"Y-You can see me?" Aw fuck, I said that line. First the arm waving and now this.

"Plain as day. Thankfully you seem lucid right now, surely you know what must be going on right about now?"

"I died didn't I?"

"Right-o! And boy does that look like a nasty accident," he cheerfully announced as he leaned down to look inside the car, checking out the scene of the accident himself. "Ouch, well at least it looks like it was a quick death."

"Who exactly are you? And how come you can see me when no one else can?"

"Well, Mr. Barton, you most likely already know me. My name is Grim, I am the current Reaper as well as the head of the Afterlife Transportation Committee, shipping to both Heaven, Hell, and anywhere in between. I would give you my card, but I seems I just ran out."

"Wait a minute... Please just wait. You're the Grim Reaper? And what's this about some kind of committee? Business cards?"

"The one and only! And as for your second question the ATC mostly deals with the transportation of souls into the many afterlife realms. Usually this is done automatically, you die and wake up in our universal waiting room until we can transfer you, but a few tricky people like you get stuck in the realm and aren't moved automatically. So then it's my job to manually guide you to room myself in between bouts of paperwork."

This was all so terribly confusing... The Reaper as a company man? Afterlife waiting rooms?

"So what do I do when I get to this waiting room? How do I know where I'm supposed to go?"

"Well... Assuming you haven't committed any crime of a damnation upon your soul level, you usually get a pick. There's a long waiting list for Heaven, but we can usually get you into Hell or Limbo the same day."

"You can voluntarily go to Hell?"

"Trust me, it's not as bad as it sounds. They did a major remodel a while back, moved all the nasties to Tartarus, and rebranded as a nice suburb. It isn't Heaven levels of paradise, but you can enjoy a nice simple life similar to the one you would have up here. Plus Mr. Lou is a great guy, he mellowed out a millennium ago and made amends with his father. You don't have to worry about the eternal damnation of your soul with him, mostly about that bath robe he wears everywhere sliding open."

"I have several questions right now about what you just said... but let's focus on one right quick. What if I don't want any of this?"

"Well those are the options everyone is given. But..." he started, his face suddenly scrunching up as he thought about what he was about to say. "What if you work for me?"

"What?"

"Yeah, working for me. This job is very time consuming and I simply don't have enough time to finish the paperwork associated with these retrievals and do them myself. I've been thinking about expanding for a while and now seems like a good time."

"But why me?" This scene was making less sense by the second. Hell is a decent place. The afterlife is apparently nothing but bureaucracy. Death himself is offering me a job.

"I already ran your background and you seem like a trustworthy man. Plus you have something many other lack, the ability to stick to this realm. Most spirits would get pulled over to the other side immediately, but you can exist here no problem. So what do you say? We can head back to my office and write up a contract. I'm feeling especially generous since you would be my first employee."

For some reason this deal was sounding better and better. It seems like I can back out it if the terms aren't good enough. Who knows what kind of jobs exist in the afterlife, why look a gift horse in the mouth. Plus this Grim guy seemed strangely honest, like he couldn't cause harm to a fly.

"I'll consider it, for now lets talk in your office. I'm kind of tired of looking at my own corpse here."

"Excellent, great! I can guarantee you won't regret this."

"What would I even do? Am I the new Reaper or something?"

"No, no. You'd have a new title and all that jazz. But, let's forget about that for now, we have a contract to negotiate."

Untitled 3 Sci-fi. Religious base, prompt inspired.
Original Prompt: Of all the intelligent species scattered throughout the universe, humans are the only ones to fail the "Eden Test", choosing knowledge over life.
Thoughts: I kind of like this one? I tend to base my writings too much towards religion and the afterlife, so this really treads over the same ground I always tread.

The office lied all but deserted, save for one last employee absorbed in his work. The monitors on his desk illuminated his cubicle, one showing various graphs and figures full of complex data, constantly shifting and updating, while the other flickered between live footage from the surface. Many of the scenes presented were mundane, a busy city street or a father and daughter at home playing, yet some of them were quite extraordinary, so many acts of violence against each other mixed in with scenes of immovable beauty. It was these few scenes that kept him glued to his desk, watching an artist working on his Magnum Opus one moment and the next seeing an active battlefield, alive with the sounds of shouting and gunfire.

"You know you can go home now, right?"

The voice startled him, he was sure that he was the last in the building. Seeing that it was only his boss calmed him mentally, but his heart was still racing due to the surprise. He could see the eyes of his boss wander over to his monitor, leaning in to get a better view of the numbers of a particular chart.

"It's okay to give up, there is no shame in being the first to have a failure this early on in the history of the program. It was bound to happen sooner or later."

"Sol-3? I don't know, they're interesting. I want to watch a little while longer." Sure his project has been labeled a failure early on, but these results he was receiving could be big later. "I think they could produce something great."

"You're that sure, huh?" The boss chuckled, but didn't break his gaze from the monitors. "Hard to believe that lasted this long when they failed even the Eden Test. How long did you say lived for, wasn't it incredibly short?"

"Uh, I think I see many of them reaching 80 of their years but I haven't seen one live past 120."

True, they did die easily. And they did die pretty early. Yet there was something propelling them forward at rates not seen by any other species.

"A shame. They only received mortality for their choice, there wasn't even anything to give them beyond that curse. They're bold, I'll give them that." At that moment the monitor flicked to another new picture as if it could read the mood, a picture of an execution. "Yet they treat their life so carelessly."

"Maybe that is what pushes them forward?" He was uncomfortable speaking out in front of his boss like this, especially when this pet project of his could sink at any moment and take all the money they poured into it just keeping it alive with it. "I compared my data to the data collected from the others, even though they failed the first test they've advanced exponentially faster than the others created around the same time. That fear of dying and being forgotten makes each individual work harder to make some kind of mark on the world. Isn't that why we even created this project in the first place, to find a successor before we die out too?"

"You may have a point there, but can we so readily endorse a species with such a tendency towards violence?"

As if to further emphasize the point, the monitor flicked from an art museum to a young boy hiding in a ruined building which looked like it had been torn apart by an explosion. He felt embarrassed, of all the times to show the bad sides of the species it had to be in front of his boss. He looked up to apologize, only to notice the smile on his boss's face while he looked over a table that had just reported new statistics. His boss wasn't a man to casually give praise or even show that much of an interest, yet something about the data seemed to lift the mood.

"Son, why don't you run this data by me again in, let's say, 50 years? I'll expect a report on my desk by then."

"Ah! Sure thing. I think there's some art in a city they call The Vatican you might like, really amazing stuff. And if you like that they have this place called the Louvre"

"Save some of it for the report, son. For now I think it's time you head home. Don't you have a wife you haven't seen all day?"

The office remained empty again today, and not even the light of his monitors was there to comfort him. He paced back and forth nervously, as much as he wanted to log back in and watch the development unfold live he just couldn't. His viewer was locked only to Sol-3, yet his species was going somewhere greater. Somewhere he couldn't watch or give a guiding hand.
His eyes stung, his heart felt like it wanted to explode, and he was glad he hasn't eaten anything earlier or else he probably would have vomited. The last time he felt like this the entire project nearly went under, a nuclear war broke out on the planet after a small regional conflict escalated, igniting all the tension between the various nations of Sol-3. Normally they would have pulled the plug there, but the deaths of his people escalated rapidly after that and none of the other races were at a level that could be called a success.

Well... It should have ended there, but something changed in the people after that. Their selfishness had killed the planet, yet they lived on. No... They didn't just live on, they came together. For the first time they all came together for the common good. They decided to leave the planet, to live.

The pacing wasn't helping, he had to sit down and wait, or else he would miss the first sign of contact. It still seemed like yesterday, when in reality it has been over 120 years for the people of Sol-3, an entire generation born and gone. They had been chosen the successor, no one else fit the bill. We revealed ourselves to them, they never saw us physically but they knew we existed. Their technological advancement at that time had nearly slowed to a halt, but we gave them the information on how to leave, the tools to keep their planet alive just long enough to make the ships that would carry them to a new home, we gave them hope.

His new desk was comfy. The chair was just right and he had a beautiful view. He used to want this desk for himself, and was jealous of the person who used to sit here, but when they died like so many others he couldn't help but feel a little guilty sitting here, alive.

Slow, stumbling footsteps announced a presence behind him, his boss hasn't been able to sneak up on him like he had that one day for many, many years.

"Sir, is it really okay to be walking around, much less working in your condition?"

"Bah, I've haven't missed a day of work yet, and I'm not about to let a little illness stop me now." His boss was as stubborn as always, yet underneath the surface little moments of weakness had begun to shine through. No matter how you look at it he was ill, sooner or later he was going to end up like everyone else in the office and this project wasn't helping. "You actually put the nameplate up, eh?"

His kind rarely had names, there was no use for it. One of the biggest shocks when starting up the project was how each member of Sol-3 had one, and seemed to take pride in it. When he had revealed himself as the primary organizer of their experiment they seemed almost delighted to name him after he revealed he didn't have one. They showered names upon him until he finally just picked one he didn't think was too bad and stuck with it. In time it even began to stick, and others began calling him it too.

"Well, seeing as how everyone calls me it anyways I thought I might as well make it official. It isn't too weird, is it?"

"I think it suits you just fine, son, so be proud if it. Yahweh is a fine name."

Just then a light went off next to his monitor, accompanied by a small buzz. He slumped down in his chair and breathed a sigh of relief, his nausea and heart rate would fall in time. They had made it, the new planet was perfect for them. Above all it seemed like they would live.

"See? I told you they were fine. You worry too much, you'll ruin your health like that." The coughing fit his boss suffered made him want to point out the irony in his lecture, but he held his tongue. After ensuring his boss was okay, one more piece of irony crossed his mind, something he never told him.

"By the way, I never did tell you what they named the new planet, did I?"

"I don't believe so. Why?"

"They named it Eden."

This got a chuckle out of his boss, he was always a sucker for stories of passive resistance like this.

"Didn't we tell them how they failed that test already?"

Untitled 4 Probably the dumbest thing I've ever written.
Original Prompt: "This planet has some very simple rules. Simple, but strict. Fire burns, acid kills and you can't outrun the water-ape."
Thoughts: Yeah. This is dumb. The prompt made me laugh from the image in my head though, so I had to write it. This ain't literary greatness.

"Alright rookies, I'm Sargent Zharkhov and welcome to Yerivic VII."

The Sargent paced around in front of the launch pods. These recruits were greener than grass, and they had drawn the shit end of the stick to get assigned out here, but it was a job someone had to do.

"Now this planet has a few rules I want to let you know about . The rules of this planet are simple. Simple, but strict. Fire burns, acid kills, and you can't outrun the water-ape. Any questions?"

The middle recruit, Pipoe, was the first to raise his hand.

"Sir, what the hell is a water-ape?"

You've failed the first test. You don't question what the water-ape is, you simply let it be."

The other two cadets seemed as confused as Pipoe, but they didn't push the question further.

"Uhh, sir." Pipoe continued, "does that mean no ones ever seen a water-ape, or what?"

"You've failed test number two. Don't talk about people who have seen the water-ape. Does anyone have any questions about non water-ape related topics?"

This time the thin cadet raised his hand, Mirret, the Sargent believed his name was.

"So, is this planet really flammable, or is it just a general rule?"

"This planet is 100% ready to catch on fire at any time. Don't even try to put it out with anything you know works on earth. That'll only make it worse. I've lost a fair share of recruits that way, splashing water on a fire only to have the water catch fire also."

"So... How do we put it out?"

"You don't, let the fire burn. It will get bored. Unlike the water-ape."

"Can we burn the water-ape?" Pipoe asked up without even raising his hand this time.

"That's test number three failed Pipoe, the water-ape is the exception to the fire rule."

Before Pipoe could retort, the third recruit, Darox asked his question.
"Where is this acid we have to avoid?"

"It's everywhere, Darox, the better question is where isn't the acid"

"Do we have any kind of protection from it?"

"Prayer and hope what ever kind of god lives on this fucked up world is feeling merciful today.
"And before you ask do not splash acid on the water-ape. It will not kill it, and will only make it worse." Sargent shouted at Popoe, who was now meekly pulling down his raised hand.

Walking over to the launch pad, Sargent had only one more piece of advice for the recruits.

"Good luck men, and should you avoid the water-ape, make sure you steer clear of the dirt-vultures."

As the door to the recruits launch pods closed, and as they were jettisoned to the surface of the planet only one voice could be heard among the screams of someone suddenly being dropped into orbital free fall.

"What the fuck is a dirt-vulture?"

Untitled 5 A real short one
Original Prompt: A person goes back in time to prevent an inevitable event.
I really should put the original date I wrote these, but the site I posted on doesn't make it super obvious. I'll give it more thought later. Also going through and reading these makes me want to write more. I might make use of a break sometime later to get a good start.

At the time it seemed like a simple rule, the device only allowed you to go back in time, and then back to the present. It was impossible to go forward into the future. There were a plethora of rules related to what one can and cannot do, simple things like murder and other crimes were banned, as well as things that could affect the time lines in unpredictable ways, such as having a child in a time where you did not exist. The number one rule, however, was that you could not interact with your past self. Not that this would cause a paradox or rend the universe asunder, they were wise enough to create workarounds to prevent that kind of thing before it hit market. The real worry was giving yourself an unfair advantage in life, information you did not have at the time that would affect your own outcome in life. Cheating was not allowed.

He has double checked the rules hundreds of times, exploiting every loophole possible to find a way to save her life. The rules prevented taking of life, however if one could do it unseen one could save a life, commit a so called miracle. His plan was simple, he would go back to the time right before she passed away, and through the results of his work he could apply what he believed to be the cure. All he had to do was be sure of the time she passed, and that was the one thing he had never allowed himself to forget. He even had the time when he received the call tattooed on his arm as a reminder.

The first time he left a little earlier than he needed. The nurses wouldn't be in for another good half-hour on their rounds. For a while he just sat and stared at her softly breathing figure. She looked just as good as the day they met, her disease came on quickly, too fast for her body to adequately show the signs of failing organs and dying flesh. It was a fast and efficient killer, one that no one really had time to study and develop a cure. His cure was a shot in the dark, and with shaking hands he slowly depressed the plunger on the syringe, pushing the liquid into the IV drip. The return trip to the future told him he failed, the obituary on his desk remaining unchanged.

The second time came later. Without the ability to test if his medicine had any effect he was shooting in the dark again, but more cases popped up from time to time similar to hers. He took notice of what worked and didn't work and formulated a new cure, hoping the diseases were similar to hers. He timed his arrival to just after the nurse left, cutting it close to being caught. The fact that his entire mission could have been ruined right then and there didn't bother him. Even if she couldn't respond to his words every moment he could etch her further into his memory was a moment worth taking.

That time has been a failure too.

On the seventh try he prayed to every divine spirit he could think of to aid him in his struggle.
By the twelfth he cursed their very name.

On the fifteenth try he nearly broke down in the room with her. He was fast running out of time in his life to save hers.

By the twenty-first he did.

He continued to work tirelessly into his elder years, each failure breaking him down even further than his last. Soon his was miserable, having driven off anyone he ever considered a friend, and his aides and colleagues only tolerating him for the money that was soon drying up, his fortune exhausting and his reputation as a miracle worker in ruins.

On the eve of what was to be his twenty-fourth attempt a lone aid found him missing. The device seemed to be active, but the cure was still on the counter. In fact, the only thing that seemed to be missing was his notes on potential cures. When he checked the time set it matched up with the day he bought it. On the counter next to it lay a hastily scratched note.

"If the universe won't play fair, neither will I."