The Omniscrolls

Collecting antiques was my passion. From a young age, I was enthralled by the furniture and trinkets my grandparents showed me. These priceless items were much older than them, passed down from their grandparents and so on. My grandparents were the ones who took care of me after my parents were murdered one night when I was six. The suspect was never found, but it was believed that they were witnesses to a murder that occurred that same night, not far from where they were found—which was later revealed to be the work of a serial killer who had claimed the lives of seven others in five months. That case ran cold, and none of the victims received the justice they deserved in death. And their families, we all suffered an emptiness that would never truly heal. An even deeper void lingered within me when the last two members of my family passed away within the same week, but I was at least glad to find out that I’d have their antiques with me to remember them by. A year later, I quit my job...

I had been babysitting my nieces and nephews since I was seven years old, and now, almost a decade later, it was a part-time job I enjoyed. My favourite kid to babysit was Misha, a six-year-old girl about two hours from our house. Misha was the sweetest and most well-behaved child I had ever looked after, and it was especially amusing to see her reassure me every night that all the monsters around us were being taken care of by her parents. “They’re getting rid of all the bad ones,” she said. “So, does that mean there are good monsters out there, too?” “Yes, Mommy and Daddy say there are some that are just mischievous,” Misha said. “Just, promise me you won’t go into the basement.” “The basement?” My brows furrowed. “Yes, that’s where they locked up one that they couldn’t take care of last week. She’s awful, they say—the kind that controls your mind.” Curiosity was gnawing away at the back of my mind. Misha always seemed to have a wild imagination, but these details were too specific. ...

Just three years ago, this place was my school, its halls stretching far and wide, and its six floors reaching up to the sky; but today, it lies here upon the ground, with only two cloven pillars standing beside one another—a reminder of what we can never have again. As I walk across craters that used to be paved roads, I see my own heart reflected by the scorch marks and fissures that run deep across my homeland. I cannot imagine what could bring someone to commit such acts of destruction. The devastation and hopelessness left in their wake latch on to you and take root, and you wonder if you will ever be free from it. Will I ever be free from it? Yet even amidst the shadow that has befallen us, there still remain glints in the eyes of my younger brothers and sisters in our neighbourhood. Perhaps seeing a few of them laugh and play with one another even amidst the dark rubble that surrounds us gives me some semblance of hope. Perhaps a future to look forward to, even though the horizo...

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were uncontested, and God was all but a mere silent spectator as they wrought devastation upon many lands. Countless people were plunged into seas of suffering as plagues and wars ravaged their homes. The fewer numbers that survived were forced to flee and relocate, but the horsemen were relentless; they would not leave people in peace for long. Then emerged a being capable of undoing their carnage as the Unseen Forces of the universe sought to maintain an equilibrium—it was the Fifth Horseman. They helped humans rebuild their homes and regrow their crops, and even helped diffuse lingering tensions that dwelt in the hearts of different communities. They quelled all animosity as much as they healed all diseases, ensuring that prosperity always remained on the horizon even in the darkest of times. Enraged by this new development, the Four Horsemen turned to Heaven and Hell, seeking their counsel. Neither side wished to intervene, saying what emerges fr...

I had solved countless cases as a homicide detective, but my first serial killer case was leading me to multiple dead ends. The case stumped everyone working on it, for it seemed that the killer was always ten steps ahead. The victim count rose to double digits within two months, and we still had zero evidence. No leads, no witnesses, it was as if they were a ghost. Based on the swiftness of the execution of each kill and the subsequent cover-up of evidence, some of us speculated that it was most likely two or more people carrying out the crimes—and we especially agreed on the idea that they most likely had a background, or at least extensive knowledge, in Law Enforcement and Forensics. I asked my mother, the Chief Medical Examiner, about her thoughts on this case, and even she had no direct response. Another month passed, and the case was still leading us nowhere. At this point, our team was sidelined and the case was taken over by the higher-ups. They surprisingly showed faster resul...

While other noble children her age took great care of their appearances, Ansul danced in the rain and ran through fields, often coating her fine clothes in mud and dust. She would avoid playing with other girls her age because of their fixations; and they, too, disliked Ansul because she paid no mind to how she looked. Ansul would often spar with peasant boys and girls, who welcomed her with open arms whenever she wished to play with them. As Ansul grew older, however, her parents grew tired of this behaviour and often reprimanded her, but Ansul did not let them control her every move. She pushed forward with her free spirit and found herself sparring even with the knights of the city. One day, Ansul’s father threatened her, saying that he would give her in marriage soon if she didn’t change her ways. Ansul was defiant, but knowing how stubborn her father was, she knew he would keep his word. And so she devised a plan to ensure her freedom. That weekend, a farmer saw Ansul being led ou...

As a standup comedian, I attracted many haters as much as I did fans with my political and religious commentary. Those were topics in which I often pointed out the hypocrisies of the people in charge, who consistently masked their cruel actions with a veil of benevolence. This was something certain zealots could tolerate; they often targeted my shows and vandalised surrounding property. I’d often see messages saying I’d soon go to hell, and that I’d suffer at the hands of the devil. I found it amusing. A man who seemed relatively tame with his threats one day attended one of my shows and asked me if I truly didn’t believe in god. I said no and came up with a joke that made the entire room roar with laughter. He said I would burn in hell, and I said I’d choose hell over heaven any day with all the atrocities god would be responsible for if they existed. The man looked displeased. He got up and left without another word. I didn’t think much of the incident, but maybe I should have. Once ...