One time I was spectating this dodgeball game. It was good at first, but there were these two older kids playing. And I’m just over in the corner watching. But anyway they were clearly brothers, but they must’ve taken drama in school or something because they started a scene ALL over the floor.

The kid’s brother got hit with a dodgeball and so obviously he has to leave. But he kinda dramatically faints to the floor....

Yeah he just did a fake fall and started overreacting the whole thing. The brother runs up to him, gets to his knees, and holds his head in his arms like it’s some kind of Romeo and Juliet story.

And they start saying stuff like “I’m sorry brother! I should’ve been there for you! I WILL AVENGE YOU!!!”

And then the guy who got hit says something like “NO! IT WAS ALL MY FAULT! I SHOULD”VE SEEN THAT KID COMING!”

And I’m just over in the corner like “What!? I came here to watch some kids get hit in the face with balls! I didn’t pay to see some teenager and his brother making a whole Romance story on the floor!”

So I’m just waiting for them to shut up, but they KEEP GOING

There was a constant paste of “OMG I’m soooo sorry!” And I’m just staring at them. Of course the other kids playing are getting annoyed so they start Aerial attacking them with dodgeballs! Like seriously, every single person in the game was targeting this guy and his “poor wounded brother.” They start to get upset and yell at the kids. And I mean duh, no one wants to see some guy and his sibling making out on the floor of a DODGEBALL GAME.

So again I’m just staring as they fight. And I got mad at myself cause I didn’t record it. But anyway that was weird. So yeah, if you ever see some 17 year old guy doing a tragic loss scene on the ground during a dodgeball game, please, film it!

The door gently closed behind me. I slipped across the room silent in my stocking feet. He lay with his head down upon the desk, soundly sleeping, pencil still poised in his hand. The candle beside him was burning halfway down. Do I dare blow it out? No, I cannot give myself away. The pencil was there, but his papers where gone. What had he done with them? I needed to find them. It was the only way I would know what he was thinking, what he was going to do. I looked around. There was a padlock upon the second drawer of the desk. That settled it. No need to creak open the others. I yanked the lock half-heartedly. It gave way.

One day, this kid brought a cat home, because they apparently have enough money to go ahead and buy a cat.

Anyways, the kid brought the cat home, and the mom was working. The mom saw the cat, and suddenly stopped working. Yeah, she froze, just like a computer! Suddenly, the mom started sneezing like crazy!

"I'm allergic to cats!" the mom yelled.

"How catastrophioc," the kid replied.

"Where did you get that cat?" the mom demanded.

"Somewhere in the space-time continuum," the kid said calmly.

"Well, put it pack in the space-time continuum," the mom ordered.

"Okay," the kid agreed, before dropping the cat on the floor.

"Wh-What are you doing?" the mom asked. "I told you to put the cat back in the space-time continuum!"

The kid chuckled. "Our house is in the space-time continuum," they said.

Then the mom fanited. Just like that! With no warning! For no reason! I mean, it's not like they were exposed to allergies or strong emotions.

This story was inspired by the Reedsy.com prompt "Write a story that begins with someone's popsicle melting."

https://blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts/faq/blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts

*There was a man named Hugh from another world, who came to the Earth to defeat evil. He created a network of heroes all over the Earth, bound by crime fighting technology. This is a story of one of those heroes*

Today I started my day at a park, and I bought 50 other people popsicles. We were enjoying our popsicles when we felt a whoosh, and all of a sudden all of our popsicles had melted. I looked up and saw a floating man with red body armor and an orange helmet. A menacing voice generated from the orange helmet.

"Jirk! You took my joy from me when I was little! Now I am going to hurt everyone here! All of the pain here will be due to the pain you inflicted on me as a child!"

Looks like we need to get some backstory in for context. As you probably guessed, my name is Jirk. When I was a kid I would pick on others just for fun. I was always very strong, and I loved tormenting those that were weaker than me. I can't count how many kids I stuffed in lockers, kids I stole lunches from, kids I hit for no reason, kids I threw food at - I could unfortunately do this all day. When I turned 17 I was walking home from a convenience store run, when I noticed a lanky, nervous looking fellow about to walk past me. He was eating a hot dog. "This could be fun." I thought.

"Hey man, is that a grounded hot dog?" I asked.

"What is a grounded hot dog?" The awkward guy stammered.

"LET ME SHOW YOU!" I yelled, gleefully charging at him, ready to send him and his snack flying. Before I could reach him, he stepped aside, and I tripped and landed on the sidewalk. I looked his way and a dark helmet appeared in his hand. Awkward guy put on the helmet, and then he was fully covered in body armor. A confident voice came from the dark helmet.

"So what is a grounded hot dog again? Not going to show me after all?"

I was speechless, which was out of character for me. I was usually quick to hurl out an insult, but this time, I had nothing.

"You have been bullying others, and finding a sick joy from it. Should I show you how it feels? I am far stronger than you, would you like to see how it feels to be weak and tormented?"

I braced myself for what was next. I no doubt deserved what I was going to get, but what happened next surprised me.

The armored figure reached out a hand to me. I accepted the hand and stood up.

"You don't have to live this way anymore Jirk. I can show you a better way to use your strength. I can even make you stronger."

"How do you know my name?" I asked, a bit taken back.

"I have been watching you. We could use you in our network. With your natural abilities, you could help make this world better through heroics, instead of making it worse through bullying."

I felt overwhelmed. I could have been beaten to a pulp, but this non-awkward guy was showing me mercy. I was inspired by his kindness, and I suddenly wanted to be just like him. So since this is supposed to be a short story, I will make a long story short. He ultimately gave me the same kind of armor generating helmet, which generated the same kind of body armor in my size. He trained me to join their ranks, and I abandoned my bullying. Now I am in my 30s, I help others that are being bullied, and I teach anyone that will listen that there is a better way to live.

Back to the current situation, I looked up at the menacing orange helmet guy floating in the air. So apparently this guy was a victim from my past. What did I do to him? Did I create this foe from my mistakes?

"What do you want?" I called out, surveying the crowd and our melted popsicles. "I will take responsibility for whatever I may have done to you. But leave these people out of it. Don't be the monster I once was."

"Too late!" Orange Helmet guy said. "I am this way because of what you did to me! You ran up to me when I was 8 years old, and you knocked my popsicle out of my hand! You laughed in my face, then ran away!"

I shivered at this revelation. I don't remember all of my sins, but I definitely remember this one. I have been doing hero work for the past 15 years to atone for my past, but unfortunately there was damage I left from that life. Maybe I can change this life I ruined?

"I melted popsicles with this device!" Orange Helmet said, holding a remote in his right hand. "Now let's see what melts when I dial this up and use more power!"

"NO, DON'T!" I shrieked, putting on my dark helmet and gaining my armor. I had to stop this guy from doing any more damage, not just to popsicles or people, but to his own life. He was going to make a move that would only hurt himself in the end. My helmet and armor also hold weapons, and I can summon things like a laser gun, a sword that can become a laser sword, even a couple of grenades. Pulling a weapon might aggravate this situation though. I decided to try something else. I lept up at him and wrapped my arms around him. Locked in a bear hug, he wasn't going to be able to effectively use the remote. We both drifted down to the ground.

"I did some horrible things to others, including you." I told the man. "I wish I could take them all back and undo all the damage I did, but I can't change the past. I can only do things differently now. Tell me, have you hurt anyone else with your tech you have here?"

"No, this was my very first scheme." Orange Helmet said. "I never forgot your face, and heard of your heroics. I spent years planning this, and I wanted to take you down in a similar way that you took down my popsicle. I was going to hurt these people, and you. I would have been no different than you were. But you stopped your wicked deeds. I want to stop mine before it is too late."

I let him go, hoping he wasn't going to pull a fast one on me. Orange Helmet dropped his remote and crushed it with his foot. He then took off his helmet and dropped it to the ground.

"Thank you." I told him. "And I'm sorry. I can't change what I did back then. And this won't change that either. But could I perhaps buy you a new popsicle?"

The man smiled. "Only if I can buy one for all these people here."

"Deal!" I told him, shaking his hand. And as the cold melted from one heart, we all enjoyed popsicles after that. And none of them melted. It is never too late to change, or enjoy a popsicle....

Everyone experiences grief differently. Some eventually get over their grief and move on. Others continue to feel grief. Unfortunately, I was one of those 'others'. You see, when I was 8, I grew up with a happy, healthy childhood like many boys. I had the grades that allowed me to pass junior school, I had a hopeless crush and I was a teacher’s pet. Of course, unaware that my mother, who was dying of Cancer and my father who was having a money issue. Therefore, we could not treat mother.

I knew something was off with her, watching as her life was sucked away, day after day, hour after hour. But...they always told me that they were fine, that we were all fine. That they didn't need help. I believed them... I was such a naive child. Oh, why did I have to be such a naive child?! Why couldn't I just figure out just how much trouble we were in. Why couldn't someone tell me. Well... I understood why they didn't. They didn't want my childhood to ruined at such a young age, but it was...

When I was 14, mother had passed. I was beginning to fail my classes at school and became a huge introvert. I lost all my friends and lost interests. I didn't speak much.

A year later, father had followed mother's path. He finally got a promotion at work and went out to drink. But he himself must've been going through his own grief, most likely about mother. He made a bad decision and decided to drive home.

He didn't come home that night.

The next morning, my Grandmother got a call. Father had died in a car crash. They said something about the breaks not working and eventually while trying to avoid another car, he swerved out of control. But I saw the look in his eyes this morning. Despite the smile on his lips and the confident 'Good bye! Have a good day,' his eyes held an empty look. He looked so far away. I was scared he would've gotten further away if I were to let him leave, but I didn't think that if he were to walk out the door, he wouldn't come back.

After his death, my grandmother had taken me to many counsellors, to many mental health support groups, but none had done me any good. Grandmother's old age had soon caught up to her and she found herself to be in her death bed and currently, she still laid there.

I had my fair share of going in and out of hospitals, and the number of scars on my wrists and other parts of my body only increased. I didn't want to be here anymore. The sense of hopelessness and sorrow being way too much for me to take.

At this moment, I stood on our town's only bridge, just on the edge. It was almost midnight and not a single person was out at this time. The chilly breeze blew my curly shoulder length hair around my face, stubble grew along my chin and I was barely wearing clothing that could keep me warm in some way. The water beneath me was deep but if something...or someone were to fall in a certain place, they may hit the many sharp rocks below the water's surface.

Tears fell from my eyes like waterfalls. Turning my attention up to skies above, I allowed my eyes to wander over the stars, the far away worlds that may or may not have been discovered. Oh, how I wished I lived on another planet. There was nothing for me here. What was the good of living if I couldn't enjoy it? If I couldn't be around or even talk to those who I loved. Why even love? There was no point. Everyone who I loved always died anyway.

I had been told by many to never cry. I was a man Afterall. But if I must, if I must let out all that build up sadness and frustration, I were to do it silently, away from everyone. So away from everyone I went. To the bridge. I had heard many stories of this bridge as a child. Many in which all involved monsters. One in particular which I wished come true. It was a story for children who misbehave. It was told that a troll will crawl out, grab you with its dirty, yellow finger nails, and drag you back underneath. You would never be seen again. Why didn't the troll ever come for me? Was I that well behaved? I doubt it. I had my moments like any boy.

I let out a sob as I closed my eyes, tilting my chin back down towards the untrustworthy, wooden floorboards that creaked underneath any sort of weight. Tonight, is when my plan takes place, to leave reality and join all those who I loved. It was selfish for those who knew me, but if that’s what it meant, then I guess I was selfish. Opening my eyes, I face the flowing water underneath me. If the water didn't do as I planned, then I wouldn't know what to do.

Walking towards the very edge, I sigh. "I'm sorry everyone. But this life isn't for me. Forgive me..." I whispered those last two words as I took another step. But I was stopped. I couldn't go any further. In fact, something... No. Someone was holding me back.

Something pulled at my waist and when I looked down, very thin arms had wrapped themselves around my waist, pulling me back. Whipping my head around, I saw a girl. She was quite familiar and it took a few seconds for it to click. I had found this girl a few weeks back sitting in the park by herself. Her parents had divorced, one having a drug addiction, the other having cheated. I had bought her ice cream that day and a week later, I did again. Despite her situation, she was always so positive and I envied that. I washed I could go back to my childhood days where I was so naive, so happy and still living a life as I should be. What was her name? Eve? Evie? I think she told me to call her either one last time I saw her.

"Don't leave me. Don't leave me like they did." She cried into my back, her hands around my waist bunching up the materials. I had frozen at her words. The lump in my throat was growing. She was meaning her parents. Their love for their child long lost and too focused on their new lives which has led to bad choices.

Sniffles and sobs where heard and I could feel the tear stain on the back of my thin shirt. This was enough to make me crack. I let out a cry, allowing the tears to continue falling further and my throat to grow sore. Quickly, I spun around, wrapping my arms around her small figure. "I'm sorry! Forgive me!" I cried into her shoulder. I wanted to just scream at the world.

As long as this girl kept that happy smile on her face, I would try my best at getting through this. I would not give up, for this girl's sake. Life wasn't fair, nor was it on my side at any part of my life. But I guess it decided I needed a little light to help with the journey through that never-ending dark tunnel. To light the rest of the way and to tell me that there was hope for the both of us.

I pace back and forth, unable to settle my thoughts or my stomach. My erratic diet lately, brought on by lack of food and abundance of nerves, has not helped my mood.

So it’s probably pretty poor timing that John Castor walks in then. We’re in what used to be a McDonald’s, the bricks on the exterior stained with dirt and blood and memories, the interior in shambles. But it’s usable, for a temporary headquarters at least. And at this point, everything’s temporary. Including John. Including Kirkland.

Including me.

“News?” I ask, without waiting for a greeting.

He looks nervous, I note, his thin mouth in a thin straight line, his eyes darting skittishly around the room. I pick carelessly at the dirt under my nails. “Yes, sir. News, yes, of course there’s news. Isn’t there always news?” He chuckles mirthlessly, sounding more terrified than anything.

I flick my gaze to him, unamused. I keep my tone even, my voice dangerously calm. “Yes, Castor, there is always news. My question, however, was pertaining to the news today. I wonder if you could inform me? Your job is, after all, to inform.”

“Of course, sir. Sorry, sir. It’s only- I don’t think you’ll like this news very much…”

“Spit it out,” I snap.

“Emery Garridan is dead.”

I freeze, my hands gripping each other, no longer casual in the way my fingernails click click click against each other. “What did you just say?”

“Emery Garridan. The one impersonating Leila Espion. Kirkland’s friend. She’s dead.”

“Who killed her? How do you know this?”

“I…” He pauses, takes a breath. Clearly bracing himself for something. “It was me,” he mumbles, as fast as he can.

“Come again?” I say, though I heard him perfectly clearly. I just want him to own up to it. He can’t get away with as weak a confession as that.

“It was me,” he says, more loudly. “I mean it wasn’t me personally… but it was my fault.”

He pauses, clearly waiting for a response. I don’t give him one. Silence, I have always found, is the best way to keep someone talking. Some facet of human nature causes them to always want to fill the silence, to continue talking, because somehow, the quiet is unbearable. I got over my own fear of the silence long ago. Immunity to its tricks is a necessary trait to have when you’re in a position such as mine.

Castor does not disappoint. “It was while I was working with Kirkland… well, ‘working with-’” he makes air quotes with his fingers- “Obviously I’m not actually working with them- I’m working with you- but while I was with- with him. Them. And she was up there talking with him. Garridan and Kirkland. Well, the group overheard… She was bragging, y’know, and putting ‘em down, bein’ real cocky, and I can’t stand for that- Well neither could they, y’know? I mean they were already real mad, I didn’t really do too much… Just kinda… didn’t stop ’em… Anyway, it was Monique that actually did it. She stabbed her. Right here.” He touches his chest. “Must’ve got her through the heart.”

I remain quiet.

“I mean it’s probably good, anyway, isn’t it? Tear ’em apart from the inside out? What we have to do is tip off Kirkland that it was the ones in the group that did it.” He’s clearly devising his strategy as he talks, gaining confidence as he does so, but it’s not a bad plan. Not that I’m going to tell him that just yet. I let him keep talking. “Y’know, none of them will realize that Monique or I were involved in any way. They’ll think it was their own, the older ones that they’re working with. If we let them think that- if they start fighting against each other- then we can swoop in and end ’em real easy. We just gotta tip off Kirkland first, that it was them that did it.”

I’m silent another several moments, and now so is he. He’s obviously exhausted his need for mindless rambling. That or he’s forcing himself to shut up before he can say something that might anger me. When it’s clear he’s not going to say anything else, I say, “Garridan was my spy. Mine. You don’t get to go around dictating to others who to kill. Only I can do that.

“You have no idea what I went through to have Leila taken hostage and turning Emery into her as quickly as I did. And now you tell me my most trusted person is dead! I should end your life right now and be done with you.” These words are said with a steely look in Banks' eyes. “I no longer have anyone close to Kirkland to be my eyes and ears, thanks to you and Monique.”

He nods, petrified.

I let my gaze penetrate him another moment, amused at his fear, before letting myself break into a slow smile. “That being said… not a bad idea, Castor. Not bad at all. Tear them apart from the inside. Anything to weaken them.”

He smiles weakly, though no less genuinely or gratefully.

“But,” I continue, more sharply, and his smile fades, “next time you consult me, understood? I no longer have an insider close to Kirkland.”

Castor interrupts me. “Ah—Monique and I were talking and wondering if maybe, well, you know, if maybe Brewster could be a good—”

I ignore this, cutting him off. “Yes, I have you and Monique, but can I really trust you now? And neither of you are as close to Kirkland as Garridan was, anyway. For this, you will pay, Castor. You and Monique will not go unpunished.” I pause, letting it sink in. “As for Brewster, maybe, but I have other thoughts right now.

“But don’t worry. You’ll live.” I smile again, hoping to convey that I mean it. I need him to trust me. To not be too terrified of me. Yes, fear is a weapon, a defense mechanism, and a leadership strategy, but too much of a good thing… Well, you know what they say. “For now- you may leave. I will talk to you and Monique later to discuss your punishment.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Castor seems only too eager to leave.

*****

Perhaps I won’t even punish them at all. It would be preferred if they trusted me; more than that, if they genuinely liked me, maybe even cared about me. I must carefully construct the relationship I want to have with my associates, and I haven’t decided yet what that relationship will be- either keep them in constant fear, too terrified to disobey, or let them wrap themselves around my finger, so that they’ll do whatever I say out of trust. A mixture of both, perhaps? But we’ll see. I tell myself that there’s plenty of time, and then I scoff at myself.

Plenty of time, moving too quickly. Plenty of sand, but the hole in the hourglass was cut too large, and the sand is slipping through faster than I can predict.

How much more time before Kirkland’s forces grow stronger? How much time before the climate becomes unlivable, before we run out of food or water or other resources? How much time before the air becomes dry, the already-red sun clouds completely over with smoke, the oceans rise enough to choke us all? Before this world of bone and ash, this city of weary eyes and eyes too wary to be weary turns to a world of ashen bone, a city of eyes glazed over and unable to see anything at all?

How much time before death?

*****

I force myself to shake off the thoughts. There are more immediate and pressing matters at hand.

I walk past what used to be the take-out area and head for a metal door. Reaching into my pants pocket, I extract a key to unlock a cross bar so I can open the door to a now useless walk-in.

Stepping inside, I peer intently at the person huddled along the wall. Dried blood from a gash above her right eye, a black eye, broken nose.

But the person stares back at me with a seething hatred and I know if this one were to ever get free, my life could very well end. But that isn’t going to happen. I’m smarter and faster than her.

“Leila Espion, we have a problem, and you have now become a liability instead of a hostage.”

She responds with her usual fire. “Then quit talking about it and get it over with. We both know none of us have long to live if we don’t have the resources we need to survive. And that is what Bryan is trying to do. Why be the way you are when you could help us?”

“Help you? Why should I help anyone other than myself? I say let Kirkland get things in order and then destroy him and all those who circled the wagons with him. Then just take it all. That’s control, Leila, pure and simple. From there, I will take over whatever else remains of this beaten world and call it all my own.”

“You’re a madman, Banks. Three world powers tried that and look what happened. Damn near a complete genocide. You’ll never get away with it. Someone else will come along and take it all away from you and then you’ll be at ground zero.”

“Enough,” I say quietly. Quietly, with an edge that cuts like a knife. “I came here to tell you that in the morning you will be executed, and your remains buried to never be found.”

I turn to leave but pause for a moment, and without turning to face Leila, say, “That is, unless you swear your loyalty to me.”

Leila sits there, stunned by my words.

And the metal door bangs closed and the lock is put back in its place.

you offered a hand-

and i took it

but that hand

was the same one

that threw me away

you opened your

arms

wrapped me

in your loving

embrace

but that same

embrace would

smother

me and

those same arms

pushed me away

from you

you offered me a smile

drew me in

it radiated

warmth and light

but the teeth

inside that smile

ripped apart

every word

i said

and that same

mouth spit

me out

like i didn’t

deserve to

exist

you showed me

your soul

opened up for me

turns out that

isn’t what i

wanted

after

all

im dragging my feet

hoping to leave tracks

in this life

so that someone can follow

my footsteps

but i stumble

and fall

too pre-occupied with living after death

that i have forgotten to live now.