This story, like all my other stories, is copyrighted by me.
The Story of All of Us
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Jun 15, 2019
0
#7
So many great stories! Somebody needs to do a horror movie universe now
yay!!
lol
Jun 22, 2019
0
#13
Chapter 2
We both turn around. And there I am.
I - no, he - is dressed in a blue button down and brown cackies. Almost as if he’s an adult already. And he’s taller than me. Way taller. In fact, I’m pretty sure that he’s inhumanly tall.
He twiddles a gigantic pencil in his fingers. A pencil that definitely is as tall as I am. He twirls it in his fingers with no visible effort at all.
“Hello, there. I’m Aaron. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”
We both kind of look at each other before turning back at the newcomer.
“Who the hell are you?” we chorus in sync.
The young man - no, he is a man - smiles. “Well, to be more specific, I’m the Author.” He looks at us as though this explains everything.
“The Author Aaron. Catchy title.” I mutter sarcastically under my breath.
“You know, I forgot how sarcastic you were when we made you,” Author Aaron says.
“Excuse me, made?” I glare at him.
“No way. Are you, like, God?” the other other me standing next to me says. Yeesh. Sure, I’m dorky, but he’s got me beat by a mile.
The man laughs. “No. God is all-powerful, and I am anything but,”
“So what are you?” I ask. Again.
He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “I come from a plane of existence where thought and reality blend and merge together as one. Whatever I write with this pencil,” he says, giving the object a twirl, “Appears in the real world,”
“Prove it,” we chorus.
With an effortless flick of his wrist, he writes the word, “fire” with his pencil
A gigantic wall of flame suddenly appears from where he wrote the word, flying towards the two of us at top speed, the heat searingly hot.
Just as quickly, it vanishes, the Author having erased the word.
We both stare, dumbfounded by the display of impossible magic.
I recover first. “Alright, alright. Nice party trick. Fine. You got me. What do you want?”
“I need your help,” he replied, picking at his cuticles, as though what he had done didn’t just destroy the laws of physics.
“Why do you need our help? Look at yourself. We’re just normal humans.” the other me asks before I can.
The Author laughs again. “All these years, and you still believe that you’re a normal person? Really? I expected more from myself.”
Suddenly, the room has expanded and turned white.
The Author writes a word with his pencil. “Construct”.
A glitching, discolored monstrosity springs into being from where the word was written, a mess of misshapen limbs and distorted noises.
Somewhere, deep in my bones, I feel something reverberating. I know what to do.
I reach into the air, and just as the Construct reaches me, a pitch-black shovel appears out of the air. I bring it down in an arc on the monster. There’s a sick cracking sound as it hits flesh, metal, liquid, and whatever the heck else made up the monster I had made, now brought to life.
My attack pushes it back several feet. It seems to be tying to reorient itself.
My other, non-Author me makes a finger gun, and somehow, inexplicable blaster fire speed from it, pounding into the monster, pushing it further back.
I wave my hand, and effortlessly a gigantic dragon blaster appears in front of me and fires at the foe.
When the beam clears, the Construct is gone.
The room flips back to the kitchen.
“Well done, well done!” the Author says with a smile on his face, clapping his hands together. “You’re progressing even more than I thought you would!”
“Didn’t you just say that we should be doing better than we were?” my white-sweatshirt clone mutters. Apparently, he can be sarcastic, too.
The Author doesn’t hear. “There’s one more guy you need to meet. Although you might not like him.”
“I already don’t like this,” I crab.
Suddenly, a third kid in a white hoodie is standing in the room.
I know him well.
“You!” me and my clone shout in anger, rushing at him at the exact same time.
Out of nowhere, we run into the pencil in our way. “You fools,” the Author hisses, his eyes flashing menancingly. “Look closer,”
I do. It sure looks like him, but that’s my hoodie. And he’s acting… like me. Fidgety. I see where he bit off the skin of his fingers.
Despite almost being pummeled, he looks back at us apraisingly. “Aaron,” he says in a deeper voice than I remember. “Know who I am now?”
“Of course I know, you fu-“
I get whacked on the head with the writing utensil.
“Now, I need you three to WORK TOGETHER. You’re the three basic concepts that built the entire multiverse. You need each other. Understand?” The Author looks at us sternly.
I glare at my doppelgängers, but mutter a “Fine” along with them.
“That story you live out. You know what it is?” the Author questions, giving a discerning glance.
“The Story of Us” we chorus in sync.
“You - you’re the Classic.” the Author says, pointing at my white-sweatshirted self. “You’re Fell,” he continues, pointing at me.
“I’m a garbage excuse of edgy,” I mutter.
“And you’re Swap,” he finishes, pointing at the Hispanic boy with a flourish. “Got all that?”
We nod hesitantly.
“Good. Now, then. There’s a universe where you’re murdering everyone. I need you three to stop him.”
“No offense, but if you’re so powerful, A, then why don’t you do it?” my eternal enemy - sorry, the other me says. That’s what he is, after all.
“I have other things I need to do,” he says, not meeting our eyes.
“So who’s ready for an adventure?”
Well done with this
Good Job!!!
Interesting i want to see how this story goes.
Jun 29, 2019
0
#18
Chapter 3: Showdown with Killer
The Author turned around and began to draw with his pencil. Within seconds, he had created a life-sized sketch of a door.
He turned the knob, and it popped open, revealing a room on the other side. “Come on,” he said cheerfully, walking through.
After everything that had already happened, nothing could possibly top the amount of weirdness I had already experienced. I marched through first, not looking back.
We appeared in a replica of the original’s dining room, if that dining room had recently been through a hurricane, a fire, and an earthquake. Large sections of the walls and ceiling seemed to have completely vanished. All the furniture was broken. There was nobody in sight.
“Huh. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea,” the Author said, stroking his chin.
“Wait - isn’t this your fault. Why don’t you-”” I begin.
“Well, I’m off!” he interrupts cheerfully. “Best of luck! I have no doubt that you’ll succeed.”
With those encouraging words, he walks through the door, he just made. It flashes and disappears.
“How will he know when we’re done?” the Classic me asks aloud.
We all shrug and walk out of the room.
We step outside of the house to find that our street, familiar to all of us, has been completely trashed. Gigantic craters in the ground liter the sides. Half the houses on the block have caved in, their roofs collapsing. Broken glass litters the streets.
“I did this?” the swapped me asks.
“Technically, I did it,” Classic says pompously.
“I’m the most powerful one here, so both of you shut-” I start.
“Wanna test that?” my two companions say at the same time, turning to me, their eyes oddly flipped into the backs of their heads.
Before I can think of a witty reply, there’s footsteps.
Someone else is here.
Quickly, my two friends back off and face towards the direction of the newcomer, who stands in front of us a dozen feet away.
His hood is up. His white sweatshirt and jeans are streaked in something dark… and red. He stands there with his hands in his pockets, face hidden in shadow.
“Who the hell are you three?”
Holy crap, his voice. It’s so like mine, and yet so… not. It sounds evil.
None of us reply.
“I made sure everyone here was dead. And yet… here I see three people, very much alive.” he mutters to himself.
“And I thought I was insane,” says Classic.
“Well, I guess I have to finish the job, then,” he says. And he takes off his hood.
My face, which had always been round and tan whenever I saw it in the mirror, was now sallow and pale. And his eyes… there was a dementia in them that I’d never even known was possible.
He grins. It looks absolutely hideous.
“Bye,”
A blood-encrusted ruler appears in his hand. He throws it, and it inexplicably flies towards us with the deadliness of a knife.
I pull out my own and swing it through the air, deflecting it and sending it spinning of to the side.
He flexes his fingers, and it flies back into his hand.
“An actual challenge. This should be fun,” he muses to himself.
A dozen Gasterblasters appear behind him.
Swap flicks his hands, and I feel reality itself beginning to distort under his touch, the air in front of us melding together.
The Gasterblasters fire as one. They hit the disturbance in space in front of us, and oddly begin to slow down, until the beams are moving so slow, it looks like they’re standing still.
Classic grabs his soul and turns it blue, and I know what he needs me to do. Just as gravity drags our enemy towards us, I summon a wave of pizzas, each of them slamming into Killer for maximum damage.
He gets up and angrily stamps his foot, and I can feel the air that Swap is manipulating about to turn back to normal.
We duck under the wave of energy above us. Suddenly, there’s blaster fire underneath the beams overhead. Blaster fire from a peashooter.
One glances off my skin. It feels like someone pressed hot metal against me.
I see Swap get hit with several. He collapses to the ground and stops moving, just as the beam overhead dies.
Classic yells in fury and throws out his hand.
A tiny strand of grey substance seeps towards him. A Killer’s soul.
He charges forward and swings his blood-encrusted shovel. I send a wave of microphones and Tattletails, and he gets buried underneath a pile of metal five feet high.
In almost an instant, it explodes around him, and he charges at Classic, still coaxing out pieces of his soul.
In a panic, I summon a Gasterblaster directly in front my ally.
It fires.
Killer stays in the beam, knocks it aside with the shovel, and brings it down on Classic.
He collapses.
He turns and looks at me. And laughs.
That’s it. I’m done.
I can’t exactly remember what happened next. Next thing I know, he’s kneeling in front of me, held in place by my magic. There’s a trickle of blood leaking from the side of his head.
“Go on then. Do it.” he says, chuckling. “Prove that you’re just as bad as I am!”
I’m right about to when suddenly, the sketchy outline of a door appears next to me and opens.
The Author steps through, completely unperturbed at being in a gigantic wasteland.
He writes something with his pencil. “Revive.”
Classic and Swap stand up, looking completely unharmed, if a little bit dazed.
He writes another word. “Capture.” And Killler begins to flicker out and vanish.
“Look, Fell. I like you a lot. I’m willing to let you do a lot of different things. But killing? Killing is wrong. It stains your soul forever. I’m not going to let you do that.”
“Have you ever killed?” I stare at the Author.
He pretends not to hear me, instead focusing on drawing another door. “You guys have done well. Here, come on. I know a place that we can stay,”
The door opens automatically, and my three companions step through.
I look at the spot where the other me was for just a moment, and then follow them through into a white void.
Chapter 1
I ran my hands under the bathroom sink, dried them off on the towel, and stepped outside.
And there he was. Sitting at the kitchen table, wearing my white sweatshirt, playing downloaded games on my piece-of-garbage computer.
Me.
I have to admit, I look a whole lot better here. Less acne on my face. Less darkness in my eyes. Sure, he looks like me, but he acts like a whole different person.
“Hey,” I say intelligently.
He turns and looks at me, his expression contorting wildly in surprise as he sees me.
“Who the hell are you?” he asks.
“This is a little hard to explain, but… I’m you.”
I laugh. Sorry, he laughs. “Haha. Alright. Prove it.”
“The only reason you even care about either Quora or Hamilton is because of her.”
He winces as though I’ve just slapped him in the face. I can relate. That was me not too long ago.
“But… but how…” he stammers.
I take a deep breath. “I’m guessing you like Undertale? All those AUs and stuff? Yeah. It’s real. In our world.”
“Whelp. Alright then.” He turns and starts clicking away at his computer again.
“You’re certainly taking this a lot better than I did,” I said, pulling up a chair and sitting next to him.
“Oh, I feel like my head is splitting apart,” he says. “But you know how these games are. Once you start, you have to see it through.”
With a final click, the boss on the screen implodes. “Anyways, the rest of the family is coming back soon, so we’re going to have to figure out what do with you by then.”
“You won’t need to worry about that,” says a voice behind me.