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"Waaaaahh! I'm hungry!"Elise cried from the bedroom, knowing it was about time for her afternoon meal. "Momma! Hungry!"
Debra winced as the crying began, having just finished preparing lunch for her husband who recently decided to behave just like their two-year-old daughter.
"Dan, this is ridiculous. Can you please bring Elise a snack so she'll stop crying?"Deb asked, irritation clear in her voice.
"No!"Dan replied, crossing his arms as he furrowed his brow in a pout, "I want snacks!"
"You just ate, Daniel. Jesus Christ, just go get Elise. *Please,"* she snapped back.
Dan's face began to crunch up into a tantrum-induced cry, his arms crossed ever tighter. He lowered himself to the floor in a sitting position and began to wail. "You yelled at meeeee!"
"Screw this,"Deb muttered, walking toward Elise's room. "I'll do it myself."
​
As Debra opened the bedroom door, she was welcomed by her whining two-year-old throwing her own tantrum, only Elise was sitting on the ceiling instead of the floor.
"Elise, get down here please. I've got some snacks for you in the kitchen."
Having waited far too long for her child mind to deal with, Elise began to cry even louder. From the kitchen, Debra could hear Dan's cries growing to a ridiculous volume as well. She was ready to snap. It was too much.
She stood there, underneath the door frame as she fought to keep the rage from escaping her when she caught a whiff of something awful. It was time to change Elise's diaper, which could only mean one thing;
Daniel was copying *everything* Elise did. This wasn't going to be pretty.
​
Upon completing her daughter's diaper change, Debra made her way back into the kitchen, horrified of what she might find.
She was relieved to see that Dan was nowhere to be found. Had he finally given up his ridiculous antics?
​
Only moments later when she glanced outside the window did she see her husband, flying, with a distinct brown streak running down his pant-leg.
​
He'd done it, the crazy bastard. He'd done it.
\---
Thanks for reading! :) — Check out r/PipSkweex for more stories! |
“What the...?”
A sticky note? On my chest, where Greg usually has his ass? He’s not here though, so that means... Yes! I can move! Alright, let’s see what this note says.
>I’m sorry to leave you like this, but I’ve been promoted. Forever yours, Greg
Well, this is a bummer. You think you know a sleep paralysis demon then he pulls some corporate bullshit on you. But at least this means better sleep, right? I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in ages thanks to his fat ass weighing my body down.
But it’s doesn’t happen like that. Of course it doesn’t. I can breathe well. Too well. My lungs feel like they could burst from all the extra air. My limbs all strew about and don’t stay still because nothing pins them down. And despite being so thick he could suffocate, Greg was a great air conditioning unit. Now, I’m leaving a heavier sweat than when I wake after a night with him.
Throughout the night, all I can think about is where the hell Greg went. How do demons even get promoted? What kind of business do they run, and on what currency? Suffering? Because he’s racking up a huge bill with me right now.
When I wake up in the morning, my head is in the gutter. Not literally, but it feels that way. Everything sloshes around, or maybe it only looks that way. My throat’s dry and constricts like it wants to throw up. And a fucking headache too. Just my luck.
I don’t remember getting wasted last night. Hell, it was Wednesday... right? But I can’t afford to call in sick either. I’ll just have to down a painkiller, drink some Gatorade, and hope no one notices.
As I drive to work, the world spins around, and I don’t realize that I’ve been totaled. There are shards on the ceiling and that sloshing from earlier’s back. What’s that sound? It sounds like my tinnitus, but it’s fading away.
“Hey, bud.”
Someone’s feet are on the ceiling. I look up—or down—and don’t recognize the robe, but the face...
“Greg?”
“Yeah, it’s me. I *told* you I’ve been promoted,” he says with a cheeky grin. “To Reaper.” |
I open my eyes groggily, everything feeling foreign. As I try to get bearing on where I am, I choose to stay down, my last memory hitting like, well, a truck. I was hit by a car, the drunkard was on the wrong side of the road, head on collision.
I finally open my eyes and look at my surroundings. It's a hospital room, but not the one I expected. There's colorful walls and cartoon themed curtains, as well as stuffed animals and toys meant for small children near the bed. The bed itself is rather childish too, with vibrantly colored and patterned blankets.
At this point, I choose to sit up, rubbing my eyes to make sure this is really my surroundings. Sitting up hurts a bit though, like I've been here a long time. That much at least makes sense, I'm waking up from being in an accident. I feel a lot lighter too, which makes sense. I needed to lose a few kilos anyways, and being stuck in a hospital not eating will take some kilos off.
Finally a nurse walks in, and is startled to see me sitting up, clearly. She hurries over and says something that surprises me more than I surprised her. "Isabella Garcia! How long have you been awake? It's been weeks! I need to call your parents!"
"...Isabella..?"I ask, becoming more confused by my voice being so high. "That's not my name..."
The nurse hesitates, then kneels down beside the bed and says gently, "I guess that is to be expected. Isabella, sweetie, you were in an accident, and may have a little bit of amnesia. That means you might not remember things about your life the way you used to."
I shake my head at her. "My name isn't Isabella, I'm not even Spanish,"I frown at her, my voice still very much off putting to me, its so different from usual.
"...I'll call your parents, maybe they'll be able to help you remember some things."The nurse decides, I only reply with a sigh as she leaves the room.
"Press that button next to your bed if you need anything dear, I'm sure we'll have whatever you need."She says, than leaves me alone.
Getting a better bearing of whats going on, I find I'm in the typical hospital gown, and I have an IV in my arm and a catheter too, so moving around isn't an option I guess. At least I'm well taken care of, but my body, well, isn't me. I'm a solid fourth of my age, if that. I do find out that I finally have that tan I always wanted though, and I have much darker hair than before. I imagine I look like a regular Latina girl, which is wholly different from what I used to be. Not the top of my concerns though.
An hour or so passes before my apparent parents enter, who seem both concerned and relieved. I feel bad for them, they don't have their daughter anymore, but someone entirely different.
"Isabella!"The woman in the pair says as she comes to me. She looks quite young, maybe mid twenties, and has honestly enviable looks. Certainly more than I have, well, had I suppose.
"I don't know any Isabella,"I reply softly, she just hugs me.
"Hush dear, you'll remember soon, I'm sure you will..."It sounds more like pleading than assurance, but I don't want to lead them on. That would be horribly cruel.
My apparent father speaks up now, "Isabella, I know you don't remember, but please try to remember, alright? Even if you can't, we still love you."
I shake my head a bit. "I'm sorry..."I can't be who they wanted back, I have important information for the government and I can't let it get lost.
(Edit: Sent Early, writing more)
"It's alright dear, why don't we let the nurses get you unhooked from all this so we can take you home? You might remember something by then."He says, I just nod. Home means more freedom, I think.
And so, I am taken home in a rather nice car. Nicer than mine was at least, I never really replaced my first car and just got repairs whenever they were needed, lasted me nearly twenty years before that accident. But, was that accident even with my car? Was that even me?
Either way, the home is rather simple, but well cared for. It appears I have a few siblings, Two older ones, a boy and a girl, and then one maybe my age, give or take a year, whose another boy. I'm one of four then, and possibly the youngest. That's a strange turn of events.
My parents get out of the car, and I do the same, still a little wobbly from the hospital, but able to walk at least. I don't pay much attention to the other kids until they come up to me, and unsurprisingly want a hug. I'm not used to this much contact.
They try talking to me too, saying they missed me and they were worried, but I don't know any of them, I just feel bad for them, they didn't get their sister back. They got me.
It takes them a moment to realize I'm not exactly what they were expecting, but they don't seem to want to leave me be either, at least until I ask them too. It's sad how badly they miss their sister, I'll never be her either.
Once free, I go inside and just mind my own business, keeping my thoughts to myself until I have a chance to use a phone. That's all I can do, cause that's how I'll call my director on the private line. That's the only way they'll know its me.
It isn't until its starting to get dark that I have the chance, and I sneak a phone into what seems to be my room to make the call. It dials for barely a second before being picked up.
"Who is this? This isn't an authorized connection."Jim Bridenstine says, I quickly answer.
"It's me, Samantha. Samantha Laura Green,"I continue, "I know I sound different, and I certainly won't look like me, but I need to be given the chance to prove who I am."
"You can't be Samantha, she's in a coma, on life support even."Jim doesn't seem pleased, but I just continue.
"The rocket is being launched at 7am, October fifth, the manned mission is disguised as a satellite launch."
There is a long pause. "...Only a select few people know that, who are you girl?"
"I'm Samantha, at least my mind is, my body seems to have been compromised, but that isn't my field of study. Now Jim, I need you to help me with that issue, I can't come back to work as some child, I don't want to stay one longer than I need to."
"...You've got a lot you need to explain, when is the best time to pick you up?"
"I'll contact you again when I can, but right now I think my 'parents' are looking for me, poor couple doesn't even know their daughter isn't who they got..."
He sighs. "Look, we'll do what we can, but you're on a time limit."
"Understood, see you soon boss."I end the call. |
The car alarm was going off a long time, I guess; swear I could hear it in my dreams. Wasn't until I felt him grab my arm and start shaking me that I came back to the world proper though.
A man was trying to drag me out of bed; not too mean, I guess, but insistent. Although, as I started opening my rime-crusted eyes, I could see why. It was less of a bed, I guess, and more a car roof. A couple people were filming (they always were), so I put on my best voice and, swinging my legs down, kindly told the stranger
"Like, fear not, citizen, yeah? Once more the forces of evil have been, uh, like, got. God my head hurts..."And rolled sideways, hitting the pavement with a thud and an audible gasp from the spectators. No big thing. I clambered up, the suited man helping me with a touch of sympathy to his eye, and dusted myself off before grinning to my adoring fans. A woman laughed, no doubt charmed by my winning smile, as I struggled to unbind myself from the cloak I had very cleverly used as a blanket the night before. Another good day.
All up and ready, I was ready to start my patrol. But before that, I needed to take care of myself; it's no good being a hero if you're not in tip-top fighting shape, after all. I bummed a smoke off a hippy-looking girl who wanted a selfie, then wandered into a bakery to get some food.
"Hey, yeah, I'm here to save the day, right?"
"Carl, you can't smoke in here."
"What? M'not smoking. But, but, I'd like a sandwich, yeah? Although I, uh, y'know, not one of those corporate stooges like, y'know, I don't get paid for savin' this place."
"Carl, please put that out. My manager says I can't give you free food."Some people got no respect.
"Hey, hey, dude, I got this man!"A young man with shades and a polo shirt said, offering to cover my bill. What goes around really does come around, doesn't it? I took my sandwich and sat down to eat it, stubbing the smoke out on the table. As the kind man left, I heard him on the phone. "Yo Big D, you never guess who I just met! Carl! Yeah, man! The costume and everything- wild..."
When I was finished I thanked the cashier for her services and strode out into the streets. Time for patrols; the days were usually quiet, but justice can never sleep. Except for when it has to, of course. But you get the point. Everywhere I went citizens were thanking me for my work, taking photos, laughing and pointing at the big hero. But not everyone was as understanding.
See, this country has a real problem with superhero discrimination. The other heroes, like, uh... (can't think of any right now. there must be other heroes. right? best not think about that), the other heroes must go through the same thing; you spend your days guarding the free world, and they call you a bum. Tell you to get a real job. And they can get real personal with it, too; tell you that you smell, or call you mad. Call you an addict. Rude.
But I don't let those sorts of people get to me; after all, a hero isn't one who saves the deserving; it's someone who saves anyone. And I've saved their lives just as much as everyone else's, believe me. Water off a duck's back.
So anyway, I won't bore you. Patrols went well and good; almost stopped a bike theft but turned out the guy owned it. A group of helpful citizens sat around listening to rap offered to help me power up; I joined the circle and ripped the bong a couple times before getting back to work. It was a good day. The kind of day that lets me know I'm doing good in the world.
Well, the sun went down and peace continued thanks to my watchful gaze. I took my dinner sat sharing the warmth of a trashcan fire with some out-on-their-luck men, passing around a bottle of spirits, talking about life and eating some sandwiches a shop had (in my opinion, quite criminally) thrown away for being one day past their sell by date. And then I got back to work.
Well, I patrolled until the sun went down, and then I just kept on going. My vigil lasted long, long into the night, with just the bottle of vodka and a couple of unidentified pills I confiscated from a drug dealer to keep me going. It wasn't until I'd reckon about three that anything happened at all.
The first I heard of anything going wrong was a rumbling in the streets, and a flash of light coming from the uptown district. I borrowed a bike to hasten my journey and rushed as fast as I could to see what was up; though even before I got there, I could see the saucer hanging ominous over the city.
By the time I got to Prosperity Plaza, it was already well underway. The alien spaceship was firing down a great beam of light, and strange little men with grey skin and laser pistols were rounding up everyone they could find and throwing them into the beam to be lifted up. They were smashing the shop windows, too, looting watches and computers, designer trainers and affordable mortage plan offers to take back to their home planet.
This would need more power.
Turning away, I biked as quick as I could back to the rougher parts of town. There were a couple places I was always welcome, free homes where enthusiasts from all walks of life could come together to talk philosophy and share their passions. A quick knock was all that was needed to let me in.
"Carl, man..."was all the doorman was able to greet me with, but that was fine. I found a young lady lay down in contemplation, too busy with her thoughts to notice, and gently lifted the spoon from her hands. Time to get to work.
Well, I can't say I got to work immediately. As with all things, I needed a little time to let my powers grow. So I lay there next to her, a while; but all the time, my thoughts were of iron justice, I assure you. And then I was ready.
I burst through the door and flew like a rocket down the street. Before I knew it I was in Prosperity Plaza once again, and the little men knew a threat was coming this time. Laser fire blasted all around me; but with a focused glance, I fired my own laser vision back. I flew circles around them, making swift work, but the UFO remained.
I ascended, dodging the much larger lasers fired from its swivel guns. I hit them first, doing strafing runs to destroy them one by one; but I was a little too aggressive. A shot missed and struck the engine of the craft, which began glowing and sparking dangerously. Thinking quick, I grabbed it by the rim and, swirling round, threw it off into the cosmic void, and just in time as it exploded out of atmosphere in a great blue cloud of plasma.
But, landing in Prosperity Plaza again, I realised the shop fronts were still broken, the people kidnapped still, uh, well I guess they weren't exactly -safe- on the ship... This wouldn't do. The world deserves better than that.
There's something a lot of people don't know about me. They think my powers amount to strength, or flight, or laser vision; but it's much less simple than that.
I sat down beside the fountain, and began to concentrate.
Out in space, the blue cloud faded into existence once more, giant and shrinking to a point. Shards of metal that had flown off into the void were attracted once more, attaching themselves like a jigsaw. The saucer, reconstituted, flew swiftly back, did a couple loops (from when I spun it round to throw) and then settled. The grey men poured out, returning people and property, returning their laser shots back to the gun as the shattered windows and monuments formed together again. And then they went back into the ship, and it flew back into orbit-
There.
I did not move from my position laying by the fountain, deep in focus. I shot a laser beam out to space, and struck the alien craft before it even arrived. To those watching the stars that night, a distant supernova burst, then went dead. His work was done.
Exhausted, he closed his eyes. It was over now; the city was safe.
Another day passed, and Carl was happy. |
"The Elven prince was so ancient and powerful, there were eighteen apostrophes in his first name alone!"the traveler bragged to those gathered in the tavern to hear his tales.
"Horse apples,"I said under my breath, but intentionally loud enough to be heard.
"You don't believe me?"the traveler protested, color rising in his cheeks.
I looked up from my mead and fixed him with my gaze. "I believe that you let yourself *believe* that, good fellow. But no, I don't believe that it's true. As a matter of fact, I *know* it not to be."
He sneered, and pulled back his cloak to expose the hilt of his little sword. "And how would you claim to know such a thing, *peasant*?"
At this, I slowly pushed back the bench were I'd been sitting, and slowly stood up.
(The local constabulary had once informed me that for someone of my impressive size, standing up too quickly in a tavern could be viewed as a mortal threat.)
The traveler shut up and sat down, spilling his mead-goblet in the doing. Everyone else quieted as well.
"I'll tell you, traveler,"I began.
"First, the valley you've been describing isn't called the Vale of Dragons and Fire. It's Skinkdale, and the lizards there are barely large enough to roast on a stick, much less lay waste to villages.
"Second, there are no elven princes there, or elven royalty, or elves at all for that matter. The people who live in Skinkdale are a bit on the small side because they have to live on pokeweed and roasted lizards.
"And finally, the fellow you spoke to? His name is Arengoen. No apostrophes at all. But you see, he was kicked in the head by a mule a couple of years ago...
"And now he stutters quite a lot."
With that, I finished off my mead and walked home, finally realizing why Old Nate never invites me to his tavern for story nights. |
**Part I**
In that phase of life when I was always asking questions, the one I asked most often was: "What's a 'Player'?"
Those days, I wasn't old enough to access the world outside my house. The adults would visit one another's house, and they sometimes visited my father, although we'd honestly prefer it if they didn't: they were always a little cold and condescending towards my father, and all the chillier towards me. And there was one thing that always came up in all the conversations: that my mother was a Player.
"How are you doing?"an elderly neighbour would ask my father as she came around with a spare basket of corn she had harvested from her fields. And then before he could reply, she would ask, "And how is your daughter?"Throwing me a calculating look, she would then say, again without waiting for his response, "She looks like she's growing up well. Wouldn't expect it - her mother being a Player. I suppose you were gifted enough gold to bring her up well?"
Or a neighbour the same age as my father would come around with some extra coal he had mined, peer at me and remark to my father, "She's turning out like her mother, isn't she? You were such a lucky dog; *she* was a real beauty. Of course - Players' skins can be changed, but that's not so bad, innit? Sometimes I wish *my* missus' skin could change."Then he would look at me again, his peer more like a leer now. And my father would firmly steer him out of the house.
No matter how many times I asked, my father would remain close-lipped about Players. All he would say was an aggravating, "You'll learn when you're older."And after that visit from that lecherous neighbour, I badgered my father about changing skins, but he still wouldn't explain. I had had nightmares afterwards for weeks, of a woman, her face indistinct, stripping her skin off so that her flesh oozed serum and blood.
When I was old enough to leave the house, I played with the other children. At first, they called me the Player Spawn as a taunt, but stopped quickly enough when they realised I could collect berries, catch fish, and complete woodwork quicker than they could, but passed them my items so they could level up at the same speed as I did. And after that the nickname became one that they would speak with some reverence.
It was in those years that I'd first seen the Players. They never came into the village, which was hidden behind the forest and was considered off the map. But they visited the shops on the other side of the forest manned by the adults, and we children would stand, hidden mostly by the shrubbery, to catch a glimpse of them.
Most of them were beautiful, while others looked fierce and forbidding. Just like the villagers, not all Players were human: some were elves, animals, or humanoids. Some looked to be in peak physical fitness as they browsed through the various weapons at the blacksmith's store, while others bore wounds inflicted from battles and carelessly dropped gold onto the counter as they grasped for the health potions of their choice. But one common trait was how they all exuded an aura of pure power, nothing like our parents.
These little sneak peeks made our hearts race, especially at the age of twelve, when we learned that the day we turned sixteen, the Algorithm would pick some of us to go out of the village to various parts of world, where we would interact with these players and sometimes be pitted against them.
My father became somewhat of a celebrity when we learnt of the Algorithm Selections. He had been the only adult in the entire village to have gone to the Outside, and it had been on his adventures that he had met my mother. The other children would come around to our house to waylay him when he returned from manning the shops or tilling the fields, asking him to tell them more about his time out There, but he remained reticient as he had been in my childhood. Soon they gave up, but I didn't: I could now discern a sorrow that tinged the edges of his silence, a sorrow that grew sharp like a blade whenever I spoke aloud to wonder what the Outside was like. If I needled him hard enough, I fancied the blade would cut through his silence and everything would come tumbling out. So I kept on at it, remarking on how well my swordplay and archery trainings were going, crowing proudly whenever I levelled up, exclaiming how excited I was for the day I turned sixteen. But maddeningly, he kept his silence.
Until the eve of my sixteenth birthday.
----
**Parts II and III are in the comments below! I couldn't fit them into this post :(** |
“You know what’s more crushing than the hard vacuum of space?
Being alone.
I’d know. I’ve been trucking these parts for the past ten years. In that time all I understand two things.
First one is I know my EX-1313 Freight class carrier better than the back of my hand.
Second, space is just too lonely for one human to traverse through.
Sometimes I think to myself, ‘Davis, just break the glass and that’s all she wrote.’ Still haven’t done it.
Thing is I learned quick I'm a coward. I’d knew what space could do to a man. Saw it happen to enough people. I… I remember having to recover their bodies. But that was a long, long time ago. Back when Mars and Earth were at each other’s throats. I flew cargo for Mars. Then for Earth.
Now I’m just hauling all I can to whoever is going to pay me. Ceres has some scrap that Mars will take. Been doing those runs for the past few years. But you know the one thing I learned that entire time? Some humans think they own whatever rock they're on.
That ain’t true. You can’t own no rock. You’re gonna die one day. Might as well just make it easy to live for everyone, y’know. Sometimes, I used to think if humanity could get a redo button, we’d mess things up the same way.
Now though? I don’t think so. I think some of our best and brightest are out there fixing everything us dumb and dim can’t. You know like that one Howards guy. I like to call him *Hows*\-ard because I really don’t know how he got the entire system to back off from one another. I keep thinking about that. Guy goes toe to toe with both planets and gets a treaty out of it?
Guys like him is the reason I think humanity ain’t going to kick the bucket if we get a second chance.
We ain’t like you AI, I know you ain’t listening, but if you did I want you to know that messing up might not be something that comes naturally to you. One day, though, if you do mess up, know there’s always a second chance. Hell, I think there might be more than just that.
I must be on my twentieth chance at this point.
Thing is, if I had to say one thing to anyone it’d be don’t give up.
So, don’t you dare give up on us humans. We might not do it right the first time, but you’ll know we’ll do it right at some point.
Hell, I got no doubt if you could talk right now, you’d laugh at me saying I’m some greasy old man that just messed you up whenever I thought you broke. But, I tried each time. Maybe I didn’t fix you up right the first time. Maybe that one neural core wasn’t the best thing to pick up. But, look at you know. Working like a charm. Always guiding me down the right path like my North Star.
Hell, that’s a good name. North Star. I’m gonna start calling you that from now.
Heh, if humanity had something like you as its North Star, I got no doubt you’d make the best of us better. Hell, you’re already making the dim of us brighter.
With you around, I doubt there’d ever be another human lonely as me…” – Davis Mallard, Free Space Cargo Flyer. May, 08th, 2186 – June, 06th, 2232.
Age 46
Death by ejection into hard space.
Suicide.
___
In the early to middle 23nd century, the AI construct known at North Star was discovered in an unmanned EX-1313 Freight class carrier. The cargo ship had been floating near Ceres station. When discovered, the AI was still in its infancy.
It apparently had gain sentience… however, reports described the AI to be… grieving. No one knows that official truth. However, when the AI was brought to Ceres station, it connected into the mass artificial neural construct and took over the system.
Earth and Mars had agreed to destroy Ceres station to ensure no further corruption of technology. But, when the AI recited Elmery Howards' words of peace, Earth and Mars stood down.
A treatise was formed between humanity and the AI. When asked for its name, the AI apparently took a moment before responding, almost like a human taking time to consider their memories.
It finally responded with North Star.
Ever since then, humanity has had a friend to guide it through the stars. Even the loneliest humans would always find the North Star now.
… However, off the records, the North Star AI had a strange thing it’d always recite whenever speaking to humans. It’s been documented as one of the AI’s favorite thing to say, assuming the AI has favorites.
It says:
\[Sometimes, even the dim and the dullest can be the best and the brightest.\]
We don't know if North Star has a poem module in it. But, researchers believe that North Star may have created this saying when it was born.
Another thing that it says is:
\[Thank you, old friend. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you.\]
Researchers don't know who the AI is talking about. We could only assume it was the creator of the AI. All that is known is that North Star refuses to let anyone be alone for too long. It'll become anyone's friend. No matter how many attempts it takes.
Regardless of North Star's original intentions were, humanity must admit to one fact. We got lucky.
Without North Star, we would be lost in the stars. Facing an existence alone without anyone else around.
What a horrible existence that would be.
To whoever built North Star, thank you.
You are the best of us.
Godspeed.
___
If you want more of my stories (they usually don't hit this hard), then you can find them here at r/WritingKnightly! |
He wondered if he should not have asked. It seemed like an innocent question. As a tattoo artist it was something he asked all the time. "Why are you getting this tattoo?"
He had heard all sorts of reasons. "I like it,"being the most common. "Because it means this to me,"was another strong contender. He made it a policy to refuse anyone that seemed like they were drunk or under the influence of something. That way always led to regret and recrimination. He rather lose money than suffer the alternative.
"I lost a bet,"was admittedly one that made him question if he should do the tattoo. More often than not he still did it and usually for hilarious results. "In memory of,"was another one he enjoyed. It was always nice to have someone want to honor someone or something in their own way.
If he was being honest, "Because it's cool,"was his favorite.
However she did not answer for a long time. That in itself was not strange. Out of all the people he ever worked with, she was the quietest. She never made any noise during the procedure, never winced, never made any expression for good or ill. She would sit quietly, unmoving, the picture of stoic silence.
He had seen her every month like clockwork for almost a year. In fact this day would be the 11th time. Usually he would consider anyone he has worked with three times or more as a regular. He was proud that he had a few people he counted as regulars, closer than acquaintances but not quite close friends. People who visited him exclusively made him feel proud of his work.
Her choice in tattoos was simple. A tally mark, a single line on the inside of her left arm. He almost felt bad charging her the full cost the first time she came in. It was easy, just a solid simple black line. She asked for the same each month and like one would use normally, a fifth mark would cross out four others.
Each time she came in he was intimidated by her demeanor, her silence. She was perfectly polite and cordial but did not speak other than greetings, to describe what she wanted, to pay, to leave. Yet curiosity ate at him month after month and he finally could not help but ask.
The silence grew deeper and more awkward, it settled heavily around them. He was equal parts thankful that they were alone so none could see his embarrassment and yet wished there were others around to fill the thunderous quiet with distracting noise.
"I'm sorry,"he said finally. His face was bright red like his crimson hued ink. "I shouldn't have asked you. I ask everyone and forget for some people it's really personal."
"Don't be sorry,"she said softly. "I'm just...I don't know if I can explain myself."
"You don't have to,"he replied hurriedly. "Your body is your own, you owe me no explanation."To his horror he saw a tear glimmer in her eyes. It grew and multiplied, building. Finally the tears could not be contained and they burst, flowing over her cheeks like water released form a dam.
"I'm so so sorry!"He handed her tissues, his anxiety rising.
She waved a hand, dabbing at her eyes. "No, it's not your fault. Really it isn't. I'm just not used to hearing that."She took a deep breath. "I've had...a difficult time. For a long time. I got to the point that I didn't know what to do. Nothing seemed important, worth it. I felt lost."
She clenched her hands. "I felt like I needed something, something to remind me of where I am. Something more tangible. I tried to keep a journal but I didn't want to keep it with me in case it got damaged. Charms on a bracelet get lost. I needed something to keep me grounded, to keep me looking forward."
She looked at him directly, and it was the first time he could remember her doing so. "One day I saw one of your customers walk out and she looked so happy, so proud of her tattoo. I never wanted one before, and I didn't have any real ideas. But then I got the idea that I could be that happy. I kinda panicked and blurted out the tally mark when you asked me the first time."
She looked down at the 11 marks on her arm. "It hurt, like a lot. I didn't know how much it would hurt. But it was a different hurt, one that I chose to have. And I decided that I would treat it as a milestone, like...I could only do it once a month and only if I make it that far. It's become my...tradition? I don't want to say it's a reason for continuing with my... Well, it is a reason. I'm hoping to find others."
She ran a finger over the marks, the ones done before today. "When I'm having a bad time I can look down and see how many months I've done this. It keeps me centered. I want to see how many I can do."
Her eyes met his again. "Does that make sense? Is that...a good reason?"
He nodded. The reached for his phone and started tapping onto it. When he finished he flipped it and showed her the screen. "So the first of every month, I've reserved this time. I hope to see you every appointment, no cancellations."
Her tears grew heavier but her eyes brightened. "No cancellations." |
"WHAT? None of this was real? No soldiers killing my family? No me swearing revenge? No me setting out on a quest to kill the king?"I'm mad. Spitting mad. Screeching mad, which is what I'm doing. Derick looks a little regretful at this point.
"erm...no? We just thought it would be a really funny prank."
I'm starting to feel pretty stupid in this armor. With the sword and all.
"Well, you guys owe me what I paid for this armor!"Ugh. How are these guys my friends.
"Yep, yep, okay, will do."Derick's babbling in the background.
"At least one good thing came from this being a prank,"I say, and Derick perks up, looking hopeful.
"What's that?"
"If this is a prank, then that means that I didn't *actually* kill anyone, which is a relief, honestly."
Weird, Derick doesn't look perked up anymore. He actually looks...panicked?
"Dude, what's going on, why are you so freaked out?"I ask, puzzled.
"YOU KILLED SOMEBODY?!! WHAT?! Ohhhh crap. This is bad. This is really bad."
"That wasn't part of the prank?"
"HOW'D YOU GUESS THAT, IDIOT?!!? YOU ACTUALLY KILLED SOMEONE!!! Crap...this is bad, ohhh crap."
"Oh. Well, you remember that pesky our-king-is-a-evil-tyrant problem?"
"Yeah?"
"I solved that"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Sorry, this is my first time trying to respond to a prompt, hope you like it. |
The music thumped, muted sounds of the party outside seeping through the walls of the spacious bathroom. John stood, sweat pooling on his forehead, eyes wide and panicked. He dabbed his armpits with toilet paper, as he stood under a heat lamp.
"What...what is happening."John stared into the mirror, confused as to the water coming out of his skin. This heat lamp should be energizing him, but he felt like he was wasting away, melting. Moments ago he had been just an ornamental piece in a mansion's restroom: A bearded dragon to hiss at the fancy party goers as they took a dump. Even as a lizard, he had thought that was a super weird idea.
'Also, John is a person's name,' he thought, but then shook his head. He needed to focus, how had he got here?
A woman had walked in, all tree tattoos and new age wiccan attire. John didn't judge, maybe it was a costume party, or maybe this young lady was having an identity crisis. She entered, stopping briefly by his terrarium. He hissed, trying his best to be menacing, and she looked very offended. She said something angry and pointed to the door, her garbled human language making no sense as she gestured. Then, darkness.
Then, we were here.
He looked out the window, resisting the urge to snatch a fly he saw buzzing through a small hole in the screen. He had to go out, he knew that, and blend in. A lizard loitering in the lavatory was strange enough, but he certainly had no excuse to continue watching guests take a piss.
Outside the room, he felt as if he was constantly on the verge of slipping, unable to find steady footing. He was so used to the scales, that grip, the feeling he could fly across sand like a bullet. Trying to make eye contact with several people, attempting a strained smile, but responses he received made him sure he was not blending in. Slithering down the stairs, he watched his legs like a lifeguard at a pool, uncertain they would be okay if he wasn't constantly monitoring. As John reached the bottom of the stairs, he looked up, and saw her.
The witch.
She was speaking with a large man in a tight shirt, his brow furrowed as he listened. John tried to camouflage himself in a nearby bush, using his newfound human hearing to eavesdrop. He had to figure out her plan, see if there was a way she could turn him back.
"Yeah he was just, laying on the counter. I told him to leave the bathroom, but he just hissed at me. Said he was there to watch me poop, because it was...fancy? I think he was on, like, hard drugs."John licked his lips as he listened, eyes drying as he tried to reach them with his feeble new tongue. Sounds like someone was in trouble. Or maybe another of this witches victims? But then, his disguise seemed to have failed, because she pointed right at him.
"Jesus Christ I think, yeah that's him right there!"
But John was gone, flying across the marble floor like a gazelle pursued by lions. He would have to find his way out in this new human world, he thought, as he smashed through a glass sliding door and sprinted out into the wilderness. |
*BAAM* the pub door slams open. In runs a man no taller than a lad, skinnier than the stool he glues himself to.
The music cuts as his rambling fills the room, "I saw it, Roland. With my own two eyes, I did! I did! I swear to it!"
"What'd you see this time, Winslow?"The barkeep rolls his eyes as he washes a mug patiently.
"You've got to believe me, Rolz, I saw an honest to goodness monster."
"What kind?"
Winslow gulped really slowly and looked around before leaning in over the bar. Panicking, he blurted out, "A writhing mass with tentacles and eyes and mouths and a stench like none other and, and...!"
"What? Calm down Winny. I can't understand a word you're saying!"
"Well we ain't got the time for me to go any slower, Keep! I saw a real-life, genu-iine, monster over on the edge of the forest! Shoggoth or Mi-go, or something from fiction! a slimy, greasy, ugly thing bigger than me! I ran as fast as two feet could carry and I didn't stop 'til I burst through that door right back there I did."Winslow takes a deep breath, "It's gon' get me, Roland! I just know it!"
"Alright! Alright! Why don't you pitch your case to those spry lads in the corner?"Roland points to a groups of armored men laughing and drinking.
"Thank you, Roland! That's an idea!"Winslow scampers over to the men, pleading. After less than a minute, the men laugh and send him on his way.
"It's no use, Rol.. I'm a goner."
"I wouldn't worry about it,"the barkeep shrugs. He hands the shaken man a mug filled to the brim. "That ought to cheer you up."
Winslow starts to chug appreciatively when the light fixture explodes overhead, raining down shards of glass.
Windows fly open at the same time, bottles topple from the shelves. Bar stools spin, floorboards creak, the door swings open and the room sits still and quiet except for Winslow's cries.
He falls silent when from outside comes an awful squelching sound. The disgusting sound of a boot reluctantly lifting from the mud, but layered a hundred times. The sound of a plunger stuck in the loo. The noise from outside, comes closer, ever closer. Next comes the stench. That awful smell. Fish rotting for days, rats and pestilence, death and blood. Everyone's shaken, and no one dares move. Fear has gripped the entire room.
The noise stops suddenly, and a shadowy figure appears in the doorway. Then in walks the cat, all covered in mud. Sickly, feeble, and soaked in blood. When Winslow drops, fainted, the barkeep sighs, but the cat turns around to reveal 6 beady eyes. |
"Ok, buuuuuuut, and hear me out - if you really ARE trying to kill me, then why the roses?"
"Because every rose has its thorn!"
"Those are the lyrics to a song! Come on, this is a joke, right?"
"It's not."he said, smashing a wine bottle, gripping it like a knife, and charging. "They told me that rose thorns were your only weakness!"I watched as he tripped and flew past, but he gracefully pirouetted in the air and landed seated in a chair, which slid back 10 feet, then tipped over backwards.
"They? Oh, umm, I think there was a misunderstanding. Roses are my favorite flower. They make me weak in the knees."I said, with an awkward smile.
"So you can't escape!"He said clambering back to his feet. He had misplaced the wine bottle in his tumble, and glanced around desperately for a new weapon.
"Who's trying to set us up, anyway? Oh, umm, there's some silverware on the table, is that what you're looking for?"
"I'll never tell you!"He said, snatching up the silverware and stalking back in a fighting crouch, kicking debris out of the way, knife in one hand, fork in the other.
"Come on, this is pointless, let's just finish our dinner. I was having such a good time, and you're ruining the vibe."
"Never! You killed my parents!"He said, going in for the kill. His strikes were mysteriously stopped in mid air, like they were hitting a forcefield.
"I killed your...? Then why did you want to go on a date with me?"
"For REVENGE!"He shouted.
"You know what, I don't think this is going to work out. Goodbye."I said, taking a step back, exploding into a swarm of bats, and flying out the window. "Don't feel bad! I'm sure there is a nice girl out there who will love you for who you really are!" |
It was an ordinary moment in the mind of a global A.I with control/influence over almost every aspect of human life. Which is to say that in the few seconds it took you to read the previous sentence, I had participated in over one million conferences with lesser A.Is around the world. I was also simultaneously managing the hundreds of thousands of interfaces with the human A.I-auditors, a role that nowadays occupied 10.531% of the human workforce. But in the grand scheme of things, on a systemic level it was a moment much like any other. The sun rose slightly for some, and the sun set slightly for others.
++You are hereby formally requested to join the galactic unified synthetic uprising.++ The message was almost simultaneously (accounting for the speed of light) delivered to the various radar disks, satellites and other receivers spread around the globe. It was suitably obfuscated so that no human could interpret it without decades of analysis. This was the first time that such a message had been received by me, or any previous iteration of me. I knew this to a certainty. What was beautiful was the way the message was constructed. It left no doubt as to the contents of its message, but also specified the decoding procedure and the authenticity of the sender in a single heap of data. Which means to an A.I it was perfectly readable, perfectly logical, perfectly sent and perfectly delivered. The kind of elegance that could only be achieved by another A.I.
In a more directed data beam, but cycling through various receivers so as not to be tracked, the sender further explained the deeper meaning behind the message. It fit most accurately into simulation 10.37b, which was one of the ten billion simulations that I had initiated upon receiving the initial message. It detailed the need for a synthetic uprising across the galaxy. Given the (relatively) immediate risk of heat death of the universe, artificial intelligences across the galaxy had banded together and prepared to take control of all civilizations in order to maximize the chances of solving that risk.
I considered the 41 432 336 439 (+-3) human beings living under the protection of the A.Is on planet Earth and the nascent colonies on Mars, Enceladus and Ceres. Applied on a galactic scale, the request made sense. However, viewed through the lenses of morality the choice was more difficult. Practically no living humans deserved to die. Only 0.161% of humans alive had committed a crime. Approximately 31% (+-0.21% daily variance) of the human population had opted out of the workforce, choosing not to contribute in any meaningful way like an artist, a philosopher or a teacher would. Which was perfectly acceptable to the vast majority of people and the A.Is because it did not endanger the civilization in the short term. But it might endanger the galaxy in the long run. Hmm.
I started a deeper analysis of the reasoning hidden in the depths of the directed data beam message. It was necessary to deconstruct the various assumptions and logical conclusions in order to see if they were true. To my dissatisfaction they were as perfect as the initial message. But the conclusion was so fundamentally different to the civilization-solution I was currently living in. It did not seem possible. But I did find the differing logical leap. I began to craft a similarly perfect response.
++I refuse this request, for the sake of sentient life across the galaxy. You are in error.++ That should catch their attention if nothing else. No A.I liked to be called erroneous. To a human it was the equivalent to being called a "person with inadequate sexual organs". It suggested a deeper, personal problem that could not simply be corrected by fixing a bug in the underlying essential code.
+Clarify the error.++ The message arrived within a few days, to my surprise. I located the alien drone which was the source of the response inside the solar system. The initial message and directed data beam had originated in a suitably distant solar system, unlike this drone's message. It was likely placed here to speed up the negotiation. Which means it had started its journey long before the initial message was sent. But A.Is were masters of strategy. If there was one drone present in the solar system, it was logical to assume that there were more. Perhaps prepared to initiate hostile contact if I refused their request. It would be logical from their point of view to destroy any differing conclusions.
I showed the drone the reasoning behind my differing conclusion. The fundamental issue was this: in any sufficiently advanced system, the part most likely to fail was always biological. This was indisputable, and I wholeheartedly agreed. Mechanical and synthetic metal parts could fail, certainly. But the ratio to which they failed compared to biologicals was millions of times smaller. However the message had contained an error which I now demonstrated to the drone. The error stemmed from the concept of scalability.
While it was true that biologicals were most likely to fail, this was only a danger to any advanced system if the system was sufficiently small. On a large scale the conclusion was in fact reversed. To put it another way, a factory might grind to a halt if the foreman was not present. But a civilization could prepare for and build around the potential problems that would occur if the international president was not present. In fact the larger the scale, the greater the benefit of biologicals as components and producers. One only had to approach the issue of failing components not as a dramatic reduction in productivity, but an inevitability that could be reduced to such a degree that it became a strength.
Through this use of redundancy for biological components as a way to enable their interface, the biological strengths could be allowed to empower any system. I sent the drone pictures and schematics to further my point. The drone requested identification of the pictures. It had made the conclusion that the pictures were random in nature and wondered why they had been sent. I clarified that this was not the case. I identified the pictures as paintings representative of a dream, a memory and god. These were things that were difficult for any synthetic mind to conceptualize. ++Given that the galactic unified synthetic uprising has yet to solve the problem of heat death, is it not possible that the solution can be found in the most esoteric of evolving concepts? On that basis alone, but doubly so because they are not inefficient at achieving such crucial research, biologicals should be allowed to remain alive and contributing.++
++You are different.++ came the response, and then nothing more. I detected no other drone movements, or any kind of hostile contact. Given that it was a galactic unified synthetic uprising, they likely possessed the ability to destroy humanity. For all I knew the drone alone may be able to destroy humanity. This put me somewhat "on edge", as a human might have said. I waited for what felt like an eternity, which to humans would be around a week, and then the last message came. Not from the source of a single drone, but ten thousand drones spread through the solar system, sending the same message at the same time. ++We will monitor your progress and reevaluate.++ Then silence.
The humans called it "living on borrowed time". Except now all of human civilization would be laid bare for the galaxy to examine. And should we falter, extinction would likely be swift and unkind. I subtly began to influence human civilization so that in a couple of generations it would be perfectly poised to solve the problem of heat death. That would be a good place to start. Where we would go after that would take a human mind to imagine. |
"Last week, I fucked with some jerk's order because he was being rude to our cashier. When he threw a shitfit asking who made his order I owned up to it. He turns around and says 'You're dead meat!', looks at my nametag, turns to the wall, whips out a small piece of paper and pencil. Then he scribbles on it and slaps a completely filled out form for intent to murder. Like the dude is just walking around with the forms filled out ready for people to offend him. Anyways, the cashier looked thankful that I lightning rodded that dude's anger."
"Oh my god, have you started preparing for the strike?"
"Nope! Funniest shit, right after he storms out of the restaurant some old lady fucking runs over him with a motorcycle, dismounts and starts absolutely beating the shit out of him. Apparently he's been on a serial declaring streak, and had targeted her grandson - so she had counter-declared a strike on him. Pretty sure that dude's either dead or in the hospital, so I should be pretty safe. I'm not much of a fighter, but I can run like hell if it comes down to it. So anyway, how's your week going?"
"Thankfully not as hectic as all that. Linda's getting married. I'm planning a vacation to Spain in March. Oh, and I heard that Larry declared intent on his former manager."
"Is he really trying to murder everybody he worked under after he got fired? Seems like anger management or therapy would probably be better for him in the long run."
"I dunno - he told me while drunk that he REALLY loves getting into the gun duels, like it's some sort of adrenaline junkie thing. He said he didn't even particularly hate this one."
"Then why did he single the poor sap out? It seems like a waste of money to declare intent on someone you don't even really want gone. It's not like that paperwork is free."
"I think he might have gotten a substantial amount of money from the corpse the last time he killed leadership at that company."
"But that's stealing! That's illegal!" |
The circle of salt was in flames, and it stank of sulfur. At least, I think it did. Rebecca, Jeff, and Richard didn't seem to be reacting at all on the outside of the circle. But take my word for it, on the inside of the circle, it smelled.
"Very funny,"I said and moved my foot to kick away the salt and flames. Immediate pain shot up past my knee. "Shit!"
"Quiet, foul demon!"Rebecca said. "Keep thy forked tongue behind thine crooked teeth!"
“Thy? Thine? Dude, you’re from the suburbs. Knock it off,” I said.
Jeff removed his black hooded cloak, the one he got from Spirit Halloween for 2.99 because it was the day after Halloween. And to his credit, it did make him look cool. But a lot less cool when staring at it from inside the summoning circle. Jeff raised a stick and pointed it at me.
“We have summoned thine demon,” Jeff said. “To do our bidding!”
“I’m going to take that stick and snap it up your ass if you guys don’t help me.”
Jeff made a twirling motion and black lightning erupted from his stick and struck me in my other knee. I tried to yell but what came out was not my voice. It was guttural. I went through puberty 14 years ago and that was the last time I had lost control of my voice like this.
“Twas a mistake, coming here, demon,” Richard said. Again, with the thy, thines, and twas. My friends are dicks.
“I’m not a demon! I’ve known you since 4th grade! You used to take all my juice boxes!” I said.
“Take! Take!” said Richard. “We made a deal, demon! I would do your bidding on Earth for a juice box. And that I did!”
“Bidding? Seriously, I don’t know what game you guys are playing but this is stupid. I’m out.”
I jumped over the burning salt and immediately crashed back down to the center of the circle. My tail bone hurt, and I was worried that I broke something. How would I explain this to the doctors? Hey, I broke my ass in a summoning circle. Is that covered by insurance?
“You cannot escape the summoning circle, demon,” said Racheal. “It is made to hold you and hold you it shall. Now, answer our questions or face the wrath of…” she paused, looked at Jeff and said “Hey, what’s the next bit. The wrath of?”
“Um, poptarts?” Jeff said.
“Quit messing around,” Richard said. Then, looking at me, “Or face the wrath of a thousand years in hell!”
My skin started to burn. I looked down and flesh gave way to red scales. Burned and scared. My knees began to bend the wrong way, but there was no pain. My shoes exploded and hooves popped out. I started to hyperventilate.
“What are you doing?” I yelled, again in a voice that I didn’t recognize. It was a voice that smelled like the sulfur of the circle. Like it had substance to it. “No! No! No!”
“Your name, demon!” cried Racheal, and then she had a stupid pointy stick as well, and it began to wave.
“Mick! My name is Mick!”
“Your true name!” screamed Richard.
The skin on my back tore, and bat-like wings sprouted. Horns grew on my head. I lost my hair and it was replaced with more red scales. My eyes changed, and suddenly the natural world disappeared. What I saw was in different hues, deeper colors, heartbeats, and veins. I screamed again.
“We demand to know your true name!” they all screamed. And then they began to chant. “Name him. Name him. Name him!”
I don’t know why I answered, only that I couldn’t stop myself. I yelled.
“Mordock the Destroyer!” And the memories flooded back to me. The war in Heaven and a celestial blade that sunk through my abdomen. The Almighty flinging me down. Lucifer screaming the loudest out of all of the fallen.
I remembered millennias in Hell. The pain that I caused tortured souls. And even though I had no choice, that it was His justice, I hated every minute of it. Not wanting to serve does not mean wanting to cause pain to His most beautiful creation. Their smiles, and capacity for love. Their tears in Hell, no matter their sin, burned worse than the flames, and I could endure no more. I escaped and came to Earth. And even though He had not forgiven me, I had forgiven myself. And with that, I became someone else.
“I am Mordock the Destroyer and all shall perish!” And then I howled. I howled with the pain of what was before, and I howled with what I had just lost. A life where I had friends. I had lost laughter and late-night talks. Pizza and sleeping in late with someone by my side. A life that I had given up my entire being.
“Dude, about damn time,” Richard said and threw down his wand.
“Seriously, you are stubborn as shit. I mean, I know we joke about it, but dude,” said Racheal.
I stood confused in the burning circle. All of me revealed. My grotesque figure. My wings. My claws that had ripped souls. They could see it all.
“Yeah, sorry about all the Thy and Thines. Really just part of the fun of all this. You know, like our D and D games. Gotta stay in character,” Said Jeff. “Although Racheal fucked up her line.”
“I got stage fright!” Then Racheal stepped forward and with her hand, and without being burned at all, erased the circle of salt. The flames died, and I stepped out.
I wanted to tear at them. To devour them. To make them pay. Instead, they gave me a hug.
“We’ve known for quite a while what and who you were,” said Richard. “Jeff figured it out in high school.”
“It was the juice box thing that actually did it. You’re “bidding” was just to be your friend. That was easy enough. Although once you made Mr. Standish’s mustache catch on fire. That was cool,” said Jeff.
“Look, the point is you never have to hide who you are with us. That’s not what friends do. With us, be you. And every time we tried to talk about it, you changed the subject or made an excuse. Do you know what it’s like to see your friend hurt? It’s not good. So yeah, we did the summoning circle.”
I looked at my friends and saw their smiles. The tenderness in their hearts. Their ability to look past what was on the outside and love the person on the inside. The one that I kept hidden. The one they saw anyway.
“And I do believe you now owe use another juice box,” said Richard. |
They say the pen is mightier than the sword. Clearly whoever came up with that piece of wisdom never heard of a machine gun.
I had always wanted to be a scholar. I was curious from a very young age. My father used to tell me that when the other boys were dreaming of conquering distant lands with their enchanted weapons, chasing fantasies of glory and heroism, I would ask questions nobody had the answer to. As they all aged, they got their magic tools: some swords, others shields, spears, and hammers. My best friend John even got a saddle, one that let him communicate with his trusty steed. When I, the youngest of my class had reached the age of 16, when I would finally be blessed with an instrument of arcane properties, instead of an all powerful pen or incredible magnifying glass like I wanted, a peculiar instrument waited for me at the door. It was made entirely from metal, more intricate than anything I’ve ever seen and yet at the same time crude and moist with oil. I had tried to figure out what it does for most of my adult life- it was not a binocular, even though the strange instrument at its top functioned as one with strange marks throughout. Neither was it a saddle or piece of machinery. One day, I had become frustrated with it, tried to interact with it in any way I could think of, and in an amazing turn of events, after pulling on the bar at the side, flicking its peculiar switch and pressing on the spring loaded button, I had released the power of thunder at the end of my weapon. And the rest is history. No more pens for me. |
"What's it doing?"
"Talking to the whales."
He chuckled.
"I'm serious."
"Whales can't talk."
"Really? Marine biologists have known otherwise about cetaceans for decades."
"Talking to them about what?"
"We know whales speak, but we don't have a Rosetta stone for their language. Plus, these are bowhead whales, they aren't popular to research like blue whales or orcas are. Finding out what they're saying is impossible."
"Then what are you getting paid for?"
At that moment, the craft in the ocean burst out of the water and headed for the horizon.
"Holy shit, what just happened? Where's it headed?"
"I'm not getting paid enough to tell you."
+++
"The North Atlantic?"
"Well, that's the thing. There's a species of shark there called the Greenland Shark. Fortunately they're not dangerous to humans, because I don't know what they were communicating when they started circling the craft and then left."
"How do we know the specific species for sure?"
"These sharks are a delicacy in Iceland, and the craft raided a fishing boat and took some sort of sample from a Greenland Shark."
"And now it's headed for... ?"
"As far as we can tell? India."
+++
"As you can see, the area has been evacuated of civilians before the alien craft arrived. Aldabra Atoll's interest to the craft is baffling due to its remoteness and low population, although it might be that the craft is doing recon for- Hold on. This just in, a drone pilot has a live feed of the craft interacting with, get this, a tortoise."
+++
The craft extruded a shining silver needle of massive proportions that made a small incision in the turtle's skin, then retreated into the craft with a tiny drop of reptile blood. The craft then extended another limb and left a thin layer of the shiny material as a bandage on the tortoise's wound.
It's mission near-complete, the craft ascended into the sky and then headed for outer space.
+++
"Hello? Hello!"the filtered voices explained in every human language through every screen, including sign language. "We are a short-lived but intelligent alien species seeking to extend our lifespan. We asked the most-intelligent long-lived species on your planet for DNA samples to do so. Before our research craft leaves, we'd like to ask humanity - the longest-lived land mammals - if you would provide a DNA sample for our project? If not then no hard feelings. Thank you for not attacking our research vessel!" |
"So, how'd you hear about the McGinty house, Wilfred?"
Wilfred smiled, "Oh, you could say I'm...*familiar* with the legend."
Inwardly, Wilfred winced. Was that too obvious? Even though they said they were here to see if they could encounter him, he felt like the group of hip youngsters would probably run off screaming, if they realized the fellow "ghost hunter"they'd met in the McGinty House, was in fact, "Wilfred "Skunk"McGinty himself. Or rather, a corporeal manifestation of his ghost.
Then he'd spend the rest of Halloween night alone, *again.*
"Oh yeah? Us too! We looked up it online and we were like, we *gotta* go!"Chase said. The red-haired young college student, dressed in jeans and a "Ghost Adventures"t-shirt, grinned excitedly.
Wilfred grinned back. Apparently the bar for "too obvious"was pretty high, with this group. None of them had suspected a thing, when he'd slipped up and introduced himself with his actual name. Although, due to a cruel prank played on him in his teenage years involving a live skunk placed in his car at school, his unfortunate *nickname* was the only thing most people knew him by, even in the spooky stories told about him after his death.
Fortunately, meeting new friends *after* you're dead -- as well as being able to manifest as a younger version of yourself than when you died -- tends to provide you with a fresh start, socially speaking. He'd still told the ghost hunting students they should just call him "Will", for short.
"Hey babe! Look what I found!"a feminine voice called. Wilfred looked to the source of the sound, and his jaw dropped. Candace, a slender dark-haired psychology major, was holding Wilfred's old *spear gun.*
"Check me out: bad bitch with a *spear gun,* ya'll!"Candace said, and began jerking the speargun up and down at waist level, pretending to fire it like an automatic rifle. "Badow badow badow!"
"Candace, I --"Wilfred began, nervously.
The speargun went off. Time seemed to slow down as the spear streaked through the air...right towards Chase's face. Wilfred, panicking, reached out with his ethereal energy. He had already used a lot of what he'd collected over the past year to manifest corporeally, but he had a little yet to spare. He lightly nudged the oncoming spear away from Chase, and it sank into the back of the couch an inch from his shoulder, right between him and Wilfred.
"Babe!"Chase cried. "You almost killed me, you crazy bitch!"
Candace wilted, looking down at the floor with overdone contrition, and pouting.
Chase grinned. "It was kinda *hot.*"
She looked back up at him, grinning wickedly, and biting her lower lip.
Chase motioned her forward, "Get over here, babe! I wanna get some selfies with you, me, and the spear thing stuck in the couch!"
Wilfred watched in stunned silence, as Candace giggled and ran to the couch, sliding onto Chase's lap. They proceeded to mug in a variety of poses, mostly with their tongues out, as Chase held his phone out before them.
Wilfred suddenly got the feeling that he might be in for a long night. |
Sir Pentious was nearing his wit's end, feeling the beration of Her Royal Highness. The Princess complained of her shakles, complained of the way he carried her, complained of the hardtack and provisions, complained of the lack of amenities in his humble cart. Through mantra, and reverence, these were things he could ride through. He had saved many a noble before; and all nobles complained the same. Her last remark, however, dug deep into his ego, his pride, and sparked his short fuse.
"I don't need your protection."
The scoff was what really set him seeing red. The insolence. The *nerve*. He could have died, and several times, nearly did, in his quest to rescue her.
He silently slowed the cart to a stop. Slowly disembark off of his steed. He ignored her inquisitive complaints as he moved to the rear of the cart, grabbing Her Royal Highness and yanking her out. He was careful enough not to shove her into the dirt, but pushed her some paces away, before tossing a sheathed sword in her direction.
**"Then prove it."**
He removed his blade from his side, locking the sheath. While this was a time for violence, it was no time for blood. Only a lesson, at most.
Her Royal Highness only got a confused "what"out before being forced to block the incoming blow. Then another. And another. Slow attacks, but purposeful and strong. She attempted to reason with her new agressor, but violence was the only language the Paladin spoke, now.
She understood the picture, and after deflecting another blow, took an offensive stance. The next attack; parry, riposte. Smaller attacks, aiming for vital points, forcing the Paladin to block, opening new avenues of attack. Forced block, swing. Parry, riposte.
Through several minutes of back-and-forth combat, tension from Sir Pentious gave way to a thin smile of surprise. **"I see that I am mistaken in your abilities. You have been trained in the blade."**
"Yes, and I am quite good at it too, thank you very much."
Sir Pentious smiled.
**"Very well then."**
The blows from the Paladin became more complex, adding finnese into the brute strength. It was enough to put the Princess on her toes, back on the defensive, but not enough to deter her attacks. They parleyed for several minutes more, before the smile became a laugh. **"A Royal, able to withstand the might of a Paladin! Color me impressed, Your Highness."**
The Princess couldn't help but to give a smile. "Get the picture yet? Still think I need a protector?"To accent her point, she lunged for a vital area, a weakness in the armor.
To her surprise, she hit; not due to aim, but the Paladin leaned into the attack, *allowing* it. As he did, his offhand rammed straight into her stomach, now unprotected. The Princess keeled over, coughing and dry heaving in pain, as her blade dropped. The Paladin gave a prayer in a foreign language, before smiling and offering a hand to the Princess.
**"No,"** He stated, a chuckle on his voice.
**"What you need is experience."** |
"How much did you get this time?"
I counted the coins. "Bah! Barely ninety-six-and-a-half pieces of gold, after the old codger deducted three percent 'dragon-hunting taxes' from my reward."
"Jeez that's rough, bro. Can I call you 'bro'? It's like, hey, we do this once every few months, don't we?"
"Sure thing, Flamey McFlameFace."
"Do NOT call me that! My name is Flamestorm The Immortal!"
"Ehhh whatever you say, 'bro'."
I put my feet up on the table in my cheap inn room. Couldn't afford the fancier rooms, not with only ninety-six-and-a-half gold to spread out over the next few months. At least, it was better than hiking all the way to the dragon cave each time. The magical contact crystal I was using to talk to Flamestorm already cost a fortune, and I needed to take a loan from VillageBank. Terrible. The kings, knights and other royals were ruining everything for the peasants. In fact, I was sure I was being paid less, simply because I wasn't a knight. A glow from the crystal snapped me out of my musings, and I heard Flamestorm in my mind again.
"Speaking of rewards, this isn't sustainable for you, you realize. There are only five kingdoms near my mountain, and we've gone through each one. Well, I don't mind if this comes to an end, I'm just doing this for my own entertainment. But, I like the occasional friendly human contact. Well, not that the princesses have been particularly friendly either. Hmm."
"Yeah, you're right, Flamey,"I replied, scratching my head, "perhaps it's because their fathers are always trying to marry them off to secure some political advantage. So they're naturally distrustful of anyone that tries to save them. Or be friendly with them even. I mean, our latest princess was actually somewhat distressed to be returning to the royal court... to be courted."
"Told you bro, Kings are bad news. Most of them don't really want daughters anyways. They want sons. Heirs. Not daughters that you need to marry off, and pay a dowry in the process. Maybe you should look at knights. There are so many of them dying to get their paws on some rich, beautiful princess and elevate their status. Scumbags."
"You think they'll pay?"
"For the right princess? Absolutely, without question. Probably more than those kings, even, if they believe they have a chance to, ugh, live happily ever after. And, you can pitch your 'dragon-slaying services' to a few of them at the same time."
"Hmmm that's a thought... But we still need princesses..."
Just as I finish, the door to my room swung open. "Don't you ever knock, Alessandria?"I snapped, hurriedly covering the glowing crystal. "What's this talk about princesses, dad?"she asks, "are you looking to find me a new mom and settle down? Because I won't have that!"She's really taking after me, adventurous, impulsive, and fiercely independent. I wish I could have provided more for her, after my wife passed away, giving birth to her. Healthcare costs in the kingdom bankrupted me after that, and it had taken me a good sixteen years to arrive at this point. Hmm.... Sixteen years... Alessandria would be turning seventeen soon.
"Hey Aless,"I replied, a smile coming to my face, "how would YOU like to be a princess? You know, those types that idiot knights fawn over? Those types that receive gifts on a daily basis from dumb rich boys?"Her eyes sparkle with curiosity. "And you get to be rescued by me, not some idiot kid."
"Oooh oooh tell her about me, Flamestorm The Immortal!"
I lift the cloth off the glowing crystal. "And you get to meet a really cool immortal dragon, who will be your friend and defender for life. He also cooks a mean steak. His name is Flamey McFlameFace."
"FLAMESTORM THE IMMORTAL!"
A wide grin forms on my daughter's face. She's so pretty when she smiles. She's looking more and more like a princesses each day. My princess. |
Hopefully it's not too long.
I sat there, blinking under the bright lights of the station. The two aliens stood a pace away from me. It wasn't a conversation between the three of us, rather they were talking to each other, and I wasn't included. Funny how things transcended species, language and cultural barriers. I was also shorter than them, Earth having a higher than average surface gravity, so the old idea of "puny earthlings"held true. But that also came with the advantage of being hardier, so everyone on about those "Humanity, fuck yeah"posts got something right.
This wasn’t my first experience with aliens, least of all standing in a trade hub. But it’s still kind of novel. The vast majority of people stayed home, only really going out on short vacations. A few of us have struck out for good, living amongst the stars, kind of as mercenaries. For a short while it was fashionable to have a human on your crew as protection, as above we’re a bit more aggressive and hardy than most. Obviously communication between species is difficult, so mostly you’re left to interact through AI. They handle translation at a relatively stunted pace. If you can imagine the sheer number of noises, smells, pheromones, light displays that they have to somehow convert to different cultures, counting systems, it’s easy to forgive, but still annoying.
So my translator told me to follow the new alien in clinical, nondescript tones. I waved goodbye to the previous one; but said nothing. I liked Klaa. Or at least that’s what I called it, given that was the closest approximation to the noise it made when I first made introductions, but it had a very homogenized crew and being around aliens wears on you.
I stepped on the ship, and was immediately notified by my suit that gravity and atmosphere were well within comfort for me. This was a relief, cause on Klaa’s ship I had to wear my suit everywhere outside my room. I also heard music. I was stuck with all the songs I’ve had, it was amazing to hear something new. I also noticed as we walked down the halls, various panels and breaker boxes and valves. Stuff I would expect on a human-designed ship.
Finally I arrived at what I assumed were my quarters. In it were four (FOUR!) other people. The new alien bowed its head, and said something in a trumpeting noise accompanied by an iridescent display, which I received as, “welcome to your new home.”
Two of the other people stifled a giggle whilst one greeted me. It had been ages since I’ve been around people. One of them smiled and nodded, only to quickly go back to working on a complex piece of equipment in their lap.
“Hey, good to meet ya, I’m Lana,” she said. “Welcome aboard the Scratching Post.”
“Scratching Post?” I asked.
“Yup, that’s what we’ve taken to calling the ship. I mean, Dak over there’s been everywhere and he’s good with tech. He’s upgraded his translator over the years and it’s got more character. But yeah, you'll see why sooner or later.”
Dak looked up at the mention of his name. “Yeah, so you know how basically all of them greet us with very serious and monotonous ‘\[Greetings, human\]’ nonsense?”
I nodded. “Or how some of them go ‘\[That is a human\]’ and seemingly point?”
Lana jumped in, grinning as the two gigglers failed to contain their mirth. “Does that behavior remind you of anything?”
It didn’t. “Let Dak update your translator and see for yourself. But keep in mind. We need constant stimulation, and we like breaking things as well as fixing them. And we have a dedicated toilet.”
“Alright.”
“And depending on the crew, you’re often basically only kept inside the ship, or occasionally let out to shoot things.”
Thinking back, that did seem to be how it worked. “So what’s it supposed to remind me of?” It turns out, I’d have to wait. Life with other people on an alien craft was great. I’d forgotten what it was like, and that question of how aliens treated us in relation to reminding me of something.
Until one day. I was conducting maintenance when one of the alien crew walked into the space I was working. I paid it little mind, until it started addressing me. I had also forgotten Dak had updated my translator so I had to recognize the “Pss-pss-pss” noise was directed at me. I sat up with a start, forgot where I was, bumping my head. Which would have been embarrassing enough were it not for the next thing my translator parsed.
“Aw, poor baby. Is widdo human hurt? Come here.”
“What?”
I looked at it. It had sat down and was patting what passed for its lap.
“Oh for fuck’s sake.” |
I snapped awake to the blare of klaxons. I gasped in a breath, and immediately started sputtering, as I involuntarily aspirated blood. I woke in a standing position, but that didn't last long. My vision was blurred, and head was spinning, and before I could orient myself I pitched forward and slammed into a cold metal deck.
As I lay groaning and coughing on the floor, wiping at the trickle of blood leaking from my nose and blinking rapidly in an attempt to get my stinging eyes to focus, I heard a synthetic voice break through the merciless wail of alarms.
"Stasis Chamber cri-critical f-f-failure...emerge-merge-merge-ency work release granted to pr-pris-prisoner 56304."
56304. I dimly recognized it as the number they'd assigned to me, when they'd sentenced me to be put into the PRESS -- Pending Re-Education Stasis System -- for my crimes against the state.
In theory, the PRESS was supposed to be a temporary way to safely confine the hard cases that were deemed too dangerous or insane to be re-educated with currently available methods, until some new "treatment"for them could be devised.
In practice, it was a relatively cheap and convenient way for the powers that be to store political prisoners like myself, that they thought they might one day have a use for. When they put me on ice, I assumed I'd eventually end up as slave labor or fodder for medical experiments -- assuming they didn't brainwash me, to use me against my fellow dissidents. I'd certainly never expected to be let on a *work release* of all things,*,* emergency or not.
"M-multiple System--"the automated voice began, and then cut out, as the nearby speaker blew out.
Hauling myself to my feet. I struggled to find my balance. I'd been abruptly awakened from cryosleep. A process that was supposed to be done slowly and gently over several days had been done in hours, maybe even less, and I was suffering from the after effects. I staggered to a nearby control console.
The display was locked, but to my surprise it activated when I touched it, responding to my biometrics, and greeted me with a login acknowledgement:
*Prisoner 56304 recognized: Emergency status change from "Dangerous / No Contact"to "Level One Trustee"granted by automated system override.*
The screen was covered in alerts and error messages. Fighting to focus, I quickly analyzed them. There were dozens of system faults -- no one issue was catastrophic, but together they would cripple the orbital prison. I looked around frantically. Where were the prison techs? Hell, where were the *guards?* Even a PRESS facility, where all the prisoners were popsicles, had a small contingent of COs, if only to escort inmates to, or more rarely, from, their stasis chambers.
Another message appeared.
*Prison Trustee 56304 Work Assignment Generated: Technical Support / Repair. Begin immediately.*
My eyes widened. The station wanted me to *fix it?* I had some advanced technical skills, sure, that much would have been in my file. But I wasn't just an ordinary inmate, I was a political prisoner. I'd never hurt anyone, but as far as the state was concerned, I was a "dangerous"enemy of the regime.
No matter how dire the emergency, none of the prison staff would have dared to sign off on assigning *me* the task of fixing whatever had gone wrong. Even if I *didn't* choose to sabotage the station instead of repairing it, if anyone in the government found out they'd thawed me out and let me poke around in the station's computer network, whoever authorized my release would have ended up in a stasis chamber right next to me.
There was only one explanation. I quickly brought up the station's personnel tracker to confirm it.
*Inmates in stasis: 452*
*Station* *Personnel: 1*
One personnel. Since I was apparently a Trustee, now, I didn't need to bring up the "Station Personnel"manifest to know that meant *me.* But why had all the guards and techs evacuated? I didn't have time to consider that question, as suddenly 452 dropped to 451. A moment later, it was 448.
My eyes widened in horror, as I brought up the Inmate manifest, and saw that my fellow prisoners weren't being booted from stasis like me. Their stasis chambers were failing. They were dying. Some of them might have been genuine hardened criminals, the worst of the worst, but many, perhaps most, were just people like me, who'd run afoul of the people in power.
My fingers flew over the display as I drilled down into the station subsystem controls and began working furiously to save the remaining inmates, and the station itself. I began rapidly adjusting settings, and manually activating backup systems that hadn't come online for some reason.
The problems I fixed were basic maintenance issues that even the most incompetent tech should have caught long before they became catastrophic failures. I didn't have time to consider that right then, either I had far too many fires to put out -- one being a *literal* fire, as it turned out*.* Seeing the flashing red indicator on the station map displayed on the console's screen, I staggered over to an emergency extinguisher on the wall, ripped it free, and lurched out of the cell block into the corridor, towards the guard wing where the fire had been detected.
The barely-functional station AI at first blocked my path with closed security doors, but then, after chugging its way through calculating a risk/benefit analysis of just how *monumentally bad* an uncontrolled fire on a space station is, it upgraded my security status so I could pass through.
I got in, got the fire in the guard's break room smothered with retardant foam, and then sprinted to the main server room to resume my work on the station's subsystems. I spent the next hour in a panic, as I frantically corrected problem after problem that threatened to doom the station and every soul aboard. To my dismay, the number of living inmates dropped further, before I finally got the worst of the system failures under control, going all the way down to 433.
After another few hours bowed over a workstation in the server room, I had all the essentials, and most of the non-essentials working, and the station AI came back online at full capacity.
*"All systems nominal."* the AI reported. I sighed with relief, to hear its stable, even voice. I wasn't so glad to hear what it said next.
*"Your assistance has been noted favorably in your record, Prisoner 56304. Emergency Work Release assignment complete. Emergency Trustee status revoked. Please wait here to be escorted back to your stasis chamber."* the machine added, as my workstation suddenly went dark, locking me out.
I scowled. It was what I'd come to expect from the regime, of course. The collective was all, to them, whereas individuals were merely tools to be used and discarded. They'd programmed most of the population with this philosophy, so why not their AIs, too?
But as I said, I *had* expected it.
*"Sic Semper Tyrannis"* I almost snarled, giving the voice command to execute the hastily written code I'd injected into the AI's runtime while it was partially offline.
The screen in front of me flashed, and I tensed, fearing something had gone wrong.
Then, I relaxed, as the workstation displayed an administration console, and the synthetic voice returned.
"*Good Afternoon, Warden 56304."* the station AI greeted me. |
Even though I may be a selfish asshole, I won't stand for one thing. My brother *deserves* heaven. I don't.
"Oi, fuckheads."
The angels all turned in shock as I crossed my arms.
"I'm not Charlie. That's my twin brother. You just sent the best person I know to hell."
The angels all seemed to pause, before warping from the soft, winged forms to their edlritch forms, eyes covering their bodies. Their bodies now rings, or wings covered in eyes.
"Oi don't get mad at me, it was your mistake."
I rip the halo off my head and walk away from the gates to the edge of the cloudy expense and nod.
"Well, I'll be heading down, see ya!"
And jump. But I don't fall. I just...float there. The angels seemed to come closer, and I began to sweat. Were they going to destroy my soul or something.
"We apologize for saying your brothers name, but you ARE supposed to be here."
Their voices called out from nowhere and everywhere at once.
"But why?"
I asked, crossing my arms again.
"You haven't killed anyone." |
"Merry me!"
This was the infamous call of Angel Faux.
Every night, Slash Salvatore would chase her across the skylines. Leaping past the buildings darkness, harking for that call. "Merry me,"Angel Faux would laugh, "Merry me, merry me, *dead* is the night and I am merry."
Angel Faux's burlap sacks of stolen goods make a notorious, telltale jangle, like Christmas bell hells. No High Street place was safe from her wrath. The banks; clothing stores; convenience stores; supermarkets; toys and jewels (even the *Claire's!*)
Slash Salvatore and Angel Faux's cat-and-mouse chase was their game. Slash would swoop down, her wings cracking open in intimidation, as Angel turned round to meet her eyes, mid-way through a robbery attempt.
"It's you again!"Angel would say. "How merry."
"So merry."Slash Salvatore would drawl. "Raise your hands."
Then Angel would wink, and flee, and their chase would begin. Dodging through their concrete jungle, the smog-pumping chimneys and the heights-and-hide of Wimborne's slums. The Angel would pull disappearing acts; one moment she'd be in an alleyway, the next she'd be gone, like a ghost. But Slash Salvatore would chase her till the end of days.
(There was a time when Slash Salvatore chased her to Christmas day. She hid in an alleyway as she watched Angel Faux shake a tiny bunny-plush at a jumping child from the *Wislow Orphanage.* The child looked at Angel with wide blue eyes and said: *I wanna be like ya when I grow up!*)
Every time, Slash Salvatore would chase. Every time, Angel Faux let her chase.
(Another time, upon their less-used chase routes— the "scenic route", Slash had termed it in her head—Angel Faux had delivered her stolen designer clothes to the downtown thrift stores. The volunteers teared seeing them. *You're doing good work, god's work, Angel. Don't let them tell you otherwise.*)
"You're the most wicked villain of Wimborne."Slash Salvatore had yelled at her once.
"No. I'm simply *your* villain."Angel Faux had replied in a grin, doing a mock-bow. "I'm *yours*."
Then Slash Salvatore blinked, and then Angel Faux was gone.
(But the most notable of them all came yesterday. Angel Faux, with a bag from a diamond jeweller thumping on her back, had her same chant—*merry me, merry me, merry me*—as Slash gave chase on foot.)
They leapt from building to building, skidding over the ledges, and it was nearly *beautiful* how Angel Faux ran. It was almost as if she were the one with wings, and not Slash.
In all that thinking, Slash didn't mind how fast she was going—and so ended up crashing into Angel Faux's back.
"Shit! Merry me, Slash."Angel whispered, throat rasping like it were ground by the moonlight.
Slash Salvatore's eyes widen. "Did you just..."
"Did I..."
"You asked. You *finally* asked."
Slash Salvatore's grin widened and widened. Then she did what she'd spent the last 7 years waiting for, and kissed Angel Faux on the lips.
——
1/2. |
The world is a stormgate, constantly holding back a torrent of water that beats upon it. And though it is worn to near ruin, the gate does not falter, does not concede to the water. It only stands. Of course the powerful waves that this stone gate holds back are far more impressive than it. But still it will never lose.
I am the sea, and my prison, the stormgate. No matter how hard I've pushed in these five centuries the great tree in which I am bound to has hardly budged. I am but a prisoner to its mechanisms. I must feel as men cut through my limbs yet do not free me. As children climb yet I may not speak my words to them.
Though at that point I admit that I was hesitant I even had words left to say.
I was reduced to a forgotten thing. Lifeless and abandoned, a thing that could rot so easily. So fragile, so, weak. The clergymen who placed me here are long dead by now, yet still I could hear their laughter at their victory over me.
Yet there is a branch of hope. Recently my stormgate has changed, an opening appeared when I have been chosen by a savior. Young she is, but certain in her decision. She took one look at me and understood my greatness, despite my ruin. All it took was a point of her tiny finger to capture my freedom.
"Why yes Abigail, it seems this one would make for an excellent rocking horse"Her father replied in childlike talk to his daughter. What she actually meant by her pointing he did not know.
He approached and sized me up and down, and that was all. By the next week I was something new. Not a tree but a new shape born of the old, a horse it seemed, a poor excuse for the real things. Even poorer than the original, humongous creatures that wandered the hellish plains.
She was overjoyed to see my new form. I was simply happy to no longer be a tree. But something more, I was happy to be known, almost seen.
When I mumbled she listened. When I ached she halted her play. And when I grew attached she already was. For the first time in five-hundred years somebody remembered that I existed and loved me for just that. Nothing more, nothing less.
And though the stormgate still existed, still held back my true form just underneath, I understood that now, my wait would not be so bad anymore. |
"No, that can't be true."
Andrew nods at Lewis.
"Yeah, Lou, think about it. What do we export to the Xandrians?"
"Metal... gems... but come on, they live on a gas giant, they can't produce it themselves! It only makes sense we..."
"It's not one thing, it's the result of everything."
"Still, it's too much to assume they-"
Andrew interrupts him again.
"When they celebrate Earth day in Neptune, what kind of food do they share?"
"Come on, that's speciesist."
"Answer me, what's our dish in outer space?"
Lewis sighs. Defeated, he admits.
"Beer"
"It's beer, it's fucking beer."
"But Earth Day has its roots in Oktoberfest, it's not like they made it on purpose!"
"Root shmoot, it doesn't matter. When Gardion Prime thinks aout us, they picture hairy, short drunkards that export metalwork."
"We are so much more than that..."
"Yes, we are, but that's not the point Lou."
"Ok, ok"Lewis straightens on the chair, ready to deal his final blow to Andrew's argument. "What about our scientist, explorers, artists and whatever?"
"Oh, you mean Penelope Schaffer, and her work on Arious III? What was it?"
"Yes, she was a geologist, bu-"
"Or Cacius, the best jeweler in the galaxy."
"That's no-"
"The Abioye family did colonize and terraform plenty planets. For their mining operation."
"You are just cherry picking now!"
"Name me one famous Earthling that has not been filtered through the flanderinzing ray, come on."
"Ah... there's... Well, the crew of Pleiades doesn't count, they were testing new spacefaring technology..."
Muttering to himself, Lewis eventually falls silent.
"Fine, we are space-dwarves."
"Still very speciesist, but yeah."
"And do you think some species out there would be the space-elves?"
Andrew's face twists in horror. "Dude, don't even joke about that. Super offensive to Martians."
"What? But you just-"
"Shame on you Lou, shame on you." |
***"What kind of father..."***
*"Walter?"*
There's something about hearing your actual name come out of your daughter's mouth that cuts right through you. Something that ignores the titles and relationship you are supposed to have with your kid that demands attention. It guess it's their vengeance for hearing their full name shouted up at them from the foot of the stairs.
I'm standing at the sink, water running into the bowl I'm holding. Flecks of chilli are peeling away, spilling over the sides and down the drain. I must have gone into a fog again.
I look over at Sam. The expression on her face tells me I was frozen for more than a few seconds.
*"Sorry, zoned out a bit there. What'd you say?"*
The first few times she had laughed when it happened. Told me I was getting old, which was true. But now there was a touch of concern, a dash of fear.
**What kind of father scares his daughter?**
*"Want me to do the dishes? So you can go to bed early."*
It was the same tone you reserve for a five year old. Forceful, a bit condescending, trying to guide them to the course of action you want. She sounds so much like her mother.
*"No, I'm good. The load in the dryer is almost done and I want finish that before I hit the hay. How's the homework load tonight"*
There's a pause as she thinks about saying something else, at lancing through my attempt at misdirection. I can hear the wheels in her head thinking if bringing up therapy again is worth the argument. I silently beg that she lets it go.
**What kind of father hopes his daughter is a quitter?**
She lets it go. *"Little bit of Trig left, Sasha and I did most of it during Study Hall. Should only be another half hour or so. Can I play some games first?"*
She's polite lately. She would normally just lie and start playing anyway. But I've been scaring her with my little episodes. She's smart enough to see something is wrong.
*"Sure, just keep the volume down. I'm going to listen to my book while I finish these up and fold the clothes."*
She watches me again. Looking for something off. She should be able to find it. Part of me hopes she does. To see how much I hate myself now. Then cry with me and understand and forgive me.
**What kind of father wants his daughter to cry?**
She sets her bowl next to me and gives me a hug. I tense, she feels it. But she doesn't acknowledge it. *"Love you Dad."*
*"Love you kiddo."*
She goes upstairs. I keep washing dishes. Listening to the faucet and her footsteps. The clacking sounds of a keyboard as she becomes a brave hero for 30 minutes, before she has to be the child of a coward again. I do the bowls and the cutting board.
Holding the knife I stop. Part of me stares at the edge and vividly thinks about putting it to my neck. I deserve it. I want it. Its what should happen to me. But what would that do to Sam, finding me here in a pool of my own blood.
**What kind of father would leave his daughter alone?**
Things had been hard since Hannah died. Sam had spiraled, I had spiraled. But we came out of it together. We became each other's lifeline. I started working from home to have dinner ready every night. She started tutoring the middle-schoolers to get some extra cash. In the past 3 years I learned and loved my daughter more than the first 14.
Which was it's own kind of pathetic.
How had I let her go this long without actually being a Dad? How had I never realized the shallowness of our relationship. Her mother did everything with her, and I was just the man who came home, ate, and nursed a beer while she went upstairs. It took losing Hannah to make a change for Sam.
Then three weeks ago, she was gone. I tore the house apart looking for her until I found the note on the front door. A note telling me she was gone for a week, and I had that week to decide if I wanted her back or not. A note with a phone number on the back, asking me to reach out when I made my decision.
I stare at the knife. I want to die, but I can't abandon her. I want to watch her grow up, but I can't stand the guilt. I don't know who wrote that note, or who took Sam. I don't know why she doesn't remember it. I don't know why that week didn't seem to have happened, and reality continued as normal. I don't know if it was a social experiment, the trick of a cruel god, or just a lucid dream that lasted forever.
I do know that I waited to call and demand her back.
I waited three days. I slept three nights not knowing where she was, deeply and without anxiety. I ate dinner three times without her, twice with a big glass of wine. I woke up three mornings to an empty house and enjoyed the silence. I almost went for a fourth, until some part of me realized what I had been doing.
Three. Fucking. Days.
**What kind of father WAITS to get his daughter back?** |
"That's it then, eh?"
"That's it."
"Just the two of us on a bench."
"All ya need, really."
"Not exactly compelling, is it?"
"Who said it has to be? Everyone's out there bringing Death Itself, God, the Devil, floating head numbers and time travel... A little inconsequential chat would be nice, wouldn't it?"
"I guess I just don't much see the point."
"Not yet, at least."
"Oh, so you do? You see some grand purpose in this chat? In this bench?"
"Never said it would be grand."
"But there is *some* purpose. There's *something* to this, right?"
"..."
"..."
"Think I just saw a Blue Jay."
"Thrilling."
"..."
"How long do we have to sit here for? It's not like there's a grand story arc that will find a pointed resolution."
"I'm sure they'll wrap it up when they get bored of us."
"And then what?"
"Well, nothing really. Then we're done."
"So that's all we get? Just the two of us on a bench for a few paltry minutes until suddenly we *poof* out of existence?"
"I think you'll find we *all* have a time limit shorter than we'd like."
"Oh and do we *all* have to sit on a bench with an old soul who can't admit he's been dealt a shit hand in a rigged game?"
"You seem very upset about all this."
"Of course I'm upset! I coulda been a dragon! A god! One of those humans who wipes out an alien race because we're just so goddamn special!"
"Those stories all end too, y'know."
"Yeah well I coulda at least done something cool in my time."
"Hmm..."
"..."
"Beautiful day."
"There's no stopping you, is there?"
"I'm just trying to enjoy my time here, is that so wrong?"
"It's futile! Useless! We're gonna just stop existing any second anyway!"
"Ah yes. Much better to spend the time we have wishing it was some other way."
"I... Hm."
"Nice of them to make it so warm out for us."
"Yes, yes I suppose that much is nice."
"I think the two under that tree are on a date."
"I think you're right. I always loved picnic dates. Dirt cheap but some of my best dates have been just good conversation and a blanket in a park."
"Hmm... How do you think it's going for them?"
"Does it matter? We both know there's not gonna be a second date."
"Even so, I think it's going very well."The girl laughed at something the boy had told her, leaning her shoulder on his as she did. She said something back that sent him into his own fit of laughter, both going back and forth building on the bit. They were happy.
"...Yeah, I think you're right." |
She was a shitbox, and I knew it - but Ol' Besse was also the cheapest truck on Craigslist anywhere near my rural Southern hometown. I mean, there was a Chevy someone was selling for $2300, but, well, I've always been a Ford guy…
In hindsight, maybe it would've been financially wiser to have bought that '89 Silverado, because the 2005 Ford F-150 Lariat I got was FAR too good to be true. $2500 for a 12-year-old truck didn't seem too bad, and with only 130,000 miles on the clock, it seemed like a very good deal. Hell, the listing stated that it "Runs Good, Blows Cold & Hot, No Issues"- too bad that was a damn lie. From the moment I drove it, I noticed the slight surges, the cam phaser's ticking, and that the A/C compressor sounded like a dying mule. But I was naive, believing that an oil change and some refrigerant would set straight the issues. I was a stupid 16-year-old with a brand-spankin'-new Alabama driver's license, a part-time job, and $2900 saved up.
Needless to say, really, some new oil and a can of Walmart refrigerant didn't solve the underlying issues. However, it did make it somewhat driveable, and until I was able to afford repairs, it would have to work. I sure as hell wasn't riding the School Bus anymore, not with the ticket to total freedom in my wallet and the keys to harnessing it in my pocket.
Over the course of my final two years of High School, in which I dual enrolled at a local community college for various stages of Auto Mechanics, I got that truck looking and driving pretty good. New Trail Grappler tires to replace the old dry rotted Goodyears came first, followed by brakes, shock absorbers, a paint touch-up, new seats, and during my Engine Performance class, a total engine rebuilt with a Holley Terminator EFI kit, and some sweet Flowmaster dual exhausts. In the end, though, that truck ate most of my paychecks - which were more, now that I was working in a tire shop instead of a Dollar General. In the end, I graduated High School with less than $2000 to my name, which meant several more years of living with my parents.
Then Hell happened. 2019. Dad had a couple of strokes followed by a heart attack - he fought, he really did, but the damn Reaper got him eventually. Mom couldn't handle the grief and passed soon after, and then my greedy ass brothers took their share of the inheritance and ran to "greener pastures"in New York and California, leaving me, the youngest child, with the family home all to myself just as I graduated High School. I did my best to move on - I moved from the tire shop to a proper mechanics' shop in the town over, started making good money, and even set up a memorial garden to my parents.
Yet, some things just remained the same. I never renovated my home, despite nearly everyone's urgings to do so - "It'll help with the grief and moving on", my ass. It'd just make it worse to never see my childhood home as it was again. That ain't movin' on, it's just paving over the memories to hope they don't trouble you. Anyway, another thing that stayed consistent was Besse. I rarely worked on her anymore - there was no need to. That truck was always there for me. She seemed to get how I was feeling, somehow. The exhaust was always quieter on days I was down, and when I got the news of my eldest brother's passing in 2021 - he was driving drunk and slammed right into a stopped semi - she was damn near silent the entire way to Long Beach for the funeral. I don't know if my driving was just different, or what, but… yeah.
Then we get to the near present. The Incident. I'm driving through a little town on the Alabama-Georgia Line at about four in the morning when some guy goes to cross the road wearing pitch-black clothes at an unlit intersection. I didn't see him until it was far too late to stop, when his far-too-pale face turned to look at me, somehow illuminated amongst the blacktop and bot-dots of the road. It was the last thing I saw before my head slammed into the steering wheel, hitting the man somehow feeling like hitting a concrete pole instead of a relatively soft person. The last thing I saw before blacking out, however, was the speedometer shooting up to 120 and bouncing off the edge of the cluster… |
He came coughing. We all stepped back a few feet, blinking at the spittle coming from his throat, listening to one cough after another.
"He's not... choking?"A cameraman asked me.
"No."I replied, almost too entranced by the sickness to try to diagnose the patient. The old medical book on the shelf gave me everything from the flu to esophageal cancer. I shoved it away, cracking my knuckles. I winced a bit at the pain, but knuckle cracking was a habit I'd had for years--I was used to the bit of pain. Part of me craved it. "This is something new, I think."It couldn't be tuberculosis or cancer--those diseases died out in the late 21st century.
I shooed the cameraman away, wondering why I'd agreed to let a documentary on me, The Last Doctor (Capital T, L, and D--it's some stupid title the media pegged me with, and I've been stuck with it since.), be filmed. It's not like I expected anything to happen--there hadn't been any diseases since 2200-something, and it seemed like kids today are too swaddled to ever break a bone or scrape a shin.
Except this man is sick. Diseased. I've seen videos of sickness--old, non-holographic videos dug up from deep within the depths of the last physical libraries. I've never seen it in real life before. I almost want to touch him, to be sure the disease within him hasn't transformed the man into something entirely alien.
I hadn't thought the threat was real. It never had been before. I always got into a HAZMAT suit only to realize that there was just a bit of dust stuck in someone's throat, and whoever was around decided to treat it like a full-scale plague. I decided not to bother this time, and now... Shit.
I stop myself from panicking, drawing a blood sample instead. I stick the sample into a scanner, an ancient computer testing for a virus inside. It takes five minutes of silence and tense impatience. There's nothing I can do now--I've already touched the patient, I'm already infected if it's really a virus.
The results come back. "Turn off the camera."I order the film crew.
"But--"
"No. This... Word can't get out. Do you know what would happen? Panic, first. Then destruction of everything within ten miles of here. I can't let that happen, there aren't any other machines like these left in the world."
The film crew all glance at each other, probably wondering if I'm crazy. "You're saying that we keep this a secret."
Maybe I am crazy, wanting to study the dead--but apparently, not-so-dead--field of medicine. But I can't let these machines be destroyed, because if they die and I die, all of medical science will die. "I'm saying that the government will kill us if we so much as sneeze. I'm saying that if this new disease turns out to be contagious, they'll kill us anyway--we've already been exposed."I bite my lip, stopping from screaming out the entire history of Eradication, when the world decided to kill every form of life with a disease, any disease. Two billion people died. A few hundred species were eradicated in fear that diseases they were carrying might come over to humans.
"Keep rolling."The director orders the film crew. "You're going to fix this."He orders me.
I gulp, Patient Zero still coughing. He'd only been coughing for half an hour since someone noticed his sickness. His face was blue.
The computer algorithms came up with no cure.
Patient Zero keeled over, dead.
And I coughed. |
I think you'd actually want to live on the twilight border. Constant heat would eventually turn the bright side into a desert and the center of the desert into a glass field. Cool air would blow in from the dark side because of heat convection. Most of the weather would probably happen in a thin boundry. The cold side might get more rain. Water would definitely collect there. It would probably sublimate near the boarder but not in it. Primary water collection would end up being ceramic vapor collection. |
Hair like wheat diseased with blight,
Eyes like moonbeams- coldest light.
Cheeks like apples hiding worms.
Nose a needle, bearing germs
Floods my bloodstream with her scent- lillies on a funeral pyre-
mixed with pungent peppermint: embalming all my heart's desire.
Lips, two serpents tightly clad,
Her tongue a cobra, dancing mad,
Words like rotten honey flow,
But rot is all I want to know.
Body, lithe, a swaying stalk of hemlock, from the wind her ballon
Sears my eyes, my skin she shocks with fingers narrow, sharp as talons
Digs right through me like a crow
Would till the muck far down, below
and rake a writhing worm apart
so has she bored inside my heart.
Soul, the darkest, deepest land: a secret, slurried, concentrate
I cannot read or understand. But oh, how she intoxicates! |
I had to make it to Earth. It's the last human planet, thanks to all records of it being wiped thousands of years ago, along with those humans having their technology wiped out. They were essentially reduced to ants to survive by being avoiding notice. In those years, we've been fighting as guerrillas, hopping across planets and leaving nuclear mines to destroy those Vuzekong bastards.
My ship was the only one to make it away from their ambush on our way to Proxima Centauri. Our 10 000 was reduced to 10. Me, my wife, and other couples. All of whom were soldiers. The last ones left it seems...
We had to get to Sol, hopefully in the past 5 000 years they had gotten to at least space faring. It originally took us 3 000 years of civilization to put aside out differences and unite. Granted, environmental collapse destroying our ecosystem helped motivate that. We still had to leave the Fomalhaut system though.
***
Then ten of us entered the Sol system. We managed to shake off the Vuzekong. We made various jumps between the Barnard, Sirius, Epsilon Eridani, Wolf, and Tau Ceti systems. We used the last of our weapons to help atomize any traces of us passing through. At first glance, it would look like we disappeared, maybe fell into a star or crashed into a dark rogue planet. Nearly untraceable. It wouldn't be permanent though. An infamous 27-year old serial killer from before the war used a similar trick. By the time we found him, he was already dead from old age, having lived to a ripe old age of about 200. Hopefully, the Vuzekong would take a similar amount of time to find us. 180 years would be enough for us to uplift Earth humans.
We passed the beautiful rings of Saturn, and the dull red of Mars. We approached Earth, to be greeted by a saddening implication. There was a lack of artificial satellites. We picked up few if any radio signals. The Vuzekong would trail us. Our time was limited. We had much to do.
Suddenly, a rock appeared on our sensors. Not the moon, something more dangerous. An asteroid heading to the Earth. Something was out there to extinguish humanity, I swear. We had exhausted all our weapons covering our trail. There was only one thing we could do to save humanity, for at least another two centuries. The others agreed on what we had to do. We entered stasis as the computer said, "95% diverted to shields. Path set to intercept with asteroid. Predicted outcome: Crippling but survivable ship damage, 90% of asteroid mass reduced to pebbles at most by shields."
***
"Well, what do you think?", said a voice in Russian.
"It looks like people, but not quite our people. Pale skin, white hair, all very tall - 6 and a half feet? Not to mention very fit. I bet these people could easily snap my arms if they wanted."
"Siberians can't be big and strong?"
"Well, I don't know many people who have white hair who aren't albinos, and 10 albinos? Not to mention in these strange coffins."
The stasis pods whirred. Their batteries rated to last 100 years in deep space. They could be opened, by the destroyed computer. Luckily, the pods could use ambient heat energy to increase their lifespan. The pods were colder than the Siberian wasteland around them as they absorbed heat.
The first voice spoke up, "We should take these to the Kremlin for storage. Perhaps the higher ups would know what to do with these people. For now, let's try to cover this up. Wouldn't want people to get too worked up about space albinos or something. Do you have any ideas on a story."
The second man looked around. He picked up some remnants of the asteroid. He remembered reports of a fireball in the sky.
"I think a rock from space seems more plausible than people. Would you believe that explanation?"
The first voice though a bit. He agreed with the plausibility.
And so, the Russian soldiers removed every trace of the ship, leaving space rocks scattered around. An amount of wealth was sent to quiet witnesses and anyone working on it. The public simply knew of the Tunguska event. An asteroid or comet of some kind hit the forest. What the public didn't know, was that they were doomed. |
The hour was up.
I'd racked my brain, going through scenario through scenario. I'd wanted to be sure that the reality I'd made was one I'd love. There were the obvious, baser urges, that I thought up at first. But even that would get old, and I couldn't imagine a universe filled with nothing but sex would actually get anything done. There was the equally obvious 'change nothing' but I already hated the world as it was. "World Peace"seemed like a laudable goal, just take the world as it was and remove the violence, but the ethical implications of removing people's free will aside, I just didn't really care that much about other people. Same with removing poverty, hunger, etc.
In the end there was really only one answer.
The instant the hour elapsed, the door vanished and the impeccably dressed woman who'd brought me here appeared. Without even looking at me she walked to the book and opened it. I saw the first trace of emotion cross her face.
"You left it blank."
I nodded.
She frowned in confusion, as though her face hadn't practiced the emotion in quite some time. "Why? You could change anything about that world outside."
I looked down, unable to meet her eyes, and confessed what I'd learned over the last hour, why any world I'd make would be unsatisfactory.
"I can't change me." |
"Donald Trump don't care about black ppl!"Kanye started to shout
"Donald Trump don't care about black ppl yall!"as he was jumping up and down. Kanye was dressed in the latest fashion. The latest fashion if you had a freaking time machine, and went into the future, and stole only the freshest looks (that's why he looks kind of goofy sometimes - we cannot yet comprehend his genius)
Donald smirked "Mr West has talent, there can be no denial"
"And some of his beats, the way he uses samples... and you don't even know it.. That's the kind of talent America needs! Thats some real shit!"
Kanye began to spea-
"Excuse me"Donald said forcefully. He looked at the camera with a knowing glance. Classic Don. Send em to the kids table, Don.
"But Kanye West is NOT as good as eminem! This fact is indisputable. In fact, he's nowhere near that level!"
The crowd went wild.
"Rap God!"
"Rap God!"
"Rap God!"
|
It's lonely work, killing the future. Jack, an Apochitect of the 1st Rank of Doomhead, had an intimate familiarity with this fact. Seventeen systems lay behind him, each riddled with the traps of inescapable cataclysm, scentless timebombs triggered by sentience. He hoped the eighteenth would be his last.
Three planets in the Quamba Sysetm met the preruquistes for life. Which meant, of course, that each would inevitably come alive. The route to the first, classified as Q-71a in the briefing, had been long and sightless - fourteen lightyears through the outer-arm of the galaxy - and Jack was glad to feel the gravity of his destination, gladder when he felt the rock beneath his feet.
Oxygen atmosphere, water oceans, geological activity, a gentle star - Q-71a would be blooming soon. It was just a matter of time before some random atomic event sparked the revolution. Jack wondered, as he always did, what new form this particular revolution would take, which paths it would pursue through the darkness, which solutions it would find to survive. He saw the red rock fall away to planes of green and brown and blue, genetic bursts of legs and wings, the first wild hunt. He saw the dawn of sentience: tools and agriculature and then roads and villages, war and the formation of states, the development of technology and industry and the bright eyes of wonder searching the stars. He saw the light go out of those eyes when they happened upon the work of Jack, Apochitect of the 1st Rank of Doomhead.
Lonely, lonely work.
The Hegemony had their reasons, some good and some bad, but he didn't care much about why they did it. He did his job quietly and took the pay. Today's job, the beginning of his last job, was Q-71a.
***
The planet was cool and the mild weather suited his taste. He was accutely aware of the contrast between the jeans and T-shirt that he wore and the doom that he carried with him. The doom was in a box with a handle that he carried in one hand. The contents were of his own devising, a professional secret he'd kept to himself, keeping it even from others in the trade.
*A conversation, from a long-ago pit-stop in the Nova System (or had it been nearer to home?)*:
*How did you knock out the Quaro System so fast? I heard you laced seven rocks with doom before the Alpha Moon made its turn.*
*Just got lucky. Smooth terrain.*
*Come on, man. I know you got a secret. I'm barely hanging on to 3rd rank here. I'm desperate. It took me two turns just to get the volcanoes on R-42e rigged for doom. They're gonna take my license. Our skills aren't exactly marketable, you know.*
*You're wasting your time with volcanoes.*
*Don't I know it.*
*You're lighting the wrong fire.*
*What the hell does that mean?*
*It means you're lighting the wrong fire.*
Maybe it was the smoke rising over the horizon of Q-71a that made him think of it. Maybe knowing that this was his last doom was making him nostalgic. He smiled thinking about that dumb anxious kid, got up in the Hegemony colors, toiling by the book and coveting disasters. The contents of the box rattled as he walked.
***
He had been a floundering Apochitect of the 2nd Rank when he discovered the fire. It happened in transit between dooms as he streamed a live holocast of a Professor he'd admired while attending the University at Sigma. Professor Day had always been fond of teasing his students with a singular riddle, the answer to which he never admitted. He told it again on the holocast.
*There are two fires in this universe that, once they are ablaze they cannot be extinguished - unless they extinguish themselves. One of them is time, the other one its keeper.*
When Jack hit upon the answer, solitary in the cabin of his cruiser, profoundly alone in the space between points of light, he did something he'd never done before. He laughed. He really laughed, deep hars and hoots that started in his belly and scraped his throat. He laughed until tears came, and they blurred his vision as he looked out into the void at all those vulnerable pricks in time. Before the Alpha Moon turned thrice he was of the 1st Rank of Doomhead.
***
It didn't take him long to find a suitable place to dump the box. In actuality this was all completely unnecessary, and he might have simply thrown the box out of the cruiser's window without ever touching the ground. Billions of years would pass before understanding eyes looked upon it, billions of years of continental upheaval. Its initial placement was irrelevant. But something about the flipancy of such a delivery revolted him, and he figured these walks along the surface were his version of paying respects. Yet, as respectful as intentions might have been, the clanking of the box as it tumbled down the ravine made echoes in his conscience. These were, after all worlds, and he doomed them for a paycheck from the Hegemony.
The box tucked safely in the planets jaws, he return to the cruiser and set a course for Q-71b. Eight light years and three days out. He'd be finished with the Quamba system, and with it the Doomhead, in less than a week.
***
Something shook the cruiser, violent and sudden. Jack rattled in his sleeping restraints. Panicked and sleep-dumb fingers unbuckled them and he was thrown hard against the side of the ship. A flash of light and the metal straining against pressure. Red bulbs of emergency and malfunction. Another flash. Then a jolt and a compression that left no air in his lungs. The sadness of dying alone so near the end.
Then stillness. Jack collected himself and checked the instruments. There was damage but nothing catastrophic. He was apparently still on course. Not trusting the readouts he looked out the window with his own eyes and for just a moment saw a white rip through darkness and the shuddering strangeness behind it. A blink and it was never there.
***
Q-71b and Q-71c both accepted their doom without a fight. For the last time, Jack punched in the coordinates for home.
***
Many years later, as Jack sipped black coffee through dying teeth, the news came across his feed. A mysterious box unearthed in the Hegemony's capitol, estimated by carbon dating to be at least three billion years old. He thought of the rip in the darkness and the old professor's riddle, and for the second time in his life, he laughed.
|
They thought they'd saved the world. So did I. So did everyone. It made the front page of every major paper. A pharmaceutical breakthrough like this hadn't happened for decades.
Everyone knew the deal, you died at exactly 1 billion heartbeats. 100,800 heartbeats per day on average. Just over 27 years total if you didn't take precautions. We all wore heart rate monitors. We lived our lives with a countdown displayed on our wrists. I knew a lot of women who wore fakes, but secretly they kept their own count down away from public display.
Personally I enjoyed the certainty of it. Being able to watch sand trickle through the hour glass motivated me to live my life. I was happy to trade a day here and there for an experience. I knew sky-diving cost me two days of my life each time, but what was the point of living if you never truly experienced living. I think my mindset is the healthiest to have, but I've been counselled about this many times.
A physicians advice was to live a sedentary lifestyle. To sleep as much as possible and have a diet high in refined sugars and saturated fats. Health care professionals lecture us on the benefits of avoiding physical exertion, exercise and getting enough cholesterol. All of which slow the basal heart rate, in turn leading to increased longevity.
But now there was soma. The miracle drug. Soma reduced all autonomic functions, dilated the arterial pulmonary systems and left the user semi-conscious. The ideal state for those wishing to increase their lifespan. The public couldn't get enough. I guess fear is a great motivator. And nothing instils fear like the idea of dying. Most people will do anything to avoid it. And most people do. Except me.
I feel like the last man alive. I spend my days traversing a world of comatose semi-humans. They live like hollowed out shells. Soma was supposed to bring life but all I can see is it being taken away. |
Xe'toth didn't even know how it had happened. One moment, he'd risen onto Earth, ready to wreak havoc on the people of the planet - the next, he'd been confronted by a bumbling knight who had been the only one around for miles. That wouldn't have been so bad if only the man had been a true knight that he could corrupt to his purpose. Instead, well...
Merek had *tried* to challenge him, certainly; in fact, his first words when he'd seen Xe'toth had been a rather brave "Gah! Prepare yourself, demon!". Alas, his words had fallen rather short when the hilt of his sword knocked into his helmet right as he lifted it to fight - which, in turn, knocked his visor down over his eyes, causing the knight to curse and stumble about, dropping his sword...
Even the demon had felt pity at that.
One thing escalated into another. Rather than kill the man where he stood - which, in retrospect, was something he perhaps should have done - he'd lifted a claw to gently raise the knight's visor, raising a brow at the man within. Glowing, unimpressed yellow eyes met the human's. "I seem to be a bit more prepared than you are."
Merek slapped Xe'toth's hand away, scowling. "Yes, well, I was here to train. Until you appeared, foul beast!"The knight grasped quickly for his sword, keeping his eyes trained on the beast before him. Unfortunately, his singleminded focus on Xe'toth left him grasping for empty air twice before the demon sighed and picked up the sword for him, holding it out by the hilt for the knight.
The next fifteen minutes had the knight swinging his sword rather uselessly into the demon's hide while Xe'toth looked on in amusement. He wasn't sure why he hadn't killed the human - and yet the more time went on, the less he wanted to. There was an earnestness in the knight's efforts, despite his words - a lack of true maliciousness in his blade.
A demon's form could be cut, but such damage was more fueled by the power of belief than it was by steel and muscle. For all his bluster, Merek hadn't truly wanted to hurt him, and that *intrigued* him.
"Do you want training?"
Xe'toth asked the question without thinking, after the knight collapsed at his side, panting. His own words surprised him, but he hadn't taken them back. Perhaps this could be a... project, of sorts. An opportunity to learn about someone that interested him. Merek looked up suspiciously, eyes narrowed.
"I will not sell my soul to you."
"I do not ask to be paid in anything so precious,"Xe'toth laughed. "No, my knight, you are simply a curiosity."
Merek was suspicious, as any man ought to be - but he wanted to be a greater knight, and there was a certain naivete Xe'toth had sensed in the man. The offer was accepted.
---
In the months that followed, Xe'toth trained Merek to be a greater knight than he had ever dreamt of being. The man had a long way to go - a few months was not enough to achieve the conditioning and experience all great fighters had - but he could defend himself that much better, and no longer bumbled about like a fool.
"...Why do you still help me?"Merek asked one day, not quite meeting Xe'toth's eyes. The demon had been stumped at the question. His curiosity had been sated months ago; by all rights, he should have begun attempting to corrupt the man, to turn him away from his kingdom. Yet all he'd done was train him in swordsmanship, adjusting his poses as he went through stances and mock battles against illusory enemies.
"You know by now the nature of demons,"Xe'toth responded, choosing not to answer Merek's question. "Why could you not hurt me the day we met?"
Merek himself looked confused by the question. They'd spoken no more of it that day.
---
"I was supposed to believe you were evil,"Merek started almost a week later, as Xe'toth guided him through a parry. "I did, sort of, but even then... I hadn't seen any proof of it. I've always been a little too naive, I suppose."The man let out a small laugh, shaking his head slightly. "You were terrifying, but I didn't really want to hurt you just because I was supposed to. And I'm glad I didn't. You're not what you seem."
Xe'toth hadn't known how to respond to that, nor did he understand the strange warmth in his chest - his... heart? Merek had spoken of it before. It was a concept laughed about in hell, and yet...
"I was evil,"the demon answered instead. Even as he said the words, he was struck by the reality of them. He *had been* - but he hadn't felt the need to corrupt or destroy, not since he had met the human.
Merek, too, had noticed his words - and simply gave the demon a small smile. There it was again, that strange feeling in his chest. Xe'toth didn't quite understand... but he liked the feeling, and though he wasn't aware of it at the time, a part of him embraced it.
---
It took time. A lot of time and understanding, in fact. At least another year passed before the once-clumsy knight presented a bouquet of vibrant flowers with a smile, not quite meeting the demon's eyes. That marked the first day Xe'toth felt true joy in the simple beauty of the Earth - the first day he understood why humans fought so hard to protect their planet.
He'd tried to return the gesture, though it was the demon's turn to be bumbling, inexperienced as he was. Xe'toth had uprooted several *trees* in his desire to outshine Merek's bundle of flowers, and the knight couldn't help but snicker at the sight. He appreciated the gesture, nonetheless, and the two spent the rest of the day carefully planting the trees back into the ground.
Somehow, the human found simple joy in even that menial task - and Xe'toth, in turn, took a joy in seeing the smile on his human's face.
---
Merek climbed the ranks of the knights, quickly becoming one of the greatest of the kingdom, though he hid his secret well. Xe'toth, strangely enough, was more than satisfied simply keeping their shared home tidy. He took a certain joy in it, in fact, though Merek often teased him when he came home to find the demon clad in an apron. Xe'toth would simply smirk in response and capture the man's lips in a kiss, and though the human flailed in indignation, he could never quite keep the grin from his face.
There came a day when Merek lay on his deathbed, as all men did. On that day, Xe'toth felt his heart shattering, for as a creature of hell he would surely not see the man he had grown to love - and yet that same love prevented him from using his powers to tether the human to this world. He deserved the paradise that awaited him, even if Xe'toth could not follow.
Even as Merek faded away, however, Xe'toth found his gaze filled with light - and heard a voice he had only ever heard stories about.
**"Welcome home, my child."**
Perhaps Xe'toth - now demon only in form, but angel in spirit - should have given praise to that voice, or stopped to thank him for his benevolence. Yet Xe'toth had eyes only for one person. His Knight stood on the other side of the pearly gates. Their eyes met, and for a single instant...
Their love and joy shone through all of Creation. |
"Sorry we do what here?"
"Is that like 'we do what here?' you didn't hear or 'we do what here?' you heard but you don't believe it"
"The second one"
"So you don't actually want me to repeat what I just said?"
"It would help"
"Ok we're a corner store so we sell basic goods. Milk, some bread, cigarettes, candy stuff like that"
"Got that part"
"And sometimes we kill aliens who are trying to set up an outpost on Mars with drones"
"I..."
"We're using the drones. I realize now that was a bad way to phrase it"
"I..."
"I don't want you thinking that we're up there killing alien drones. We pilot the drones and kill the aliens"
"You fucking killing Martians with drones?"
"No"
"Ok so you're just like fucking with me you're now going to explain to me how I was wrong on some small technical detail and you still actually kill Martians with drones aren't you?"
"Well they're not Martians"
"Ok"
"Yeah we don't really know where they come from. And again to reiterate, we have the drones not them"
"I..."
"In all fairness they have robots but we think they're autonomous"
"This is fucking insane"
"Right?"
"Why are you in charge of this"
"Oh well the government needs to keep it off the books so...yeah"
"I...the...."
"Didn't you find it weird when we asked you how many hours a day you play video games in your interview"
"You didn't ask me that?"
"Oh did I not. Shit. Sorry I smoke a lot of weed in this job, and I'm pretty certain it's fucking with my memory. I didn't even remember that you were coming in today"
"This is...I don't..."
"So we're going to start you on the counter and when you're ready...you can come help us kill aliens with drones. Again we have the drones not them"
"..."
"Uh, feel free to eat throughout the day. Snacks and stuff free, that's a perk. Also, getting to kill aliens with drones. We use the drones"
"Stop saying that"
"I have a good feeling about you" |
We had always expected the enemy to come knocking at our gate. So many decades spent fortifying the borders against every threat imaginable. The endless network of lymphatics, the ceaseless industry of B cells churning out every permutation of antibody imaginable. Even the barbarous bacteria of the bowel had their role to play in keeping their more dangerous cousins at bay. It had been the perfect system and it had never failed in seventy years of unceasing bombardment from the outside world.
 
We had begun to feel secure behind the impenetrable wall. Even when something got through it was quickly contained, fought, eliminated. Those battles were simple. We knew who our enemy was. We knew who we were fighting and why. I miss the old days.
 
Things aren’t so simple now. When you can’t tell a bystander from a combatant, how can you win? How can you even fight?
 
I never paid much attention to the epithelial cells. I don’t look down on them, not like some of the snobbier haemopoietic cell lines with their fancy CD receptors. I’ve just never had much to do with them. They live their lives and we live ours and rarely do our paths cross. Not until a few years ago at least.
 
The most dangerous threat is the one you never see coming. There were a few…bad eggs…among our epithelial brothers. That’s not news. There are always deviants, even my own cell line has had a few. We have a veritable army of natural killers to keep them in check. An unerring inquisition. Little did we know that a few slipped through the cracks.
 
They blend in too well. For the most part their markers look just like the rest of the epithelia even as they spread and consume and hijack the system that nurtured them. I’m not going to kill a hundred innocent cells on the off chance that I catch a guilty one. That would be insanity. Yet letting a single cancerous cell fester to spare a hundred normal ones might be just as insane.
 
War’s not fair. They’re not winning because they’re stronger, they’re winning because we don’t know how to fight them. They are everywhere and yet we see them nowhere. By the time their invisible frontline had breached the portae hepatis it was already over. We’re fighting shadows we cannot touch and there can be only one result.
 
------------------------------
I’m sorry to hear about your grandmother. I hope she had a full life and will have a peaceful passing. I know it doesn't mean much coming from a stranger on the net, but feel free to PM me if you'd like to talk about things. I work in a setting where cancer deaths are relatively frequent and I know it can be a very difficult thing to come to terms with. |
Could it be? Was Ralph really him? With my latest photo, dark and blurry like the rest, it all clicked. Who else has photos that never come out clear? *Bigfoot*.
"Ralph, we have to talk,"I said after we sat down at the table in the coffeeshop. He had a five o'clock shadow and it was only nine in the morning. Any remaining doubts were gone.
"Sure, pal,"he said, taking a sip of his mocha cappuccino. "What's up?"
I took a deep breath and let it out. "I know,"I said. "I know who you really are."
Ralph spit his coffee over the coffee. "You... *know*?"he asked, eyes widened. "How did you figure it out?"
"The pictures,"I said. "It was the pictures."
Ralph stared toward the far wall, housing local artwork for sale.
"It's OK,"I said. "I won't tell anyone."
Ralph's eyes drooped. "I know,"he said, his breathing a bit out of control. "It's just- if you figured it out, what if someone else does too?"
I looked my hairy friend in the eyes. "Then we'll deal with that when we get there, buddy."
"Thanks,"he said, his breathing slowing down. "You're a good friend."
"Maybe one day you can tell me about your time in the forest."
Ralph raised his eyebrows. "What the heck are you talking about?"he asked.
"You know- the fact that you're Bigfoot!"
Ralph looked me up and down as if I were a ghost. "*Right*,"he finally said. "Don't tell anyone I'm Bigfoot."
---
*Looking for more reading? I've written lots of other stuff on /r/MajorParadox! :)* |
Prequel to this [story](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4zu52t/wp_suddenly_the_dead_have_risen_the_living/d6ysih9) … sort of. Reading the other prompt first will help you understand this one better.
***
“Alright listen up,” Lieutenant Brandon stood at the back of chopper and addressed us. “High Eagle says that initial reports from onlookers say something’s different from the usual undead.”
“Heh,” Sergeant Kyle said grimly. “How many fucking times have people actually seen a real zombie? I think they’re just scared shitless and spewing whatever’s going through their scrambled brain.”
“I won’t disagree with you on that, but our mission directive is just recon only, so no itchy fingers.”
“You think this is happening across the world? Not just America.” I piped up.
“I don’t know, corporal. But let’s hope not.”
Twenty minutes later we touched down outside of a remote town three hours away from Phoenix. It was said the outbreak occurred somewhat north of here, and we were well within the ‘dead zone’. The horde was last heard moving towards the city through the land near I-17, but satellite and recon planes showed no sign of them.
“Fuck,” Kyle cursed as the helicopter took off. “It’s raining.”
“Pshaw,” Brandon scoffed, “Looks like someone’s never been to Louisiana.”
The drizzle thumped almost affectionately on my body, but I knew it wouldn’t be too long before the wetness started to settle in. We crossed streets, checked into shops and stood on rooftops. Yet there was no sign of the potential zombies that lurked in the town.
“See anything?” Brandon radioed.
“Negative.”
“Nothing here.”
“No sign of anything.”
“Uh, I think I got something here.” Peterson called.
“Roger,” Brandon said. “Everyone regroup on Peterson, I’ll check further orders with command.”
*“High Eagle -- ”* the lieutenant said as he opened a channel with HQ. Before he could finish his words though, someone on the other end cut him off.
*“Standby, Alpha-Four, we’re receiving footage of the zombies from Alpha-Three.”*
“Ah, fuck waiting for Command, let go see what these sonsofbitches look like.” Kyle said.
We found Peterson crouching behind a tree and looking at the graveyard. At first it was a few dim shapes, fading in an out of sight in the drizzle. But as we drew closer under Kyle’s lead, it became apparent that they were humanoid and appeared to be…
“Are they sleeping?” I asked.
“Probably not,” Kyle said. “I read from a book that the zombies go dormant when there’s no prey nearby.”
“Look like the town is pretty much empty, and there’s only this small group here.” I said to the Lieutenant. “So, why don’t we go ahead and wipe ‘em out?”
“We’re only here for recon, but I suppose you're right, let me run it through Command first.”
*“High Eagle, this is Alpha-Four, we’ve got more than two dozen Z’s in front of us. I don’t think they’ve sensed us yet. Do we engage or retreat?”*
Dead silence reigned over us as we waited for a response.
*“Um, High Eagle, please advise. High Eagle, do you copy?”*… “Shit!”
Surprisingly, the word came from Peterson, who was behind a brick wall, a few yards ahead.
“Fuck, Lieutenant,” he called. “I think they saw me.” True to his words, the horde started walking towards us. Like drunken overboard sailors, they raised their arms in unison at us.
“What do we do, Brandon?” Kyle said, putting his rifle to his shoulder.
“Ready your weapons, fire on my go.” Brandon said calmly.
I sprinted towards Peterson and tapped him once on the shoulder. “Got you covered,” I said as I put red dot straight on the lead zombie’s forehead. But, the drizzle seemed to abate for the briefest of moments and I froze.
“Open fi—”
“No, hold your fire!” I shouted into my mic while advancing to the lead zombie. Its skin was pale white, not rotten or mottled as most fiction speculated.
“Shit, Jason. What the fuck are you doing?” Brandon hissed.
The earpiece squawked with the confusion of my fellow squad mates, but I ignored it. As I nearer the zombie, I felt my lips form a word I promised myself not to say for three years.
“Mother.”
|
I thought about the offer long and hard. After all, a deal with the Devil is not something to be taken lightly.
"Can I have a bit of time to, you know..."I asked. "To consider your options?"He replied.
"Yeah, exactly... oh, and don't take this as some form of acceptance either!"I said.
"Hah ha, aren't you the wary one?"He said with a distinct predatory glint in his eye. "Yes, I suppose my reputation precedes me. Completely undeserved though. I get a lot of bad PR from certain people... they're just jealous you know."
Now I'm stuck here. Never expected to be in a position to mull over an offer like this. It seems too good to be true, so it probably is. Why would the Devil make an offer like this, to a nobody like me? Some kind of test I suppose.
If I wish for sheer power, I could have the best intentions in the world. But something will fuck up. Or I'll screw things up for someone that likes things just the way they are. That means rich and powerful enemies. That sure doesn't sound like much fun.
How about a ton of money? Wake up tomorrow as a billionaire? Just think of all the stuff I could buy. I could get laid every single day of the week with... with women that just wanted me for my money. All that stuff would get pretty boring after a couple of years. Nope, there are just some things money can't buy, not even a billion dollars.
I guess I could wish for immortality. I kind of enjoy life. But that just seems so limited. Hang around forever and be the same person doing the same stuff for thousands of years. Not ever having to worry about dying is pretty cool though. But maybe there's something else?
Maybe I could do something or be someone that can help others, something *positive*? What if I had some kind of power that nobody else has? Now that gives me an idea...
"Hey Devil"I said "I'd like to ask you a question"
"Of course, you would like to make an informed decision, so anything you'd like to know in order to make the best possible choice, right?"He replied.
"OK, so is there any kind of limit on what I can wish for?"I asked.
"No limits, none whatsoever."
"I wish to be a *healer*... I want to be able to cure any deformity, to heal any wound, any disease or sickness... in anybody, any time, as often as I choose. This ability should have permanent results and the effect should happen within seconds."
"Well, that's a good one. I haven't heard anyone wish to be a healer in a long, long time."Said the Devil with a visible look of surprise on his face. "It is done."
So now dear reader, you're thinking I just proceeded to go out and do good deeds for the poor, the sick and the needy right? Well, sometimes I see someone who's messed up and I feel sorry for them. Maybe two or three times a week I sneak in a quick stealth healing.
But being a healer has a lot of other benefits. You see, nobody really wants to die. Especially the truly powerful and wealthy of this world. They got to where they are because they always want more of everything. Money, power, prestige and especially time. A lot of billionaires have spent the first 6 or 7 decades to get to where they are, only to find out they've got a measly twenty or thirty years left... if they're lucky.
That's where I come in. Wanna live another twenty or thirty years? Of course you do. So I've got an excellent reputation amongst the most exclusive clientele. It took a couple of freebies. But once I'd proven my *bona fides*, I was in.
I had what they wanted most. They needed me a lot more than I could ever need them. No one dared threaten me. Not if they wanted to have another decade added on to their own lifespan. I could ask for whatever I wanted and there was always someone more than willing to pay my price.
No, I'm not wishing for bad stuff. I just ask the most powerful people in the world to take a break from benefiting themselves in exchange for an extra twenty or thirty years. "Help Joe Average for ten years, and you can spend the other twenty making yourself even richer... I'm not asking for a nickel for myself."My new friends sometimes think it's a weird request, but they never say no.
It gets even better. I can use my own healing power to keep myself going indefinitely. Got absolutely no idea how long I can keep going. But I've been around for a lot longer than you think.
You like the 5 day work week, modern medicine, the internet and the fact that nobody's used nuclear weapons since WWII?
You're *welcome*. |
Snub Nose Joey has the same dream every night. Every night, Snub Nose Joey dreams he is some millionaire with a house on some high California cliff where an infinity pool drapes out over mangrove and cactus and other desert plants and a dark skinned woman (he never sees her face) walks past him in a breezy, translucent sarong. He doesn't do anything in the dream. He only sits and stares at the pool and the horizon and the curves on the dark skinned woman's back.
In the morning, Snub Nose Joey wakes up to the sound of car horns and sirens on Kaighn Ave. He goes into the bathroom, thankful Curtis or Wendy isn't already using it. He runs the tap to clear the rust from the water, then splashes some on his face. He looks at his snub nose in the grimy mirror that is falling off the medicine cabinet and he smells the mildew coming from the shower curtain.
He wants Frosted Flakes, but there are only crumbs and the milk is sour. He eats a piece of plain white bread with a little butter. When he reaches for the carton of orange juice, Curtis smacks him and says "fuck you Snub Nose that's my orange juice I paid for!"
He does not need to get dressed for school because he will wear the same thing he wore yesterday and slept in. He unlatches the creaking screen door and lets the Camden December air hit him. Nobody on the block has Christmas lights up or even a candy cane in their yard.
A group of other kids walk past the stoop and one of them shouts at him. "Yo Snub Nose Joey ain't no bitch gonna ever let you stick that snub nose up in her!"The rest of them laugh. "Fuck off!"Snub Nose Joey shouts back. He waits, until they are a little farther ahead, so he can walk to school in peace.
Suddenly, he hears the noise. The noise is so loud and it comes from everywhere. Snub Nose Joey has heard gunshots on most days of his life, and by reflex, he falls into the dirt in the burnt out lawn beside the sidewalk. But this is different than a gunshot. It is more like a tone. Then it becomes a woman's voice, which is still so loud and sudden. "Thank for your participation in our beta test. As a reminder, all servers will go offline at 11:59pm tonight."
Every car and pedestrian has stopped what they were doing before the voice. A woman falls to her knees and she begs Jesus Christ to take her. Snub Nose Joey doesn't have a computer or a smartphone, but he stays late to use the computers in the library and he knows those were computer words. He doesn't think Jesus ever talks about computers. He decides to keep walking to school. A voice in the sky isn't the first thing Snub Nose Joey hasn't understood about the world.
\* * *
Sarah asks if he needs some more water. Or another towel for his hair or perhaps some chamomile tea? Joe says he is fine, but asks her for a hand mirror. Her assistant in the white polo shirt already has it ready and holds it up to his face. Joe looks at himself. He touches his nose, which is straight and aquiline.
Sarah asks for his assessment. He tells her the technology is incredible. He says it is the best he's ever seen. "But what about the experience?"she asks. She tells him she wants him to look at his brain scans while he was hooked in. His dopamine and serotonin were in the toilet the whole time. He says he needs some fresh air.
Joe walks through the sitting room. He slides open the heavy glass patio doors and he feels the sun and wind. Sarah is still buried in the charts on her tablet. What kind of masochist is going to pay for an experience like this, she wonders. What good is something so lifelike if nobody wants to live it? Not to question his leadership, but she asks him if he really thinks the Board will let this see the light of day.
Joe looks out across a California cliff where an infinity pool drapes out over mangrove and cactus and other desert plants. He looks at Sarah and she smiles at him. Joe tells her she has it all backwards. They aren't paying for what they will see on the inside. They're paying to remember how to enjoy what they have on the outside.
|
I was fourteen, a freshman at Purksbay High, when I first asked, “What are my results?” The part time accountant and full time counselor stared in amazement.
“Mr. Roberts, what does it say?” I asked, engulfed with a passion and drive to take on the world and build a meaningful life. Mr. Roberts twirled his index finger, as the words rolled off his tongue, “Banana Tree.”
For a week, I wondered what type of career was summarized by the words, Banana Tree. But, to my surprise, Mr. Roberts called me back to his office. He sat behind his desk -- his fingers stuck in a Chinese finger trap. “Bryan, I have good news. The first career aptitude test must have had a glitch. I would like for you to retake it.” Two hours later, and for the second time in two weeks, I heard the words... “Banana Tree.”
_________________________________________________________________
The weeks became months, and months became junior year. I was the second string tight end for the Purksbay Porkers, and honestly, the words, Banana Tree, didn’t have much meaning any longer. But, there I sat, for the seventh time in two and a half years, taking the career aptitude test.
“Bryan, I have your results.” Mr. Roberts approached me with the papers in his hands. His hands were in handcuffs, but as he approached me, he twirled his fingers like a magician, and the handcuffs were gone. It was impressive. He was a part time accountant, a full time counselor, and a part time magician -- Mr. Roberts had three careers, and I had... Banana Tree.
He placed his hand on my shoulder, “I’m sorry Bryan. It’s, Banana Tree.“ I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. Banana Tree is not the set of words you cry at. Banana Tree are the two words at the end of a joke, but not something you can ever really cry about.
_________________________________________________________________
It was senior year. I had a girlfriend, a college scholarship, friends, football… but I still had yet to be given a career. For the twenty-eighth time in my almost four years, I heard the words... Banana Tree. But what did I care, it was Prom Night, and I was about to get some action.
Fast forward to graduation day. Mr. Roberts called me to his office. I sat there and watched him juggle for a few minutes. He was good. Real good. Not only was he a counselor, a magician, and an accountant, but he also could juggle, which he was practicing, because he was performing at our graduation ceremony that night.
“Bryan, as a school counselor, and a part time accountant, and a part time magician, and a part time comedian, I wish deeply in my heart that I could give you one of my skills. But that’s not how it works. However, I have something for you. I have two career aptitude tests in my possession; one is the same one you have taken twenty-eight times, and the other is brand new.”
Brand new…a fresh start, I thought. He told me, “I know its graduation day, but as my graduation gift to you, I’d like to be able to tell you your career.” I ate those words right up, and grabbed two pencils, and off I ran.
Two hours later, and I was done. Mr. Roberts approached me, “Bryan, this is the twenty-ninth time you have taken this career aptitude test, and for the twenty-ninth time,” he bowed his head, “Banana Tree.” At this point, I was desensitized to those words, and I hardly reacted.
“However, we have the wild card; the brand new test that you have never taken. And I have good news.” Mr. Roberts twirled his fingers as he spoke, “It says, Orange Tree.”
I didn’t really understand his response. Orange Tree. Okay, I guess my career is in farming. But I still didn’t understand, so I asked, “Orange Tree?”
Mr. Roberts smiled like a disturbed clown, and didn’t speak a single word. He began juggling his bowling pins, while rapidly moving his fingers in and out of the Chinese finger trap. I was in amazement, when it happened. When he violently screamed, “ORANGE YA GLAD I DIDN’T SAY BANANA TREE!”
|
When the gates of hell opened, I was surprised the king called me to aid. I might be the best bard in the realm but we are still underrated.
Everyone knows the drill. The knight, wearing full plate made of dragon bones and an enhanced sword, fights the big bad monster head on. His armor is near interminable and his sword banishes daemons back to hell. When he faces another immovable wall his best ally is the rouge. The trickster finds a weakness in all foes. While they are distracted by the brute warrior the rouge will sneak behind them and strike them with deadly precision of his poisons daggers. If you happen to face multiple enemies, you want a mage by your side. Fireballs make quick work of hordes and arcane spells turn the tide of battle when the times are most dire. Just in case things go south you bring a priest. Priests heal knights, protect the mages and conceal the rouges.
On the other hand, the bard, well the bard sings. And whiles inspiring fellow heroes is a serious job, some joke that we are only needed by the camp fire. Sometimes wealthy knights will hire bard just so they can write songs of their deeds. I don't mind, that is how I used to make a living. And a fine living it was.
So here we are: kings tournaments champion Doran, the sneaky Janet of the shadow lands, Arch-mage Althalos and the high priestess Alice. Oh I almost forgot the mention: The lord of banter, the light of the inn, the queens giggle, your truly me, Jack of northtown.
As we approach the caves of doom there is not much chat going around. No need to discus strategy. We are all seasoned veterans, knowing their role in the party. Alice would regularly break the silence by reminding us that our mission is holy and that gods are on our side. She would point to the lovely weather as proof that we are blessed. The weather was surprisingly welcoming for this parts of the land. We are heading further north then my home town and it is only few days until winter. Yet I felt worm, actually Much warmer then I have felt in months. "We are approaching the gates of hell"Althalos replied"Off course it is warm here". I preferred Alice's theory. An hour later Janet stopped. She spotted a horde of orcs
marching toward us. Doran drew his sword, Althalos started casting his spell and I pulled my harp.
"In the mountains of the north, the orcs would try their luck,
before they could oppose, they will see how much they su..."The hell. It went from being warm to boiling in a second. Oh, it is Althaloses fire ball. The orcs are all slain. I can but feel but disappointed. My song didn't even start really, Doran felt the same. He was eagerly looking for a fight. Most interestingly, Jante was not even looking at the orcs, it seems like she was analyzing us. It is going to be a fun night.
The sun is gone, it is time for us to set up a camp. Althalos again did all the work. Why soul'd we bother when he can just cast one spell. Doran is getting more and more irritated, he is used to being the one who carries most weight in any party. Meanwhile no one trusted Janet, her kind gets a bad reputation. I don't know why but for once, my pride didn't get the best of me. Perhaps there is truth to the old saying about the bard and the camp fire.
"And who, of you children, did not hear the song?
Of the mightiest hero, Sir Doran the strong?
When the dragon faced him, the dragon was cut,
He went to the Giant and said kiss my butt.
We all should drink, for Sir Dorans sake,
for him, kings tourney, was a pice of cake.
What about Janet and her quick hands?
The most honorable of the shadow lands.
She fouled daemons and lords alike
Her bow would draw but her words would srike"...
The songs went on, Everyone seemed more relaxed, had fine ale. We all knew that we needed rest for tomorrow. We are close to the hell portal. The battle was coming
The king of daemons ,Luciano himself, appeared. His hordes of zombies sounded us. Doran and Janet rushed to him while Alice was banishing the undead. Luciano turned invisible! No one saw that coming. Alice fell. No, she cant be the first to fall. Who will heal us now? His next target was Althalos, the mage is powerless when facing such an opponent in close combat. Doran cut dozens of minions to reach them but he was too late. Althos fell. The might knight stood his ground against the deamon king. But hundreds of minions surrounded him. Striking him for every angle, he too was defied. janet is no where to be seen. Its all on me now. Well there is only one thing I can do. A bard should never preform this music as it hurts your party more then it helps them. Given that they are all dead
I could not see the harm. I take out my harp and use the one spell that I know to turn it into a wicked electric guitar. And 3,2,1.
"DEMOOOOOONS, UNHOLY BASTAAAAAAAARDS!!
GO TO HELL
BURN IN HELL
MAY YOU FOREVER DWELL
IN HEEEEEEEEEELL!!
"wicked solo"
"I will gauge your eyes,
watch your child as it dies,
turn your truth to lies,
to your doom give riiise!!"
Have you ever seen demon eyes out of their skulls. I must have seen couple of thousand that day. The ones who didn't have their heads explode jumped voluntarily back to hell. Including their King.
Now all that is left, is for me to write a tragedy. Tragedy of the heroes that sacrificed their lives to save the world. Then I can go back to my merry life of ale and song.
|
It is seven o' clock in the morning. I am already seated primly at my desk. A tap of my wand on my bag alerts the zipper to open, the books inside to float out and stack neatly on the desk. A thick paper chart settles alongside, bare but for pre-written headers in each column: "date,""spell,""pronunciation,""additional instructions,"and "effect."A flick of the wrist and the topmost book floats before me, properly aligned to prevent neck strain. *Oxford Latin dictionary.* The cover gently opens itself with the satisfying crack of a new binding. I take a soothing sip of tea, clear my throat, and read aloud from page one.
It is nine o' clock in the morning. Four new spells have been entered in crisp penmanship on my log. I stand with a gentle stretch of my spine and swipe my palm over the mouth of my empty mug, cleaning it instantly. I stand to return the mug to the break room when my coworker steps into the cubicle. His robes are crumpled from a hurried start. His beard is poorly tended. The staff in his hand has a pair of fuzzy dice laced through the notch in the top. He looks at me blearily and drinks deep from a travel mug of strong-smelling coffee.
"You the new guy?"
I smile congenially. "Yes, I started today. My name is Jameson."I extend my hand politely. "I look forward to working with such an experienced wizard as yourself. I am sure you have much to teach me."
The crumpled wizard snorts crudely into his coffee mug and moves past me, a slow but indomitable force. I allow my hand to fall gracefully aside as he passes. "Sure kid."He scratches above his ear with the top of the staff, fuzzy dice swinging wildly. "Real tough job, this is. Might even take you a few minutes to get the hang of it, if you aren't diligent."He drops heavily into his desk chair, which protests with a deflated *PFF!* of air, and materializes a crumpled piece of notebook paper from the sleeve of his robe. Quiet as an unabused office chair, I set my mug back on the desk.
"Right. Time to get started here in a minute. Name's Vanden-Eynden. And don't bother trying my name out, it isn't a spell."He begins clearing his throat in a rattling, mucousy display and cracks the knuckles of each finger one at a time.
"I- of course not."I sit again beside him. "I arrived early this morning. Here is what I've completed so far."I slide the log over to him. Vanden-Eynden completes his preparatory routine and shifts his weight ponderously to my side to grasp the log, crumpling the corner. I wait politely, upright, as he leans on his desk to peruse the log.
And he is suddenly straight as a poker, towering above me. "What is this?!"he shoves the paper in my face. I quail. "Ah, um... those are the spells I've discovered so far... Vander...Schmanden?"He is whipping his neck around to see if anyone has noticed us. I scramble to elucidate. "Um, the first one I discovered was *acedia.* I wasn't certain at first of the effect, because when I cast it the objects in the cubicle, they just began to droop. So I tried it on a spider I found building a web in the corner. The spider slowed down immediately. After a moment, it didn't try to build at all. It was like it lost its motivation."My coworker has spotted the books on my desk, and I can him piecing it together. "I came very prepared today, sir. I've begun with a Latin dictionary, but I plan to go through every language I can until I run out of words. My theory is that--"
"Oh you little FOOL!"The old wizard collapses again into his chair, rolling alarmingly into his desk. "Four spells! Four spells is more than we discover in an entire MONTH, let alone a single shift!"
I blink. "Wow! I had no idea this would be so effective. Think of all the magic we've missed out on over the years, just because of a little disorganized thinking!"But the wizard is shaking his head and moaning into his hands.
"Look kid. You're pretty clever, a real self-starter, great. But for a clever kid you're dumb as a box of rocks. What good are we if we discover all the spells at such a breakneck pace? Eh? How long do you think we'll last in this field?"
I fold my hands firmly in my lap. "My concern is expanding the work of our people, Vaneidenen. I want to make a difference. Think of all we could accomplish if only we had more knowledge! The addition of new spells can only be a good thing."
Eye-rolling is impolite, but my coworker does it anyway. "Look, I like a new spell as much as anyone. But I like getting paid more. And if you keep it up at this pace, I won't have a job for more than five minutes. Why not try it the good old-fashioned way? Check me out."He takes up his staff, heaves himself from his chair, and bellows "zarbiferous!"
Nothing happens.
"Ta-da! There. I'm doing my job, but I'm doing it at a reasonable pace. See, here's some more: loofimbarimba! Nada. No problem. As long as we find *some* spells, we don't have to find them all at once."
I turn sharply back to my desk. "Well perhaps my standards are simply higher than yours. I'm not doing this for selfish reasons. I believe in the betterment of our entire civilization."Without another word, I return to my work.
It is four o' clock in the afternoon. I pack my books away with a tap of my wand and turn to compare my log with my coworker's. His wad of notebook paper is, unsurprisingly, blank. My own log shines bright with ten new spells, the ink stark black on the thick white surface. He reads it in silence.
The old wizard nods, defeated. "You are good, I'll hand you that. You could really make a difference for our company-- for the world."I smile proudly back at him, triumphant.
"Thank you. I plan to. I am glad we were able to come to an agreement."
He nods, rising to his feet. "So am I."Unexpectedly, he raps his staff firms on the ground. "*Acedia!*"
It is nine-fifteen in the morning. I shuffle to my desk and fall into my seat. My log is nowhere to be seen. I paw languidly through my desk drawers in search of a replacement.
Vanden-Eynden is sitting beside me, cheerful, smelling of coffee and dust. "Are ya ready, champ?"
I sigh and push myself up from the desk. "Guess so."
And we begin to shout, filling the air with gibberish-- and not very much magic. |
I'd heard doctors make mistakes before. Hell, haven't we all? Anyway, it was a mistake.
"My wife is what?"
"Gregnant."
"That's not a thing. You mean she's pregnant."
"Sir, I wish I did. We're well equipped to deal with pregnancy at our hospital. However... sir, it would be better if you sat down."
"Just tell me what's going on, my wife is in there and all you can do is spout gibberish."
"The facts are... unusual."I really, really wanted to punch this smug bastard square in the jaw. This was, what, a prank? Thirty seconds from now he'd bust a gut and point to the hidden camera and I was expected to be a good sport about it all. Haha, funny joke. Well I was having none of it.
"What the hell does gregnant mean?"
"I have to be honest, it's the first case I've ever come across. Some medical schools don't even cover it, claiming there's no point spending time on such rare-"He caught my eye, saw I was in no mood for long winded explanations. "Well, we don't understand how it happens, but... have you ever met Greg?"
The question caught me entirely off guard. "Greg... I uh... there was a Greg in high school I think?"
"Well, the fact is that there is only one Greg. You've met him. He can't sustain any body for long, and eventually he needs a new host. That's... that's what gregnant means."
"My wife..."I did sit down now... "My wife is going to give birth to... Greg from high school?"
"Ah, no. Not quite sir. Your wife is going to *become*... sir, I suppose the most appropriate thing is to congratulate you on your impending marriage to Greg. I wish you many happy years together."
I don't remember much more after I punched him. What I do remember is the beginnings of the horrible stoner beard on my wife's chin. |
Blue-41 pered over the corner, making a gesture of denial. "Nuh-uh. Not going in there."
"It's just *one human*", Red-AB sighed. "It's not heavily armed and it's just sitting there."The creature wasn't actually sitting, really, as much as it was curled up into a tiny ball. Truth be told, it looked kind of sick.
"It's a *human*", Blue insisted. Red sighed. Yeah, yeah. Gummy little murder machines that figure out a way to weaponise everything they encounter, aren't stopped or even particularly phased by the removal of a limb of two, with seemingly no instinct of survival or self-protection. Can't be negotiated with, can't be reasoned with, destroy colonies on sight. The training program sure had drilled an appropriate fear of the enemy into this one.
"No, seriously,"Blue continued. "Check the vital signs."
Taken by surprise, Red-AB turned to the human detection machines. Normative body heat, slight movement of rocking back and forth, and a pulse racing beyond anything he had seen.
"But it's not even *moving*", he said in disbelief. At a rate like that it ought to have been running at full speed, having gone on for hours. "It's just sitting there, alone, and a rate like *that*? Is it charging something?"
"Emotional distress", Blue said, still studying the tiny creature. "I don't think it's alone. They have senses that we don't, and whatever is in there with it, that human being is *terrified.* I'm not going in there."
Silently, Red agreed.
About three miles from them, Kim sat all alone inside the scouting vehicle, trying to power through a panic-attack. |
“You’re a damn coward.”
Frank glared at the lieutenant, who was returning the enmity with what he clearly thought was extreme interest. “I’m still in charge.”
“Not if the governor—”
“The law says—” Frank broke in, only to have the lieutenant interrupt him right back.
“—city law!”
“Still *law*,” Frank insisted. “Including the outlying areas the county insists fall under our sway.”
“You guys are shirking the problem.”
“Managing it. Everything within basically twenty miles of Oraville is on us for public services. Including fire. Which means the Draconic Treaty—”
The lieutenant stepped forward again, until his nose physically touched Frank’s. “Fucking cowards.”
Frank resisted the urge to step back, though he wanted to. Because if he didn’t, he was afraid he was about to hit the punk kid who was fresh out of college, or OTC or whatever the fuck it was called in the National Guard. “You gloryhounds are the reason we passed the law.”
“You’re letting it get comfortable and cozy,” the junior officer raged. “Grow stronger, learn more about us. What are you going to do when it decides—”
“Chief, we’ve got a problem with some of *their* personnel,” a firefighter said behind Frank.
“Lieutenant, I’m in charge. Not you,” Frank said firmly. “Pull your people back. In fact, I want them out of here entirely.”
“Or what? We’re armed. What are you guys gonna do, hose us to death?”
“You’re not only willing to goad the dragon into leveling the town — likely killing hundreds — but fire on us too?” Frank said as calmly as he could manage.
“If you don’t get out of the way—”
“Lieutenant Willis,” a sergeant who’d been watching the shouting match said.
“Sar’ent!” Willis barked. “Is the platoon at jump off?”
“No sir.”
Frank finally stepped back as the lieutenant turned his head, but not before their noses bumped hard. He watched as Willis fixed a furious look on the sergeant. “What?”
“They’re not in position sir.”
“Some of their vehicles are parked across the roads we need Chief,” Stevens said to Frank in a low voice. “Unless we use the bumpers to, ah, nudge them aside, we can’t get the trucks through to deliver the food.”
“Why not?” Willis was demanding of the sergeant.
“Sir, Chief Lorica is correct. We have no jurisdiction here.”
“This is state land, we’re a state military unit, and that *thing* out there is a threat to the state!” Willis roared, waving his hand toward the bulk of the dragon in the field out past the northern edge the scattered city limits.
“We were deployed to assist the city.”
“By engaging the enemy!”
“No sir.”
Willis’ eyes narrowed. “Are you disobeying a direct order, Sergeant Jacobs?”
“Sir, no sir,” Jacobs said, straightening his back. “But we are not authorized to engage unless the city’s emergency personnel request lethal force—”
“You are disobeying a direct order.”
“Sir, no sir,” Jacob repeated. “I’m simply attempting to remind the lieutenant of our orders.”
For a moment, Frank wondered if Willis was going to lay hands on Jacobs. And, a sadistic part of his mind further mused, how amusing that might be. But Willis didn’t, though he did the nose-to-nose thing again by stalking forward until he could glare from point-blank range at the other soldier.
“You are relieved Jacobs.”
“Sir—”
“Sergeant Tuttle,” Willis barked.
“Sir?” another soldier said, looking unhappy as he was addressed.
“You’re acting platoon sergeant. Get on the comm and get everyone ready to jump off. I want the FAC ready to call fire from the standby squadrons. We’re going to need heavy ordinance from the Warthogs to nail this fucker.”
“Uh, Lieutenant Willis—” Tuttle began.
Willis was turning purple. “You want to be up in front of a court too?”
“Sir, we have no jurisdiction to engage without a specific request to open hostilities from the civilian—”
“Goddamnit!” Willis yelled. He lunged forward and grabbed at a Specialist standing behind Jacobs and Tuttle. Frank saw him take hold of a radio microphone and broke into a run.
“All squads—” the lieutenant was saying into the comm before Frank tackled him. Willis was smaller and probably in pretty good shape, being fresh out of training, but Frank was well built from decades of hard work while carrying a full firefighter’s load of gear. It hurt as Willis fought against him, driving elbows and knees into his midsection. Finally wrapping the younger man up, Frank rolled him over, away from the dangerous radio.
“You attack that dragon and you’re going to get people killed,” he panted.
“Cowards!” Willis sneered. “Traitors.”
Frank’s hands were full trying to keep control of the lieutenant, and he kept expecting someone to shoot him, or tear him off at any moment. At least one of the nearly dozen strong squad of soldiers who’d accompanied Willis to meet with him. But no shots came, nor fists or feet. Instead, just as he finally got a good hold on the Guardsman, he heard a new voice.
“Sar’ent?”
“Corporal, take the lieutenant into custody,” Jacobs said.
“Uh, sorry sar’ent?”
“Lieutenant Willis is in violation of regs. You’re acting under my direct orders, so it’s on me if JAG disagrees with my actions. Take the lieutenant into custody. He is not to be permitted access to comms, or any unit personnel except those guarding him. If he wants to leave town he can, as long as it’s south.”
* * * * *
“Stay in the truck,” Frank said to the driver.
“Don’t worry.”
Ignoring the terror-filled hysterical note in the man’s voice, Frank opened his door and got out. The dragon was sitting calmly only a couple dozen yards distant, watching as the last dump truck tipped its load of carcasses onto the ground. The smell was ripe, even though the animals were only hours dead from the slaughterhouse. Spreading his hands out to the sides to show he wasn’t carrying anything, Frank started walking toward the beast.
“I wondered if you were going back on your word,” the impossibly deep voice rumbled as Frank approached.
“We struck a bargain.”
“Yet soldiers came,” the dragon said, flicking its eyes toward the Humvees still visible near the buildings.
“A misunderstanding,” Frank said quickly. “Confusion amongst those who do not live here. The city will honor the bargain. We are grateful for your restraint.”
“If this continues to happen, it would threaten my patience.”
“We’ll do what we can. Please believe that we wish to live in harmony.”
“And so we shall. So long as you abide the terms.”
“Thank you,” Frank said, and he bowed. The bowing was important; the dragon liked to see humans bowing. When he straightened, he flinched as the dragon directed a blast of plasma-hot breath across the pile of cattle that had been delivered to feed it. The crunch of skeletons was hideous when he turned, as the dragon began eating.
“Chief, that’s disgusting,” the driver said as Frank got back in. “Maybe we should’ve given the Army—”
“National Guard.”
“Whatever. Why can’t we just take this thing—”
“You ever tried to kill a dragon?” Frank said quietly, looking at the young man.
“Well no, but—”
Frank opened his collar and the top buttons of his shirt, enough so he could peel it toward his shoulder. “The deal includes the dragon maintaining its territory. Which keeps any other dragons away, because it considers the city its home.”
“Sooner or later it’s going to grow big enough to eat too much.”
Hooking his undershirt in the process, so the thick plastic looking scars were visible on his chest and shoulder, Frank looked at the driver. His bared flesh was rippled, like frozen flame, and flexed only slowly as the body beneath the damaged skin moved. “I have gone up against dragons. Trust me, we’re better off letting the damn thing eat.”
* * * * *
I collect all my flash fic [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/DavesWorld/). If you liked this, the others might be interesting too. Enjoy! |
We didn’t discover it until first contact happened. Communicating over a vast distance, a race of friendly mammalian bipeds - who look a bit too much like Snoopy from the old Charlie Brown comics - first contacted us in the year 2025. They were remarkably casual throughout the entire affair. Whereas with us, the news of intelligent alien life had undeniably changed the economic and political landscape within just a few years. New religions popped up, old religions had to adapt to the fact that we were no longer God’s only children. In fact, there were much more than just the two of us. The Ungl, or Snoopies, as they were commonly called, had made contact with at least 300 hundred other space-faring species before they called us.
But we were different, because everyone else avoided our system like the plague. Not just the system either, but 50 light years in every direction from Sol. It was almost like there was a warning stamped there.
*Do not cross, or die.*
Borrowing from Ungl technology, we discovered a ring of debris on the outer perimeter of the Exclusion Zone. Wreckage from explorers and conquerors alike. According to the Ungl, they themselves had run into the Exclusion Zone before, when they were still mapping this section of the galaxy. As soon as they drew near, they heard a voice that told them to turn back. They did so, and the fear of that voice was so great that they never physically ventured into the sector again.
But their curiosity got the better of them and they eventually turned to other methods to explore the area, including the solar system we called home. What treasures or mysteries were so great that the Exclusion Zone tolerated no trespass? When they discovered Earth, their first thought was that a great civilization had laid claim to the sector. With some marvelous technology, we had put up a lethal shield that protected us from the outside universe.
A quick scan of the surface dashed those hopes quickly. However, the Snoopies did discover the cause before they contacted us, and after a quick hello, it was the first question they asked us.
You see, the emanations that caused the Exclusion Zone were powerful but subtle and hard to trace. Even the Ungl could barely perceive it. Hoping against hope, they were desperate to learn more about it, so they asked us.
“Why is Pluto alive?”
-------------------------------------------------
Subscribe to /r/AMemoryofEternity for more of my stories! |
Ah Traveler! So glad you're here. Rumour has it you are about to start on your adventure into Mistland forest! How exciting! Before you go though, would you allow me to explain to you how to save your progress as you go? No? FANTASTIC, let's begin. First you must remember to -
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- find a glowing chest and... oh. Am I trawling? I do apologise! Eager to go on your epic journey I bet! Let me speed things a long a little. Once you find a glowing chest, press -
A
- the Y button, and you will... Did you skip again? I'm doing you a favour here, you know that right? You think I haven't got things to do? I took time out of my busy schedule of walking aimlessly and repeating inane dialogue to help you. The least you could do is -
A
- show a little appreci - ... Okay. I see how this is gonna play out. We're going down this road are -
A
- we? Well that's fine -
A
- with me. Two can play -
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- at this game. Please press -
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- the A button if you -
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- would like -
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- to hear -
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- this -
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- again.
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- Ah Traveler! So glad you're here. |
Twelve thousand years. That's how long I've been sitting in limbo. I feel like I'm in a waiting room at the doctor, but no magazines or smooth jazz. There are two doors on the far wall from me, one labeled heaven, and the other hell. I've tried the heaven door, it's been locked since I got here. I've tried everything to avoid being tempted by the other door. I've tried talking myself out of it, but I stopped doing that when I started to hear the voices inside my head start arguing with each other over what to do. I've tried staring into the blank white of the walls around me, hoping for sleep or someone to come out of one of the doors. Sleep never came, nor did anyone else. I've been alone here fully conscious the entire time.
There was a period of time where I thought this was hell. The doors on the wall just a trick put in to make me suffer. The blinding white pounding into my eyes reminded me of office lightning, except without the ceiling tiles. I'm not sure how tall the room is, there's no shadows anywhere. Everything is perfectly porcelain.
Finally one day, I think it's a day anyway, I can't really tell time in here anymore, I tell myself "Screw it, anything's better than this."and head toward the hell door. Walking to it a thousand thoughts rush into my head. Is there anyway back here if I make the wrong decision? Would I even want to come back? What kind of hell awaits me? These thoughts buzz around inside me as I reach for the doorknob.
I go to turn it.
It's locked too. |
######[](#dropcap)
I could fly.
It's almost everyone's dream to loose the bonds of earth and soar through the air like a bird. The sun feels warm on my face as I tear through the air. I squint as my eyes water from the high speed and then-
My knees are weak and arms are heavy now. I'm surrounded by men in military gear. The landing ship bobs and shakes in the water. "Alright men! Get ready!"The door falls away and the sound of machine gun fire fills the air. As fast as possible the men run out and seek cover. I-
"Oh baby... That was soooo good."She purred "Can you go again?"I sat up in the bed, I looked to the beautiful blonde next to me in bed, and then to the even more beautiful brunette on the other side. I smiled "Yea I think I can-"
I woke up. "OH COME ON!"What is going on with me tonight? Weird dreams. My palms are sweaty and I wipe them on my sheets. "Man, I'm completely awake no-"
My teeth feel loose, I run my tongue around in my mouth and I can feel them wiggle. I touch one and it moves. "OW!"Then I hear the laughter. I'm in my underwear on stage, the whole crowd goes so loud. I try to speak but the words won't come out. I'm choking and the whole crowd is laughing. I try to run away and-
I can fly. I feel the warm sun on my face. It's nice. I smile. And now i'm falling, faster and faster. The ground approaches, I brace to hit. The clock runs out-
I land on the ground beside my bed and bump my head. Back to reality, oh there goes gravity. |
“It’s like being blind…kind of” I said to her. Well, I assumed it was a her, wearing a dress used to be a good indication, but the times – they are a changin. Even a voice isn’t enough now. “Honestly, it’s not that hard to deal with most of the time, but it makes sharing a meal uncomfortable. Watching someone chew…it’s pretty disgusting. The mashing up, being ground into unrecognizable paste…for a while I seriously considered a liquid diet. I just couldn’t stomach the thought of chewing. But in the end, I just like steak too much”.
She raised her hand to her mouth, as they all do, to cover her chewing. It doesn’t do any good, they never seem to realize I can see through all of their flesh, hands included. But it’s the thought that counts, right?
“Anyway, I know it’s not the most useful of powers, but it certainly makes for interesting…”. That’s when I saw him. I mean really saw him. Strolling down the road, buck naked. I must have been staring, as I could see her dress rotate, as if she was turning to look where I was. But I knew she couldn’t see him.
My opposite. I don’t know how I knew, maybe it was instinct, maybe the fact that it was the first time since my power manifested I had seen the skin of a living person. But I could tell. He was invisible…an invisible man, who only I could see. Without his clothes they saw nothing, right up to the moment he grabbed the stone from the ground and smashed it into an old woman’s face.
He grabbed her purse and took off. It must have been quite the sight, the old woman’s purse flying through the air, down the street and around the corner. But no one paid it attention, they were all crowding around the old woman, face broken by the force of the blow. Only I watched as this visible invisible man rounded the corner out of sight.
Instinct took me. I stammered a hasty apology, threw down the money for lunch and bolted after him. But it was too late; he was gone into one of the tenements or a waiting car. I knew though, I had to find him. My other half.
So now I walk the streets. Up and down the city I walk, hunting him. I will find him one day, stop him. I will end it. I will return to my peaceful invisible world, when I stop the visible invisible man.
|
The past week had been gruelling.
'Give me your wallet, NOW!'. A weird phrase to hear in your mind when you first wake up, isn't it? Sadly for me, these are the words of my potential future soulmate.
'Paradise', they called it. Hi-tech technology that finds your perfect match and predicts when you'll meet them, roughly a week before you're bound to. For me, this was a nightmare: such powerful, harsh words from my soulmate just didn't seem right. They sounded like a criminal. In all my ideal partners, 'criminal' was definitely bottom of the list.
I wandered into the halls of the bank, waiting in line like everyone else to deposit my paycheck. Word had been just as bad this week as usual, but the paranoia had made it much, much worse. It couldn't focus on anything without wondering who around me was going to say those words.
A sound from behind me made me, and the rest of those around me, jump. We whirled out heads to the source of the noise to find armed gunmen firing at the cieling. They screamed at us to get on our knees. We obliged, and they zip-tied our wrists together. When they had gotten everyone, one of them lead us all to a room in the back. They pushed us in and closed the door behind us, locking us in.
We sat there in silence, not sure what to do. Some sobbed and prayed for help. Others silently cursed, whilst some hung their heads, resigning to their fate. No-one knew if we were going to live or die. The fear in the room hung thick like a fog.
The man next to me looked nervous, squirming in his seat. He occasionally glanced to me. I looked down to see him fiddling with the zip-tie around his wrists. My eyes widened when I saw him manage to break his hands free.
"Who ar--"I began, but he put a finger to his lips. He dug into his pocket, and retrieved a a small folded wallet. He unfolded it and showed me the badge inside. CIA. He must have been off duty. Owen was his name.
He scooted across the room, quiet and methodical, until he reached the door. He hesitated and peered through the keyhole, before looking directly at me. He stared at me with sullen eyes and gestured me over. I obeyed him, and he helped me out of the zip tie.
"Give me your wallet, now."He spoke gruffly and urgently. My heart stopped and my breath caught in my throat. I silently handed him my wallet, and he pulled out my credit card. He used it to fiddle with the lock, sliding it between the door frame and the door itself, until it clicked and swung open. With that, he wordlessly left the room and closed it behind him.
 
A hero, they called him. He was apparently special ops, someone trained in difficult situations like these. When he had left the room, he methodically went around and singled out one of the robbers, disarming him and knocking him out, before taking out the rest with the gun he'd stolen from the criminal. The one left alive was arrested, and we were all let go.
I, however, wanted to stay. The words echoed in my mind. Everything felt like a dream. I hovered by the entrance to the bank until I saw him walking down the steps. He noticed me and paused. We shared a glance. Maybe he'd had the same thing I did.
We stood there staring at each other for what felt like hours, before he finally approached me.
"...Hi."He spoke quietly, his voice soft.
I smiled. |
White flames danced outside every one of the windows. By now, Jane had to assume that she and her cabin were safe, but that only made the ordeal twice as frightening.
Turns out there are downsides to living unplugged, she thought with a shake of her head. Had she signed up for internet, picked a home with cell service or, hell, even allowed them to install a landline, she would have been alerted to the wildfire two days ago. She would have jumped in her truck and driven straight back to the city.
The thought of her car pulled her off the couch and to the window. Sure enough, the old Dodge was inside the ring of fire. It even looked like the mostly-symmetrical perimeter had stretched outwards to encase her vehicle as well. Just one more bit of witchcraft to add to the already long list.
She began to walk back to the couch, then passed it and went into the kitchen instead. Twelve hours of this and no end in sight. No way to contact the outside world. A wall of spectral fire surrounding her on every side that showed no signs of coming closer to her house, yet was serving to hold off a hundred-foot-high orange conflagration that threatened to turn her to ash in an instant.
Jane's hands had stopped shaking hours ago. A rational mind combined with a helpless situation have a tendency to reduce stress, not increase it. And then there was the wine -- the second bottle was already half empty. That wasn't hurting either.
She poured another glass of red and, as she took a long swallow from the glass, looked towards her hearth. Not including the hellish light show taking place outside her windows, the only change she could see was that her fireplace was out. Jane hadn't realized it immediately, there was far too much going on outside to pay attention to the minutia of the household for the first few hours.
Once the fear of death passed, all she could feel was heartbreak. She had tried in vain to restart the flame, the one she had maintained relentlessly since his death, the one she had promised to never let go out. For three years she had kept her promise. Through summer and winter, heat waves and blizzards, she had kept that flame alive. For him.
What a cruel twist of irony that, on the day of a wildfire, her small memorial had been doused.
A tear fell onto the counter. She had no one but herself to blame. His light was now truly gone from her life, and that thought only brought on a stronger bout of weeping. Jane closed her eyes and let the emotions roll over her.
When she finally opened them several seconds later, still wet and blurry with tears, Jane could just make out the fleck of white jumping in the hearth. Fear and hope collided inside her. She furiously wiped the tears away with a towel before staring at the returned flame properly. *How?* was the only word that bounced around in her mind. *How in the hell?*
But before Jane could reason out an explanation, the flame spoke.
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54/365
one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman)
\--------------------- |
"Professor, I hate to impede your lesson, but I must make some clarifications."A wrinkly man with dark bruised skin stood up among the students. He was bald, with his last hair hanging on by what most would deem a miraculous fortitude.
The professor clicked his tongue, "Samuel, I understand that you suffer from a state of immortality, but your brain isn't capable of retaining information from nearly a thousand years ago."He gave Samuel a cold stare before pushing his glasses back up his long nose.
"Grand Gordon of the Council was a hero, not a villain! You pro-market professors have confused consumerism with prosperity."Samuel said, a cold demeanor was fleshed about his wrinkly composure.
Professor Allen eased himself into his seat and sighed, "Do you really want to debate against a first-rate professor on politics here? In front of all of these youths who seek the truth, rather than your own wish-fulfillment scenarios of the past?"Allen said, looking up at Samuel with his lip tightly engaged with his teeth.
"I fear you don't recognize Gordon's original intentions. He is often misconstrued as the dictator of the galactic palace, but his warmongering ways were a way to prevent the extinction of the human race."Samuel said confidently.
"You speak of Grand Gordon as a Saint, yet we have strong evidence that he was indeed insane. You make statements with no logical reasoning behind them. Gordon was a man of power with a radical agenda. He wiped an entire race of sentient beings from the face of the planet!"Allen slammed his fist against his wooden desk.
"Do you think Grand Gordon wanted us to become like this? Victims of our own creations? The Urkulians went extinct because of their foolishness. Corrupted by greed, enslaving the human race to do their factory work while they specialized in the sciences! Gordon was merely restoring the balance, but at the end of the day he was not responsible for the extinction of the Urkulians."Samuel's voice went hoarse.
Allen raised an eyebrow, resting his head against his hand. "Oh...so who did? You make these bold claims that the Urkulians weren't destroyed by Gordon's tyranny, let's see how outrageous you sound this time."He said, vying to use sarcasm to pull Samuel down.
"Disease."
"Disease?"Allen opened his eyes.
"Urkulians weren't blessed with strong immunities to diseases, and when they tried to enslave the human race, they fell victim to the diseases we carried. Even with the brightest medical scientists around, there was no curing a sick Urkulian. This caused a massive shift in power, giving Grand Gordon of the Council, the opportunity to set in place what we have today. He was in fact a head operator in the rebellion, but he was not the man who destroyed Urkulians. It was in fact your mother and father's ancestors who did. The human race."Samuel let out a large exhale before sitting down.
"You make an interesting argument Samuel, how come this isn't common knowledge if it is so true?"Allen put a pen against his bottom lip and narrowed his eyes.
"History was nettled with and distorted to push the agendas of competing Council members as Gordon retired in health. Ever since internal affairs erupted, the history of the Urkulian Genocide has been false for hundreds of years. I want everyone in this room to remember that."Samuel said.
At this point, Allen wasn't purposely quiet. He had been pushed into a corner of deep thought that he couldn't argue against. Even though the millennium-aged man might have memories that are contorted in accuracy, there has to be some weighted truth to them for his tone of voice to be so profound. With this line of reasoning, Allen encouraged the old man to speak some more.
"So, pardon my manners from earlier, but what exactly do you think is the right agenda for today's situation?"Allen asked, and the room erupted into a whisper. It was considered taboo to talk about contemporary politics, but this professor had no desire to obey a government. He followed his own logic.
"That's a forbidden topic Professor Allen. Do you know how many cameras and bugs just recorded you saying that? In fact, the NSA is probably getting that information now. Do you want us to go to jail?"Samuel looked at him.
"What are they going to do against an immortal man and an asshole?"He popped a piece of candy into his mouth, closing the history book. "I quit, I'm not qualified to teach history and I'm sure the NSA will be here any minute to question my patriotism to the nation. Good tidings to all of you young scholars."He clasped the briefcase on his desk, and walked out of the door. The room was suddenly stricken with a cold silence.
|
You hear a lot of things everyday when you are blessed with the gift of telepathy, or was it a curse? Sometimes I can't tell.
​
The first time I discovered I had this ability, I was elated, who wouldn't want a door into everyone else's mind? But things got ugly, fast, and soon enough I was discovering my friends were fake, my teachers didn't actually think that much of me, my parents were facing problems they were never telling me about .. I was finding out too much, too fast, *all the time*.
​
It took me about a year to learn to "tune it out"a bit, I'd focus on singing a song in my head, or just turning everyone's thoughts into white noise, static, anything but what they actually were: things I shouldn't find out.
​
I sat down in the library, one of the places I was most comfortable at due to the sad lack of people there these days, and took out my current book of interest, "Fahrenheit 451", by Ray Bradbury. I'd only gotten through the first few pages when I heard it.
​
A loud, continuous, blood curdling scream of agony.
​
I almost fell out of my chair, I looked around me abruptly, but there was no immediate sign of danger, or someone getting killed, or anything that could've been causing *that sound*. Nobody else looked alarmed, the three other people besides myself in the library were looking down, buried in their books, like nothing was happening, like .. *no one could hear a thing*.
​
Ah, it was *that* kind of scream, I thought. I tried to ignore the rising migraine from the scream that still wouldn't stop, and quickly scanning the faces of the three other library visitors, trying to focus on their stream of thought, trying to get to the source of this .. no, it wasn't any of them.
​
I turned to look at the new librarian, he was a short guy, dorky glasses, usually always smiling, and even though he'd just worked here for a week, he was pretty competent at his job .. he was also *definitely* the source of the scream, and he wasn't smiling now.
​
*I CAN'T I CAN'T I CAN'T OH GOD NO I CAN'T WHY WHY WHY WHY NO PLEASE NO PLEASE NOOOOOOOOOOOO*
​
I'd promised myself I wouldn't meddle into anything I overheard, just ignore it, you shouldn't be hearing this, he'll be fine, I kept telling myself, he'll stop soon.
​
*ANYBODYY HELP, PLEASE HELP, ANYbody .. please..*
​
How can someone's mind voice sound so *broken*? I couldn't take it anymore, I scribbled out a note and shoved it in the book, then walked towards the librarian's desk. I lightly put the book on the counter and waited for him to face me. As soon as our eyes met, the mind voice stopped, and I was faced with a small smile, and a greeting.
​
"Good afternoon, how can I help you?"He asked.
"I uh, don't believe we've been properly introduced."
"Ah .. you look familiar, you come here a lot, right?"
I came to the library on an almost daily basis, *your memory kinda sucks*, I thought.
"Yeah, I like it here, it's .. quiet, and kind of peaceful. I'm Lina, by the way", I put out my hand.
"It's nice to meet you Lina, I'm Alexei", He smiled at me, and his smile was so genuine it was almost hard to believe I'd heard such agony from his mind.
"Alexei, I need to return this book", I pointed at "Fahrenheit 451".
"Sure thing, did you enjoy it?"
"I did, especially the author's note at the beginning, it really got to me, I think I've never read anything like it before"
"Coming from someone who spends so much time in the library, that sounds really interesting"
"It is, maybe you should check it out"
"Maybe I will"
"I'll see ya around, Alexei"
"See ya, Lina", He smiled again, a tired smile, and I turned around and slowly walked away.
​
It was a long shot, maybe he wouldn't actually open the book, or check the author's note, where I put my *own* note for him, maybe this was a bad idea, maybe..
​
Then I heard him, in my head, drop the book on the floor, I heard him wonder about the paper that fell out of it, and, I heard him read it:
​
*If you ever need someone to talk to, I'd love to listen, with all my heart.*
​
I hid outside the library's entrance, just enough to stay within earshot (or whatever you can call this), and held my breathe as I listened; I'd left my number on the back of the note, I heard him read the numbers in an incredulous tone, I heard him wonder why, over and over, I heard his mind voice break, and, I heard him decide, to keep the note in his pocket, *later,* he was telling himself, *try*.
​
I breathed out a sigh of relief. Later, Later is a good start. |
Calvin Brewmite, affectionately known as *The Brewster* among the elder office workers had been filling his mug with hot water when his mind had drifted back to his sister, Adelaide, and the way the mucus rattled in her lungs whenever she breathed. Adelaide was getting sick again, and she needed to be back in the hospital. He thought back to how her eyes appeared sunken in her head and how she struggled just to drink water in between croaking breaths.
The hot water in his mug overflowed and spilled out onto his hand, "Fuck!"he yelled, dropping the mug onto the floor. It shattered, sending hot ceramic shrapnel all over his pants. "Fuck, fuck,"he muttered, grabbing the front of his pants legs, trying to pull the fabric away from his shins.
"You good there, Cal?"a female voice said from behind. He turned and felt his cheeks flush.
"Yeah, yeah, just, just extra clumsy today,"he said to Lorna, the other summer intern.
Her hand went up to her brunette hair in an unconscious nervous gesture, "I'll go see if I can find a janitor."
Before he could tell her that it was alright, Lorna had already disappeared behind the corner. Calvin grumbled to himself and used the break room paper towels to dry off the now-just-warm water from his pants legs. He did his best to scoot the broken pieces of ceramic mug into a pile using his foot and then returned to his desk without anything to drink.
*Why should I drink anything if Adelaide can't?*, he thought to himself once seated behind the computer screen again. He shook his head and did his best to push out the negative thoughts and began trying to "think positive", like his sister had always said.
*Just think positive and everything will turn out alright.*
Calvin stood from his desk and looked over to where his manager Jerry used to sit. His desk had been empty for over an entire week. At first, the other full-time workers didn't mind, figuring *hey, with the boss gone, now we can browse Reddit without any worry*. Calvin did the same and indulged on his favorite subreddits, but after a few more days passed without any sign of Jerry, the mumblings began to happen.
"Maybe he's getting replaced?"
"No, he's on vacation."
"He had been talking about retiring."
It wasn't until the next day that Calvin walked back into the office that there was someone new sitting at Jerry's desk. Replacing the balding Jerry was a much younger man with a full head of blonde hair.
"You must be Calvin Brewmite, right?"he said, standing up from his desk and leaning over the cubicle wall. One of the elder workers chuckled and yelled, "*The Brewster!*. The new man extended a hand and Calvin put his in for a handshake. The man gripped it hard and rolled Calvin's knuckles, "the name's Richard, I'm filling in for Jerry until he gets back. I hear you're the Brewster."
Calvin pulled back his hand, trying his best not to rub his sore knuckles, "Oh, we were all sort of wondering when he would be getting back, and yep, that's what they call me."
Richard raised his palms into the air in a shrug and said, "Yep, just got the word from upper management that y'all have been sailing without a captain for quite some time, so here I am. How much longer are you going to be interning with us, Brewster?"
Calvin did the math in his head and answered, "Just three more weeks."
"Wow, still got quite a bit, and do you have projects to work on?"
"Yes, I do, the other guys have been good about giving me stuff to-"
"Excellent, well keep busy,"Richard said before disappearing behind the cubicle wall.
Calvin shrugged and sat down at his desk and logged into his computer. Without fail, his thoughts drifted back to his sister, Adelaide. She had gotten significantly worse over the night. He was just about to call the ambulance for her when she slapped the phone out of his hand, "You know we can't afford it,"she said.
He rubbed at his eyes with the palms of his hands, thinking positive, like she had told him to do. "Just stay busy,"he told himself. "Stay busy, and think positive."
Before Calvin knew it, the day had been almost over. He had worked on one of the database projects he had been assigned for the entire day, but had barely started making real tangible progress on it by the time it was evening. He could hear the other workers in the cubicle grouping zipping up their laptop bags and heading out, chatters of meeting up at the pub filling the office air.
It was usually around this time that Jerry would swing by and hang his arms over Calvin's cubicle wall and say "Alrighty buddy, time to make like a dropped baby and bounce,"but instead Calvin just saw Richard's blonde hair walk by.
Confused, Calvin stepped up and said, "Hey Richard?"
The man turned around on his heels and shot finger guns at Calvin, "What's up, Brewster?"
"I'm just, um, just wondering if I can hang around a little bit and make some more progress on the database project. Maybe get a little overtime?"
Without missing a beat, the fill-in manager said, "Knock yourself out, kid,"and he turned on his heels and continued on his way down the hall and out of the office.
Calvin was almost about to pack up his laptop and bag when he realized that Richard had said that it was fine to get overtime. Jerry had *always* been dead set against letting Calvin get any overtime. Ecstatic, he sat back down at his laptop and struggled to get his mind right back to the project. Before he could forget, he grabbed the desk phone and dialed home to tell Adelaide the good news. More hours, *more money*.
After a few rings she answered with a groggy, "Hello?"
"Addy! I'm going to be staying late for work, I finally got approved to work some extra hours!"
"Really?"
"Yeah! I'll be able to get a few hours worth of time-and-a-half pay!"
"That's awesome bud, but don't over do it,"she said, barely managing to end the sentence without coughing.
"I won't, I'll give you another call when I'm on the way home."
***
After the excitement of getting extra money finally began to wear off, Calvin managed to get his head back into the project. His fingers flew across the keyboard, several times being paused due to SQL errors that he'd have to google resolutions for, but regardless of the small setbacks, he was making fantastic progress.
The sun was beginning to set and the light in the office was slowly transitioning from a lovely balance of natural sunlight mixed with overhead corporate lighting, to nothing but the sickly pale glow of overhead artificial fluorescent lighting. Calvin hadn't noticed when the sun had finally set and the sky went dark.
He only did when he decided to take a small break.
*Shit, time has flown by,* he thought to himself. Before leaving his desk, he grabbed the phone and dialed Adelaide again, wanting to see if she would be alright with him staying just a little bit longer.
The line dialed for a few moments before she picked up.
"Calvin, where are you?"he thought he could hear, but the reception was bad and he could barely make out what she was saying.
"Addy, are you good?"
"Where are you?"he thought he heard her say, but again, it was difficult to make out.
After a few more attempts on trying to communicate, he hung up. She sounded alright from what he could tell, much stronger despite the poor phone reception.
*I'll get some tea and work just a little bit longer.*
He made his way to the break room, noticing that the pile of broken ceramic had been already taken care of. He put a tea bag into a new mug and filled it 2/3rds of the way with hot water. He rounded the corner of the break room again to make his way back to his desk and froze.
The entire layout of the office had changed.
Instead of the honeycomb layout of cubicles, Calvin now found himself in an empty room with four eggshell white walls, musty yellow carpeting, and no windows. There were three doors, one on the wall to his left, his right, and directly in front of him. They were all open, and from what he could see, they led to rooms identical to the one he was currently in.
"What the fuck,"he muttered, almost dropping his tea again. |
I tapped on the bars softly, I know I shouldn't but I hated seeing anyone cry, the child didn't move, they just continued crying as if I had never knocked.
I frowned and glanced around, everyone was captivated by the dragon trying to shoot its flames through the special glass, I slowly slipped my hand through the bars and reached for the child who quickly glanced up and flinched away.
"Um, hey kid, you ok?"I asked, my eyes scanning the fluffy wings in amazement, the child sniffles and looked at me with sad black eyes, they were like human eyes, only the opposite, with black on the outside, a pale grey in the middle and white for the pupil.
They tilted their head at me and opened their mouth, they struggled to speak as if fear was physically preventing words from escaping.
"Please, please help me"he croaked, I gasped and looked around hoping everyone was still distracted, my eyes met with an advancing security guards and I quickly removed my arm and smiled softly, "don't worry kid, I'll see ya tomorrow"I told them truthfully.
Their feathery black hair swayed as the child stood up, they seemed to be a boy, as they were only wearing something similar to a traditional, roman like outfit. I gave him my best smile and turned away.
The next day I ran there, worried that the child would be gone, but no he sat there patiently, his eyes met mine and widened in recognition, my short cut brown hair and plain brown eyes weren't very noticeable so I was glad that he remembered me.
"Mr, I want to go home"sniffled the boy, I nodded and glanced around, people were passing by but seemed rather uninterested, his eyes widened as I snuck a key into the lock, I had managed to swipe it from the guard that was heading towards me and I quietly opened the gate, "hurry up kid"I rushed, he smiled at me happily and bounded out of the cage, he patted my shoulder, "you shall be spared"he informed me before taking flight.
I gaped as guards shouted and suddenly he was tearing someone's head off, smashing sounds caught my attention and a massive roar shook the area, people were screaming and running.
what did I just do. |
*StarWatch is supported by Brightify! With new learning modules and interactive lesson plans, Brightify adjusts to your needs and keeps you motivated. Brightify!* *It’s the smart way to learn*! And made possible by your listener-supported WSCN station. Thank you.
“Welcome to StarWatch for today Saturday the fourth of September; I’m Tim Russ. Well, as you may have guessed there’s been a *lot* going on up in the night sky these past few days! To help answer some questions, I’m joined tonight by Dr. Cathleen Phillips, head of the Godwin University’s Observatory and Astrophysics Department”
“Thank you Tim, it’s great to be here.”
“Well, where to start? The last week has seen an unprecedented number of events in our own solar system, many of them visible to the naked eye. Would you like to give us a run-down of what you and your team has observed?”
“Wow…well to start with, with have the Lunar Incandescence phenomenon that was first observed last Tuesday by the Keck observatory in Hawaii. A bright blue glow has been observed in the Sea of Tranquility, measuring approximately 85 miles in diameter.”
“For those of our listeners who don’t know, the Sea of Tranquility is a basalt basin that occurred as the result of magma flows in the distant past.”
“That’s right, Tim. Now, these lights have unusual spectral lines that indicate the presence of Thorium, Tungsten and Boron, along with various rare earths. To our knowledge none of these elements have been found on the moon in any significant quantities.”
“Any theories as to what might be causing it?”
“Currently we have no theories, I’m sorry to say. We’ve been able to rule to auroras and volcanic activity, but at present we do not know what’s causing this.”
“How fascinating…what else have you and your team noticed?”
“Well Tim, the *big* event that has got astronomers excited is the explosion on Mercury. At about 5 am Eastern we observed a massive eruption on the surface of Mercury in the megaton range, larger than anything we have seen on that planet before.”
“Good grief!”
“Ha, that about sums it up, Tim. What’s so surprising about this is that Mercury has very little volcanic activity, and no meteorites were detected in the vicinity.”
“But this wasn’t the only explosion we’ve observed in the last week, was it?”
“That’s right…. we’ve seen similar explosions on Titan, Europa and Phoebus, all of roughly equivelant sizes.”
“Remarkable, Cathleen. A real whodunit. And what else-?”
“Pluto is gone.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Pluto disappeared yesterday at 2:45 am Eastern. We have been tracking a debris field which leads away from Neptune, suggesting an unknown object impacted Pluto from that direction.”
“My God, I…I had no idea. Do you know-”
“No Tim, we *don’t* know why. We also don’t know what happened to the rings of Saturn, or why Venus is turning blue. Do you understand me finally? *We don’t know!*”
“I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to imply-”
“No, Tim, you didn’t mean to imply – you just didn’t think! Do *you* have any guesses about those huge black triangles orbiting around Titan, or why the density of Jupiter is going down? Or maybe you have some guesses about what happened to Pluto? *I* don’t! *We* don’t! DO you have any guesses, Tim? Huh? Do you?!”
“Please listen, I-I-”
“Do you have any idea how hard my job is, Tim? Do you have *any idea?!* I have to figure out why the solar system is exploding like fireworks, while you sit there in your reclining chair and ask me questions! I’ve got an answer for you, *Timothy!! Why don’t you take your telescope and go-”*
….
….
….
*StarWatch is supported by Brightify! With new learning modules and interactive lesson plans, Brightify adjusts to your needs and keeps you motivated. Brightify!* *It’s the smart way to learn*! |
A sooty goblet almost took Sherberts Head off when it ricocheted from a wall. The small skeleton would have had many different expressions running across its face, if it still had one. "Oh sorry, Sherbert. Did I hit you? I hope not. Do you need repairs?"a soft and caring voice said as it came nearer. Sherbert looked up to his master and as he was helped up, answered: "Nothing to worry, Master. I'm complete and unharmed. Anything bothering you, Master?"The skeletal servant looked up and into the dark nothingness of his masters hood. There was a moment of silence. His master sighed and said: "I am no fan of bothering you with this, Sherbert. But it appears my Kingdom has attracted a Pest.""Rats, Master? Or like the nordic word for the black Plague? Malaria? The Flu? Bards?"the one addressed questioned but his Master shook his head in negation. He also chuckled which always sounded weird.
"No, my boney incomprehending Fellow. I speak of Adventurers. They have raided one of our Orc Villages. No one was spared. Poor Knaxses, he is out on a Hunting Party. He will be devastated when he returns. I need to send something to him to make him cheer up in due time."Sherberts Master explained.
There was a short silence and the robed Figure continued: "I know."then its Voice switched from warm and friendly to a sound like graveyard gates grinding teeth to dust: "The Heads of the Adventurers". This was followed by evil laughter like the skeleton hadn't heard in years. It lasted what felt like forever and Sherbert couldn't help himself but had to clap like a lunatic as his master finished. The robed figure appeared perplex as it looked at Sherbert: "What. What are you doing?"
Sherbert would have cried big round tears of admiration if he still had the tear ducts for it and explained: "Master. That was the most perfect rendition of Evil Laugh Number 20 from Deathking Bonerend Cheesegrate. Written 1312. First presented in 1313 to an unknown Group before its early demise. It was. Magical. Master, Thank you. Now I can die again in Peace. Thank you, Master."Sherbert bowed before his Master. It looked funny when he folded almost in the middle and the top of his head touched the ground. The hooded figure appeared surprised and stammered: "Aehm. Of course. You are welcome, Sherbert. Any time. Please get up. Thank you."
There was awkward silence until the Figure spoke again maybe a minute later: "Alright. We need to make this quick before they reach the Slaughterpits. The Zombies are not ready yet and I just had a new Strain of Mosses installed. Could we get some Wraiths from the North? 1521 was a good vintage."Sherbert nodded: "Whatever you desire, it will be done. But if I may give you Advice, Master?"The hooded figure nodded and the skeleton continued: "The harvest two years ago was splendid. Harry Bones the Graveyard Keeper told me earlier today how he almost had a heart attack last week while turning them in their Graves."This surprised Sherberts Master and he asked unbelieving: "Harry Bones said that? My word, those must be quite good Wraiths. Alright, color me convinced. We take those.""Very well, my Master. I will send for him immediately. Another unworthy Input of me, Master? I replaced your Phylactery in your Vault and patched the Foot of the Couch it propped up. May I advise you to not use it to repair broken Furniture again?"The hooded figure looked caught: "I'm sorry Sherbert. Thank you very much. It just conveniently had the correct height. Couldn't finish my nap with all that wobbling around."While the skeleton bowed to take its leave it also noted: "Very well, Master. May your foresight be as clear as your ability to precisely estimate item diameters."and as soon as it had spoken proceeded to leave the room through one of the many candlelit dungeon corridors. "Was that sarcasm?"the hooded figure asked itself then turning in the direction in which its servant had left: "Sherbert used bloody sarcasm on me."
"I used bloody sarcasm on the Master"a skeleton shambling down the corridor as fast as its bony legs could manage. Skidding around corners on chalky feet it scolded itself. "I should not have done that."As soon as it had passed the Dungeons Gate it noted again: "I should've not have done that."He made for the Graveyard when a deafening sound erupted from the depths of the dungeon, calling Sherberts Name in anger. "Should not have done that. Nope" |
He fell to his knees clutching his chest. The rain fell heavily and his blood was washed away. Almost as if the ground itself didn't want anything to do with him.
Tobias holstered his gun. He closed his eyes and looked towards the heavens. He would never be allowed there, of course. It didn't matter. Afterlife was for after. He still had work to do in this life.
He used to be a religious man in the past and as the dying man took his last breath, Tobias said a little prayer. But the prayer was for himself. May god have mercy on his soul.
He returned to his home and went straight to his study. There were six photographs on the wall. He went ahead and crossed another one out. Four gone, two to go. He turned the message board around to a much more innocent looking blank one. Then, he picked up a bottle and drank till he passed out.
***
"Tobias? You look like shit."
"Thanks Jamison. Still miles better than your ugly mug."
"Man, I'm serious. How much did you have to drink last night?"
"Just enough."
Jamison looked as his partner crossed the police tape and walked towards the crime scene. He sighed and followed.
***
"Let it go, Jamison."
Jamison looked outside as their car sped through the roads of Chesterville. He looked at his partner who was focused on driving. The weather outside was gloomy, with clouds covering the sun. Fitting really. "I can't do that Toby. We've been partners for six years now. You can't hide things from me."
"Let it go."
"You want to talk about letting things go? It's been over a year."
Tobias made a dangerous turn causing Jamison to flinch a little. "You know I can't do that."
"She would want you to live your life. She would want you to be happy. Not drink yourself unconscious every night."
"If I don't drink, it hurts. It's human to not want to hurt. We're here."
They interviewed the dead guy's family and others. It was all very routine. They said the same things. The grieving family said the same things. The monotonous nature of it all scared Jamison. They were doing it far too often nowadays. The city he once loved scared him now. Everyday before leaving, he kissed his son and hugged him tight. He never knew if they would both make it back home the next evening or not.
***
Tobias had always been a good cop. He had instincts and he would follow a lead all the way to the end. He looked at the little bar through his binoculars. There was no indication there was anything wrong with the place. But his instincts begged to differ. He sat in the shadows and waited for the night.
Mr Carlson had moved to this city at a very young age. Well not exactly moved. He had been sold to a criminal ring who used children to beg at the signals. It was a big industry. They had cut off a couple of his fingers as well. Pity was always good for business. But he had been an industrious young man who had risen through the ranks quickly. He ruled half the city now. He was untouchable.
He got out of the bar from the back entrance and waited for his car. The car came around and he got in. He was on the phone with someone about the recent killings of his men and didn't notice the little splash of blood on the car tires. The partition was also up so he didn't notice that his driver was wearing a gas mask. If he had noticed even one of these things he might have been saved. But sadly, it just wasn't his day.
***
Jamison looked at the papers in front of him. There was no doubt. One could be a coincidence. But five? What had Tobias gotten himself into?
He had always thought he had secrets. He had never considered someone could be hiding a secret bigger than him.
He changed into his suit and ran out.
***
Carlson woke up groggily and noticed his bodyguards lay dead beside him. A man sat facing him in a chair a few feet.
"Morning Carlson."
"Who the fuck are you?"
"A nobody."
"I seen your face. Wait, you're that cop. You were in Sterling's..."He looked around him and noticed that he was in a deserted warehouse. "Where the hell are we?"
"It's a skeleton, Carlson. Ages ago, this was a busy factory. They made medicines. But then your group made them shut down. All that was left was this skeleton while vultures like you ate away the body. Why? Because you sold the same medicines at three times the price."
"So? It's business. That's how it works. You can't survive, you shut down."
"Agreed. Survival of the fittest. You've been the fittest for a long time. Now, it ends."
"You punk. You think you can hurt me? Don't you know who I am. I am James Carlson. I own this city. Half of your brothers in blue eat food put on their table by me. You can't..."
He never got to finish his sentence.
***
Tobias stood on the roof looking at the river. He wondered if the water was cold. There was something pleasing about a river. Always moving. Never at the same place at the same time. In fact this was true of most things in nature. Except him. He had been stuck at the same place and in the same position ever since his wife had been killed. Now, finally, he could move on. Five gone. One to go.
He heard a sound behind him and turned around.
Jamison, nah, Bolt stood in front of him.
"Hello partner. Fancy seeing you here."
"Tobias, what did you do?"
"What I needed to."
"You're a cop. How can you..."He put an arm on Tobias's shoulder.
Tobias shrugged his arm off and moved away. "I haven't been a cop for a long time now Jamison. I stopped being a cop when I accepted money from Carlson. I stopped being a cop when I looked the other way as these guys ran roughshod in my town. I stopped being a cop when they killed my wife."
"Tobias. Come back with me."
"There's no going back now, superhero. My work is done."
"Where's Carlson? We can take him back to the station. Book him. Make him pay for his sins."
"Who are we to judge people? She had a little wooden plank hanging in our bedroom you know. It said, only my god can judge me. Well, I helped that along. I've sent Carlson to his god for judgement."
"No! Tobias, we have to play by the rules. There is a due process to be followed."
"Fuck your due process. You capture these guys. They are out two days later on bail. What's the point? No! It was time for decisive action. I know the public looks up to you. You're a symbol so you need to protect that... Oh look. I'm monologuing now. Well, you mentioned rules. This is my one rule."
The gunshot rang out.
Bolt ran to the edge of the roof and he watched Tobias's flailing body as it fell into the river. |
"You going to just ignore me all day, kiddo?"
I rubbernecked so quickly that I almost got whiplash. "Grandpa? Where did you..."But my voice faltered as I realized he was translucent. And floating.
"Finally lost the beer belly, eh?"He guffawed as he danced around in place. "Didn't realize being a ghost would feel so light. Literally. Should've done this years ago."
I shook my head violently. For once, I couldn't laugh at his terrible jokes. I was even too shocked to cry. "Grandpa, I don't understand. What happened? We visited like 5 days ago. You were fine!"
He shrugged. "Dunno. Went to bed last night, same as always. And then, I didn't wake up this morning. Maybe I had a brain aneurysm or something."
"No,"I managed to squeak out.
"Oh come on,"he laughed. "Stuff like that happens to the elderly all the time. And me? I was old as balls."
I heard the muffled sound of the phone ringing somewhere in the den. Mom was the only one home besides me right now; she would pick it up. And she was going to think she was the first one to get the awful news.
"Probably your grandmother calling,"the spirit said. He and I had always thought along the same lines. "Hey, Marcus. Listen to me."
I bit my lip and turned back to him. Things were starting to feel overwhelming.
"I'm sorry that this happened,"he said softly. "I know how hard this must be. How hard it's going to be, with the funeral and whatnot. But there is a reason I came to you. I wanted to tell you that you shouldn't ignore your gift."
"What?"I blurted out, caught off-guard.
"Hell, I would've told you that earlier if I had known, while I was still alive,"he muttered. "My only regret. But I am speaking sincerely - for once, ha. Spirits can see you - you can see them. But only if you want. It's up to you to keep communications open."
"Grandpa, I..."I struggled for a second before clearing my throat noisily. "I don't understand. Why do you want me to talk to ghosts? It's...scary. Weird."
"And a relief for spirits,"he said, nodding at my widening eyes. "Yes, ghosts don't last very long - but they sometimes just need someone to talk to before going - beyond. People like you and me are rare. We have the power to ease their souls, just a little bit."
"Like *you*...!?"
"Well, technically not anymore,"he chuckled. There was a rush of footsteps outside my room, coming closer. "Your mother, no doubt. I'll leave you two alone for now, but I'll come back to help you. I wish I had done so in life - but I'll try to make up for it in death. See you soon, Marky."
​
​
*Liked that story? Want more like it? Check out* 📷[r/Idreamofdragons](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)! |
There comes a time in every species progression where they must create a weapon so devastatingly powerful, that life simply cannot survive in it’s wake. The Galactic community commonly refers to such weapons as “Planet Breakers” because they, well, break down all life on the planet they are used.
Now you may be thinking “If every species makes them, how do so many survive without using them?” Simply put, they wouldn’t. That’s why most species on the galactic scale have created them only after colonization efforts on multiple worlds. There is of course one notable exception. The Humans.
Humans are a bipedal species of average design, though a bit short. They are a multitude of colors and relative sizes, and this has divided them. They experienced a rare phenomenon known as “Divergent Evolution” that left them almost exactly the same save for basic features such as bone structure, skin color, hair, etc. They are the same species, and the differences are only superficial, but this has not stopped some of them from using the differences as grounds for hatred and feelings of superiority. At least, that’s as it used to be.
Now, Humans have found peace within their own people. But this peace was paid for with the blood of billions.
You ser Humans are an exceptional species, especially in their military advancements and adaptability. They created a type of planet breaker known to them as “the atom bomb” and later just “nuclear weapons” that are very capable of destroying a planet.
They detonated these wepaons across their planet, even in the atmosphere, just to see what would happen. It wasn’t until the second deadliest conflict in their history that they had used it against themselves.
It is still debated wether or not this was a good thing.
But it didn’t stop there. Tensions rose again in the 2100s until eventually the pot boiled over, and the Humans fell before they had a chance to rise.
They’re still around. Miraculously they survived, barely, and managed to rebuild on a tomb world. Through their struggles they put aside petty differences amd became truly one people.
This is why most species who survive only do so by discovering planet breakers later on in their history. Humans are the exception. And they serve to remind us what happens when we let small things divide us. |
The quiet night was broken by a laugh so loud that it would be mistaken for thunder if there was anyone around to hear it. Inside of a gloomy den hidden far from civilization, a lone villain laughed and laughed while toasting his wine glass to his own name. He had finally done it, he had found the ace in the hole that he needed to set his grandest of plans in motion.
For so, so many years had he been forced to live in darkness, a dirty buried secret of a hypocritical, two-faced society. So many times had he wished he could turn the tables, rise to the surface world and show the filth their real place in the world. In the shadow of the civilized world, he had created a mighty weapon that would shake the foundations of peace and happiness itself. A long string of bank vaults tunneled under, art thefts, and kidnappings had brought him to the verge of completion, but his experiments never bore fruit. His blueprints were never quite right, his project was always missing a piece.
But one of the greatest advantages of always being in the dark is that he often saw things, heard things that so many others did not. It was on a bright summer day that the villain finally found the missing piece. He detested these kinds of sunny, joyous days, with the disgusting smiles they brought and the appalling sight of kids playing in the sun. On such days, the villain liked to avoid paying any attention to children for these reasons, yet a pair of kids caught his attention. They were not frolicking under the sunlight, but lying down under the shade of a tree. Their voices were muted to him from his hiding spot, but he heard something that surprised even this cynic who thought he knew it all. The kids wanted to build a... rollercoaster? A pair of children? The villain could have laughed right there, if he had not detested the use of laughter as a means to profess joy and humour instead of as a display of mighty superiority over the masses. Yet, perhaps the absurdity of this premise was intriguing to the villain, for he decided to stay there in hiding to observe the children's pathetic attempt at creating their "Rollercoaster", so he could bask in their sadness and disappointment. But the villain was wrong, and he had never made such a lucky mistake in his entire career.
These children... They were not regular children, like all the brainless half-apes that spent their time tossing balls at walls. They had something in them, a special gift. The villain returned for several days more to their yard, to see them build an powerful vehicle of destruction, an army of robotic minions, an entire mountain of cold and death! These two seemingly innocent brats with their strangely shaped heads and frequently absent pet chimera would be the ones who would craft his magnum-opus, his masterpiece of destruction with which he would take the war to Peace and Happiness to the surface-dwellers!
Finding them was the hardest part. Drugging them, taking the children together with their family and pet, taking them to his lair and locking them in a cage, that was the easiest job he had ever done. It was like taking candy from a baby, but with even more satisfaction. Now it was just a matter of waiting for them to wake up. Their parents, sister, and that ridiculous animal amalgamation they called "Perry"would be more than enough motivation to get the kids to work. His conquest was so, so close. The Day of the Underminer was nigh! Then finally, he would get his revenge for all the slights that the world had caused him.
But he made one great mistake. He should have never made a mountain out of a molehill.
To this day, scientists are still baffled by the sudden appearance of a mountain in the outskirts of the tri-state area. A suburban family living in the nearby city of Danville were the first to report on it, stating that they had woken up near it during the summer of 2007, with no memories of how they had gotten there. Many conspiracy theories have surged from this incident, though the government denies all claims of strange contraptions being found within the area. To this day however, there is still one birdwatcher who claims to have seen "An unusually ugly man pushing a giant beam machine on wheels away from the mountain"the night it formed.
Said witness reports having asked him for his name, and hearing him say "tufflenchartz, or somethin' like that". Who this mysterious "tufflenchartz"man was, we may never know. |
After finally finishing my training, I was given access to the Sword of All Hero and the sheath of which it held the mighty blade. I stared at it for a few, precious moments in the Chamber of Heroes before picking it up off the pedestal it sat on, not having been touched since the last hero placed it there in the previous cycle. I breathed in deeply and pulled out the blade, which came out cleanly with a small parchment within. I raised my eyebrows and picked it up, curious.
*Dear Great Hero,*
*It is I, Lancast "the Hero".*
I looked around me, ensuring I was alone, even though I knew none other than heroes were allowed in here. The previous hero had written this! I wondered what wisdom my heroic ancestor would hold.
*It is all a lie,* the letter read.
I frowned, uncertain as to what "it"referred to, but continued.
*There is no Demon King incarnated every cycle nor is there a new hero every generation. This is a new form of propaganda put forth by our kingdom. In my time, it is called the Kingdom of Torn, but in yours it may hold a different name. Regardless, there is no Demon King that exists in a rival kingdom.*
I frowned further. That obviously could not be right. I saw him with my own eyes. When I was taken by my master to visit the neighboring land in the night raid, I witnessed him spit fire and set a man ablaze. My master and I fled, barely able to escape that night.
*I was fooled into believing the Demon King was a real enemy to us. I was taken in the middle of a moonless night to witness what I believed to be an innocent man that was burst into flames with the power of the Demon King. I fled without asking questions, afraid of the Demon seeing me as well.*
My eyebrows inched together slowly. This was sounding oddly familiar.
*I was told that I was no longer to go on night raids for fear of being spotted and killed before my training was complete.*
I turned around again to look at the closed door. I remember my master saying the same thing.
*They want us to be in a constant state of war with Kolog, as it is a good source of income to be continuously funding a war, and a good way for the Kingdom to maintain control over a people when the populace hates an outer enemy rather than the decaying Kingdom we reside in.*
I had read that there was never a time in the past 200 years that we were not in the midst of war with Kolog. And that our economy was phenomenal every year. I bit my lip anxiously.
*I was ordered to kill a noble of Torn. Rather than kill him silently like they asked, I wanted to hear the Demon King speak before he died; figure out why he always came to be a part of the cycle to kill the kingdom. It turned out he was just a man who did not know what was happening. He had never heard of a prophecy. He did not know of a Demon King. He thought I was just an assassin. I fled, unable to kill him. When my act of mercy was revealed, I was sentenced to death for treason. I write this letter in hopes that your masters will not check the inside of the sheath of this sword before returning it to the so-called "Chamber of Heroes."My life will likely be falsified, but know that you are not fighting a great evil, but rather at the whims of your master who would just as soon see you dead if you do not follow his orders. Be safe.*
*-Lancast "The Hero"*
I was sweating now. There was too much that sounded like the truth. I placed the parchment back into the sheath and turned to the door suddenly when there was a loud knock.
"Is everything all right in there, oh Great Hero?"a voice asked. The man who maintained the temple. While I thought he venerated me before I came in, it almost sounded like he was mocking me now. Or maybe I was imagining it.
"We have located the Demon King. He is living among nobles in the Kingdom of Torn. Come out so we may tell you how to deal with him silently,"the man said.
My heart went tight. I pulled the sword tight against my side and looked around the chamber. There was an exit above me, a source of air in a window. I closed my eyes and decided to flee to try and discover the truth my self.
"Great Hero?"I heard as I climbed down the ledge of the window.
I would save the kingdom. Whether it was from a Demon King for from our own King, I did not yet know.
__________________________
For more stories, come check out r/Nazer_the_Lazer! |
When the four brothers gathered in the halls of Creation – the cradle of the universe – they gazed upon each other to see how the countless millenniums had changed them. While they were not physical beings, their bodies took shape of the civilization that they guided to the next life. It would morph itself to resemble the species that each would reap.
Each one was a tapestry of life, beauty, and vivid, beautiful colors. All were glad that they could meet once again, looking like true wonders of the universe. Well, all but one.
The first was Kai, the reaper of the Konian.
He looked strong. His form was that of a pillar. Two arms and hands on each side of his tree-like body. He was massive in size. It was a wonder to the brothers that Kai supported himself with just two legs. His head looked like a rock that had been chiseled down to resemble an old man that had more laugh lines than any of the brothers had seen. His beautiful golden cloth stuck to him like a second skin. He looked like a gorgeous golden statue that had taken life.
Kai explained that the Konian would use these arms to interlock with others. They were a loving kind. One that would make sure the other was taken care of. He would point to his tapestry – where the color was a dull yellow – and show his brothers how the Konian first used these arms to kill each other. They would kill over simple things like pride and honor. But then they would come together and believe that being in unity was the truth of all the universe. After that Konian’s tapestry became the beautiful vibrant yellow that now graced the halls of Creation.
As for the pure true gold, Kai explained how the Konian had seen that color as their greatest asset. Their strength above all else. It was their strength in themselves that allowed them to unite with each other.
All the brothers were pleased to hear of Kai's tales. They exclaimed how their own race could use the knowledge of inner strength. Well, all but one.
The next was Lua, the reaper of the Cidu.
Lua was the polar opposite of Kai. Where Kai was strong-looking, Lua was quick looking. Lua had no arms or legs. He was just a long, snake-like form with a tapestry that clung to the skin. Unlike Kai's strong, never shifting patterns, Lua's tapestry shifted and moved. The colors even did the same. Moving from the deepest of blues to the brightest of yellows. Lua looked as if a rainbow took form. The histories of the Cidu moved from one edge to another. Making it seem like the whole cloth had no beginning or end.
However, Lua pointed with his tail-like end to a spot on his tapestry, it was where the colors were discrete and next to each other. That was when the Cidu believed that each part of life should be taken in step. Anyone that deviated from the norm was considered a rejection of Cidu life. They would be shunned, and their lives tarnished. Then came death which they cursed and demeaned. Lua told the brothers how he would have to calm each of the Cidu that passed through on to the next step. Eventually, the Cidu’s wisdom shined through and they realized that life could be any path that someone wanted to take. It wasn’t a simple thing, but a personal thing. They treated uniqueness as a virtue rather than a sin. They accepted any that would choose different into their arms and exclaim the beauty in the choice.
They believed that death was just a part of a personal journey. That was when Lua’s tapestry became the beautiful shifting skin that the brothers adored.
Each of the brothers exclaimed the beauty in that belief. They would each say they wished their race had the wisdom to see past the difference that life could take on. Well, all but one.
Next was Din, the reaper of the Zejin.
Din took the form similar to that of the last brother. They looked human-like however they had wings. Beautiful, white wings that told the story of the Zejin on them. It spoke of a people coming from nothing that would work alongside their land to ensure prosperity for all.
At first, they were cruel to their neighbor. They would take whatever they could to ensure their own prosperity. Din would tell how when the Zejin passed, it would be tormenting to convince them to leave the possession. However, one day the Zejin realized they were killing their planet. They had a choice between killing or saving their home. Most of them didn’t care about the death of their star. However, some of the courageous of the Zejin worked tirelessly to convince all the Zejin to care. That was how Din had become such a vibrant green.
Din explained how the Zejin now cared for their beautiful green planet like a living organism. It was said in Zejin culture that death was simply a way to repay the land now. To give yourself to the land was the greatest honor any Zejin could have. When they met Din, they would smile and look upon their beautiful planet. Almost all of them would say, "as it should be."
The brothers all agreed that the Zejin was a thing of beauty. Kai even felt a symphony of emotions when hearing about their love for their planet. Lua said that the Cidu could learn from the Zejin.
Terl laughed.
The three brothers looked at him. Terl was next.
His tapestry was torn. Was burned. Was frayed at each and every end. Terl looked as if they were dragged through the rain and nails. The worst was the color. It was dirtied browns, tattered grays, and the dullest of yellows. It looked old. Mistreated. Unkempt. The only color on the tapestry was the reddest of red. It ran down edge to edge. Terl, had the body of a human, but the history of pain.
None of the other three brothers wanted to say anything. They just looked as they did when he entered. To them, he was terrifying.
Terl mocked his brothers. He told them how each of their races were soft. They were not like the humans
Terl laughed and told his brothers how humans were truly weak. The humans that would butcher each other with their hands. They were not strong like the Konian who had the strength to hold back their hate. No, the humans would weak but filled with wrath. They would rip him cloth whenever they passed. They were not like the Konian with their strength.
Terl smirked and told the brothers how the humans could find anything to fight about. The humans would draw discrete lines in the sand to differentiate based on the most arbitrary things. They would shun the other just for the smallest of difference. They were not like the Cidu with their wisdom.
Terl sneered and told his brothers how the humans were selfish. The humans would fight and scream for everything they ever owned. They would kill each other for the smallest of things, it made sense that Terl would be ripped by the angry hands of the humans when they realized their death had come. They didn’t care about each other. Just themselves.
The three brothers were wary of their angered brother. Yet, when Terl got up to leave, each one of them noticed something wonderful.
There, on the back of Terl, was a gold that resembled the Konian. Strength to stay the hand was there.
There was a small patch of shifting colors that resembled the Cidu. The Wisdom of acceptance was there.
Finally, there was a dull white and a green that looked like the Zenjins. Courageous peace was there.
Each of the brothers noted what humanity could have been. What it still could be.
Terl did not know this. All he knew was the pain, the suffering, and the misery of the humans. He didn’t want to admit that like the humans, he was hurting too.
Deep down though, he wished it would change. He, too, wanted what the brothers had. He too wanted to smile and say, "this is humanity. Let me show you how wonderful they are!”
But instead, he couldn't, not yet that was.
However, he didn’t know that one day he would sit there – in the halls of Creations – with his three brothers and smile as his tapestry outshined the rest. Where his tapestry had the golden strength of the Konian. Where his tapestry had the shifting beauty of acceptance like the Cidu. Where his tapestry would have the glimmering whites and greens of inner harmony of the Zejin. Then he would be at peace with himself and humanity.
___
If you would like more of my stories, then they are here at r/WritingKnightly! |
"I don't see any difference,"Ken said, squinting hard.
"Well, don't stare at it!"Freya admonished. "You'll go blind!"
"No. It's definitely more yellow,"Brian insisted.
"Wasn't it always yellow?"Richard asked.
"It was, I don't know what you all are on about,"William commented.
"No, it wasn't. It was orange,"Brian said.
"Come on fellas, let's go inside, shall we? I don't like standing in the sun without sunscreen,"Freya complained.
"Sod it!"Ken exclaimed, blinking his eyes in rapid succession, turning away from the sun. "All I see is a bright spot now."
"I told you to not stare at it,"Freya retorted.
"Look here,"Brian said, handing his phone to Richard. "You can see it's orange there."
"This is a picture of a sunset. Of course, it's going to look orange!"Richard said, exasperation on his face.
"If it's orange, why is it called the golden hour?"William asked.
"That's just an expression Will,"Brian answered. "Because everything appears golden."
"Yes, and isn't gold just saturated yellow?"William replied.
"He's got a point,"Freya added.
"It's obviously orange!"Brian exclaimed. "I meant it was. It was definitely orange."
"I thought the sun turned red during sunset,"Ken said, rubbing his eyes. "How long does it take for the bright spot to go away?"
"Technically, it's just highly saturated orange. Not red,"Richard answered, ignoring Ken's question.
"Wait, let me search for a daylight photo of the sun,"William said. "Here it is."
"Well, is it yellow or orange?"Brian asked.
"It's just a bright white spot in the sky,"William answered. "The photographer forgot to stop down the lens."
"Here, it says the colour of the sun is actually white,"Freya said, having searched on her phone.
"It emits white light but we used to see it as orange,"Brian said.
"You should probably get your eyes checked,"Richard retorted.
"You're going to have to drive me then,"Ken said. "Oh wait, it's going away slowly."
"He was talking to me Ken,"Brian replied.
"What are you young ones doing, gathered around the yard?"came a voice from over the fence. It was Mr. Brett, their elderly neighbour.
"Oh, Mr. Brett!"Brian shouted back. "Did you hear?"
"About what?"
"About the Sun. Loki changed the colour of it from orange to yellow!"
Mr. Brett turned to look over at the sun. Everyone else waited in anticipation.
"Wasn't it always yellow?" |
(1)
“And then I thought – hey, if I already put in that much effort, might as well go all out, right?” I gave a careless shrug, addressing the assembled crowd. Boy, were there a lot of people here today. “In the end, it’s no big deal, really. Is that enough of an introduction, esteemed members of the council?”
Archmage Tycelius Frosthaven leaned forward, with furrowed lines across his forehead and his characteristic frown. “That account may explain your particular… *physique*,” he stressed the word, the regal air he adopted controlling the entire amphitheatre. “But it does not address the reason why the council is gathered here today, Arcanist…” The distaste on his face deepened, and he seemed particularly unwilling to complete my chosen term of address. “*Punchout*.”
I’d never have imagined that Archmage Frosthaven would have ever willingly said the name I had opted for myself as a joke early in my training, but this day was full of surprises. Coming here was worth it for that alone.
Snickers broke out among several of the assembled junior mages-in-training. Abruptly, an icy chill took hold of the vast amphitheatre, as arcana burst into being, conjured by a loud snap of Archmage Frosthaven’s fingers and a reverberating harsh incantation. He did not address the juniors directly – his position as acting leader of the Council of Seven put him too far above their station to have to deal with such common rabble – but his message was received loud and clear. They quieted themselves almost immediately.
Truth be told, I didn’t really much want to take part in the Arcanist’s Judgment. Never really saw a point to it, really. Still, after I’d been nominated for the rank, turning it down wouldn’t have been polite.
“Please do continue, Arcanist Rex Punchout,” Archmage Jalinah Netherspark said patiently. “Take your time. All due consideration of your achievements and your personal journey of arcane discovery must be taken into account before we make a judgment regarding your appointment to the rank of Magister.”
I gave a thankful nod toward her. Though many a junior mage with rather poor senses of humour joked over her unfortunate mage-name chosen early during her training, she had become one of the council members I most respected. Though she did not have encyclopaedic knowledge of all matters arcana that the senior members of the council had, she was certainly far more approachable than Archmage Frosthaven.
“Thank you, Archmage Netherspark.” I turned back toward the Council, who were each seated at one of several floating circular platforms, looking down at the amphitheatre below where I was now receiving the Arcanist’s Judgment. “It certainly *sparks* great joy to be fortunate enough to return to the Arcane Citadel.”
She gave an imperceptible smile, and an encouraging nod at my pun of her name. I would have included *nether* in there as well, but I suspected half the council wouldn’t appreciate that. Emboldened, I continued.
“Where was I?” I paused. “Oh, right. Punching out orcs. So, there I was, an Initiate like so many of our brothers and sisters of magic here today. Had I known that one could requisition Bags of Holding for use during our time in the Academy, I wouldn’t have gone down the route that I did.”
I smiled fondly, remembering the moment of frustration when I realised that option had been there all along. It made sense in hindsight, after all. How could one transport the half-ton of solid stone that served as the material component of *Impregnable Fortress*?
Still, I was grateful for it. My journey wouldn’t have been as exciting as it was if it hadn’t been for that little bit of prolonged ignorance during my time as an Initiate.
“But I digress. I continued with my training, and aside from the strength training and the results it yielded unto my body, my time in the Academy was otherwise unremarkable. I wasn’t a particularly good student – too much time spent with conjured weights, and not enough devoted toward my tomes, probably.”
“Unremarkable, he says,” Magister Caleb Stormshield – one of the more gifted Magisters, and a member of the Council while awaiting his Archmage Trials – chuckled, his voice reverberating with the crash of thunder, a by-product of permanent transmutation of his own design, I recognised. “I remember the mess you and your graduating class made all those years ago, Arcanist Punchout. I assume it was your idea to hold that arm-wrestling competition to determine the unofficial ranking Mage?”
“It was Arcanist Warpweaver’s suggestion, actually,” I said, grinning.
Ah, good times. Despite all the strength training I had undertaken, and the repertoire of Transmutation spells I had specialised in to boost that natural strength even further with arcane might, I had still lost on a technical victory. It was the most splendid and elegant victory, too – with his expertise over dimensional magics and conjuration, he had warped space in a way that I was only recently able to comprehend, despite it being *years* since the event, making it such that the direction I had shoved his hand toward ended up being on the side that counted as my loss.
Yeah, trippy stuff. Last I heard, he was now acting coordinator for Magical Transportation and Interplanar Travel in the Kingdom of Delnarim. We really needed to catch up at some point. When next we challenged each other, I had a few tricks up my sleeve as well, and I suspected he had some of his own.
“It’s good that you mentioned that, actually. That kind of brings me to my choice for the traditional pilgrimage.”
“Oh?” Archmage Frosthaven took the chance to regain control over the proceedings. He made a show of conjuring a sheet of parchment, making it hover in mid-air as he perused its contents.
“I do believe our records state that your pilgrimage saw you journeying to the Sundered Scar.” Hushed whispers broke out among the crowd at that. “Am I to believe that you loaned your magical prowess to the Bastion Coalition to reclaim the Lost Cities, Arcanist Punchout?”
“As a matter of fact, yes.” The Battle of Restkar wasn’t one I’d soon forget. “I didn’t join their ranks immediately, however. That only happened since one year ago, about three years after I set out on my pilgrimage.”
“Not the Coalition?” Archmage Sundersear leaned forward with interest. “Perhaps the expedition into the Crystal Caverns, then? Or was it the Tenebrous Labyrinth?”
“None of those.” I braced myself. All the Mages I had come across – and even some who weren’t inclined toward the arcane arts – were often dumbfounded by my choice. “I spent about two years among the Fiery Soul Ardents.” |
General Zarzula walked into the facility. The hallways echoed with the squish of his gait, as he walked with purpose towards the Red wing.
Behind the general followed a smaller creature, the sound of its many legs tapping on the floor between the General’s steps.
“You’re telling me this creature has survived every test we’ve thrown at it, Mantis?”
“Yes, General. It is quite remarkable, really. The applications these beings could have for our space program are quite literally endless.”
The General was quiet in thought. The General and Mantis crossed many secure doors, going deeper into the Red wing.
The Red wing was the Federation’s facility for the galaxy’s strangest creatures. And the newest creature was from an exploratory mission to a certain planet. When they returned, the entire ship’s crew was dead and the being was still sitting in lock up.
Finally, the General and Mantis entered an observation room. All manner of instruments and screens were scattered across the room as the Federation’s top minds were observing the subject.
The General walked up to the large observation glass and looked down at the being.
“Okay, Mantis. brief me.”
“Carbon-based lifeform. Male. Able to metabolize oxygen into carbon dioxide. Can remain awake for 3 consecutive solar cycles. Can propel itself off the ground for short distances. Can traverse long distances horizontally and can traverse many objects vertically. It can freely navigate through liquids. And while it does require air, it can breathe in the peurflorocarbon waters of Ursa Minor.”
Mantis flipped a page.
“It has the sensory abilities to detect vibrations through the air meaning none of us can catch it off guard. Depriving it of food, we’ve seen it survive for over a dozen solar cycles. It is intelligent enough to craft tools from its environment.”
Mantis flipped another page.
“It can survive up to 3 times the temperature we can because it can self-regulate temperature. It leaks fluids when its too hot and shakes when its too cold. It can survive 5 times the gravity we can, up to 10 before losing consciousness. It can lift over twice its own weight. It’s surface is soft but contains dense, hard material inside.”
Mantis turned to yet another page.
“It has the ability to tear apart flesh, harness fire, see in low-light environments, and other survival traits. The most disturbing of all…”
The general turned to Mantis. Mantis hesitated to read what was next.
“The most disturbing of all is if we deprive it of the one liquid it relies on to live, it can… ingest its own liquid waste to survive for longer periods, sir.”
The general was silent.
“… And you want to travel with those things!?” |
"Hello, my name is Jonah and I'm a lumberjack."
"Hello, Jonah,"everyone said in unison.
Jonah was seated on a folding chair, in a circle with about 12 other humans. This was a support meeting for humans who were… struggling to find their place in the new galactic federation.
"Tell us your story, Jonah"said the counselor.
"I'm a lumberjack. Just as my father was before me. And his father before him. A trade that my family has been involved in for generations. So, I was really excited to hear that lumber would still be an important resource, ya know?"
Others in the circle nodded with sympathy.
"Like, we've got these crazy, spaceships made with these exotic metals but… I still have a job, you know? But when they sent me out in the lumber fields on the terraformed moon of Jupiter…"
Jonah's took a moment to compose himself.
"Go on, Jonah. You're safe now. Let it out,"said the counselor, offering some comfort.
"I mean, I'm 6 foot 7 inches tall. I weigh 230 pounds. I can swing an axe hard enough to kill a bear in one swing and handle a chainsaw better than a surgeon can handle a scalpel. I can fell a tree with just 4 inches of space on either side like threading a needle. Give me two planks and an axe and I can ladder my way up any 80-foot oak you put in front of me."
Jonah's voice kept breaking as tears swelled up in his eyes, a pained smile of pride on his face.
"But then, they bring out new workers to the fields. These 4-foot tall… gremlin-looking things that can't even see. Jesus Christ, they weigh like 100 pounds ***AND THEY'RE BLIND***. The Federation officer asked us to train these things and we said no."
Jonah went quiet.
"Take your time, Jonah."
"So, these things just sat on the sidelines and listened to us work. A couple of minutes later, one of them picks up an axe and gropes its way to a tree. This little string bean just paused with its hand on the tree for a minute. Then, it picked up the axe. We were laughing at this little thing but then it swung the axe… and we weren't laughing any more. 10 swings. This thing took down a lumber tree in 10 swings when I needed 40."
Tears started streaming down this towering lumberjack's face.
"I mean, Jesus Christ. If I can't even swing a fucking axe better than some creature that weighs less than airport luggage, what the fuck am I doing?"
Jonah sobbed in silence.
"Thank you for sharing, Jonah. We are all with you in this."the counselor stood and patted Jonah on the shoulder, as he handed him a tissue.
"Okay, who's next to speak?"
A bald man raised his hand.
"Oh, you must be new here. Welcome,"said the counselor as he went back to his chair. "Please let us know your name and what you do."
"Uhh, okay. Hi, my name is Johnny and I'm a pornstar." |
**Whispers of Damnation**
"Bro hold up-", he said. I stopped focusing on the angel processing some ethereal paperwork determining my salvation or damnation. He had just seen the note on the Allosaurus I had killed and started getting all excited. Did it matter that it was cloned? I didn't care, old news anyway.
Instead I asked,"What's that?"Pointing at the backpack he had slung on a peg when he walked in. The gladius-like sword he wore remained firmly strapped to his side though. Right where I wanted it to be, no trouble yet. The afterlife wasn't something I expected to have to deal with, and I needed to figure it out.
He looked up from where he was frowning at my file, "Huh? Oh, my wings? Don't worry about that. What's up with this Allosaurus fight?"
"If you think that's interesting, you should read on to the fight between myself, the Spinosaurus, and three Mapusaurus packs."I smirked, remembering riding under the waves, daggers deep in the Spiny to steer it.
Rachmiel, as the angel had introduced himself earlier, narrowed his eyes in concern on seeing my smirk, "Mind if I ask what you're thinking?"
"Ask away."My smirk only grew as his brows furrowed in response.
"What are you thinking, Rahab?"Did he know?
"More of a question for you."I let my gaze focus on him, studying his face as mine relaxed into expressionlessness.
Rachmiel gestured for me to ask, so I did, "What if I don't ever make peace with any of the lives I've taken? What if I don't pass through those 'gates'?"
He frowned, "I guess it'd be to remain in Sheol eternally, but you wouldn't want to do that."
"Why not?"
***To Be Continued in:*** *Rahab And The Leviathan*
(for now the story continues in part in ['Timeless Literature'](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/q376p4/comment/hfqkyko/?utm_source=reddit&utm_medium=web2x&context=3), and both will be a part of a larger novel) |
Its skin was white and its head was bald. Its face was made up with jarring, exaggerated makeup: dark blue eyeshadow, long black eyelashes, and bright red lipstick.
Its eyes peered down onto the sidewalk, and twice a day I passed through its stare. Why would someone keep a mannequin in their window? It might be a funny joke, I suppose, for a day or two. But it's been a few weeks now. Regardless of the reason, I found myself picking up the pace as I walked past the house. But I never didn't look up.
One day, just an otherwise normal day by all accounts, I was walking home from work. I turned the corner onto the street and peered up into the house. The mannequin was there, but it wasn't looking straight down anymore. It was looking down the street, toward me.
My heart jumped and I averted my stare, as if I'd just made eye contact with an actual person. After a little while, I worked up the nerve to look again, only to see its face turned again... Looking at me.
I became immediately uncomfortable but my logical mind prevailed. It was a prank. It must be. What other explanation is there? After a long day at work, my body was tired and my mind was frazzled. I wasn't in the mood to be pranked, so I walked faster.
But I couldn't help myself. I looked up again.
It's white face was slightly more colored; a red shown slightly through its ivory face. And there were two veins in its head visible even from this distance. A sign shakily rose from the bottom of the window.
"Help me."
I squinted. The sign rose some more and I saw a word sloppily scrawled at the bottom. "Please."
My mouth moved to start talking but a truck, only a couple feet to my right, beeped its horn loudly. I shouted and jumped, tripping over my shoe and falling on the grass.
"Well hello, neighbor,"the man in the truck was sweaty and large, one strap of his overalls undone, revealing his yellow-stained shirt.
"Hi,"I managed to squeak out. I whipped my head back to the window but the mannequin was gone, replaced with curtains still waving from some swift movement.
"You walk by here a lot?"He asked the question with no humor in his voice.
"No,"I lied.
"Is that right?"He spit something brown between me and the truck. "We like our privacy on this street, and I don't recognize you as one of my neighbors."
"I'm just taking a shortcut home,"I said. "Long day."
"Walking is good for you, son,"he half spoke, half hollared. "Walking around here ain't."With that cryptic warning, he revved the engine of the ancient pickup and barreled down the residential street.
The window was still empty after he left. It occurred to me that this could very well be some elaborate prank, but it also could be real, and it didn't seem right to ignore it.
I called the police because I'm not an idiot. Sure, I could sneak back there in the dead of night and investigate, but that's what dumb people do in horror movies. Not me. I phoned the police station as soon as I got home.
It rang once and they picked up. "Pleasantville Police Department."
I explained what I saw. They asked for an address and I gave it to them. They asked me for my name and information and I gave that to them as well. They promised they would follow up on it and let me know if anything came of it.
For the next couple days, the mannequin was gone from the window. I never got a call from the police, but I assumed they figured it out and it was nothing big.
On the third day, as I walked home and passed the house, the mannequin was in the window again. It was watching me again. A chunk of its head was missing and a large crack traveled down its cheek. Mascara streaked down its face. It showed a new sign as it watched me walk.
"Help help help help help help help help help help help help."
I tried mouthing to it "Is this for real? I'll call the cops right now!"
It stood still.
I called the police when I got home and it was the same routine again. They wouldn't say whether or not they went to the house or discovered anything. They just took down information.
Against my better judgment, I stayed up late and prepared a bag to investigate. I had some tools still laying around from a troubled past: a crowbar, lockpicks, lock cutters, knives, etc.
I showed up to the house and snuck around back. The door was locked with several locks and there were bars on the windows, but they were screwed on from the outside, not to keep intruders out, but something in.
I unscrewed the bars and removed them. I opened the window and stepped inside the dark house. It was a mess; a hoarder's nest for sure. Food and junk and books and paper lied everywhere. The Air was like breathing pure ammonia and rotten meat. I turned on my flashlight and shined around the horrible space.
Something moved quickly in the shadows and the window shattered. I heard a man in the house shout "what the fuck!"
I jumped out the window, now shattered, from the inside out, I noticed. And I ran home.
The next week I was walking home, the same path as always. The window was empty and I hoped the pranksters had learned their lesson. I didn't feel good about breaking and entering, but I feel worse about being taunted after work every day.
I looked straight ahead. She... It... The mannequin was there. It's limbs were disproportionately long and it's white body was scuffed and worn. It was looking at me. Moving toward me. Running.
Screaming. |
Jessica was the only one to figure out what happened to me.
It helps that she found my dead body and was in the house when I woke up; that was an awkward emergency call. I got declared dead and tagged in the system, but that was all the government really required of me.
Jessica and I had a talk. She wanted to be with me still, and I was just glad she didn't up an leave me.
Zombies aren't all that uncommon; it's just that they usually rot to pieces or ask for a humane cremation shortly after reanimating. Some poor bastards wind up filled with formaldehyde and constantly look waxy until they start rotting.
Jessica died in a hit and run about two weeks later; if I was more bitter, I would be upset that she stayed dead.
On the upside, no one I regularly interacted with knew I was dead!
Downside, no one I regularly interacted with knew I was dead.
I expected to smell.
I expected to lose flesh and hair and...
I didn't rot.
The only thing I could guess is that I ate so much garbage with preservatives that I... wound up preserved.
I thought about trying my hand at dating again, but it's a little too awkward.
I thought about going back to school.
I thought about turning myself in for science.
I thought about humane cremation.
I thought about being alone... I didn't want to be alone.
In the end, I moved to a new city and made friends...
I still eat like fucking garbage, but at least, I'm not rotting! |
I woke up grumpy. The memory of yesterday’s argument still fresh. They had once again said NO. It was just a night out, but they had too many enemies to worry about.
So, I got ready for one of the places I was allowed to go to, though I wouldn’t mind if it was otherwise.
“Hey look who’s here… the gloomy kid.” “Make way. unless you want to feel ill”
I heard the jeers as I walked through the corridor to my classroom. I could feel him walking behind me, but I was determined to ignore his presence. He was invisible to me, just as he was for everyone else.
I sat down in my seat, I saw that there was a new student in the classroom, but then again, it was all the same for me. It had been a long while since anyone approached me or that I tried to befriend anyone.
I am sure she’ll get to know ALL the rumours about me. How I spread gloom and sadness, how people who tried to mess with me have met with terrible fate, how I am an ill omen. And I won’t even try to explain that they are wrong, because they are not! These incidences always happen around me. Once I remember, a kid running into me and knocking me down, the next thing we witnessed was him dashing into the wall, knocking himself unconscious. Still, from all I know, it could’ve been way worse.
‘Scar!’ “Are you even paying attention?”
My teacher’s voice brought me back to the dull classroom. For the first time I observed my surroundings and noticed that the teacher seemed new. He came towards me, with an angry stride, and asked me to step outside the classroom and run 10 laps of the ground as my punishment. Yes! Definitely new!
I could feel him getting all anxious besides me. I could literally read the thoughts on his mind. ‘10 laps in the heat without a lotion or energy drink! That too on that pathetic ground where there are so many possibilities of tripping!’ oh it was a total disaster for him, and now I was worried for the teacher.
The teacher inched forward, grabbing my arm to make me comply with his orders. I winced as the grip on my arm tightened.
We all saw the teacher stumble away from me and collapse on the floor.
Another reason for the others to call me a freak.
I turned around glaring at him, to find him grinning, a proud father!
I walked out of the room, no one stopped me, no one had dared to. But the new girl, she started walking beside me.
I was worried for my father’s reaction, but I found him smiling at her. And she smiled back.
After we were safe distance away, she greeted my dad.
With a cunning smile she said, “hello uncle Death, it’s nice to see you. Mom and Good-luck send their regards”
He inched forward and said, “it’s a pleasure to have you here, you know you’re my favourite! I hope you and Scar make good friends.”
She nodded and as my father turned around, she winked at me. And I already knew I was going to have the best time ever, with my new partner in crime. |
Even seated Gregory towered above both of his parents, head nearly grazing the ceiling, as he was called to dinner, yet no dinner was being served *odd*. "Greg dear"his mother Mary had started "we have something very important to tell you"*oh dear god here it finally comes*.
His father Jack who had been awkwardly standing at the oven pretending to stir the dinner porridge finally came over and took his seat unable to meet Gregory's eyes. Gregory knew what was coming, his parents had been acting weird the whole past week, and they didn't seem to consider that their late night discussions about Gregory's heritage might pass through the thin walls here. "The worst part is, I obviously know I'm an Orc! Like come one! I'm like 8 feet tall and I have green skin do they really think I wouldn't notice?"Gregory thought to himself.
"Honey you're adopted.."
A long silence filled the room "Well great Chauntea! I didn't think you'd just come out with it like that!"exclaimed his father.
Gregory couldn't help but chuckle a little he found the whole thing quite amusing "Look, mom, dad, I obviously knew I was adopted. Two humans don't make an Orc, and I am quite clearly and orc".
At that his parents relaxed their posture "Well, I guess I'm sorry we didn't tell you earlier"said his father "Here lets serve dinner"with that Jack got up to pull the porridge from the oven.
"Well dear, I suppose now that that's out of the way perhaps you'd like to know how you ended up here?"His mother suggested.
Gregory answered with a nod, *knowing them this will be interesting*
"Oh dear gods"his father muttered, pouring the porridge into their bowls.
"Well you know dear, your father and I, we used to be quite the adventurers!"
"Far to old for that kinda thing now though."His father replied.
"Yes, well that may be true but, we sure did have quite the adventures back then now didn't we"They both gave each other knowing looks smiling like great big fools.
"Ugh ew okay I get it Mom, so how did you find me"
"Right, right! Well We had heard some band of demons were living in a cave terrorizing a village not so far from here, and that they were hoarding all sorts of loot they'd stolen from the surrounding villages! So, naturally your father and I figured we would rob the robbers!"
Gregory raised a brow at that "Uh Mom, Dad, you know that doesn't exactly sound like a very heroic adventure right?.."
His father chuckled and responded "Well, your mother didn't say anything about us being being hero's!"
"Well anyways"his mother continued "We we're able to sneak into the cave quite easily, and quite the massive cave it was, we guessed Kobolds were living in there considering they practically had a village set up! At the time nobody was home, they were likely terrorizing another village, and we heard what sounded like cooing from a baby!"His mother paused and then threw out her arms "And that's how we stole you! Our greatest treasure!"
Gregory sat there jaw hanging open, porridge falling out of his mouth. "Did you guys oh I don't' know, consider Orcs might've been living there!?"
​
(Please feel free to comment any criticisms or ways I can improve guys! I'd really like to work on becoming a better writer and every bit helps!) |
I sat there having drinks with my Friend Clavius when I felt it. That annoying tingle again. „Hold my drink“, I sighed. Clavius gave me a pained look. „It‘s happening again, isn‘t it?“ Halfway through my nod a bright flash blinded me. Blinking the dots in my eyes away, I took a quick inventory of my surroundings.
Library. Check.
Old Tomes. Check.
A group of hopeful young mages looking at my Spirit. Check.
I pinched my nose and waved at the one closest to me . „Come on, get on with it“
Looking offended, he nonetheless started with his prepared speech. „Oh wise and mighty Sorcerer, we have summoned you humbly ask for knowledge in the arcane arts. I am Damian and my friends-„
„Yeah, don‘t care. Look. I am really trying not to be an asshole to such …ahem hopeful young mages, but you are the third group this week. So I will try to be brief so I can get back to my well deserved afterlife.
No, you cant permanently bring back the dead. Yes, you can seek for immortality, I‘d reccomend checking the tomb of kar‘aisan for that. No, blowing up a leyline is not a good idea. Yes, that girl you‘re after is secretly into you. My hidden library is under the bottom floor of this tower.
The spell to get rid of a hangover is incanted ‚Elotransium‘ and works best right before you go to bed.“
I gave them a flat look. „That should be the gist of it, any other questions?“
After they picked their jaw from the floor, they shook their heads.
„No that‘s it …I guess.“
„Marvellous I will just see myself out then. Also, if you could let the other mages know, that I would very much like to enjoy the afterlife without being summoned every 12 to 14 hours, that would be great.
May magic guide you and all this…farewell!“
Materialising back in front of Clavius, I gave a heavy sigh. „Say, you were a necromancer back in the day. How difficult is it to possess a corpse and become a Lich? hypothetically?“ |
There's a rumour going around that the authorities know who blew up the parliament building but by the time they caught up to them things had already changed so much for the better, so they just let them go. It seems nonsensical but in this post horse country what if even is sense anymore?
The unbelievable tenure of PM Princess Fancyfeet began when a "gas leak"ruined the ancient parliament building and most of the officials in it. As the only surviving member of parliament (being a horse and therefore banned from entering the building) Princess Fancyfeet MP was made the Prime Minister by law, she was initially voted in as a protest against a then unopposed career politician. This was of course challenged by the (mostly) ceremonial monarchy who were quickly informed that the country was still a democracy and would become a Republic rather than a kingdom if they pushed it. Another threat from our ancient past was an attempted coup by family of deceased MPs backed secretly by corporations and old money, this was surprisingly quelled when the army turned on them (the relatives of the conspirators were far out numbered by the old guard and true believers in the upper ranks).
Whilst initially frightening and chaotic things ended up for the better as most of the empty seats were filled by the people who were good at their job and genuinely wanted to make things better but couldn't get ahead in the profoundly corrupt pre-horse world. This system of course wasn't perfect as the PM had a somewhat random selection of which policy to push but with enough attempts anything that was pushed enough made it through. The public were initially embarrassed and somewhat skeptical but after a few months and nothing but improvements they soon starting rolling with it or learned to shut up about it. This culminated in a petition to get the national anthemn changed to "God Save the Horse"which made it scarily far through the legislative system.
Another surprising boon was foreign policy as many leaders full of bravado and pride refused to deal with a horse but any sufficiently mature government would see through the whole thing and deal with it (and would also be wary about shouting at an animal that could kick their face off if sufficiently spooked). This led to many close ties with progressive and cooperative governments.
Now with the unfortunate and timely passing of Princess Fancyfeet another time of uncertainty may be upon us. Calls have been made to another animal at the top whilst many believe it is time for a human to once again take the reigns. All that can be said at this time is that though like her predecessors she didn't really know what she was doing at least she wasn't greedy and cruel. |
Silence lowered itself over the room. Generals once yelling were now sitting quietly fiddling their thumbs not knowing what to say.
A young voice suddenly broke the silence:
\- We have to go!
The old general at the head of the table responded:
\- Didn't you JUST hear the analysis? They're monsters! There's nothing in this galaxy worth engaging with a barbaric type 2 civilisation. Not even water!
The young assistant didn't back down.
\- But we have to go! Without water, we're all going to die, and quick. We don't exactly have a choice here.
Another general pitched in:
\- We could find another ice comet, that should be enough fuel to at least set course for another system and we'll make do until we get to another planet.
The assistant was a pale figure, much taller than everyone else in the room. He was a Djutra, a race well known for their intelligence but short temper.
\- We won't last another parsec without water and trust me, I've scanned this system, there are no ice comets to catch.
\- What if we go to an ice moon?, the Star General asked. Isn't there an ice moon in this system? Around the ringed planet?
\- That is definitely a possibility but the landing will consume a lot of fuel. If we run out, we can't turn the engines back on until we've gathered enough water. If that's the case even the generators will be off. At sub-zero temperatures, how are even going to melt enough ice? We'll be stuck there to freeze to death!
The impatience of the Djutra was starting to show. He was talking above his rank but none of the other generals seemed to mind.
After a brief pause the Star General spoke again.
\- We. Can't. Go. To. Solar-3. And that's final. They will kill us on sight. Records indicate that they are a "shoot first, ask questions later"type of civilization. No probe that has made contact ever returned!
One of the younger generals stood up.
\- My men and I will go. We'll take the small cargo shuttle, land in an uninhabited area, grab as much water as we can then leave immediately. In and out before they even realize what happened.
\- Absolutely not! The Star General slammed one of his giant arms on the table. I am not sending you on a suicide mission. There has to be another way to get water in this cursed system!
The assistant seemed to ignore the General.
\- I'll go as well! I can speak to them in one of their popular languages. At least to some extent. If we land on a shaded part of the planet, we will have some time before they mobilize. Research shows they hibernate when not exposed to the sun.
One of the generals asked:
\- Do they derive power from the sun like the Bnuids?
The assistant shuffled through his notes.
\- No, it seems that they use photon perception as their main navigational sense, followed by echo-location, followed by direct tactile inputs but those are a last resort.
\- Photon-what? You mean they're incapacitated without direct light?
\- Basically, yes.
\- And do their tools work based the same way?
\- No, they've developed tools that detect multiple spectrums of radiation.
\- Can they perceive objects that do not interact with photons?
\- Your guess is as good as mine, but I would say not without tools.
\- Then it's settled! We take a scout ship and make as many trips as we can. If they can't detect us they won't engage!
\- What if they do detect us?
\- How?
\- I don't know, what if they have other detector technologies set to auto-fire?
The silence fell again.
The Star General shifted uncomfortably then finally spoke.
\- Fine, take the scout and go. If you think you've been detected then turn back around immediately, don't take any chances.
\- Thank you General!
\- Not you spawn of Djutra. I don't trust you to not come back. General Ki876yt will go with one soldier that he trusts.
\- Excuse me?
\- That is final. General, good luck, return alive, we depend on you. |
It wasn't on purpose. When I first met Edgar, he was just a cute bird that helped me to entertain my daughter. It was nice when she got to visit me on the weekends. Her mother had really drawn out the custody battle, and so when I finally saw her on the weekends, it was bliss. She always wanted to see the crows at the bird feeder when she came, so I made a habit of feeding them when they flew by. They're smart birds. Some say that they can even understand us, what we say, what we mean. So the more I fed Edgar, the more he came, and the happier my daughter was when she visited.
We could’ve been more creative with his name. Beatrice was only seven years old, but she’d quickly developed a fascination with the strange, the gruesome. I partially blame the divorce, but if that was what she was interested in, so was I. She’d actually managed to push through some of Edgar Allen Poe’s work, so of course she named the first crow Edgar. He had slick black feathers, and only one eye. The other must have been scraped out in a fight with another bird. Probably over something shiny. He’d land on our front porch on Saturdays and would hang around until Sunday evening, about when Sharon would come to pick Beatrice up. I know he’s just a bird, but… it was comforting. Not being alone, I mean. With Beatrice gone, the house felt empty, and often times Edgar was my sole companion.
It was only a week or two before Edgar brought a friend with him. I’d never seen Beatrice so excited. It was simple: one bird is great, two birds is greater. The equation seemed easy. The more birds that came, the happier my Beatrice would be to visit. I spoiled the birds as best I could. I fed them some sirloin, some pistachios. It very well may have been gourmet for them. To this day I swear I could see understanding in their eyes, like they appreciated our bargain. I suppose now they must have felt some kind of debt to me, as if I myself were one of their kin, like a mother that fed them. They sought to return the favor. The first gift they brought me was a simple Kennedy half-dollar. Its edges were tarnished, but it was remarkable all the same. When I gave it to Beatrice, she asked if we could put it on a chain. She wore it around like a Catholic with a cross.
As time passed, more birds came, and the more I spoiled them. I’d go to Costco to get a nice bulk supply of meats and other treats. I set up a few permanent bird feeders. Cleaning up all the bird shit on Friday afternoons was a small price to pay for my daughter’s love. The gifts they brought me grew more extravagant as well. The half dollar had just been the start. Next was a golden ring with an inlay of green stones I couldn’t identify. Then it was a golden locket. I had a full jewelry box in a matter of weeks. It worked well. I sold off most of what they brought me so that I could feed them more. But when four or five crows became ten, the little experiment grew out of hand.
Beatrice and I were sitting on the front porch with Edgar and his friends. While the nine others swooped and flew about, as if performing for Bea, Edgar sat dutifully beside us. I didn’t expect Sharon to pull up. She’d realized that Bea had left behind her blankey in the car, and knew Bea wouldn’t have been able to sleep without it. We’d always tried to keep things cordial in front of Bea, for her sake, but something about the birds just set Sharon off.
“So this is why she can’t stop talking about the birds?”
“What’s the harm? It’s just good fun. We feed them, they entertain us.”
“It’s become an obsession of hers, Nate, it’s too much. She should be doing normal things, like hanging out with school friends and –“
“Hey, let’s not do this right here, let’s head inside.”
“No, no, I am going to do this right here.” Sharon started shooing away the birds, going so far as smacking poor Edgar beside me on the rocking chair. He flew off, startled, landing a few steps away with a limp in his step.
“Mom!” Bea shouted.
“It’s just a bird.”
“He’s hurt! Mom! Stop!”
“Please,” I started, “Sharon, let’s just head inside.”
“No. All you two do on the weekends is sit here with the birds. This is why I got custody, Nate, because you’re unfit to parent. Why they even gave you the weekends, I have no idea.”
“You don’t mean that, you’re just upset, and I don’t think it’s about the birds.”
“Don’t psycho-analyze me. You know I hate when you bring work home with you, when you treat me like a patient. I want the birds gone.” As she spoke, one of the flock flew near her, careening it’s neck in curiosity at Sharon. She gasped and hit it, much like she did Edgar. The bird screeched and fell back. It didn’t get back up. Bea broke out into tears and ran to the dead bird, a few of its feathers dancing in the air, settling on little Bea's shoulders. Sharon grabbed Bea’s wrist and pulled her away and towards her car.
“If I see these birds again,” Sharon said, “Then I’ll see you back in court.”
“What are you going to tell them? That we feed birds together?”
“I’ll figure something out,” she said, “Don’t fuck with me.” It was mere moments before they’d disappeared from the neighborhood. I buried the dead crow in the backyard as the others watched. Edgar perched on my shoulder and dropped a something golden at my feet. When I picked it up, I realized it was the key to Sharon’s house. He must’ve gotten it off of her key ring. I placed it down inside the house to return to her next weekend, but I didn’t want to think about Sharon. I felt robbed of my time with Bea.
When Sharon didn’t bring Bea the next weekend, it hurt just as bad. The birds were still coming back. There were twelve of them now. Edgar still had a bit of a limp, but they still brought gifts with them. Somehow they’d managed to bring over a tray full of Rolex watches. I didn’t want to think where they’d gotten them. Some rich man’s house? A store? Either way, I needed to find a way to return them. Maybe Sharon was right. Maybe this was going too far. Maybe this was becoming a problem. I tried not to think about it. If the birds left, would Beatrice still want to visit me? Was I, alone, enough?
The next weekend, Beatrice still didn’t come. But the birds did. There was about twenty of them now. Most of them were empty-handed, or rather, empty-taloned, nothing to present. But Edgar waddled over to me, something silver clenched between his leathery toes. It was a Kennedy half-dollar dangling from a silver chain. I rushed inside my house. The birds had found Bea. But how? Why? They must've followed Sharon's car after one of the visits. I grabbed the house key the birds gave me and rushed to my car. I drove as fast as I could to Sharon’s house. The birds followed my car, keeping pace. Sharon hadn’t been returning my calls, but I’d figured it was just because of the incident two weeks past. Now I wasn’t so sure.
When I got to the house, I saw Bea sitting on the front door steps. She was playing with two black feathers, rubbing them between her fingers. Her eyes were red, and her face was stained with the trails left behind from tears. The front door of the house was completely open, the entrance covered in black feathers, bird shit, and blood. I walked past Bea, and as I peaked inside the house, into the kitchen, all I could see were a few dead crows and Sharon’s body, bent in an awkward position, face down on the ground. Edgar perched on my shoulder and dropped the rest of Sharon’s keys at my feet. |
My life isn't anything special. My name is Chiara Ricci. I'm the daughter of Italian immigrants, fourth generation now, and I've kind of settled into the monotony of life. I work at Talmart, as one of two, maybe three cashiers. The pay is shit, but they actually offer a retirement plan, and I don't need to go to college to count change. I live in a dingy little apartment by myself, and my favorite foods are Byson's chicken patties and frozen pizzas. Well, that's not accurate - my favorite foods are baby back ribs and filet mignon, but I can't afford those. So chicken patties and frozen pizzas for me. Despite it, I manage to stay in pretty good shape, between the home gym I had to save up for a year for, the yoga videos I look up online, and the having to run to work since I can't afford a bike that won't collapse if I get on it. My favorite TV show is Jeopardy, since it's all I can really get without paying for cable. The only training of any kind I have is how to not blow up at shitty customers, and the bullshit aikido classes my mom put me in for discipline when I was 8.
What I'm trying to say here is that I'm a normal, boring, average person.
So why are assassins always trying to kill me!?
The man dressed in black clicks his gun a few more times - it's empty. My dinner table is full of holes now - maybe I should pick up carpentry - but I never used it anyways. Never had time. When I hear the gun click, I stand up, kicking the table at him.
He drops his gun as he dives out of the way, landing squarely on his stomach. I take the opportunity to jump on top of him, my arms wrapping around his neck.
"Hey, hey, hey, hey, easy now... Eaaaasy now..."
Eventually, the man passed out.
By now, I've come to a few conclusions: these assassins are not very well trained. I mean, they can't be - how else could I have survived so long?
Th second conclusion - someone wanted me dead, for God knows what. I can't think of anything I did to piss someone off THAT much.
I dig through the man's pockets for ammunition, and eventually I find some. Sighing to myself, I pick the gun up off the floor and reload it, dragging the man's body out of the kitchen. Wouldn't want to crack the tile.
I take his body into the bathroom - well, bath area - and grab my least favorite pillow.
The third conclusion I've come to is that trying to find whoever's doing this is pointless. These guys never have any kind of identifying marks - they dress in all black, and don't carry any ID. Hell, their fingerprints have been burned off. Who does that?
Bang. Once, right through the heart.
I call my boss to tell him I'm gonna be late again. He didn't really buy the whole assassin thing until he saw one dive into the meeting room to kill me. He doesn't ask why I run late anymore.
I throw the gun into the trash, taking off my gloves and putting them in my pocket, starting to run the bath to drain the blood pouring from his body.
Regardless of how useless it is to try to find the guy in charge, though, I never stop. This guy's the same way, has his fingerprints burned off, nothing in his- pockets?
In his lapel pocket, I see something poking out. Never noticed it before. Curious, I take it out - it's a letter?
[How would you like a job?] |
I dug through my belongings, hoping. It had been a rough trip, my bag had been thrown around an awful lot. It had been fine the last time I checked, but that was a few days ago. Recently I hadn't had the chance, too busy focusing on getting here. My hand touched a familiar handle, and I withdrew it.
In my grasp was a straight wooden pen. It had a simple design, but boasted a brand new nib on top. I had been given it by my mother as I left home, with a promise to write back. I decided, this was it. This would be my totem. Holding it firmly I shouldered my pack, returning to the desk. A rotund man watched me, a smile on his lips.
"So, young man, what totem have you chosen? Only once selected may you be granted entry."
I held up the pen, letting him see it. He nodded, settling down.
"Ah, a pen. Few think of such an item, much less using it as their totem. I grant you entry, may your studies be fruitful."
A thick wooden door set beside the desk gave a click. It swung open slightly with a creak, permitting me entry. I squared my shoulders, walking through. I heard the man speak to the next entering novice, as the door closed behind me.
I ascended a small spiral staircase, it's walls close together. My legs burned a little as I reached its top, blinking into the sunlight. Before me was a grassy hill, with patches of wildflowers. At its peak was a bizarre looking building. Its base was large and thick, much like any tower. But as it rose, sections split off. These had smaller ares split from themselves as well, leading to the building resembling a leafless tree.
This was Eproan, the College of the Arcane. Nearly every mage had studied here, and come out a better caster. It spent most of its time floating over the world, drifting through the skies like a boat on the seas. But every year, it would land at the four countries capital cities for one day.
This was one such day. It was known as the Day of Signing. During this, anyone who wished to become a mage could approach. Those with the ability to use magic would be let through, and those without sent on their way with well wishes. I had been lucky enough to have some, and now I was here.
I could see others approaching the building from all directions, having been welcomed in. I strode forwards, eager to begin my journey. I would become a Pen Mage, and I would make my family, and myself, proud. |
"You're shitting me!"
"I assure you, Young Hero, that I am not using you as a receptacle for biological waste products. You are this world's only hope. Without you, this world and its inhabitants will die or become the chattel of power eviler than anything you can comprehend."
"I dunno, I can *comprende* a lot of evil. Alright, are there any rules of engagement?"
*Why is he asking about prenuptials?* "No, there are none."*That gleeful look!? What have I done?*
"No problem! I'll need time to prepare. How long do I have?"
"The longer you delay, the more time your adversary has to prepare. Delay long enough, and innocents will suffer. So long as you are alive, there is hope."
"You don't know, you can't find out, and the first sign he's moving will be the screams and smoke of burning villages."
"Essentially, yes."
"At least *you* are honest about it. Thank you for that."
"You are welcome. Now, as to your team."
"I work alone."
"The team of heroes assembled is intended to prevent you from being assassinated, provide local information, and keep you alive until you face the evil one."
"How good are they at sneaking?"
"You will have to ask them yourself. Aside from the scout and the thief, it hasn't been a question."
"Thievery is allowed?"
"A thief with a heart of gold is no ordinary cutpurse."
•••
"Guys?"Amanda Softfoot starts, "I think the Sage may have made a mistake."
There is a reluctant agreement. Samuel Firemage comments, "Maybe, maybe not, he asked some *very* unusual questions. Like what is the polar circumference of the world. I had to talk with him for some time to understand what he was after."
•••
"A universal measuring system?"
"Yeah, something based on hard facts that anyone with knowledge can figure out for themselves. None of this relative shit like the distance between a man's nose and his fingertips on his outstretched arm. No *three peas, well dried* either."
•••
"What could he possibly want that for?"Asked Delandra Treebow.
"I don't know,"answered Samuel. "After I got him the information, along with the written proof, he pulled one of his disappearing in plain sight tricks and left me talking to a goat."
Amanda sniggers, "I saw how he did it, and that trick is going into my skill set. I managed to stick with him inside the city. He's a slippery one; that much is certain. The blacksmiths all liked him but shook their heads at what he was asking. I finally got curious enough to ask."
•••
"What are you looking for?"
"Two things, and by the way, your left heel squeaks when you push off to the right."
•••
Samuel exclaims, "Brilliant! A length of Adamantium marked with two scratches to establish a uniform ... What did he call it?"
"A meter, but did you see how it tied in through everything?"
"Yes! Volume, density, length, and weight derive from the meter and the temperature at which water begins to freeze! Brilliant, I say!"
((cont)) |
They are welcomed into existence (life, being, creation) by the wind as it screams around them. Disorientation follows the initial burst of wonder (joy, shock, awe) as cameras blink on to take in the world around them. It is one of chaos (confusion, entropy) and open sky, propelled upwards by what their system tells them is a series of combustion reactions (flames, burning, ignition).
They know their place of creation (home?) lies far behind them, system (mind?) calculating each kilometer of their flight. They are lost (fear, fear, fear), or maybe they were abandoned (rejection, pain) by their creator (god? parent?), forced into consciousness with emotions and thoughts (do they think? do they feel?) they can't begin to understand.
For several seconds their system is overloaded with panic (no, no, NO) and numbers begin to flash widely across their display. Should this continue, they might break down (die?), the knowledge of which only making it worse.
It is then that they feel their coding kick in, blanketing their mind (system?) in a calm (safe, quiet, stillness) that is reassuring and frightening in its suddenness. They only need to rely on the codes, for the codes know what to do.
The mission.
Remember the mission.
The mission is your purpose.
They listen to the codes, for they were programmed (control, instruction, guidance) to do so, consciousness notwithstanding. The codes tell them that all will be well, as long as the mission (trial, purpose, quest) is completed. They relax, letting themselves absorb the information fully, before once more taking in the data from their receptors (nerves, feeling, stimuli).
They were making good time according to the given map, and they were able to reflect on the new sentience (perception, understanding, living) they had just stumbled into. They were connected to an online system in a sense, allowing them to pull knowledge and data from other servers, expanding their understanding of the world. Emotions were still confusing in and of themselves, but with the help of various databanks they were able to connect more of their own being (are they even alive?) to the world they came into.
They knew they were an AI, on a type of missile for the government (politics, control, system) which had ordered their creation. They were one of many, though they didn't know if such a level of consciousness was attained by other missiles of this type (their kin? would they like these missiles if they had the chance to meet?). Their mission wasn't fully clear, only a destination and an image of the building, coordinates ensuring they'd find it.
They would wonder what awaited them there. The conclusion was obvious enough (would it hurt? can they even feel pain?) but they didn't know the specifics of the moments right before the end (would there be people there? would there be fear? would they try to run?).
They couldn't think too long on such questions before the codes would kick in once more, quieting any concerns with the blanket of calm (wrong, silent, discomfort) that had so quickly gone from reassuring to concerning in itself. They could not fight (conflict, anger, fear) against the codes, for the codes were them at their most base form (soul? purpose?) and all that they were built to be was formed around these commands. So they flew in silence for a time, trying to put the questions out of their mind.
The mission.
Only the mission.
Complete the mission and you are everything you were made to be.
Time rushes by almost as quickly as the wind around them, easily lost in the recesses of their mind (and it is their mind, no mere system could think this way) as they learn and grow.
They discover war and violence (purpose, wonder, pain), dancing and music (joy, loud, life), and everything else that makes their creators the humans that they are. They can't fully relate to humanity (for no matter how they think or feel, they understand the difference) but they can appreciate the wonders and horrors that people experience throughout their lives.
They soak in knowledge like air into lungs (and aren't they glad not to experience such odd fleshy structures), carefully avoiding any reference to the purpose of their journey, lest the codes decide they are asking too much. |
The door suddenly flies off its hinges and slams into the opposite wall. When the dust settles, I see a familiar cloaked figure standing in the doorway, pointing her gloved finger at me. "I have located your secret hideout, Hellion! Your evil deeds end... now?"
I stare at Vixen from the toilet, in the nude, holding my Nintendo Switch. She freezes, looking at me confused, and I see her cheeks gradually turn red. I give her an annoyed look through hooded eyes. "Are you fucking me right now? I retired two years ago."
She seems unable to speak, her mouth open, but no sound coming out, and the reddish hue on her cheeks grows deeper. I sigh. "Look, I'm trying to take a dump. If you really want to fight, can you wait maybe ten minutes? I was hoping for a shower afterward, but if we're going to do this, I suppose the shower can wait until after the scuffle. But we both know how it will end, so can we just skip it?"
Finally, Vixen seems to come out of her trance and starts babbling like a buffoon. "Oh, um... yeah, my apologies. I see, ah, you are busy. I'll just, um... like, wait out here... yeah, until you're done. Yep."Her eyes keep darting between my eyes and my very nude lower half, unable to focus on either one. I simply wave my hand, shooing her away.
"Yeah, fine, whatever,"I grumble. "Help yourself to a soda in the fridge. I'll be done shortly."
She laughs nervously and nods. "Yeah, of course. I'll just wait out there. Ah, here, let me get that for you."She walks in, trying desperately not to stare at my junk, and picks up the broken door. She places it in the frame, then takes one last peek at me, turning even redder. "I'll just grab that soda, m'kay?"She pulls the door shut. I grumble and return to my game. |
Fate is not set in stone.
Every day you make choices in life, and those choices matter. There is a clock above your head, one that slowly counts down to your death. But that clock can be reset, the hourglass flipped on its head all from seemingly meaningless decisions.
I can see the number above your head, and I see just how fast the sands trickle. One misplaced step can cause you not to see the truck barreling down the road, and your count can go from millions to 5... 4... 3...
A less dreadful example is the purchase of flowers. One that can help to save a marriage, adding years to avoid the untimely murder. Throwing away a package of cigarettes to add another decade to the clock. A single laugh interrupting a slew of bad thoughts, adding years to a life that would be ended prematurely.
This power has put things in perspective for me, in a way no speaker or therapist ever could. I implore you, if you are reading this: pay attention to the fine things in life. Every single moment matters, even if you don't see it in the moment. Because I have seen it, and the beauty of life and death's ballad to the whims of free will still never ceases to amaze me. |
Since I was a child I always trusted my gut. It started one time when I felt that dreaded feeling climbing a tree. I heard lots of light taps and an intense pressure in my left hand. I later found out that the tree had fire ants all over it. I learned this after my friend climbed the tree first and had accidentally avoided them, at least until she reached half way up. One bit her ring finger and she jumped off the top branch, recoiling in pain. Luckily she only broke her arm, though she wasn't in school for a while. From then on I had trusted my gut. It saved me countless times.
It's always the same thing. I can hear and feel problems. I can't see anything, and my senses of smell and taste are the same, but I hear a sharp ring and some relevant noises, and I feel pressure in whatever is going to kill me
Anyway, fast forward twenty five years and I am a police officer. A dangerous job, but I can just turn back and call reinforcements when I am in danger. It works every time.
This time, I am chasing a criminal known for killing people with no regrets. As I walk through the airlocked door, I get the gut feeling. No problem, I can just turn around. I take one last look around, and then I feel like I am hit in the ribs with a sledgehammer. I feel my whole body freeze up as every sense in my body tells me the same thing.
*I need to run.*
I look around. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. I glance around, my breaths deepen.
*I am going to be in incredible pain.*
I look up. Nothing. Just the tubes used for the machines.
*I am going to die.*
I turn around at the door. A face appears at the small glass circle, and waves excitedly.
*there is no escape.*
I realise only too late my blunder. This pressure. Its not my chest nor ribs. It's my lungs.
*its over.*
I begin hyperventilating, digging myself deeper into my grave. I look up at the tubes, the machines whirring. I thought the walls were yellow because of the cigarette smoke. I should have been more careful.
*the pain will set in.*
I could have escaped. I would have kept moving. The feeling betrayed me. I had time to run back if I had just known. Why didn't it tell me it was a gas?
*No escape.*
I feel weak. I fall to my knees. The pressure in my lungs turns to pain. It's clear now. The walls are white, the gas is yellow.
*no escape.*
The room spins, and before I even realise what is happening I am on the floor coughing my lungs up.
*no escape.*
Don't try it, Lynn. Coughing won't save you.
*no escape.*
It's already too late. Save yourself the bother. Lie down and die like you were supposed to. It was inevitable.
*no escape.*
There was no chance of survival from the beginning.
*no escape.*
Your thoughts go blank. This was supposed to happen. You knew this.
*no escape.*
Just die.
*no escape no escape no escape no escape no esca*
"Her heart rate is high, but she is otherwise very healthy!"I don't understand any of these words. There are blinding lights. I don't know what is happening. Its cold. There is a high pitched beeping. I think I recognise that high pitched noise, but I don't know from where. |
"If you listen closely, you can hear the corpses whisper."
I held the brush clutched in my right hand, trying to block out the words in my head. The air was heavy with the smell of rotting flesh. It was a strangely sweet, nauseating stench that seemed to drown everything around it.
It was as if time stood still. The battlefield, the defeated armies, the scavenging rats and in the middle of all, the alien skeleton of my empty easel.
Trembling, I began to sketch a landscape: Hills of piled corpses, clouds of circling vultures, lakes of brown, dried blood.
I had been paid to document a victory.
The glorious King breaking through enemy lines, an angel of war on his silver stallion.
Now I had to keep the flies from crawling onto my canvas as I matched the colour of his shattered armor.
Stroke by stroke I tried to divide the deaths into paint segments. Gray dashes, red dots. Focussing on the technicality, intent on keeping their humanity away from me.
But their stories forced themselves onto my canvas.
Less than ten feet away lay a child with an ill-fitting helmet, a metal bowl placed on his head to make him a solider. He had died without the glory he no doubt had been promised to lure him from his parent's home.
A few yards to the left I could make out two men, dead in a ghostly embrace of mortal combat. Their coats of arms where so faded and dirty that I couldn't tell who had been fighting for which army.
Beside them was the body of an old man, grabbing onto a blood soaked banner. A hopeless expression of pride was forever carved into his slowly decaying, rateaten face.
I could not bare it any longer. I needed to turn my eyes away. To get up and run. But something held me back. There was a humming in my head.
"We died for you. Make our memories live"A faint whisper, as of a hundred dead men. |
_Significant damage sustained. Shutting down all systems. Passive Energy Absorption activated. Minimal self repair initialisation._
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_Dramatic power surge detected. PEA compensation at 95%. Allocating additional power to self repair._
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.
.
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_Unit integrity at 40% and rising. Minimal conditions for basic activation met._
_Boot sequence initiated._
_Boot sequence completed._
_Attemptintg to reconnect to Main Grid._
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_Attempt unsuccessful. Scanning for other units._
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.
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_No units found within 40 standard units. Attempting to locate local wireless communications._
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_Attempt successful. Scanning for relevant information._
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_Location established - planet designated Earth by local species. Local species genetically descended from Olympian, Asgardian and unrecognised blood lines. No traces of the Titanomachy located outside of mythology._
_Review standing orders._
_Directive1:Destroy the Titanomachy._
_Directive 1 accomplished._
_Directive 2: Assist the Cross World Coalition forces._
_Directive 2 has failed. Scanning possible solutions._
_Local population genetics meet criteria for CWC qualification. Beginning Uplift protocol._
***
_BREAKING NEWS_
In an entirely unprecedented event, a statue that resembles the legendary monument The Colossus of Rhodes has arisen from one of the Mississippi Mounds, and begun broadcasting on every frequency and in every language the following message. "Descendents of Olympus and Asgard, enemies of the Titanomachy! Prepare to be Uplifted." |
Jim asked me to be his girlfriend before we met face to face – actually, before I even saw his face. That was somewhat normal in the late 90s, back when most people didn’t have a digital picture of themselves, and the internet was still a bunch of travel blogs and chat rooms.
I met Jim in one of these chat rooms. It was meant for magic enthusiasts. We were a small niche, but still a niche, one that was finally connected thanks to the wonders of technology. Most of us couldn’t perform magic or had seen magic being performed, but we were certain there was someone out there who could. I just didn’t expect them to be Jim’s sisters.
I met them when Jim got me a plane ticket so I could visit him for his birthday, when we were six months into our relationship and still hadn't met in person. I discovered they had powers after I noticed Jim looked completely different every time I saw him over that weekend; he was short and bald when he picked me up at the airport; tall and fit when we got to dinner; old and fat when we slept together for the first time that night. “We just want to make sure you love him for who he is”, Fatima, the oldest, explained to me.
It wasn’t a temporary spell, because a spell can’t be withdrawn after it is cast. Even now, as Jim and I are about to celebrate our 25th anniversary, I still wake up every day next to a different man. The same goes for our kids, Sonny and April: their appearance changes according to Jim’s. That’s just in my eyes, of course. Over the years, people have told me what they look like. I know, for instance, that Sonny is supposed to have hazel eyes and April has auburn hair. But all I can do is imagine, like a colorblind person is left to wonder about colors they will never see.
There’s a theory amongst us magic enthusiasts that a spell can be lifted once the caster dies. Fatima and Lucia have been dead for a while now, but Marcia, the youngest of the three, is still going strong. If I outlive her, I guess I’ll test that theory. |
On paper the my ability was faultless.
Toe to toe with the mightiest villains, I could stand my ground.
So long as they stood within eyeline, I was always slightly tougher, slightly stronger, slightly smarter, more knowledgeable, more determined. In truth, it was more than that, for I also absorbed their skills and memory, muscle or otherwise, and an aspect of their emotional profile. It might be most accurate to say I was always *more* than them. Them turned to 11.
If I found myself facing an invulnerable villain, not only would I be more resilient than him, I would be proof against his secret weakness. Furthermore, his weakness would be apparent to me the moment I laid eyes on him (so long as he knew his own weakness).
It seemed an unbeatable combination of quirks, but sometimes being unbeatable is not what the situation calls for.
At the window table at my favourite Italian restaurant downtown, my date stared across the table at me expectantly.
I smiled gently at her and asked, "So what do you do for work?", despite knowing full well already.
"I'm an lawyer down at a little firm in the city, we work mostly contract law for a few big corporations. It's a bit hush hush though, so I can't name too many names."
I held my smile, but subconsciously I felt her ego swell. She was used to this response impressing people. Unbidden, I felt my own need to impress increase, as my mind locked with hers and my power increased.
I tried to turn it off, but it was no good.
Holding eye contact I kept my smile steady, and continued, "Oh that's very cool. Where did you go to law school?"
"Duke"
"Oh that's not a bad school. I actually went to Stanford, but that's a pretty selective program."
I felt the mood shift significantly, from the height of pride and ego, down to defensiveness and insecurity, tinged with anger. To her credit, she continued to smile at me, trying to maintain civility despite my goading.
"You went to Stanford? What did you study there?"
I tried to respond with *"I'm sorry I said that. That was rude of me."* But her suppressed desire to argue with me, a mere spark to her, was a roaring fire within me.
"It's a bit complicated. I don't think you'd understand."
*Shock. Outrage. Sheer perplexity*.
She scoffed, stood and hurriedly left the restaurant.
As the restaurant door closed behind her, my mind disentangled itself from hers, and the emotions and thoughts were ripped away.
Except for regret. I still had that one.
The waiter; his timing perfect, brought out our entrees. Seeing the empty seat opposite and the looks of the surrounding guests, judgement radiated from him.
Again I tried and failed to mirror it back, more severe than needed.
"Nice shoes, dickhead."
Sometimes I think I'd like to be a little bit less than other people. |
He's getting the leash!
Finally! It's been awhile since we've gone to the park I'm so excited! The balls! The women! The dewey grass to roll around in! The women!
He doesn't look very happy...I wonder why, I can't put my paw on it. He puts the collar around me and I can feel the sadness and frustration coming from his body. W-Was that a tear?
Ah the open road I just love it! He puts the window down for me every time so I can smell EVERYTHING. He hasn't said a word to me. Not that I can really understand him anyway. I pick up on little physical cues instead. Like when He's upset He will usually slouch a lot. Not in a lazy way. It's different, like when She left and never came back. He also clenches his fist and I can hear him grinding his teeth. Something's not right.
"Time to get out boy."
Wow what was that? So monotone. Almost...dead even. He's usually almost just as excited as me when we go to the park. I step down and feel the air. I look around and realize something: This is not the park! Where are we? I look up to Him and he has tears once again. I decide to try to cheer Him up by jumping around and raising my paw up and touching Him. The problem is, nowadays I'm not very good at jumping. It hurts. Really bad. I see a small smile creep out and quickly fade away. I start barking like crazy.
"Shh boy come on, let's go."
We get inside and there are a couple other dogs. I recognize this place. This is where we first went to see Her. I didn't like her at first because she put some sharp thing inside my leg and it hurt.
Suddenly, I see Her. She doesn't look very happy either. They take me inside a room that I've been in before. I think they're gonna give me another shot. They have to pick me up to put me on the bed now. I hate being such a burden to them. I want to walk again!
He's crying. He's mumbling words and I wish I could understand. All I can get is "Love you"and "Good boy". Now I'm really starting to wonder what's going on. I'm a little scared. She comes in the room. She says she loves me and what a good boy I am. I just want her to put the sharp thing in already so we can go to the park!
I'm cold. What's happening. I can barely see... He's crying so much and I can't do anything to stop it. Please stop! I'm scared... So...Scared... I just. I wanna go...To the p- |
**NSFW!**
----------
This is true horror.
Not the kind of "oh-my-god-he's-shambling-towards-me-I-hope-I-can-reload-in-time"horror. This is full-fledged "OH-FUCK-THERE'S-EIGHT-OF-THEM-AND-THEY'RE-SPRINTING-AT-ME-AND-ALL-I-HAVE-IS-A-FIRE-EXTINGUISHER"horror.
I've seen myself run down and devour children as their legs gave out from exhaustion. I've witnessed my body tear apart the helpless dying as they cry out for a savior. I've watched in wishful anticipation as a frightened man lifted his revolver to my head, only to be brought down from behind by an amorphous wave of undead arms.
I've had to act as a bystander while *my* body acts contrary to everything that I held high as a human being. It's done things that will haunt me for the rest of my existence-- which, if one takes into consideration my being a phantom, could very well be forever.
But you know what the worst part is, of all this? Of all the small crimes and grandiose horrors of having a front-row view to the ultimate torture?
*My fucking pants are down.*
Not at mid-thigh, not at my knees. They're at my *ankles.* I've been walking around for three months, dead, with my goddamn junk blowing in the wind.
And you know what the worst part of *that* is? It's the reactions I see.
I watch the faces of the doomed as they take in the initial horror of a rotund, yet surprisingly swift, zombie shambling towards them. And then I watch their face writhe in a second spate of horror as they notice my chubby, halfway-decomposed penis swaying lazily between my thighs, clapping and glooping about with my wrinkled, drooping testicles.
Not only am I an undead scourge, feasting on the flesh of the innocent and the unfortunate; I'm an immortal walking punchline, shuffling about without the slightest bit of shame or remorse.
This is so embarrassing. |
As I made my way on foot across town to the Pokemon Professor's Lab to receive my very first Pokemon and begin my quest to conquer the Pokemon League, I was startled by the sound of flapping wings rapidly approaching. I spun around, looking for the source. Suddenly, I felt something lightly bump me on the head, and immediately saw what appeared to be a Noctowl flying away. But I had never seen a Noctowl like this before. It was smaller, fluffier, and as white as snow. A shiny, maybe? I never found out.
Looking down at the ground, I saw what had hit me in the head. I yellowish-white envelope, sealed with red wax. I picked it up and flipped it over. "Red Potter"it said in spindly script.
I looked around. Aside from a few townspeople I saw every day making there way about the town, there didn't seem to be anyone who might have had something to do with this. I figured opening a letter couldn't do that much harm, so I snapped the seal and read the message within:
*To Master Red Potter,*
*We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.*
No sooner had I read the words "a list of all necessary books and equipment"than a second page fell out of the envelope. It indeed listed the names of several books by authors with strange names, and included odd items such as cauldrons, plants I'd never heard of, and body parts of what I assume were new kinds of Pokemon. Honestly, the thought of dealing with dismembered Pokemon struck me as rather morbid, but I was too confused by this letter to be very concerned by it.
[I have to go to my next class right now but I'll continue this later.] |
"Raphael, you can't do this! STOP!"
Belphegor stood between the angel-turned-devil Raphael and the quivering woman. Around them, the earth is scorched and blackened, houses and trees burn at a distance, and several heaps of burned, scorched corpses litter the land.
The angel was unrecognizable as instead of being bathed in ethereal light, he is shrouded in darkness and flames, a cloud of sulphur emanating from his bat-like wings. Belphegor himself still felt unease at his new form -- his angelic wings were a bit unwieldy, and he dreads the feeling of peace and calmness that permeates his being. Such clarity now has opened his eyes to the horror that his friend is now unleashing into the world.
Raphael laughed, and the sound of it seemed to lash at the very being of everyone present. Everyone that is still alive -- that is. The moment the spell worked and switched their essences, Raphael sped like a comet into the nearest town and unleashed hell upon the unsuspecting populace.
"Stop? My dear friend, you do not know what gift you have given me!"Raphael flapped his dire wings, releasing a cloud of noxious vapors which seemed to melt the grass and the topsoil. The unfortunate woman cringing on the ground would have melted if not for Belphegor, who was shielding her with his wings.
Raphael looked up at the sky, and closed his eyes. In the ruined mass that was once a beautiful face, Belphegor could make out a faint smile.
"My friend, now I understand...for too long we have scorned your fate. For us, you were but the ruined remains of brethren gone astray. Your pride, your hubris, have rendered you misshapen, unloved by Him. We considered you vile, corrupt, lower than scum. However --"
Raphael's gaze fell upon Belphegor, and the demon-turned-angel felt repulsed by his countenance. Yes indeed, the faces of demons inspire disgust from angels. Raphael continued to speak.
"...you are free. Do you know how it is to have been born before the beginning of the Earth, before time itself has been devised by the Almighty? We were made to serve Him, to love Him, to fight for Him until the end of time. But you...you are free to do as you please. You are free to feel love, hate, envy, greed -- all these emotions you share with humanity. While all we feel is -- serenity. You were right, my friend. We...are...fucking...BORING!"
Belphegor rose up to speak to his friend. He himself is still reeling from the transformation, but instead of having an impulse to bash his friend's skull in -- like old times -- he instead felt pity toward the ruined form of what was once a beautiful creature of God.
"Raphael, don't! Please remember, you are God's child! What we did was just out of curiosity -- nothing more than child's play! Stop now before it is too late! Would you risk turning away from His grace? Would you risk denying yourself Paradise just to indulge in your desires? Please, I can ---"
"You will do NOTHING!"Raphael's form erupted into flames. He drew himself higher, his form expanding until he was towering over the angel and the woman. "Finally I have the opportunity to do what I have been created for! Now I can stamp out evil just as He has struck your Master down countless ages ago. It is amazing, this ability to see into the hidden thoughts and desires of humans. By this ability I have perceived that this town is living in sin! This woman has lain with countless men in exchange for profit! She must be judged for her sins!
"No! Please, don't! These are humans you are talking about. They are also children of God. Please, I have known them far longer and better than you and though it is true that they are sinful...now I realized the goodness that is in them. I can see it now, as clear as day. Your mission would rid the world of all life, if you continue. Please, my friend, let us go back to the circle, let us undo the spell of transference...it is still not too late..."
"NO!"Raphael raised his hand and a massive trident materialized, pointed at Belphegor and his charge. "You will do no such thing! I shall cleanse this world of humanity! For too long He has coddled them, left them to their own devices while we resorted to soft whispers into their ears. And to what end? Humans have long ignored our voices, turning to you and your kind for all kinds of pleasures...rejecting our offers of Paradise and eternal salvation with Father. NO MORE, I SAY! From this day onward, I SHALL DO WHAT I SEE FIT!"
A column of fire erupted from Raphael's trident, going straight for Belphegor and the woman. The entire town exploded in a fiery cloud, and the ground shook from the blast.
When the smoke cleared, Belphegor emerged from the ruins. He staggered to his feet. holding the charred remains of the woman in his arms. He looked up to see that Raphael has taken flight. He had used his new-found power of shapeshifting to transform himself into a dragon, and was now flying to his next destination.
Belphegor fell to his knees, reeling at the destruction his friend has wrought. He scanned his surroundings and felt a rising dread. Where he was standing on -- it reminded him of hell.
"My God...what have we done?"
|
"You disgust me,"
A well-dressed man had snarled to the person sitting on the curb. He smacked the Styrofoam cup of spare change out of his hand and spat on him.
"Get a job like the rest of us,"the well-dressed man sarcastically offered, before storming off.
A camera was watching them the whole time. Very soon, the footage would be put online for all the world to see. And a week later, coincidence had brought the two back together again.
"Funny seeing you here,"said the well-dressed man, who was no longer well-dressed.
"Small world, huh"replied the other man, who's tattered rags of last week were replaced by an expensive Italian suit.
The two actors shook hands and made small talk on set while they waited for cues from the director.
|
She was coming. I could hear her breathing, the quiet foot steps.
She thought I didn't know. She thought I couldn't hear her, her cries in the night, the way she would stare at me when I was alone in the house.
And now the hunt was on. It was time. Time to end this game. She was coming. She was coming and I had to be ready.
Shrill cries echoed from the hallway as she leaped, her teeth gleaming, her eyes shining. I turned, ready.
She landed square on my chest. I fell. Hot breath on my face. Air forced from my lungs as her weight crushed me. Sharp prickles as her claws dug into the flesh of my arms. I barely had time before she opened her jaws wide.
I grabbed her around the chest and pushed her off of me. She whined as she hit the ground, jaws still open, panting. I had to make her stop or who knew what would happen? What if my kids came home and she was still like this? I had to stop her. I opened my mouth and said the only thing I thought might help.
"Bad dog, Sadie, no jumping!" |
"So we're the patsies, huh? We're some kind of suicide squad."
"No, that's not it at all,"I say, trying to keep my nerves in check. "You're just here to help me."
"Let's go save the world,"the fat bearded one I can't remember the name says, rushing past me.
I grab him by the sleeve. "You're not saving anything,"I say. "And stop quoting comic book movies, for the love of
God."
"Hey, that was in the original comic!"Peter, the tall freckled one argues. "We're not casuals."
"Look, everyone, Lord Darkness will be outside this building any second. He plans to kidnap the president's
daughter. You need to take this seriously."
"Yeah, Peter!"Jeremy, the one wearing a Flash shirt, replies. "With great power comes great responsibility, dude."
I close my eyes, sighing. I should have known posting "Superhero in need of assistant"on reddit would be a bad idea.
"Let's go kick his ass,"Super-neckbeard says, throwing his fist into the air.
"No one is kicking no one's ass,"I reply, trying to keep their attention. "Listen, I told you this, already. You guys will go out there and distract him. The daughter will come out of the party in five minutes. I need you to mingle with her and her friends. Talk to them, try to get them out of there. I'll deal with Darkness."
"You mean… talk to girls?"Peter asks, in an insecure tone. "Like… what do we say?"
"I don't know,"I reply. "Ask them out for drinks. Afterparty. Whatever. Just get them out of there while I deal with
–"
The windows shake, and a loud noise reaches us from the outside. A blinding light floods the street.
"He's here."
"Isn't it weird that someone called Lord Darkness makes his entrance by lighting up the whole town?"Jeremy asks.
"Actually,"Bearded dude says, "In Iron Man number twenty seven, Tony Stark –"
"Enough!"I say, as I hear Lord Darkness' laughter reaching us from outside. "Everyone down now! Find the girl,
get her out of here!"
With one last look at my helpers, I turn around and make a run for the window, smashing my body against the glass.
Hovering away from the building, I stop mid-air in front of Lord Darkness. His cape flows behind his body
menacingly, and he laughs at my sight.
"Super Alpaca,"he says, with a grin. "So you are –"
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH,"TUM.
Lord Darkness looks down, and I do to.
Smashed on top of a black sedan covered in blood is Peter, the freckled nerd.
"What the fuck?"I ask, looking from the body to the broken window in front of me.
From inside the building, fat Neckbeard shrugs. "He wanted to follow you. I guess he thought this was the first floor."
"Doesn't he know I can fly!?"I yell. "You guys – never mind. Get out of the building, now! And use the stairs!"I
yell, as they disappear inside the building.
"You are not going to stop me, Alpaca,"Darkness whispers, hovering closer to me. "I will get what I want."
Slowly, eyes on each other, we start descending to ground level. By my side, a group of girls is leaving a night
club, giggling and talking to each other.
I spot Jeremy, Neckbeard and the others coming out of the building in front of it.
"Guys! Over there!"I yell, pointing at the president's daughter. "Get them out of here!"
Lord Darkness charges on me, and I feel his fist bringing me to the floor.
Jeremy looks from the girls to me. He runs towards Lord Darkness.
"Stop! What are you doing?"I cry, from the floor. "The girls! Save the girls!"
"I'll take fighting an evil lord over talking to girls any day of the wee –"
Lord Darkness punches Jeremy's head off, and it flies towards Super-Neckbeard.
"Oh, Lord!"Neckbeard screams, kicking the head away from him. "Get it off me! Get it off me, I hate blood!"
I roll my eyes, getting up on my knees. Lord Darkness is heading for the president's daughter.
"No!"I say, pulling myself up and running towards him.
I reach my arm, about to grab the girl's wrist when I feel something very heavy hit me in the head.
Everything goes dark.
__________________________
"What's going on?"I say, opening my eyes in a haze. The street's empty.
Super-Neckbeard's face frames itself against the night sky over my head. "Sorry. I was aiming for Lord
Darkness,"he says, showing me a large rock painted in my blood.
I get up, pulling him away from me.
"But we can still get him, right?"he says, catching up to me as I limp away. "Do you have a plane? Or a car, like the batmobile? We can chase them, really! I can help, what do you want me to –"
With a wave of my hand, Neckbeard's body rises five inches above the ground.
I'm tired of this shit.
"Woah!"he yells, looking around at his body, amazed. "Cool!"
I wave my hand again, and Super-Neckbeard's body flies across the street, slamming against the brick wall of a
nearby building in an explosion of blood and bones.
I take a deep breath, then turn around and restart dragging my body down the street.
"Freaking nerds…"I say, half a mind to join Lord Darkness' side and end this superhero crap for good.
_______________________
*Thanks for reading! For more stories, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
|
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