No Adult Supervision

There’s a cycle in nature that we’re all too familiar with, at least in theory. Birth, small, helpless, getting fed by parents. Protected by those bigger and stronger or those that are seen as responsible. Then growing, learning about the world, how to survive, what’s important and what’s necessary. Those responsible remind you of the dangers and the need to be self-sufficient. Yet still, you are protected by those bigger than you. Then you are thrusted into the world to try things, see how they work, if you know how to work them. They call this youth. It is where most creatures experience they best time of their lives, before life happens. This is where any living being will feel like they’ll have the most if not all freedom. At least those fortunate enough to not have to start life early and have to grind to make a living hunting, praying on those weaker, swimming or running for their lives. And after this brief period, you are asked to get your life in order and be self-sufficient. This is the first taste of stress, anxiety and where you learn that the price of freedom comes at a cost. And it is not cheap, whether you’re a bee, a bird, a snake, a buffalo, an elephant or worse of all, a human. This is the moment those truly fortunate continue to enjoy life, and the rest follow those that were unfortunate at a younger age to work and grind for their life and freedom. And then you get to be your parent’s age…

After much work, much grinding and much time, you get to look around and see how tough everything is. How you have to live, work, and be at a certain standard all the time. It feels exhausting, you think to yourself. This isn’t what I was promised when I was told I could be anything I wanted, you remind yourself of youth. But there’s nothing you can do about it. If you want to eat, if you want to drink, if you want to procreate, if you want to live, you have to do what everyone else is doing. You start hearing that everything is like a jungle. It’s either eat or be eaten alive. Yet when you look around there’s plenty for everyone, but some choose to hoard and let it all get moldy and rotten. But, you can’t complain, you have your own share and you have to be happy with it, or someone will come and snatch it all away from you for being ungrateful. And of course that’s true, if it were all a jungle and only the strong survive. And of course it is just a jungle, if you don’t know about forests or deserts. And then time passes and you do as those before you did. Yet you notice something…

No one knows what they are doing. Sure, one knows how to make honey, another knows how to scavenge for food and one last one might know how to hunt. But just because you know how to do one thing well, doesn’t mean you know how to do all things well. Yet everyone you meet seems to be an expert with tips and tricks on how to do about everything. Though the more you hear the more you ask yourself if that is even true. So, you start feeling uneasy about where you are and take a peak outside the jungle. You discover mountains, grass plains, forests full of a thousand different trees, deserts and ice. Animals and insects you’ve never seen, appear out of nowhere, and tell you stories of ways to do something you did all your life in a different way. The more you learn, the more ways to do things you find, and the more time you spend learning the more you doubt everything you know. You become unsure, you become more anxious, nervous and uncertain about everything. Yet, you find the things that can never be disproven and that are certain beyond any shadow of a doubt in any jungle, forest, mountain cave you’ve ever been in, those things were always the same.

And now the world expects you to do as they’ve done. But you’re not sure you should, since you don’t know much and you don’t know if it’s the right thing. So you go back to the jungle and you meet those you’ve met before. They seem overconfident in what they’re saying now. So, you confront them and they lash back at you, you’re a traitor for calling what they believe into question. You know that you can’t trust them anymore. Anyone that knows anything for certain yet doubts what has been proven is not someone to trust. And the more you look, the more it seems that the whole world is full of these creatures. Friend, foe, family or pray, you can find them everywhere you look. Ant, bird, snake, lion or man are masters of one job, and jacks of none, you think to yourself as you are just a jack of all trades, but a master of not one job. Yet it doesn’t matter. Because life continues, change is slow and incremental and whatever you do, however you struggle and no matter how much you scream. There are no adults in this world, just children playing pretend.

Hope you liked this post. It’s been a few years since I last wrote something more personal and direct like this. But, since The Pilot Program 2021 is completed, I thought to fill the void with some old-school style posts like these. Hope you liked it, if you did and want to keep the short stories free, you can always donate at https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

agrypnia: Every Dream Is A Nightmare - The Pilot Program 2021

Sleeping is dangerous, you never know what psychopath awaits you on the other side... There are no good dreams, there are only lucky ones. And once your mind can dream, the only one you can rely on, is not your friends, not your family, but only on yourself.

Hello, I hear in the darkness. How’s life over there? The voice asked.

It’s horrible. I can’t find my parents. I can’t find any of my friends. Food is getting scarce since no one can really work well. And I have no idea where I live. I’m sleeping under a bridge right now!

Oh how pitiful. But, you know, I know that you are lying to me. How? I can hear it in your voice. Yes. That’s right.

I hate my own voice.

By the way. Have we met before?

I don’t know? How could I know? I can’t see you. It’s pitch black right now. I hear him start laughing.

Oh no. How did you survive all this time, Theo? He continues to laugh.

What do you mean? Why are you laughing?

We are not that stupid, now are we? This is a dream, isn’t it. You are conscious within a dream, aren’t we?

Yes, I shout loudly.

Around my neck I feel two hands tightening and squeezing hard. It’s suffocating.

You see... You can feel everything, it’s like magic, he says whilst squeezing even harder on my neck. Yes, and you get to make those horrible noises and suffer at your own stupid hands.

I try to scratch my way out of his hands as I start to flail trying to kick him. But, he starts to punch me in my sides, in my stomach, in my ribs, over and over again with his hands still around my neck.

Don’t worry. I won’t kill you. I’m just curious. He says while he keeps punching me. I have to wonder, dear Theo. How did you get to have such a nice life, he says as he drops me. So, why don’t you stop lying to me and get to the truth. There’s no way you were lucky enough for 26 years. There’s no way you didn’t run into some atrocious monster in this vast pool of infinite infinities and have not lost to at least one of them. So, what’s your secret? What do you bargain with? How did you beat the rest? I ask, because I don’t know about you… But, I use this time more for unloading all my anger issues at myself and at this cursed world we live in. It simply keeps me happy and motivated while awake. You can call this some form of therapy. Why? Because like you, I barely got to know my parents. Who knows how lost they are and in which hellhole they are. So sometimes, like now, I meet someone interesting. Which means, I got to know how you survived and why are you so calm about this?

Because there’s nothing I can do about it, can I? I can’t help but fall asleep. I can’t help but be dragged into these nightmares. And there is nothing I can do about it. So, if I’m lose and am beaten or even killed. Who cares? All the friends I make change, disappear and die. I don’t have a family. And even if I did, I wouldn’t know where to even find them. I don’t know why, I don’t know how, I don’t know shit about fuck all. So, I try to live wherever.

Well, that’s boring. You’d think someone that grasps the general pieces of this would understand the concept behind it all. Guess I was wrong. Now, I have to wonder if you are even worth left living, he says as he cracks his knuckles. So, I’m going to do you a favor. And trust me when I say this, it is going to be a favor to kill you. I’ve seen nightmares which you can’t even comprehend. I’ve heard stories which haunt me to this days. So, if you think your place in this universe doesn’t matter. If you take whatever life you have for granted. If you reduce yourself to something less than a roach. It is going to be my pleasure to reduce you to atoms. That way, at least, you’ll have a purpose again. You’ll literally matter, he says as I hear him walk towards me.

Wait! I shout at him. You said you wanted to know how I survived all these 26 years, right?

Yes, he says as he stops.

Kill me, try to take my place. Do anything to pull me out of the place I am in right now. And you will die.

He starts laughing.

What do you think I am? Fucking stupid? That’s clearly a bluff, he says whilst getting even closer.

No. No, I am not. There is a timer and an alarm. If I don’t wake up within 8 hours and 15 minutes after I have fallen asleep, a stake will pierce my heart. If you’ll take my place, you will die. Why? Because there is a fine way to getting out of the bed without setting off the contraption. Tempt me, and I will take you down with me. I might not be as strong as you. But, what I do have, is no fear of dying. You wanted to know how I survived. This is how. Like a coward, even if I have to kill myself over twice.

You fucker… Fine… But, don’t think you’re out of the woods yet. You might’ve survived tonight, but, you never know what’s waiting for you next time you’ll fall asleep…

If you liked this short story and want more of it, like, share, comment and re-read it. That way, you can make sure to cast your vote for it to become the short story series for 2022. This is the last of the eight yearly short story pilots, which means, one of the eight will become the short story for 2022. And you choose which. And if you want to keep the short stories free, you can always donate at https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

Prokaryote: Scum Sold Out For Money - The Pilot Program 2021

Yesterday, I wanted to kill myself. Today they’re trying to kill me. And for some reason… I ran.

- Come out, come out, wherever you are.

Where even am I?

- I swear, if I catch him I’ll stretch his innards like bubblegum, says one of the men.

- What the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you say something like that? Asks another one as his puts his hands on his hips.

What’s wrong with these guys?

- You have to be more menacing than that… I’ll split open his fucking head… Something like that.

- Like it matters. He’s vermin. Worthless. He doesn’t deserve such quality threats. So, if I want to say that I’ll chew him up and spit him out like the trash and tasteless chewing gum that he is, that’s what I’ll do.

Worthless? Why would he say that?

- Fine. Let’s just kill the useless piece of shit before the boss finds out he escaped.

What? Useless?

- Come out! They scream as they point their guns upwards and shoot a few rounds into the air.

I look around me trying to find some way out. Surrounded by wooden boxes, small carton boxes, large carton boxes, a few weird metal boxes and as I look up, I realize I’m in a giant metal box. A weird warehouse that is cold, sterile yet feels damp at the same time and on one of the walls has a big green sheet on it. A few bright lamps hang off the ceiling and illuminate the place as the men keep looking for me. My eyes try to wonder and find a way out. A way past the men and into freedom.

- Yo! Aren’t you guys done yet? What are you doing diddling around like that?

- We’re searching for the fucker.

- Searching? You let him escape?

- It’s not me. It’s Jack.

- Don’t use my name, you moron!

- Oh, I’m am sorry JACK… ASS… For you letting him go. You should’ve tied him up.

- But, he was unconscious and we had to unload the van. You asked me to, DICK!

Where did the third guy come from? Is there a door around them? Or do the doors blend into this warehouse? Why though? What do I remember? Two of them took me here, put me down and went out to the car. I woke up and instinctively ran and hid. But, I can’t for the love of me remember how I got here in the first place. I’d reach into my pockets to find something, but I’m afraid to make any noise.

- You guys sure he didn’t leave this place?

- Yeah, we sure, man. We were at that door, unloading the damn van. We would’ve seen him or heart him, at least, says Richard.

- But, you two know that this place has at least two more exists, right? Richard and Jack look dumbfounded at the third man. One’s there, in that corner. And one’s that big thing. How do you think they move these big and expensive things in and out of here?

Right. But that means we’re in an industrial park. Somewhere with many warehouses, probably. I can’t run faster than bullets, so trying to make a dash for it is irresponsible, probably. Wait… What am I saying? I was ready to shoot myself in the head yesterday.

- What’s this guy’s deal?

- Well, from what I’ve heard he’s scum. Pushed all his friends and family away. Everyone at his job despises him to the point that everyone only talks through emails with him. He hasn’t had a girlfriend in over ten years and spends all his time at home after work, doing jack all. And apparently his best friend sold him out to our boss, says Richard.

- Damn… Imagine your best friend selling you out like that. Must hurt, man.

I remember now. I was out with that fucking traitor, Alex. He sold me to the fucking mob? What the fuck?

- I wonder what the fuck must be wrong with guys like that to get here. How fucking bad must you be as a person for someone to fucking sell you like you’re just a bag with organs.

Fuckers. How dare you talk about me like you know me. Like you know what I’ve been through. The things I’ve suffered through.

- No wonder he wanted to kill himself, damn, says Jack.

I’ll show you motherfu… I push a stack of boxes towards them and start running towards one of the exists!

- There he is!

- Shoot him! Screams Richard.

I’ll show that fucker! I’ll show them all! You can’t fuck like that with DRAKE like that!

- Catch him! Screams Jack.

I’ve never felt more ALIVE!

If you liked this short story and want more of it, like, share, comment and re-read it. That way, you can make sure to cast your vote for it to become the short story series for 2022. And if you want to keep the short stories free, you can always donate at https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

Soulless Society - The Pilot Program 2021

In this world, we are born without a soul. For centuries they tried to artificially create souls and imbue them into people. Baptizing doesn’t work, prayer doesn’t work, science doesn’t work. Those with souls are said to become something more, as they are special. Which is why no one knows of their existence anymore. Sometime after the second world war, those that were special slowly disappeared from the public eye. Conspiracists still think they’re hidden somewhere inside the Pentagon, controlling the world. Yet, from what I understand, they were supposed to find themselves free after the war. Yet, with the Cold War they found themselves used again. Finding themselves in this situation, they fled. One by one escaped and were deemed the enemy of the public by both, the Soviets and the US. I don’t even understand how this whole thing works, in all honesty. From records it is said that some got a soul when they were born, some when they were teenagers and some only later in life. And that the one thing they all had in common was that they were exceptional people. Yet, we drove them all away into obscurity. We only discover them after their deaths. And only then we celebrate them.

Have you heard? I turn around to see a colleague looking at me with a big grin. He leans down to whisper. Your best friend might actually be special. I push him off and get up quickly looking for Adam. Yeah, he’s not here today, Dean. Supposedly he was almost hired as chairman and you know what that means, when one of us takes such a big leap forwards. I pick up my phone and get out to the stairs. I’m just telling you the truth, you don’t have to be such an asshole about it. I quickly call him. Straight to the voicemail. Damn. What is even happening? People usually exaggerate this stuff. So many were falsely accused of being soulful and had their lives ruined. Only to what then? Do nothing. They can’t even determine who has a soul or who doesn’t. They keep promoting less than stellar people to lead us because if he is capable, he might just have a soul and we don’t want that. These unremarkable, hateful, envious pieces of shit, I start kicking the wall in frustration. I need to go find Adam, I think to myself as I quickly make my way back to my desk to get my things. Where are you going? They’re looking for you, says the same colleague. In a panic, I pickup my things and run out.

Fuck this wicked world. Fuck these people. Fuck not putting any effort or being any good at something or you just might get lynched. These thoughts keep repeating in my head as I drive towards Adam’s place. I hope that moron was wrong and Adam is just out with a cold or something. Who was looking for me? Why would they want to have anything to do with me? I’m just a glorified secretary. Just as I arrive at Adam’s place I see police and a crowd gathered at his door. As I make my way towards the entrance to his apartment I hear people whisper that he is special and that they never knew they were so close to someone so dangerous. They bring Adam out and I can’t help but reach out. Is it true? Adam! He raises his head and turns around. Dean, no! I don’t know what’s happening. I haven’t done anything, I swear! Before I can say another word, I am hit over the head and fall down. I wake up later to a foul stench. Good, you are up. We have some questions about your friend. And, if you are good enough, you just might get to live and tell the tale of what happens with those that protect the soulful…

If you liked this short story and want more of it, like, share, comment and re-read it. That way, you can make sure to cast your vote for it to become the short story series for 2022. And if you want to keep the short stories free, you can always donate at https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

Hafhorn - A Forger Elf

Wake up, boy! It’s 4 AM, time for work. My head thumping with a headache as he keeps shouting. I shouldn’t have stayed up and read all night about tales of magic and miracles. And then you wonder why I’d want to leave this hell. He starts laughing. This is heaven, my boy. You wake up erry mornin’ to work and that’s how it always been for us elves. Be it dark, blood, fairy or human elf, we all work wherever we are. That’s how they respect us. We are immortal beings that can do more than anyone. Unlike dwarves that sit on the top of their mountains smoking pipe and making laws, we have to do what is needed for this world to be the way it is. I sigh as his morning routine as he likes to remind me of our ways for forever. All I hear is that you don’t know better, which makes this hell. As I put my pants on he comes grabs me by the silk shirt and pull me to his eye level. We live forever. We’re old as the dirt we step on. We know everything that ever was and we make everything that will ever be. It is a privilege no one else has. Not the goblins, not the sapiens, or any other race on this face or under it that can do what we do. He gently lets me back down. Be grateful. You could be dying fighting stupid wars or dying of old age and achieving nothing. You’re the smartest elf I met, and I can’t believe you’re also my son. So quit your yappin’ and let’s get working. We got a big one today…

Manorn, Hafhorn, y’all are late. Why do they all love screaming so much? The goblin nobility sent us a letter with a request, he says as hands it to me. Hafhorn, read it. What do they want? I sigh as my eyes gloss over the paper. They want us to make for them farming equipment. 100 plows and 100 cultivators, whatever that means. If we want the job, we need to send back word with however much gold we want for the job. They say here that if we accept, they’ll send half the gold we ask for with some nomad sapiens. Father starts laughing as he yanks the letter from my hands. Botin, what do you think? Two hundred complex machines for the goblin royalty and their settlement. How much work and gold we gonna need for this? Botin scratches his head. We’ll have to check whatever iron ore, coal and rest of the stuff we have. We might need to order some from one of the fairies and their mines. So, I’ll go check on that. Hafhorn, better be prepared to write that letter back, he says as he leaves laughing. I hate you for giving me this name. Father starts laughing. Why couldn’t you give me another name? Like Walkorn, Writhorn, Workorn, why Hafhorn? He continues to laugh. Because you’re no a Fulhorn like your grandpa used to be, and you’re not manly enough to be like your father. You’re Hafhorn, your own wonderful being. Now let’s go… We have work to do. The forges don’t light themselves up on their own.

There’s only a handful of us, fully literate elves and they call us engineers. Which means that the rest are what the dwarves call functionally illiterate. And that makes me wish I was somewhere else doing something else. Whether it would be learning magic of any kind, philosophy with the dwarves on top a mountain or roaming the earth with the sapiens, living as a nomadic species. It all feels so wasteful when you are immortal to do the same thing over and over again without an end in sight. Just as that thought flies through my brain one of the forges explodes. The screams of terrified elves echo through the forests as I rush through the trees from one for to the one that went up in flames. Under molten steel, burnt elves now died after millennia of living. Were lucky enough to escape the steel only to be cut in twain by pieces of metal flung from the furnace. They let the pressure build up too much and I had warned them about this. Botin, what happened? He looks at me. Hafhorn, you are here? Then that means your father… I look across the facility, on a wall pinned by a piece of metal through his head. Father! Botin holds me back. There’s nothing you can do! You can’t bring him back. There’s no potion that heals anything like that. I push him off. No! But there’s magic! Necromancy. I’mma learn it and I’mma bring him and those you can salvage back to life! So, don’t burry ‘em! I hate being right…

If you liked this short story, don’t forget to like, share and comment on it, as this story is part of The Pilot Program that is how you choose what will become the short story series for the year of 2022. And, if you’d like to help keep the short stories free, you can always donate at: https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

Society is EVIL - The Pilot Program 2021

Village, a one man or family endeavor. After years of plight, wars, depressions, famine and other disasters at the hand of society and its rules. Humanity chose to spread out and spread thin. Any memory of old was razed from the face of the earth. Skyscrapers, casinos, stadiums, houses, all gone, recycled for materials. This was with one goal in mind, help rebuild mother nature by carrying the burden of our sins. People left places to go find their own little places to call homes. The rich were left stranded with their worthless paper and numbers, as people were fed up with the old style of living. Yet in this world without any rules, there were some unspoken agreements between people. You could not settle and build a home, if you can see another house. You could not directly talk or help someone. If people married, they had to leave their home and find a new place to stay, unless one side of their family would leave to live somewhere else. Why? Because society is evil! A good society has no poor or homeless. A good society educates those that need education. A good society does not burden others, but let’s them help themselves and grow. This was meant to give us all that and more, as nature bloomed again.

It seems we have some settlers again, trying to settle next to us. These damn parasites. She tugs at his shirt. Will we be okay, dear? He pats her on the head. Don’t worry, dear. A family is stronger than than some dirty leeches, he says as he loads up his trebuchet and lights the projectile before firing it at the bushes and trees. I didn’t think it was necessary, but it seems like we need to order a fence. She smiles looking at him. I am so glad you said that. I order it the week we moved here, when we started building the house. He looks shocked at her. And why didn’t you tell me? She chuckles. Well, you were doing your own thing and I didn’t want to step over your toes. He goes to take her head into his big hands. I love you. He takes a look at the fence and its instructions. This fence can stretch up to the maximum allowed distance of half a kilometer from the house. Simply stick the wooden rod where you want and it will plant itself steadily into the ground. Well… This seems easy. This way they should know not to poke their heads around here anymore, greedy bastards.

As the night falls, the couple sits out on their porch, looking at their new fence with a big smile and hope in their hearts that the settlers won’t disturb them anymore, before going inside. Gruesome stories are told by nomadic families about parasitic killers that wait for villages to pop up, before they kill the host and take their place. Some speak of nomadic heroes that roam the planet in search of these parasites to exterminate them. Others call those heroes deranged vigilantes that hunt humans for sport. And even now, it shows that word travels even when people barely see each other. I am sorry. I should have put this fence the moment you became pregnant, says Etnad. She leans on him as she grips his hand tightly. All that matters is that we’re fine, says Alia. We were so lucky to find this place, says Alia. It feels like this was fate. You, this place, your pregnancy, it all feels like destiny for me, says Etnad. A knock on the door. Etnad turns around to look through the viewfinder. I need your help, please! Alia pulls on his hand and starts shaking her head. Don’t. He winks at her and takes her hand slowly off. What do you want? He shouts with the door closed and hand on a knife. I need your help, man, please. I’m dying. Etnad opens the door quickly and plunges with the knife in his heart. Serves him right, god damn parasite.

If you liked this short story and want more of it, like, share, comment and re-read it. That way, you can make sure to cast your vote for it to become the short story series for 2022. And if you want to keep the short stories free, you can always donate at https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

New Arc - The Pilot Program 2021

Tokyo

A roar that shakes the buildings is heard as the empty city echoes the HUSK. A faint alarm is heard throughout the city as he begins to stomp around looking for pray. Buildings crumble, roads crack, water bursts out, gas pipes crack and electronics light the fuse to the fire, creating explosions that envelop the husk. As the city is engulfed in flames and destruction, the ground starts to shake. With its big horns, thick yet hollow bones and with no eyes but a face full of millions of holes, the husk bashes into a skyscraper twice its size as the ground starts to shake even more. The husk stops as his bones shot up with long needles, he takes a few steps back. Silence fills the city as the sun shines and reflects into the skyscraper’s windows. As his long needles slowly lay back down, the ground stops to shake and two arms shoot up from within the building. Glass falls to the floor, the hands grip the husk’s neck. The metal screeches as it twists around the bones trying to crack the husk’s neck. Its needles popup. Some scratching the giant mech, some piercing its armor and some going through him. The dark grey mech pushes as the neck bones start to crack. As the husk tries to escape its needles has trapped him in the grips of the mech. A snap is heard as birds start to fly around and the alarm is silenced.

Another one, huh?

Yeah. It’s the fifth one this year. And we’re barely in March.

What’s the damage?

Probably into billions again.

We need to deploy it faster.

And what would you have me do? I can’t force the pilots to sleep in their ARCs. It’s a walking nuclear reactor. We were lucky it didn’t detonate when those needles pierced it!

I don’t know, but, figure it out, commander. We’ve pulled trillions into this program and all we have to show for are two prototypes and now a broken piece of junk. We’re supposed to be the country that birthed mechs.

They can kiss my ass. You can’t put a price on salvation and then complain when you get saved. The fact that we even have people capable of withstanding any of the pressure needed to pilot a mech is a miracle of proportions.

Commander Kotei. What would you have us do with the husk?

Contaminate it and if possible, bring it in. We need to examine it.

Yes, sir.

Knowing them, we’ll sell it piece by piece to the highest bidder again. We need to find out why or even how this keeps happening. Each husk more drastic than the other. Something is off here…

Commander.

Oh, Shin-san. How are you feeling?

Feeling? What’s that? He starts laughing. I lost all feeling in my body the second time I piloted that ARC Mech. He says looking down at his shaky hand.

I’m sorry for putting you through this.

Don’t apologize, commander. At least I get bragging rights for being born as someone special. He starts laughing once again.

You truly are. Since you’re the only one to survive this process. By the way, they want us to deploy you faster. Any ideas on how you’d be able to do that?

We can always try doing it without the capsule pit. It is faster.

Yes, but it’s more dangerous. And there’s always the change of losing control of the ARC. Plus, think about the strain on your body. We were lucky that this time it was a husk you took out easily. Last time you were stuck in a coma for a few months. I can’t put you in such danger. If you die, then we’re all doomed. His stare turns to a blank one as he stares right through me. By the way, Shin-san. How’s therapy?

Oh, doctor Shirazawa is wonderful. She always knows the right words to speak in a moment of need. And I’ve been doing these cool exercises to deal with the PTSD and the medication does its thing, so that’s good, I suppose, he says smiling as an explosion is heard outside and another husk appears on the horizon.

If you liked this Pilot Program short story, then don’t forget to like it, share it, re-read it a thousand times because that is how you choose which short story becomes the short story series for next year. And if you’d like to keep the short stories free, you can always donate at: https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

Colored - The Pilot Program 2021

Is it even love, if it’s predestined? I ask as my eye starts to itch. I forgot the medication again, just as I say that, I hear my mom screaming from downstairs to come get my meds. In a minute! Why does my eye color have to change now? I don’t feel ready for adult life, if anything I’m scared of it. Here’s your medication. What color do you think your eyes will turn into? Do you have any particular color? What if it turns into something like mine? Do you like it? It’s just as purple as when I met your father. God, you’re becoming a man. And what a man you’ll be. Mother’s been giddy for this ever since my eyes started to itch. Mom, please. I don’t know. I don’t feel ready. She laughs. Oh, don’t worry sweetheart. No one is ready. Food’s on the table, eat then go to school. Understood, Iro? She asks with a smile as she starts to run out the house. How do they have so much energy? Hope whoever I fall in love with is going to be a good person. The image of a bully of a woman pops into my mind as I start imagining how she’s going to kick my ass for everything I do wrong. Please turn into a good color.

Yo, Iro. I turn around to see Jim. What are you up to? Got your color yet? He always asks so smugly every day. No. He starts to chuckle. Of course not. You are not man enough. I sigh as hear these words for the nth time. Don’t get yourself bogged down by me. Once your color sets in, you’ll have many options to choose from. Isn’t that nice of them to at least still give you a choice with whom you’ll fall in love with? I want a girl that has long dark hair, mint green eyes, since mine are fuchsia and some nice legs. So many colors, so many choices and yet they say that the gods made us this way to make finding love easier. But how is this easier? So many things to keep track of and think about. He slaps me on the back. Don’t worry man. When you’ll see her, you’ll know. I turn towards him worried. How would you know that? He smiles. Because, I know. I made eye contact with someone with mint green eyes, it was pure bliss. I don’t know what it does to our brain, or how it works, but it’s fascinating. My heart starts racing and my palms get sweaty. It’s scary. And what if they’re a horrible human being? I ask as the bell rings. You’re too much of a worrywart, he says as he starts running, leaving me behind.

Each color vibes with its own set of two to four colors. While not 100% sure, scientists say that the color of your eyes doesn’t just determine your future partner in love, but also helps determine friendships, rivalries and some speculate even your social standing. Now, this does not mean you have the right to bully others or be mean to someone your color doesn’t resonate with. Once you have your determined eye color, you’re considered an adult. And adults don’t behave like that. But what if your eye color doesn’t change? And by the way, I know that the most of you are still going through the change, so, don’t worry if your eye color doesn’t change. It means you are one of the few special ones that is born with its predestined eye color. If you have any other question, I’m willing to answer them. As the professor says that my eyes start burning. I start screaming as I fall out of my chair to the ground holding my eyes. Iro, are you okay? Iro! It feels like my eyes are melting into my head. The teacher pulls my hands off my eyes. Iro. Your eyes. I haven’t seen anything like them… What are you?

If you liked this short story part of The Pilot Program 2021 short stories series, do consider to like, share, comment because that way, you decide which short story becomes the series of the next year here on Nobody the Blog. And, if you’d like to help keep the short stories free, you can do so by donating at https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO

JACK - Anthology of a Young Wizard - The Pilot Program 2021

Welcome to The Pilot Program 2021!

For those that don’t know how I choose the short stories for each year, I don’t. You do. Every year for the first eight-nine months I post one extra story part of The Pilot Program where you read, share, like and comment on the stories. The most popular becomes the short story series for the next year. The winner of last year’s The Pilot Program 2020 was The Horrorscope, and now you have the chance to choose the short story for next year. Hope you like JACK - Anthology of a Young Wizard.

You wench! You cheated on me! Taking my money and dignity! I hear a man scream. What’re you talking about? I’m just a washerwoman. The man pulls out a knife. Give me my money back! The man screams as he jumps on her. You women are but a blight on this world. The man says as he runs away. Should I have helped her? No, that’s not why I am here. What did he say? “Jack, go to London. Observe life. See the good, the bad and learn to distinguish between them. That’s how a young wizard becomes a great one, through experience.” If this is life in London, then I shall observe it and not mingle in it. The voice of another man calls out to me. You! Young man! Stop! As I turn around I see a watchman running towards me. What is it mr. Watchaman? As he gets in front of me, out of breath he pulls a rope he had tied around the stick he had on him and ties it around my hands. What are you doing? He looks at me confused as he tries to catch his breath. You… I’m arresting you… For the… You murdered that young lady. Why is this happening? But I didn’t. The man who did ran that way… He smiles. Whatever you say, young man, he says as he starts screaming like a lunatic…

The people start to gather around us as he keeps screaming. Until finally a man interrupts him. What’s the matter. Have you lost your mind? It is the middle of the night. The watchman with a smug look on his face looks at the man. I have caught a murderer, red handed. I sigh. But there is no blood on my hand. He scoffs. He killed that young woman there. Another woman comes crying. Her name was Juliana Prickfield. How could you? You monster! The man turns towards the watchman. What exactly happened? The watchman smug again. I was doing my duty, as one should. And then I hear some glass shattering, a man screaming. So, I did the only heroic thing I could do. Went and checked it out, only to find that woman there dead and him here at the scene. More people gathered. Eventually the coroner and one of the sheriffs arrive. As they explain the situation to them, I can feel the crowd’s eyes on my back, starring at me like I’m the devil. What is your name young boy? I turn towards the sheriff. Jack. I’m a wizard. The watchman quickly interrupts. See? He could’ve used magic to clean himself up… He did it. He killed miss Juliana. The sheriff turns towards her. Did you know the woman? She continues to cry. Yes. She was kind and let me live with her there…

The coroner comes back from the scene. Her throat was sliced and so was her chest, under the breast. It might’ve been a knife, a ripper, who knows, but t’was sharp. And whatever money and jewels she had, was now gone. The sheriff looks at me. Would you tell me what are you doing here, Jack the young wizard? I sigh. I was sent here to… The watchman interrupts me. I bet he stole the money, look here, in his pocket. He pulls out some money. See? The sheriff takes the money and looks at me. Continue. I take a deep breath. I was sent here to observe life and learn to be a better wizard. He looks up and down at me. You don’t look like a wizard to me. And what about the woman there? Did you kill her? I shake my head. No. The man that killed her screamed something about her being a wench that cheated him out of money and then ran that way after killing her. He sighs. And why didn’t you stop him? I look him in the eyes. Because I was sent here to observe, not interfere. The sheriff looks at me weirdly. Take him to a cell, the jurors will deal with him tomorrow. I hear a woman whisper behind me. He doesn’t look like he’s from here… Heard he used a ripper to kill the woman. Glad they caught him so fast. Another woman chimes in. Yeah, this Jack the Ripper fellow is a vile one. Hope they hang him… I sigh… So, this is life…

If you liked this short story don’t forget to like it, share it and the sorts. Because it is part of The Pilot Program 2021, where you decide the short story for the next year by views, likes and comments. And if you want to support the blog and keep the short stories free, you can always donate at: https://www.paypal.me/RaulFO