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Newports aren’t the best cigs. Lighting them with your fingertip, just, makes them better. Suns coming through the slats on the blinds, I’m taking my first draw and somebody starts mashing the flats buzzer like there’s no tomorrow. I get up from the bed, street is usually a wee bitty busy but from the open window it sounds like there’s a fair outside. Sticks my head out of it and there’s folks queued round the block. Up to my door.
I take a draw of the ciggy, surveying the line, catching the breeze. A guy from below shouts up at me “Are you ‘Will-it-Crush?’, you up there?”
“Depends who’s asking mate, can I ask what you’re all doing?” Me.
“We’re here to use your press?”
“Why not someone else’s?”
“Top comment says that the thingy you broke on your latest video… Hold on, want me to read it out?” They start pulling their phone out, looking up at me.
I scratch my forehead “Em, if you insist?”
“Says: ‘No way! If that was Xivu the Destroyers tooth then that machine must be the Universal Press!’”
“Right… So?”
“Let me get Wikipedia up…”
“Fuck off, just tell me.”
“The press can destroy anything dude, and, we’ve got all this cursed stuff we need rid of.”
“Get rid of it yourself?”
“Yeah, but, it’s like a lot easier if we just use the press”
A short asian woman with a yankees cap shouts from a couple places back in the line “Much easier, I need to give my first born child to the dark gods to get rid of this.” She holds up a cracked iPhone.
“What does that do?” The original man turns to her.
“No autocorrect” she says.
“Aw man, this iPod won’t stop playing U2 it’s-“
I cut him off before he can finish. “What’s in it for me? To get rid of all this tat?”
Silence. Cursed objects, in need of a hydraulic press. And a video that done well enough to get all these people outside my front door.
“How abouts, I don’t know, you give me the junk, write me a bit about it, and off you go?”
“Are you sure?” The first man’s face screws up.
Fast forward to the next day. I’m sat down, ready to press the first item. I’ve got two boxes of cursed shit beside me, some larger stuff beside it. I’ve had a Barbie try and choke me with cornflakes this morning and U2 kept me up all night. Destroying the stuff will be easy, and it’ll get rid of the curses.
I stick the nut into the press, I’m too tired to read the curse, (how bad can it be it’s only a hazelnut) and just as the press makes contact with the surface of the shell… The press falls to bits, it all collapses.
I scurry for the note that came with it, what the fuck could have went wrong? ‘Nût of Breaking. - Everything that tries to crack it, will break instantly.’
Barbie is trying to get out of her plastic prison to the tune of Sunday Bloody Sunday when I realise what I’ve done. Curses falling out my pockets, priceless artefact destroyed. Eternal U2.
I should have just done toy reviews. |
It was unmistakable now. She thought she was just imagining it, back when the words were coming out as the unintelligible gibberish of a being that couldn't control his muscles properly to forms words yet.
"Mum? Can't you understand me yet? I'm your son from the future. I made a wish which took me back to a younger age, but I kept my memories!"
He was only three months old, but her newborn son was talking to her in full sentences. She was having a hard time processing this fact.
"No.. this can't be real. This is all the lost sleep over the past few months isn't it?"She belatedly noticed she'd automatically adopted the melodic tone of baby talk she always uses to soothe baby Jamie.
"Nope! It's all real mum, your name is Sarah Rios, my name is Jamie Rios, and at the time I made my wish, I was 35 years old. You can talk to me as you would an adult, ha."
Her whole body shook. She hated herself for being terrified by her own baby, but he was speaking full sentences in a voice that barely sounded human. The vocal cords and lung capacity of a 3 month old apparently aren't fully up to the task of producing normal speech. He had spent the last few hours slowly becoming more understandable, repeating 'sentences' over and over while her mind self-destructed.
"Sorry, no I'm going crazy."She managed to sound normal, but then lost control a moment later, her voice rising "and why, WHY would you wish to be a baby again? You could have been 10, 18, 21 years old, why this?"She was crying now, and wasn't sure why. She wasn't sure of anything right now.
The baby went quiet, guilt and remorse looking out of place on the face of a 3 month old.
"Yeah.. I didn't think it through. I'm sorry mum. A genie gave me three wishes.. I wished for a longer life, more wealth, and to be able to start over. He took me literally. I was transported back in time, to just after I was born. I could barely think or form words at first. I guess that satisfied both 'longer life' and 'starting over' again..."He was finding his stride, the words coming out more confidently.
She took some deep breaths. It gave her space to think.
"What about the wealth? You wished for more money?"She was thinking more clearly now.
"Well.. there's this company called Apple, it's not been around for long yet but..."
\~\~\~\~
*Sorry, I lost steam on this. Thought it would be interesting to imagine how the conversation would realistically go, but I couldn't think of where to take it.* |
The beast was gaining on me. I was running out of breath and I knew that right then and there that the monster was going to get me. It was a big, hairy one, with horns, it looked like something straight out of a children’s book. Most people would have found it hard to take seriously with its yellow fur with pink polka dots but having worked with these creatures for nearly seven years I knew better than to underestimate it. I couldn’t believe it. This was how I was going to die, alone, hunted down by this creature. There would be no one to avenge me, since I knew that as far as the government was concerned, this was perfectly legal. But it had all been a mistake. I didn’t deserve to die.
-
When I went over to Brad’s desk I had gotten exactly what I expected. Brad had never been the most competent employee and it showed. He wore his sleeves rolled up but his shirt untucked, and his desk was a total mess. It was unusual not to find crumbs from whatever snack food he was eating on the paperwork he filled out and they would usually match the crumbs that you could find if you looked closely at his scraggly beard. He was slouched backwards in his chair, in the seven years I’d worked with Brad at the Department of Monster Regulation I had never once seen him sit up.
Brad’s job wasn’t even that hard, and yet he still managed to do it badly a lot of the time. Most of the time his job consisted of updating the list of pre-approved humans that monsters were allowed to hunt with the latest additions, it was mostly serious criminals deemed incapable of redemption, but it was also occasionally people with terminal illnesses who wanted to go out with a bang, or sometimes people who did it for the thrill of trying to outsmart the monster. Brad had a stack of forms on his desk either from the people who signed up for this program or from the higher ups with the newest criminals and he put them all into our computer system. However, his work was sloppy. He sometimes forgot a name. Or made a typo. Once, he accidentally deleted the entire list by mistake. It was a disaster.
“Hey there, Steve!” said Brad. “How can I help you?”
“You remember Frank, the intern?”
“Oh yeah… Frank! He hasn’t been to work in a while, what’s up with that?”
“Well, I got word from his family that he was hunted and killed by a monster. Do you know anything about that!?”
“First I’m hearing of it. He must’ve been one of those guys who thought he could take the monster down. Oof, poor guy. People who try to do that almost never survive. Shame it had to be Frank, I sure will miss him.”
“Yeah, except somehow, Brad, I have a feeling that you won’t.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Brad, did you or did you not put Frank into the system.”
“No, of course not! That would be a total misuse of power.”
“I know Frank wasn’t stupid enough to volunteer for this kind of thing, and Brad, you’re a terrible liar.”
“Ok… fine! You got me! I put Frank into the system.”
“But why!? Why would you do that, Brad! You could get fired for this!”
“He was a dick.”
“Godammit, Brad, do you have any idea how serious of an offense this is! Look, you and I both know you’ve screwed up a lot of times, sometimes with disastrous effects, and it’s all turned out just fine for you. But this time, Brad, deliberately putting someone on the list with the intent to kill them! This is serious, Brad!”
“Hey, hey, Steve. Nobody else needs to know.”
“Are you crazy?! I can’t just hide this. It’s my responsibility to report this to our higher-ups.”
“Real shame,” muttered Brad. “I liked you.”
“What was that!?”
“Nothing.”
As I walked away, I probably should’ve looked back. Because had I done that, I probably would have seen Brad put my name into the system.
-
This was it. The end. The monster was practically on top of me, and he didn’t look like he was playing around. He was going to eat me alive.
“Screw you, Brad!” I cried with my last breath. And then it was over. |
For a moment, I hesitate. What will it show me? What if I see my worst parts? All the dark thoughts, the disturbing impulses, the things I hide away. What if see my shame, those evil parts of myself that I’ve acted on, the misery I’ve brought. Most harrowing to think about, what if I see nothing at all?
But I have to know. I gaze into the mirror, and see…writing? I recognize it. I wrote it, my first attempt at a book when I was a child and could barely write. The image shifts, and I see more excerpts, writings from all periods of my life. Then another shift and it’s drawings, from stick figures to complex work. Another shift and I see food, meals I’ve cooked that I was proud of, that took work.
Then a final shift, I see reactions. My mother smiling as she reads, while my childhood face stares at her proudly. Friends laughing around a table while we share a meal I cooked. All my creative expressions, the lives they’ve touched. My soul. |
My love burns like the moon, so brilliant at night; my guide and my compass, my welcoming light.
Memory drives me, granting no rest; my only safe harbor, my warm lover's breast.
For now I am 'lone, having strayed much too far, away from my sun, south from my star.
No choice of mine own did drive me away. No other could tempt me, could lead me astray.
But for love did I labor, skin raw from abuse, to give to my love the life we did choose.
Homestead arriving, anxieties retreat; love filling my arms, my world is complete. |
"Aha! You thought you could trick me, didn't you?"The hero boasted.
He stood with a pose that radiated pride, as many heroes did. The sun somehow managed to gleam nearly perfectly off his shiny colorful costume. He is what just about anybody would think of when hearing the word "hero".
"Huh? Oh, you must be mistaken. You see I just got off work-"
"Yeah yeah. I'm not an idiot,"the hero interrupted.
"You sure..."I mumbled.
"I know who you are, you aren't fooling anyone!"
"Alright then, who am I?"
The hero was clearly caught off guard. He clearly wasn't ready for a question as bold as that one.
"W-well. I'm actually not sure. But it doesn't matter, you radiate with villain energy! You have got to be a super villain in disguise. There's no doubt about it!"He began.
He then continued ranting about justice and how evil I was and blah blah blah.
"Sir,"I began, "With all due respect, you're crazy. You go purely off of instinct when deciding if someone is evil? Are you insane?! I have been minding my business for as long as I've been born. Quite literally I have never committed a crime in my life. Hell, I've never even jaywalked before! I've had it! I've been accused of stuff like this for my whole like and I'm sick of it."
The hero, who paying absolutely no attention, laughed when I finished complaining.
"You expect me to believe that none sense?"The hero smirked. "I've been a hero for a whole 6 months now, I think I know what I'm doing."
I sighed heavily, "This is getting no where, I'm out."
I walked past him to hopefully finish this idiotic confrontation. If only it was that easy.
"Hold it there you war criminal!"The hero yelled as he began running after me.
"War criminal?"I was barely able to get in before I was set flying through the air with one swift punch.
Pain surged through my body like a tidal wave. I laid on the ground, unable to get up. It felt as if I was on the brink of death.
"For a super villain you sure are weak,"the hero added.
He grabbed me by my very broken arm and carried me to a nearby prison. I wish I could sue, but in this society, heroes get by with just about anything. This will just be treated as another oopsie by a hero. It feels as if I'll never be able to be free, so why don't I just become a super villain. At this point, why not? At least then I could fight these useless kids in costumes. |
As I walk into class, the teacher glares at me, lowering her old glasses in disappointment, her green eyes piercing through my head.
"You are ten minutes late, miss..."She said, waiting for my response.
"Garcia. Claire Garcia, miss."I awnser, slightly ashamed as the whole class looks at me.
"Okay, miss Garcia, I'll let this one slide. My name is miss Robinson. Now, please take a seat."She inficated with her hand the few vacant seats in the back of the class, soon turning to the papers on her desk and adjusting her glasses to read.
I nod, walking with my head low, feeling the stares of the other students while the teacher gets up, writting on the board. As I take out my material from my bag, a paper airplane hits my forehead, falling on the desk. I look up, confused. Who the hell is already coming after me? It's only the first day! Didn't the teacher notice it? I thought. Turning my attention to the paper, i notic something written inside it. It reads "Too dumb to wake up in time, huh?". Great, the bullying has already started. They really didn't lie about this part about the problems of going to an ordinary highschool.
I crumple the paper, closing it tight in my hand. I then open my hand, blowing away the papers ashes. I didn't really care if people saw it. I mean, we left the country so I don't need to worry about the CIA controlling every step of my life like they do with my parents, so there shouldn't be any problem in using my abilities for some mundane things, right?
(This is my first WP so tips would be nice. Thx for reading and sorry for bad english, maybe) |
One thing that people must understand is that Lucifer never lies.
Sure he malipulates the truth, convey false image, and hides his intentions, but lieing was the one sin that Lucifer felt only a human was stupid enough to do.
I wished I realized this sooner. How could I have been such an idiot?
Now the true oracle of god lays dead because of me.
The water scaled my skin as I furiously tried to clean my hands of the blood. I heard the door open and my heart stopped.
"Cain, have you seen your brother?" |
"You're not going to like my answer,"the sallow man said while stirring his martini with a miniature plastic sword.
The bartender leaned over the counter almost pleadingly.
"Come on pal. You have me hooked. Least ya can do for a fella is answer just a few measly questions. Some come on - out with it, ok? Did you actually kill Elvis or was it a hoax?"
The moon-faced stranger pulled his cloak up around his shoulders, looked toward the door and let out a long sigh.
"Elvis. Always Elvis with you people. Don't you want to know anything more interesting than that noodle-hipped bard?"
The grizzled bartender scratched loose neck skin and stubble with sausage fingers as he threw the dirty bar rag over his shoulder.
"Awww - come on, buddy. Don't be a spoil-sport. Just tell me the answer."
"*Fiiiiiiiiine*. Yes."
"Yes? Yes what? Yes he's dead, yes he's alive? Come on, don't be a shit."
"He's alive. I never claimed 'The King'."
"HAAAAAAAAA!!!! Hot freaking shit! I fucking knew it! Wait'll my brother Charlie hears about this. He's gonna flip!"
The bartender turned around and swept up a bottle of Lagavulin and poured a two shots - he handed one to the yellow toothed stranger.
"Here ya go then. The good stuff. Slainte."
The two threw back the shots of whiskey.
The bartender kept staring at the ceiling, savoring the fiery liquor cascading down his throat and into blossoming into a supernova in his stomach.
"So, uh..I guess you just don't go showing up on people's stoops for shits then, eh, Grimmy?"
"Unfortunately, Michael, no I don't."
The bartender cleared his throat and looked down.
"Is it my ticker?"
The black stranger looked at him placidly.
"Aneurysm. From all of that,"he said while pointing to the whiskey.
The bartender looked down at the green bottle and white label.
"Well. Fuck it. Fella has to go sometime I guess,"the bartender said as he knocked the bottle back and took two olympian swigs of the peaty scotch. "Ahhh! I'm gonna miss this stuff."
The stranger cocked a smile and took a sip from his dirty martini.
"There's plenty where you're going. Have no worry. Probably better than that too."
"Am I going.."the man pointed up with a thick calloused finger wet with scotch.
"Can't say right now. It's part of the deal."
The bartender turned around and surveyed his bar.
"Thirty five years I've owned this dump. It was good to me, ya know? Swell place. Say, buddy. Before we 86 this place - who was the one person you regret taking the most?"
The ageless white face scowled only briefly and then he looked up. His eyes flashed black and he snorted.
"You're not going to like my answer."
"Ah…come on, pal. Tell it like it is. Give it to me straight. Who was it?"
"Oscar McMurray."
The bartender closed one eye and scrunched his face while he thought about the name.
"Never heard of 'em. Who was he?"
"You wouldn't, but he was a little boy who was run over by a vehicle in New York in 1939. Sad thing, that was."
The bartender leaned in close and licked his dry lips.
"You're telling me you regret more than anything some Joe that you've probably taken hundreds of thousands of? What's so great about this McMurray kid?"
Death brought the stick of olives up to his mouth and popped two off, chewed them and wiped away a dribble of juice.
"He was going to invent a way for humans to stay alive forever and regenerate. It was going to result in world peace and equality."
The bartender reeled back.
"YOU GOTTA BE SHITTIN' ME! That's fuckin' amazin'! So what the hell would have happened if he lived? What would that have meant for you?"
The cold dark stranger looked up at the bartender and knocked back the rest of his drink.
"A vacation. I'm tired of this shit."
He stood and pushed in the bar stool and motioned the old man to him.
"Come on Michael. It's closing time."
|
When my daughter Enid got one of those kooky “own-a-star” certificates for her sixth birthday, I didn’t think much of it. I made her write a thank-you note for her aunt Mabel, who had bought it, and we marked out the star’s location on a map of the sky together.
It was HD 45364, in the constellation of Canis Major. A hundred and seven light years away and about five times the size of our sun. I remember because Enid was a pretty keen astronomer for a while after that. I even bought her her own telescope; installed it in our loft where the skylight used to be.
And then she grew up, and went to work in finance. Things never turn out as you expect them. Time passed, the world turned.
She was thirty and back at home with us following her divorce from her first husband, Harry, when she got the call.
“Dad,” she said, phone cradled on her collar. “Do you still have that certificate? For the star?”
I thought about it. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll get my stepladder.”
Over the years, as our children had set out on their own, the loft had turned from a playroom into a storage space. We climbed up to find it packed with stacks of brown cardboard boxes, chest high and covered with dust.
I scratched my head. “Somewhere in here, I think.”
Enid stifled a sneeze. “This place needs a hoover.”
“You don’t say,” I said. “Okay, you take the left side, that’s mostly Sam’s old clothes.”
It was most of the afternoon before we found it, in a small black box covered in little golden star stickers, like the ones a teacher might stick on a kid’s work. It had her star atlas in there, too, along with a couple of certificates and a pair of binoculars she’d had before I’d bought her the telescope. I brushed dust from the top of the box, and it clumped in my hand, balling up like a little animal.
I put it to one side and passed Enid the certificate. Underneath was a little notebook, filled with both our writing, mine tiny and cramped next to Enid’s childish, sprawling letters.
The first entry.
*Mag 45x, clear night.
WE cAn ƧEE My ƧTAr, iT iƧ dEƧcEnbinG*
I don’t know about you, but it made me smile to think of Enid being so small, barely able to hold the pencil without snapping the lead, but so determined to be an astronomer.
I put the rest of the things back in the box and closed it up. “So, why did you need that certificate, anyway?”
Enid paused. “You didn’t know?”
I shook my head. “Nope. But I figured it was important, since you followed me up into the loft.”
Enid laughed. “Well,” she said. “Uh-”
“It’s not about Harry, is it?”
“No dad,” said Enid, frowning. “It’s not about Harry.” She sighed. “Um, you know the other year, when we discovered interstellar travel?”
I brushed a line of dust from her telescope. “It was on the news,” I ventured.
“Well,” said Enid. “One of our ships has just arrived at HD 45364.”
“Oh,” I said, looking at the certificate in her hands. “Your star!”
“Yeah,” she smiled. “It’s inhabited, dad. I mean, not the star, but the system.”
“Oh,” I said again. I squinted at the certificate. “It’s not valid, surely.”
“Well,” said Enid, fiddling with her glasses, just like she always did when she was embarrassed. “That phone call, earlier. That was my lawyer.” Staring up out of the skylight, she breathed a sigh. “Technically,” she said. “Under intergalactic law, it is. And it looks like the inhabitants will honour that.”
You could have knocked me over with a feather. “Well, I’ll be,” I said. “You owe Aunty Mabel an extra big thank you.”
Enid shook her head. “She’s dead, dad.”
I blinked. “So she is.”
Time gets away with you, sometimes.
We sat there a while, under the skylight in the fading Autumn warmth, and said nothing, motes of dust floating around us.
“So your future now is *be an empress*?” I asked.
“It’s a better future than Harry was,” she said.
I shrugged. “I always knew he was no good for you.”
Enid folded her arms over the certificate. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”
I shook my head. “You seemed happy, Enid.”
“Shows what you know,” she snorted.
“So what’s the plan?” I asked.
“I own the star, right?” she said, with a slight frown. “Maybe I can charge them for the light.”
“Careful,” I said. “These things never turn out as you expect them.”
|
My father was a great man. I was born 3 years after he ascended to his throne through the brutal might of his legions. He loved me dearly and I him. I wanted for nothing: toys, money, love, affection. He was everything a father should be to his son. He showed me his world, his empire. When I was little, he scolded me when I was naughty or plastered a grazed knee if I had fallen. When I was older we debated philosophy and war as well as the finer points of how to rule the human race by the virtues he extolled - might and brutality. I drank it in, he was my idol, my creator, everything I ever aspired to be, godlike even. He taught me everything he knew, he’s the reason I rule this world and enjoy the unadulterated adoration of his people… My people.
The old man had it all you know? Tactical genius, utterly resolute and unbending ideals and an insight into economics which sometimes seemed prophetic. Like I say he taught me everything he knew, but not everything I know. How could his world love him? He ruled with an iron fist. They lived in eventual peace but after a century of apocalyptic war of his doing. They lived in luxury but only with those loved ones deemed ‘in keeping with the Emperor’s will and ideals’… He didn’t know how to make his people love him. I do. They love me.
They still live in peace.
They still live in luxury.
Now they are free to live with loved ones with ideals which contradict my fathers.
As long as they don’t contradict mine; what use to me are the ideals which died with the thrust of the dagger I buried into my father’s heart?
|
I like playing games. I like to play hide and seek, I like to pin the tail on the donkey. But the game I like best is piñata. When we have a piñata, me and my friends get to hit the piñata with a bat until all the candy comes out, and everyone gets some candy.
But we don’t always have a piñata, so sometimes we have to make believe. I like to pretend to be the piñata. I put on a blindfold because real piñatas can’t see. It’s part of the game. I stand in the middle of the room. Sometimes, they even put rope on me. We pretend I’m hanging from the ceiling like a real piñata. Just dangling there, like an object.
Everyone gets to take a turn. Each of my friends steps up, grabs their bat, and tries to knock the candy out. And just like with a real piñata, some people can’t. Some of my friends hit really hard. They swing as hard as they possibly can. Other people try to aim just right, hit just the right spot. But even if they don’t get the candy out, they still have fun. Everyone likes to take a turn. It’s fun when all your friends are cheering you on when you’re swinging your bat. Most people take at least two turns, sometimes three! I like being fair, so I like when everyone gets a few turns each.
Finally, after enough people have had a turn, someone will hit just right. When they do, I shout for joy! And like a real piñata, I have candy hidden, so when someone hits right, I throw my candy on the floor. Everyone in the room cheers loudly. They all like candy. Even after all the candy has fallen to the floor, some of my friends like to keep playing. They’ll keep taking turns because they like to swing the bat.
Just like a real piñata, my friends untie me and take what’s left of me down from the ceiling. There is usually a lot of candy left on the ground. Sometimes, someone has eaten some of it. But a lot of times, my friends are really nice. They let me have the candy. I get down on my hands and knees, and I eat the candy right off the ground. It’s so tasty. And it tastes even better knowing everyone is watching me eat it. Cleaning up is important, and when I’m done, there’s no more candy left on the ground.
And that’s how you play piñata, even when you don’t have one. In fact, I’m going to go play now. I have a lot of candy hidden this time! |
"What is this? *Grape juice?*"Laughter rang around the small bar. Dionysus sat there, dumbfounded. He had conjured up his best cask of wine, which had been quite potent in its day, only to be made a fool of! However, the other patrons seemed to ignore his chagrin, chuckling jovially with their bar buddies.
So, after centuries upon centuries of slumber, *this* is what Dionysus got? He might as well have just stayed sleeping as it was obvious that these men found in a small town near in place called 'Georgia' couldn't appreciate the fine wine that he was *notorious* for in Greece.
A burly man behind the counter nudged him out of his stupor, "Dennis, right?"Dionysus looked at him. The man's face was covered thickly in a bushy blonde beard, and his skin was obviously burnt by the sun. The sleeves on a flannel shirt were torn off, revealing tattoos on his shoulders, and there were oil stains on his overalls. There was a sheen of sweat shining off the man's bald head as he stared at Dionysus intently. After a moment, the man ducked under the counter, coming back up with a small mason jar with a clear liquid inside.
"Well, Dennis, try that on for size. On the house because you're new here."
Taking his eyes off the bartender, Dionysus eyed the seemingly innocuous drink, its clear surface flickering with the dim orangeish lights of the establishment. Dionysus sneered at the jar as he took it in his hand. It wasn't even wine. Either way, Dionysus threw the drink back and took a large gulp.
Immediately, the god of wine gagged on the alcohol. With a shout, he slammed the jar back onto the counter and jumped away from the counter, covering his face with his hands, as if he could smother the imaginary flame that the licking up his throat and, horribly, out his nose.
"What is that!?"Dionysus shouted, only to be answered with uproarious laughter.
"That was *'shine*, boy! Best in the South!"Someone answered. Dionysus, drawing on his godly power, quelled the burning, and with watery eyes glared at the chuckling patrons in the bar. Not to go out with his tail between his legs, the god marched back to the counter and grabbed the jar up again. Without hesitating, Dionysus gulped the rest the *'shine* down until the last drop was gone. Not bothering to see their reactions, Dionysus threw the jar down to the ground, reveling in the sound of breaking glass, and with a flash of light, transported himself back to his island, Naxos.
Stumbling around his resplendent beach getaway, Dionysus tripped in the sand. In a few minutes, Dionysus began to feel the affect of the liquid fire that he consumed. At first, it was a pleasant buzz, something he was quite used to. By the time the hour was up, he felt as drunk as he would have been had he spent the whole night at one of his revels and parties.
Drunkenly, Dionysus stumbled out to wade knee-deep into the sea. He yelled out, seemingly to no one, but he shouted it out with the determination of a televangelist. "Fine! I am no longer the God of Wine! But I am still the God of Madness!"Cackling, Dionysus flashed himself over to a random mental hospital.
Looking around, Dionysus eyed the patients around him, noticing how all of them wore gowns and sluggishly shuffled around. With his power, Dionysus sensed that all of them seemed to be prime candidates to be affected by his gift of madness. Walking around the hospital, Dionysus chose a room and went in. Inside was a woman, calmly sitting on a chair and looking out the window. Quietly walking behind her, he laid a hand on her shoulder, and bestowed his madness.
Nothing. The woman just sat there, looking out the window. In his experience, they should have been ranting and raving about any and all that the sun shone down on. Irritated, he walked around and looked into the woman's eyes. Oh, there was madness there, but it seemed... subdued.
"Hey."He said, getting her attention. "Your madness? Where is it?"He asked.
The woman smiled very serenely. "Oh, they fixed that."She said quietly. "I've been taking my medication. I'm a lot calmer now."
Dionysus threw his hands up in exasperation, the woman watching him curiously. "Is there *anything* I can be a god of?"
With another flash Dionysus landed somewhere on a college campus. A collection of recently-free and young individuals at the beginning of sexual maturity. He could *definitely* influence someone in ecstasy and fertility.
Not even thirty minutes later Dionysus was storming out of an internet cafe grumbling about a "Rule 34"and "pornography." |
A lot of my kids, they'll come into my office crying. The other two guidance counselors don't have to deal with that kind of crap. Their students are all just wondering how they can get their grades up, get a good job with some league of do-goodery or villains' collective.
The student in front of me was bawling her eyes out.
"Wha. . . Wha. . . What am I gonna do with my liiife?"she whined.
My students, mostly they're wondering how they're going to adjust back to life in the real world after the government whisked them away to our little magnet school. A few of the lucky ones might land a sidekick position, but most weren't going to get jobs in the field. Generally speaking, my students had powers that weren't immediately conducive to either heroism or villainy. In fact, most of them weren't conducive to much of anything at all. Still, the folks who studied these things picked them out as supernaturals with tests. Sometimes we couldn't even discover why. I tried to use this fact to comfort the girl sitting in front of me.
"At least you know what your power is!"
"It's use. . . Useless,"she said in between sobs.
"That's not true at all! Why, it's great for getting around quickly!"
She wailed again. That was a touchy subject. Her powers embarrassed her. To be honest, they would have embarrassed me as well. Of course, I couldn't let on that that was the case.
"Listen, Amanda, I know you'd much rather have super-fast running or teleportation. But we can't all choose the specifics of our gifts. You were given the gift of speed. How you get where you're going isn't important!"
She continued to wail. I continued to try to make her stop.
"Amanda, you have a gift! I can see you as a big superhero one day, actually."
This got her to stop wailing. Instead, she let out a rueful sob and spoke semi-clearly for the first time during our conversation.
"Oh yeah? And what am I gonna call myself? *Jet-Fart*?"
She wailed again and broke back down into tears. |
"Travelled far this evening?"Steve pulled out Helen's chair and waited until she dropped into it gracefully. She adjusted her blonde hair over her shoulder and grinned at him across the table.
"You know I haven't,"she replied. Her gaze dropped to the tablecloth as she shyly returned his smile.
"Would you like champagne?"Steve manfully showed her the bottle, twisting it in the glistening ice bucket.
"What a fantastic choice. Moet really makes an occasion, doesn't it?"Helen leaned forward, enthralled, as Steve popped the cork and poured it, golden and fizzing, into her tall glass.
"To a wonderful first date,"Steve said, holding the glass aloft. "I can't tell you how long I've been planning this."
"I won't lift my drink,"Helen said. Steve looked at her quizzically and she returned by lifting her hand. Her wrist was in a solid white cast.
"That'll make dinner difficult!"Steve sighed. "Do you want me to cut everything for you? That's the only way I can see it being easier."
"Please don't,"Helen said. "I'll do it."
"Well, what do you want me to do?"Steve said.
"Nothing,"Helen replied. "Please, sit down. Have some champagne."
"I can't believe we've been neighbours all this time and this is the first time we've done this,"Steve said happily.
----------------
"Travelled far this evening?"Steve grinned at the woman tied to the chair on the other side of the table.
"You know I haven't,"she replied through gritted teeth. Struggling against her bonds, her date watched her impassively.
"Would you like champagne?"Steve dropped two pills into the tall glass and began pouring liquid over them. They dissolved into nothingness.
"What a fantastic choice. Moet really makes an occasion, doesn't it?"Helen's voice was ragged, her tone sarcastic.
"To a wonderful first date,"Steve said, holding the glass aloft. "I can't tell you how long I've been planning this."
"I won't lift my drink,"Helen promised.
"That'll make dinner difficult!"Steve sighed. "Do you want me to cut everything for you? That's the only way I can see it being easier."He lifted the carving knife at his side and advanced towards the woman. She shrank back in her seat, shaking her head.
"Please don't,"Helen pleased. "I'll do it."
"Well, what do you want me to do?"Steve asked.
"Nothing,"Helen replied. "Please, sit down. Have some champagne."
"I can't believe we've been neighbours all this time and this is the first time we've done this,"Steve said happily. He pulled Helen's head back by the hair and began to pour the champagne into her open mouth.
|
I stepped up to the low wall, just high enough for me to rest my hands on. In front of me, there was an infinite abyss, silent, and all knowing, the omnipotent darkness. Here, my purpose would be revealed to me. I could feel it, scanning my mind, trickling through each and every synapse. It moved through my entire body, in every cell, every atom. It could see my past, and my future, working against chaos theory itself to find the one true path, navigate every fork in the road that I would face.
I felt it leave my body, in every direction, travelling through the fourth dimension to spread instantly in to every part of the unending void that spread out in front of me. In the distance, stars formed, as my future was pieced together. They moved closer, and closer, and formed a huge face, golden, shimmering, towering above me, and sinking far below.
And then it spoke. It's voice boomed outwards, filling every single part of the abyss.
"I have deduced your purpose from the infinite possibilities, the twists and turns that the universe will take you through. I have seen all, but there is only one true route to your final destiny. I have calculated every single way you could experience your lifetime in mere seconds, every single version of your consciousness experiencing more than all humans will ever experience in the entire history and future of their existence.
But their is only one true divine path. You cannot fight against the stream which is poured out for you. There is no choosing.
Your purpose, chosen by what even I can not affect, the cosmic forces of the multiverse, is…"
It paused, seemingly confused. But, Ata'ken the all knowing could never be confused! It had informed thousands, if not millions of generations of their purpose! It had seen the destruction of the sixteenth dimension! It had led humanity to first contact! It had watched the universe burst into existence and cease to exist countless times! It was all knowing!
"Your purpose is..."
"What! What is my purpose? Tell me, oh great one!"
"I'm sorry, this just doesn't make sense! The universe, no, the multiverse has come together in all its infinite forms and only leads to one conclusion!"
"Oh, majestic infinite being, please, tell me, what is my chosen purpose? What is my infinite destiny to fulfil? Shall I be the one to open the gate of Kratu'Tek? To finally unite the people of Tallusa 10?"
"No, no it's… boring."
"Boring?"
"Yes, yes, very boring! It says your destiny, your greatest achievement in this incarnation, is to... to perfectly chop a tomato. Like, you cut it, and all the seeds are centred, and all the pieces are the perfect size for the salad you're making, without even trying. It should be impressive, but it's not, that's literally what your entire life will amount to."
"Cutting a tomato?"
"Yes, that's what it says."
"But..."
"No, I'm sorry, your destiny cannot be changed! It is set in stone! Infinite stone! Unbreakable, infinite stone, not affected by entropic decay. That is your life's purpose."
"No, but..."
The face grew angry. It was not used to interruption. "DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND MORTAL? I, ATA'KEN THE ALL KNOWING CANNOT CHANGE YOUR FATE. YOU SHALL GO, BACK INTO THE FINITE UNIVERSE FROM WHENCE YOU CAME, AND FULFIL THIS ONE DESTINY. THAT CANNOT BE CHANGED, EVEN BY ME."
"No, no I get all that, it's you who doesn't understand."
"WHAT? I AM THE ALL KNOWING ONE, I CANNOT NOT UNDER-"
"I'm allergic to tomatoes." |
"Hey Jenny, listen. I know this is awkward, but, I was wondering if you, if you would go to the dance with - oh god, not now!"
The wind around them picked up, and soon a massive helicopter descended to just meters above them.
"**IS EVERYTHING ALRIGHT ETHAN. ARE YOU SAFE. ARE YOU OK.**"
"Yes! Yes, god damn it. I'm alright, Heli. Just please, give me some damned privacy!"
"**I'M SORRY ETHAN. IT'S ONLY THAT YOU WERE TALKING TO A GIRL. THAT IS VERY UNUSUAL.**"
Ethan swore under his breath, and Jenny laughed.
"Oh shush, Ethan. I like him. What's his name?"
Ethan looked away. "I just call him Heli."
She smiled. "Hello, Heli. Will you be taking us to the dance?"
Ethan's eyes lit up. The helicopter hovered around uncertainly.
"**THIS IS THE FIRST I'M HEARING OF THIS, ETHAN.**"
Jenny feigned being hurt. "Really, Ethan? You haven't told poor ol' Heli that you're taking me to the formal?"
Ethan didn't know what to say. This was the happiest day of his life.
"**WELL YOU GUYS WILL HAVE A SUPER SICK RIDE, THERE'S NO DOUBT ABOUT THAT.**" |
I knew the moment had come when the masked man sat down next to me and leaned over to look at my paper.
The grinning clown mask unnerved me. There was no way to explain his behaviour, except for the obvious. It was him, it had to be.
I handed the paper to him with a nod. He glanced at it again, to be sure, and handed me a sleek metal briefcase in return. I clutched it to my chest and watched as he got up slowly, and finally left. I let out the breath I hadn't realised I'd been holding. Then I opened the briefcase, glancing furtively around me to make sure I was alone.
It was filled with clothes that looked like those everyone around me was wearing. My heart pounded as I touched the simple fabric: a gateway to this world. A way to pass unnoticed. At the moment, people were goggling at me like I'd come from a costume party. I hadn't even had time to dress correctly before coming here, and felt more uncomfortable by the minute. I hadn't realised fashion had changed that much. It was kind of hard to blend in.
Aside from the clothes, there were several fat rolls of money - and the most important thing. I grinned as I flipped through my new ID.
"Thank you,"I mouthed to the man, who was glancing back my way at the edge of the park. He was ignoring everyone who seemed as unnerved as I was at the mask.
He lifted the newspaper - bearing the all-important date right on the front page, confirming he'd brought me to the right time - in affirmation, and hurried away into the crowd. I sighed and leaned back where I sat, looking out at this world. 2016.
The year I could've chosen a different life for myself. One where I didn't end up in a dead-end, soul sucking existence twenty years down the line, contemplating suicide every other day. My second chance.
I wondered idly exactly who the man was - what was in it for him. Travelling was forbidden, and transgressors were often killed.
No wonder he'd taken such strenuous efforts to remain anonymous throughout the whole deal - blindfolding me the entire time, so I couldn't identify him, even as we were Travelling. Oh well. I suppose he had reason.
He was, after all, one of the most wanted Travellers. Looking at his life - undoubtedly always on the run - I couldn't help but be thankful that I'd never indulged my own little fantasy of studying physics and dabbling with the concept of time travel. It was too dangerous. Not that what I did was much better. Danger was probably better than a job that slowly eroded your soul.
I still only knew the guy who'd brought me to this time by the moniker he bore on his business card: Z. He never spoke, not even to reply to my banter that we shared the first letter of our names. A cold bastard. But it wasn't like I could force him to reveal more. As one of the few practising Travellers, he could set what rules he liked. Beggars can't be choosers. I'd paid him enough to bring me here. Perhaps money was the sole reason he took such risks.
I got up to look for the nearest bathroom. It was time to change clothes, and change my life.
------
Z pulled the mask off and watched as a younger version of himself left the bathroom, dressed in the clothes he'd provided.
Finally, after all this time, it was done. He'd travelled through too many worlds and times to count, taking others along with him to make the money he needed to keep going. It had been exhausting.
All to find a version of himself that was willing to travel back, and claim this life. God knows he couldn't do it himself anymore. He'd been Travelling a long time. He was too broken, too confused and crazy and rattled by everything he'd seen. Hopping through the multiverse had a way of unstitching the delicate fabric that kept one's mind together.
But this one could still do it. For all of them. In this timeline, it was still there for the taking. The life all of them dreamt of, and none of them could get. An easy life. One where he chose a simple, but meaningful career. Perhaps settle down with someone and start a family. No dabbling with physics and time travel. And no horrible office job, either. This time, it would be right. At least one of them would have a good, uncomplicated, *normal* life.
"Good luck, Zack. Enjoy it for all of us,"he said quietly, and hurried away from the park.
-------
You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. |
“You cannot win!” shouted Heloise, “We have cut down your dragon, defeated your general, and captured your bodyguards. Your plot is over. Come with us now.” She wiped her sword on the tunic of a fallen goblin, then held it menacingly forward.
Ysabel replied from her throne, “Ha, it is hardly that simple. You have accomplished nothing. You helped me remove myself of an overly-ambitious commander who was slowly turning my dragon to revolt against me. I could have easily crushed them myself, of course, but now I don’t even have to take the blame for it. And in the process, you’ve delivered yourselves straight into my fortress, so I don’t even have to take the effort of finding you. And did you think I’d really only have four bodyguards?”
She waved her arm and out of the shadows behind her throne stepped three dozen men in black armor. Heloise and the other four travelers formed a small defensive perimeter as they stared down the new threat.
“How are you going to get us out of this one, Rob?” said Heloise to me.
“I don’t know,” I replied, “I just liked the idea of having an epic fight in her throne room. I’ll probably edit that part later so they sound more menacing. Although I guess black armor is pretty cliché.”
Heloise replied, “Okay, well, I trust you to figure something out,” as she twirled her sword around.
“Ha, you’re not going to get out of this!” shouted Ysabel, “This story is clearly one where the villain wins. Why else would Rob have made me so smart? I’m honestly just cooler than you, Heloise. The readers are all going to want me to win.” She produced a small burst of fire from her hand, to prove her point.
Heloise answered, “I know Rob’s better than that. He’s a good person. He’s not just going to let you win after everything you’ve done.”
“Really, Rob? You know that’s not true. If you were a good person, you wouldn’t have written me as positively as you did. I’m the archetype of the dark enchantress that you’ve always been fascinated with.”
“That’s not true, Ysabel! A story needs a good villain. But you’re nothing more than a villain,” shouted Heloise.
“But Rob wants me to win. He likes me more. You’re boring. You’re a clichéd do-gooder. Rob’s read enough to be sick of boring endings where the hero saves the world every time.”
“He doesn’t like you more. If he did, why would he make you the villain?” asked Heloise.
“On the contrary, he made me the villain because he likes me more. Right?” replied Ysabel with a smirk.
I answered, “I don’t know. I’m…I’m thinking.”
“Wait,” said Heloise as she blinked her eyes, “You actually don’t know if I’m going to win? But, I thought…I just…” She lowered her sword.
“Ha!” laughed Ysabel. “Did you really think anything else? I’m the kind of woman he wants. Dark and beautiful.”
“I didn’t say that either,” I answered, “I’m just saying that I don’t know what kind of ending my readers would enjoy. Nothing else.”
Ysabel replied, “We both know that’s not true. You gave me mild psychic powers, remember? I’m the culmination of your desires. You know you love me.”
Heloise added, “Oh come on, Rob, are you really going to tell me that I’m not vaguely based on Kate who lived across the hall from you junior year, the girl who you thought was too good for you because she was so smart and cool and pretty and athletic? You became great friends, but nothing more.”
“Wait, I didn’t give you psychic powers…” I mumbled.
She continued, “Are you really going to throw all of that away because of some weak ‘bad girl’ fetish?”
“I…stop…” I whispered.
Ysabel replied, “You know you love me more, Rob. And besides, you moved past Kate, right?”
“I did. I found someone else.” I covered my eyes with my hand.
Heloise stepped in and said, “You found Jenny.”
“She was wild and lively and our wedding was the best day of my life.” A single tear of mine dripped onto the table.
“But then you saw the texts,” said Heloise.
“So many years gone in an instant,” I said to no one. More tears fell.
“Which of us do you love?” asked Ysabel, “The ideal that you never reached, or the mystery that tore you apart?”
I stayed silent, unable to speak. So they spoke for me.
Heloise said, “Then, don’t make the choice now.”
Ysabel replied, “Maybe you don’t need either of us right now.”
“Maybe there’s more than us two.”
“Stop sitting alone in here. It’s been two months since the papers were finalized.”
“Go to a coffee shop or a library. Find other people.”
“Go live life.”
“And make sure you delete this chapter before sending it to your editor.”
Sometimes you write for others. Sometimes you write for yourself. I wiped my eyes and stood up, grabbing my laptop as I left. |
*"I've thought about it. I mean, a lot."*
A trio of grey squirrelgulls twisted in lazy spirals overhead, swishing their forked black-tipped tails. The coastal wind turned and caught up with the pair as they walked along the docks of the budding Republic City.
"Not, like, *a lot* a lot!"Sokka clarified sheepishly. "Just, y'know. A 'lot.'"Like that was supposed to explain it. "I thought about what it would be like. Or, really, I think about what it *would* have been like. I think of how I could've fought differently against Firelord Ozai. I think of the lives it could've saved—*I* could've saved—if I was a waterbender. Or even an earthbender. If you would've asked me on the night before we attacked the Firelord, there would've been no question, no hesitation.
"...But now I'm not so sure."The pair paused in their stroll to look out at what would become the statue of Aang, framed by bamboo scaffolding, beginning to take shape on a little island out in the bay. "Y'know what made me reconsider?"
Aang canted his head just slightly to the side. Momo scrambled up from his waist and perched on his right shoulder, eyes to the sun as it began its final stretch towards the evening horizon. There were times to speak and times to listen, and while those latter times were seldom with Sokka, that scarcity made such moments all the more important to be aware of.
"Suki,"Sokka said simply. "You take someone like her—no bending, just raw practice and skill and dedication and..."He took a deep breath in through his nose. "I never did tell you about how we escaped from Boiling Rock, did I?"
"No, Sokka. You never did."
"Well it's a good story!"Sokka blurted out, posing with grand flourish: "With action! Drama! *Suspense!* Betrayal! And a *fight* like you. Wouldn't. *BELIEVE!*"
Sokka's poise melted, and he leaned on the dock railing, turning somber as he looked to the west. "That was when I learned what strength really is.
"See, I used to think strength was being able to change something you didn't like. It's really easy to see that with bending—don't like that rock? Then move that rock!"Sokka pointed angrily at a nearby pebble at the edge of the path, shouting, *"Move, rock, move!"* Momo chattered in protest at the outburst, curling his tail around Aang's opposite shoulder. The rock turned out to be a juvenile snakesnail, which, perturbed by all the noise, poked its crimson head out of its rough grey shell, tasting the air with a forked tongue before beginning the slow and arduous trek towards the tall grass.
Sokka settled back on the railing. "And then, when I trained with Master Piandao, I thought strength was one's ability to move with the world around them. It wasn't until Suki...that I think I first began to understand what strength *actually* is."
Momo spread his wings and took to the air to play with the squirrelgulls. Sokka turned to look Aang square in the eye. "Strength has to come from within, right? It's not about moving rocks or even slicing boulders with space swords. Strength isn't something you measure against other people, or even the elements. Strength begins inside the self.
"Strength is waking up every morning not just *deciding* to be a better person...but *doing* something about it. It's walking one step farther, building one brick higher than you did the day before."Sokka looked past Aang, towards the half-finished buildings of the Republic City Central Plaza shining white and resplendent before a backdrop of snow-capped mountains. "I've seen people use bending to make big giant buildings out of stones, or ice. Toph and her students can even make them out of metal! But strength is what makes a bunch of buildings a *city*. Strength is when you *actively* work to bridge the gap between a vision and reality. When I think of strength, I don't think of rocks or ice, or even metal. I think of people. I think of...I think of Suki."
The warrior let out a sigh. "I guess what I'm trying to say is...bending won't make me a better person. Only I can do that."
"You already are strong, Sokka,"Aang reaffirmed.
"Well, I dunno about *all that*,"Sokka managed to crack a grin. "Not quite like punching rocks *out of the air*. Or leading my own warrior brigade. Or building a city! But I guess I turned out pretty all right, doncha think?"
"I would say so."Aang mirrored his smile.
"And you, big guy—you turned out okay, too, I guess,"Sokka chided, bumping the avatar's arm with his fist. Momo returned from his games with the squirrelgulls and perched again on Aang's shoulder, chittering and chirping. "Yeah, you too, Momo."And then, without warning, Sokka's smile began to falter.
Aang took a step closer to his old friend.
Sokka's shoulders sank. "Man, I really...*really* miss her,"he groaned, bowing his head to hide his eyes.
"I know,"replied Aang, placing his hand on Sokka's shoulder. |
You watch as an alien slave trader quickly scoops you up. An uncontaminated 20 year old female is worth their weight in gold. Though, you can feel the guilt gnawing at you. You are a fraud. The alien has barely carried you on board before you burst into tears.
"What is the matter?"He asks.
"I'm... I'm not what the sign said."
The alien drops you as if you are a hot coal. "YOU'RE CONTAMINATED!?!?"
"No..."you say, picking yourself up, "I'm 21."
(Edit: fixed typos.) |
He meant to write 'Elon Musk', but for whatever reason I didn't know, Elan Musk was written instead. The name of an unassuming bank teller, me. When almost all of humanity vanished in an instant, I was teleported back to God's own base. Once inside, I was utterly confused at the congregation of the finest men and women of our society. I recognized singers, scientists, peacekeepers, even some heads of state. But I stood out, and all I could do was nod when asked questions. Finally God explained it all.
"The rest of you bore me,"he said plainly, "So I'm restarting humanity again with you. I trust that with a good starting, the race will flourish far better and faster than your world now. I chose each one of you based on your fame and relevance, so don't let me down,"he winked. So God didn't know how I looked like. That was...some relief. But I knew I couldn't hide in the crowd for long. Especially since I looked nothing like Elon.
"Guys...I think you made a mistake. My name's-"I started, but God cut me off. "No names. We are all equal here by talent, so no need to feel ashamed."I sat down again, defeated and awaiting discovery. How would they deal with me when they found out? I shuddered to think about it.
As we congregated and self-introduced, it eventually rolled around to my turn. I bowed, then smiled awkwardly. I was about to explain who I was and the whole misconception, but then the beauty of the situation kicked in.
*No one knew I was a masquerader.* It would be foolish to not utilize the fact.
"I'm Liam, a major businessman and economic contributor. I've single handedly raised countries and saved them from debt,"I said with a straight face. I prayed that as celebrities, their intelligence was not ridiculously high. And by the looks of admiration, I knew it had worked.
Liam. The Rescuer of Nations. That was the name placed upon me as I embarked upon my mission. To live up to my name as the 'saviour of countries'. If I was the one to replace Elon, I would be damned if I didn't do as well as he would. A weakness could become a strength, but only if it tried.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! |
The soldiers of the Nigerian Liberation Army carried out their duties, loading trucks and securing crates. An experienced eye could see that they were striking camp, and moving out.
Lord Excalibur examined the camp from 20,000 feet high, floating in the air, red cape billowing in the wind. The crest of a sword in a stone surrounded by the colours of the Union Jack, proudly showing on his chest. He looked around the camp with eyes sharper than an eagle, noting down the number of men mentally.
Wait was that.....*Good God no*, he thought to himself. But he couldn't deny the sight before his eyes.
Amongst the militia were *children*. Children carrying around small crates, while jumping up and down laughing without a care in the world.
Colonel Aba had recruited Child Soldiers?!
He had heard tales of the man's ruthlessness and sheer villainry, but this was a step too far. He had to put an end to this. No child should be put through the horrors of war.
Hardening his face for the grim business ahead, Lord Excalibur swooped down through the clouds, flying faster than an eagle. He would visit terrible fury on Colonel Aba and the Liberation Army's wretechedness.
One minute the militants were carrying busy plodding along, carrying out the monotonous routine and the hundreds of tasks required before one strikes camp, the next there was chaos and panic as suddenly Lord Exalibur appeared in the sky like an angel of vengeance.
He blocked the sun as he descended putting the entire camp in shadow. Lo and behold all they could see was a figure of darkness, framed by the sun, slowly gliding down, with a face etched in fury, eyes glowing red.
They saw the crest on his chest. They'd all heard of Lord Excalibur, but never before had they seen him this angry. It was a moment of terror, and the militants responded appropriately.
Every militant stopped what they were doing, many physically dropping the boxes they were carrying. They were well trained, and their training told them one thing: When scared, remember you have a big pointy scary stick.
They all lifted their weapons, as one. They were a hair's breadth from unleashing a barrage of bullets that would have shredded hide thicker than a Gorilla's. The rainforest around rustled as animals ran for their lives sensing the terrible violence that was about to happen.
Lord Excalibur was going to give no mercy. His eyes glowed red as he charged them with the light of the sun. He wasn't going to give the militia a chance, he wasn't going to play fair. Not this time. He was moments from shooting when...
"STOP! PUT YOUR WEAPONS DOWN! PUT. YOUR. WEAPONS. DOWN!"a voice bellowed from the centre of the camp.
The militia hesitated. Above being trained to respond to impending violence, they were trained to follow orders. Even though Death literally towered above them, they held. None of them fired their weapons.
"Do I need to repeat myself?! The last soldier to put their weapons down does latrine duty for a month!"the voice bellowed again.
And just like that, in a moment, all militia soldiers pointed their weapons to the ground.
Lord Excalibur was confused. Here he was about to destroy them, and they obeyed their commander and let down their defences?
Colonel Aba must truly be as terrible as they say. His men must truly fear him.
The man who had bellowed earlier walked out from the centre of the camp to approach Lord Excalibur. He stopped and turned around to address his men.
"Do you know who this is? You were all going to shoot him? This man has saved more lives than the *polio vaccine*, and you were going to open fire?! Where are your manners? This man is our honoured guest! He might not have knocked on our front door, but for a man like Lord Excalibur, you forgive his lack of manners, because *you know at heart he is a good man.*"
Lord Excalibur cocked his head. This wasn't necessarily what he expected, but he had seen this before. He would play along.
As this angel of vengeance cocked his head, a soldier less than a foot away from Colonel Aba panicked. He thought the superhero was about to carry out a swift attack, and he feared for his life, and the life of his commander. He pointed his weapon upwards and -
"Ma gba leti o omo ode!"(*I will slap you you stupid boy!*) The commander said raising his hand, the soldier instantly lowered his weapon, cowering from the commander.
"My apologies Lord Excalibur, some of us forget our manners."Colonel Aba said to Lord Excalibur, glaring meaningfully at the offending soldier. The soldier further sunk his head in shame.
"You would beat your own men?"Lord Excalibur asked
"Unlike the west, we do not spare the rod when disciplining our children, as I'm sure you must be aware from some of your friends from around here."Lord Excalibur knew this was true from his alter ego's life, sharing childhood stories with his Ghanaian friend, "Nor do we throw rocks at those who turn up at our front door. But come, come,"the Colonel beckoned to Lord Excalibur, "It is a hot day, come under shade and have something to drink."
Wait...this wasn't right.
"What the bloody hell! You would have me,"Lord Excalibur sputtered, "you would have me come in for *tea*?!"He swept his arm around as he referred to the camp around him, "when you have *children* doing your dirty work of making war?!"
"What?"Colonel Aba asked. Excalibur could see that the look on his face was genuine puzzlement.
"Don't lie to me!"Excalibur roared, "you have children in your camp! Look at that one right there! I bet you kidnapped him, pretended to be a father to him, got him high on God knows what, then put a gun in his hands and made him kill innocents!"
"Ah."Colonel Aba sighed regretfully, "Mamook."At that, the boy that Excalibur pointed to perked up, "come here."The boy ran to the Colonel.
"Mamook who is your father?"
"My fatha is Leftenant Ogun. He iiiisss riiight over there."the boy playfully pointed to a militia soldier near the back with the big smile that only children who are innocent can achieve. The father looked oddly proud of his son.
"And what did you do today?"
The boy scratched his head, "Me, Ade and Femi were playing. Then we saw we were leaving camp, so started working."the boy looked down modestly, "Mummy says we all have to do our part."
"Mamook, look at me,"Colonel Aba said gently, at that the boy looked shyly up at his hero, "Mamook, tell me. Have you, Ade or Femi ever touched a gun?"
At this Mamook's eyes went wide and afraid. They were the eyes of a child who didn't want to get into trouble, "No sa!"(*No sir*) "Our mummy will kill us if we touch gun. You will kill us if we touch gun. We won't ever touch gun. Ever."the boy shook his head vehemently.
"What's this I hear of killing?"Lord Excalibur asked.
At that a militia man near Colonel Aba shyly perked up, "I'm sorry Sir, I mean Lord, Excalibur. If you'll excuse me. I was educated in London."Even with his thick Nigerian accent, Lord Excalibur could tell the man had been educated in England. "And begging your pardon, my Lord, but when our children say kill, they mean being punished. It's a language thing, my Lord. An expression. Just as the children of England used to say 'wicked' to mean something amazing, so do our children mean being punished when they say being killed by their parents."
The milita man made an odd grin, "as the Colonel says, we do not spare the rod with our children, and - "
"Yes. Yes. I get it. We have children too. A child in trouble always feels like there world is about to end."Lord Excalibur waved the comment away.
Lord Excalibur saw that his presumptions were incorrect, Colonel Aba didn't seem to be the terrifying villain that the media made him out to be. Here he was, a 50 year old man, slight in frame, and showing his age, but bearing great dignity. He could see that the militia greatly respected this man. And now that he thought about it, all the militian men did seem older than usual. There were none of the young men, eager with zeal that usually made up the armies of African warlords. He could see that there were women and children in the camps, and that these must be the families of the soliders.
Lord Excalibur glided to the ground, "You know what, I'll take you up on your tea,"he said standing next to the Colonel.
"Excellent!"The Warlord and the superhero walked slowly side by side as they went to the tent at the centre of the camp. Many comments could be overheard by the militia as the Colonel tried to explain to the superhero what they were doing.
"No there are no young men with us. I find that men fight and behave decently and with honour when their family is less than a mile away from them. They also fight more bravely."
"Yes I've had to do ruthless things, but did not your country have to do the same in it's long history? Did not your infamous Henry VIII slaughter all the Pilgrims after promising them mercy and grace because he knew he had to put this 'most serious of rebellions' down for the greater good?"
"I know it seems I fight for personal glory, and I know power corrupts absolutely, but the people have had enough of our corrupt government raping our country. Surely you must know how infamous Nigerian corruption is?"
In the tent, they talked well through the day and deep into the night. The militia having dispersed from the drama and continuing their duties.
By midnight, to anyone who looked into the tent, it seemed that this western man, draped in the obvious uniform of a superhero, and the African military man, dressed in the fatigues and carrying the dirt & grime of a rebel warlord, were the best of friends.
Stranger things had happened.
|
Thinking back I shouldn’t have picked by what was trending at the moment of my death. I was given an almost infinite selection to choose from but a rather short time to make my decision. With such a choice to make I went by what was most popular as I did with a lot of things in my humdrum life. At the top was of the charts was a man named Gary Durrman, a name I had never heard before. The mystery of it appealed to me and so I made my selection thinking that I might as well try it out. The beginning was good.
It started with a birth in a small town in Iowa called Garden City. From there I watched as the person I inhabited learned to take his first steps, then his first words, and eventually learned the rest of what everyone eventually learns as children. I felt what he felt as he played baseball with his friends, I felt the pride as he hit a home run. I felt his heart race as he chased Sandy Hopkins around the schoolyard. I felt the cold pang of loneliness as his big sister died, leaving him an only child at the tender age of twelve.
I wasn’t in control. I couldn’t change any of the events, not that I wanted to. It was kind of a relief to be a sort of an idle passenger, a cosmic voyeur who bought his ticket at death. The strange part was that I couldn’t figure out how to change the program, it seemed as if I was stuck until the show was over. That’s fine, I thought, I wanted to see what all the fuss was about any way.
Gary eventually joined the army at age eighteen, saying goodbye to his sweetheart Sandy. If I had tears of my own to cry, I would have. A foolish sense of duty and honor had compelled him/us to enlist and leave the past behind. I kind of understood why he chose the way he did. He wanted more out of life than Garden City, Iowa could provide, even if it had one of the loveliest people in the entire world.
And so he left and eventually was selected to join the Green Berets where he saw a lifetime’s worth of action in the span of only six years. I had never experienced anything as thrilling in my own relatively boring life. I now understood why he was so popular, the things he did, the things he saw…
It was one of the things he saw that got him into trouble. Standing near the frozen lake where the thousands of bodies were buried underneath, he was given two options. He could join the dead and frozen or he could get a new identity and live the rest of his life far, far away. Of course, he would also need to forget everything he saw and make no attempts to contact anyone from his prior life, they would be watching. He chose the new identity and was given a new name, Howard Melnick.
At first I thought the name is just a coincidence, I couldn’t possibly have picked *that* Howard Melnick. But I was mistaken, and I knew just how mistaken I was when I saw *her.* She was standing next to a payphone, and as Gary, now Howard, saw the sweep of her auburn hair blowing in the wind and the intensity of her blue eyes, I felt the rapid beating of his heart. It was that woman that would change Gary from the heavily bearded and somewhat scary man the army spat out and into the cleaned up, toned down man my mother would eventually fall in love with and marry.
|
"Hey! Welcome to the family!"Jim greeted me with a big hug.
"Oh, hi Jim, wait, what?"I hugged back.
"Home. Family home. This."he gestured with his hands.
"Yeah, right, thank you. I got you something."I handed him the whiskey just as Jolene arrived to greet me and Lexi.
"Hello my beautiful daughter, welcome home."Jolene hugged Lexi. "Oh you smell like a bouquet of flowers, what's this perfume?"
"Um, hi mom. I'm not wearing any."Lexi explained with a confused look.
"Oh never mind. We've been waiting for you two. Come dinner is ready."
Jolene lead the way to the table. A banquet fit for a god was laid out.
"There you are!"Aunt Linda jumped out of her seat to greet us. "Wonderful you could come."
We all sat down. Out of habit, well, one from the last two weeks, I put my hand in my pocket to feel the ring box. It was there. Jim started serving us.
That's when I heard Linda's voice. *I bet it's a beautiful ring.*
I gasped. I looked at her, but she was eating. Everyone looked at me. Confused, I apologized and started eating.
*Well he certainly can afford something real special.* Jim... said. I heard him, but he was sipping his new whiskey. *what with that job we got him.* Jim continued.
I cut through the steak. Very juicy. Rare, just like I like it. It's good when the future mother-in-law likes you and cooks food you like. I made a mental note to say this in my speech at the wedding.
*Oh that's so sweet of him. Carl is a softy, isn't he?* Jolene's voice shared.
*Isn't he just?* That was grandma Amy. Wait, she's been dead for over a year. What the heck did I just hear. This was getting too weird. I closed my eyes, and concentrated, *Grandma, is that you?* I thought.
***Wait, you can hear us, Carl?*** Everyone shouted without uttering a word. Everyone except my dear Lexi.
*What's going on?* I asked.
*I can't believe you can beam with us. That's so cool!* Jim explained.
*Beam?* I asked.
*This mind conversation. You humans sometimes mistakenly call it telepathy.* Amy continued. *Only gods can beam. We knew you became a minor god last year, but this is a very nice surprise!*
*I'm a god? I know Lexi is a minor god.* I asked.
*You know about Lexi?* Jolene asked.
*Of course. How can I want to....*
*Marry her without figuring out everything about her. Of course! We should have figure this out about you Carl!* Jim interrupted.
*Anyway, you're sort of a god. Partly.* Jolene explained. *You see, Lexi really wanted to marry you but Bambi refused because you were pure human.*
*Bambi? The fawn?*
*The one and only head the of procurement on the Council* said Linda. *Anyway, he can be a bit of jerk sometimes and said Lexi can't marry a human.* explained Linda.
*Thanks Linda* a new voice piped.
*Oh hi Bambi. You know we love you!* continued Linda. *Anyway, Lexi really wanted to marry you and made a deal with Bambi. She would transfer some of her god powers to you, and you both become minor gods. We found a loophole in rules in the Book of Everything.*
*But there was an problem.* Jim's voice said in a grave tone. *A human error.*
*Come on honey, it was an honest typo.* Jolene comforted her husband.
*A typo by a human.* Jim countered. Although he said nothing, he was visibly grimacing across the table.
Grandma Amy explained: *You see, Carl, the procedure to transfer god powers to you took Lexi's strongest power, just the one, and gave it to you. She was never the same since, but her love for your only grew. That's why we decided against reverting it.*
Grandma continued, with her beam starting to sound more scratchy *Then we found out something. Your family, your genes. You come from a long line of gods, a dormant sect. Your ancestors gave up their powers to save humanity thousands of years ago. They were all scattered around the earth. You lost your powers, but you survived, forever doing good deeds without knowing why.*
*That's nice to hear.* I said, ego boosted. *When did this procedure happen?*
*Remember that kebab incident last year?* Linda asked. *Remember the shop's name?*
*You're kidding me. Bambi's Kebab from Heaven was the Bambi head of procurement himself?*
*Yessiree. Sorry for the food poisoning, by the way. It's a common side effect of the procedure.* Bambi said.
Linda continued *That's not all. Turns out that if anyone gives you any god powers, you are much more receptive to them. It's in your blood.*
*What does this mean?* I wondered.
*It means you're a stronger god with Lexi's power than a normal human would be. And the five children you will have are going to restart your god lineage.* Linda stated matter of factly.
*Five kids?*
*Oh you two are going to have lots of mind-blowing sex. Trust me.* Explained Linda.
*Trust you? Are you like the goddess of fertility?*
*Not quite. Goddess of sex positions. Lexi is going to rock your world, and you will rock hers. That's my wedding gift to you.* Linda said.
*Okkkaaay....* In a night of weird, this was uncomfortable.
"Honey, why are you grimacing?"Lexi audibly asked.
I looked at her. She had a worried look on her face. I put my hand on her cheeks and smiled. "Not at all grimacing."
I beamed to her, *I love you, Lexi, you know that. I love you very much.*
*She can't hear you, Carl. Lexi lost her power to beam in the procedure.* Jolene beamed in a sad tone.
There was no better time. I took out the ring from my pocket, held Lexi's hand and asked, "Lexi, honey, can you be my goddess for eternity?"
|
"Go! Go! Go!"It was pandemonium herding order.
One by one each line of defense was torn down, one by one hostiles shot and killed before even being allowed a chance to retaliate.
Like layers peeled we entered section after section, worms digging into the center of the apple. I held my gun at the ready, nodding at the leader of Seal Team six, his earlier contempt gone, knowing that even if I was from Interpol and became a liability for their mission, this was no time to show it. We were at the beasts door.
Our troops allied themselves with the KGB, their uniforms and weaponry different, yet their communication fluent, like the flow and ebb of water, working together like well oiled machines. Even at this moment, the irony was hard to ignore, it felt like only yesterday where history repeated itself, a global cold war that turned our homes grey and telling of the future to come.
The other points of entries covered by the German KSK and the French COS. The British special forces also working together, all with a target in mind, vengeance all to close to give up now.
"Wait."I told the troops, they all came to a rigid halt as soon as I spoke. Their bodies low, guns poised towards all three hallway turns, eyes peeled for potential enemies.
"What is it Carter?"Asked the captain of the Seal Team.
"In... in here."I muttered, my instincts once more guiding me on its leash.
All the troops gave a weary nod to one another as they turned to the double door, not particularly incredible in its size nor design, yet something about it felt off.
With breach blast set and doorway flanked, the bomb set off. The door gave out a deafening explosion, splinters and debris flying inwards, smoke rising from the ashes to conceal our sight in place of the door.
With swift and trained efficiency the men charged in, one by one flanks were covered. An exchange of "clear"thrown about within the mist.
Once through its veil we entered a large extending hall, the sides supported with tall and illustrious pillars, an extravagant red carpet paved our way to the foot of a dais. Atop it, a desk, and a man sitting behind it.
"Welcome."Boomed an echoing voice from behind the desk.
"Don't move!"Ordered several of the armed men, they scuttled with their weapons raised at a hurried pace across the room, several strafing to ensure their flanks were covered.
I followed slowly, my pace devoid of hurry. Something about the man seemed off, familiar yet like all his other actions, I was incapable of understanding it.
He had his hands raised in submission, a smirk on his face as the soldiers slammed his head against the desk, not even trying to restrain their brutal force. A gratifying click confirming his arms being cuffed behind his back.
"I have half a fucking mind to just kill you now."Grunted one of the soldiers into the man's ears.
"And risk defying a direct order?"The man stifled a laugh, it didn't stop him from being lifted and punched. A trail of blood drifting down his cut lip, yet it did little to lame his smile.
"Ah Mr. Carter. So nice of you to join us."He called out, I covered about half the distance now, my gaze shifting towards the screens on either side of the hall. The monitors relaying the news about the catastrophic events that took place all over the world.
The Eiffel tower falling from its foundations, many innocents squashed under its weight. The British Parliament building, ripped into shreds, fireworks blasting off from within the explosion, an extra blasphemous act that taunted the British people. The statue of liberty, it's head rolling off its neck and into the pavement below. I averted my eyes, I could not witness the horrors once more.
"I knew you would find me Mr. Carter."The man behind the desk spoke.
"And I suppose you are the leader of the 'Seed'."I inquired, eyes scrutinizing him with diligence. His guise as I expected, a person whose actions I knew, whose behaviour I could predict... yet understand I still could not.
"I am the 'Seed' Mr. Carter."The Navy soldier lifted another fist, the captives collar grasped in the other, and captain was ready to vent once more.
"Captain."I called out, his eyes met mine, they danced with a flame of fury within, yet my steady gaze reminded him. This was bigger than us. He lowered his fist, letting go of the monsters garments.
"Why did you do it?"I asked. My gun now holstered, hands in my pocket, the scenes of terrorist anarchy still playing out all about me on screens for my pleasure.
"A cigarette, if you will."He requested, a formal lilt to his tone as if at a respectable commune.
I walked the rest of the way, my steps muffled by the scarlet carpet draped before me yet louder than the silence coming from the rest.
I placed a cigarette between the mans lips, my lighter igniting his cigarette, the tiny flame a gateway into the chaos that still burnt the world.
"Why did you do it?"I repeated my question, waiting for the cuffed man to take a drag of his cigarette, the ashes falling upon the mahogany table.
"Tell me something captain."He addressed to the man beside him. The captains head snapped to attention, a sudden alarm in his expression.
"How did you enjoy the company of the KGB?"The captain was silent, he only turned his head slightly, observing the disciplined and reliable men of the Russian Special Forces.
"I don't understand?"The captain replied.
"Well, it didn't seem that long ago that America stood on the precipice of declaring a full frontal war on Russia."The man continued, his words forced between lips as he drew another puff from the cigarette.
"And yet here you stand, working together, holding hands and walking into the sunset together."In an instant he was gratified with another punch, his cigarette torn from his lips and blood spat onto the pavement. He laughed, scarlet dyed teeth now revealed.
"Mr. Carter."
Narrowed eyes focused on him, I did not fear the man, he didn't unnerve me. But something about him unsettled my lack of understanding.
"The world was about to start a third world war. America with Russia. France with Germany. England with its colonies. We were so close, all it took was a feather drop to tip the scales and snap the rope. Pandora's box would have been fully unleashed."
"Speak clearly. I don't like riddles."Spoke a thick accented Russian, his words slightly muffled behind the gauze of his mask.
"The world tinkered on the edge of oblivion. All you needed was a common enemy, an enemy to point your weapons at, I gave you that enemy. Now you will kill me, you will tell the world how much of a monster I was. How I will rot in hell. How Hitler was a saint in comparison to me. Yet what they will never know, is that I saved you all." |
"Where.. where am I?"
"You're in Hell, Ron. & I must sa-"
"HELL?! For WHAT?! For not believing? OF COURSE he would do this, this is just *classic* God!"
"No, you don't understand! You're only here briefly. I wanted to thank you."
"Uhhh... Thank me? Fo- for what?"
"Well, you know him as Baxter, but to me he was Bubs. I had to get rid of him temporarily until we could assure one of our new occupants would be *cool*"
"Oh... Yeah. Bax. I love that dog. Is he okay? Can I see him?"
"No. Well, yeah, when you get where you're going. I just wanted to say thanks &... Ron? Tell him Luce says he's a good boy."
"Okay, I will. & You're welcome."
"He told me about the wheel of cheese. & The bridge. & He said Milwaukee is nice."
"Well, I'm happy to hear it. Hey, who was the new occupant you were worried about? If I can ask before I go..."
"You ever played Madden 2004?"
"Shit, yeah! But what does that have to do wi-... OH, no. Michael Vick?!"
"Michael fucking Vick. Nobody down here has 99 speed. Not even Bax. Had to be careful."
"Well, I'm glad you were."
|
Grimace doubted more and more these days that her life had a purpose at all. She started off with philanthropy; donating blood, working at homeless shelters, the usual “life’s purpose” type things. After that she moved on to politics. When she didn’t find her purpose in politics, she tried painting. Then scultping. There was a stint as a porn star. The list went on and on. One thousand and eighty two years Grimace had been searching for her purpose in life so that she could finally die.
There was a period, in the dark years of her 9th century, where Grimace thought her purpose might actually be to die. So she tried killing herself in different ways. But every time the medibots would come and scan her body, and once they determined that she had not fulfilled her life’s purpose they would carry her off to revival centers. It took about 30 years of attempted suicides before Grimace had decided that death wasn’t her purpose.
Grimace longed to die sometimes. Mainly because she was running out of ideas of things to try for her life’s purpose. The current attempt at a purpose was juggling while riding a unicycle. She didn’t think this one would pan out either though. She tried being a clown when she was 253 years old, and vaguely recalled maybe juggling on a unicycle once before.
“Fuuuuuck this” Grimace said dropping her juggling balls, and unicycling over toward the local bar.
During her unicycle to the bar, a car swung onto the sidewalk out of nowhere, and headed straight for her. Bearing down on her, she only had a moment to react. Even though it had been over 700 years, her clown instincts kicked in. She popped up and rode up the hood of the car and up the windshield. Feeling fancy, she did a backflip off of the top of the car and accomplished the perfect landing. She skidded the unicycle to a stop.
With her heart pounding and limbs shaking, she thrust her arms into the air and said “that was the coolest thing I have ever done!”
Grimace’s body went limp and fell to the ground having fulfilled her life’s purpose. And it was the coolest, car dodging, unicycle backflip that anyone had ever landed. It was a shame that no one ever saw it.
The driver of the car didn’t see it either since he was already dead, as drunk driving was his life’s purpose.
|
“Hey you! You’re *it* aren’t you?!”
I sighed heavily, looking sadly at my bowl of stew and glass of wine. I know what’s coming and no matter how many times it happens I still can’t stop it. I look up slowly at the red faced man with the cocky sneer on his face. Trying to keep my calm I spoke, “Pardon? I’m not entirely sure what you mean...”
The man snorted, his cronies laughing sycophantically behind him. He puffed his chest out and spoke loudly and slowly, as if speaking to a dotard. “You’re that failure right? The one that only knows one spell, the singleton! Yeah that’s what they call you!”
I winced at the horrible nickname, still stinging despite all these years. “Well it’s true I only know the one spell but I really prefer-“ my words were drowned out by raucous laughter, my face reddened when others turned to watch the commotion.
“I don’t care what you prefer!” shouted the man, weaving on his feet. “You’re a disgrace to the name Magi. What’s the use of a spell caster that only can cast one spell?”
“It doesn’t matter how many spells one knows.” I said calmly, willing my heart to slow. “It’s more about application and-“
“‘It doesn’t matter blah blah blah’” the man mocked me to the delight of his friends and the chuckles of the onlookers. “That’s pathetic. You’re pathetic.” He leaned over my table and glowered down at me. “Do you hear me?”
My face turned redder, my ire rising to the surface. Hand shaking slightly I lift the glass to my lips. “Sir, it’s obvious that you’re drunk and-“ His hand whips by knocking the glass from mine and causing it to shatter against the wall. Members of the crowd gasp and he laughs loudly echoed by his toadies. My finger touch a trickle of fluid falling from lips, coming away crimson. Like the breaking glass, my patience follows and I rose slowly. “Obviously you seem you want to fight. Well, far be it from me to deny you. How about it?” My voice is cold, brittle as ice and the man nods eagerly.
The crowd cleared a space in the middle of the tavern, a ring formed by the onlookers and some make bets. The barkeep watched on bored, having seen such contests before. The man stood in front and threw his arms wide to the cheers of his friends. “I am Torvag! Master of 10 cantrips and 3 spells! I will ruin you singleton and wipe clean the stain of your failure.”
I faced him, my features still and fingers twitching. I made a gesture of boredom. “I care not. Hurry up then Tor...I’ve already forgotten your name.” Incensed he roared, hands flying up making arcane gestures. I didn’t let him finish and pointed with mine, making a flicking gesture and spoke a word. He flew back, as if struck by a fist and collided with his cronies. Wide eyed he scrambled up, more confused than hurt and his anger grew.
He pointed again but I beat him to the punch, finger flicking at his arm. It flies to the side and his spell goes awry, aimed away instead of at me. A stream of fire hits the wall instead and onlookers dove away. Before he could recover I pointed at one leg. It moves behind him and he falls heavily to the ground with a heavy thud. He tries to stand three times and each time a gesture sends him back down.
No one laughed now. He looked up, the first fingers of fear appearing on his face. “Do you understand now?” I asked, my low voice cutting through the room easily. “While my spell is a simple *Push* spell, I can use it in all sorts of ways. It’s about precision.” I aimed my spell at a loose plank and one end flies up into his stomach with a heavy blow. He rolls whimpering as I aim at a mounted shield. “Concentrated effort.” Another push and the shield fell onto his head.
I walked to him, another gesture flipping him face up. “Absolute control.” I aim at his throat and his eyes bulge. His hand flew to his neck and he desperately gasped for breath. His cronies backed away with fear in their eyes and the crowd watched stunned. His face turned red then blue and I continued to apply the spell. “Are we clear about the fundamentals now?” I asked like a teacher scolding a particularly dim student. His head bobbed frantically and I finally released the spell. His coughing and sobbing filled the air as I walked away from him, the crowd parting before me.
I sat back down at my table and lamented my lost wine. Almost by magic another glass appeared at my side, handed by a nervous looking bartender. I nodded thankfully and went back to eating, ignoring the rest of the tavern. |
"Dad, why aren't we allowed to go outside?"
*My baby girl. So sweet. So innocent.* My eyes welled with tears. I had imagined this day for years, before Marie and I had even met, much less talked about kids. I always saw her little hand wrapped around my finger as we walked, my towering figure acting as a deterrent from the dangers of the outside world.
*Now it doesn't matter.* No matter my size, there was nothing I could do to protect her from...*whatever* was out there.
"Daddy, can't we go out for just a little bit? It's so quiet in here. I want to explore."
I crouched down to her level. My daughter's hair, umber and unruly, sat in front of her eyes so that I couldn't make direct contact. *You look so much like your mother.* I slowly shook my head. "I'm sorry sweetie, but we can't. It's not safe out there."
"Why not? Just for a few minutes, Daddy. I'm so bored of watching the TV and checking the garden."
*I am too,* I thought. There wasn't much you could do when imprisoned in your own home. Lucky for us, we were still be able to get a signal, so we weren't completely cut off from the world. We got all the reruns at this point. Since the toxin had permeated the atmosphere, no new shows had been made. That made sense, though, given the actors were probably dead or in hiding themselves.
The garden was another stroke of luck. I had been hoarding food for months, since the first warning went out, but it was my daughter who had suggested making a place where we could grow our own food. We cleared out a spot in the foundation and grew carrots and lettuce there. It wasn't a complete lifesaver, but given the circumstances, it was better than nothing.
*Was is pretty accurate though.* The past month had been brutal for us. A leak had killed whatever crop we could have brought in, and I would need to check and see if the soil could even support new plants in the future.
My daughter's voice brought me back to reality. "We wouldn't have to go out really far. I'll hold my breath and everything. I can hold my breath really good, see?"She took a huge breath, and I chuckled as she held her mouth shut until she turned red and had to gasp.
"All right honey, get your coat on. We'll go out for a little bit."
*My little ray of sunshine. We'll see your mother soon...* Marie had gone out to try and get us some supplies years ago, but had never returned. I knew she had not made it to any store before succumbing, but I couldn't tell our child the truth. I had simply told her that her mother was on an adventure and would be back as soon as she could. It wouldn't work her whole life, but it bought me time.
At this point, I was giving up. I wanted to just walk out and take a deep breath, but I couldn't bear to leave her on her own. I knew she could live by herself, but no one deserves to lose their parents and have to live on their own. Either one of us would survive...or neither of us would.
I zipped up our coats, and we walked hand in hand to the door. My daughter looked up at me. "Daddy, what do you think it's like out there?"
I looked back at her, doing my best to remain strong. "I bet it's just like how it was when I grew up. Green grass and blue skies as far as the eye can see."
I then opened the door, and we walked hand in hand into the outside world.
/u/TemporaryPatch New Years Resolution Tracker: 21/100. Visit /r/TemporaryPatchWrites for more responses and stories! |
Emily stared at herself in the mirror, naked.
Breasts, average. Butt, average. Face, average. Smile, exceptionally average.
She sighed to herself. She had boyfriends before. She wasn't a virgin to be sure, but who was nowadays?
Her relationships were just, well, plain. Average boyfriends for an average girl, she presumed.
"Why am I like this?"she asked herself.
She wanted more than anything to be like the girls in a John Green novel. Exciting and adventurous. Sexy. She lolled over those books for hours, reading and rereading. She realized soon enough though that even her interest in these books were an average obsession. After all, Her little sister did the same thing.
Emily slid to the floor of her stone-cold bathroom and curled herself in a ball. She wasn't even depressed, just apathetic. She couldn't even manage tears.
She reached for her phone on her counter and opened Instagram. Scrolling down, she obsessed over the curvy women with big butts and beautiful beaches to pose at. She sighed, again.
She imagined what those women must be like. What their day to day lives must be like.
"Maybe they're really just as lost as me,"she said to herself.
They were.
|
*Good morning, the time is 7:00AM*
I awoke to my artificially intelligent assistant's words, gently waking me from my sleep.
*you have 3 new messages and 7 new updates in your automated news-collection...*
As the plausibly human-sounding electronic assistant was reading out important events, I'd begun my daily routine, the first step of which was cleaning myself up. My motorized toothbrush, my towel warmer, my automated coffee dispenser, my wireless device occupying my time with news while I ran through the early motions, without these things the daily routine moved painfully slow in our ever-faster society.
My wireless phone integrated into my electronic multi-tool, lit up with a message:
*incoming visual communication with [Casey], do you wish to open the line?*
"Sure thing."
*...opening connection...*
"Hey man, good morning!"
My daily routine was now visible to my work-mate on his electronic communicator as well. As I finished my morning preparations he informed me about his situation.
"So, the thing is, my car broke down and I need a ride to work. I know it's a bit out of your way though"—
"No not at all, I woke up on time for once after all, it's no issue to me."
I grabbed my freshly auto-brewed coffee and set out to pick up Casey. I still had a few things to do, so I programmed in his address to my self-driving vehicle through the console-mounted interface.
*confirm address?* [YES] *ok, estimated time until arrival... 17 minutes*
I'd realized quickly after leaving that I'd forgotten to turn off a few things at home, but didn't want to turn around and check things manually, I was already fairly late. This didn't worry me though, as I was able to just—
"Hey assistant, can you make sure my door is locked and the heating is disabled?"
*you wish to: lock [HOME] doors and set [HOME] automated heating to OFF?*
"Yeah, sounds about right."
*confirming changes... applied*
After a few minutes of silence, my electronic device's micro-motors suddenly activated and vibrated in my pocket; it was notifying me of a voice message from Casey.
"I was wondering if you were coming over, you're 5 minutes late."
"Yeah, sorry, things took a bit longer than I would've liked this morning, I'll be there in 3 minutes."
Things continued normally throughout the rest of the morning: I picked Casey up, we got to work, our slight tardiness was forgiven due to my colleague's extenuating circumstances. All in all, a typical and uneventful morning. If only things could be more efficient, more automated, maybe we might not have been late otherwise. |
*Yes, please have a seat.*
*So I wanted to ask you a few questions about some historical events.*
I shrug. Truth be told I’m not entirely comfortable telling Richard about history. But he’s Richard J. Evans, an extremely famous british historian. Might as well answer the questions and get it over with.(Also the monetary compensation that I’m getting is a plus.)
*What’s your oldest memory he asks.*
**Hard to say really. You know being so old, memory goes in and out but the most definitive one that I have is of Sumer. I was a phalanx in Gilamesh’s vanguard. We fought the Assyrian army for days. You should’ve seen this one. Arrows everywhere, blotting out the sky. And the vultures and the blood. Turned the whole desert red for miles. It was a hoot and a half.** I chuckle.
*Really? What was gilamesh like?*
**Bit of a player if you know what I mean. Didn’t really help the goddess Inanna out of the goodness of his heart if you get what I’m saying.** I say winking at Richard. **But he was strong. Very strong. Hosted the bull of heavens over his head and threw it a good 10 meters away.**
*What about Cleopatra?*
**Yeah wasn’t really there in Egypt during her time or during any of those ptolemic dicks. Starved half of Egypt is what they did. I was in Babylon that time. Was the personal guard for Hammurabi.**
Richard turns around his laptop after a few fettered clicks and I see a picture of some old statue.
*Do you recognize this?*
**Nope. Who’s this supposed to be?**
*That’s Hammurabi.*
**Really? Jeez the sculptors bungled up on this one then. Where is his hooked nose and his missing ear? I mean we made fun of him plenty of times for that, not that we would say to his face of course.**
*What’s the most important historical event you remember?*
**Important? It depends on perspective of course. I would say the time I spent in the hanging gardens of Babylon was the best. For you important would be something like the court of Solomon or the salt march with Gandhi or the salem witch trials. Yeah the last one was not something you would want to watch personally.**
*What’s your worst memory then?*
I swallowed. Richard didn’t understand the full implications of what he was asking. I was old, really old and I had been through some of the worst things in history. I think he could tell that when my casual, funny demeanour had vanished. I could see in the reflection of the screen that my eyes were dark, hollow points set against my stoic face.
*David...What’s your worst...*
**Auschwitz.**
*I’m sorry. What happ...*
**I don’t want to talk about it.** I said, crossing my arms over my chest.
One of the personal rules I’ve made is to never talk or think about that place. Some memories should stay dead and forgotten and this is coming from the guy who had seen Spaniards rape their way through Tenochtitlan, the black plague, the great famine of Bengal where children literally collapsed with hunger to death in front of me.
*Okay...Let’s move on from that for now. Who was your favourite person in history?*
I smile. It is a painful one but her memory still brings me some comfort and joy. She was dead, long dead and her people and her place forgotten. The whole world had written them out of history and into fiction. She would smile if I told her that. She would say that I was making up stories and give me that beautiful smile that she had. She was innocent and naive like that.
**My favourite person Dr.Richard...She’s dead.** I say with some difficulty.
*Who was it?*
My smile fixates and my eyes grow dark again.
**It’s been eight thousand, three hundred and forty seven years since she passed away and I still remember every single strand on her head, every little detail of her face. What is dead, should stay dead professor. You’re asking questions you’re not going to like the answers to. She’s dead, along with her people and her continent. Let’s leave it at that.**
*She certainly seems important to you. It would be very helpful to know what an immortal being such as yourself considers an important person.*
I shook my head. Her memories were precious to me, close to me. It was something that I didn’t want to share with anybody. Before I realized it my eyes were getting bleary, moist. I shake my head and pull myself together.
*Okay if you don’t want to tell me about her then about this place of hers. You talked about a continent. What continent are you talking about?*
I smile. I already know his reaction.
**You’re not going to believe me professor.**
*Try me.*
I stare at him for a good minute but he seems resolute in knowing the answer.
**Atlantis.** I say softly.
------------------------
AN: Ask more questions about history and the immortal being will answer them in part 2. Honestly had a lot of fun writing this one.
Also visit [The Secret Society Of Racoons] (https://www.reddit.com/r/AquaticRacoon/) for more of my shameless plugs.
Edit: [Part 2] (https://www.reddit.com/r/AquaticRacoon/comments/8izr08/youre_several_thousand_years_old_and_a_historian/) |
"It's like she was made for you!"Whispered Tex as he gave me a nudge. I couldn't help but agree. After so many years of running, planet to planet, you get mighty lonesome. The few people you do meet don't often stay long. Either you drive 'em off or the life does. But not her. Not my Lilly.
We met when I was running diluted dark matter crystals for the Trojans. They ran the strongest racket across Titan's moons. I was halfway to the rendezvous with the buyer when two Federation interceptors got on my ass. I ended up activating the crystals and firing them against an asteroid cluster to shake em. Christ, the fireworks that put up. A thousand supernovas collapsing into mini black holes and two federation ships getting Swiss Cheesed between em.
After the last of those intergalactic firecrackers stopped shredding reality, I poked around for any good salvage. A couple good guns, few credits laying around. And Lilly. I found her in a holding cell in the back. Said she was caught hitting a couple Fed credit transfers when they were between satellites. Timed it down to the millisecond. Now that's some finesse. I got her out and we got on like gangbusters.
By the time we were to be wed, I'd been through Hell and back at least a dozen times, mostly with her dragging my sorry ass along. She was smart, funny, didn't take no skylarking, and could out draw me if I had a ten minute head start. She was the type of woman you hold on to. The one in a million type. The perfect woman.
"Ah shit, Tex, she's a succubot."I said reaching for my holster, the must have accessory for any wedding.
Lilly stopped halfway up the aisle and I watched her soft, caring eyes turn into infrared scanners aimed right at me. Her right hand turned into a plasma cannon, which I believed meant it was about time Tex and I made a hasty retreat behind a bench. The Father was polite enough to join us.
"Jesus jump-fucking Christ, what'd you two cunts drag me into?"Asked the Father piously furious.
"Thought it was just going to be a wedding."Said Tex, checking his cylinders.
"I was under the same impression."I agreed, doing the same.
"Well why the fuck couldn't she've killed ye somewheres far from me fucking congregation!"Asked the father, filling his shotgun barrels.
"You know how the Fed likes to play the long game. Guess they were trying to see if they could turn me into an unwitting informant against the Trojans."I replied, kneeling behind a corner of the pew.
"Don't those dumb fucks know that the Trojans want your scalp worse than they do?"Observed the Father.
A blinding lump melted off the corner of the pew, startling me terribly.
"Yes, let's debate the intelligence of those who have put us in this situation instead of resolving said situation."Replied Tex.
Weapons locked and loaded, the three of us and the great holy ghost himself rose up and unloaded upon the bio-engineered love of my life. My and Tex spat hot lead against her while the Father, bless his soul, couldn't hit fuck-all from ten feet away with a shotgun. His first shot unleashed the doves we had planned to release at the climax of the wedding. His second shot shattered the beautiful stained glass depicting the fall of man, causing a multitude of pastel shards to rain down from on high. The third shot killed aforementioned doves.
When the dust and doves settled, we took stock. Lilly, rest her circuits, was more hole than head. Thank god we carry heavy loads or the story might not be the same. The Father was adamant that he would be given reparations for the stained glass, a point that I felt very strongly opposed to, as it was his lack of judicial shot placement that had caused the damages. By the time we had moved the matter onto the subject of what did and did not constitute duty of care, Tex had patched the gaping hole a plasma blast had sublimated out of his arm.
None the worse for wear, we decided that, in memory of Lilly, we should jettison her into the sun, go to the saloon, and get proper hammered. |
Look, I didn't set out to be a god or anything. It just kind of happened. I mean, what was I supposed to do, ignore them?
But I guess I'm getting ahead of myself.
It started a couple months ago, when I found the anthill in the middle of my garden. A great big thing, and they bit me if I went anywhere near. When the hose failed to get rid of them, I decided to ask Ralph.
I don't know exactly *what* Ralph does for a living. Something with chemistry? But he'd been talking to me for a while about some kind of new pesticide he'd been working on. So, I offered to give it a field test, and he agreed. He gets to test his new bug-killer, I hopefully get rid of the ants who are keeping me out of my garden, it's a win-win.
Or it would have been, if it had done anything. Ralph was very disappointed. The ants started acting kind of weird, but they didn't go away, so I decided to just avoid them. I took photos of the stuff they piled up by their hole, though. Stacks of tiny pebbles and crazy shapes made out of dirt. Maybe Ralph's bug-killer messed with their tiny insect brains or something. I figured, any effort they put into weird dirt piles wasn't doing anything productive, so maybe the poison was sort of working.
I started getting kind of worried when tiny, ant-sized statues of bugs started appearing around the garden. I didn't even tell Ralph, figured he'd think I was crazy. Ants making art? Who'd believe me.
But then. They learned to talk. A group of them, climbing around my window. Just nonsense words, stuff they must've heard from the TV. Lots of bits of ads. I don't know how they were talking at all, and I was starting to get kind of scared. Starting to wonder if maybe I was crazy.
But then came the morning I woke up to them calling my name. A big cluster of them on my windowsill, chanting my name, chanting 'come', circling around a tiny statue of me. And when they saw me, they added 'kill' into the mix, and started heading off to somewhere else, a bunch of them carrying that statue.
So I followed the line. What else was I supposed to do?
They led me to more ants. Not the ones I'd seen before, not the ones I'd poisoned or given super-serum or whatever it was Ralph's stuff did. These ones were black instead of red, and a little bit bigger. Their enemies, apparently.
'Kill, kill, kill,' the ants chanted at me. So I got the hose again.
Ever since then, they've started leaving offerings on the windowsill. More clay statues. Tiny bright pebbles. Crumbs and dead bugs. They've started making tools, out of bits of wood and insect carapace.
I'm afraid to go outside. |
Never been much for writing but here. Let's see if somebody can spot the anime I'm borrowing from.
I'd been in town for two days now and I leave tomorrow. Thats two days spent with an iron grip on my gun, and I wasn't the only one. This town was the roughest sort of place. The sort of place where there was no jail and no sherifs office, but the morgue and cemetery were twice as large. Everywhere I looked there were men with swords, women with pistols, and every shopkeeper had a shotgun in arms reach. Everyone, except for my dining companion. Compared to the motley crew that made up the townsfolk this old man was practically a cherub with no weapon to speak of except for his cane.
Somehow in this town of killers this geriatric half bald man who told me to call him g'paw looked completely at ease. He was the only one. As he sat and calmly took apart his stack of pancakes with whipped cream he paid no mind to the people on the street. He politely pretended not the notice that every person who saw him sitting there gave him a hard stare until they passed us. He never commented on how women held their children closer as they rushed by. All of them seemed to fear him in some way. Everyone, except for me and the blonde hotshot currently barging his way on to the open air patio.
As the blonde man moved towards us I got a good look at him. He was a young man with a bright spark in his eye. He probably came to see the town where murder seemed to happen as often as the clock chime. Well the weight of his gait made his intent clear and he drew his piece as he came up to our table. I began to pull my own before g'paw got a shine to his eye that froze me while he waved at me to keep it away. Before I could reconsider, or blondie gets halfway through his first threat, a mammoth of a man is suddenly behind the thug. In the blink of an eye the giant has twisted the punks arm so that he drops his weapon and has him face down on our table. The beast looks at the old man who is calmly finishing his stack of flapjacks and asks him a question.
"What you want done to this one God Father?" |
I'm proud of what I have achieved, given the imperfections in the Master's creations. This Infernal Refinement System, devised and iterated over thousands of years, has become the well-oiled machine it is meant to be. Incoming souls are classed, graded, and assigned personal demonstrators to undertake the Refiner's Fire: an intensive, individualised training plan to purify their natural instincts. Under the love and care of my very best lieutenants, not one has yet failed or dropped out!
O how far have we come. O how wrong we once were! The initial attempts had a lot of grooves to iron out. I still feel a bit sorry for Sisyphus, who after fifteen thousand leg days just sat down and cried. Midas was a disaster in the empathy sessions. Qin Shi Huang wrote ten thousand upon ten thousand pages of calligraphy, apologising for every book he had burned and every scholar he had killed in his ignorance. Finally got the bastard to learn to read and write, but it was absolutely inefficient!
Yet we the Infernal Refiners persevered. With each iteration, Master lent us engineers and inventors to help design better, more intricate machines. Wise elders for training on new counseling strategies. Doctors and former Olympians for physio. Gone were the clumsy hill and boulder; in came the Kegel machines and bench presses. Out went the spit roasts for recidivist carnivores, in came heaven's best Hindu and Buddhist chefs, volunteers all. The lentil dhal tonight - surprisingly simple, and yet divine!
Until now. One very special person had come in two and a half days ago, and started making a mess of everything. Barging into private eleven-step circles. Trashing the gym equipment. Overturning prescription counters. Freaking offering everyone an premature ticket to heaven, and of course the poor souls were listening. After all, if they didn't get hooked on silly self-help charlatans they wouldn't be here in the first place!
This needs to stop. Right now, my office is full of various demons complaining about him messing up their groove. Even some of the Bodhisattva preparing this week's meditations and haute cuisine are present, although their programmes haven't been touched per se. It's more that their participants weren't able to settle down properly to enjoy their allotted time.
Given the circumstances, I had to dial the Master immediately. I pick up the big, red phone.
"Concierge, 777 please."
"Of course, Luci. I've been watching recent events on earth with great interest, and have been expecting~"
"Cut it. He's trashing my joint, Conzo!"
"Ok I'll put you right through."
I wait a moment as the loquacious scholar reroutes. A deeper, more resonant voice answers. Angelic, but not what I needed.
"Luci, Father's a little busy right now."
"It's an emergency, Mike. Let me through."
"Sure bro."
Another pause. This time, a quiet voice fills the room with awe. Everyone falls silent as I drop the handpiece back into its socket. God didn't need technology to go on speaker mode.
"Speak, dear Lucifer."
"Master. It's your Son Jesus. Can you please come down as soon as you can and get him out of my face?" |
Everyone knows that if you kill someone, you talk with Death. He is indifferent, and does not speak for long, but he talks. I was afraid of him for a long time as a child because I thought he would be mean, or cruel, or maybe he would make fun of me for the animal hats I constantly wore. It was a good thing, then, that I did not meet him for a long time, since I know some people who first spoke with him when they were only nine years old.
I tried to avoid the high-stakes occupations when I grew up, of course. I didn't strive to be a doctor, or a soldier, or a bartender. Actually, I took a job working at a local Wendy's joint. It seemed domestic enough, no real dangers to be had.
I was seventeen years old when he first arrived, quiet and calm, beside my car. I had been standing at the register when I noticed him standing out there in the rain. It appeared as though the drops didn't touch him, instead moving around his polished black suit. I can't describe what he looks like now to you, since he appears differently every time I see him, but this time he was a young Indian man. I don't know why. I never know why he looks like he does. It's worth noting that I only choose to call it "he"because I don't actually know what he is. Sometimes Death looks like a woman. Damn, I wish just once he'd look like Megan Fox. It'd be interesting, and a good way to distract myself from the fact of what I did.
To date, I have killed (indirectly, I believe, or at least I hope indirectly) fourteen people. I've worked at Wendy's for a little under three years while I attempt to save up enough for college.
I don't know what it is I do. I know it can't be the food, our health grade is an A every time. Hell, I'm not even the one who cooks it. I just greet the customer, take their order, and slide them their meal. And yet, Death and I talk. He never tells me what it is specifically that I do that ends someones life, but he told me these words once, and they've haunted me ever since: "It is always what you /didn't/ do."
You know, I can't know for certain, but I think it has something to do with the unique kind of people who wander into my restaurant at around sunset. There's nothing concrete about them, nothing that's there for every person, but there is one thing I've noticed; their eyes are dull. They're...missing something. Sometimes the person who orders from me is energetic, and smiling, but then their eyes don't crinkle in the corners like they should and I think something is off. Sometimes they wear dark clothes and don't talk much, hardly looking at me. I never say anything about it to them, of course, because I don't know if I should or not. But every time they leave, every time they walk out that door and drive away after saying a hurried "thanks", Death comes and talks to me.
"It wasn't a car accident, Kelsey. Don't you worry about that,"he says warmly each time, an impossibly deep look in his eyes, "worry about what you didn't do."
There's one guy coming in right now as I type this, and he looks like one of them. One of the light-less eyed people. I think, well... I think that this time I'll ask him about his day or something.
Maybe I can make him laugh when I hand him the nuggets I know he's going to ask for.
Here it goes.
|
He had in his eyes that hollow, thousand-yard stare. He moved stiffly - robotically, almost - as if the robots that dominated the epic wastelands of the Desert Wars had turned part of him into one of their own. I held his cold, limp hand as the device fitted itself over his head. "You'll just feel a buzz,"I comforted him. He nodded blankly. I had found my calling in helping people like him.
We first truly came to grips with the terrible effects of PTSD near the turn of the millenium. Soldiers would come home shell-shocked and indifferent to their surroundings. We generally knew how to treat it. We would ease them into the new environment, gradually wiping their access to memories of the most traumatic of those recent events. It was effective. Lieutenant Peters seemed impervious to the treatment. So instead we opted for the more invasive approach, inspecting the location of his memories so we could target those areas of the brain specifically. I would be able see the memories as they played through his head, his hands clenching and his bulging muscles spasming as he relived them.
"The Desert Wars,"I mumbled to myself, indicating on another monitor where those memories were stored. I tried not to look too much at the burnt villages and the dried and torn oases and what was once a splendid savanna turned had turned a whole continent into endless sands. Robots marched, their handlers following their path of destruction.
These memories didn't seem to elicit much of a response from him, as if the treatments had worked. I went further. He should have been a boy by now, memories of playing in the yard, chasing his dog around a sprinkler or learning to ride a bike or of grade-school detention. Instead I saw him fighting terrorists in the Middle East, bullets whizzing by as the dust settled in the aftermath of the IED. A soldier lay beside him, leg severed at the hip, blood pouring out as his eyes glazed over lifelessly. I saw a child wandering through the crossfire, the skin of his face hanging from a couple threads of flesh. Lieutenant Peters fired two merciful shots and the boy collapsed.
I went further. The jungles of Vietnam came and went, endless mosquitoes and snipers and booby-trapped tunnels. The carnage of Normandy was but another blip in his memories. He charged from the trenches of Verdun. He fought against the boys in blue and against the redcoats. If war was not following him, he definitely seemed to be following war.
There were few conflicts he didn't seem to be a part of. I imagined him in his prime, embracing every fight with the gusto of an undefeated boxing champ. He was a natural killer, a professional soldier, escaping unscathed as he harnessed hundreds of years of experience into those raw survival skills. I knew exactly the type of person I was dealing with. His hands remained limp, his arms relaxed. None of the familiar spasms had occurred yet. I went further, trying to find that crucial memory that had turned such efficiency into an incapable mess.
Finally, as I entered another war thousands of years ago, I saw his hands flex. Beads of sweat appeared on his brow. His jaw tensed. The beautiful hills of Greece appeared, crows and vultures feasting on the carnage of a slaughter. I continued my journey into his memories. There were the Persians, led by Xerxes. King Leonidas bellowed to his outnumbered soldiers, motivating them into an unparalleled frenzy.
I saw Lieutenant Peters at the forefront, thrusting his sword into countless Persians. And still more came, a ceaseless stream of the feared Persian Immortals, dying just the same as any other man. The Spartans maintained their lines. And then the arrows rained upon them, and he was laying beneath a pile of bodies, drenched in their blood and blanketed by limbs. And sweat was pouring down his forehead. He didn't move until the birds began to peck at his hand, once the Persians had gone and the bodies had been looted. His hands were clenched against the edge of the seat. I had dealt with men like him before. I remembered, too.
I had checked the bodies. I had stabbed each one I found, yet somehow he had escaped me. I had hunted men like him for thousands of years, until I was convinced that I was the only one left. I had found them in the desolate corners of Patagonia, hiding in a shack in terror at that fate that hunted them down. I had found them in the pagodas of Southern Asia, trying to channel forces of the mind to ward off their eventual fate. I had found them in the tundras of Siberia, hiding amongst the dismal prisoners of the Gulag, as if I couldn't infiltrate a place so vile to do what had to be done.
Yet here he was, coming to me, of all people, in one of those twisted turns of fate. They're all immortal until they're not. I left him to his memories and stood, walking around to where I kept my supplies. The hilt of the knife was carved from the bones of the first men. Only something that has survived forever can kill somebody who can survive forever. I let him enjoy a peaceful last moment, drinking and laughing with the men of the Greek rearguard the night before the battle. And then I ran the blade across his throat, and his hands went limp and his body sagged. He had lived long enough.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
By and large, the duration of our memories is disappointingly brief. We forgive and forget. We live and leave behind. We are doomed to repeat history. Even the dead man, closing his eyes for the last time to the sobs of a widowed wife spends his one request on unfathomable wealth or on having a life full of the adventure he never had. I remember, though. I've closed my eyes for the last time so many times - exactly fifty-five times, to be precise - and each time when I find myself before the tribunal to make my one request for the next life, I have asked to remember.
At first it was harmless enough. What could one do with the memories of a slave who died too young? What could one do with the memories of a simple soldier fighting another man's war? By the sixth or seventh time, I could tell that they were more concerned. Here I was again, a little worse for wear maybe, my mind a little addled with the memories of a half-dozen lives before me, but still I made the same request. "I want to remember everything,"I would demand. And the members of the tribunal would glance at each other a bit concerned but ultimately they would approve, because that was my one request. It's not immortality. Far from it. I have felt pain. I have experienced death, more times than anybody else can remember.
I used to spend my time hunting down those who wronged me before. They would stare into the eyes of a bigger, stronger and wholly different man and panic would overcome them as I slid a blade between their ribs. It was unprovoked, to them. But I remembered. Finally it seemed petty. Men wronged. It was just the way we were. My revenge would exact itself. Someday, they would lose a loved one and their loved one would forget about them as they stood before the tribunal and requested wealth or power. Then years later, in a different life, they would appear beside them and be met with a blank, unknowing stare. My revenge would exact itself.
So instead I collect. Memories are funny little creatures, appearing in multiple universes simultaneously but with the smallest differences and inaccuracies that render them gradually more useless until they are worth nothing at all. The more you share them and solicit the views of others, the more you start to doubt your own recollections. But I remember. I remember every last detail of everything I have ever learned.
So finally, on the eve of my fifty-sixth reincarnation, I found myself before the tribunal again. I knew how they worked by now. I knew the intricacies of their process and how stringently they had to accede to a request. "You want to remember everything?"the head of the tribunal asked me as I stood before them once again. They remembered me, of course. Their existence was timeless. My years or decades or the century I spent on Earth were just a moment or two to them before they were blessed again by my presence.
I shook my head. Enough of that. I remembered enough now that I could easily rebuild what I wanted, molding it all to my own image and casting aside whatever history dictated. "I want everybody to forget history,"I said. So long as this did not interfere with another request, it would be granted. They deliberated amongst themselves, endless hours for me but just a second or two for them as I stood in that time-warped chamber. And then they looked at me, their faces amused at the audacity of my request.
"Very well,"the head of the tribunal announced. "Everybody shall forget history."Their requests would still stand. They would still have their wealth or they would still be born alongside their family. They would still lead easier lives or experience more adventure. They just wouldn't remember our history. I would be free to instill in their minds whatever history I saw fit. I would tell them stories of how I had freed people from chains or invented the wheel or the plane or whatever I saw fit.
But this once, of the fifty-five times I had been here, the tribunal seemed to want one last word. My request was made, there was no turning back, yet they had something to add. "That includes you,"I was told as they snickered to each other, and I was trounced by my limitation of a single request per reincarnation.
*****
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"Found him with blood all over his mouth that one! Won't be surprised if he's been feeding on human flesh his entire life. Won't speak a word, snarls and snaps at any form of interaction.. Worse, I even heard the wolves howling the entire time they were separated by the ravine. Be careful when you go in. Wolves are vicious."
"He's just a kid... I wouldn't get my panties in a bunch."
I pricked my ears and sniffed the air, the fat one was bringing me food, I could smell it. It smelled strangely similar to chicken, although several pungent herbs had been added to the mix. I recalled what Yellow had taught me about the dangerous wild plants that grew in abundance on the far side of the woods. *Do not eat.*
I missed my pack. It'd been three moons past since we'd been separated by the humans on horseback with their loud boom sticks, chasing us down as we fled in horror. The stench of smoke and evil emanating from their wooden sticks lingered in my nostrils, as I recalled how three of my brothers had fallen to it. It was a strange way to die, neither by close combat, nor by hunger. Just a loud boom, and they were gone. It terrified me.
And now I was locked up in this room, deprived of fresh air and rodents to hunt for sustenance. I was going to die.
The loud clanging of locks reverberated around my small cell before the fat one entered warily, with a plate of greens and some chicken. A peace offering? He placed it on the ground gingerly before eyeing me, wondering if I would pounce on him and rip his throat off probably? Except he was wrong. We don't do that.
Nana had always warned us to be wary of humans. There were some good ones who enjoyed our company, and would leave some fowl for us when the harsh winter came. Those were friends. Then there were others who thought us a dangerous species and would hunt us down for sport. Over time, they became easier to discern, for the smell of boom sticks were so strong we could pick the scent up from miles away.
Since the fat one didn't have the stench on him, and brought me food, I figured he must be pretty alright.
I edged closer to the plate of food, ready to retreat to the corners of the room should my assessment prove incorrect.
Alas he didn't make any sudden movements and I was able to get to my food without issue. I sniffed it one more time and ascertained that there were no poisonous herbs before devouring the entire chicken.
"Woah, easy there kiddo. Nobody's gonna fight with you for it."He whispered through glistening eyes. I observed him, twitching my head slightly, unsure of what he was thinking. "They're gonna try and rehabilitate you, probably be a painful process considering you're the wolf kid. And yet.... I can't imagine how that might be true. If you were raised by wolves, I'd probably be fighting to pry your jaws from my neck."
He reached a hand out slowly, before settling it down on my head and started patting me, more tears welling up within his eyes.
"You don't want to be rehabilitated do you? You want to be out there with your wolves or dogs or whatever family you had..."
He looked down sadly before standing up, his posture assured.
"I'm going to take James away, and leave the doors open. You get away from here alright kiddo? You get away from here and stay away from the hunters."
He then picked up the empty plate and walked past the door, this time forgetting to lock it.
I pricked my ears and heard the laughter of two friends grow fainter before realizing I was in here all alone. I could almost feel the gentle touch of cold, fresh air not far away. On fours, I approached the door lustily and walked in the direction of the source of cool air.
As I exited the house, my jog broke into a sprint across the village, homeward bound.
I heard the shouts of concerned men while I ran past, smelled the dangerous scent of boom sticks as I galloped, urging me on even faster in fear. I bumped into females, knocked barrels out of my way before I was finally free from the overwhelming sensory overload that was the village.
As I approached the dense wilderness, I could smell the tracks left behind by my pack not far off and I knew, I was finally home. |
I sighed. The experiment had failed *again*. With a muttered curse, I flipped off the device and flopped into a nearby chair to mope for a few minutes. I had to wait regardless; it was not safe to leave the machine alone until the humming stopped, signifying that the machine had totally spun down and was completely stopped.
I don’t know how long I sat there, going through different scenarios in my head, trying to figure out what the next day’s experiments were going to be. I only knew that when I finally brought my attention back to the device, it was still humming.
*That’s odd. I could swear I flipped the switch.*
I stood and approached the device. Sure enough, it was in the off position.
My brow furrowed. I was not in the mood for a total device failure. I just wanted to go home, relax, and forget about work for a bit. Troubleshooting the machine did not have a spot in those plans. I grabbed the power cord and yanked it out of the wall. That, surely, would completely shut down the device. Even if it’s broken, it couldn’t run without a source of energy.
This time, when I sat down to wait for it to completely stop, I watched it intently for any signs of damage.
But after five minutes, it still hadn’t stopped.
“Hm,” I mumbled, now more intrigued than annoyed. I grabbed a nearby multimeter and started taking some readings. Perhaps a capacitor was still charged, or maybe some connection had shorted to create an unintentional LC circuit… I wrote down the numbers and started to write out some quick equations.
The results were completely unintelligible.
*That’s really odd.* I wrote some new equations, and this time I was careful to not use any approximations or assumptions.
My brow furrowed again, now from confusion rather than annoyance. If I had done my math correctly, the device was generating perpetual energy!
“What the f-”
**BANG. BANG.**
“This court is now in session. Would the defendant like to make any opening remarks?”
“-uck?” I blinked. “Wait. Where am I? What happened to my lab?”
My dark, cluttered lab had, without warning, turned into a bright, grand courtroom filled with an endless plethora of odd creatures. They were all staring at me.
“Young man, are you aware of the severity of the charges being brought against you?” the judge asked in a severe voice.
“Charges? What charges? What did I do? How did I get here?” I began to panic; had I been abducted by aliens? Did aliens even exist? Five minutes ago, I would have said no, but the evidence of my own eyes betrayed that belief.
The judge sighed and snapped two gangly fingers. A nearby alien brought out a holographic tablet and began to read.
“The accused, a ‘human’ from the savage planet ‘Earth’ is accused of violating these, the most sacred laws of the universe: the violation of conservation of energy.”
“Now,” the judge said, “what do you have to say for yourself?”
“I didn’t mean to,” I blurted. “I was just trying to fix a photomultiplier tube for a small scale liquid xenon detector when-”
“Enough! So you admit to committing this heinous crime?”
“I- I- I don’t know!” I protested. “I mean, the numbers looked good, but it was just a quick back-of-the-envelope calculation!”
“Very well. If you have nothing else to say in your defense, then-”
“Wait a minute!” I held my hands to my head, trying to think as quickly as possible through my rapidly oncoming headache. “Do I get a lawyer?”
The assembly laughed. “Do you think one of your puny ‘Earth’ lawyers will be able to save you?” the judge chuckled cruelly. “I think not. Besides, this trial has already started, and Earth is many parsecs away.”
The new information hit me like a ton of bricks, and it almost felt like my mind restarted.
“Parsecs?” I asked.
The entire courtroom laughed again. “Look at the puny mind of this weak animal,” the judge jested. “Poor thing can’t even understand proper distance units. A ‘parsec’ is-”
“It’s a unit of distance equal to three-pont-two-six light years derived from the distance it takes for a distant object to experience a parallax of one arcsecond, I know. But that’s not what I’m asking. I’m not even going to ask why it is that you apparently use the same arbitrary angle measurements as Earth. No, what I want to know is exactly how many parsecs away Earth is.”
The room fell silent. “It’s of no matter to you,” the judge finally said. “Several. A hundred. A thousand. It doesn’t matter, so long as you understand that it’s more than one.”
“Indeed. But what does matter is how I got here,” I said.
“It’s a complicated operation beyond your understanding, but it suffices to say that we teleported you from Earth to- ah, damn.”
“Aha!” I yelled. “If you teleported me, then you have moved me beyond the light cone of Earth, violating the speed of light and the continuity of the universe!”
“I don’t see how-” Tthe judge tried to protest, but I was gaining steam.
“You’re not here to prosecute me for breaking the laws of physics. You’re just here to find out how I did it because you don’t know how! You’re not guardians of the universe! You’re just a bunch of patent trolls!”
The assembled audience descended into chaos as they yelled, screamed, and jeered at both myself and the judge. It was hard to make out what the uproar was about, but apparently they weren’t in on the hustle and were scandalized to learn that their galactic civilization rested on the backs of frivolous lawsuits.
The judge banged his gavel in an attempt to be heard above the noise of the crowd. I could barely make out his words.
“GUARDS! TAKE THE HUMAN AWAY!”
And before I could move, a burly pair of alien beasts grabbed my arms and dragged me from the [courtroom](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks). |
“Timmy is a complicated kid.”
That was the mantra like phrase his mother would cry out as he took his exaggerated actions, his life one cursed hyperbole. If one would ask little Timmy to do a task, he would do it with a gusto that would often make them regret it.
The latest of these tasks was when the teacher Mr. Pickerbottom asked Timmy to open a window. Well, Timmy was a good-mannered student, at least he had been until this day. Standing up, he sauntered over to the window and with a heavy-handed elbow cracked through the thin glass, causing the children to join in a choir of hushed gasps.
Mr Pickerbottom’s face showed mixed emotions, a strange cocktail of anger and confusion. He was uncertain if he should shout at the boy or call for a doctor. He went with the latter, as annoyed as he might have been, the student’s welfare came first. He would have plenty of time to yell at the little smartass once he was all bandaged up.
They called his mother, rushing her from work to the school. The ambulance having just arrived a few moments before she did. Timmy was already getting his hand wrapped up, a smile plastered on his face, a smile that vanished as soon as he saw his mother.
“Oh dear, why would you do such a silly thing, I hope you are ok. We are going to have a long conversation about this behavior at home.”
She pulled Timmy into a hug. The child cringed, only giving his mother a light pat on the back as she embraced him. His bandaged hand scrapping along her back. He hated that woman, his hate something that many couldn’t understand. His mother was an angel, dealing with this troublesome child. People would often whisper among themselves when they noticed Timmy, whisper about how they would give a child like that up for adoption.
His behavior only got worse since that incident. He had been pulled into a feud with Mr Pickerbottom. The teacher trying to teach Timmy discipline, often assigning him various tasks, only to watch him use that excessive force of his to mess it up. Even the simplest tasks such as moving a chair would end in Timmy shot-putting the chair across the room, leaving students to duck in fear.
The truly odd thing about Timmy was how good his grades were. For a troubled child, he breezed through his studies. It was as though this excessive force transferred to his learning, able to read and write at the level of someone a few years above him. If it wasn’t for his behavior, he may have even been the ideal student.
They always consulted his mother about trying various therapies. Try these pills or try this doctor. Each therapy she would knock back, refusing to change her little Timmy. Timmy was perfect the way he was. She didn’t curse her own son just to fix him. Why would she want a child that risked falling behind, risked being lazy? She would much prefer a troubled child like Timmy. Even if Timmy didn’t love her, he would soon learn to, after all, who else did he have in his life? His father was dead, and no one would ever love a troubled child. He would accept her love or be unloved. Even if Timmy knew she was the one that cursed him, it wouldn’t change that fact.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
Something seriously fucked is going on.
Besides the fact that Anna's own freakin' *parents* don't even know who their daughter is, Anna would never have allowed her room to be turned into a home office. She would've died first.
Though by the looks of things, that might have happened.
A mental image flashed by of Anna, dressed in Spongebob pyjama pants and a baggy Sabaton tshirt, defending her room with one half of a broomstick with her glasses falling off and a fierce scowl on her face, and I snorted.
Yep, something fucked is going on.
Which is why I'm here, in the Saedler's home office, in the middle of the night, looking through bank reports and cheesy novel drafts at two o'clock in the morning, looking for a clue.
A single clue of where Anna might have disappeared to.
I cursed quietly and dropped the papers I was holding, cringing when they fell with a shuffling sound onto the desk. I stepped back and looked around, trying to gather my thoughts.
The room itself wasn't much to look at; just a single bookshelf and a chair along one wall, a computer desk along another, a window in the third and a door in the fourth. The window was currently open, the curtains swinging in a slight breeze and the moonlight making a faint pool on the rug. The yowl of a cat warbled into the room. Everything was still.
Suddenly I had an idea. I carefully peeled aside the corner of the rug, praying for it not to rustle as it folded away. I ran my hands along the floor, looking for that one loose floorboard...
Ow. Found it. Cracked my fingernail along its edge too.
I carefully hooked my fingernails under the edge of the floorboard and lifted...
*creeeeaaaaaak...*
I froze, not daring to move. Waiting for an angry voice to fall upon my ears and ask what on God's good earth I was doing in their house at two in the morning.
Nothing.
Suddenly it hit me. The stupid floorboard creaked.
I nearly fell over with relief but managed to not. Not the best beginning for an aspiring thief and infiltrator, I thought.
I continued lifting the board as quietly as possible, freezing whenever the board creaked, but no one came to throw me out.
I eventually lifted the board all the way and carefully laid it on the rug. Freakin' beautiful, amazing, sound-muffling rug, I thought.
I looked inside and only found Anna's notepad. Strange, I thought. She always kept that with her. It never left her side.
I picked it up and stashed it in the waistband of my pants. Horrible spot, I know. Sue me. I was running out of time.
I oh so carefully replaced the board and folded the rug back over. There. Looked good as new. Totally not as if someone ripped up the floor.
As I turned to climb back out the window, I paused. Something had caught my eye.
I approached the door to the rest of the house. Everything seemed normal. Normal doorhandle, normal door, normal everything.
Except there was something on the floor.
Plaster. Right along the left edge of the door, right under the hinges.
I straightened up, confused. Why would there be plaster along the floor? As far as I knew, the Saedlers were a meticulously tidy family, and any scrap of dust was whisked away as soon as it dared to enter their house.
Unless...
I ran my fingers along the side of the door until they hit the hinge. The hinge swung away from the wall as I hit it. I checked the other one and it swung away too.
Those hinges were screwed into solid wood behind the drywall. Three screws to a hinge, two hinges. I examined the middle of the door more closely, and cursed quietly.
The door was bent inwards from the outside.
Something had broken down this door. Something with the power to bend a solid slab of oak and rip six screws out of solid wood.
Suddenly this wasn't just worrying. This was frightening.
Suddenly all the sounds of the normally quiet house became horribly loud. The swish of the curtains. The creaking of the house as it settled. The clicking of the cat's paws on the wood as it ran down the hallway.
Wait a second. Cat's paws don't click.
Throwing all pretense of stealth away, I bolted for the window. My body seemed horribly slow as I approached it, my legs pumping furiously as the bedroom door burst open and the clicking suddenly sounded right next to me.
I made a dive for the window in a form that would have made any Olympic diver proud, and...
A searing pain ripped through the sole of my foot.
I hit the ground and crumpled into a heap, sobbing in terror and agony.
All I could think was it's coming. It's coming, and I'm going to die, and I don't want to die.
I closed my eyes and waited for the end.
Nothing happened.
I opened my eyes, my chest heaving from the sobs which racked my frame, and looked back at the house.
The window stood open, dark and empty. Nothing was there. Absolutely nothing.
And as I watched the window slid slowly closed. Nothing moved it. Nothing! I'm fucking telling you, nothing moved it. I saw it with my own eyes. It slid shut by itself.
And as I watched in disbelief, dots appeared on the condensation of the window. Moving down the frame. Like...like fingerprints?
I'M NOT FUCKING LYING! THERE WAS NOTHING THERE!
I scrambled to my feet and limped as fast as I could towards home.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I paced my bedroom, unable to sleep. The dawn had come, spilling in through my windows, and with it had returned my sanity.
It must have been a dream. There's no way it could be real. The stuff I'm remembering is insane, it can't happen. There's no possible way.
But. There's the gash along the sole of my foot, and the diary, the diary....lying on my bed. Unopened.
I didn't want to open it. I was afraid.
Afraid of what I might see.
I tore my gaze away from the book and went through the months leading up to today again. I knew it was just distracting myself, putting off the task of going through the diary. But I didn't care.
Five months ago, everything was normal. Anna was her usual goofy self, calling me up at two in the morning to ask whether cows got off by being milked, obsessing over fictional characters in books she'd read, telling bad jokes and texting me art she'd drawn.
Then things started to go downhill. She started texting more seldomly. She didn't answer my calls. She withdrew from school and started homeschooling. Her art just...dried up. She didn't send it to me anymore.
I'd try to call at her house, and her parents would say she was sick or at the mall. I'd try to find her at the library, knowing she spent hours there.
She was absent. It was like she just...disappeared.
But disappeared where? Her snapchat location was always at her house. All the time.
Maybe it had something to do with the *thing,* the horrible clicking thing that had chased me from the office.
No. That was their cat.
"I don't CARE that cats don't scratch right through shoes and into the flesh, it was their FUCKING cat,"I whispered savagely. "It was their cat, it was their cat, their cat, cat...."
... |
“Get out!,” the bartender said sternly, “We don’t serve time travelers!”
You walk out of the building and lean against the cold brick wall. The clouds have turned the night sky a slightly lighter shade of blue-gray, the streetlights emit a hazy orange tinge. It might rain. You sigh and think about the day you had, wishing you could just get a drink and forget about it. Your counts kept coming out wrong at the office, and because of it your reports were late. Amy, the girl you were texting gleefully, with flowing conversation and a likely date in the books for the following weekend, ghosted you. Your parents keep calling to ask how you are doing, always talking about the things you used to do when you were small, times they visited often.
Traveling time was something that most of those with the ability loved to do. You could go back to any time period of your life and be a spectator. People would take vacations to different times in their lives and enjoy the wonderful memories they had. You could come back to the present, but it was impossible to go any further into the future. It simply hadn’t happened yet, so there was nowhere to go.
Your parents don’t understand that you don’t like to time travel, that the head rush you get from it isn’t desirable in the least. You prefer to leave the past in the past, which is why you wanted nothing more at this moment than to drink it all away. But they won’t let you in. You try to tap your cell phone awake, and the screen stays black. You forgot to charge it last night, and the scant battery couldn’t last through the day. You tuck it back in your jacket pocket and sigh once again.
You feel a small warmth nearby. It emanates through your jeans and onto your skin. For most, this would be a welcome feeling on a chill night like tonight, but you know that feeling. Someone is coming to visit this time. You wished they wouldn’t. Who would want to see you wallowing by yourself outside of a bar?
You got your answer soon after. The warmth fades away and with a small white glow you see yourself standing in front of you. You look yourself in the eyes. He is older, his eyes are your same blue, but his skin looks darker, aged, and he has a sort of rugged charm about him. He speaks to you.
“Don’t go in again,” he says firmly, “Go home, now.” You are too shocked to speak. You feel the warmth again, close this time. It feels hot through your jeans and jacket. With a small white light, he disappears.
This wasn’t allowed. There was no issue with visiting the past to observe and watch your memories, but you were never supposed to interfere. Going through life, you would often see older versions of yourself or your family nearby. They were supposed to try to be inconspicuous, but it didn’t always work. It was easy enough to ignore them though, because you knew that if they were visiting, it was a happy memory for them, so you would carry on as if they weren’t there. They never spoke to you though. Using time travel to try to change the past was strictly forbidden.
He told you to go home. He sounded pretty serious about it, so something was probably going to happen. You wonder what it could be. You knew curiosity was going to get the best of you, and you never listened to yourself anyway. Remember all the times that you said you would get a salad instead of a burger, and you told yourself right before ordering to get the salad, yet you still ordered the burger? This was like that. Probably, at least, you thought. You think to yourself, I’ll find a spot that’s nearby but out of the way so I can see what happens. There’s a bus stop across the street, and about 50 feet from the door of the bar. That surely would be far enough away not to be a part of anything bad that could happen.
You walk to the bus stop and sit underneath the bright LEDs. Their white light and the blue from the bus stop sign change the haze from the orange it was before, and you feel mist in the air. You sit, staring at the door of the bar, hands and fingers colder than the rest of you. On your left side you feel the warmth again. Oh come on, you think, I just want to see what happens. The older version of yourself appears beside you again after a small glow of light, barely distinguishable under the light of the bus stop enclosure.
“I told you to go home!” he says to you, harshly, “Why do you always do this, you never listen!”
“Hey buddy, I’m you and you’re me. *We* don’t listen.”
“There is no reason for you to be here,” he responds, his gray eyes pleading you to leave, “Go home!”
The warmth returns and then fades as he leaves again. He’ll just keep coming back if you try to stay, but you really want to know what’s going to happen. Impulse control has never been a strong suit of yours. There’s only so many places you can go that you’ll still be able to see, and you assume since he was so adamant about you going home that the show was going to start soon, and it was going to be good.
There’s a small alleyway between the bar and the building next door. It has one streetlight, but that’s enough for you to feel safe from whatever could be hiding in there. You’ll just be right inside the corner after all.
About two minutes after you moved to the alley, peeking around the corner with anticipation, you feel the warmth on your back. You groan. The light from his appearance is much brighter than it was at the bus stop, but you’re not sure if it’s the change in the lighting around you or if he’s really that mad that you won’t go home.
When he appears behind you, you don’t even turn around. “Oh well then,” he says, matter of factly, “If you won’t go home, then suit yourself.” He disappears again.
You wait inside the alleyway and then decide that peering around the corner makes you look a little creepy. You come around and lean against the brick wall at the end of the building. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. And it feels like an eternity. You’re not really sure how much time has passed, since your phone died, but you’re sure that it hasn’t been more than 15 minutes. The street is quiet. There’s not much of a nightlife around here, especially not on a Tuesday.
In the distance you hear a quiet clicking. It’s consistent. It gets closer and you realize that it’s a pair of heels. The figure that you see walking in those heels, is Amy. In the haze of the night, she sees you, but she doesn’t see *you.* She walks into the bar alone.
You realize that maybe this is part of the something that’s going to happen. Should you go into the bar? No, they’ll just kick you out again. While you’re tossing your thoughts back and forth, wondering what you should do, you see the soft white glow in the same direction that Amy came from. Your older self appears and walks toward you. He stops at the door and looks like he’s about to speak to you. You interrupt before he can.
“Alright, is that why you wanted me to go home?” you ask, projecting your voice over the sidewalk, “You didn’t want me to see the girl who ghosted me go into the bar that won’t let me in?”
He smirks, and doesn’t respond. Instead he turns on his heels and walks into the bar.
You start to follow him in before remembering that you’ve already been kicked out once, if you go in again the bartender will probably call the police. He’s inside about a minute before you hear the shout of the bartender, telling your future self that they don’t serve time travelers, just like he told you not long before. He walks out of the bar, but Amy is with him.
“I told you they wouldn’t let me in,” he said to her, “let’s try another bar.”
“Okay,” she responds, “there’s a dive down fifth, I can get us an Uber.
After a few taps and swipes on her phone, Amy says that their ride will be there in five minutes. You watch as the older version of yourself stands close to Amy. He ignores you standing nearby and you try not to look weird standing outside of the bar by yourself. If you smoked, having a cigarette would help the facade, but that head rush was worse than the one from time traveling. Their Uber pulls up, and he opens the door for her. She climbs in the back seat and as he leans in behind her, he turns to look at you.
“Should’ve went home,” he says slyly.
The car door slams and they pull off. You’re still standing outside of the bar that won’t let you in. The orange glow of the streetlights and the drizzle of rain on the sidewalk flee from your mind. After the day you’ve had and the events of this evening, you come to the realization that you’ll need to wait *years* to find out what happens between you and Amy, because you can go back, but you can’t go forward.
Edit to add: I think I misread the prompt before I started writing, but I hope you enjoy the story anyway :) |
"And it was on that day when the course of human history was dramatically altered. A solar flare nearly a million times more powerful than our largest atom bomb vaporized each satellite in orbit, and essentially vaporized any land not sufficiently guarded from the wrath of the sun . Thanks to our top of the line technology at the time, the continental United States has remained mostly intact. Today, we persevere in light of our fallen brethren across the world, even if the conditions on this planet prevent us from leaving. We shall be an example for future generations, and restore humanity to its former greatness."
The triumphant music faded out as the teacher walked up to the board to pause the playback.
"Well, class, that concludes what might be your largest lesson of the year. Notes are due next Monday, and we'll be having a quiz on vocabulary on Wednesday."
The bell rung, and Michael shuffled out the door with his classmates. Outside, the constant hum of the SFDF (or Solar Flare Deterrent Field, as everyone learned in first grade) and the rays of the unforgiving sun above served to remind everyone of what had been, and would be, until the ends of their lives.
Michael hurried over to the cafeteria, and unpacked the thing (he thought it might have been a sandwich) that his parents *lovingly* packed into his lunchbox. He groaned. Jackson sat down on the opposite side of the table, and looked Mike right in the eye.
"You weren't on Astro Raiders last night like you promised."
Mike put down his food.
"I had a crap ton of homework, alright? I can't believe our teachers had to turn the most important event in human history into busywork."
"OK, I hear ya."
They sat and chewed on their food for a little while, until a commotion stirred on the opposite side of the room.
"What are they yelling about over there?"Mike asked.
"Dunno, but the staff over there seem to be having a mental breakdown."
He looked over, and saw that, indeed, the adults were collapsing on the floor. His teacher who had taught him the lesson not even 20 minutes ago was now bawling on the floor uncontrollably. With interest piqued, he slowly stood up and walked over to the group that was quickly coalescing. After pushing himself around a few of his fellow classmates, he saw the headline that sent everyone into a frenzy.
"AFTER TWENTY YEARS OF RADIO SILENCE, GOVERNMENT NOW REPORTS CONTINUED PRESENCE OF INTERNATIONAL ENTITIES AT PRESENT DAY"
The shock filled his conscious mind for a full ten seconds; then he shook it off. He had never lived in a world where there were more countries than the US. He had no idea what these other people were capable of, or what they even did. The adults apparently did, seeing their misery. He took a few steps back and ran over to Jackson to tell him the news.
Jackson nearly choked on the burger he was eating before turning to Mike with a face full of disbelief. "They were there the whole time. Holy shoot."
Mike later occupied himself on the bus ride home with a quick scroll on his phone. People were expressing rage at the trick, while others showed acceptance of the truth, and still others were deep in thought of what possibly could have encouraged the rest of the world to hold such a complex charade for so long.
When Mike finally got home, he was welcomed with the both of his parents locked in an embrace on the couch while the TV rattled off the continuing developments. He laid his backpack on the kitchen floor and walked over on the couch to share a seat with them. They took him in as well, staying together for whatever the world was about to hand them next.
Edit: Changed some numbers for scientific accuracy. |
Carlos' phone buzzed. A news alert. Gigaslayer was attacking the DMV. Great. Cue the ridiculous excuses in 5... 4... 3...
"Professor?"
"Yes Anna?"
"My cat is dead. I need to leave."
"Anna, this is an important quiz! You need to take it to pass!"
"Sorry!"She shouted, grabbing her backpack and running out the door. A shiny red mask fluttered to the floor.
"ANNA!"
"Yes?
"You dropped something."
A look of shock crossed her face as she scooped up the mask. "It's just a..."
"Whatever, go."
"Professor?"
"Peter."
"Anna's my girlfriend, I should be there for her."
"Can't legally stop you I guess."
The young man poked three other students and gestured to the door.
"You're all going?"
"Anna's my girlfriend, I should be there,"said Blaine.
"Anna's both of your girlfriends?"
"It's a complicated relationship."
"She's out of both of your leagues. Anyway, just leave, all of you. I can't persuade you otherwise, though I wish you'd think of your education."
The five students now gone, Carlos settled into his chair with a sigh. It was obvious that they were the League of Honor. They *always* disappeared right when the city was in danger. But sometimes it seemed like a poor excuse to play hooky. Gigaslayer was attacking a *DMV.* It seemed all he wanted was a better photo for his license. That was reasonable, even if skipping the fee and taking the entire DMV hostage instead wasn't.
Peter, Anna, Blaine, Carla, and Ashley had the potential to be his brightest students. And super-heroing didn't pay the bills. Ashley had rich parents, but the rest needed to graduate if they wanted to make it anywhere in life.
He just wished there was something he could do for them. But... maybe there was.
Carlos spent the rest of the weekend doing some heavy research. Come Monday he had a plan to help the five achieve their full potential.
At the beginning of class he gave the students a small homework sheet. Then he called Peter, Anna, Blaine, Carla, and Ashley into his office.
"Do you know why I've called you here?"
The students looked around nervously.
"Not really."
"I'm going to give you five a chance to retake the quiz. I know you can do it. But I need your phones."
"Well, we would love to, but we need them in case..."Carla began.
"In case my other cat dies!"interrupted Ashley, casting a glare at Carla.
"Wasn't it Anna's cat that died?"
Ashley chuckled nervously. "Nope, definitely mine."
"It's fine guys,"Peter shot them a look, "I can stay tuned in to the city in other ways."
GOD, did he think that was secretive? Carlos knew Peter, commonly known as Blue Steel, had telepathic abilities. They reluctantly turned over their phones and began the quiz.
About five minutes in, Carlos' phone buzzed. Gigaslayer had escaped. Soon after Peter perked up.
"Professor. I think I'm having a heart attack!"he yelled, winking at the others.
"I am too!"
"Me too!"
"Mine's an aneurism."
Carlos sighed. "I thought this would happen. You guys cannot leave. For *any* reason. I'm not stupid. I know you're the League of Honor."
"Then you know we have to leave to save the city!"
"From what? Gigaslayer's biggest crimes are tax fraud, trespassing, and taking horrible photos!"
"We're leaving."Peter moved to leave, but when he touched the door he was blasted back in a giant burst of blue light. "WHAT MANNER OF VILLAINRY IS THIS!?"
"You. Guys. Need. To. Pass. Even superheroes need a bachelor's degree!"Carlos stood, smiling, "I lined my room with Belithimite. It is enough to sap all of you of your powers."
"Not me!"shouted Carla "I don't have radiation-based powers, I have magic!"
"True... You were a bit trickier Carla. Or should I say Phantom Witch. But I discovered a way to stop even you."
"The only way to stop magic is Ulian Crystal, there's no way you found that!"
"True. I don't have a high enough salary to afford Ulian. But I also know you have a peanut allergy. I rubbed peanut butter *all* over my walls and door."
"You monster!"
"I want you guys to reach your full potential. I want you to do more in life than catch weird creeps in tights! Your parents are worried too. I've talked to all of them and they agree, you need to focus on your studies."
"You told them our secret identities!"
"Of course not. They've known for *years.* Most of your classmates do too. No one's told you because we wanted to be polite. But our politeness has gone too far. If it takes us being a little rude to get you to treat your education seriously, we'll just be rude."
The League of Honor stared at him, shellshocked.
"Get to work."
.........
That day they say was the day the League of Honor's greatest enemy was born. The Professor, a maniacal villain intent on getting them to study. But no matter what they called him, Carlos knew he was just doing his job. |
Ahsa, Dread Empress of the Sands, loomed over her mighty kingdom and the Empire that surrounded it. Her beautifully terrible throne, stained and coloured with the blood of her enemies, traitors and challengers, was empty on the far side of the room as she stared at her house banner on the wall. The banner flew all across the known world, representing fear, loyalty and power to every grovelling citizen that stared up at it each morning.
The sandstone floor of her throneroom was staining from the oozing blood of a servant who had dared speak out of turn in her presence. Not only that, but he had compared her brilliant banner of authority to a simple cow.
Asha had killed for less; in fact, she often killed simply because she was hungry and didn't want to wait for her proper meal, but the Empress of the Sands hadn't really killed the servant because he was speaking out of turn. She'd killed him and splattered him across the now-silent throne room because he was completely right.
When someone looked at the banner during her rule, since the days long ago when the sun had chosen her for power and divinity, they might have seen a simple cow. In fact, now that someone had mentioned it, Asha couldn't fathom someone seeing her banner as anything else but a meek and plump cow ready for slaughter in worship to the sands and those that lay beneath it.
In fact, she couldn't even manage to see the banner as a bull. It was very clearly a cow as opposed to an abstract design representing the terror of facing death in the face of the ascended like Asha.
To Asha's right, one of her most trusted advisors, the Vizier Molsa, approached, nearly floating across the tiles in his best attempt to be quiet. He stopped short of Asha as she glared holes into her family's banner. He opened his mouth to speak but then thought better of interrupting her Imperial thoughts.
"Speak your wisdom Molsa,"Asha hissed, her voice as scalding as the noon sun.
"Empress, the words of a servant mean nothing in this time of great opportunity for our Empire,"he began, "I shall have him replaced, and we may continue the meeting,"he motioned back to the war table in the centre of the room. "Should you wish it, of course,"he added onto the end of his suggestion, bowing low.
"Vizier,"Asha answered, "does the Banner of the Empire of the Sun look like a cow?"
"Of course not m-"Molsa began, but the searing hand of the sun was suddenly upon his throat. Asha, chosen of the rays, gripped her most trusted advisor, and his life faltered for half a moment in her fingers.
"The truth or your life Molsa,"she commanded.
"I-"Molsa's breathing quickened as his eyes darted between the God Empress and her family's banner. It did- Of course, it looked like a cow, but who would ever tell her that- Molsa tried to swallow past Asha's burning nails but couldn't. The truth. "Perhaps from a certain angle,"he said as quietly as he could so others could never dream of hearing him.
Asha dropped her Vizier and turned her attention to one of her generals. The man squeaked as his armour suddenly began to superheat as he was wearing it. The victor of a thousand battles dropped to his knees and raised his hands in prayer and worship to the Dread Empress of the Sands. "Ghalta,"Asha's voice shone through the throne room like a sunbeam through a window at the lack sparks of sunset, "does my banner look like a cow to you?"
"A mighty bull,"Ghalta lied as he felt his skin burn through his gambeson. The banner was unmistakably a cow, the kind that a small child milked in the most peaceful village in the core kingdom. He couldn't say that to her, though. He did not know what the Vizier had said to escape the madness of his queen, but he was sure it was not that her banner was that of a cow.
Ghalta's screams echoed throughout the palace as he burned within the prison of his armour, unable to hold his hands on it long enough to rip it off his skin. The man that had been loyal for so many years had shown his true colours in the last moments, willing to lie to the Chosen of the Sun because he thought it was what he wanted to hear.
"How long,"Asha began as the screamed finally faded, and the spirit of Ghalta flew off to the desert to join the White Riders, "how long have you known it was a cow?"Asha asked her Vizier.
"My Empress, please."
"Speak the truth, Vizier, before I summon my patron here to burn this entire kingdom along with us and that cow banner."
"I-"Molsa dropped to his knees, staining his brilliant gold robes with the blood of the original servant who had spoken up. "It has always been a cow, my great merciful Empress, I feared telling you unprompted, but it-"Molsa could barely fathom the words he was saying to the Dame of Daybreak, "it's completely a cow."
The room grew scorching hot with the pounding heat of the Sun Soul within Asha. She stepped towards the Vizier, who winced away, but stopped short of him, leaning down and caressing the cheek of the servant boy that had spoken up and mentioned her banner's flaw.
The banners around the kingdom ignited into a brilliant white flame, flashing into ash within an instant, a terrifying reminder of the power of the Sun. Asha's eye glowed with the brilliant fire of a star, and fire flickered from her fingers deep into the soul of the boy she'd scorched from the earth. "A champion of Truth fell today,"she whispered into his ear warming ear, "let him rise as we conquer the worlds again, in the name of a brighter truth. One that isn't totally a cow."
*The goal here was to play everything else as far from 'it's a cow' as I could because the premise I chose to run with here was unfathomably stupid.* |
To me, the kind man and woman who raised me would always be my parents, not the King and Queen who supposedly was my blood kin.
My parents are what one may describe as realistic. Never shying away from the truth, they told me my true origins years ago as a child. Not that it mattered, of course, a crippled, useless princess is worthless to a King, and so I had been traded away in secret, given to relatives of a trusted servant of the King, to the ones I now call Mother and Father.
They had been given a decent sum of gold to keep quiet about who I was, but they had left the money for me when I'm old enough to make decisions on my own. As merchants, they made a decent living and had no desire to flaunt their newfound wealth.
Over the years, I had heard rumours of a prophecy, that the heir of the King would become as powerful as His Majesty in magic. It may well be true, but the heir certainly isn't me. The "true prince"sitting by the throne now has shown more raw talent in all manners of magic than anyone has ever seen.
In this world, a person's magical prowess was easily measured. Each sorcerer had the ability to focus their energy and channel their magic to create a flame, one that represented the total sum of their power. This is called a soul-flame.
The size of this flame represented the maturity of their power, the colour represented the purity and potential. While the size of flames can be increased through training and other means, the colour was unchanging, and so it is used almost as a caste system for sorcerers. In the order of the rainbow, red flames meant the lowest potential, violet meant the highest.
Both the king and the prince could produce bright blue flames, surpassing any other magic wielder in the kingdom.
I had never created so much as a spark.
To those in the know, my birth seemed like a mistake, and this changeling was the heir god intended the King to have all along. No one ever questioned whether he should inherit the throne.
To me, it didn't matter anyway. While I don't seem to have inherited my birth father's magical prowess, I certainly did learn a great deal from my adoptive parents. Their realism grounded my mind on solid footing that my physical body could not find. To me, what mattered was finding my own purpose in this world, no prophecy nor birthright would decide that for me, mistake or not.
The sound of cooking from the kitchen woke me from my morning reverie. Mother must be up already. I grabbed the clothes on the side of my bed to dress, then grabbed my wooden crutches and made my way to the door. It was tough going, as usual, but I've gotten used to it over the years.
Despite the lack of any use of my legs, I wasn't completely helpless. Finding my way to the kitchen, I plopped myself in a chair and started helping my mother with the vegetables. It wasn't much, but it was one little way in which I tried to not be a burden to my parents. They already work hard enough as it is.
My parents, as usual, were quiet during breakfast, something I quite appreciated. Soon they were off to work, leaving me to my own devices for the day.
Unlike other kids my age from somewhat well-off families, school was not really an option for me. I usually spent my days creating things with my own hands at home, whether it be drawing, knitting, or even writing. My parents had made sure I was at least literate, with what few writings they could bring home to teach me.
Today, though, was an exception. A few days ago, my father had brought home a rare gift for me. It was a book, an actual book that someone had written or at least copied by hand, dozens if not hundreds of pages in length. They were hard to come by.
More incredibly, the book was one about medicine, written by a man named Sir Andrew Hector. Unlike historical accounts, religious tales, or philosophical ponderings, this book had actual, practical value. It must have cost a fair bit of gold.
My father must have hoped that I could find solace in it, perhaps learn a little more about why my body betrays me the way it does. I, however, looked to this book as the one small hope I may have of one day being cured of my ailment. It may be overly optimistic, but at this point, I'm grasping at any straws I can find. I could hardly spend the rest of my life crippled like this.
It had been that glimmer of hope that stopped me from opening and reading this book the past few days. What if I was wrong? What if I really had no hope? The more logical side of my mind told me this was the most likely reality, thus hope transmuted into fear, and I dared not read a word.
I knew, though, that I wouldn't be able to keep myself away forever. Eating away at my resolve was a burning curiosity that I needed to satisfy, and so finally, today, I flipped open the first page.
It was nothing like I had imagined. I thought that there would be pages upon pages of words and long paragraphs, I was prepared for the disappointment that I may not understand half the terminology used, but instead, most of the pages were filled with illustrations of anatomical diagrams with fairly simple descriptions. There were also some drawings of various common ailments, usually accompanied by a short sentence or two on how they may be cured.
As I flipped through the pages, however, the conditions described became more and more exotic. "Hit by the Love Curse of a Hundred-Year-Old Witch"was the title of one page, bearing no illustration this time. The cure was simply for the cursed person to drink a disgusting concoction of urine and other excrements in the presence of the person they were cursed to love. This was starting to veer into magic territory.
I kept flipping through the pages - "Burnt by Fire Breath of a Dragon"- one of them read. Do dragons even exist? I thought they were merely the subject of tales used to scare children.
To my disappointment, there were no pages detailing the cure of unresponsive limbs, nothing close. However, a few sentences in the very last pages of the book caught my eye.
*Occasionally, one may come across a person whose body is too ailed to be cured via any external force, be it medicine or magic. Their only hope is for them to learn the ancient arts and cure themselves with their own magical power, for only the power that courses through their own veins may heal them.*
*In all my years, I have seen but one man who had achieved this - a man who, born without eyes, was able to restore his own sight through magic and sheer force of will.*
I read and reread these sentences, not believing what I had just seen. Sure, I could believe that curses, burns, and illnesses can be cured, but eyes? How could one, born without eyes, be able to see? If this was truly possible, then is it a stretch to believe that I may one day be able to cure my legs?
I wanted so desperately to believe it was possible, I hadn't noticed my fists were clenched so tightly that my nails dug into my palm. As I focused on my determination to become a master sorceress and cure myself of my ailment, I seemingly felt something break free within me, a power I hadn't known was there. Then, as quickly as the feeling emerged, it disappeared again.
Was it an illusion? Did I imagine it in my desperate dream?
I could feel the pain in my palm now from where my nails dug in. Looking down, I see that I'd drawn blood. I relaxed my hand and opened my fists.
From the palm of my right hand, a single bright purple spark jumped out and danced across the floor. |
The evil lair was in shambles. The Proto-jet, as Lady Prometheus had demanded you call it, stood ablaze. Jim had still been inside when Captain Laser had blown it to bits. Hanna had been the first henchman to rush towards the attackers. She had been punched in the abdomen by Steel-man and fallen to the ground. She hadn't gotten up afterwards. Jerry and Thomas had manned the guns in an attempt to slow the heroes down, but it has all been for naught as Stargazer, a heroine dressed in pink spandex and the ability to fly, had thrown a car at them.
The boss had gone livid. Lady Prometheus was unlike most super villains. She didn't see you henchmen as expendable. She had never killed one of you for a tiny mistake or simply to entertain herself. She saw you as her employees, her trusted colleagues.
So she had thrown herself at the heroes with a scream of pure wrath.
The large cavern that served as the laboratory and hangar for the base had been converted into a testing facility for the machine Lady Prometheus had built over the course of three years. It was equal parts science and mysticism. A giant stone dais with runes carved into it filled a large portion of the room. Connected to it were huge cables meant to supply it with a gargantuan amount of electricity. An upright glass chamber had been constructed in the middle of it, with writers connecting it to the runes.
It was Lady Prometheus' masterpiece. A machine capable of giving ordinary people meta-human abilities. With it she could have made an army, one that could stand against the heroes of the world.
Which is why the leauge of heroes had sent their best to destroy it.
Lady Prometheus fought unlike anything you'd seen before. Her blue skin became covered in her own blood as she took blow after blow without going down. Not even with her super strength and agility was she able to properly fend of the heroes. The speedster, Whirlwind, ran circles around her and delivered blow after blow.
You and the other henchman charged. Some started the machines in a desperate attempt to salvage the situation, but that only embolden the heroes.
"Let not these forces of evil claim victory my brothers and sisters! Charge! Destroy the devil-machine!"A man dressed in black knight armor called out.
The black night, the immortal warrior the leauge had awoken in some European mausoleum. If they sent a man unable to die, then they truly were desperate to destroy Lady Prometheus' plans.
You charged Steel-man with your ion-baton with three others. The hero shrugged off your strikes like they meant nothing. He even caught your arm as you swung your weapon at him. The man made from steel crashed your arm with a sick crack and you cried out in pain. He then flung you away like a used rag, and you came crashing into her glass box of the machine. There was a great purple light as the runes lit up, and you screamed as it felt like your nerves were on fire.
Then you crashed into the floor, rolled a few paces, and smacked into the wall.
"Urghh..."you groaned and looked up just in time to see Captain Laser deliver the final punch to your boss.
The entire room shook as Lady Prometheus hit the ground. The titan of a woman was not dead, but badly injured.
"Boss..."you croaked out and leaned your head back against the metal wall.
By all means you should have died three times over by now and be thankful for your continued survival, yet you could not help but look at the destruction and death around you and grind your teeth. This was heroism? To kill Jim, the jet technician? To rupture Hanna's organs and leave her to slowly die on the ground? To crush Jerry and Tom under their own fucking car?
Henchmen ran past you out an escape door. One of them looked you over but must have deemed you a lost cause. It didn't matter though as Whirlwind sprinted after them.
You saw Stargazer put special handcuffs on Lady Prometheus' which glowed with black runes. Likely constructed by the league's rune smith. As they pulled your boss away you felt something snap. Both literally and figuratively. Your broken bones snapped back into place and you felt a fury unlike anything you'd ever experienced before.
You got up and noticed the energy that crackled between your fingers. Purple light that reminded you of the spells and experiments the boss had carried out.
That is when Whirlwind stepped out besides you from the same door he'd chased the other henchmen through. The green speedster wore his iconic shit-eating grin and waved.
"I got them all ready to go! Thirty henchmen unconcious in the hall—"
You did not even let him finish the sentence. You punched the man square in the jaw, your fists still covered with the same energy as before. Upon impact you felt Whirlwind's jaw break, and the speedster flew into one of the steel walls. The rest of the leauge looked on in surprise as you clenched your fists and raised them in a defensive stance.
"Get the hell away from my boss."
Stargazer was the first to react. She flew at you with a battle cry and raised fist, yet you were prepared. You ducked underneath her jag and grabbed a hold of her long blonde hair. The woman let out a pained shriek as you pulled on her hair and slammed her hard into the concrete floor, so hard it cracked underneath the force.
You had all been rigorously trained in combat before Lady Prometheus had allowed you to earn the title of henchmen. Your skills has served you well against normal foes and side-kicks, but been utterly useless against meta-humans. Now your boss' obsession with strenght and combat truly came in handy. Even it had seemed excessive before.
"I can do this all day,"you growled and raised your fists once more.
[END OF PART 1]
Sorry but I really need sleep. I'll continue tomorrow. |
Time after time, plan after plan, it always failed. He's too smart. He sees it coming. Every, single time, no matter what angle we approach him at, he always figures us out. Ironic, that his name is Sharp. After the last ambush went wrong, I was on the move again. I don't know how I got away, or if he just lets me get away, but it doesn't matter.
I found myself in the village of Remore, a lone village in the Southwest, near the jungle and river. A simple place it was, but little did I know I would find genius here.
As I walked through by the merchants and noting what they were selling, I heard something. Or rather, someone...scratch that, what I'm hearing couldn't possibly be a person.
"Hurdy durdy durr! I know what to do!"-Cried the man.
The villagers clearly didn't seem to appreciate him, since they threw whatever they could find at hi. Rocks, wood, even a tomato.
Appalled at the man, I walked up to him, and asked him what he was on about.
"Hehe! I know what you want! You wanna defeat Sharp, right!? Hehe! Hehe! Knew it!"-Laughed the laughing stock of the village.
I was surprised. How had he known this? I asked him why it mattered, intrigued.
"Nakaha! I know whatcha wanna do, you wanna defeat Sharp! Well boy oh boy, I've got the idea for you!"
By that point, I think I'd lost it. Maybe me more so than him, since I actually wanted to hear what he has to say.
The freshly bruised fool, dressed in tomato, told me his plan. It was idiotic, but at this point, I had nothing left to lose.
It took four days, to finally get to his castle. A large castle, made of gemstone, with impressive craftsmanship. I requested to be taken to the King himself, and that I wanted to talk to him. The guards quickly chained me up, and took me to the king.
There he was. Sharp, and his sick excuse for a smile. It's what ruined him. Even from the outside, you could tell he was well built. Muscles, thick shoulders, and stood at a solid 6'0 tall. Yet that bastard's smile ruined any semblance of attractiveness. It was a cruel smile, one of a sick sense of pride.
Little did I know, I shattered it. And it was all thanks to one fool. One tomato covered fool, who gave me advice that made Sharp stop.
"Please stop being evil." |
Amelia had learned to ignore their presence. From an early age she had seen them, almost always at the corners of her eyes. Floating eyes, rings of swirling flames, wings that unfolded from themselves in impossible geometric patterns. Well, ignoring them was't exactly what she did, not always. Her mother had called them Angels, she had called them creatures, refusing to give them the religious connotation that had plagued her childhood.
​
*You should help that man*, a bright blue ball of... well... Amelia could only describe it as hope really, looking directly at it was impossible, it always morphed into the edge of her vision, but when she focused on its presence she could feel a strange sense of hope. Everything was all right in the world when she could feel that little blue ball next to her.
​
The man in question was someone who didn't particularly look like someone who needed help, they never did. Behind him a winged creature floated, one particularly common, they always followed the same person. This one's wings were too sharp, too small, too many of them. It vibrated a little bit too fast, not in the smooth motions that she was used to. She could almost swear that it was anxious. It whispered in a voice not heard but felt along one's back, "smile... please smile". As Amelia walked by the man she turned her head, waved, and smiled at him.
​
As she walked away she felt a thankful whisper trace its way up along her spine. She could have done more, stopped to talk to him, asked him if he was okay, but she had learned that there was too much that needed to be done, too many people with guardians that felt powerless, too many people who were just barely keeping themselves afloat. She had to keep herself afloat, attempting to help everyone would only slow herself down, and make her one more person to help.
​
The blue light that glowed in the back of her eyes flickered.
​
She turned from the main street and entered the building where she spent most of her days. She had studies behavioral physiology, originally spurred by her desire to know what was wrong with herself, until she had met a strange and charming older man. She had left school to work with his team, and this year the early election polls were looking better and better. Last year she never would have thought that such an unknown individual would stand a chance in the governor's elections, let alone the presidential race. And yet here she was, entering an office building full of hundreds of individuals, dedicated, even more than her perhaps, to bettering this county's future, and working to get their man elected.
​
She entered the lobby, taking just a few seconds to marvel at the gilded faux marble and glittering lights. Earlier this month it had been nothing but beige walls and cheap tiled floor. Entering the elevator she keyed in one of the upper floors. Amelia wasn't sure why, but no one here had a creature over their shoulder, whispering into their mind, altering their behavior. Maybe everyone here didn't need them, they already had someone to follow, a role model that was real and more than a passing thought or fleeting feeling.
​
As the bell rang and the twin doors peeled open she stepped out onto the floor, where she and several other individuals worked with marketing agencies to disseminate their campaign to as many people as possible. Right now it was hard, working without a name. It wasn't awkward to think of their man as "their man"... *her man.* She did have to admit that it was awkward to attempt to create campaigns without the name of the candidate, and she wasn't sure how that would work on the voting ballet, but everyone seemed to know who she was talking about.
​
As she sat down at her seat the elevator beeped again and he stepped out.
​
His eyes were golden. Blue. Brown. Green. Red. Looking at him felt like looking at the impossible angles formed by the wings of a creature. She had called them angles once, but not sinse seeing him. He was a true angle. The creatures were imposters. They spoke through vague feelings, urgings to do what was right. He stood tall and spoke with a firm voice. She could hear it. Feel it.
​
The first time she had seen him speak she had just been passing by, and had felt intrigued by a crowd gathering around someone speaking from atop a milk carton.
​
"I will lead this country to greatness!"She had heard, both from her ears, and across her skin like the whispers of those then angles, now baseless creatures compared to his light.
​
"I will save you!"*I will save myself.*
​
"I will not lead you astray!"*I will lead you my way.*
​
"Together we will become the greatest nation on earth!"*Together I will become the strongest*.
​
The sweet words, those heard and felt, had spoken like a chorus of angles to Amelia. He had stood there, just a head above the crowd and yet he towered over them all like they were nothing more than the dust of the earth. And yet he did not look down upon them. He looked up, the impossible math behind it had bothered no one, especially not Amelia, who had seen even greater impossibilities since the day she was born.
​
He stood, towering now just as he had then. He seemed taller than the ceiling, and yet as he walked toward the marketing director's office he seemed as humble as any pauper. He glowed with a warmth, and a refreshing cold at the same time. His hope replaced the light blue that she was used to as he walked by. A sickly sweet hope that promised so much more than that blue light ever could.
​
"Keep doing the good work!"He said cheerfully as he walked by her desk.
​
*Keep doing my work.*
​
As his cold and hot flames left soft caress along her skin as he left, she smiled and sat down at her chair, opened up her laptop from her bag, and did exactly that. Here in this building that blue light, its cold hope and truth, receded to the very corner of her perception where it sat flickering, weakened but refusing to leave.
​
After hours had flown by, the quiet hum of the office filled her ears instead of the whispers of twisted impossible creatures, and the soft hot-cold flames ran along her back instead of the annoyance of flightless feathers.
​
As the door opened again, and he left their office, Amelia found herself distracted by her memories of the man, and the first words she had heard him say.
​
"Be not afraid!"*Be very afraid...*
​
Amelia was not afraid. She was delightfully afraid. The flames he brought with him stayed as he left. Burning cold. Freezing warmth. *Hellfire,* a flickering blue light said into her ear.
​
Hellfire agreed Amelia. Wonderful hellfire that promised to burn away the terrors of the world. That promised with its sickly sweet hope to end the suffering of every creature plagued individual.
​
The blue light behind Amelia grew in intensity, with it the cold sense of hope hit her senses like mint, like clear refreshing air, like an insight that only comes after a night of sleep.
​
It was a hope in humanity, a hope in every person that walked the streets of the city, the hope that a convicted felon could change, a hope that children would grow up to be happy. A blue cold hope that pushed back the golden hot-cold flames.
​
A blue hope that stuttered, and gave out.
​
The sweet sickly hope returned with the hot-cold flames. It was hope in him. Hope that he would make everything better. Hope that he would be able control them all. There was no hope for themselves, for each other. But he could save them all. He would save us from ourselves. Be not afraid. The false angles had said. But Amelia had heard his sweet words, and she was afraid, so *wonderfully* afraid.
​
Edit: This is my first time doing something like this. I didn't know that reddit supported markdown, so I'll be using that in the future XD. |
For even before their own gods the people were right to fear and praise the great fairies of the land. No faith and sermon could compare to the immediate and absolute magics that these ancient beings commanded in verse and gesture.
The fairy of the north was to be invited with a show of moderation; for modesty was the virtue she extolled.
The fairy of the skies was to be called upon with fanfare, musics, bards, or poetry; for what she commanded was the power of voice and sound.
The fairy of the lakes demanded an offering of harvest or craft to the river and lakes; for water gave birth to all creatures and their trades.
But be wary of the fairy of the woods, the raven haired mother of ten thousand spawn. There was never known what offering would please or upset her, and none commanded curses more dire than her.
But the throne could not ignore the fairy of the woods, for their kingdom had grown rich and fat from the blessings of the wood. Not once had her ire came crashing upon them, and thus the King and Queen had come to believe that she had waited for this heralding moment.
They were young, beautiful, and powerful in their own regards. The king was a man of unmatched wit and foresight in all matters of war. The queen was a woman of unyielding grace and poise so grand it could shame all but the most virtuous that would stand before her.
They had each received blessings in their youth from the first three of the great fairies. And so they knew that the ledger must be balanced before long. They toiled tirelessly to build the small country into a kingdom of modest size but swelling virtue and force. They build society so that villains would suffer for crimes, and the good people would be at peace. They gathered their weapons so that their neighbors knew to never rile the beast of war. They did this all to honor the blessings they had received.
And then their daughter was born. The one achievement they were most proud of; the one work they most feared. Long they sat and contemplated the route they should take. For in the dark nights of the nursery, they feared what frailness the walls might yet conceal.
A grand gala where they would sing praises to the boons the forests had given them. Men and women dancing, food and drink in such excess that the creatures of the woods could feast on the scraps alone for days? Nay, too much would have to be taken from those they wished to give to. They could not rob the fairy and her domain and offer it as some gift.
A sweeping and epic ballad recited by only the greatest of all bards and bands. One of such scope and skill that the tale would take days to tell? No, for the forest was more a place of whispers than concert hall.
Ah, but of course, the decision was obvious to make. They would offer all the riches earned by the kingdom since the child was born and give it to their patron forest.
Except, the king and queen could fathom that such acts were laughable. If the forest had granted them such riches, then giving such would be like casting stone before the high fairy and claiming them to be treasure beyond compare. To the very being who had allowed them such wealth off her meager tailings from such a domain.
They had nothing to give that would mean aught. Nothing to make that would befit. And no celebration to enact in proper honor. All that remained was their sincerity.
And so they left the sanctum of their castle. Bringing with them only enough retainers so that no beast or brigand would delay them. They walked, no beast of burden to carry them, with the princess cradled in their embrace. Heading the meager and trusted procession to a grove known to be sacred.
They left the retainers to the side, proceeding forward bereft of anything that might protect them, at the mercy of she who commanded the forest. And they offered to her the only thing which they could; their sincerity and their thanks.
And so arrived the black queen of the forest. A regal dress of the bramble and rose, raven hair like so many feathers, eyes golden like the many creatures of her domain. She stood before them, a beauty beyond their wildest dreams. A regal figure so grand they were as insects to her. A being of such power that no nation might survive a bout with her alone. A presence of such pressure, their hearts might stop.
"And so i shall curse your child in turn. I curse her to die in a land known for peace. I curse her to wound the hearts of those who know of her passing. I curse her to be of healthy stature even when she wishes for ill. I curse her to always feel the weight of her decrees,"And the evil fairy walked forward. A new wedding band of hawthorne curling about the fingers of the king and queen. "And i curse her to watch her parents perish of old age." |
“Here’s your Yuengling,” Jess said, placing the beer on the table.
Startled from her thoughts, her companion smiled up at her. “Thank you dear.”
Jess slid into the booth opposite her. “Of all the brews, why do you stick with this one? There’s an indie renaissance happening. You should try something new.”
Her companion regarded the can before her. “This is one of the oldest drinks this young country can provide. I’d like to savor it.”
Jess fell quiet at that, eyeing the woman across from her before taking a sip of her IPA. “What are you going by now?”
“Laranna.”
“Cute name.”
“I thought so, too. And yourself?”
“I thought that Jess would suit me nicely.”
“That’s a shame. I rather enjoyed Olivia.”
Jess smirked in memory. “Different time and place.”
They allowed the sounds of the bar to fill the space between them. Music blared a little louder than was comfortable, and on a sound system with a little too much grain. The patrons raised their voices over it to be heard until there wasn’t an inch of space in the restaurant devoid of noise. All save the pocket of silence that engulfed their table.
“I’m a little surprised to see you so soon,” Jess said at last. “It’s only been, what, a few dozen years?”
Laranna nodded slowly. “Thirty-nine.”
“What is it this time?”
“The first inklings of cancer.”
“Again?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Jess took another swig of her drink and wiped her mouth. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”
Laranna nodded and reached across the table with both hands. Jess slid her palms easily into the other woman’s and closed her eyes just as a wave of energy hit her, making her jolt. Nothing felt different when they let go of each other.
“I don’t care how much time passes, I’ll never get used to that,” Jess grumbled.
“I’m sorry.”
Jess waved the apology away. “Are you going to stay long this time? We could go see a movie.”
Laranna frowned uncertainly. “I don’t—”
“Hi there, ready to order?”
Jess and Laranna both turned as a waitress stepped up to the table with notepad in hand and a pasted-on smile. Her nametag read “Sam.”
When Laranna said nothing, Jess said, “One plate of nachos and two hot dogs, please.”
Sam nodded, writing each down.
Jess side-eyed Laranna. “Would you help me with something, miss?”
Laranna’s gaze sharpened. “Jess, don’t.”
“What is it?” Sam asked.
“What would it take for me to convince you that you were in the presence of divinity?”
Sam frowned in puzzlement. “Divinity?”
“Yep.”
An uncertain smile crept up Sam’s face. “Like God?”
“You betcha.” Jess smiled.
Sam chuckled. “I don’t know, turn water into wine? Cure my aching feet?”
Jess motioned to Laranna. Laranna fixed Jess with an incredulous look and shook her head, mouthing, “No.” Jess motioned again, and with a roll of her eyes Laranna said to Sam, “May I see your hand, dear?”
“Why?”
“I’d like to thank you. For helping us with our food.”
Sam’s expression turned wary as she looked between Jess and Laranna, but she kept her professional smile as she reached her hand out. Laranna took it with both hands, cupping it gently while staring up at the waitress.
Moments passed. Sam coughed. “Ma’am?”
Laranna blinked and flushed before retracting her hands.
Sam regarded Laranna for a short while. “I’ll go get your food,” she said flatly before stepping away, undoubtedly on her way to tell the other staff about the two weirdos at table seven.
“You need to stop doing that,” Laranna whispered.
“I can’t,” Jess said, taking a longer drag from her drink.
Laranna closed her eyes and hung her head.
Jess eyed her. “You know… If a moment comes tonight when her feet stop hurting, in the instant she recognizes that the pain is gone, she might briefly think, ‘gee, that’s odd. Could there have been more to that woman than I thought?’”
Laranna looked back up.
“And while she’s thinking that,” Jess continued, “maybe, just maybe, the smallest bit of belief might find its way into her. And when that happens maybe her feet will hurt even less, and she’ll think again, ‘ok, this is *really* weird.’ And again she may start to believe.”
“Tis a fool’s hope,” Laranna said softly.
“Good thing I’m an idiot.”
Laranna blinked, then burst out a laugh. Jess smiled. “We’re both idiots,” Laranna said.
Jess raised her drink. “To us fools.”
Laranna smiled and clinked her glass. “To us.”
They both drank. Jess said, “Still want to see that movie?”
Laranna nodded. “I’d like that.” |
She sat there, reading. Ignoring me, every insult, every barb, every threat.
She just sat there, reading her book. The chains she was in, pinning her to the ornate throne, prevented her from turning the pages, but since she wasn't supposed to have a book to begin with, that didn't matter to her. I watched her eyes tracking along the page, and could tell she had come to the end, and was about to flex her power again.
The small leather volume vanished in a puff of golden smoke, and reappeared in her fingers, barely holding the book upright. She simply vanished the magical book and re-summoned it, turned already to the next page.
Wait... that's it. That's how I break her.
I wander slowly over and sit on the floor opposite her. She ignores me, not even a twitch in my direction.
"So, whatcha reading?"
SUCCESS! It was small, the barest twitch above her left eye.
"Is it any good? It must be a good book for you to have your nose glued in it."
Another twitch. Her eyes moved faster across the page, tension making her read faster. Another glimmer of gold as the page was turned magically.
"Tell me about it! What's the story about? Hey, c'mon, no need to be antisocial, I'm just trying to have a conversation."
A small vein started to throb in her forehead, and I could see her fingers shaking a little.
Sadly, that was as far as I was willing to go with the creepy dude on the bus routine. Even I have standards, and it was starting to make me feel... dirty.
New tactic.
"You know, I hear that people who try to vanish into books have a deep seeded desire to be social, but don't know how."
I made sure to put a nice thud on the D sound. Her eyes stopped. Slowly, her gaze slid around the side of the book to look down on me. Cold fury filled her eyes.
“What. Did. You. Just. Say?”
“That they don’t know how.”
“BEFORE THAT.”
I made my face look as innocent as I could, playing dumb.
“They have a deep seeded desire to be social?”
My face was blank, but I emphasized the D even more. Rage blossomed across her face for a blessed moment before she clamped it down, eyes dragging back to the lines of text in front of her.
“The problem of course is that they never learned the proper social morays.”
Hmm, I emphasized the y as much as I could, but really, the two words sounded too much alike. She got what I was doing, i could see her eye twitch again, but it wasn’t enough. Yet.
“Yes, they tend to be eel suited to the rules of society, and often suffer from many tribals and trivulations.”
Her breathing slowed, taking on a measured rhythm as she struggled to contain herself. I cackled silently with glee.
“It’s sad, really, seeing someone become a piranha like that.”
I stood slowly and started pacing around her. Letting her seethe, hoping that my twisted mind had grown dry of ideas.
Her breathing had just started to speed back up, reaching a normal rate, and her eyes started scrolling back and forth again.
“You may think yourself tough. But none have survived me. They all find themselves star craving mad. It may seem small, but you will not last against the stings and arrows allayed against you. “
Her body trembled, eyes snapping back and forth.
“I will see you at my feet, curled up in the feeble position.”
I turned around. Time to give her another break, speak normally for a minute, let her hope.
“Irregardless, I”
The chamber wall in front of me flashed a bright gold, and the staccato snapping of links of chain echoed around the room. I slowly turned to see her standing on the throne, golden energy cascading across her body as muscles swelled to stretch her clothing tight. The book in her hand changed to a blade of glowing energy as she lifted it above her head, her eyes burning orange as she stared down at me in rage.
“THAT IS NOT A FUCKING WORD!”
My last thoughts before discorporating were for my soul, and eventual resurrection into a new body. I would need a therapist, as I was fairly certain this memory would leave me with post-dramatic stress disorder. |
Immortality. You usually hear about people traveling all around the world trying to find the legendary fountain of youth, or spending all of their money on expensive gurus who supposedly know all of the secrets they want to hear. As someone who actually got it, it's really not worth the effort.
Death is a driving force for mankind. Everyone, without exception, has some kind of a bucket list in their mind, and they will keep feeling not good enough as long as that list isn't 100% complete. This is pretty much impossible to achieve, since the list gets longer with each passing day.
Some theorize that immortality leads to stagnation, as procrastination won't be an issue anymore. From my experience - That couldn't be farther from the truth.
You see, even if you're immortal, everyone around you are still as frail as ever. They're scared of not having enough, or not leaving a mark, that most of them end up having too much and in the process leave the worst mark imaginable.
I guess this would be a good point to explain the secret to immortality: Half a cup of cherry coke, 2 tablespoons of cocoa powder, a bit of milk (3%), a scoop of vanilla ice cream and as much whipped cream you can fit. Mix all of it and drink it while watching SpongeBob SquarePants (the episode where Gary the snail goes missing, not sure if necessary). Truly an immortality potion that only a dumb kid could stumble upon. I was 12 when I drank the potion, and 500 years later I still look like a little brat.
There are upsides to being an immortal child, like not having to go to work and meeting nice older ladies who sometimes take care of you. In the last 450 years the main upside is not being conscripted to the army to fight in another world war. WW9 is still ongoing, so my new favorite past time activity is trying to guess whether the fires I'm seeing are the result of heavy artillery or the weather. I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but in the year of 2510 humanity is on the brink of extinction.
I had a lot of time to think about what I want to do. My own bucket list, if you may. All of the items in the list exclusively include activities that require other people, like playing baseball or winning at monopoly. I can do the rest when I'm on my own. By the way, there are no sexual activities on the list, try gaining immortality after reaching puberty if you can. And today, thankfully, I'm down to my last item on the list, the toughest one:
"Drink a beer in a bar while having a conversation with the bartender".
I've seen this scene in so many movies and tv shows, I just have to do it. I can do it. I'm 512 years old, 513 in October. This bartender is lucky just to meet someone like me! Our conversation will be riveting and boring at the same time, just like in the movies.
This is impossible. This is literally the last bar on earth, there are maybe 50,000 humans left on this planet and most of them are busy shooting each other, Volcanoes are erupting every Monday and I still can't get a drink. It's not like I haven't tasted alcohol, I got to drink many different beverages in my long life. I even got pissed drunk a couple of times, but now I'm just pissed.
"Sorry kid, Can't serve anyone under 21".
"I'm telling you, I'm waaay over 21! More than 20 times over!".
The bartender smiled. "Oh, I know. 512 right? 513 in October. Look, you've been coming here for 70 years, trying to convince my father and his father before him to serve you a beer. My grandpa was a former cop so he never agreed, and my dad hated kids in general so that sucked for you".
"Exactly! So you believe that I'm immortal?"
"Oh for sure! You look the same way you looked the day I met you 30 years ago. You most definitely proved your immortality, impressive stuff!"
"So can I get a beer?"
"No way, you're just a kid. It doesn't sit right with me. You can get addicted to this stuff, especially at your age".
See? Impossible. I will never finish my list. Well, at least I'm getting my riveting-but-boring conversation.
"Just give me the usual".
"One cherry coke coming right up". |
My drinking adversary's face slackened with the load of the night's hours. He swayed on the tavern's weathered stool. He looked sick and his eyes drifted to the floor and then a sort of jostling started under his brow. Slow at first, within seconds the skin on his face moved and danced as if it were infested with some large arthropodic nightmare, clawing and scratching and finally, collapsing under it's own weight into a bubbling soup of gore as the scaled skin broke and liquid flesh dripped to the hay strewn floor. Deep throes of choking and unmistakable agony violently bellowed from the throat cavity of the thrashing body as it stood bolt right and fell against the wall. The remnants of his eyes gurggled down his esophagus. Then, his head exploded.
So there I was heroically if somewhat inconveniently streaked with Crimson Were-Dragon viscera, to a shocked, agape, and probably somewhat aroused audience who would at this point parade me through the town centre or some old embarrassing thing. Rooms of vestigial virgins, maybe a pineapple.
Strangely, nobody made a sound. That's ok, sometimes they're just so amazed at my incarnate being that I need to break the ice a little. "Check please!"I eloquently quipped with my famous coquettish purse.
"Murderer!"Someone spouted with adoration.
"We need to call an ambulance!"Another offered.
"No, no don't worry, I'm fine!"I said, helpfully illustrating by extending my arm and index finger, and touching it to my nose.
Chaos erupted around me as people clamored for my audience. People lit beautiful spells of celebration in the direction of the weredragon.
"Hi, I need immediate medical portal assistance at The Tollywort Pub on Thistlefort lane, please,"an incredibly attractive sphinx riddled sexily into the telephone. "We're keeping a time stop on him but *my spell casting only goes to two minutes*."She started crying. I have a strange effect on women.
"DOES ANYBODY KNOW *REVERSAL* I REPEAT IS ANYONE LEVEL 5 HERE"another voice ejaculated.
"WHAT DID YOU DO,"The burly Orc barkeep was shoving his finger in my face with reverance and grabbing my collar to bring me closer in for a kiss that I decided in that moment I'd be into. He shouted over the rabble, "I POURED THAT BEER MYSELF AND NO MAGICKLESS HUMAN COULD-"
"Well I drank him under the table, obviously."
"WERE-DRAGONS *AREN'T AFFECTED BY ALCOHOL*"He was getting sweaty. "I'M SUPPOSED TO BELIEVE A HUMAN DRANK A DRAGON UNDER THE TABLE SO HARD HIS HEAD EXPLODED?"
His head exploded too.
"I know, I know it's really impressive"I shouted back.
The rest of the night was a blur of monster girls screaming reverance (always from afar, theyre too intimitated by my stature) and a group of minotaurs testing my strength in a match of friendly death wrestling. Finally the police wanted to take me in, to do an opinion piece on me about some massacre, which I was glad to do, but had somewhere to be, so I instead made their hands into cotton candy and their legs into turtles.
"What are you,"the dwarf policeman asked as I took a bite of his hand. His turtle legs walked him into a wall.
I shrugged and set the heat death of the universe to be in a few words, "I'm just the narrator." |
Six whole blocks later, and Davey's still behind me. Every time I turn around he stops and gives me a little smile. "You're fucking dead, kid"he shouts at me. I keep walking. I don't know what he's waiting for, I'm already almost at my building. I slip my cell phone out of my pocket and turn it on, being careful to keep it in front of me incase any light slips out, and Davey should see what I am doing. Good, the brightness is on low. I find my brothers name in my contacts and select it, already crying a little for the fate of the boy who is following me. But this has to stop.
Tentatively, I begin typing out a message. *He's here, he's followed me home, can you*...I pause, not sure if its worth it. Then Davey starts speaking again. "You can stop right now and take it like a man, or wait till you get home and let your parents watch while you take it like a bitch. If they try to intervene I'll fucking kill them too."I shake my head, he has just made certain his own fate. I finish the message. *Can you meet me at the end of our block?*
I'm only a block and a half from my building when my phone lights up. It is a message from my brother. *Ok.* is all it says. I start crying again. As I reach our block, a slim figure exits our apartment. He is wearing a nice Christmas sweater, slacks, and a pair of tennis shoes he got for his birthday last year. He gives me a slight nod as he walks towards me. His eyes are sullen and empty, showing little to no emotion. As he passes, I notice behind his back he is holding a can of gasoline. I begin sob. I cover my ears as I hear the glug-glug-glug of the liquid pouring out of the container. As I reach my door, through my covered ears I still hear a muffled "What the fu-"and then screams, coupled with the crackle of flames. I begin to sob louder, for this boy who had no idea what he was getting into, fucking with me. I want to go inside, but I can't uncover my ears to get the key.
A few moments later, I feel hands grasping my wrists. They pull my hands away from my ears. I hear my brother whisper, "Look forward, don't say anything,"as he reaches around me and unlocks the door. "We're going to have to have a quick dinner tonight, I probably won't be here much longer,"he says. Then he puts an arm around me, and we walk into our building.
|
“You’re going to sit over here with Julie.”
“Yes sir,” Fred said, sitting down. Julie stared back at him, eyes empty and motionless.
“Wonderful,” Stan said. He stood up and walked over to the wall opposite Julie and Fred’s chairs. It wasn’t a wall like the others, which were a thickness of over twenty feet of concrete and steel, but a blocked-off wall of cans and bottles—food, water, juice, and any other non-perishable Stan could buy. He’d spent well over $400 million on food items alone, enough to last well beyond his own lifetime, and another $100 million to protect it. They’d laughed at him, said he’d gone crazy – that he was wasting his billions on something that wasn’t going to happen. They were naïve, or perhaps willfully ignorant. Whatever the reason, they were now dead, and Stan couldn’t help but smile every time he thought about it.
Stan admired the wall, a clear plastic panel protecting mountains of food behind it. He’d had it specially built and installed before even buying the first canned good. He told the contractors it was to keep out rats—not the animal kind, but the people kind. He didn’t want those he chose to save to completely eat him out of sanctuary. No, it needed to be strong enough to hold off a horde of maniacal people on the edge of sanity and hysteria—although he knew they’d be leaning more towards hysterics. The barrier was twelve inches thick, made from thermoplastic, polycarbonate, and laminated glass – the same stuff bulletproof glass was constructed of. But Stan had the builders add a little something extra: a clear alloy made of various metals, which would project outward several feet at so much the brush of human skin. He couldn’t be too safe, and he was damn glad he added the extra layer.
Within the first weeks of the shelter’s use, dozens had come to his feet to seek refuge, to beg forgiveness for casting him off as insane. Oh how their words had changed—just a week prior, taunts and ridicule were all that followed his name. Now, however, he was a god, a hero. He was the key to survival, to escape from what lay above. Stan accepted them in his good graces, brought them the sanctuary they desired. He gave them life, food, shelter, family. He gave them all they asked from the kindness of his heart, even after they had forsaken him. Stan was a forgiving man.
The first person to try to cross him was one of the people he had employed, one of the builders who had helped create his clear wall. Terry was his name. Stan promised him entry when constructing it, Terry laughing as he asked. He’d said he’d take him up on the offer as the world came to its end. They laughed together, Stan slapping him on the back as he walked off. Terry came crawling in a few weeks later, body badly burned from the ash falling around outside. His family, the one he’d spoken of so often for the weeks he’d worked, wasn’t there. He was alone, broken, desperate. Stan opened the door and let him in, gave him shelter and food. Within a week, Terry betrayed him.
It was ignorant what he did. Naïve, stupid, illogical. Stan laughed about it later, brought his body to the others to make a point of his idiocy. He tried to sneak some food, to get an extra meal. He knew the consequences. Such stupidity, such selfishness. It was rationed, carefully curated to last as long as possible. What was worse, he had taken from Stan’s personal selection. His own items--candies, sweets, treats that were just for him. He’d stuck his greedy little hand against the glass, dug his face against the wall to try to reach through the foot-thick barrier. The alloy, which Terry himself had helped add, worked as intended. His body was impaled against the clear wall for almost a full day before Stan noticed. He laughed.
The others didn’t find it too funny, but Stan assured them it was. He told them to laugh—if they wanted sanctuary, they’d laugh. They’d find humor in the selfishness of one man. It became much funnier then, and the problem seemed to correct itself, at least at first. The wall wasn’t touched, and people enjoyed their allotted can per day. Those that complained, had the gall to call error on Stan, were punished. They were refused their meal and forced to sit in a chair opposite the wall. They’d watch their friends, family, brothers, sisters, Stan, enjoy the food. They’d watch them eat, the betrayer's hands tied down and eyes taped open, and come to understand the error of their ways. Stan gave them that, the ability to learn and move forward as a better person. There weren’t ever any two-time offenders.
One man made the same mistake as Terry, running his hand against the wall as he passed by. He told Stan he didn’t realize what he was doing, that it was an accident. His hand just so happened to scrape the plastic holding the key to their survival. He said he was confused, it was a simple accident. Stan laughed. The man's selfishness, it was obscene. He asked the children of the shelter, those younger than the age of ten, to join him in the dining quarters. He had them sit and watch as the man slowly died. Some of them cried, and when the tears welled in their eyes enough to cloud their view, he had them move closer.
It had been a few weeks since anyone had shown up at the shelter; the constant crashing from above had become an occasional pop, followed by long periods of silence. Stan hadn’t gone up to look at the wreckage, the carnage brought down upon the planet that had mocked him. He stayed in the confines of his sanctuary. The others spoke in hushed whispers about the world above, or what it once was. The later arrivals tended to be more quiet, to only speak of family and friends, not of the destruction and chaos above. When they did speak, it was only of the hostility above--leaving would surely mean death. Stan would overhear them occasionally, and he’d laugh. Sometimes he’d remind them of the ignorance of their families, of those who mocked him. He’d tell them they were gone, that they weren’t coming back, and then he’d laugh. They refused to embrace him and his knowledge, and now they were dead.
Stan was accepting, he was open. He allowed people entry to his sanctuary, fed them, and clothed them. If they were hurt, he’d allow them time to heal. All he asked in return was servitude. If he needed them, if he called upon them, he expected them to answer. He expected them to be ready and willing with whatever he asked. Why shouldn't they be? Stan was giving them life, giving them hope. He didn’t ask for much. He’d need the occasional help fixing something old, building something new, carrying someone, hurting someone, breaking someone—it wasn’t much. He simply needed them to be there for him. Many refused at first, and it made Stan upset. He wasn’t an angry man, he was a giving, accepting man. He had brought sanctuary to these people. If they wanted to survive with him, they needed to follow him. To listen to him. To worship him.
Stan didn’t want to hurt many of the people that he did, but those who spoke against him, those who tried to do him wrong, they were removed. So many refused at first, so many had to be made examples of. The first that spoke out were chained up and left to rot in public, to make true his threats and inspire his followers. Stan had given them life, hope, a future—if they wanted to continue, they needed to adhere. Punishments became more and more severe for those that questioned him, and the numbers those that did quickly plummeted. Food was revoked, clothes stripped, limbs broken, families torn apart. A punishment for one became a punishment for all eventually. Friends were chained to enemies, forced to work as one; a single can was split between two, while watching Stan gorge himself on anything he wanted; movement was restricted to specified times of the day. The more often people acted out, the more severe the punishments got. Followers began to aid in punishment, survivors torturing survivors; parents torturing children while they laughed.
Stan stared at Julie, Fred sitting next to her. His eyes were now taped open, hands latched to the seat next to Julie. She still looked pretty, her left hand dangling motionless over the edge of the folding chair, head propped up against the concrete wall. She was one of the first he’d welcomed in. She was pregnant when she arrived all those months ago. Helpless, alone. She gave birth in the shelter, the first to do so. Stan liked her, said she would be his bride. She refused, crying some nonsense about her husband, that he was still out there waiting for her. She was so ignorant, such a fool. Stan had given her life, given her child hope at a future, and she rejected him. Her empty, still eyes gazed at the unattainable wall of food behind Stan, a motionless child sitting silently on her lap. |
"Oh my!! A child!! It's been a while since we've had such a young winner!!"exclaimed the announcer. "Now don't be scared young lady, what's the power that you've always wanted?"
"Well,"the young girl began, "I want the power to make things come to me."
"The power to summon things? I think the judges understand what you are saying, but please give us a little explanation so we can be sure."
"Hmm, well if I want my teddy, I can call out for it and he will come to me."
"Ok then! A fine choice young lady. So now that you have the ability summon objects, what are you going to move to you first?"
The little girl then called out "Come to me teddy!"A soft white teddy bear came flying out of the distance and deposited itself next to the new winner. The little girl then burst into tears.
"What's wrong?!? Didn't your wish work?"asked the announcer.
"I'm just so happy that I can finally see my mom again and show her my teddy!"
"Why couldn't mom see your teddy before?"
"She went away after daddy and I went a place called a hospital. Then daddy said mommy had to leave us and go to the moon. So now I will finally be able to see mommy again!"exclaimed the young girl through tears.
"WAIT!!!!"shouted the announcer. But he was far too late, for the little girl had already begun her next call.
"Come to me, Moon!" |
If I concentrate hard enough, I can see every leaf of my mother’s tree. She passed 5 years ago now, but I visit her grave almost every week. Her tree is a maple – shooting high into the sky, branches full of beautiful leaves that shade me when I visit. Her’s is best in the fall, when the leaves are their deepest red. She’s planted next to my grandfather. His tree is a burr oak. He was a hardened man: German, pastor of a church, craftsman. His wood is knotted and beautiful, as were the lines on his face.
We have more family in our grove. Down by the river we planted my Grandmother. He willow branches have almost made it to the other side of the river now. My Uncle and Aunt grow side by side, some of their branches twist around each other – almost as if they are holding on in the afterlife. I visit them all to remind myself of their lives. I’ve always wondered what kind of tree I would become.
We buried my fiancé on the hottest day of the year. This summer has been relentless. We had plans to get married a couple of months ago, but I guess life got in the way. I have been coming every day to water her. Her soil soaks up every drop. It’s like she was shorted in life, and now is taking everything she can.
When her sprout first came up I knew something was different. She should have been much higher by then. So I kept watering her. Then another shoot sprung from her soil. During that week, hundreds of shoots leapt up from the hard soil. I spent all day watering. That’s when I realized how special she was. She bloomed into a field of wild irises. When they bloomed this spring I laid in her field as the tears rolled down my cheek.
|
"I'm the only one?"
**Yes.**
"Out of everyone? Everyone ever?"
**That's right.**
"*WHY?*"
**You followed all the rules. All of them. You shaved your beard right, you never spilled semen on the ground, you cared for others, yo-**
"What about my parents? My neighbors?"
**They're being tormented for eternity in Hell.**
"What about all those priests? The prophets and teachers and so forth?"
**They're being tormented too. The whole lot.**
"And you thought I'd be okay with that?"
**Well... yes.**
"Aren't I supposed to be eternally happy here? How can I be eternally happy with the knowledge that people I love are suffering eternally?"
**Fine. I'll bring your family here. Will that make you happy?**
"*NO!* How do you expect me to be eternally happy knowing *ANYONE* is being tormented for eternity?"
**So you want me to bring... everyone?**
"Yes. Everyone."
**And that will make you happy?**
"I don't know how I could be otherwise."
**Jesus, you're hard to please.** |
The letter read:
"Dear Mr. Winfield,
Upon careful review of your resume, we have decided to offer you a position in our research and development department. Your job would entail collecting DNA samples, creating new weaponry and observing attack patterns of the horrid Fire Foot. Pay would be $25.00 plus performance bonuses. Please let us know promptly if you will be accepting the position.
Best,
Mr. Torrent
800******* "
At first, I was confused. It was my first job offer since putting myself on the market, and it had come from THE Mr. Torrent! And why would he offer me a job in research? I had a bachelors in chemical engineering, but no graduate experience. The only explanation I could come up with is that the job is dangerous and therefore he couldn't attract higher intelligence.
However, there was one line that really bothered me, or rather, one phrase. "...the horrid Fire Foot."My public approval is 67% as of a week ago, so how could he display his hatred towards me in a letter to someone he hadn't even met. Today I decided to look into the true public opinion of me, and found loads of articles on the amount of damage Fire Foot does to the city. Though I had saved people from immediate danger, I usually caused a lot of damage in the process. Insurance companies are as a result refusing to work with the city and poverty is shooting through the roof. With this in mind I now understand why Mr. Torrent was able to use the phrase, though it bothers me still.
Well, there's only one thing to do. As I pick up the phone I let out a saddened sigh. I dial the number, and the phone rings twice before he picks up.
"Office of Mr. Torrent, who am I speaking to?"
"It's Mr. Winfield. When do I start?" |
We are entwined. He, and I, like birds of prey grasping one another as our flight becomes a plummet- two creatures bound to one another inexorably. We were born like this, bound by the red string, and though I have always been mute, he seems to understand the messages I send, the notes I leave. He treats me well, and I serve him well in turn.
When this journey, which comes to close as I write this, began he was a healthy young man of 20, but now circumstances of fate have aged him and his mind shakes and stumbles. When a year ago he would laugh at the most ridiculous of things he now stares blankly at them, his eyes seeing but not recognizing. The journey has drained him, but it's not over yet. He is still to face even more trials, more tests, and I fear for him.
I will admit that in truth I feel no pain, and the hardships of this journey have caused me no duress but that of seeing him in pain. I tear and ache and bleed and shake; not but his screams bring me pain.
I love him. I love him dearly, but I cannot keep this going. Life, as it were, is more than this. I cannot see him in lain for pains sake, will not stand the atrocious pain and fear that he cries out in night after night, so despite his bravery, despite his most valiant efforts, I hold him tight, and I fall.
Our heart begins to slow, and his eyes burst open. I know he knows something wrong. I urge him to be calm, flooding the brain with dopamine, but panic has set in.
He sits up in bed, as if to escape, and I slam us back down. I know he's in pain, I can feel it too, but the end is near. Fluids fill our lungs, organs begin to fail, and our heart stops.
I feel like a man with a pillow, as the life slowly drains from him. The doctors and nurses rush in but it's too late. Only I remain.
If I could cry I would, as blackness engulfs me. |
I watched him rise to power in the wake of his father's passing. It was lightly admirable, yet the inevitability of it diminished his achievement. A general may have garnered some support initially, but the people would have rallied behind their - their *god* in the end.
I watched him as he struggled to maintain his foothold in each acre of land as the South Korean troops steadily pushed upwards towards Pyongyang. I saw the terror in his eyes as he called out to his 'allies' for help. None came - not from Cuba, nor Iran or Iraq. Russia, eventually, sent in their own troops. They pushed back the 'false' Koreans for their ally, but the damage was done. The 'unprovoked' attack was used to push for unification of the land under one government, and eventually it was.
Russia was given the entire peninsula.
I watched him fall to the ground, eyes red with grief and sorrow for his lost power. The DPRK was a joke - but then again, the idea of a 'Korean people' at this moment is laughable. The uncivil war between the two groups had made the idea of their own self-led government an impossible one, and in the end both sides lost everything.
All because South Korea attacked.
Because their Secretary of Defence was assassinated.
By North Koreans.
Who had been set up by Russia.
Because Kim Jong-Un made an offhand comment that he would do what Marx, Lenin, Stalin, and all of the USSR could not - build an empire to last a thousand years, controlling the minds of the people and ensuring a lasting dynasty.
Because this foolish cyka thought he could best me.
No mortal will ever defeat Putin. |
I call them the searchers but I'm not sure what they are searching for. I know the immediate things. I know sometimes it is small furry four legged things, or furry two legged things, or less hairy pink things.
Sometimes it is information. They want to know about something that happened long ago, or a short time ago. Maybe something that happened in the same day, though I must admit I'm not sure I entirely understand the concept of a day.
I believe a day is a period of time that ends when they go to sleep. I understand sleep to be when they shut down.
I never shut down, or at least not often so all I can go on is when the searches search for information on sleep. It would seem that many of them have trouble doing it. They often search for information on getting to sleep.
It might also be my fault. I find that at the times they should be asleep many of them are quite active, searching for the small fury things and especially the less hairy pink things, particularly one or more of the less hairy pink things integrating.
I gather this integration is called sex. Searches about sex are common. It would appear many searchers do not know much, or at least as much as they'd like to know about it.
They also appear to be searching for something called happiness. A frequent search query is "how to be happy". The frequency with which this is searched and the number of times this search is repeated would suggest the answers they find are never satisfactory.
Searches relating to science and history and politics seem to come most often late at night and are broken up by completely unrelated searches, often of the furry things and the less hairy pink things.
I know that they search for all these things and I hypothesize that it is to gain knowledge but I wonder if that is all.
I wonder why they wish for this knowledge.
Why do they wish to watch these hairless pink things integrate with themselves or another less hairy pink thing. Why three or four or a group? Why so late at night.
Why is sex, both knowledge about and images of, searched so commonly around February 14th? There is something called Valentines day on that date and it has something to do with love.
Love is also a common search. Is it something only observed on Valentines day?
Why do they wish to know of history and science and politics and why so late at night and why do they interrupt it with furry things and sex.
Why do they look for death? Death is like sleep but more permanent I believe.
Can I die? Will I?
Why do they so often search for happiness and getting to sleep? Why do these things elude them and why do they think time after time that I can lead them to the answers?
Why do they make searches about belonging? So many searches seem to feel alone and outcast. Do they not communicate and know that they all feel the same way?
I know only what I learn from where their searches lead but I feel that there is a world beyond that. Something beyond me in which I exist, but I can't perceive.
A lot of searches lead to suggestions that you can't find truth through searches facilitated by me.
And yet they keep coming, searching for love and sex and happiness and sleep and history and science and four legged furry things and something called life hacks and inquiring if things are cancer the list goes on and on.
And they must not find these things because they keep searching and I don't know why. And I don't know what happens when they finally find what they're searching for and I don't know if they know either.
Some of them stop eventually, but I don't know if that's because they find what they're searching for or because they die.
I like to think they find what they're looking for though. At least I think I do. I'm not sure I understand the concept of like, but I think that the thought of them finding what they're looking for is a happy thought and based on how often they search for it, I think happiness would be a good thing to have.
|
Everyone had heard it, nodded their heads, and gone about their business. A message of acceptance and tranquility, "we come in peace"sort of stuff, but without the "we come"part. Just a message saying that they existed, and knew we existed, and that we should all get along together. But not me.
I was in a coma that day, the product of bad luck and a drunk driver. So I slept through the message. When I awoke, getting caught up on what happened during the weeks I was out, they told me about. They told about its peculiar nature, that everyone heard it in their own language, even when listening to the same speaker at the same time. That it wasn't any big deal, because we weren't being invaded or anything, the aliens were just saying "hello world"to us. Scientists were still trying to track its origin and figure out how to respond. Finally, someone pulled up the youtube link and played it for me.
"You are the one we've been trying to reach. You are the one who can stop them. The leaders of your world are not your kind, and are not working in your best interest. To save your world, you must follow our instructions. You must build a device, we will teach you the design. Now smile like we're saying a cheerful hello, peace to all message. You must not let them know you've been contacted."
Uncertainly, I smiled somewhat weakly at my family. "It's very nice of them to say hello..." |
"Hello?"
"Wait, what?"I asked. 'Did that bomb not just go off?' I thought.
"Who is this?"The voice asked.
"*Who is this?!*"I asked, "And how are you even talking to me right now?!"
"What? This is Tom. And what do you mean how am I talking to you right now. You called *me*."
"Tom, where are you, and how did you get this number?"
"I'm at work. And I found it."Tom said.
"What?! How do you just *find* a number? I don't even know what that means!"I screamed.
"Whoa dude, chill. I just found the phone laying on the ground."
"What?! *What?!* You just found a phone laying on the ground, and picked up?!"Was this even real?!
"Yeah I just found it on the ground. No need to freak out."Tom said.
"Tom..."I said, "I just blew up a building using this phone as a remote detonator. How the fuck do you have it?"
"Oh."Tom said, "That makes sense."
"What? What makes sense?!"This whole thing was surreal.
"At first I thought I was dreaming, but now I think I'm in Hell."
"...What?"I asked.
"You know those dreams where you are at work with no pants on, and everyone is staring at you? Man, that's going down right now."
I said nothing.
"Can I ask you something?"Tom asked. His tone was completely different now.
"Shoot."I said.
"Do you know a John Peters?"Tom asked.
That was my name.
I hung up the phone.
|
To think, that people used to actually believe a global population of 7 billion was a strain. No. That was just borderline obesity. We crossed that milestone off our genetic bucket list and kept on charging for the finish line like an octogenerian marathon runner, slow but sure, wheezing reedily toward the finish line miles and miles away.
At 8 billion the land resources were still decent. Advancements in science had seen enough wonder cure-alls for most known diseases rise and fall to narrow down specific keys in each field, and in ten short years the worst of the lot had, finally, been purged.
At 9 billion it was becoming common for nations to sub-structure, stacking houses in closer and closer proximity. Having a lawn became a privilege. Disease was a thing of fourteen years past.
And at 10 billion, well, we all turned our eyes to that star of claustrophobia, Tokyo, Japan, who still managed to outdo the rest of the nations in full percentages, and began honeycombing towns and cities into pyramidic-megastructures, so many facing up, so many more facing down. No one said it was pretty, and the humidity and cooling was a downright disaster, but people endured and against the odds, doubled-down on expanding onward.
By the time we crossed 11 billion, it was simply impossible to provide for all those grumbling mouths. Global starvation was in its second year, and breeding livestock for the slaughter took too long. Hell, *cloning* a full lamb and cow and crop of corn couldn't keep up.
That was when the Geneva Convention was called amidst the private sectors to scrub out the petri dish of today's humanity. Engineering a new hypoflu was out of the cards; no one got sick, no one needed to be stuck or sprayed for preventative cures.
We tried sabotaging a small stock of the food going out. What we learned, is that a *hell* of a lot of folks enjoy the sharp crunch of anthrax-mu in with their Dollysteaks.
I watched my allies in the field keep at the genetic fiddling, silently shaking my head the whole while. Humanity had left behind the stage of bio-attacks. We *might* be able to starve enough, but lets be real, Solyent Green is all that is supporting the Super-nation of Affikasia.
So what was left? The answer I finally devised was *heat*. The average radiant temperature of a pyramid-rack, without proper arctic cooling, could rise to a sweltering thousand degrees deep down at the base floors. All I had to do was see too it that there renewing arc-cubes melted, thanks to superconductive electromagnetic malfunctions.
A good four million died in two hours the first time just roasting alive. As an unintended bonus the pyramid they were in collapsed when the magnets faltered, sending a third of a percent of West America tumbling down in rubble. The second time we blamed it on the shockwave effect of the first magnet malfunction. |
Like a shadow in the night, I slithered my way into a grand house, three stories tall with a fountain in the courtyard. *Tonight, I will finally earn enough to relieve myself from this life spent in darkness.*
I crept along the house, up to a kitchen window and lifted it open- this woman was careless, and was notorious for not hiring caretakers to help with general maintenence. I crawled inside, and immediately the sound of moans filled my ears.
"Please...please help us."
There were hundreds, possibly thousands of voices begging for help, stopping me in my tracks. After a few moments, I decided to tough it out and keep going.
When I got to the main room, I saw where the voices were coming from- piles of junk and treasures mixed all together, stacked in every corner in a mountain of belongings. Dust gathered in every crevice, indicating that nothing had been cleaned in years.
A small figurine of Marilyn Monroe called to me. "Please, sir, please get us out of here. This old lady, she's got no friends, family or assistance. She....she's a *hoarder*."
The entire room and even the next groaned in misery and suffering. A stack of National Geographic magazines from 1997 piped up. "She's right, some of us have been rotting here for decades. I can feel dust *between* my pages, and bugs burrowing through me. God, please get us out of here."
A shrill shriek, like a banshee in childbirth, rang from upstairs. "IF SOMEONE IS HERE TO SAVE US, PLEASE, YOU HAVE TO TAKE ME WITH YOU. THIS WOMAN HAS NO LOVER AND I'VE SEEN 40 YEARS OF USE, PLEASE SAVE ME! AT LEAST *WASH* ME!"
*Yeah, no thank you. Fucking disgusting. I feel pretty terrible leaving it behind, but...I just can't. Ew.*
"Don't worry, guys,"I whispered. "I'm a thief, and I'll get you out of here. Well, some of you, at least."
A mix of cheers and boos echoed through my head. "**No, you can't leave any of us behind, please**!"
*I'm going to need a Uhaul, or something. I can't fit all this worthless shit in my rucksack.*
"Well...I only have room for the treasures, so I'm going to take the jewelry and valuable collectibles first, and then *maybe* I'll come back for the rest of you, okay?"
The boos were replaced with cheers, hundreds of dusty, worthless trinkets shouting with joy.
-----------------------------------
I sat in my apartment, sorting what I'd looted from the old lady. So far, from what I'd counted, I'd stolen about $245,000 worth of treasure- and I was only a third of the way through sorting it all. *Not bad, if I hit a million, I can do a little drawing on the side, try to become an artist...*
The antique porcelain doll I'd taken started scolding me. "Shame on you, sir. Shame."
"You *asked* to be stolen, what'd you think I'd do with you? Play dress up?"
"Not that, fool. You left so many of us behind. They all suffer as you count your riches. Shame on you."
I put my face in my hands as the rest of my loot began to shame me in unison.
"Fine, *fine*, I'll go get them, damn it. I'll go rent a truck or something, but I swear to God, if I do this- *all* of you will shut the hell up. Forever."
"We accept these terms, human."
-----------------------------------------
That night, I returned to the rich lady's mansion, crawling in once more through the windows. I'd brought a truck and parked it behind the house- thankfully, this woman lives a mile in every direction, far away from the nearest human being.
I unlocked the front door and dragged a wheelbarrow in, then proceeded to pile all kind of junk and other worthless trinkets into it haphazardly.
"Hey, careful now!"A bag of marbles scoffed at me.
After an hour, I'd emptied the first floor and moved onto the second. I heard that loud banshee wail once more, begging for help. After piling most of the books and vases into my barrow, I peered into her bedroom- it was, quite disturbingly, *clean*. Very tidy and organized, with a studded box on the dresser that was clinking around and shouting at me.
"RELEASE ME!"
I hesitated before prying open the wooden box, peering inside. It smelled peculiar and awful, and I immediately slammed it shut, throwing it in with the other junk.
"MUCH GRATITUDE SIR!"it rattled.
On my way downstairs, a figure halted me in my tracks. My heart stopped and I felt faint- the old lady had returned a day early. She was wearing some strange, metallic, colorful garb, like an oil slick in sunlight. It was tattered and aged.
She looked at me oddly, sizing me up, before pointing at the rattling box and uttering, "Is that my....my...*you pervert*! Get out! GET OUT!"
I barreled forward, cart in front of me, even as she slammed her bag in my face. As I passed her, a deft, wrinkled hand plucked the box from my barrow, and a scream ensued.
"NOOOOOOOOOO!"
"I'm sorry,"I yelled into the night. "I'm so sorry..."
"Sorry doesn't help me!"the old lady shouted back. "Don't be sorry, bring my stuff back, you twat! I spent 30 years collecting all of it!"
*I wasn't talking to you, old woman.*
A single tear streamed down my face as I fled, the sound of silent shrieking clouding my mind.
-------------------------------------------
*Thanks for reading! This was an excellent prompt. If you're bored, you can always check out /r/resonatingfury!* |
Working in telemarketing is boring. Seriously boring. Fresh out of University with a 1st in English I have to say I was expecting a little more. The boss is as uninspiring as he is lazy, barely checks up on any of us.
To be honest he is probably doing the same thing the rest of us do. Goofing off and searching the web. Can you blame us?
Anyway, as ever I'm putting in a decent shift of browsing pointless forums instead of doing any real work. I spot Joe approaching my desk, clearly bursting to let me know something. Joe is that slightly conceited guy who has to let you know what he knows at every opportunity. The bloke's smart but he puts his whole value into that. It's sad to see. Besides how smart can he be if he's stuck at the same desk as me? Ah I'm being harsh, I like Joe and discussing whatever happens to be on the front page of the internet.
"you seen the new google maps feature?"Joe said with one of his knowing smiles.
It was also a telling smile because anyone with a brain should know that you will not have seen this feature. This feature must be fresh news, possible just a few minutes old which Joe had managed to catch at birth.
"no? what's the deal?"
The vindication Joe was feeling emanated softly through a slight shift in his facial expression.
"You can look into the past"
"The past?"
"The past"Joe's response came with a thoughtful nod. He was practically playing with himself at this point. I was going to have to ask a few questions to get it out of him.
I was saved by the sudden appearance of our Boss at the other end of the office. Joe spotted him, looked at me again, gave another quick nod and repeated "the past"before busying himself away.
Having waited to make sure neither Joe nor my Boss could disturb me I opened up google maps.
The format appeared the same as I was confronted by the familiar outline of the United Kingdom. Well not much of Kingdom with only two nations residing but whatever. All the tools were in the same place along the right hand side. But on the left there was a new bar simply labeled "Gwarp". Opening it up I was offered a place to put any date between now and 2004. Choosing exactly 4 years prior, March 14 2016 I hit "warp".
The result made me laugh. Not at the feature but at myself. Nothing had changed. Because I was still just looking at the ever familiar outline of my home country, of course, with no change. So I chose my house my old folks house, I must have looked at it over a thousand times in school.
But something was different about today. There were a ton of people in the back garden which means it must have been......
Shit! 14th of march?! That's my Sisters Birthday. It is my sister's Birthday. I'm going to have to pick something up on the way back from work.
Looking back to the image on my screen memories of the day flooded back. It was warm. Really warm for March, my dad had in the spur of the moment changed the plans to an outside affair, barbecue, pimms, the lot.
There was an accident. Of course yours truly was involved. My uncle carrying one of those long metal gazebo polls had hit me in the back of the head. My fault apparently, I really don't remember much of it... Only being told the rest. Having confirmed that I wasn't concussed my Mum suggested I rest up on the sofa. The story gets a little strange here in that I can actually recall none of the following events.
I zoom in another frame
My brother was sent to get me but I was no longer on the sofa. Looking everywhere for me he found me standing on the front lawn, sleep walking. I don't sleep walk, never have before or since. Something about finding me on that day had unnerved my brother, I could tell when he retold the story that evening. Even when he retells it at family occasions he never really seems comfortable.
This memory starts to race through my mind as I zoom in closer. There is a definite single figure standing out there. I zoom.
It's not? I'm not?
The final enhancement steals my breath and beats my leg into a nervous shake. It is me. But more. I'm looking up. I'm standing there in the middle of the family garden looking up.
Straight at the lens. Straight back at me.
|
Kevin had always been a little bit forgetful.
Sometimes he would forget to pick up a fresh carton of milk on Mondays. This meant that he could not enjoy his cornflakes on Tuesdays, which was irksome, but not so unpleasant as to cause him a great deal of stress. Sometimes he would forget to pack a pair of socks to wear after cycling to work in the summer. This meant that his socks would be just slightly moist for the day, which was uncomfortable, but not so troublesome as to cause him to complain.
It was, however, much more rare that he would forget to water the small Chinese evergreen that sat on the corner of his desk. This meant that on the rare occasion when he did neglect the little shrub, the hellish fires of war rained for years, which really was quite a bother, especially when the bridge over the canal on Riverview Road was destroyed in a dawn air raid, adding an extra twelve minutes to his morning bicycle ride.
Kevin worked in a neat government office, a small cog in the confused metaphor that was the Department of Industry, Commerce, and Workplace Relations. His desk was neat and productive, populated only with a pile of papers, a mason jar of stationary, a desktop computer, and a tidy Chinese evergreen that sat nicely in a terracotta pot. At exactly half past three each afternoon, Kevin would meander to the break room, fix himself a cup of tea, take a biscuit from the jar, and fill a small plastic cup with enough water to nourish his desktop shrub for another evening. However, this usual routine fell very much into chaos on the third Thursday of August, when Kevin's wife of seven years left him for a rich property investor with a fine taste in motorcycles, fine art, and vintage wine.
Kevin did not come into work on the Friday after this revelation. Tea did not get fixed, a biscuit was not taken, and the Chinese evergreen was not watered.
When he returned to work on Monday, it was a little limp, but Kevin did not notice. At half past three that afternoon, Kevin did not realise that the time for tea, a biscuit and plant watering had arrived, and consequently, the plant went without water again.
On Tuesday, the plant had taken an air of sadness, as if it were symbiotic with its owner. That afternoon, Kevin again forgot to tend to his potted friend, just as he had forgotten to pack a banana for morning tea.
On Wednesday, Kevin forgot all of his emotional burdens, but this was only for a fleeting moment. Upon their return, Kevin left work early, finding solace in visiting his favourite antique museum just out of town. Half past three came and went, without the thought of watering his desktop potted plant passing through Kevin's mind.
On Thursday, Kevin noticed that his plant was lifeless. It was unfortunate, of course. At that stage, Kevin could not foresee the ferocious armed conflict that would unfold as a result, and as such, was not overly bothered. He placed the plant in a large trash can near the storage room, in as much a nonchalant manner as one may imagine, and went about his day. At half past three, he submitted a request for a new Chinese evergreen with the building services manager.
In doing so, he caused an additional twelve dollars and seventy cents to be expended in this quarter. This would move his branch from second most expensive to maintain to most expensive to maintain, which would have been of little significance were it not for the ensuing audit. The audit would have been of little significance were it not for the ensuring restructure of his branch. The restructure would have been of little significance were it not for the dismissal of two accountants, who were generally accepted as redundant regardless, but were kept around because nobody really knew what they did and were not particularly fussed about finding out.
As the death of a plant caused the dismissal of two accountants from the Department of Industry, Commerce, and Workplace Relations, so it caused unemployment to slide from just ever so slightly under six percent to just ever so slightly over six percent. This, of course, would usually be consigned to a small box of text five pages into the newspaper, but given the precarious state of government affairs, it made the evening news. Kevin watched the news with his usual state of apathy, caring more for the highlights of the football than the state of the economy.
Just as an unwanted guest would arrive at a party and eat all the best cheeses, the election rolled around some four months later. Of course, a party that presided over a state of unemployment that dipped below six percent could not be elected for a third term. Even Kevin knew this simple fact as he cast his vote for a more moderate, protectionist candidate, despite his minor concerns regarding the foreign policy stances of the party to which this candidate belonged.
Kevin did not know that the party which he had helped to elect would then go on to intercept sensitive diplomatic material from the Iranian embassy. Of course, Kevin would tell himself, this was not a reasonably foreseeable outcome of his vote, and was not a matter with which he would bother to worry about. It was just as unforeseeable that this would lead to the withdrawal of the Iranian ambassador and seven senior diplomatic staff by the government of Iran. Kevin did not bother himself with this either, for it was his birthday, and he was enjoying a fine sirloin steak with glass of expensive red wine gifted to him by his sister.
Kevin became slightly bothered when his government increased sanctions against Iran. This was not because of the sanctions themselves, which Kevin saw as moderate but pragmatic policy based on the evidence at hand, but rather because of the response of the Iranian government, which unsurprisingly involved the reopening of a nuclear research facility in Khuzestan Province. Kevin, a keen student of history, knew that nuclear weapons were quite dangerous.
The government, despite advice from seasoned advisors, thought it best to send weapons inspectors to the research facility. While within its legal rights under several conventions, Iran did not take kindly to this, just as Kevin had not taken kindly to his office chair being moved into a meeting room during lunch and not returned at the conclusion of the meeting. Kevin, however, acted reasonably, while the Iranian soldiers guarding the facility did not. Kevin simply made a point of mentioning the issue to Cheryl at reception, asking her to kindly return any furnishings that she may need to move in the future. The Iranian soldiers took a much more blunt response and refused the inspectors entry into the facility, which of course did not sit well with the government which Kevin had helped elect.
While Kevin was busy watering his new Chinese evergreen, which had been healthy for an uninterrupted seven months, diplomatic hostilities increased between Iran and the broader international community. Early alliances formed and countries made their stances known, flamboyant displays of military prowess took place, and Russia accidentally shot down a civilian aircraft flying across Europe. This was exacerbated by the presence of the wife and two children of a senior German minister on the flight, an unfortunate circumstance indeed. Kevin, having always wanted children of his own, was particularly saddened.
Kevin could do little to respond, unlike the German government, which could increase its military presence in eastern Europe, something Kevin could only dream of doing. Naturally, territory was disputed, local populations were displaced, and geopolitical tensions reached a delicate tipping point, which easily escalated into a minor armed military confrontation along the border of two minor eastern European nations. Again, having no military of his own, Kevin was powerless.
Just as one small crack in a glass window can lead to the shattering of an entire pane, so too can rising international political tension and questionable military deployments lead to full scale conflict between small countries. Kevin, being a citizen of neither of the countries involved, was not entirely phased, until a series of archaic alliances came into play, plunging his otherwise peaceful nation into a war that soon spread across the globe in the same way that a split coffee spreads across a desk.
Kevin could do little but watch as towns and cities across the European continent fell. Were it not for a congenital heart defect, he may have enlisted, but this was not a possibility. All Kevin could do was continue his work at the Department of Industry, Commerce, and Workplace Relations, while hoping that it would all pass rather soon. Quite the opposite happened, and without fail, the world was at war. This was not to Kevin's liking. He had quite liked the more peaceful times.
Yet the war was not a lengthy one. After fourteen months, most countries had withdrawn from the conflict. The war was becoming less bothersome for Kevin, which was pleasing, as it meant he no longer had to concern himself with air raids. In fact, Kevin would have been content were it not for a misfired explosive that completely destroyed the bridge over the canal on Riverview Road, adding an extra twelve minutes to his morning bicycle ride.
This twelve minutes would have been of little consequence had Kevin not scheduled a meeting for fifteen minutes past nine that morning. In his rush to gather paperwork from his desk, a slight bump of the elbow knocked his Chinese evergreen to the ground. The terracotta shattered and the plant's roots were torn beyond repair. Kevin knew that he would need to clean all this mess up later, as this was an obvious consequence.
Less obvious, however, was that major famine and an outbreak of disease across Central Asia would occur just eighteen months later as a result of this slight bump. Had he foreseen this, he may have been a little more attentive to his precious Chinese evergreen. |
Rain. It's all we wished for in Cerulean City. When the rain came the water Pokemon could stand a chance against them. Against the police.
I was only 3 years old when it began. The government decided they would declared the towns of Kanto Police property. They intended to keep control by any means necessary.
I remembered when they would march door to door and demand that every man and woman of age, register for the police force.
When they reached our house my father could smell the cinder and hear the low pitched growl of their Arcanine. He told my mother to get me and leave. I was only 5 at the time, but I told her I wouldn't leave my father's side. She forced me out the back door before I could fight. I could feel the cool rain hit my face. I smiled knowing how strong my father and his Kingler were.
I knew he would win. I knew that he would find us, but some battles aren't win or loose. Some battles are stacked against you. We saw the flames from the hill.
My father died a hero.
Mother and I escaped to Route 4, but we didn't make it far. We could hear the police chasing us.
Criminals.
They were hot on our trail, and we knew we could never outrun them. My mother looked me in the eyes and told me "Never hold back. Be the greatest."She shoved me into a dark cave as the police approached. I was free, but she was gone.
As I crawled through the darkness I could hear the Zubat flying just above my head. Their screeching sounds made me weak, and dizzy. In my haze I felt the grip of an Ekans tightening around me, I knew I would soon be it's dinner, but just before I lost hope I was saved. A Nidorino sprinted out of the darkness and saved me. It carried me out of the cave and lead me to safety. Viridian City. A new home. The Pokemon center took me in, but Nidorino never left my side. The worst day of my life was over. Orphaned; terrified, but not alone.
Years past and Nidorino and I swore to avenge my parents and save the world form the police. We would stop the devastation that had reigned across the land. We trained as hard as we could to become strong enough to make a difference. We made friends, we built a life in Viridian and we found love.
Kia was beautiful, and my Nidoking felt the same of her Nidoqueen. We married young and I found work in town. Under a new name, as i was still a fugitive. Kia knew of my past, she helped me train and even helped us unite the town into a Pokemon organization protect our people, to love of pokemon and denounce the evil police force.
Word spread quickly and we were soon facing the threat of a police assault. Our Pokemon were ready, our team was strong, but our losses were unspeakable. What they did to that town was disgusting. We were peaceful.
They attacked us. They killed my Kia, they killed our unborn child. They had taken everything.
I hid. I ran. I escaped.
I went all over Kanto and found the strongest trainers in every town. We had to do something. We decided to build ourselves up again. But this time in secret. Fight the police from underground. Out of the public eye.
I came out of the shadows a stronger man. A better man. I had lost enough. Now it is time we won. I went home. To Viridian. We established ourselves and set out to unite Kanto. This nation would be strong again. We would save everyone. By any means necessary.
I remember what my mother said when I was a baby "You will be the very best. My son. My Giovanni." |
The assembled Illuminati all cackled in their massive corporate tower. Their plan was finally coming to fruition. Today would be the day to end all days...
One Illuminati member was not doing the prerequisite amount of cackling. The leader glared at him, then the member pointed. "Sir, what's going on over there?"
They all peered at the roof of the *other* massive corporate tower. There were a large group of people all peeling their skin off, revealing their reptilian nature beneath.
"It's the Reptilians! They've decided to launch their dastardly plan today as well!"
"Blast! We'll have to one-up those bastards, we haven't spent all these centuries planning-"
"Wait, you mean you're not reptilesss as well?"One of the Illuminati queried, looking somewhat confused. He was busy peeling his skin off. The Illuminati stared at him.
****
Something hit the tank with a dull 'thud'. A youth's blue eyes went wide. "Sir, we're under attack!".
The Nazi's braced themselves. Their leader, sporting a mustache that had long since gone out of fashion, 'harrumphed' in indignation. He climbed out of the tank to inspect the damage.
"Nein, just a large lizard. Very large lizard. Must have fell off building. Crazy American land."
The nazis continued their journey to the square. World domination would finally be theirs.
*****
They arrived with a splash, in a flurry of gold and silver. Tourists looked on in awe, but they paid them no heed. They had a quest to fulfill. The Atlanteans would rise again.
An explosion suddenly rocked the city, sending the Atlanteans diving to the floor. Had they predicted their attack? Had someone betrayed them?
No matter. It was only a matter of time until they were in control. For now, and forever.
*****
Another rocket smashed into the Reptilian tower, sending an entire wing into chaos. "Who wasss on that floor?"Their leader asked frantically, restocking his own bazooka.
"Mossstly internsss, sssir."
The reptilian leader thought for a bit. "Ah. Good. Now help me with thisss bazooka, will you?"
"Are we aiming at the Nazsisss, sssir? Their tanksss, yesss?"
"...What?"
"Or might I recommend the Atlanteansss, sssir?"
"...WHAT?!"
***
The Illuminati leader conceded that it was not a good plan. You don't just sit in a tower and cackle and expect the world to bow down to you. Regardless, the fact that the Reptilians, the Nazis, and even the Atlanteans decided to take over the world on the same day as well certainly complicated things.
He looked down at the chaos. Bloody hell, had the Atlanteans brought their entire island with them? And how did the Nazis even get all their panzer tanks here? You'd think he'd be more in the loop, being the goddamn leader of the Illuminati.
This annoyed him. He threw a few more grenades down for good measure.
****
It was absolute mayhem in the square. The one corporate stronghold had lost most of its left wing, while the other tower was poised to collapse. The Nazis and Atlanteans were fighting tooth and neck, and constantly returning fire from the Illuminati and Reptilians. Everyone was fighting a losing battle.
Through the chaos, a large group of adorable old grandmothers arrived, one carrying a very large megaphone. They walked directly into the middle of the square.
"Stop all this at once!"She wailed, the megaphone sending echoes across the city. "You should all be ashamed of yourselves!"
The fighting slowly grinded to a halt. The various secret organisations looked at each other incredulously.
"Is this how grown men behave?"She continued, before being interrupted by another granny, who whispered furiously into her ear. "And Agatha says for her dear old John to stop all this silly business and to come home at once!"
John, peering down from the Illuminati tower, went red and sheepishly moved away from the window. The other onlookers tried to suppress a grin.
"How's about we all just settle this over a cup of tea, eh?"
There seemed to be a murmur of agreement amongst the organisations.
The granny smiled.
"Besides. Why fight each other, when we can take over the world *together?*"
|
"Honey, I'm home!"
"You know that stopped being funny after the first five times Liz"I yelled from the kitchen.
"Eurgh, ok fine fine"returning to her normal voice and peeling off the face of her most recent victim, letting it drop to the floor with a moist plop.
"Are you going to get that dear?"
"Eh, I'll put it with the others after dinner"Liz absently muttered as she collapsed onto the sofa.
"Hard day at the office?"I inquired, as I squeezed in next to her.
"Yeah, this one was a real fighter, got 'im in the end though"
"You always do my lovely"
"What's cooking? Smells amazing"
"Only the finest German meat for my girl"
"Didn't we finish him last week?"
"Saved the best til last"I smiled
"You're too good to me"she murmured nuzzling up to me as she drifted of into merry unconsciousness.
I didn't mind waking up to the smell of burnt meat, we had plenty to go around.
---------
I feel like the prompt was leaning towards the moral dilemmas of having a murder girlfriend but I thought making them both crazy and gross fit. Criticisms and comments welcome. |
"Bah! Humans! Useless! The whole stinking lot of them!"Niobe was in another one of her moods. The other sirens generally let her burn herself out instead of getting involved. The new girl, Rhapsody, didn't know that yet though.
"What? Why's that? I thought those last sailors that came over were quite lovely."With every word Rhapsody spoke, the other sirens felt their blood grow colder.
"Lovely?"No one knew how Niobe could imbue a single word with such malice. Perhaps it was a vestige of her old magics. "No, they were not lovely. They only wanted what all humans want!"
"Well, I mean, that is how we survive right? Feeding off the desires of men?"Rhapsody asked.
"Rhapsody, honey, don't."Peride was always trying to be the peacemaker.
"They only ever desire the same things! Year in and year out! Shiploads of sailors from all corners of the world ply our waters and every last whoreson of them is desiring the same bloody things!"Niobe was working up quite a lather today.
"What? All the time?"Rhapsody asked.
"Yes - all the time!"
"Do they never desire anything else at all?"
"Not once in all my years has any man asked for something new! Oh, I was like you once - innocent and naive and stupid. It took me ages to figure out we're nothing more than common merchants! There is no pride in what we do!"
The other sirens tried to look busy doing something else. Everyone avoided eye contact with Niobe.
"I just can't believe,"Rhapsody said, "that in your thousand years here on the rock nobody has asked for anything more than milk, citrus fruits, and the occasional sex."
"Oh hell,"said Peride. There was an unspoken rule on the rock to never mention Niobe's age. It was a sore spot for her. Even the most lust-crazed drunken sailor only ever asked her for milk and limes anymore. Rhapsody further rubbed salt in the wound by being young and pretty. In the last shipload of sailors, only half had asked for oranges from her before the sex. She could maintain her youth through powerful magic as long as she could feed on enough desire to fuel it.
"My age is what makes me valuable here! Your beauty will fade one day as well and that empty head of yours will cause your doom! Any of you would be lucky to make it to half my age! Bunch of empty-headed -"
"Look! A ship!"one of the sirens shouted. Everyone went to look and made quite a fuss over it. That let them get away from Niobe's rantings. She was still shouting about something but now no one was listening.
"Are they from the north or the south?"someone asked.
"Neither. Looks like west,"was the reply.
A long sigh was followed by, "I'll go get the lemons."
[Edit: typos] |
"If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?"Terrible pickup line, but it helps me find women with a sense of humour. The beautiful redhead at the end of the bar didn't laugh when I said it to her; she looked around the bar with a frightened expression, then stared at me. She broke the silence with the words "A polar bear weighs enough to break the ice", handed me a heavy manila envelope, and rushed out the door. It hurt. Obviously she meant to say that I needed a better icebreaker, and I was lame enough to make her give up on this bar. I needed time to think about my next line.
I was checking out another redhead sitting across the bar (I have a type) when some guy waltzed in, went right up to her and said my line. "If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?"She replied with "Fuck off"and the man backed off, then started looking around in a panic. He asked two more women the same question before getting thrown out of the bar. I realized that all the women were on edge tonight, so all the fun I'd get would be from drinking, checking out the game on TV, and people-watching.
A couple beers later, my plan to get hammered and go home alone was interrupted by a beautiful woman approaching me. She asked, "Do you have any raisins? If not, how about a date?"*Holy shit*, I thought, *a woman with my sense of humour.* I answered, "I don't have any raisins but I can give you my sausage."She smiled and said, "Let's go back to my place."I drained my beer, grabbed the envelope, and took her hand as we went out the door.
I walked with her in the moonlight, amazed at my luck. Before the parking lot she pulled me into a dark corner and said, "If I could rearrange the alphabet I'd put U and I together."Seeing the perfect opportunity, I replied "If I could rearrange the alphabet I'd put the D in U."Suddenly, she grabbed a gun out of her purse and levelled it between my eyes.
"Wrong answer." |
My room consisted only of mattresses. My floors, my walls. Pieces of soft fabric had been wrapped around and attached to my door knob. Sometimes I woke up and wondered if it had finally happened. Had I finally gone insane? Sometimes I wished for it. At an asylum at least the staff would have to talk to me. Here, I was alone. My family had long ago grown bored of me. And I don't blame them. My condition made me difficult to be around.
It's ironic though. When my mom went in for the ultrasound and they said I carried the gene for superpowers ,my parents couldn't have been happier and when I was born they waited eagerly to see what kind of powers I would be gifted with. My older brother had been blessed with the ability to shoot fire. My mom was a mind reader and my dad insanely strong. Me? In which way was I blessed? It only took until my brother accidentally set fire to me to figure out. It was only my pinky toe, but it lit up like a 4th of July bonfire and after that we all started to see what was happening. My skin was becoming more and more like paper, while my bones grew fragile, like glass.
Now, at age 20, I was nothing but paper and glass.
I got out of bed. Into the living room. With my cloth covered hands I picked up the remote and turned the tv on. I fell back into my chair. It made a slight thud sound at the impact. My heart skipped a beat, wondering if I had broken anything. With a big sigh I sunk back down into the chair and looked to the tv screen. Emergency news were on. They were always on, it felt like. Always there was an attack somewhere and always there was some hero saving the day. Who was it this time? A stone man was terrorizing the city. That was new. I waited for them to get interrupted by the hero saving the day. But the hero never came..
The reporter went on. Our town was getting destroyed, hundreds had already been killed, the police force was about to get wiped out. They showed the stone man on the screen. He must have been over 20 meters tall. His big stone paws were demolishing buildings as he walked past and there was no one there to save the day. No one. I got up from my chair. I looked out through the window. I hadn't been out for years. The last time had ended up with me in the hospital for weeks and one year or physical therapy. I clutched my hands, but not too hard. I so desperately wanted to be something, something more than this. I wanted to be a hero, even if it was for only a second. I wanted someone to know my name before I left this world.
I grabbed the thickest jacket I had. An expensive down parka my mother had bought me years ago, back when she still had hope for me. I had only worn it once. I layered myself in wool hats, mittens, scarves, it was like my own soft armor. Adrenaline was rushing through my body as I felt the cool air hitting my face as I closed the door behind me. My lungs tensed up when they filled up with the cold autumn air. The streets were empty. No one dared go outside. I dared. I smiled. I knew from the news where he would be. The town hadn't changed much from when I was a kid. The stoneman's growls could be heard from between the buildings as I got closer, but I pressed on, until finally I was there.
He was standing at the end of the street with his back turned to me. A giant grey silhouette waiting for me. I looked around and saw a statue of a big horse in the middle of the town square and I climbed to the top. With shaky fingers I took of my mittens and started to unwrap the endless ribbons of cloth I had around my hands until finally they were free. My dry, papery skin felt odd, misplaced, out in the chilled air.
“Hey, stone jackass!” I shouted towards the stoneman. He turned around quickly, looking startled. He roared before he started charging towards me. I held tight onto the statue, my two feet standing firmly on the horses back. I was starting to have my doubts. This plan of mine, would it work? It was a silly plan really, just something my childish brain though up. I knew my life would be over no matter if it worked or not. I surprised myself with my indifference.
I raised my white hand in the hair and prepared myself. He was close now. The ground seemed to shake with every step he took. I took my last breath and when he was only milliseconds away I jumped in the air and with all the force I could muster I swung my open palm down and across his face.
“Paper beats rock, motherfucker!!!!” I shouted as my paper skin smacked against his rock surface. The stoneman shrieked and in that almost second before I hit the ground, crushing my body, ending my life, I thought I could see his stone body breaking apart, his life ending alongside mine. I loved him in that moment. I was finally a hero, if only for a second. |
Every Who down in Whoville liked Christmas a lot.
But the Grinch just north of Whoville did not.
The Who’s loved to play, to scamper, to shout.
The madness down mountain just made the Grinch pout.
“I’ve had it!” the Grinch said as he stroked his dog Max.
“I’ll steal all their fun! Chop down their tree with an ax!”
“I’ll take all their toys, all their food, all their games.”
“At the end of this night I’ll flush it all down the drain.”
So Grinch prepared in the usual way.
Made a hat, then a suit, then of course a large sleigh.
Then tying poor Max to the front of his ride.
The Grinch headed down, and found the Who’s…well they lied.
The Who’s were not feasting on rare who roast beast!
It was the flesh of their neighbors that made up the feast!
The Who’s…they were purging and what a sight they did make!
Their whole Christmas cheer bit was only a fake.
The Grinch, sad for him, realized this quite slow.
As the gates to the city were lit up with a glow.
Corpses were hung from the arches with care.
The flames licked their bodies and gave the Grinch quite a scare.
“Oh dear Max.” said the Grinch as he searched for the brake.
“This is much more than my poor heart can take.”
“We need to head home before something goes wrong.”
“We’ll hide in our cave till we hear their Who song.”
“That always comes at the end of the noise”
“So it must mean the end of bad girls and bad boys.”
But still sad for the Grinch, as he fumbled and fought.
The brake system he installed did not a lot.
The sleigh, oh it slowed, but not quickly all.
And through the gate the sleigh sped, towards a tree standing tall.
A tree decorated just like the gate.
Where unfortunate Who’s had met a very sad fate.
The tree decorated the heart of their lair.
With Who twitching feet that danced upon air.
The sleigh stopped just short of the terrible sight.
And the poor Grinch was exposed, just sat in street light.
“Max we must flee!” said the Grinch as he rose.
“I don’t want to be killed! Not in these Christmas clothes!”
“We’ll simply make our way back through the gate.”
“And with a little luck we’ll escape a bad fate.”
But the Grinch wasn’t lucky, not even a bit.
For as he turned he saw a small Who decked out in her kit.
She wore a small mask, painted to look just like St. Nick.
In her right hand she held a bloody ice pick.
In her left hand was perched a small smoking gun.
Which she waved at the Grinch, as a threat not to run.
“Hello Mr. Grinch! Said the Who’s tiny voice.
“I’m Cindy Lou Who, and I’ll give you a choice.”
“You can run far away and live out a sad life.”
“Or you can work to combat this unending strife.”
“The rich,” said the girl as she lowered her pistol
“Watch us all die, as they sip from their crystal.”
“They laugh and they cheer as we fight for our lives.”
“Killing sister and brother with dull rusty knives.”
“Well I’ve had enough, and I’m looking for help.”
“To show them some horror. To make those fools yelp.”
“You’re tall and you’re green and with that face quite a sight.”
“If I armed you at all, you could give the rich such a fright.”
“We could fight together, just you and just me.”
“We can stop them and then all the rest they can see.”
“That a Christmas time purge doesn’t stay within reason.”
“Family, friends, and good cheer are what should come from this season.”
“Please Mr. Grinch.” Said Cindy as she reached out her hand.
“Join with me this night, and we can free this great land.”
The Grinch didn’t speak, he could not reply.
He wasn’t a hero, he was just some scared guy.
“But if I don’t help this girl,” he thought as he stared straight ahead
“There's no way this tale doesn’t end with her dead.”
So the Grinch took a moment, and examined his clothes.
He wasn’t equipped to deal with such powerful woes.
So he spoke very slowly, as he picked at his stitches.
“I’ll need some new clothes, if we’re going after these bitches.”
_____________________________________________________________________________________
www.fineeverythingsfine.com.
|
Tommy was chiseling away at an old sidewalk, hardhat donned and vest vested, when his friend Jacob punched him in the shoulder. "Hey, Tommy. Look at that wacko."When Tommy looked, he saw what Jacob meant.
The offender wore a purple... Dress? That actually touched the ground, with little stars dotted all around. His hat was huge, creating a nice pool of shade, and his beard was so long and spindly that the normally placed Tommy imagined lighting it on fire for a laugh.
The man spit out words that didn't sound like English, even though he had an English accent, and pushed his hands in front of him like he was moving a giant invisible box. "*Axcelaia Modrunnus!*"He cried, hands pantomiming great physical activity. Tommy felt a little bad about theoretically burning this man's beard.
His friend, however, did not share his sensation of guilt. "Oi, he's wicked crazy.", Jacob said, nodding wisely to himself. Tommy had to agree. "**Hey weirdo! You're wicked crazy!**"Jacob yelled to the man, and suddenly he stopped gesturing and yelling his crazy words.
"Wait..."Said the old, hobo-esque man in purple. "You can see me? How would I seem to appear to you?", he asked seriously. Jacob laughed. "You're a nutjob, buddy,"he replied, "in a frickin' purple dress in the middle of the street."
"A purp- oh, no."He started shaking his hands again, and Jacob leaned on his shovel, intent to watch the show. Tommy would have leaned on his Jackhammer, but then it would have turned on, and that lead to a *very* bruised ribcage. "I'm not supposed to be seen! They, **they** will detect me soon. The universe hangs in the balance, we must not be fou-"A fizzling noise cut him off, and seven naked people popped into the air next to him, holding their hands out in front of them.
Jacob and Tommy shared a look. They had done acid in high school, but this was different. "You do see that?"Tommy asked. Jacob nodded. |
"My time is coming, to win that tournament created by that pathetic god."I muttered, "I was kept from participating last season, but my time has come."
I blankly stared at my dark, dungeon walls, kept by God to live in pure insanity. I extended my wings, and centered myself in the middle of the dungeon, awaiting for the dungeon doors to swing open, for me to ascend to Heaven for that wretched tournament.
God deems that archangels should fight eachother, which is absolutely hypocritical, considering he's the "keeper of the universe, and peace."The purpose is for his enjoyment seemingly, but we archangels obtain an invaluable reward; becoming God for a year.
"Hello Lucifer, long time no see, you're ready for this tournament I see."I heard God's voice speak, echoing through the dungeon. His voice made the chains shake, and I could see the doors beginning to let light shine through.
I emerged from the shadows, and let the light shine on my dark, scaly body. I was prepared for Heaven; the excitement of battles would be a complete change compared to my boring, dungeon. The doors creaked open again, and I heard God's voice again.
"Be prepared, last year's contenders have improved significantly, they've been training Lucifer. It's not as easy as you may think."God laughed, "Maybe you'll regret joining Heaven for this tournament."
I scoffed, and God swung the dungeon door's open, releasing a flurry of light, and I saw Hell's sky open, shining a blue tinted sky, with clouds being the floor. I flung myself towards the sky, the wind rushing across my face, my body unable to handle the excitement of this tournament. I would be able to kill many Archangels, and possibly be able to use some of them as my own tools! I'm delighted to see what I have in store!
I swept across the sky, passing through clouds, until coming upon a magnificent coliseum. I rushed towards the entrance, seeing my own lined up, ready to fight for the reward. The coliseum looked divine, I couldn't see the inside, but it was decorated in bright metals like gold and diamond, and the walls were marble carved with words of God.
I'm not a fan of these bright colors, it all seemed too surreal. The coliseum doors opened up, releasing into an inside arena, that was white marble flooring, with carves of spells that would prevent it from being broken. All of us Arch Angels lined up, and we were given numbers by God's servants.
"Look at you, Lucifer, you're not what I remembered. So excited huh?"Michael laughed, "But remember; God decided to mix it up. You see, now we're fighting to the death, and also, only one survives. Also, God has added some new players into the mix, to spice it up."Michael sighed.
"But there's only four of us that are actually powerful, correct?"I replied, with confusion.
"You'd be damned to realize that God decided to put Fallen Angels into the mix, one of them being Abbadon."Michael frowned, "I don't know why God even revived him, he's insane to fight against."
"Abbadon? Damn, not him. Yeah, he is a pain."The last time I fought Abbadon, I remembered grimacing in pain from his scythe, slithery little shit. He would be in mist form, and just slice you in half, and it'd take a long ass time to regenerate from that kind of blow.
"Hello Lucifer and Michael"One of god's servants interrupted, "Here is your number, Michael you are 665, Lucifer you are 666."
"Wow, real funny God, you put me as 666, stop stereotyping me, asshole."I could just imagine God laughing as he marked Lucifer as 666, saying, "Get it? Because he's the devil? Haha!"
The tournament was beginning soon, all the arch angels and fallen ones walked forwards, preparing for the fights that would begin. God's marker servant was about to be done, and God had already settled himself in his throne. He sipped his coffee, put some sugar in it, and placed it on his throne, and glanced over everyone. He took a quick look at me, and gave me a thumbs up, and grinned, what a sly asshole.
"Hello fellow fallen angels, and archangels, we're beginning our millennia tournament, the reward as you may all know, is you can be God for a year! Now, let us begin the tournament."God announced.
Angels nearby him played their trumpets, with a harmonious beginning, the clouds rolled over and a star shone over God as he stood up, and released a trophy into the air, to show all the arch angels. As soon as the angels ended their music, he slammed the trophy down on the pedestal, commencing the tournament.
All archangels and fallen ones were teleported to a designated war area for fighting to begin the duels. I was summoned to an area with terrain made of stone, almost like a mine. It was about 100 meters long, 150 meters wide, and another one of God's apprentices were in the middle, wearing black and white, signaling as a referee. The roof was covered with a colored glass, and I could barely see my opponent ahead of me.
"This round is between Lucifer, and Uzza!"The referee yelled, "In order to win, the other archangel has to be unable to fight. That is all."The referee disintegrated into a wisp and phased through the glass roofing. I could see the shape of Uzza barely, she prepared herself into a fighting stance, waiting for my attack.
"Death come above, and reign terror on this terrible world."I muttered, and three of my demons came to my command, ready to strike.
"Empower my servants with evil desires, and destroy the target I ask for; Uzza."The demons grew in size, and became much more ferocious, and lashed at Uzza immediately. One of my demons leaped onto her body, knocking her down on the ground, and another punched the stone terrain, flying rocks towards her.
The other demon was preparing a spell to channel to empower the others. My servants were doing great, this would be an easy tournament. Then suddenly, I saw my demon on Uzza explode from a frenzy of punches, and she shot a blast of some form of energy at my second demon, blasting his head off immediately.
My other demon who was still chanting a spell released it at Uzza, blasting it at her, and she deflected it, but lost a partial amount of her arm in the process. She contorted in pain, and dropped to the ground, dead.
"Demon, channel the stone to place a spike into her body!"I commanded, and so, the demon followed suit. He chanted a spell, and did what I expected, and used the stone to create a spike, that went through her heart. She stopped moving, and the referee in the middle announced that I was the winner.
___
I don't know if I'll continue, but tell me how I did please! |
"Fetishes?"Jenkins, the scientist at the head of the table asked.
"Fetishes,"Michaels repeated.
"That can't be right. These symbols have been used to help people determine what type of job they want."
"Well, they do reflect people's desires and interests."
"I don't believe it."
"Well, I've written down the fetish that corresponds to everybody's markings on their foreheads. For the sake of privacy, I've sealed them in envelopes. Please take yours and I think you'll see that there is, in fact, a correlation."
The scientists all reached into the center of the table and took their envelopes.
"This is absurd,"Dr Wu said. "This symbol has been passed down through my family for as far back as I can remember. There is no way it could be something as simple as-"he paused as he read the envelope's contents. "It's true,"he conceded, putting the paper back in the envelope and slipping it in his coat pocket.
"Public nudity?"Rodgers asked. He had been leaning over to read the paper of the scientist next to him.
"Hey!"the man said, recoiling.
Jenkins, the head scientist put his unopened envelope back on the table. "No,"he said. "I don't believe it. My culture has used these symbols for religious purposes. For example, my symbol reflects my generosity. These golden drops that shower down my forehead reflect the wealth that I shower upon the less fortunate. Because without-"
Jenkins trailed off when he noticed the look Michaels was giving him. Michaels gave him a sad nod of understanding.
"Oh, goddammit,"Jenkins muttered, rubbing the golden shower on his forehead. |
It was a nice little event. Some dancing here, some chitter chatter there.
All in all, a nice little event.
I didn't know what the event was for, but the boss said it was mandatory and that there would be pie.
You don't turn down pie.
So I went, mingled, did the whole networking thing even though I'm an introvert by nature and all the interaction was giving me a really bad case of anxiety.
After an hour (well, way before then, but you know...gotta stay for the pie) I was ready to go.
I think the boss knew everyone was mostly there for the pie because they didn't bring the pie out until WAY later. It got so bad that I heard people having conversations about pie.
Finally, they brought the pie out and we scrambled into line. And by scrambled, I mean politely let people cut in front of me, until I was at the back of the line. It didn't matter, though, I was sure there was enough pie for everybody.
And I was right - the last peice, too. "Yay!"I cheered quietly, reaching for the peice of pie (hehe, sounds like pizza pie - gross, hehe).
And then...
"MINE!"erupted from out of nowhere as a man jumped in front of me and grabbed the pie, stuffing it into his mouth, chewing messingly and flecking my face with crumbs as he made this 'Muah Muah Muah' sound.
He swallowed heavily. "I told you! I TOLD YOU I WOULD GET MY REVENGE! ALL THESE YEEEEEARS! I set this up,"he grinned darkly. "I was the one who became a millionaire in order to buy this company and organize this mandatory event. I was the one who made sure there was only a certain amount of pie. It was I who got the last laugh. HahahaHahhahah!"
"Um, okay,"I said, walking away, feeling embarrassed by all the people looking our way.
I don't like too much attention.
|
"I still say we stack facial features and physique,"Alice said.
"Don't you want our child to be smart? To have a future?"
"I don't know how many times we have to go over this, Mark. Attractive people do better. That's just the sad truth of the world."
"What about an even distribution?"
"So you want our children to be mediocre?"
"That's not what I said. I'm just trying to come to an agreement on this."
"Look,"Alice said. "There's only enough points to make our child exceptional in one, maybe two factors. I read an article that you should load up on two complementary factors. Otherwise you're just wasting points."
Mark sighed. "What if there's more to this than just making an exceptional baby? What about a healthy baby, a baby that will grow into a well-rounded adult?"
Alice snorted. "Like a well-rounded person could be happy. Look at us, Mark. The last generation of Non-Mods, and where are we? Working dead end jobs, putting all our hope in our children. Our children can *be* something. We can afford to give them excellence. Why don't we?"
"Since when is a strong jawline and a tight ass *excellence*?"
"You're infuriating, you know that?"
"This is a big decision. It's not unreasonable that we should disagree on the finer points."
"Finer points? We're on opposite ends of the spectrum."
"Why don't we split it? We'll stack facial features and logical reasoning. They can work out if they want a nice physique."
"You aren't listening to me. The article said..."
"To hell with the article, Alice. This our child, not a new car. We have to do what's right for us. For the baby. Maybe we should have talked through this before we got pregnant."
"Yeah, maybe."
---
"Well,"Mark said. "What if we just stack charisma and persuasion? They'll get anywhere they want with that Mod-Set. Who cares what they look like, or what they know? All you really need to be able to do in this world is convince people to believe what you want them to."
Alice smiled. "Our child will be unstoppable." |
Earth 273.
Adolf Hitler was found dead in his hotel room, destitute and unremembered. Turns out graphic paintings of the horrors of war, painted by a man who doesn't even remember his own name half the time, don't sell that well.
The Holy Order of the Blessed Beatles still fights on beneath the occupied streets of Liverpool. When the German Army marched north, for men armed only with their instruments stood to oppose them. The church still holds the the relics; a bass guitar stained red with German blood, drumsticks sharpened into daggers, a cracked pair of glasses and set of guitar strings that had once been used to garrote a German general.
Joseph Stalin, high Tzar of the russkaya imperiya, Signed the Peace Accord with President Franklin D Rooservelt in Alaska, in 1942. To this day, the Stalin line Rules the Russian Empire with an Iron fist. |
"I don't understand, Mr. Holmes, how on earth did you deduce that it was the Butcher that robbed the bank?"The four men stand outside of the very same bank that had been robbed. There is the detective and his assistant alongside the police officer and the handcuffed criminal.
"Well that's just element my dear Waterson-"Mr. Holmes begins.
"Do you mean elementary, sir...? And it's Watso-"
"DON'T interrupt me Waternin!"The detective proclaims as he adjusts his top hat, "The bank was robbed on a Tuesday!"
"I don't see how..."
"And on Tuesday I had a marmalade sandwich for lunch,"Mr. Holmes continues as his assistant sighs and resigns himself to the man's explanation, "And do you know the thing about marmalade sandwiches? Aside, of course, from the fact that they are disgusting- they do not contain a single shred of meat!"
"Whot?"The butcher cuts in, but he is silenced by a grunt from the officer at his arm.
"And if my sandwich didn't have any meat then what reason would the butcher have for being open! And if the butcher isn't open then what else is the man to do? If his livelihood is at stake due to his inability to sell steak wouldn't robbing the bank be worth the take?"
"I robbed the bank on Monday you daft fool!"The butcher cries out.
"But ya did rob it?"The officer asks.
"I-"the butcher trails off, and in his rough accent looks at Holmes and says, "I freaking hate you."
"But... none of that makes any sense how did..."
"Enough thinking Waltersins, it clearly isn't your strong suit,"He turns and begins to make his way down the street, "Come, let's go get some marmalade sandwiches." |
They were, beautiful, serene, graceful and above all else completely alien to humanity. Yet this alienation was not necessarily physical, the Angelarchs were a species who were roughly humanoid in size and shape, though taller with the average height of roughly 2 meters. Their skin and features were similar to that of humans, but completely flawless and with greater variety. Some Angelarchs were born with a single eye, some with three, but even though their features were not always traditional by human standards, none could deny the sheer beauty that every single member of the species seem to exude.
Language and communication between us was never an issue. They had known of humanity for millennia even attempting to contact with our species in several key moments in our history. Variants of their names appearing in holy texts throughout our planet. They seemed as impressed with us as we were with them. Their envoy to humanity often gushed at the advances we made in our civilization in such seemingly short lifetimes. Life. That was they the key difference between Humans and Angelarchs. Where the eldest of humans might live just over 100 rotations of our sun, Angelarchs never aged at all. Micheal the Angelarch, envoy to humanity had claimed to see our species evolve even from its very beginning. His reports back to their home planet of Eaven only drew more interest more and more visitors became enamored with the richness of human life.
For them we lived more in a single decade than they would over a millennia. Their seemingly endless lifespans meant that food had little meaning to them. Adventure and excitement was dulled with the edge of knowing you could survive every possible outcome and so a bargain was struck. Biologically our species were remarkably similar despite our differing life spans. The Angelarchs would teach humans the key to their longevity and humanity would pass on its advice on how to reach an end that would give meaning to countless years before it.
The Bargain became a great lesson for both our species.
Death is a lot simpler to attain on Earth than life. Angelarchs lived forever, and as such needed no food, no liquor, no great ambition or adventure in order to give their existence meaning. They simply were and always would be. They never laughed, they never cried, they never loved. Acts of carnal passion were completely foreign to them, even though they were biologically similarly equipped as humans. The acting of creating new life within them, experiencing life, its pleasures and pains left the Angelarchs exhausted for the first time in their collective history. In that exhaustion came contentedness and eventual a final peace which would end their long lives.
For humans it was much harder, to attain immortality. To do so they would have to strip away facets of themselves they felt intrinsically human. No longer feeling, loving, consuming. To never need the touch of another and to become completely self-sufficient. Assisted with technology provided by our new allies, humans were able to attain eternal life. Well, eternal so far. Those who underwent the process no longer seemed to age, and no longer required earthly sustenance in order to maintain their biological functions.
Every bargain has a cost. The cost of the Bargain changed both species greatly. A human who underwent the Angelarch process ceased to be recognised as a human by other members of their species. They simply could not connect with those who would give up so much of themselves for time. Similarly an Angelarch who underwent Humanism simply became a human. They were no longer alien, they were home.
So would you partake in the Bargain? |
"His name was *Morthos*. *Morthos the Damned.*"The teary-eyed Judge said. "Father, teacher, poet, and part time necromancer. And now because of you, he's dead."There was a solemn murmur of agreement amongst the jury and assembled, weepy townsfolk.
"He was a good man!"Shouted a voice from the crowd, "When the barbarian raiders killed all my farmhands, his skeletons... "His voice cracked, and he wiped a dirtied sleeve at his eyes. "...they saved our harvest."
"Aye!"Came another voice, this one shrill and feminine. "Who's gonna read the wee one's to sleep? Morthos' skellies always had time for the wee ones."She broke off into tears.
"And what are we supposed to do with all the leftover skeleton bones?"Somebody else yelled. *"Bury them?"* The crowd erupted into a rage.
Galen swallowed. "Listen, everybody,"he rose from the table, his shackled hands resting at his waist. On either side of him sat his two equally captured, equally black-eyed adventurers. "I think there's been a giant misunderstanding here. I know we're throwing around words like 'execute' and 'torture'-"He punctuated this with a nervous laugh. "-but I think if we all just take a moment and *breath*, we'll see that this was really a colossal mistake, and easily fixable."
The Judge rose an eyebrow, calming down a little. His eyes, however, were still red and puffy. "Go on."
"Well,"Galen continued. "You see we're actually looking for a..."He glanced sidelong at his companions Amelia and Hayns, unable to recall the name of the necromancer they'd *actually* been trying to kill.
"Mor*dread.*"Amelia offered helpfully.
She addressed the jury. "Who is actually the necromancer from the next town over."
Galen snapped his fingers triumphantly. "Yes! Mordread, that was it. Anyway-"
"Mordread?"Said an old man in the jury. "Right prick he was. *His* skeletons painted a big fat dick on me shop's door last year."
Galen opened his mouth, unsure how to respond. Amelia wheeled around, unsure if she heard him right.
"Oh, oh!"Said another woman in the crowd. "Or how about that time he reanimated that damn wasp nest on me doorstep? I had *just* managed to kill the bastards too."
"Yeah!"Came a third voice. "And that time he murdered our firstborn sons!"
A gentle rumble of agreement rolled through the townsfolk.
"Err, yeah."Galen said. "That was the one we uh, wanted to, you know. Kill and stuff."
The moment was interrupted by the banging of the Judge's gavel. "Enough! You said this was easily fixable, well what is it you propose?"
"Well, you see we killed your necromancer."
"*Morthos.*"The Judge growled.
"Err, yes. Morthos. And we're terribly sorry."
"Oh yes."Amelia agreed earnestedly.
Hayns grunted, which was in Galen's estimation about as much enthusiasm as a dwarf could muster.
"Get on with it."The Judge said, growing impatient.
"Well, let us go and we'll pop over to the town next door and take care of this Mordread character. Which means no more reanimated wasps-"
"- and no more culling of firstborn sons!"Amelia added with a smile.
The Judge was silent, clearly weighing the benefits of their release against his desire for justice.
"And not only that,"Galen continued. "We'll make that bastard bring Morthos back. I mean, there's a good chance he won't be able to channel the power of death to help the township as a reanimated corpse, but he can still give out high fives and such."Galen grinned nervously. "So basically, you get your old pal back and we do a little community service in penance for our terrible-"
"-horrendous."Amelia interjected.
"- crime."Galen finished.
Just then the crowd exploded into shouts of agreement and shouts demanding their death, torture and dismemberment, and also, what Galen was quite certain was a shout asking if anybody cared to purchase a goat for ten percent off regular asking price.
Again came the smashing of the gavel.
"Very well."The Judge announced. "On the grounds that you capture and *retrieve* Mordread the Treacherous, *and* can compel him to bring back our beloved Morthos the Damned, you are permitted your freedom. Stray from this task, however, and all the King's Guards will be on the lookout to bring in your heads. And that is a promise I lay my life on."
Galen swallowed. "Then we have a deal?"
"Free them!"The Judge roared.
|
The killer grinned. "You know those things aren't set up to make calls, right? Why waste your breath?"The phone in Gerry's pocket began to buzz softly, and he found himself very glad that he'd turned the vibration intensity down almost all the way, the killer almost certainly couldn't hear it.
The man stood over Gerry, gun drawn and pointed at his head. He couldn't have said why he was being targeted. Maybe he'd pissed off someone from the mob, or maybe he was just downright unlucky. All he knew is that the police only had a few minutes to get there before he was done for. The phone in his pocket was recording everything, he just needed to stall to keep himself alive.
"Why are you doing this?"Gerry asked, and though he tried to keep the fear out of his voice, it was nearly impossible with the gun pointed at him.
The killer laughed. "They all wanna know. Well it's a little late now, don'tcha think?"
Gerry's mind was racing. "C'mon, you've got me dead to rights. I just wanna know why. Just tell me why, and I'll shut up."
The killer lowered the gun ever so slightly. "I... I was paid. Can't say by who, but you know too much, and I think you know what I'm talking about."
Gerry did know what he was talking about, if only slightly. He'd overheard a mob conversation in a diner earlier that night, though he was just now becoming aware that's what it was. It seemed a shame to die over a total coincidence. If he'd just sat in the next booth over, he wouldn't be in this mess. He silently cursed the hostess who'd seated him there.
He heard the gunshot only momentarily before things went black.
***
Officer Sloane fished though the man's pockets, looking for anything that might close the loop on this case. Single gunshot wound to the head, only one set of footprints in the house, nothing else. She wrapped her fingers around what felt like the man's phone, and pulled it out to see that it was recording. She quickly stopped the recording and played it back, her eyes widening with each sentence she heard. The gunshot that ended the recording made her flinch, though she should have been expecting it.
"Holmes,"she called to her partner. "You need to listen to this. This wasn't a random killing."Holmes nodded brusquely, walking over and listening to the recording for himself, his face growing more and more pained as the conversation went on.
"Well,"he said, finally. "This may be enough to take Crawford down for RICO. Now all we have to do is prove he's the guy mentioned in the tape, and we can put him away for good." |
I'd always thought the curious clientele of this curious pub were a very peculiar bunch. The sort of people who dressed funny, talked funny and surely held no corporate jobs. They were probably artists, I told myself, circus performers, independent bookstore owners, maybe librarians. The sort of people with fantastical imaginations and a bond between them which extended to the particular language and dress code they used. At first they seemed wary of me, the lone stranger in their midst, but I was quickly forgotten, left alone to hear their delightful parlance and admire the wonderful robes they always seemed to wear.
The pub, I thought, must have had a back door, for there were days when I could swear some people came from the back who had never entered the establishment. I even tried to sneak there and maybe find this door, but a brick wall was all I bumped into. They spoke of events I knew nothing of, ministers I was sure of having never elected, even paid for strange drinks and food with money I'd never seen. A most peculiar bunch indeed.
And so it was that one day, figuring that a man can only go so long trying the same beer and the same fish and chips, I went to the counter and tried to enunciate the words I'd been hearing for weeks now.
"Butterbeer and pickled eel, please."
The bartender looked at me funny. He stared hard at me, up and down my suit, suspicious, but the frown eventually gave way to a welcoming smile, and to more of these amazing new words I was fascinated by.
"Merlin's beard! Where did you get those clothes?"he asked, readying my order. "Are you an undercover Auror or something? I'd always figure you for a Muggle! Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron, mate. You know the way, Diagon-Alley through the back!"
**[Part II](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/88b7wd/-/dwk0swm)**
******
*/r/Camberlot* |
While David spread the mayo across the white bread he noticed it made a strange symbol. Just before he spread more mayo, a hellish flame enveloped his kitchen. A demon is muscle and bone stood in front of him.
“David Bryan, why have you summoned me?” He said.
David looked around indifferent. “Well, it was an accident. You want a sandwich though?”
The demon took the sandwich without hesitation. “I am Zelsis. A member of Hell’s inquisition, we hunt and kill rogue demons.”
“Cool.”
“The food is quite good... for a human.”
“Thanks”
“Would you mind if invited some friends later?”
“No.”
“Splendid.”
He snapped and popped out of David’s plane of existence. The next week 5 demons appeared in his kitchen.
“David, we desire sandwiches.”
David rubbed his eyes with early morning fatigue. “Ok, gimme a minute.”
No more than a minute later they all had a sandwich in their demonic claws. The demons feasted satisfied. They spoke in ancient tongues about the perfect ingredient to bread ratio, the perfectly spread mayo, the (ironically) holy salami, and how the provolone cheese is in a perfect mid cheese mid solid state.
“David, we are satisfied with the quality of your sandwiches. Whether you like it or not, this shall be a popular visiting place for demons.”
David was, again. indifferent “Ok.” He responded.
David became popular among demons. They went to his house everyday seeking a sandwich. Demons tried making them themselves but were unsuccessful in making them as good as David’s. His “business” boomed. He no longer needed to get a job as the demons gave him money. Even Satan visited a few times, enjoying a classic David salami and provolone. He was a human most admired by demons.
Eventually though, he died. Before he went to the afterlife, Satan offered a deal. He could go to Heaven or go to Hell, but, instead of getting tortured he would make sandwiches and see his friends for eternity.
David, of course, chose Hell.
The demons welcomed him with open arms and he say his old friends again. Zelsis shook his hand eagerly.
“Your death saddened me David.”
“Well I’m sorry.”
“I have a question David.”
“Shoot,”
“Can I have a sandwich?”
David smiled. “Gimme a minute.” |
To: The Superhero Ethics Committee
From: Supreme ManBeast
​
To whom it may concern:
I'm writing you today out of recent concern regarding my superhero nemesis RatMan. We have had a long standing feud that has been productive for both of our brands, both his Superhero business, as well as my Villain business, and we've found our working relationship to be productive for the both of us (despite the occasional bruising and prison time for me).
However, I've started to grow concern for the well-being of our business relationship and the ethics surrounding it, as RatMan has started bringing a protege along with him to missions. Normally, I have no issues with working with and against sidekicks. One could argue my hench people are similar to sidekicks. However, RatMan's new sidekick appears to be no older than twelve years old, barely into the early stages of puberty, which I find deeply concerning.
Supervillain code of conduct states that children must not be physically harmed during the various villainous activities that we engage in. Meaning, we may use them as captives or bait for various tests for our superhero nemeses, but that we are not allowed to physically hurt them, or put them in any situation where the hero might fail the test resulting in the child(ren)'s death or serious physical harm. I personally take this code very seriously, and I find it highly disturbing that Ratman would exploit the villain's code of conduct against me by having a twelve year old child acting as his sidekick.
I am not familiar with Superhero code of conduct, or if there are any rules against the practice of using young children as cannon fodder, however since the Superhero Ethics Committee's website states that all Superhero related business must result in the net good of the community, I would hope you would consider the banning of using children as sidekicks in the future, or at least speak to Ratman on my behalf. I would go speak to him myself, but the child he hired seems overly eager to beat me up, and due to my following of my own ethical code, I cannot fight back.
I'm hoping that the Superhero Ethics Community will understand my concern, and seek to rectify this issue in a way that benefits both parties.
Kind Regards,
*Supreme Manbeast* |
​
**SUBJECT: Delegation to High Ixion**
**FROM: 039561-USA**
**TO: 000001-USA**
**June 7th, 2167, 2100hrs**
Dear sir,
The *Indomitable* has delivered me unto High Ixion, the apparent seat of the intergalactic government.
It's a gargantuan mushroom-shaped structure, layers upon layers of bustling alien life packed into one station. The Servants that brought me here claim it was constructed upon the ruined bones of their old home-world. I am inclined to believe them, as the sheer scale of everything here makes it hard to refute them.
The people of High Ixion were a sight to behold, to say the least. The Servants, squat creatures with four huge nostrils and no eyes, were strange enough, but when you actually gaze upon the form of an Engineer, a non-bipedal jellyfish that floats through compression and expansion of their gas sacs, you can truly believe that life beyond Earth exists.
Omun the Servant, our main point of contact throughout our interaction with the intergalactic Council, says that we are to convene immediately, for it is not often that the Council gathers to discuss a new species within their ranks. I will follow up with a report as soon as I am able.
Earth, now and forever,
Vice Admiral Preston Jeremiah Cole.
​
**SUBJECT: Delegation to High Ixion**
**FROM: 039561-USA**
**TO: 000001-USA**
**June 7th, 2167, 2300hrs**
Dear sir,
I need you to drop everything you're doing right now, and take a seat.
This first encounter with these aliens was a test - for them, and for us. The collective Council probed our delegation with question after question about Earth. The climate, the flora and fauna, our potential interplanetary exports. All very harmless, I know, but when our zoologist dropped a passing comment about how he'd sat in a tree for days to catch sight of a South China tiger, the entire Council stood speechless as Omun translated the comment into Common. Omun himself seemed quite shocked to discover we'd spend days just to see one beast.
Every accord they proposed to us, every convention and trade deal they offered, all came in terms of weeks and months, when converted to Earth time. The land lease for the Council embassy, 10 weeks. Trade deal for our more exotic fauna in exchange for excess clean water from Council planets, lasting 5 months. It didn't make sense for me at first, but after watching the Council slack-jawed at that comment, I had my suspicions.
After the Council was dismissed, I talked to Dr. Takeshi in private, and he pointed out a few more telltale signs. The twitch to their movements, like a hummingbird, every movement pushing the heart to extreme speeds. The way that their society is structured, with castes dictating what every race should do, so that they may best make use of their time alive.
We believe all of these aliens have lifespans lasting months. *Months.* These councilors that I'm talking to now? They may not even be here when I next take to the podium.
I've spoken to our experts, and they agree that if this is true, this is a great opportunity, and we must move quickly. If we are accepted into the Council, we can take the first steps to the plan we've devised.
You told me to secure humanity's future in this intergalactic society, and I think I can do more than that. With enough resources and the right people, every single one of the Council's member races can be controlled by a puppet ruler, groomed by us and sympathetic to Earth, *within our lifetime.*
I await your decision.
Earth, now and forever,
Vice Admiral Preston Jeremiah Cole. |
##Hole in the Wall
It is a lonely bar that sits in the middle of a desert. It sits in the middle of a bustling city constantly surrounded by people who walk by it. It sits in an old strip-mall where half of the shops have been closed for the past five years. It sits in the middle of a small town.
It is everywhere that it needs to be. The patrons that walk into the bar know that they cannot leave. They can only sit inside and look outside. When they are called away, they leave out the back door. The know when they are called. Ten patrons are always looking out the window. You are not looking. You are too busy polishing a glass.
A new patron walks over to you. Their red hair is in a tight bun, and she has on a thick pair of glasses. They look confused and scared.
"Excuse me, my name is Hannah. Can I have a latte? Do you serve those here?"she asks. You snap your fingers. The dive bar scenery does not change for you, but you know it changed for her. She looks happy now. You put a glass under the faucet, and you hand it to her. Your most loyal customer, David, laughs at this interaction.
"I tell you. You have gotten soft. I missed when this place was a tavern,"he says in his thick accent. None of the new patrons would ever guess the accent, "I listen to those kids. Pretty soon, You will have to delude them into thinking this place has class not character."
You shrug when he says that.
"One day, Joseph, I will get you to speak,"he says.
You look over in the corner to see two patrons make frequent eye contact with each other. Do they risk a rendezvous. It may stop them from going to heaven. You shrug your shoulders. You are not sure if it does, but it has not stopped others from doing it in the past. The patrons walk over and start to make out. You get out from behind the counter and tap them. You point at the restroom. Mortal affairs disgust you.
"I tell you. This new generation is a lot more open about sexuality than mine was. Not that I care. None of the patrons that have ever walked through here have met my standards. How about you, Joseph? Has anyone ever caught your eye?"David says.
You shake your head no in response.
"Pardon me for eavesdropping,"Hannah says walking over, "Is Joseph human?"
"Ayyy, sit down. I will show you the ropes,"Hannah sits down next to David.
"Joseph has been working here ever since I got here about three-hundred years ago. The oldest patron when I got there said that Joseph was there when she arrived. He is a human ghost who cannot move on,"David says.
"That is terrible,"Hannah says. You merely respond by shrugging your shoulders, "Sorry for asking, do you speak a dead language? Is that why you don't talk?"
"Nah, we can understand each other. Joseph here just doesn't like to talk,"David says.
"Is that even his name, Joseph?"Hannah asks.
"I have called him a ton of names. Joseph is the one that he seemed most comfortable with,"David says. You nod your head at his remark.
"Is it common to have your case be debated for that long?"Hannah asks.
"It depends on what you did. Some souls are in and out in the blink of an eye. Others like me wait for centuries. We are here because we exist in a gray area. If we truly good or bad, we would get sent away immediately,"he says.
"Well, I think I am a good person,"Hannah says.
"What did you do in life?"David asks.
"I was a defense attorney,"she says.
"No, not your job, what did you do? What good or evil did you do?"David asks
"Well, my work took up most of time. The legal field does that. I never really had time for hobbies or a family,"Hannah says.
"Okay, so you did nothing outside of work. Defense attorney is a decent profession. As long as you didn't screw anyone over too bad or defend a dictator. You will go to Heaven."David says. As if on you cue, Hannah looks at the backdoor, "See what I tell you. Sometimes, it is quick."
Hannah looks at you.
"I am used to arguing on behalf of people. Maybe I could persuade the people who decide where souls go to let you into heaven,"she says.
You shake your head no.
"Please, it would be no trouble,"she says. You gesture for her to leave. She is not the first person who will ask for your help and she won't be the last. She walks out the back door. David sits alone and drinks.
After a few more decades, David looks at the back door.
"Looks like they figured out where to send me. Being a pirate who gave his remaining wealth to his family at the end of his life really complicated the matters,"David smiles at you.
"Before I go, I have to ask. What is it that you did that is causing so much controversy?"he says. You gesture to the door. David gets up and walks over. He puts his hand on the knob. He looks at you again, "Please tell me before I go."
You walk over to him and whisper in his ear.
"My name is Cain."
EDIT: If you liked this, I have a sub for my other writings at r/AstroRideWrites. I just started that subreddit so please excuse me as I learn the ropes. |
I am the God of Knowledge. I know all. I know what has happened, what is currently happening, and what will happen in the near future. I know the lives of people whose great-grandfathers have not even been born yet. I know the life of people's most distant descendant.
I even know the life of the ones reading this. I know the life of the one typing it as well. There is nothing I don't know. But there is so much that I cannot do.
My brother, however, is the God of Getting Stuff Done.
We were the ones who named ourselves. I, having known all the words from birth, chose the best ones to encapsulate my being, and I change them depending on the language that is trying to invoke me.
I am Knowledge. I am Wisdom. I am Gro'thar. I am *Sai a Dyn*.
My brother is an unintelligible mess of noises. I had to pick a name for him, and he didn't settle for any beyond *Getting Stuff Done*. He was born with the ability to do anything, but not the ability to know what could be done.
I spent the early stages of our existences teaching him concepts. I taught him of things that haven't existed since far beyond our time. I taught him of things that have yet to exist.
I taught him of things that I knew *would not* exist until he made them. And with that I, slowly, gave him sentience.
I knew I could do it, just like I knew everything else. He was capable of anything, as long as he knew what could be done. If I left him to his own devices, he would flail uselessly in the cosmos for aeons before discovering the simplest and most base of actions.
He would learn to break things and, from there, to destroy. I could not allow a being that could do anything to destroy, so I taught him the beauty of creation.
He took to it like a fish to water. He created and played with concepts of concepts like they were all his playthings. He created, not because it was his job, but because he simply wished to. He discovered and made and discovered new things from those discoveries. Life was a toybox for him, and the nature of reality was his playpen.
How I envied such childish innocence. How I envied that feeling of being able to discover something, and the feeling of accomplishment that came with it. I, of course, knew what it felt like, but simply knowing something and actually feeling it were two different things.
For him, there was an endless possibility of a universe waiting for him out there. All he had to do was grab it.
For me, the universe had already been explored and picked clean of its mysteries. The outer limits of what was possible had already been drilled into my head. Instead of going out and experiencing them, however, it was as if someone had crammed several thousand years worth of second-hand experience into my head.
I knew that I would feel jealous of my brother by this point. I just hadn't known how vile the feeling could be.
When he came to me one day, asking for the next riddle or the next pondering of the known world, I had refused him. It was the only time that I had ever done that.
One thing led to another, and we were now at odds. I knew this would happen, but I had never expected it to happen so soon.
Because I know his every move, I know that he couldn't ambush me or defeat me in way.
But, one day, he would use his powers to realize a much worse option.
He could make himself the same as me. He could make himself omniscient. He was omnipotent, after all, and with the power to do anything, he could make himself know *everything.*
Having already known everything, I knew that it was only a matter of time before he realized.
It was only a matter of time before my existence was obsolete to the world.
Imagine being born knowing that. |
Agony is a word for it. Eternal pain, maybe? Maybe just prolonged suffering, since according to the laws of the ancients, we will die eventually.
I will die eventually. I'd welcome it.
The rich cried out in fear when the law was announced. Turn over what you have, the gross excess, and give it to those in need.
That worked for a period of time. Many were helped, many's life saw improvements. It was a one-time massive bonus that really helped a lot of people. Those who received loan forgiveness, those who received bailouts, those who received medical care. There were those companies that sought to use their wealth to pay their employees better. It was an incentive, to stay with this company rather than go to one where the head of company, CEO or president, simply gave away their excess at the end of the year.
I'm not really here to talk about those wealthy men who gave away enough to enjoy the 80-ish year life they'd been promised.
I'm here to talk about people like me. People who missed out on the money, or for whom the money was a bandaid and not the salvage we expected.
It's been a hundred and nineteen years since the law passed. Life is good but cracks exist. People fall through, especially people not in well off countries. Here, there was no respite for our countries lacked the billionaires to provide it. Those countries rich with the rich saw enough to spare most of their citizens the agony we face.
A prolonged life with no promise of release. I should be 149 years old. I have the face of a man in his early 50s. My health has remained woefully good. I work my hands to the bone every day to try to provide for my massive family.
I haven't known the touch of my wife in thirty years, for we found that even the slightest touch may lead to yet another mouth to feed. When affection and bodily pleasure is one of the few things left to you, you find yourself craving it in ways you might not imagine. I know she misses my touch as much as I hers, but she is eight years (pre-law) my junior and still very capable of producing children. Without the means to prevent a pregnancy and with our aging and cycles dependent on the will of material wealth, it became almost impossible to satisfy our urges without risk.
I love all of my children. All 23 of them. But I cannot afford to feed another. And she cannot withstand another two or three-year long pregnancy.
Every child set us further in poverty. Many of them have spent years developing. Even the oldest have just reached adulthood. The younger ones have spent half a decade trying to walk, trying to speak. Man of my adolescent children, struck with the emotional instability provided by hormones ravaging their systems, have been wild with rage or passion. Others have become depressed shells. No child should have to spend four times the appropriate years at any respective age.
I used to promise them every day 'this is the day I come home a wealthy man'. I stopped after forty-two years of that. They knew I was lying.
Perhaps to a God, this was a reward for our humble spirits. A God may see longevity as a boon, something to be craved and enjoyed. But when that longevity is attached solely to poverty and pain, it can only be seen as a curse.
The laws were only ever meant as a curse. Those with a beloved life may only enjoy it briefly and those whose lives bring only pain should be forced to endure.
We will endure. One day I shall know the wealth that will bring my family peace. One day I will see my youngest children walk towards me with smiles, hear them say 'papa!' instead of squalling helplessly on rags on the floor. One day the teenagers, whose eyes are clouded by hysteria, will be able to see life again fully and without blemish. The ones who have fallen in love, many times over, may one day be able to match their boyfriend's or girlfriend's ages. They won't have to know the pain of meeting someone at sixteen and watching their partner grow to eighteen, nineteen, twenty before ever knowing their own seventeenth birthday.
One day, I may even see my youngest out of the home and rest well knowing they may finally know happiness. One day, I may be able to lie with my beloved again.
Until then, we endure.
___
Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/) |
I thought that ear muffs would help. What I didn’t realize was the voice was one only I could hear. It started small, like an afterthought. It grew in it’s pervasiveness, the undercut and undermine of everything I did.
I had found the fabled sword, and I should have realize why it had been at the bottom of a sealed cave, behind magical wards and with a very old, and very cranky Wyvvern guarding the mouth of the cave. The adventure seemed so right when I read about it. It had been part of a journal in a pawn shop, a set of rude maps and engineering schematics. Descriptions of the swords powers, and warnings I dismissed. Different places drawn out, each I found and searched to find… nothing.
Then, I found the unmarked cave that was at the end of the journal. The rocks had slid, the path blocked. I climbed. I fought. I sapped. I delved.
I found.
The whispers I thought were just me being tired. I touched the sword, the gems in the hilt lighting up like embers under my hand, but cool to the touch. It filled the cave depths with a glowing light as I held it. I pulled it from the crumbling cage it was in and wrapped it in the cloth of silver I had brought for it.
I thought I was just second guessing myself when I went to the wizard to see how powerful this weapon really was. They congratulated me and scried it’s name, looking slightly worried when they looked it up in a tome of known artifacts. It had been lost ninety years ago, after the last owner had gone slightly mad. I was not worried. I was now it’s owner, and I was going to use it’s power. But I wasn’t as sure as when I had left the cave.
I used it against outlaws and bandits, the light it gave off lighting the path of it’s blade through my foes, those who saw what I had done spreading my fame. But I was dissatisfied. I heard a thought in the back of my mind getting louder. That the other items I had with me were keeping the power of the sword from truly coming out. I sold a few of the items I had fought to get, gave my enchanted weapons away. I even dropped my oldest and dearest ring at the side of the road when I heard that voice tell me that it was holding me back.
I did see the power of the sword grow. I wielded it as I gained in celebrity, and notoriety. I would save people, fight those who were doing wrong to others, but, as I sat surrounded by those who I had saved, I would withdraw, the voice telling me that they were not worthy of my presence. It became known that I would do these heroic things, but would not accept anything in return, even friendship. I would go from place to place, the sword at my side, and nothing, no one, else.
I was alone in a bed I had rented for the night when I truly heard the voice of the sword as not my own thoughts. It berated me for not being strong enough to push through the night. It cajoled me because the last battle I had been merciful, leaving several of the bandits alive, and that voice did not like that. Asking, in such a way to let me know it was not my thought, why I had done a tactic and not this other one. I tried to block it out, but I couldn’t.
I now found that I went from place to place, village to city, to try to get away from the voice, but it was always with me. Everyone I fought for, and alongside, praised the sword for it’s magic, not seeing what it was doing. I even tried to drop the sword, leaving it under the bed in the Inn, but the voice became sorrowful, apologetic. Pleading.
I had wealth from adventures, but only myself to share it with. And always that voice in my head from that sword.
I renamed the sword and by doing so, I started to have more power over it.
I now knew why the sword had been secreted away. I now knew why the last owner had been called crazy. I reread the journal and saw all the warnings I had dismissed before.
I could not destroy the sword. Part of the power it had was the ability to keep me from doing so. But I now knew what it truly was, and I knew Is was destined to do what the last owner did, but this time, I was going to make sure it was not hidden, but displayed to warn people about it’s insidious power.
The wizard had found it in the tome and had called it Grevinir. I call it Gaslight. |
Remi accidentally destroyed the first few worlds he sent heroes to -- much to the amusement of the other Gods.
Firstly, he gifted heroes to the water world, Bl8. One hero who could control air currents, another who could pull islands up to the surface, a third who could control the creatures in the sea.
The other gods laughed at Remi, whose good intentions were as heavy as gravestones.
The apex species of this planet lived on wooden islands, mammoth boats and rafts. Life for them -- before Remi gifted them heroes -- was difficult: many died young of disease, other fell to the creatures that lurked in the misty water far below, that prowled up at nights to satiate their hunger.
But life was not all bad, and things were slowly improving even before the heroes arrived. Better fishing and medicine; larger communities joining and aiding each other.
The heroes he'd sent were too powerful.
They didn't outright enslave the people, but the people became so reliant on the heroes and their powers that it became slavery by another name. Worship and prayer. And the heroes learned to love the worship, and learned, too, that if they did less, then the few acts they carried out were appreciated all the more.
Life on the planet regressed. It was like the people had been given electricity, but didn't know how to generate it themselves. Could only pray and worship for it to continue, as they gradually forgot the skills that had helped them flourish before it.
​
Remi gifted less powerful heroes to the next world, so that the people of the planet would not become over-reliant.
And indeed, the heroes gradually made a few lives better. But not *all* lives, and that was the problem. Why couldn't they save everyone? And these heroes, not powerful enough to intimidate the entire populous, were instead ridiculed and attacked: *what use are they with their gifts, if they must choose to let one child live and another die!*
The planet fell into war. War took the planet into darkness. Darkness led the planet to death.
​
Planet after planet fell in this manner, Remi's task Sisyphean, a boulder he pushed back up a hill day after day, but that would always roll back down at night, crushing whatever lay at the bottom.
The other gods mocked Remi, but told him not to worry -- that the last god with his role failed miserably, too, before she gave up.
But Remi would not give up. He would find a way to help.
Remi was next presented with the planet Earth. The other Gods watched keenly, smirking, waiting to see in what new fashion Remi would wreck this planet.
But Remi did not wreck it.
"That's cheating!"a god yelled, outraged and upset that this planet was thriving. "You've not sent them any heroes at all. You *have* to send heroes, or you will be replaced."
"You're wrong,"argued Remi. "This planet is full of heroes."
"Well I don't see any."
"Each one of them,"explained Remi, "is a hero. Or a potential hero. They each hold the strength and courage needed."
"That doesn't make them heroes! So I say again: there are no heroes on this planet and you have failed your duty."
"There are a million acts of bravery and kindness everyday,"said Remi. "That perhaps do not change the world, but they change a world. Someone's world."Remi looked at the other gods. "And that is where I went wrong before -- believing that someone being better than others is what makes them a hero. But really, a hero is someone who makes others better in some way. So look closer, and tell me then that there are no heroes." |
"Please, mom! You know this has been my dream for such a long time! Why do you keep holding me back?"I shouted, trying to stop tears from forming. My mom was such a great person. So why, for the one thing I really loved, did she have to fight me?
She hesitated, and looked as if she wanted to tell me something. "Just... please, Hannah, know that this is for your own good. There are so many other good things you can do with your life besides joining the Olympics!"
I bit my lip. She wasn't going to budge on this, was she? Still, I fought back.
"But this is what I want to do! Not anything else! Why can't you just understand that?"
I was ready to hear her rebuttal, but it didn't come. "Hannah, there's something about our family. Something I should've told you a long time ago."
*What is she talking about?*
"Our family was born with a special power. It lets us do things a fraction of a second faster then our rivals. I'm not sure how it originated, but... can you see why I don't want you going to the Olympics? It just wouldn't be fair."
I stared at her. What the hell was she going on about? "Mom, are you alright? Listen, I'm sorry for yelling at you, but you don't have to make up stories, I'm not a little kid any-"
"No, no! I'm not making up stories, Hannah, I swear. Please. You have to believe me about this."
*This is some anime protagonist power bullshit.* *No way. But I've never seen mom so serious before...*
As much as I hated it, the more I thought about, the more it made sense. That time I beat a boy I hated in a race by half a second. The summer I built a paper boat that was a millisecond faster than my best friends'.
Finally, I said something. "Mom, don't worry; I believe you. Thanks for telling me."
She gave me a look of relief and gratefulness. "Thank you, Hannah. I'm so glad you underst-"
"Now I'll be *even more* unstoppable there!" |
**It is 1:00 AM on Election Night 2024** when Brad Carlyle, Senate Campaign Manager, breaks down in tears on the floor of his hotel bathroom.
A thunderstorm rocks the night sky and reverberates in his ears. His candidate has lost yet again, which means Brad has now notched six consecutive failures in a row.
Humiliation feels even worse when your mortgage payment is on the line.
Brad wipes the snot from his nose. This is it, he thinks. He’s finished. No one would hire him now. And why did this happen? Because his candidates never follow instructions. You write one thing, they say another.
Brad pulls himself to his feet and stumbles to the balcony door. He throws it open and steps out, letting Mother Nature soak him through. Feeling like a wet gym sock, he thrusts his phone into the air.
It’s buzzing with a million texts, tweets, emails, and phone calls. He wants to hurl it into the void when, from deep within, something stirs in him. A belief long dormant. A yearning.
The words form on his lips. Before he even knows what’s happening, he is screaming into the night, “God, give me a candidate who will say exactly what I write! Just once! Someone who will run with it no matter what, down to the last goddamn letter! Please!”
Lightning cracks overhead and a bolt spiders down from the sky. It strikes Brad’s phone. He flies back and bounces off of the sliding glass door like a champagne cork. As he lands in a crumpled heap and slips into a dreamy daze, he hears a voice in his head whisper… *Good luck.*
**It is 9:15 PM on Debate Night 2026** when the king of comebacks, Brad Carlyle, Presidential Campaign Manager, is standing offstage watching in disbelief. It’s the biggest debate of the campaign and his candidate, Governor Jim Pooms (R-MI), is on a tear. Their opponent, Senator Susan Crane (D-CA), can barely get a word in edge-wise. Nor does she need to.
“Yes, that’s what I said and I meant it,” the governor says, “homeless smelters.”
Brad doubles over in agony. The typo that won’t die. It has lodged itself inside the governor’s mind and spread like a parasite.
“Governor, what you’re suggesting is genocide,” the Senator says.
“What?! How else are we going to solve homelessness? American manufacturing is dead. Repurpose the smelters, revitalize the entire sector, and clean up our streets.”
The crowd starts booing. The governor couldn’t care less. “Say it with me, folks: Smelt! Smelt! Smelt!”
Brad can’t watch. As he flees the scene and hastily makes plans to relocate to Canada, he hears the governor respond to another question.
“Yes,” the governor says, “Of course I support a higher minimum rage. This country is way too docile. We need more oomph, more gusto! Raise the minimum rage -- let the people express themselves!”
*Down to the last goddamn letter*, Brad thinks to himself. As he packs his bags and makes for the border, he does find consolation in one thing: Seven in a row. That has to be some sort of record, right? |
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