In a post apocalyptic future, humanity is finally beginning to rebuild. Most societies read books that had survived to pass the time and have entertainment, but almost all religious text has been destroyed. However, one seemingly religious text remains- the collected work of H. P. Lovecraft.

I knew of the great mysteries of the universe but had no knowledge of their actual description. I searched in fiction and non-fiction for answers about the origin of humanity and the future of our souls. My quest led me to the strangest books known to man, ones created by a man named Lovecraft. In his stories, there were explanations for the forces of evil that work in men’s hearts. The crawling chaos led us through occult channels to our ultimate home in the bosom of Cthulhu and the other space gods that came to earth. In the quiet of the ocean sleeps Cthulhu, ready to be awakened by the most devout followers.

I etched a notch into the wall of my cell marking another day of detainment for my theft of some bread in the local bakery. I was sentenced to fifteen days in the local jail and a fine of fifty drooples for my crime. There were no services for homeless wanderers, with no income and no way to get food for themselves. The government was not responsible for the life of any man. I guess we as a society hadn’t reached that point again since the meteor fell and destroyed most of humanity.

A man was in my other cell. I could hear him use the toilet and attempted to talk to him. I asked how long his stay would be, and only got a grunt out of him. After taking another nap and awaking quite bored, I asked if he had heard of the latest Lovecraftian movement. This finally made him speak.

“I’ve heard of it. We don’t need religion anymore. They’re a bunch of kooks,” he said. “I heard Lovecraft’s books were science fiction, anyway. Not to be taken literally, if you know what I mean.”

“But haven’t you heard of Cthulhu who sleeps in the ocean?” I asked him, incredulous of what he said.

“It’s fiction. He wasn’t trying to start a religion,” the man said from the other cell. His voice was echoing from the hallway connecting us. “Haven’t you heard of Nyarlathotep? He couldn’t have existed as he is said to. None of the Gods could have. It’s just a mythos Lovecraft created to scare people back in the day.”

I had never even considered that Lovecraft’s work could be fiction. I told him of all the stories I read about and he told me each one of them was kind of horror that Lovecraft practiced. It was supernatural horror, not to be mistaken for holy works. After hours of discussion, I could barely support any further arguments the work was religious. The man in the other cell was winning.

“But there is one thing I have seen before, which is worth mentioning,” the man said. “There is a statue figurine mentioned in one of his stories. If you find that, there may be something to the myth. If the statue exists, the mythos could be real.”

I thought that I must seek the statue in order to confirm my faith. But first, I had to get out of jail. Praise Cthulhu, help me.


Incomplete posts

You ¬†might have noticed a few incomplete stories I posted. I’m trying to adjust the blog’s focus to first-draft and preliminary writing. I certainly want to improve continue these works someday, but for now, it’s all about getting the words out. I have been lulling in my updates recently, but will continue soon. I might be posting more incomplete stories in the future. The focus will be on planning and development more than complete stories.

You are the last remaining master of Deja Fu, the only martial art that manipulates time, and you must now use your unique skills to save the world.

He remembered it happening precisely like this. Yes, the bridge falling, then the cars coming over the edge of where it broke, and that mother. Where had I seen that face before? Her resurfacing with her baby, struggling to get to the island. Was it from a movie or a dream?

This happened to me more than once before I realize my talent at the martial art of Deja Vu. What was actually happening was I was mind melding with my future self, who was visiting during those times. When I was knowledgeable enough to control my Deja Vu, the power grew immensely in usefulness. I could double or triple my strength by repeating an action at the same time from separate timelines. I could work on math problems that took mathematicians months overnight by using time travel. I felt Deja Vu the entire time, and had to manipulate the sensation to stay in the past. I had to maintain its disorienting feel, which required immense amounts of focus.

I was the only man of my caliber at performing Deja Vu when the rapture came. I would be the man who went to every conceivable future for every living person, and individually save their souls. I would visit them on the last moments of their death and spawn a Deja Vu so powerful as to lead them into the afterlife with a clean conscience. I saved the world from going to hell, and saved myself by going to the future end of humanity and cloning myself.

All in a

Earth is one of the only planets that harbors life forms that require water to survive. Everywhere else, water is considered an extremely volatile fuel source, similar to gasoline on Earth; aliens are both fascinated and appalled by the toxic environment within which life on Earth evolved

Edge surfing was the sport-of-the-planet to the visiting aliens. When exposed to water, their bodies turn it into steam which at the touch of the aliens. They could jump in the ocean and live from inhaling the bubbles while steaming their way all the way to the bottom. The higher pressures were even more explosive, but it became dangerous for the alien. They could then jet around underwater and form their cities.

The suits they used to live underwater protected them from the chemicals found in steam. It clung like a second skin to the aliens bodies. With pressurized water, they could trigger explosions underwater or on dry land that rivaled human missile systems.


You are working the graveyard shift as a security guard. Everything seems fine until you notice that things are happening on the cameras before they do in real life.

On the CCTV was something entirely different than what was happening. The man they were seizing was pointing a gun at both of them on the screen, but in reality he was fixing a mainframe in office 113B. The camera was deemed to have been tampered with. The man was detained and questioned over and over again about what he had done to the cameras. He denied everything, and was quite shocked to see himself holding the two men hostage on the security camera feed.


As an average looking genius with a weak physique you often envied athletes. After thousands of years spent in a cryogenics pod you are woken to discover that evolution has weakened humanity while IQ improved. You’re now the strongest most attractive person, but also the dumbest.

In the arms of the ID wing, I saw doctors above me observing and smiling. They waved to us and could poke their heads through little windows to wish us well. They were so… entertaining. They were animated in their offices too, a few of whom we could see. The could host a crowd of 10 or 15 and talk to them all at once. All of the other people could do this. Groups would assemble and scatter as quickly as they had started. Further down were the drab walls, covered in patients’ drawings. I looked down at my differential equation they had offered me. They knew I was intelligent, but I couldn’t get it across that I needed out.

The classes were intense. We were exposed to very loud megaphones which gathered all of the psychotics, me included, into a single file line. The difficulty of this with psychotics is nearly insurmountable. We were led to classrooms led by thin military men about the basics of communication and human contact. Then, we were meant to trade classes, sticking with the original classmates. This time was a frenzy where patients switched up their classes and went to whatever pleased them, causing more than an uproar. Then, we had to take role call and have all the misplaced ones put back into the right places. This took forever and I nearly lost my mind, always being in the correct class.

When we ate, the food was a very uncommon variety I had never been exposed to. It was tremendously difficult to eat at first, because it moved. Once you got over the wiggling and jiggling, hunger wins over and you’re forced to eat. I was shoveled after meal into the mess hall where we were meant to be interviewed by nurses passing through. I was asked to solve another differential equation for a pair from New Zealand. They said they thought I must have the ability required for life outside the hospital. The nurse informed them I was one of the least intelligent human beings known. I gasped in protest but I couldn’t yet speak their language. Yes, I realize it would be a good thing to do, but when they talk to me I seem to understand in my head. It takes away the incentive for learning their actual speech.

I was nestled in the very heart of the psychiatric hospital, prized for my outstanding physique. There were exercises of strength that would show off my amazing new abilities. I would almost say my science was worth it except for the eerie feeling I feel like a zoo animal. I’m massive compared to the other people in the hospital. I can kick a ball further than they’ve seen one ever kicked. I go outside where the sun is more orange than I remember and use a motorized parasail to take visitors on trips up in the sky. But there is one thing that is always on my mind. The shape of the future people’s arms is odd. It just seems off by a little bit, but there seems to be a flap of skin behind their shoulder. It’s hard to notice, but I was noticing it more and more until I decided to ask.

“We’re being genetically modified into birds, Samson. The human race will fly once more. And guess what?” He always wanted a response from me if he continued talking.

“What, sir?”

“We’re going to be smaller than ever. That’s going to make you extra huge. Can you imagine your constraints compared to us when we make it to bird size?”

“What, you really think I’m going to let you keep me in here when you’re birds?”

He detached his laser link and started laughing. The translation came through in my head, Bad Samson, Bad, but he was gibbering at twice the normal rate. Who knows what he was really saying. Probably some sort of scientific information for the nurse.