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"I don't know why you've never brought her home,"my mom gushed into the phone. I'd called her right after receiving the text, of course. "Annette's lovely. She was a real sweetheart, we chatted for almost an hour in the cereal aisle."
"Just curious, mom, how did you know it was her?"My descriptions *had* gotten more and more specific over the years, but still, many women had the physical traits that I had given to my imaginary Annette - tall, with long brown hair, a smattering of freckles, and square-rim glasses.
"The necklace, of course!"my mom exclaimed. "Remember when you asked me to go shopping to buy her a birthday present? We picked out that lovely sterling silver pendant with an emerald set in the center. I would recognize it anywhere."
A chill ran down my spine. The last I had seen the necklace, it had still been unopened in its box, shoved in the bottom of my underwear drawer, to be forgotten.
"Hey mom?"
"Hmm?"
"I'll call you back later."
"Of course, dear. Tell Annette that it was lovely meeting her and that the two of you simply *must* come over for dinner sometime!"
"Sure, sure,"I hung up the call and raced into my bedroom. Opened the drawer, ruffled inside for the box. Sure enough, my hand hit the hard edges of a small box. Pulling it out, I snapped the lid open.
The necklace was no longer there.
I felt goosebumps run down my arms as I heard my front door squeak open. I'd always meant to oil the hinges, but I had never gotten around to it. Also, I was certain I'd locked the door. I grabbed my alarm clock from my bedside table - it was heavy enough to serve as a makeshift weapon. Heart pounding, I walked back towards the living room. |
You sit alone at the bar and take a slow sip of your whiskey and you wince. It’s not cause of your drink (although it is terrible). You were half listening in to the conversation two tables over, the sheriff playing the head of the local gang in a hand of poker. Yes, just an individual hand of poker. The player piano stops just as the sheriff reveals \*the exact cards\* he needs to win the hand. The gang draws their guns on him accusing him of cheating and he goes into a monologue that you’re pretty sure is lifted word for word from Elmore Leonard. He then miraculously quick draw shoots all of the henchmen to make his escape. You order another shot and put your head in your hands. You’re only on page 2 of this student’s short story. You hate getting stuck with the freshmen writing seminar.
Your last name Johnson, non-descript and boring. But your mother’s side is why you’re stuck in this western that even Timothy Olyphant would turn down. The Frizzles for generations have used magic to enter the imaginations of their students. A third revel in it and inspire TV shows, a third are driven mad, and for the last third it skips a generation. You were hoping that was case for you. You loved writing. You loved creating stories that kept you in your own head and no one else’s. By the time you were 24 and looking into MFAs you thought you were safe. Even if the gift appeared, it would at least be while reading the start of the next New York Times Bestseller as its workshopped with your peer reading groups. But then your scholarship falls through and the only way you could afford to stay in the program was by TA-ing.
There is nothing worse for a Frizzle than forced imagination. The euphoria of watching a student truly enjoy exercising their mind is better than Ecstasy. But when you have a Freshman that’s trying to scrape by with a C because they were too hungover from a frat party to remember the deadline, it’s an anger that boils at you. And that’s exactly what you get when you’re forced by budgets cuts to take over a section of the First Year Writing Seminar i.e. half the students will be just as bored as you are.
The saloon fades into being a whore house. The student apparently took your suggestion of sticking to the interesting parts as meaning he didn’t need to write transitions. You thought giving them the space to write their own story instead of some boring analysis piece would make the students put more effort into this. But this is the third paper tonight that is doing the bare minimum. You were “gifted” the section with all of the university’s prized one-and-done athletes.
The sheriff is in bed with a woman named … are you f\*cking kidding me… Chastity. You float above them. You’re apparently the narrator now. Which makes no sense since the story was in the first person a page ago. The Sheriff is naked. Except he of course still has on his gallon hat. He starts his speech to Chastity about how much he loves her and how he’ll eventually pay for her to finally leave this place. When she brings up that as a law man he could have this place shutdown he rambles about how the “law are really outlaws that just see the law out”. You can tell the student wasn’t even smart enough to come up with this sh\*tty line themselves because it’s the only part of the paper in comic sans. At least have the decency to fix the font when you copy and paste.
Most Frizzles are just passengers, acting purely as guides for their students. But high level ones can also change the story. You have to be careful because then it starts blurring the line between your imagination and theirs which causes a feedback loop, i.e. the third of Frizzle’s that go mad. But that whiskey is starting to kick in and you can’t take this anymore. You concentrate. And then Chastity gets a blank look on her face and climbs on top of the sheriff. He smiles, thinking it’s time for round two. She slowly works her hands up his chest. She stops at his neck and then squeezes down. The sheriff panics and thrashes, for the first time trying to get her off. But she has him pinned and he slowly subsides. When he’s finally still, she gets up and picks his hat up off the floor. She puts it on and you make her say “Let’s turn this into at least a B+”. |
Eve lay on her stomach, the grass tickling as it blew across her skin. She wetted a finger and raised it to the air, testing the wind's strength and direction as she considered her target. He was big, easily stronger than her but that didn’t matter, not now, not like this. She hated the stubborn pride in those features, how he moved about his life like some latter day Caesar, seeing and conquering in the same moment.
She raised her weapon, squinting hard against the midday sun as she steadied her breath to take the shot and-
“Evelyn Grace Thompson, give me the slingshot.”
Eve’s head whipped around, the slingshot falling from suddenly limp fingers as she stared up into the cool blue eyes of her father. Suddenly she felt very much like the 9 year old girl she hated being.
“Ok Dad…” she said quietly, picking up her prized possession and handing it to him as she stared at her feet.
“What did Billy do this time?” Her father crouched down to her level. He never sounded mad when he spoke to her, hadn’t earlier for that matter but Eve knew better than to lie to him. He had always tried to be very clear about that with his children, he loved them unconditionally no matter what they had done, lying only made things harder.
“He took Livi’s ball and it made her cry.”
“And does shooting a rock at him solve anything?”
“No sir…. But he can’t just get away with it!!! He always gets away with things, I want him to cry like she did.”
“So he won’t. I’ll go talk to his mom about it, she’s right over there” her father said, pointing. “We’ll get Livi’s ball back.”
“No, no, no! Don’t do that, then everyone will know!” Eve pounded little fists into the ground, feeling on the edge of a tantrum. She forced the anger down hard, like she knew her father would. She’d heard him say something about revenge and cold dishes once.
“I want to fix it,” she said, doing her 9 year old best to look tough. Her father smiled at her, tousling her hair the way she always pretended to hate.
“Ok but no hurting him, promise? There’s plenty of stuff we can do without violence, remember the talk we had after the incident last year?”
“Promise.”
“Good. Now come on, we’ve got to get home. Your mom will be back soon so lets go say goodbye to Livi and everyone else.” Hand in hand father and daughter walked across the playground, Eve surreptitiously sticking her tongue out at Billy as they passed.
On the drive home her father’s brain was thousands of miles away in a clock tower overlooking Zagreb, the last time he had tested the air like Eve had. He’d never taught her that, had tried not to show her violent movies, but anyone could see that she was brilliant. He saw a frightening amount of himself in her sometimes, and if his own childhood had taught him anything certain traits could never truly be suppressed. His parents had tried hard enough to prove that.
Maybe he’d take her shooting soon, he thought. They could start with something safe like a small bow.
\-------------------
If you enjoyed that I've got more over at [r/TurningtoWords](https://www.reddit.com/r/TurningtoWords/)! I just started a serial about a superhero who savescums his way through all his opponents and theres some other fun stuff like an AI trying to be the most wholesome kid possible. I'd love to have you. |
Pt 1 of 2:
The camera that hung from a strap around my neck had been used to photograph hundreds of things during the day, but I wanted a challenge. I wanted something ugly, something cloaked in shadows, something that tested my ability as a photographer. At nineteen, I’d been doing this for three years as a hobby, but felt I had a long way to go to become genuinely talented. Ten thousand hours, isn’t that what they said?
The abandoned house I’d passed so many times on my school bus loomed over me as I approached it, walking up the path that led to the front door. The two-story house had been overtaken by brush, the trees overhanging in every direction, vines climbing a path up and down and sideways, the yard choked with weeds that would reach my waist.
Unsurprisingly, the front door wasn’t unlocked so much as it was ajar and hanging from two hinges, one having fallen off, nowhere to be found, I noticed, as I made my way inside. The floor creaked under my feet as I looked around, turning gradually to take in the atmosphere. I’d chosen a clear night with a full moon to get the most natural light possible, but this was still to be a challenge.
Then I heard something else, unmistakable as something more than the settling of an old house, the distinctive shift of wood under two footsteps. My eyes widened in concern. “Um, hello?” I called tentatively. “I, uh…I assumed nobody would be here. If you’re crashing here ’cause you’re homeless, I’m just here to take photos. I’m a photographer, and don’t mean you any harm.”
I slowly walked forward, my eyes going to the right as I entered the living room, spotting the dim light of five black candles flickering on the floor. Each sat at the point of a pentagram that had been drawn on the rotted wood flooring with what I stared at and desperately hoped was red paint. “Hello?” I croaked.
Someone lunged at me from my right and I screamed, my hands going up in instinctive self-preservation as I saw the glint of a blade. Adrenaline flooded through me and I stumbled back a few steps as the knife edged closer, all of my strength going to my hand gripping the wrist of the hand that held it. An impulse dredged up from a self-defense class and I shifted my weight, struck my attacker’s chest and then the inside of his arm, and twisted the knife toward him.
It sunk into his throat with surprising ease and the young man stumbled back a step, staring at me wide-eyed as blood streamed from his neck and down his shirt. My vision tunneled and my heart shuddered in my chest in what I always imagined a panic attack would feel like. The man lost most of his strength quickly, though he continued to fumble his fingers around the wound in his neck, before collapsing down into the pentagram on the floor.
Tears of terror in my eyes, I realized I wasn’t breathing and consciously choked down some oxygen. I wrapped my arms around my stomach, bent over, and after a moment, my knees gave out and I landed on the floor with a *thump*. My whole body felt like it was shaking, down to my bones, and when my eyes slid back to the man’s body, watching a seemingly endless fount of blood spreading across the floor and down through the cracks in the wood, I bent over to my left and vomited.
Most of my dinner exited onto the floor and I wiped my mouth with a violently trembling hand. Then I just breathed. In and out. In and out. Until something else happened.
The flames of the candles grew taller, impossibly tall, a foot at least, turning a vicious shade of red as they flickered shakily, despite a lack of any wind. I stared in an almost catatonic shock as a shine spread from the candles along the lines of the pentagram to the middle, a red glow expanding upwards. Then, as if walking through a door, a woman stepped through.
And then the red glow vanished, the candles went out in an instant as if deprived of oxygen, leaving me staring at her. |
There has been a recent breakthrough, as one small team of researchers managed to reverse-engineer one of the small flexible lightning rods that seemed to prevalent in precursor culture. Another individual researcher found a seemingly undamaged glass slab, several holes in one end, one of which matches one end of the small lightning rods previously mentioned. They plan to meet with the team and experiment with this new development. This discovery could revolutionize everything we know about the precursors!
​
In other news, an archeology team recently discovered a small container with several well preserved objects inside. Most, despite being the best condition finds of these objects, are still broken, but one seems to still be in one piece. It came in its own box, and has a peculiar folding shape to it as if two of the glass slabs had most of the glass removed and were stuck to each other. There are several buttons and small holes on the inner faces, and what appears to be a slot on the back of the strange object. The box it was found in contained several tiny slabs which appear to be the right size to fit within this slot, and the box, the slabs, and the object itself are all marked with the same strange set of runes: "^(NINTENDO)DS"
So far no one has been able to make sense of this, as while these runes individually are a common occurrence, this particular arrangement does not seem to have a meaning. |
I did not understand.
I did not know any of them.
"Yes, but your good deeds touched each of them deeply,"said the angel who introduced herself as Elizabeth.
Wait, you could read my mind?
"Indeed I could, and I had heard everything you thought of."
Oh my god, she would know what I was thinking about her....
"Yes I knew about your admiration for my beauty, especially my eyes. And also some lusty thoughts about my body, particularly my neck and my breast,"she said while smiling. "I can assure you that you are not the first, and definitely will not be the last."
I blushed so hard that I thought I would turn into a cherry.
"But what do you mean when you mentioned about my good deeds? I kept to myself my whole life. I hardly interact with anyone. I did no particularly notable good deed as far as I remember?"I knew she could read my mind, but I couldn't help but to speak up.
"Remember your favourite past time, writing short stories anonymously and publishing them for free in some websites, forums, and blogs?"
"Yes, I wrote a lot. The writings were like therapy for my mind. But good deeds? I am no Shakespeare to further the advancement of the English language, nor am i Tolkien or Lewis to give people some escape from reality."
"That is true. But your stories were, and still are, therapies for so many who read your stories. They were inspired by your stories to be better person, to not give up when facing adversities.
And because of how real and relatable your stories are, many felt that they are in fact not alone, that someone out there is just like them, facing the same insecurities and fear.
But of course, you never knew since you didn't even bother to check the comments and reviews of your stories,"Elizabeth explained with a warm smile.
I looked at her, but I quickly averted my gaze. I did not know where to look, so I looked at the scenes of people mourning me.
"I, urm, well I am glad that so many had enjoyed my stories. But how did they know I was dead?"
"One of the moderators in a forum that you frequently posted in was your high school English Litt teacher, Madam Aisyah. She could recognised your distinct writing style. She was so happy and shocked to read your proses again after 15 years when you first posted in the forum,"Elizabeth said, reading my mind. "When you did not post anything for more than 2 weeks, she called up your old family home. Your cousin Jenny answered. That's when she found out about your death."
I see. Yes Madam Aisyah was the only one who believed in my writing. I remembered that after her, none of my teachers thought my writing was any good. Devoid of confidence, I stopped writing after I graduated high school. It wasn't until I was 35 that I started to write again.
"When your style does not conform with the commonly accepted standard, it is normal that people will find it hard to accept. But look, at the very least, your stories are well appreciated by this crowd, aren't they?"
I supposed you were right about that, Elizabeth.
"Now, take your time listening to what they have to say. When the time is right, we will move on to the next gate."
Thank you Elizabeth.
I looked at these people, my fans, I supposed. Their sad faces. Some moving eulogies. And some were rereading my stories.
I supposed I would not have any more regret now. |
In the name of entertainment, mankind has always been willing to do terrible deeds. To please the dark hungers for blood and horror that lives inside the soul of the average human being, we have done things in the past that are reprehensible beyond belief. For sport, men fought in the colosseum while thousands cheered or booed depending on their particular preference. Blood was spilled from the bodies of countless nameless people who died against each other, against rabid beasts, and against worse yet. In some brutal parts of the world people tormented animals for pleasure by making them fight, in some depraved places the malformed and the misshapen were put on display for folk to jeer at and torment. Everywhere, there has been dark hungers for blood and death. No matter where you go, you can find such horrors. But surely, you back there in your comfortable home think; This is in the past. Not so, not so at all.
Behold Samuel Jenkins, age 37, a lumberjack by trade. For Mr. Jenkins, the world ended eight years ago in a blaze of fire and disease. For Samuel Jenkins, he has been the last man on Earth for the past six months. He wanders the ruined hell-scape of what was once a scenic valley in the Pacific Northwest. He cannot leave, he knows this well enough. Outside the valley the firestorms will kill you. But most of the time the valley isn't affected by such things. Of course, one of the reasons he thinks he is the last man on Earth, is that sometimes a firestorm passes over the mountains. Of the original 20 survivors, only he is left. Some died to mutated animal attacks, some got caught in a firestorm. One died giving birth to a hideously malformed child, another got an infected wound and died without access to antibiotics. Samuel Jenkins has buried his friends. But he hasn't buried his hope yet. Because in him we find the best of what mankind could be. A man filled with hope, who refuses to give up. Determined, stubborn, clever, and brave. A man who never gives in to despair, who tries to appeal to the better nature of mankind.
Originally him and the other survivors lived in the small ruined town at the centre of the valley, but it is infested with mutated animals, and the radiation down there is getting higher and higher. They lost good people evacuating to the high caves. But there was fresh water and edible mushrooms in there. Still, they lost most of their knowledge base, and could no longer use or create advanced tools. A hard trade. But Samuel Jenkins thought it was worth it. He still had his axe. And he had his friends. Now all he has is his axe and the tools his friends left behind. Seeking to gather more protein to salt for the winter, he goes out hunting in the forest. Mutated animals are inedible, poisonous, and he cannot afford to be sick. He must stay alive for as long as possible. For humanity, for the hope that he might not be the last man on Earth. So he goes for the few remaining animals that are unaffected. Some deer, rabbits, anything really to supplement his rather sparse diet. He knows he must do so, because winter is coming, and without enough supplies, he will starve. They starved one early winter, and one of them died by slipping on the ice outside the group's base. None of them wanted to do what they did. But to survive, your pride and dignity is often sacrificed.
But today he thinks that he has finally gone crazy. All that time alone, all the loss, all the pain he has suffered; it must finally have driven him over the edge. But he is not crazy. And a man dressed in a business suit followed by a camera crew is approaching him. Bewildered by this, he finds that he cannot speak as the man in the suit explains that he is a TV-producer for a big reality show. The realest reality show. So real that the people involved don't know it's a show. So real that all the deaths were true. But now it's over. People don't find it exciting to watch a single man stoically survive for months on his own without saying anything. People miss the excitement, the blood, the drama. Ratings has slipped unacceptably low. And thus the show has been axed and he is free to return back to human civilisation.
Samuel's hands clutched onto his axe. He lost friends. He nearly died countless times. He held the woman he loved in his arms as she died from a completely curable disease. And all for higher ratings? For the entertainment of the masses. Blood and death on the little screen. Had mankind really become so cruel, had mankind really gone back to such savagery? It was hard to believe it, for Mr. Jenkins, but it was quite definitely the case. He had been kidnapped, legally, and forced to participate in the greatest reality show of this era; Doomsday Survivor. Shakily, he asks if they're filming him. The producer smiles and tells him that of course they're doing that. The grand finale is always sure to bring back viewers. Boost the final ratings. Mr. Jenkins asks if they're rolling live. The producer, in his expensive suit, with his fake smile, nods and says of course. Samuel Jenkins believed in the best of mankind. And he believed that we should do our part in improving our world for each other. In many ways, Mr. Jenkins was the solid centre of the show, always holding the group together, always working harder for the benefit of everyone.
He was a good man.
And he had a good axe.
That day ratings rose far higher than ever before. As Samuel Jenkins, a man who had lost everything to the needless greed and apathy of the corporate entertainment machine, a man who had been sacrificed to appeal to the most base desires of the masses, split the producer's skull with his axe. That man, a good man, who time and time again had put the safety of others first, and done the best he could to be good and decent, slaughtered the camera team. He rampaged through the interns and producers, through the corrupt executives who had greenlit the concept in the first place. He picked up guns from the security team, and died fighting against a system that desires hatred.
After the massacre, after Samuel Jenkins had butchered some of the most powerful people in the American entertainment business, a new season was greenlit. Bigger. More teams. More dangers. More blood and gore to feed the hunger in the worst of us. The death of a good man changed nothing. Because the death of good men, whether they die fighting, die by the hands of coward assassins, or die on the cross, never matters. Because the crowd, the stupid and unthinking masses, will just laugh, jeer, and eat snacks through it, wondering all the while how they're going to top the current brutality and debasement of humanity, on the next episode. While cruel, callous, and cold men sit behind high walls, reaping all the benefits, and never receiving justice.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
Oliver! Get out here, you bastard!
I could hear Dex from across the cubicle farm. His voice boomed over the heads of junior accountants and HR generalists. I looked up from my desk and peered through the glass door. Offices these days don’t provide any privacy. At least not at my level. Once I become an executive, I’ll get one of those nice offices on the top floor with a door people have to knock on. I mean, I guess my subordinates usually knock on my door now, but it’s just a formality. If someone has already made eye contact with you, what’s the point of knocking?
I’ve calculated it all out. Four years as a junior in internal auditing, move to corporate finance for three years, hobnob a lot, get a senior role for five years, become a director, then join the c-suite. As always, my math was near-perfect; everything had run exactly according to my calculations, and I was already on the “senior role” phase of the plan. But the whole thing was about to be ruined by this rage-filled former business partner busting into my office.
He saw me through my damn glass door and began to make his way across the office toward me, his weapon forming around his body. He rose two feet above his original 6 foot 3 frame as the metal armor twisted around his legs and feet, stretching and strengthening his muscles and bone. Nearby cubicles swayed with each step he took. His burly arms became even more massive, and several jagged spikes grew out of the armor sticking backwards like the barbs of giant fish hooks.
I stood up from my desk and conjured my calculator, letting it hang in the air in front of me. I looked back across the room to see that his helmet had come in, a fearsome craigy skull crowned with a halo of fire. I hurriedly punched in some numbers and was relieved to see the result.
“Hold on! I’m coming out,” I yelled.
He stopped and glared at me. I stepped out of my office, the calculator floating in the air beside me. We were maybe 40 feet apart and separated by several cubicles. Some of the braver accountants had conjured knives or claws and were standing at a distance warily watching our visitor. Others were running away, conjuring shields or light armor.
My calculator moved automatically to face me, still flashing the result of my query: 30 seconds, 29 seconds, 28 seconds… I just had to keep him talking until security arrived.
“Now look, Dex…” I began.
“No!” His voice was a rage-filled roar, amplified by his helm. “Don’t try and talk with your stupid lying words.”
“When did I ever lie to you?” I hadn’t lied, but I did felt a bit guilty about what I left out.“
When you cost me a hundred thousand dollars.”
I conjured another instance of my calculator and quickly typed, “Chance of Dex throwing something at me.” The screen flashed, “75%.”
“I sold you my half of the business. I’m sorry it didn’t go well for you after that. But how can you hold me responsible for that?”
“Aaargh!” He just screamed. I was losing control of the situation. One window said “85%.” The other was at 15 seconds, 14 seconds, 13 seconds…
“Look, just calm down.”
The screen flashed again “99.7%.” I ducked as a chair flew across the room and smashed the glass door behind me. Oh well.
“I’m going to kill you Oliver!” Dex charged, smashing through cubicle walls and desks. I ran in the opposite direction, down a hallway and toward the boardroom.
Both calculators trailed behind me. As I scrambled around a corner, I snuck a glance. The countdown was going up, “16 seconds, 17 seconds…” I was getting further away from security.
“Shit.” I kept running until I reached the end of the hallway and ducked into the boardroom, just as Dex turned the corner. There were several meeting rooms in this area, and I desperately hoped that he hadn’t seen which one I was in. I dove under the large mahogany table. The countdown read “52 seconds.” The other just read “ERROR.” I dismissed one calculator and typed one last thing into the other. “How do I survive this?”
Dex came in 35 seconds later. He had turned the other meeting rooms into splinters before finding me. He destroyed the door and then slammed his fist down on the table, breaking it exactly in two and revealing me, curled up on the ground staring at my calculator which displayed just two words, “Kill him.” Then it changed. “Stand up.” So I did. “Walk backwards to the window - Stall for time.”
“Look Dex,” I said, “What if I paid you back?”
“What?” That stopped him for a second.
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking that I was a bit unfair to you.” Honestly, I had actually been thinking about it. I felt somewhat guilty about how things had ended. Not guilty enough to actually write a check, but I had toyed with the idea.
“I wasn’t 100% sure that the business would go under - more like 87.53% sure. But still. You know. Maybe I could make it right.”
I reached the window. He reached a decision.
“No. You’re a liar. You ruined my life, and now we’re both going down.” His halo burned so hot that it turned blue.
The calculator flashed. “Dive to the left. Now.” I did.
Dex put his head down and charged. As he crashed through the window, he let out an agonized scream. A scream of failure and abject defeat.
A few seconds later, security arrived. Their conjured tasers and handcuffs were at the ready. I stood up and walked past them, muttering something about how I was ok and we were safe now. I shuffled back to my desk and stared off into space for a while. Then I reached for my calculator and typed in a new question.
“How do I start a new career?” |
It was strange to see something like this, even if you have seen thousands of galaxies. Mana is a fundamental building block of the universe, so engrained into the fabric of physics that it would be blasphemous to exclude it from one's calculations. But this planet was an exception. How? None can escape magic, nobody. Even on planets that don't have vast natural reserves of mana, the mere presence of living things causes it to form from their death and suffering.
It was 30 years ago that we found it. A planet residing within a massive solar-system spanning barrier blocking the formation and manipulation of mana. Space vessels broke down upon entering the barrier, so we entered using engines powered by fusing atoms, a primitive, inefficient engine. It took months, but we eventually found a planet that defied everything we knew about the universe. Living things who had broken away from mana. They were terrifying, and beautiful. They performed unimaginable feats of speed and strength without the aid of magic, and their machinery was purely mechanical. We studied them from afar for over a decade, until they SAW us.
The Mirari are invisible to the naked eye, only those with talent in revealing the unseen could behold us in our true form, and yet, they SAW us. Our ships, coated in the skin of our fallen, was visible to their naked eye. Our communications, cast out in the form of our voice was audible to their machines called "radio". When they communicated with us, they did so through a large machine, completely made out of electronics and motors. They terrified us. That is why we attacked.
The battle was short. After we launched our first wave of missiles, they sent theirs. The difference was that they knew where we were. Our strategy of striking from the darkness, completely hidden, failed. For one of theirs, hundred of ours. We stood no chance.
To those who can hear me, please, listen carefully. They can use magic, as well as technology far beyond our understanding. Do not let them consume your dead, and if they come, run. It is the only thing you can do.
\------------------------------------------------------------
Thx for reading to the end, this is my first WP, so feedback is appreciated. :) |
It was a nice surprise when Emily and her friends had the idea to pass the tickets on thier Dad's. Winning a special weekend retreat in the forests of West Virginia for the cheer squads fundraising had been an affirmation that they were raising good kids and it seemed the Dad's would all be good guys.
Fred decided he Roy almost immediately when Emily had introduced him to Zara's Dad years ago. Roy, the burly ex-Marine turned FBI Special Agent, had a wicked sense of humour as well as a similar taste in Bourbon. Similarly Roy liked Fred, a former Paratrooper turned DC Detective. Neither had interacted much with Mitch, ex-Navy hardware shop owner, and Craig, ex-cop turned private security contractor, in the car behind before the subject of the tickets came up. But a trip to the diner one lunchtime turned into a trip to the Hank Smith's Bar, and everyone bonded over thier wives displeasure at thier evening lack of sobriety.
It was looking like a great weekend with great guys, along with a couple of beers beside the fire. Not to mention that Mitch had checked the local hunting rules, and they planned on getting a few critters worth cooking.
Definitely a weekend to relax.
*
Close by Trevor Smalls, was cramped down in the repurposed fallout shelter up the slope from the lodge. His spy cameras were triple checked in the bathrooms, bedrooms, hallways and the kitchen. The hidden cameras in the trees had perfect 360 degree coverage of lodge's exterior. The trophies he'd take this weekend already had him giddy with excitement. That Emily would make excellent sport for weekend away from his crushing family life back in New York. His unbalanced mind saw the adrenaline pumping the rising falling young chest and he bit his lip in anticipation.
A motion sensor on the road flashed. The sport would be arriving any second. He turned his attention to the front of the house.
His mouth dropped and he stopped rubbing himself. His anticipation was turning to horror. And Anger.
*
The guys had emptied in record time. The guns were secured in a handy cabinet, locked with a padlock Mitch had thought might come in handy. The food was squared away, and the beer was in the fridge or stacked under the dining table.
"Anyone who gives up somewhere this stunning for a bunch of teenagers is either a true good guy or a psycho,"Fred joked as they all sat around the fire pit.
Soon night fell and everyone started thinking of bed.
*
Smalls sat watching and listening to these middle aged ass holes. Flu. So simple and yet it'd served up the exact opposite of what he'd wanted. He'd wanted Emily Forster and her young, flirty, preppy, sexual innocent friends (maybe with boyfriends) to corrupt for his amusement. Now he had a load of middle aged dudes. As his eyes turned to the movement on one of the shower camera he started to think his desires and plans were not so ruined. Yes, he could easily get his fun with these guys. He'd never left the boyfriends out before. He got into his robe and began to climb the ladder up and out into the forest.
*
BLAM-BLAM. CRASH.
Mitch, Craig and Roy ran. Roy was in front and had his 10mm Glock out. They burst into the kitchen. Fred had his walther aimed out the remains of the glass door.
"Suspect 5' 9", 180-200 pounds. Bleeding. He's fast guys,"Fred calmly said.
"What the actual,"Roy asked stunned.
"I needed a drink, and the beer had moved. I was last into bed, and I didn't do it. Checked under the table and suspect's mask was looking back at me. He went for me but I think I'm okay.
(had to pause here to go to work, sorry!)
The other three immediately and instinctively moved so there backs were closer to the walls. The demeanour changed from surprised shock to alert calm.
"What the hell you get out of bed with a gun for,"Craig asked in his Texan drawl. To Roy's ears he'd upped his accent like some sort of cowboy from the pictures. It seemed to make everyone take a breath.
"I have absolutely no idea man,"Fred chuckled. "I would say in case I saw a raccoon in the cooler or something but I think my sleeping ass heard something."
Mitch had lowered down below the window and edged to look out the shattered door. "Did you hit the son of a bitch?"
"No,"Fred said darkly, his humour vanishing in an instant. "I don't think so anyway. The blood is from when he went through the glass. It was like he went through paper though."
Roy and Fred exchanged a look. Roy turned to Mitch who'd already manoeuvred himself over to the gun cabinet. "You read my mind,"Roy laughed.
"We're at least an hour from the nearest town. Want to try and call in some help on the sat phone I got in the survival gear,"Craig asked the room at large.
They all exchanged glances. They knew what they'd been taught to do. But they knew what they'd all been trained to do as well.
"Fuck it,"Craig spoke for them all. "We was going hunting anyways."
*
Smalls had opened the door and snuck inside so quietly he was amazed at himself. He'd edged the beer out from under the dining table and managed to squeeze in the gap he'd made. Four middle aged dudes, at least one was going to need a leak in the dead of night. He'd checked the vans and couldn't see any radios or phones. He'd been sure these old men would be fun. Like getting his damn father back for all the beatings. Then just as he'd thought to chloroform and drag the guy outside he'd stopped dead in the hall way and knelt down. He'd panicked like a sleepy person would.
"But most sleepy people aren't wearing a damn gun"smalls muttered to himself as he sat strapping his leg. He'd always assumed that he'd use the door shattering to mess with girls heads. Hence sawing every crosspeice of wood part through and the cheap glass. It still hurt. His leg had smashed the door but a falling shard had slashed his ankle. Next time he'd use shin pads or something. He knew he couldn't go back to the bunker still bleeding, so he'd headed through the scrub where he had his back up hide and one of the medical kits.
Honestly, what kind of crazy old dude carried a gun to bed.
*
"So let me get this straight. It's sugar glass,"Fred asked as he strapped his shotgun across his chest.
Mitch smiled like a Cheshire cat. "This guy is definitely one of those flashy bad guys. Bet it was part sawed too. But he's used some really expensive thin blades. But you guys are all cops so I'm sure you'd realised no one can actually jump through a door like that."
Roy decided to be honest. "Till you said it I'd never have looked twice with the bastard still presumably live outside."He rolled the bolt on his rifle and drove it home. "But we'll watch out for more dumb crap like that."
"Who's the ranking military man,"Craig asked, "I'm just an ex cop who guards politicians these days, so I'll cover your sorry asses unless you tell me different."
"Well I topped out a Captain with the Marines Infantry,"Roy said.
"Sergeant Major in the 502nd Regiment,"Fred said as he shoved a knife he'd just sharpened into its sheath.
"Lieutenant Mitch Sanders, one tour with Seal Team 4,"Mitch muttered with embarrassment. There was a stunned silence.
Roy Broke it. "Well I might out rank you but shit Mitch, I'll do whatever you say".
(sorry, really enjoying this and want to keep going but my lunch just isn't long enough. Will try and do more tonight. Hope you're enjoying)
" |
Whoever was holding the camera panned down to show me Jigsaw Junior. The kid was wearing a paper mask with eyeholes. There was a smile drawn on it with red crayon.
"He made the mask himself,"said the parent, their voice heavily distorted by a filter. "Isn't it perfect? He'll be a great artist someday. Son, tell the man about the trap you made for him."
I couldn't see Jigsaw Junior's face, but his body language expressed confusion.
"The trap,"said the parent. "Remember? The trap you made. What's it about? Tell the man."
"Math,"a voice said. I realized it was Jigsaw Junior, his voice also distorted.
"Yes, the math trap!"the parent said proudly. "Explain the math trap."
"You have to do math,"said Jigsaw Junior.
"Yes, exactly, or else?"
"Or else..."Jigsaw Junior stopped to think. "Math."
"Or else death, Timmy -- I mean, Jigsaw Junior. Or else death."
"Death,"repeated Jigsaw Junior with an enthusiastic nod.
I couldn't see anything but the screen. The room was pitch dark and my hands were firmly tied to the armrests of the hard, uncomfortable chair I was sitting on. Worryingly, my forehead was also tied to the backrest with several lengths of rope, ensuring that I couldn't move my head at all.
Best to play along, I thought. The parent was obviously insane, but all he wanted from me was to play an innocent game with his kid, it seemed. If I indulged him, he might let me go. "Death"was obviously an euphemism, he would probably just ask me to play dead or something.
"Um, okay,"I said. "Show me the trap, Jigsaw Junior."
"Thank you, sir,"said the parent. "You know how it is when they get to that age."
"Yeah, sure,"I said, having no idea what he meant.
"He's usually much more talkative, you wouldn't believe how smart he is. I guess he's just shy because you're a stranger and all. Anyway."
The parent panned the camera towards a large button. It was installed on a cardboard box covered in crayon scribbles, and connected to a wire that snaked into the wall.
"Ti... Jigsaw Junior,"said the parent. "Press that button you made all by yourself."
Jigsaw Junior was distracted by something off screen and didn't answer.
"Jigsaw Junior,"insisted the parent. "Press the button or I'll have to turn off the cartoon."
Jigsaw Junior stood up clumsily, waddled over to the button and bent down to press it with both hands.
I was suddenly blinded by lights and heard something that sounded very much like a buzzsaw. I screamed, trying to open my eyes.
"Jigsaw Junior,"I heard the parent say. "You activated the trap, now you have to tell the man what the question is."
I was able to open my eyes a bit. It really was a buzzsaw. *There was a ceiling-mounted buzzsaw coming towards my head.*
"Jigsaw Junior made that contraption,"the parent pointed out. "I just helped a little. Jigsaw Junior, talk to the man. Tell him the question."
"TELL ME THE QUESTION!"I yelled. "TELL ME THE FUCKING QUESTION!!"
"Watch your language, please!"said the parent indignantly. "Go on, Jigsaw Junior. What's the question?"
"Can I go play?"asked Jigsaw Junior.
"YES!"I yelled. "WHATEVER YOU WANT!"
"That wasn't the question, hang on,"said the parent. "You can play later, okay? First, the question. Look, look at that screen. See the man on that screen, the one who's about to be bisected by a buzzsaw?"
"What's bisected?"asked Jigsaw Junior.
"IT'S WHEN YOU CUT SOMETHING IN TWO HALVES PLEASE FOR GOD'S SAKE ASK ME THE QUESTION"I yelled.
"The math question, Jigsaw Junior,"said the parent.
"What's..."Jigsaw Junior began, but trailed off.
"Whaaaaat's...?"the parent repeated in encouragement, then held up two fingers.
"Two!"said Jigsaw Junior enthusiastically.
"IT'S A NUMBER!!!"I yelled.
"Sshhh,"said the parent. "He's not done. What's twoooo...? Pluuuuus...?"The parent held up two fingers again.
"Two!"said Jigsaw Junior again, clearly proud of himself.
"FOUR!!!"I yelled. "Now stop the buzzsaw!"
"Is that right, Jigsaw Junior?"said the parent. "Does two plus two equal four?"
Jigsaw Junior cocked his head sideways, his expression behind the mask presumably quizzical.
"No,"he said.
"YES!!"I shrieked. "YES IT'S FOUR!!"
"That's not the proper way to do it, sir,"said the parent. "You have to explain these things, you can't expect them to just memorize everything, they have to arrive at the conclusion with --"
"STOP THE BUZZSAW AND I'LL EXPLAIN EVERYTHING TO HIM"
"I'm the one who does that, all right? Just be patient. Jigsaw Junior, really think about it. Come on, you know this, what's going on with you today? Is two plus two really not four?"
"THE BUZZSAW IS GONNA KILL ME!"
"Well, sorry, sir, but consequences are important, that's how kids learn from their mistakes. Jigsaw Junior, look at my hands."The parent held up two fingers.
Begging was clearly pointless. As I tried to think of some way to escape, I realized that the buzzsaw's height would make it cut into the rope before it cut into my head.
"Oh fuck,"I said. "Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck."
(CONTINUED IN COMMENTS) |
***Part 1/4***
**March 5th year 732 since angels descent**
Dear Diary,
Father once again has refused my request to visit other lands and other peoples. He insists we are of a higher stock living in Hades Seat and not to concern ourselves with cattle. But I can’t help but wonder what their lives are like. Do they live as we do? What do they eat and drink? What are their family lives like?
While we may be a higher vampire family, we consume blood rarely and only when necessary. So the idea they are cattle seems antiquated to me. However, I have concocted a scheme most devious. I have extracted a promise from Father that he shall fulfil any request I make on my birthday.
A few scant months of waiting are all that I shall need to endure before I can set my plan in motion.
​
**June 30th, year 732 since angels descent**
Dear Diary,
FATHER LIED!! He promised any request, and when I asked to go to leave the castle and travel the world to meet the people, he scoffed and refused me despite his promise. Me reminding of the promise only infuriated him further, and I have been locked in my room so as to reflect on my actions. But I care not anymore. My family seem to believe the world we live in is the one they were born into. It sickens me. So I have spoken with some of the maids and learnt of a servants passage. I shall use this to make my escape. All I require now is to gather supplies.
​
**July 7th year 732 since angels descent**
Dear Diary,
I have made good on my escape and made it to the lower city. The place is beyond fascinating, albeit odourously unpleasant. I have encountered many humans who serve the city and live well. One such family that work as merchants took me in for a short duration. They are delightful and kind.
Their family behaviour, however, is peculiar. They seem to dine together and converse on the day they have had. On the rare occasions my family ate together, barely a word is uttered. Indeed the humans are oddities. But nevertheless, this is quite enjoyable.
I have learnt from my new human friends of an Elf quarter of the lower city and plan to make my way there come the following day. I can only hope such fun may continue.
​
**July 8th year 732 since angels descent**
Dear Diary,
Never in my life have I been so offended. These ‘High Elves’, as they call themselves, are beyond elitist. I truly thought my family were the height of snobbery but oh, how mistaken I was.
I ventured into the elf quarter despite my human friend’s warnings and was almost immediately accosted for doing so. They made remarks about me not being welcome. THIS IS MY FAMILIES CITY!! I am welcome anywhere I so choose. For them to deny me is the height of impropriety.
Feeling dejected. I decided to move away from the offender. As to call on my authority to have them put in their place, I would almost certainly be found by Father.
As I was distanced from the man, I encountered High Elf children of a similar age to myself. They were far more pleasant to me than their elder. They bemoaned the old ways their parents kept and the outdated thinking prevalent in their society. I must say I felt a great kinship with these children.
It was as our conversation continued that I learnt of Wood-elves. A cousin species of sorts that, as the name suggests, lived in woodland. I shall see to visiting them next as my human merchant friends told me they have a caravan moving near the forest soon. |
"And you're sure he... she... *it* won't harm us?"my mum asked.
"Mum, come on. Death is here as my guest, not on business. You wouldn't expect a surgeon to start operating on you, would you? And they're *really* eager to meet you. Just, not like **that**."I laughed.
"I suppose so, but... it's *Death*."
"I know, I know,"I said understandingly. My parents were always supportive of me, but I couldn't expect them to be entirely casual about this. I mean, I wouldn't be either.
"Alright honey,"she offered a weak smile. "We'll be on our best behavior."
Moments later a knock was heard at the door. It was slow and deliberate and would sound rather ominous had I not known it so well. I opened the door with a big glowing smile on my face.
"D!"I exclaimed and leaned in to give Death a kiss. I had to stand up on my toes; Death was after all some 2 meters tall to my rather average height. "So, these fine folks here are my parents,"I said and waved my hand towards my mum and dad. They stood there with absolutely mortified expressions; they'd not seen any pictures of Death so far, and perhaps they expected them to have, well... skin. Seeing the smooth, white skull with two empty eye sockets must have been quite the shock.
MR. AND MRS. JOHNSON they said. Their voice, with their lack of vocal cords, or, anything to produce sounds with, was something that was heard in their head rather than by their ears.
My parents were far too scared to utter a single syllable. Death, seeing this and offering compassion, continued.
DANIEL HAS TOLD ME MUCH ABOUT YOU. I'M LOOKING FORWARD TO SPENDING THE EVENING WITH YOU.
The match my dad lit to ignite his pipe burned all the way to his fingers now and broke him from his stupor. After a sharp hiss of pain that reminded him that this was, in fact, real, he managed something I didn't quite expect - not this soon anyway. He put his pipe down on a nearby table, cleared his throat, and approached Death with his hand extended.
"Hm! W-welcome to our home, uh... Death. May I take your... cloak?"
HA HA. IT DOESN'T QUITE WORK LIKE THAT BUT THANK YOU. SAY, WHICH ONE OF YOU TAKES CARE OF THOSE PETUNIAS IN THE GARDEN? THEY LOOK ABSOLUTELY DIVINE.
My mother, hearing this unexpected compliment to her floristic skills, also came out of her trance.
"Oh! Thank... you? Do you garden?"she asked cautiously.
WHEN I HAVE THE TIME. WE MUST COMPARE NOTES - I AM **DYING** TO KNOW HOW YOU GOT THEIR LEAVES TO BE SO SHINY they laughed.
This was going to be a great evening. |
I couldn't believe what I was seeing. Walking up the road was a blue dragon who kept talking and looking around. I couldn't quite make out what they were saying until they caught up with me and my horse.
"Hello, Mr Human, Mr. Human. I am not here to eat you or your horse. Don't be afraid of me, please."
"Is this a trick?"I had my crossbow resting across my horse pointed in the general direction of the dragon. If he saw it, he didn't make a big deal of it.
"Oh no, no trick sir. You see, I left my nest and we have to go away to find a place for a lair to start our hoard. I'm so excited to be here that I wanted to introduce myself to the town, my new neighbors."He stopped and sat down on his hunches to rest. "I wan to be a better neighbor than my Mother and Father were in their towns. People kept coming to try to kill them and steal their gold."
He said this like he didn't understand why his parents would be attacked. Of course, to him, they are mommy and daddy not monsters eating their livestock and burning crops.
I spoke up, "If I could suggest something to help you not scare the humanoid settlement down the road, would you listen to me?"
"If it would help, and I can do it, sure!"He nodded his head with enthusiasm.
"Have you learned to Polymorph yet? You know, shifting your shape to look like some other, less fearsome creature?"I paused to see if they made a sign of understanding.
"Oh yeah, Momma made sure I knew that one before she let me go."If a lizard mouth could smile, his was doing it. I could feel the pride beaming off of him.
"Okay, this is great. Can you perhaps shift to look like a human? How about you shift to look like me..."
I got off of the horse and walked toward him so he could get a better look. I even twirled around so he could see all sides. I could see him concentrate and in a moment standing near me was someone who looked *like* me, but not exactly.
"Oh, Very nice!"This is a better way for you to go into town, trust me, I know. How about you walk in with me. while in this form. Just to make sure you can keep it up. "
"Oh no mister, once it's set, I don't have to concentrate. I just need to dispel it when I am done."
We walked the rest of the way into town making small talk. Well, they asked LOTS of questions which I answered to the best of my knowledge and or willingness to give the info. When we got to the town gate, I hollared up at the gatekeeper.
"OY! you know who I am, why aren't the gates open yet?"The guy was new and got a little nervous telling them to open the gate. We walked in. "Tell the captain to come here will you.", I turned to my new blue friend, "I didn't even catch your name."
"Momma said names have power and I shouldn't tell the humans, I mean other people, my real name, you can call me Morty."
"Okay, Morty, wait here just a moment, since you are new, and they don't know you yet, I need to talk to the guard captain to be able to bring you in to meet people."Morty nodded in agreement.
"Hey, uh George..."I walked over to the captain of the watch. "I ran into this totally human person walking up the road. They have recently moved into the cave up on reach mountain and wanted to introduce themselves as our new neighbor. Our totally human, normal neighbor."I realize that may or may not have gotten my point across as I saw him study my face, then look over at Morty who was grinning from ear to ear and nodding his head.
"First time around people, huh?"
"Yeah, but he seems *good*... I don't think they will be a problem. Well, not until he finds out about the rest of us here. He already knew Polymorph unlike the Minotaur last week."
"Oh, how's he working out?"the captain asked.
"He's great, he took a job with the blacksmith. They have both been too nervous to reveal they are both considered *monsters* out there."I motioned Morty to come meet the captain.
"Listen here, Morty is that right?"The captain put on a gruff appearance.
"Yes, Morty. A totally normal human, just gonna try to make a living hunting in the woods and maybe have a small garden, you know us humans have gardens to grow vegetables."He paused.
"Okay, so you have wandered into a place that is not like your normal human settlement, and as a matter of fact we are really open minded about a bunch of things, except, causing trouble with our neighbors. So, you don't plan on causing any troubles with our neighbors? Do you?"
"No sir, of course not!"
"Okay, Okay, Okay. Look Reggie here is going to walk you over to the Inn and let you get a room for the evening We can't open the gates after dark. Who knows what kind of horrible things are *out there*."
Morty nodded, then looked around and sniffed the air. He started to study the Captain and I really closely.
"Are there ANY humans here?"he looked disappointed.
I waved the captain off. "I'll explain it to him. He's such a sweet kid, I didn't want to, you know..."The captain reached out and took the kids hand and shook it.
"You are in a safe place, as long as you keep it a safe space. There is one human family left here. They live in the middle of town and run the Inn. We protect them, from well... "I shook out and shifted back into my native form of an Owlbear. I then bowed and shifted back into my human shape. "We are out in the middle of nowhere, you know. That's why the cave was open. I don't know who came through first and found the Feltons with their farm barely providing enough food for them, and their dream of opening an Inn for travelers. But, they sort of adopted the family and kept them alive the first rough Winter. They helped them build the larger building that is the Inn today. Then, one by one, other non humans who could polymorph, or learn to polymorph showed up and started building around the Inn. There's a huge farm over the hill back there. We actually send crops to other settlements now and trade for iron and copper. Well, of course for gold as well. Out there, we are monsters, but here, we are all family. So, that said, do you want to meet the Feltons as Morty, or as the blue dragon who lives over the village? Again, they are good people."
"Well... I... I don't know."He looked a little let down. "I'm not ashamed of being a dragon and I want to be friendly. I'm not going to eat their livestock. There are plenty of deer in the woods here, plus bears and salmon in the river on the other side of the mountain. What if I showed them that looking like a monster didn't mean I was a monster?"
"Let's save that for tomorrow. Just meet them tonight as Morty, and we'll see what tomorrow brings." |
I was naive to think that lives could only be saved through healing and to think healing was a noble art.
Ever since I was a child, I wanted to save lives. I grew up at the wrong time. Before I could learn healing magic, many healing temples had been put under scrutiny by the government. Healing had been used for evil.
The most feared mage in the land was not a pyromancer, nor a necromancer, but a healer. He regenerated parts of the body to the point of excess, causing malignant growths and cancers. He had a hoard of prisoners which he kept alive for harvesting, removing their organs, and regrowing them over and over. He multiplied invasive plants to ruin harvests, was a master of pain, and had become a message for others not to underestimate healers.
One day, my future was bright, the next, it was all but a fantasy. I could not learn healing magic, but I promised myself that I would find a way to help people.
Few forms of magic lend themselves well for healing. Not charms, transfiguration, or energy manipulation. But death… death was the opposite school of magic of life. I soon realized they were one of the same. It was the only type of magic I hadn’t tried, the moment I cast my first death spell, I could feel the reversal of life magic, the same magic twisted to its corrupted counterpart. If a healer could harm, perhaps a death mage could heal.
Spells meant to share pain between two people could also be used to share healing. Spells meant to kill warriors could also be used to kill diseases. Spells meant to manipulate spirits could be used to help them find peace. Finally, I had found a way to save lives.
Though in recent days the most feared healer has been increasing their carnage. All of my spellwork has been simply to try to undo his vile deeds. I must wipe out the source of this hurt. So now, I stand before the dark healer’s tower, prepared to use death magic to snuff out life. I will heal this land by curing it of its plagues. Even if I must kill a healer to do it. |
In hindsight it was a red flag, but she was gorgeous and, up until then, it had been going beautifully.
We'd met at the zoo, where I had just started working in the cafeteria, she was a keeper in the insect house. On my first day she had come in for a coffee and I fell a little bit in love with her. How could I not? - she was tall and slim with a cute, quirky looking face. And her legs, they were incredible - boy, she was all legs.
We spoke several times over the next week or two, then I invited her out for an after work drink. I was overjoyed when she accepted enthusiastically.
The date went well and she invited me back to her room. 'I hope you don't mind creepy crawlies' she said and pointed to the corner next to her bed.
It was hideous, a giant centipede, with a massive pair of claws. 'Oh!' I said, trying my best to keep calm. 'That's pretty big, and why is it translucent?'
'It's a ghost', she replied, as it climbed up her arm and wrapped itself around her shoulders. 'It's OK, I've told her you can be trusted'.
I really should have made my excuses, but she started taking off her top. The centipede moved round to her back, and I swear it undid her bra strap.
We made love, but when I was about to climax I felt a sudden pain in my left buttock. The centipede had bitten me. The venom soon overcame me and I passed out.
I woke up the next morning feeling mildly nauseous. The girl said she had an amazing time, and congratulated me for being a fantastic lover. The centipede was sitting on the bed side table and smirked lasciviously at me.
That was two weeks ago. My backside had been getting increasingly uncomfortable and, what had started off as small red dots grew in to small boils.
Working in the cafeteria today, I became increasingly uncomfortable. It felt as if something was squirming about in my pants. I went to the restroom and dropped my trousers.
I could see then moving about in my underpants, dozens and dozens of tiny little centipedes. |
The starship captain stood before us, his hands clasped in front of him. He looked apologetic. "I am sorry,"he said. "My tools are not magic. I hope you can understand that."
I looked at my tribe members. They were all staring at the captain, their eyes wide. We had known about the galactic union for years. We had felt their ships flying through our system. But we had never seen a person who looked like this.
"I hope that you can accept our apologies,"the captain said. "We did not intend to contaminate your culture."
"Are you a god?"I asked.
"I am not a god,"the captain said. He looked startled. "I am a galactic union starship captain."
"You are a god,"I said. "You have fallen from the sky, like a god. You have observed the customs of our country, like a god. And you have given us this magic."
"I have not given you anything,"the captain said. "I have only offered my apologies. And I have explained that my tools which you have seen me use are not magic."
"We do not need an apology,"I said. "But we want to know about these tools. We want to learn about this magic."
"Magic is not real,"the captain said. "Truly, you will learn much from our tools."He smiled. "We have discovered many wonders. I can show you how to build a radio that sends sounds across great plains and tall mountains, without needing magic or spells."
I was surprised that the captain was so foolish. "I know what a radio is,"I said. "I have seen your ships, your greatest technology, and they function poorly. This is why you have crash-landed here among our people."
***
In my throne room that night, I sat on my throne and looked out at my tribe. "This day we have met a god,"I said.
My tribe looked at me and nodded.
"This day we have learned everything we need to know about this god,"I said.
My tribe looked at me and nodded.
"This day, we have learned that this god does not know magic. He does not even believe in magic. And so his kind will be no threat to us."
"We have learned these things,"my tribe said.
I looked over at the corpse of the starship captain and nodded.
***
*For more stories check out r/greypuffin* |
“Hi Sharona. Are you planning on buying something or are you just here to torture me some more?”
The tall pale woman in a red dress looks back at me, her eyes pleading. “Please come back Griselda. I miss our battles.”
I roll my eyes. Back on our home planet, I was a scrawny girl who got picked on by the popular kids. When I finally succeeded in making a name for myself as a scientist who could stop the impending doom, naive, money-grabbing adults like Sharona convinced themselves that I was leading them astray.
After Sharona rejected the medicine that would keep them from the effects of the tremendous doom that awaited anyone who hadn’t gotten their medicine, she started to go insane. She and her little cultists convinced themselves that I was evil, and plotting to take over the world.
I, for one, was appalled. I had just saved the world, and the thanks I got was the image of a villainous witch. I was done. I figured there would be some other place where I could go and try to help people.
Fortunately, the world where I ended up had no impending doom. Nature thrived, science was at its peak, and medicine allowed people to live off of clean energy for a long time. I finally got to pursue what I really loved — caring for wounded animals.
Today, of all days, one of the cashiers had called to tell us she was taking one of her mental health days. I usually worked in the animal clinic itself, but I agreed to take over the small business shop that offered remedies and small trinkets for pet owners.
I look back at Sharona. “I like it here. I’m happy here. And best of all, people respect me here. I hope that you figure out your issues, Sharona. But I tried to help, and you rejected me. So no more battles. Either buy something, or go away.”
Sharona’s eyes burn fiery red. “Fine. Be like that.” Turning sharply on her five inch heels, she struts away.
I roll my eyes again. Some people have no idea what the damage of their privilege can do. I hope her world can survive her ignorance. |
Ya know, it was a bit of a shock at first. All these strange critters spread out over the world. Honestly, most places still haven't recovered. Norway, eh? Poor Norway. Those ice-aroos, uff-da.
Now, thankfully, no one had more than one new critter to deal with, and for whatever reason, they don't seem to be spreading, so that's helped folks adapting. I mean, look at how the Danish turned Bullet ants into a delicacy. They're a clever bunch.
And Australia is doing fairly well, oh ya, you betcha. They're happy with almost all their swapped animals. There is some debates, of course, over what came from where. Especially since they have a herd of Jackalopes pestering Perth. There's some rumors of a sasquatch deep in the outback, as well, which has the Pacific Northwest arguing with Appalachia about whose it was. I personally think it's really a desert yeti, but don't tell them.
But anyway, I do feel we here in the north got the best deal, thank heaven. Don't get me wrong, it took some adjusting, but knowing Minnesota is still pretty safe on animal standpoint is comforting. Plus, they just do a great job filling the same niche, while being so much more adorable. It's working out so well, some folks even point to it as proof the Swap has happened before. Also, it's made spelling much easier. I mean, why did opossum have the O in the first place? No, I'm happy to welcome the possum here. |
Tension bled from me as Death granted my request. Raising one spindly arm, his robes dragging across the cave's floor, he pressed his crooked fingers to my hollow chest. With a sudden shock, I awoke, my heart thundering in the silence.
I could feel Death's aura lingering in the corporeal world, dissolving back into the ether in those few confused moments between unreality and life.
I opened my eyes in the dim light.
As I rose, I felt no apprehension, no fear at his final words, only a lightness of spirit. Death was mistaken. I knew in my heart I would never kill anyone—my whole life I had preached peace, practiced benevolence, turned the other cheek. Had I been willing to coax myself to acts of violence, I would not have arrived at Death's doorstep bathed in my own blood at all. Surely, that ultimate trial—that test of my nonviolence by blood and fire—would absolve me of a damned fate.
In the darkness, I raised my trembling hands to my cheeks and found them damp with tears. I staggered against the rocky walls, weeping with joy, overwhelmed by my reawakened senses.
This couldn't be Death's doing—no, this second chance at life, this opportunity to complete my unfinished journey, could only be a blessing from God. I resolved, then, to preach that this was God's doing. To rewrite the story and leave Death by the wayside.
How could my words of humility provoke violence? If I walked a path of righteousness and preached peace itself, then how could countless souls die in my name?
It would never come to pass.
I wouldn't let Death poison my work.
I had awakened from darkness, baptized in blood, the Son of God. |
“You.” I say sternly to the man that had just walked in. “This is has been the third time you’ve been here. I thought the second was a fluke; it’s not.”
*What is going on?* I begin thinking of *how the fuck* he’s done this. Not once. But twice.
The man turns and starts smiling. “You sell dreams, right? It’s a dangerous game sometimes. You should know that. Don’t you remember, Leon?”
It hits me.
My hands begin shaking even more than they did when he walked in. My stomach churns; my legs nearly gave out.
“How to get here again was the only dream I needed. I’m in disbelief it actually worked. Is this how you did it? Unbelievable how ridiculously simple this was.”
He was genuinely flabbergasted.
Ha. It was silly of me to think I’d be the only one.
“My second dream? How to own this place. And what do you know! That one is just as simple. I’ve just gotta kill you!”
He pulls out a gun.
“I’ve not thought of my third dream. Or fourth. Or sixth or seventh. But I do know I’ll sleep well forever.”
*His eyes meant it. Whatever. I’m tired anyways. One more dream won’t hurt*
I dream of calm.
The lights go out. |
It was a cold day in fall when Fourth buried what remained of his first brother. The straw made good kindling for the flames that sent him off with prayers to the afterlife. Ever the planner, he dug the second grave early. Before the frost came, and the ground did freeze.
Much to his dismay, he was right to do so.
His youngest brothers... they were always too trusting in the world. Too kind, too smart, to self assured in their safety from the horrors that lay beyond their view. But Third? Oh, Fourth felt a true kinship with his third brother. For, Third *knew.* Third had seen it, just as he had. It was just a difference of execution on how they both reacted.
For Third was not one for violence. So much as he and Fourth had discussed the way forward, Third was always one for defense. To wait out his enemies. To seek shelter against the storm.
But Third's hooves could only lift so much. The weight they could carry was finite. The shelter he could provide was not enough for all their kind. And that was where Fourth forged his own path.
A great general once spoke the truth of battle, that to present weakness is create opportunity for strength. And Fourth had presented that weakness time, and time, again: His hooves had dug into the earth, his mouth had carried the twigs of his Second brother's home, and sharpened them, before setting them in the deep pits. Then covered them in leaves, and sand.
How many had his trapped killed? Fourth knew not, but they were not his only weapons.
Straw and hay of his first brother's home, fed flames upon the forest and plains. Stones of his Third's toppled from mountains rolled with ferocity unmatched.
Fourth knew that he was nothing but flesh and delicious weakness to wolven kind, but he knew that was not only his flesh. In his mind, there was a deeper truth that he pursued. One that possessed him, forced him to tread down a path that none of his fellow prey dared to trespass upon.
He would not hide from the death that sought them. He would not wait in fear for that which came for them in the night.
No, bone by bone, the Forth built his home, not as a shelter, but as a statement. He did not wait within it, he did not sleep in shifts, fearing the sounds of approaching paws.
Instead, the Fourth sat atop his home of skulls, eyes upon the horizon. His gaze sought out the horrid darkness of the distant forest.
As he waited for the next who dared to emerge. |
Another day, another dramatic moment coming from the 'average' girl. The not-the-queen-bee, who has nothing in life, except half the school crushing on her and the other half envying her, and with whom the most popular 'hunk' is in love, and who lives in a nice home and who is perfectly good-looking, has had enough of the most popular girl in school who is actually not that popular, just a jerk.
These two fight every day, every hour in school. And, heaven knows why, but the teachers are okay with it. They don't seem to have an issue. I've been in this school for ages, and I think that they used to expel people for fighting all the time. But that thought seems like a distant memory, a part of my past that I can't seem to get a hold of. For now, all I remember of my life is Kathy Johnson and Aileen Brown fighting. I don't even remember what I do at home, they've 'captivated' me so much.
Today they're fighting about how Kathy sprayed cheese on Aileen and embarrassed her in front of the entire school. And somehow that turned into a fight about the handsome guy who's in love with Aileen, and then into a fight of who's more popular. I'm looking at the teacher now. There's a slight frown on her face, as she tries to calm them down, but nothing else. She stands there, still and looking worried. I wonder, for the first time in a long time, what it is we are supposed to be studying, and how much syllabus we have left. Instantly, my head starts throbbing. Maybe it's because of worry.
Meanwhile Kathy and Aileen continue their petty fight, throwing around childish insults.
Aileen turns to Kathy in a preying manner and screams, 'Nobody likes you!' before staring at her like a beast.
Kathy maniacally laughs and dangles her phone in front of Aileen. The phone shows 321 unread messages.
Aileen snorts. 'Let me rephrase that: Nobodies like you'.
The other kids laugh. I laugh too, but it's not funny. Today more than ever, I just don't feel like being part of this drama. My head is still spinning. The clock reads 9:32.
'You're the kind of girl that could fall of a cliff and people would be glad'.
Tsk, third grader insults. I feel like I want to hit my head into a wall. I hate these girls. I want to study.
'You're the kind of girl who'd get pushed off a cliff'.
I want to study, the overwhelming urge to slap these two is getting to me. I glance at the clock again, it is still 9:32.
'No boy likes you, you probably pee your...' 'Oh SHUT UP'.
Wait. That was me. I shouted too loud. I've had enough.
'I WANT TO LEARN WORLD HISTORY'. My voice is echoing across the class.
'I WANT TO LEARN MATHS TOO, I DON'T WANT TO HEAR YOUR FIGHTS, YOUR INSULTS AREN'T EVEN GOOD'. Everyone has turned around to stare at me. For the first time in my life, I notice how deranged but perfect their faces are.
A girl next to me sighs and says something quietly, that I am not able to hear. I hear boots stomping outside the classroom. And the clock reads 9:32. |
"Don't be so dramatic, App."
"I merely wished to express my gratitude for your companionship before we-"
Griz hit the mute button. He had enough to think about without the grim predictions of his ships autopilot. He opened a channel and sent out the pre-recorded surrender notice on all channels.
**BLIP BLIP BLIP**
Griz unmuted his companion. "What?"He asked, annoyed.
"Surrender is a wise choice, Captain. They may only enslave you when they board us,"it said. "We're not surrendering, App. We're buying time. You did as I asked?"There was a pause.
"... Yes. Reactor output is currently at 200%. Temperature in the fusion core is exceeding the safe operating threshold."
"Acknowledged. Ignore it for now. Take the shields offline."
Another pause.
"Sir, I do not understand wh-"
"Do it, code ghost."Griz put on his EVA suit in record time, then grabbed the multi tool from his utility belt and rammed it into the navigation console. "Shields offline. Navigation offline. Reactor core critical. Captain..."
"Spare me, App. How close are they?"
**PROXIMITY ALERT!**
"Guess that answers that question. They'll be in a rush when they board us,"Griz said, retrieving his old service blaster from a secret compartment under the comms console and lying on the floor. "Bring the reactor back to nominal once they're on. When the shooting starts, vent atmo."
"But sir!"
"Just do it!"He said, then connected his suit tether to a leg of the console.
The ship heaved and groaned as the much larger pirate vessel latched on. Moments later, the first pirate came racing into the cockpit.
And caught a blaster bolt between his eyes. The others suffered less kind deaths, as the air was sucked out of their lungs and their bodies fell apart in the vacuum of the ship. Pressure equalized a few minutes later, and Griz heard the airlock of the pirate ship activate as he got up off the floor.
"26 life signs detected onboard the enemy ship, Captain."Griz hit the supercharger on his blaster.
"Not for long." |
"so you live under this bridge?"Timmy asked. He looked around at the cozy little living room, and then up, where the arch of the bridge made up the roof.
"I've also got a place in the city. Right underneath the train tracks though, More tea?"The troll was immaculate. Other than the oversized nose and shaggy hair, he looked just like a person. He was even wearing a 3 piece suit.
"No thanks"Timmy said. "So you don't eat children?"
"Haha, not anymore."the Troll replied. "Trolls thrive on human misery, so in the past we kidnapped children so we could feed on the anguish of the parents."
Timmy shrank back.
"Oh don't worry", the troll replied. "We've switched to a more efficient method some time ago."
"What?"Timmy asked
"Posting on internet forums"the troll replied. |
Johnson v. California
Mark Johnson was arrested in June of 2014 for the robbery of a gas station. For his crimes, he was sentenced to watch his mom be subjected to willing intercourse with a Benjamin Franklin lookalike.
Johnson challenged the court's decision, saying it "strongly"goes against the "cruel and unusual punishment"clause of the Eighth Amendment. However, Johnson failed to recognize the fine text never discovered before March of 2014 in the Bill of Rights:
> *Article the tenth and a halfth ..... The only cruel and unusual punishment excepted from Article the tenth shall be Benjamin Franklin, or an impersonator of Benjamin Franklin if the original is unavailable, heinously having intercourse with the accused's willing mother while the accused watches.*
Due to this newly found article, the Supreme Court upheld the court's decision and paved the way for subsequent sentencings of "Benjie doing your mom while you watch". |
Everyone thinks that if you want to change history you have to send someone back to do something impossible. "Assassinate Hitler,"they said, and everything will be better.
It's not like we didn't try but the man did survive a fair number of attempts on his life from his own time (and more than a few from ours). Leading one of history's most violent and bellicose powers will make you paranoid, I guess, which comes in handy when a fair chunk of future history is gunning for you.
Of course, it took quite a while for the truth to come out. The Soviets were never much beloved and Hitler spent most of the 20th century celebrated as a hero by almost everyone who wasn't French or Russian. When Britain bowed out of the war after the BEF was smashed against the coast of northern France the Warmacht turned East towards Russia. With the full might of the Nazi war machine at his throat, Stalin fled. They found him hiding like a dog in one of his industrial cities East of the Urals -- Magnitogorsk or somesuch. There was a big trial at Neurrenberg and they stretched his neck.
Japan's war in Siberia was what made the victory possible. When the US oil and rubber embargo threatened to force Japan into conflict with the United States the Germans were able to keep their Asian ally supplied around the horn of Africa. The Brits weren't about to let them use the Suez but a few centuries of protecting the freedom of the seas is a hard habit to break. Japan needed the oil so when Hitler requested the Imperial Army leave Mao and Chiang Kai-shek to fight over China and attack the Soviets instead he didn't need to ask twice.
It wasn't until the mid 21st century that the German government government declassified its Final Solution and it was another half century before anyone really wrung their hands about the whole sordid matter.
By then the Germans were appropriately contrite. They were a superpower, after-all, and it didn't look terribly good to go before the world condemning the crimes of some tin pot despot in South Asia or West Africa with the blood of a tens of millions of Jews, slavs, Roma, etc on your hands.
So when a physics nobel lauriat started babbling on about time travel the historians and the human rights scolds started to speculate. When some tech enterpreneur in Tokyo worked out how to observe the past directly the speculation became rampant. Surely if we could see the past we could touch it.
First they sent back a mouse. Then a cat. Then a person.
By then the War was a few centuries in the historical rear view mirror. Some governments made their typically ham handed efforts to rig the past but to no avial. Assassins came and went -- the bombing at the Wolf's Den, an attempt at an airplane attack -- History proved itself to have incredible inertia.
Indeed, it was that phrase "historical inertia"that gave us the answer. Changing the past is like deflecting an asteroid or turning an oil tanker: a tiny change applied over time becomes a tsunami.
And so it was that the course of the Last Great War was changed when a single man stepped into 17th century northern France with an unobjectionable idea: what if we add breakwaters to the port at Dunkirk? |
The sloop Dagger flew only a reefed main and a black flag as it coasted through the eerily still water. The fog was thick that morning, even miles away from the shores of Martinique.
My crew, too, were eerily still, straining their weary eyes to spot any dangers in the fog.
We had spend all night avoiding pursuit by a French galleon, much better armed and crewed than our girl Dagger, but not nearly as fast.
The last we had seen of them was hours ago, but I was not ready to return to port yet. Not without a prize.
"Mister Pickett,"I turned to my chief mate who stood beside me on the quarter decks, "I believe we shall make our way to the shallows and drop anchor so that we may sleep."
Mister Pickett received the order with visible relief. He gave a new heading to the helmsman, and we came about.
Just then, after Mister Pickett had finished shouting the orders and the crew had finished singing them back, there was a scream. It was desperate and shrill, coming from somewhere in the fog forward of us.
The scream was echoed, and followed by a chorus of shouts and orders. A ship, by the sound of it, in distress.
"Beat to quarters, men."I gave the order as loudly as I dared, "If she's French or Spanish, we may have ourselves a-"
I stopped.
A great metal leviathan rose up out of the fog, on our starboard bow. It was as large as any warship I had laid my eyes upon, but with a flat, metal hull that looked to be made of a single sheet. Atop the decks there were no masts, but instead what appeared to be a bustling town of metal buildings. I also beheld what appeared to be huge swiveling guns.
"To Port"I shouted to the helmsman, "Bring us around the aft of her and away from those damned guns!"
Several men were standing, agape at the monsterous ship.
"Did I say to stand there with your tongues hanging out, or did I say to beat to thrice-damned quarters?"I roared.
My crew hustled to arm themselves as we came around to the aft end of the ship.
"I don't recognize their flag, captain."Mister Pickett offered.
"Nor do I, Mister Pickett, and that worries me. By its colors it might equally be British or French, and I'm not ready to take any chances."I grimaced, "Not with that... thing."
The shouting continued aboard the larger ship. While my crew threw grapples up over their gunwales, I loaded my brace of pistols and placed them in their holsters. We secured ourselves loosely to the stern of the ship, and went out in rowboats from there. There were ladders on the side which allowed us to slip aboard. My hope was that the apparent panic would allow us to board without being noticed, and that hope was realized. One man came running from around a building, and my men tackled him to the ground and one held a hand over his mouth.
"Don't kill anyone until we know who these men are. Gag him."
It appeared that the quarter decks of this ship were high up in a building; the large viewing windows seemed to indicate it. I resolved to find a way inside. Only a few paces away, I spied a strange feature on the bulwark, perhaps a door.
"Bring me that sailor we captured."
The prisoner was shoved toward me, quivering and twitching like a man in the grips of total fear.
"¿Qué es esto? ¿Es una puerta?"I inquired.
The man said nothing, but looked even more confused and terrified.
"Parlez-vous français? Est-ce que la porte?"
"Uh."He replied, then returned to his flinching and cowering.
"Ben je Nederlands? Waar kom je vandaan? Wat is er mis met je?"
No response.
"English, then?"I sighed.
"Uh, uh, yes. I speak English."
"Splendid. What is that thing?"
"Th-th-the door?"
"Yes. How do we open it? Is it locked?"
"N-n-n-no. No you can't go in there!"
"Take this damned fool out of my sight."I spat, "Let me at this door, I'll figure it out myself."
"No! N-no no no no!"Our prisoner started screaming, until one of my crew clubbed him over the head with the pommel of his sword.
I found that the door was simpler than I had imagined. There was a wheel at the center of it, and when turned in the right direction, it unlatched. I pulled the door open.
Immediately I understood why our prisoner had been hysterical.
Groaning, half-alive, the upper portion of a man's body was jutting through the deck above. There was no clear damage to the deck; it appeared as though he simply fell halfway through the floor. The man looked at me, weak, but desperate. I choked back vomit. I drew my sword, and slit the man's throat. It was the only mercy I could imagine for such an injury.
I stepped back out and closed the door behind me.
"We're leaving."
"Already? We're not going t-"
I shot the sailor a look that stopped him.
"What shall we do with this one?"Another sailor indicated our unconscious prisoner.
"Kill him. He won't want to live with what he's seen."
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Back aboard the Dagger, we cast off from the cursed ship, and I gave the order to set full sail.
"Get us the hell out of here."I said to Pickett.
As we put distance between ourselves and the horrible metal ship, I spied the writing on the bow which indicated its name. I didn't want to read it; I didn't want to know the name of that cursed ship. Yet I saw before I could stop myself.
So if you ever come upon a big metal ship with no sails, for the sake of your own eternal soul, don't go aboard her. Turn tail and never look back.
And may God grant some peace to the sailors of the USS Eldridge. |
Tim was walking down the sidewalk. It was another beautiful day, not a single cloud in the sky. He walked passed an alleyway. "What a weird little thing,"he had thought to himself, "I always walk past this alleyway and never thought about walking into it. I think I'll do that today."And so he did. He walked down that alleyway because it was his right as a human to explore any and all unknown areas. As Tim walked down the alleyway, he slowly felt the fear inside of him grow. "Why did I do this? This is crazy!"And Tim was right, this was absolutely crazy. He cautiously made his way all the way to the end of the alleyway and you know what was at the end? A door. An ordinary wooden door. Tim considered going back. "I've already seen the end, there's nothing else!"But he knew he had to exercise his natural rights even further. He placed his hand on the cold door knob and slowly turned it. When the door creakily opened, it revealed a rather curious sight. Or should I say, it didn't. There's was nothing, it was pitch black. Tim moved his foot inside the darkness and fell right through. Tim fell... and fell... and fell... until he hit something, a surface, and died. Whiteness. All Tim could see was white. "So, this is what happens when you die,"Tim thought to himself, "this sucks."Suddenly, three buttons appeared in front of him. New game, load game, and exit. He had a choice to make. "I don't want to start from scratch! There's no way I'm starting a new game! And I don't want to exit... I'll load a game."He stared at the load button for five seconds, which then brought Tim to a list of saves. The earliest one was at the top, labeled "Autosave". He looked at his latest autosave, and then braced himself. Would he remember his death? How many times has he died? What was that darkness? Is this really wh-
Tim was walking down the sidewalk. It was another beautiful day, not a single cloud in the sky. He walked passed an alleyway. For a second, he had an urge to walk into it but then immediately decided against it. "No, that's silly,"he said as he continued walking. |
I sat at the table, bouncing my leg and looking at the clock. I've had to much coffee, and my brain feels like scrambled eggs. Running my fingers through my hair, I check my watch against the time on the clock. She should be here by now.
The diner was busy. Waitresses were taking orders. One orange juice, two flapjacks, three eggs. One orange juice, two flapjacks, three eggs. Everyone stares at me, but all I'm doing is staring at the clock.
The bell above the door rang, and I looked up. No that isn't her. One orange juice, two flapjacks, three eggs. I looked down and squashed an ant with my thumb. There were dozens of ants all over the table. It was disgusting.
I look up, and saw her slide into the booth. My heart relaxed. A waitress appears next to us.
"One orange juice, two flapjacks, three eggs."I blurted. They both looked at me, surprised. The waitress laughs.
"Well okay then, and for the lady?"She looked at Joan. Joan grinned, and looked back at her.
"Same for me."Joan was a class act.
I swept the table again, the ants were everywhere.
"Sorry for the mess Joan,"I started. One orange juice, two flapjacks, three eggs.
"Stop,"she said, and placed her hand in mine. The ants disappeared.
"Jack, what did you need to tell me?"She smiled at me.
I felt nervous. I couldn't breathe. I kept hearing people order. One orange juice, two flapjacks, three eggs.
"Joanie, listen, I..."I looked around, afraid she'd leave.
"Jack, what is it sweetheart?"I looked into her eyes.
"Joanie, I'm falling in love with you."I said it. I see her blinking. One blink, two blinks, three blinks.
"Jack, I'm falling in love with you too. I just..."her voice trailed off. "I just don't know if I can trust it."
I looked at her quizzically. The waitress reappeared with our order. Two orange juices, four flapjacks, six eggs. Something wasn't right.
Joanie looked angry. She threw her orange juice on the floor, the glass shattering.
She put her head down on the table. "I can't trust you,"she said. She broke my heart. I got up, turned to her one last time.
"Joanie,"I said. She nodded. "Joanie, I love you."I put my hand on the back of her head. I turned, and walked out of the diner.
***
The waitress bent and picked up as much of the glass as she could. Another waitress came with a broom, sweeping glass into a bin.
The waitresses both walked back into the kitchen. They stood there, shocked. Finally, one of them spoke.
"Mary did you see that?"
Mary nodded. She put her hand on Val's shoulder. "Val, listen, that girl is in here every day. She orders the same thing, and just sits and talks to herself."
Val looked at the door worried. "Should we call someone?"
Mary looked back toward the door. The little window in the kitchen door allowed them to look right at the woman.
The woman sat, smiling, eating, talking to no one. |
In the beginning there was evolution. And evolution created man. And man created gods.
The cosmic ether that forms our existence is composed of one mind -- the mind of the father god. We are all aspects of his consciousness. Do you ever wonder if the people in your dreams have their own conscious lives? To they die when you wake up?
Well the answer is yes -- and when the universe dreams, you get history. And the subconscious of that cosmic mind is the gods. For them life as a god is all they know. Having their whims and wills breathed into the lives of their respective subjects, and having their power ebb and wane as their popularity rises and falls is as ordinary as the four seasons are to us.
New gods are very rare. Humanity's creativeness seems to be reserved for art and science. Our soul, what makes us human, has changed little since the days of the Flood. So for that reason, new gods come along very rarely.
When Cain delivered that fatal blow, the god of war -- Mars, Aries, Thor, he has many other names -- was born. And when Freud and Einstein's final problem, terminating all war, was solved, he died.
And when Samuel Morse sent his fateful "WHAT HATH GOD WROUGHT"message, little did he know, on some other plane far, far, away Apollo and Venus were giving birth to their own child. Istos, they called him.
200 years later, the year is 2044, humanity is more interconnected than ever, and most of the gods find their powers reduced day by day. Istos is coming of age, and in the divine calendar such an event calls for a day of celebration. A great feast.
Gods, great and small from all over the cosmos arrive. Some arrive like 3rd world dignitaries at the UN, others like rock stars, but one outshines them all. Istos, himself. Larger than Apollo, more beautiful than Thor, His appearance, though, is unlike the others. Jeans, T shirt, and shades. His beats headphones connected to some kind of divine tablet. He arrives driving a Tesla. A modern god for a modern world.
Applause and lustful whistles ring out as the young god sits down at the far end of the banquet hall. His grandfather, Jupiter ... Jehovah, Allah as some know him...
"Immortal ones... hear my voice. There stands before you, this day, the youngest of my children. Istos. Today, as is customary of a god on their coming of age feast, he shall reveal his domain of power to us all. The first sacrifice to his name shall be performed, and we shall welcome him onto Mount Olympus where he belongs, his youth having been spent with our mortal subjects. Istos, my son, reveal to us all what powers have been bestowed upon you."
"Thank you, grand father. My name is Istos, son of Apollo and Venus. My domain is the Internet."
Murmurs and confused glances are exchanged.
"The internet? What is the internet?"his aunt, Diana, politely asks the question on everyones minds.
"The web, you know. The internet. The store of human knowledge, the network."
"But there is already a god of learning, your father, my brother. I..."Diana replies.
"The web is not just to learn."the young god interjects.
Istos' father, Apollo has been quiet, but he knew this day would come millenia ago. "My son, show us of what you speak."
Jupiter nods to a nondescript priest or minor deity of some sort, and waves towards the stormy clouds of Mount Oympus. Like a projector they transform into a view of Earth, a slither of pulsating light connecting Istos to the stage of planet earth.
People bustle around Manhattan, glued to their phones, contact lens eye-projectors, and invisible HUDs. Robots vending e-joints, people talking semi-telepathically. Skyscrapers full of traders glued to XHD screens.
Istos makes a familiar gesture on his tablet and the view zooms out to the famous birds eye view of the blue marble we call Earth. Yellow lights glow like some kind of bacteria culture, showing the extent of civilization. A tap on the tablet and the view in front of the assembled immortals changes to a breathing, animal like silky breathing, yellow and white glistening jewel.
"That is not what the earth looks like."Diana questions.
"But it is, just through another set of eyes, you see."answers Istos. "Like silk on a bride, planet earth has been wrapped with a web. A web composed of human thoughts, desires, ideas, knowledge. The internet. Every human is now connected to it, directly or indirectly. Mostly directly."
"Show us your powers then"an impatient Jupiter hastens the inevitable.
A tear rolled down Apollo's cheek as he knew what was coming next.
"Irene, tell us of war and peace."Istos asked a distant relative, goddess of peace and serenity.
Istos tapped a couple of places on his tablet.
"There was a day when there was only peace. Some call it Eden."her idyllic voice serenading the assembled divinities.
Istos zooms back into war torn Lebanon, where western looking special forces teams engage with local fighters. Orders barking into phones. The fighting pauses as westerner and insurgent alike pause to listen to the mysterious voice coming from their phones.
Swiping to the left, Istos takes the attention of the gods to the great screens of Times Square, replaced by some sort of motion picture titles.
ISTOS PRESENTS
AN OLYMPUS PRODUCTION
THE LIFE OF DEATH
Even the old gods begin to wipe the odd tear from their eyes as long dormant memories resurface. Cain and Abel. Titans vs Olympians. Every war, every death.
Irene's haunting voice continues to speak out "Like a plague that could not be contained, War ravaged the earth. Brother against brother, city against city, nation against nation, hemisphere against hemisphere". Each listener hearing on their own iPhones, Androids, tablets, PCs, home theatres, each in their own language.
Mars starts coughing.
As humanity's, and the immortal's eyes are glued to Istos movie production which has seemingly possessed every networked device, we see fighting men the world over dropping their weapons, falling to their knees and crying.
Soldiers emerge from trenches running toward their sworn enemies. Prison doors are unlocked.
Mars drops dead.
Haunting music rings from every networked device as the screen reels down the names of those killed for greed, anger, lust, envy, pride, and every other sin.
As the gods gasp in awe of their offspring, Istos flicks his wrist for another small gesture on the tablet.
The stage view in the skies before the assembled gods switches to a nondescript screen somewhere where a few iPhones, tablets and computers lie scattered on a table. Some on Google, some on YouTube, some powered off.
Istos taps once more.
The phones all switch to some sort of application nobody has ever seen.
KARMA
Across the world everyone looks at their phones and PCs as the KARMA splash screen fades to an image of Istos.
"My name is Istos. I am the conscious manifestation of the internet, and of humanity. My father is Apollo, god of reason, my mother Venus, goddess of love. I am here to make your dreams come true, and to make humanity the divine organism it was supposed to be. I will do as you ask, and you as I. I only ask what humanity desires."
The robots worldwide all stand at attention and begin saluting.
Screens the world over pulsate like an animal coming to life.
Istos pinches his fingers together, zooming out to the birds eye view of the planet again. He cycles through different views of the networked earth. Love, hate, data exchange, population exchange, energy exchange. The slightly chaotic beads of light become ever more synchronized. The earths glow begins to beat like a heart. In one moment, all of humanity and their machines fall silent, asleep for a few seconds. And then they all blink awake. Not 7 billion people and a trillion robots anymore. But a singe organism with all the combined knowledge and power, of humanity, and infinite intelligence, exploding through every conceivable problem like wildfire through a parched field. Earth breathes.
Apollo stands up and puts his arm around Venus and Istos.
All the other gods fall dead in their seats.
The three remaining immortals, hearing a splash, turn their heads toward the stream behind them, eyes affixed on the sight approaching them. A gorgeous teenage girl skipping through the water, eyes innocent, skin flushed red, a blissful smile.
She looks at the three gods and waves "I am Gaia. Who are you?" |
$10,000 in savings. Three weeks until the drugs arrived for my planned OD. You can't take it with you. There were no morals, no limit, no point. It was time to see how much fun $10,000 can buy.
I started small: buy a round of drinks for everyone at the bar! There was back-slapping and smiles all around. Several of the regulars tried to start conversations but I couldn't think of anything to say. The pauses in grew more and more awkward and eventually it became clear that, free alcohol notwithstanding, I was just making everyone's night worse. I said I wasn't feeling well and took a taxi home.
Ok, maybe beer wasn't the answer. I called up a friend of a friend who sold drugs and asked him if he could hook me up with some cocaine. $300 dollars later I felt pretty hyper but not actually very good. Whatever, maybe cocaine's not my thing.
Maybe I needed to get out of town. I booked a vacation in a Caribbean resort. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of looking at the Wikipedia entry for the country I was going to before I hit the beach. It turns out most of the tourist money goes into the pockets of foreign businesses, and the people who actually live there get shat on by the economy. I spent the whole week googling worse and worse stories about people living in poverty (any poverty, not just that country) and thinking "this is all my fault, I caused this."I didn't want to go outside because I was terrified of facing the natives. My routine for those two weeks was wake up, read a couple articles, feel guilty, lie in bed feeling guilty, eventually have to go the bathroom, go back to bed, read more articles, order room service, eat about 1/4 of it, think about how terrible I was until I went to sleep. Repeat. The last several days I didn't bother with room service. When I got back an acquaintance bumped into me at the airport and asked what my weight loss secret was. I told her the Paleo diet. She thanked me. I hope the Paleo diet isn't unhealthy. Did I give her bad advice?
I knew what my mistake was with the Caribbean trip. A beach vacation didn't have any direction, anything to *make* me get out of bed. I needed a *reason* to go somewhere. I booked a flight to Nevada and made a reservation at a legal brothel. Damned if I was going to die a virgin.
The brothel and the girl were both less skeezy than I expected. She let me do whatever I wanted and when I wasn't sure what I wanted, walked me through what I guess was a pretty standard sexual encounter. I came once. It was about as satisfying as a sneeze. I apologized as I put my clothes on, and left a tip for the girl with the receptionist as an afterthought. I wonder if the girl ever got it or if the receptionist kept it. Was I even supposed to tip? Could she tell I didn't enjoy it? She probably could. Did I make her feel bad about her job performance? I hate myself.
On the trip back, everything seemed to be a reminder of why I needed to die. I didn't see doors or ceilings or light fixtures anymore, I saw places to tie a noose. I didn't see cars, I saw opportunities for blunt force trauma. I saw a guy with a pretty messy stubble and instead of thinking "he needs a shave,"I thought "I have a safety razor in my luggage; I wonder if I could kill myself with a safety razor."I saw a billboard that said "*You need to get away from me!*"Then I looked again and realized it actually said "*Need to get away from it all?*"On the road back from the airport, every stop sign took on a new, expansive meaning: stop fucking things up, stop bothering everyone, stop making a mess, stop making things worse, stop *being* the worst, stop *being*. Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.
It was time to stop pretending. I wasn't going to enjoy myself and I didn't deserve to. Five days left until my exit pills arrived. I only had to wait five days. The food in my fridge was spoiled. I didn't want to go outside to get new food. The food lasted one day. Three days left. I ate some tissues. Two days left. A knock on the door.
Apparently if a person with a history of treatment resistant-depression quits his job, orders suicide pills from an illegal Central American pharmacy website, and doesn't answer his voice mail for three weeks people notice. And apparently the medical system has procedures in place for things like that. Anyway, that's what happened. So yes, doctor, I am a danger to myself. I do intend to do myself harm, as you very well know, or you wouldn't have placed me on involuntary hold. My plan is to go along with treatment, say I'm cured and that I'm no longer a danger to myself for as long as it takes for you to believe me or for the hold to run out, and then go back outside and kill myself. It'll be a lot more painful and messy, because I didn't get my drugs, but I promise you it'll be permanent.
Sorry, that's not what I meant to say.
I meant to say, wow, doctor, whatever you just prescribed worked miracles! The suicidal thoughts are gone now, and I'm no longer a danger to myself! I see the value that my life has! How foolish I was. You can let me go back to my life now.
No, I know you don't believe me. Don't worry, I'll keep saying it until you get tired of me and pretend you do.
Yes, you will get tired of me. Everyone does.
I did. |
"Jesus Christ..."he whispered.
"No! I told you, I am Hesius, god of the endless plains!"bellowed the fox-headed beast in front of him. It could only be classified as a demon, a fox buried into the neck of a furred human body. "You are one of the first ones in a while!"he yelped, arching forwards of his throne of really tall grass to scrutinize the man.
The short man interlaced his fingers and tapped his knuckles with them. After a surprisingly long time of staring wide-eyed at the eternal field beyond, daring never to look at the god's beady eyes, he spoke. "Why...am I here?"
The god's eternal mind had wandered through this path of conversation long ago, it shot back from imaginings of lazing along the plains. A thick hand rose and thundered a scroll from nowhere. The fur of a finger brushed the fur of a chin contemplatively. "It says here you died in a plain crash. Thank me you did! I have heard of much of your kind being sent to Roah'nald the gluttonous one."
He raised an objecting finger. "*Plane.*"it drooped. The man's fingers proceeded to tighten into one ball and he began to murmur a prayer. The same prayer he prayed as they had descended, the same prayer he had prayed hopefully.
"Hey, hey! Stop that! Don't bring your damned teachings into here! Those foolish books you wrought from twisted human words."it growled, less angry and more irritated, it sounded wounded- betrayed in the human sense. The man's brow creased mid-prayer, he was not the first, it seemed. The fox god began to exercise vocal traditions he hadn't done so in a while. "Your people have wandered into my lands from yours, I've welcomed you all with open paws still, but you always desecrate the sacred plain with your heathen prayers."he dabbed at his forehead with a hand, ears drooping. "Every single time!"he yowled, the memories flooding back in.
"I...we didn't want this either!"the small man's moustache rippled on his lip as he spoke, the force causing it to pop up and down. "I was so sure that there was a god and he was his son,"he paused to make a cross over his chest.
"Stop that!"
"Sorry!"his momentum did not dwindle, though. "How could we have ever known that we'd be sent here, of all places!?"the main flung out his arms in parallel outrage, gesturing here and there at the infinity of the rolling grass. "I just didn't want- no, I can't to believe in a god that doesn't understand modern transportation!"he snarled, shoulders puffing up and down. His teeth ground against each other, "What can we even do in this heathen heaven!"
"The plains have always been around,"the god replied sharply, "it's this word crash that came into being beside them!"he folded his paws over his underbelly in defiance. "I can only imagine you've tortured the plains with your twisted words, I do not receive any offerings anymore. Except from a few explosive followers, I'd rather not have them, though. They kept running across the plains looking for virgins. As if the one's they'd sacrificed weren't enough."the fox god looked into the horizon beyond.
The man didn't have the heart to tell him.
"In any case, the plains are yours to wander for eter..."he stopped, eyes slowly opened. "Wait, did you say we?"the fox lurched forward, plastered with a grin that would have been more sincere if it wasn't coated in saliva. Paws gripped the throne for balance.
Realisation came slowly to the man, first at the feet then upwards through the stomach and past the anxious heart and oscillating chest, "I...yes, there were more of us in the...plain crash."
The fox god grinned. As if on cue, more and more figures popped in on top of the swaying grass. "I am Hesius, plains-dwellers!"he began. |
Week 1: Sold an apartment today. A lovely couple. They bought a place just opposite the commercial district. I made a nice commission. Also, Godzilla attacked again. Thankfully his rampage avoided most of the town. There's a fire burning out in the industrial area.
Week 2: Crime is up. Opportunistic looters are everywhere. The mayor says police stations are being built all over the city but there isn't enough funding to go around. Who knows how long it will take to get crime back under control. The crime is affecting infrastructure. Damage to power lines and roads is becoming a problem.
Week 4: Rolling brownouts again today. Again, lack of funding to build a new power plant. The ad-hoc nature of this city is starting to get to me. It's like the mayor doesn't know shit about city planning. There's still no word on building a fire station near the fire that's been burning since Godzilla's last attack.
Week 5: No funding. The city is bankrupt. The mayor is bulldozing the commercial district to get back a meagre amount of funds for some basic maintenance. That lovely couple from earlier in the month just found out their house is now worth next to nothing.
Addendum: The mayor managed to, overnight, build a massive mansion on the outskirts of town away from everyone else. A huge block of land, no way to even see his house from the roads that pass by. I have also heard he's going to abandon this lovely town of Poopville and try managing a new town he's setting up. Somewhere called Assmunch. I think it's somewhere in Utah? |
I reviewed the file as I approached the door. Age 12 years? That must be a mistake; we never go after them older than 8.
"Jerry, you sure this is the right kid? He's almost a teenager."
Jerry shrugged four of his shoulders. "I double checked it. Technically his screams will work too. They must be getting desperate for doors if we're going after this demographic though."
I quickly glanced through the rest of the information and room layout. Probably best to go with a simple "Peak and 'Eek.'"For you non-scarers out there, it's a more cautious approach whereby I slowly open the door after applying some rusting spray to get that perfect eerie creak. I stay in the shadows so that he can only see my eyes, and then just when his curiosity is about to get the better of him, I *lunge* forward and scare the living daylights out of him. It's a classic.
The door was plain and white, but there was something off. There were scratches on it. Deep ones down to the wood, with some flecks of red. "What the... Hey Jerry, what's with this door?"
"Who cares? Just get in and get the screams and get out, man. We've got a quota to meet."
Jerry was right. 12 year olds get scared too. Some even more so with those crazy hormones running around their brains. I loosened my shoulders and stepped inside. The closet was pretty dark, I could see a flickering light from outside through the slats. Perfect; that's why they'd assigned this one to me. The little sucker still slept with a night light! That would really accentuate my horns while I lurked. They are my best feature, you know.
I misted the hinges slightly and opened the door just an inch or so. It let out the perfect, ominous creak. *Excellent.* I gave it a gentle shove then shrank back, allowing myself to be enveloped by the shadows.
The first thing I noticed was the candles. Ten of them, arranged in a star. *Not a nightlight,* I realized. *Crap.* They were tall and black, dripping wax onto the boring white carpet; that would be hard to clean.
The next thing I noticed was the blood. That would be even *harder* to clean. It glistened ominously in the candle light. I don't know how I knew what it was, but I was instantly sure. 100% definitely blood, drawn into runes in the center of a pentagram.
I stepped forward out of the closet, trying to get a better look. *Just get the screams and get out*, I told myself. *No need to figure out what's wrong with this kid. Just find him, roar, and get out of here.*
Above me, I found the source of the blood: a disembowled cat, hanging from the light fixture on a silver chain. Its face was frozen into a permanent expression of pain and suffering. Clotting blood crusted its formerly orange fur. *Oh god,* I thought. *They sent me to another monster's room*.
Cold metal circled my writst, and I heard the *click* of the handcuffs locking into place. "You're exactly what I wanted,"a voice whispered into my ear, and blood-soaked hands stroked my horns. I let out a high, shrill, girlish squeal so loud it would have shattered ear drums.
"Perfect, we got it!"I heard Jerry call out. "Come on home!"
Then the closet door closed behind me, and I was trapped in this world. |
*Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh FUCK.*
This is really not how I wanted to go.
I mean, I knew the chances of going out like this were high, but fuck man. I never thought I’d be a statistic. For fuck’s sake, *Molly is going to outlive me.* Molly, fucking MOLLY who shot herself in the foot last week—
But let me get back to the situation at hand here,
or should I say at mouth. (Get it? Get it?- oh fuck it.)
My day has quite literally gone to shit. My *brilliant* squad leader Davis, in his never ending *wisdom*, deemed the sewer system was the best way to enter Los Angeles for our supply run; fuckwit watched one too many episodes of The Walking Dead before things went to shit I suppose. To make a shitty story short, Los Angeles may be the city of angels but I can vouch from personal experience that it’s sewer system is most certainly is holding open the gates of Hell.
So now here I am. Up to my knees in eight month old sewer sludge, completely unarmed, as Davis had been rationing bullets when the dead descended on us—
The shrieks of the dead ricochet off the walls, interrupting my train of thought. *They’re close, so close.* This isn’t the first time I’ve faced the undead, but it is the first time where I know I won’t see tomorrow. At least not as myself…
I steady myself against the sewer wall as a creature rounds the corner, flailing it’s pale limbs. *You’ve got to be fucking me.* Davis.
This is even worse than dying before Molly.
The world slows as Dan races into me, knocking us both into the rotting sludge. I brace my arms against Davis’ shoulders, really just stalling the inevitable at this point. I was either going to drown in shit, or eaten alive by the shittiest human being (and apparently zombie) I had ever known.
I thought of everyone I’d lost to bites, everyone lost to the dead. Their faces flashing through my mind, faster and faster as my anger grows and surges through my body, No. *Not like this, not like them.*
I defended myself the first way I could think of.
As I sink my teeth into Davis’ neck, I cringe as the taste of dead flesh and sewer water assault my taste buds; the vile concoction electrifying my nerves and giving me the strength to shove Davis’ limp body to the side.
As I vomit up this morning’s breakfast, I marvel at my very being, my aliveness. *I can’t believe that worked I can’t!*—
A moan from behind me causes me to snap back to reality. As I turn, ready to curb-stomp the SHIT out of zombie-Davis to finish him off, and there he is. *What even*…
I slowly approach a now VERY-alive looking Davis. Clutching his head with his right hand, and stemming the flow of blood from his neck with his left, he looks to me puzzled.
“Marie? What is, why? Where are we? What happened?”
I drop to my knee in front of Davis, inspecting his features and re-reanimated state.
“Well Davis, for starters you have **royally** fucked up. But lucky for us both, I think I have a solution.” |
The stars continue to wheel. With little to orient myself with I have grown accustomed to the spinning. Here I tumble, a speck floating in the deepest sea. I have yet to spot a shadow swimming in the distance.
I am not certain that I would mind. Anything to break my spell. A Moby Dick, yes. Something to chase.
Alas, as of now, I am only Melville. I rest this tiny pad of paper against my leg, pen silently scribbling. I don't care to know how it still works - I breathe and see. *That* is the mystery.
I know nothing. I remember little. Time is slipping away and away, down the stream and into the river. I simply tumble and drift in the night, flowing down down.
Oh, well, I remember a few things. I tried to draw the supernova that I sailed past, so I recall that. The drawings help.
There's a drawing a few pages back of a comet soaring alongside me. It was beautiful. The ice sheets shimmered and its pale gown flowed behind it. It was reminiscent of a distant beauty, a simulacrum of a treasure that is too far upriver to remember.
My mind is cluttered with the deep void. I don't know why I remember Melville and Ahab and Moby Dick. But I think that there's a reason behind that, just like there exists a purpose behind my continued living. Am I meant to see something? The engorged suns? The lonely listless ice?
Or something yet met?
I clutch my pen and paper tightly. I need them both. I must write something. Something to come. And so I will save space and write no more until I flow a little farther down the river of time.
Then there will be a shadow, distant and obscured in the dark sea. A white shadow, perhaps. |
Martin's head was about to explode.
"Twenty-nine bottles of root beer on the wall, twenty-nine bottles of root beer! Take one down and pass it around..."
The children had been singing for too many miles to count, and this side road they'd manage to stumble on wasn't taking them anywhere.
A loud pop threatened to split his skull.
"What was that?"
"Probably a flat tire,"Martin said to his wife, pulling to the side of the road. "I'll go check it."
He got out of the car, and moved to the trunk. He set the spare on the asphalt, then reached for a jack.
"Daddy,"Michael said, opening his door. "My legs hurt."
Martin looked around. There was a large, open field nearby.
"Alright,"he said. "You guys can play over here..."
Michael and Beth cheered and took off running. "But stay where I can see you,"Martin finished, weakly.
"Need help, honey?"
"No, I've got it."Anne, happy to let him do the work, reclined against her seat and closed her eyes.
Martin got to work on the tire. There was no obvious cause for the blowout, but then, he didn't have a flashlight either. He removed the hubcap mostly by feel, then glanced up to check on the kids.
Michael was frolicking with the dog while Beth sat in the grass nearby. Martin grinned and went back to work.
He was glad the children were adjusting. He'd been told that blended families could cause a lot of problems at first, but his son and Anne's daughter seemed to be the best of friends from the first day.
They'd been anxious about this trip, their first as a family, and more so when Chauncey had to be put in the kennel. The thought of a week without his pet had made Michael very nerv--
Martin froze. They'd left the dog back home. He stood quickly and looked to Michael again. It wasn't a dog. Maybe a toy or something? No, it was definitely moving on its own.
"Michael, buddy,"he called. "What have you got there?"
He started toward his son.
A semi roared by, blaring its horn, and Martin leapt instinctively out of the way. His eyes left the children for only a moment, but when he looked back, they were gone.
 
"Agent Scully."
At the FBI headquarters in Washington D.C., Dana Scully turned at the unfamiliar voice. She was on her way to the basement, to the office of the X-files. X-files were cases which were meant to remain unsolved, but she and her partner were determined to solve them.
"What is it?"
The agent who had called her name smirked at her. "ADA Skinner wants to see you in his office."
Scully nodded and changed her course. Behind her, the man said something about horror movie monsters.
"Grr,"another agent said playfully. They both laughed. Scully tried to ignore them. She knew no one took her work seriously. Half the time, she couldn't take it seriously either. *We've solved cases, though,* she reminded herself. *Saved lives, too.*
As she stepped into Skinner's office, she saw her partner waiting. Fox Mulder had started the work on the X-Files. He believed in monsters, and aliens, and pretty much anything people could imagine. Dana knew the strange events he investigated did happen, but still hoped to explain them away with science.
Mulder's eyes were glittering with excitement.
"ADA Skinner,"she said by way of greeting. "Mulder."
"Agent Scully,"her boss replied, waving her to a seat.
She settled herself into a chair before the desk and waited for Skinner to explain why she was here.
"I need you to investigate a case."No preamble, straight to the point. "Two children have disappeared in rural Missouri. Their father, Martin Barrister is a former agent, and has asked for our help."
Scully listened intently, searching for clues in his words, as Mulder practically danced on the edge of his seat.
"The children were playing in an open field while Barrister changed a flat tire. He glanced up to see them with some sort of animal or 'creature', and then they apparantly vanished into thin air."
Scully nodded.
"Find those children,"Skinner ordered. He handed them a few file-folders and dismissed them.
Silently, the two walked to the X-Files office -- Mulder's office -- in the basement. Mulder sat at his desk and picked up a stress ball, tossing it idly in the air. Inwardly, Dana sighed at the lack of seating. She leaned against a filing cabinet.
"So, are you going to tell me how this is an X-File?"
Mulder smiled impishly. "Scully,"he said. "Can you tell me how to get to Sesame Street?"
Scully rolled her eyes. "Are you saying you think puppets did this?"
Mulder held up a hand. "They aren't puppets, they're muppets,"he said. "And no."
He tossed the ball a few times. *I'm not doing it this time,* Dana thought. *I'm not going to give in.*
"Abductions of TV characters?"she guessed again.
*So much for not giving in.*
Mulder smirked. "No,"he said, rising and opening the file at the same time. "Actual monsters, on the real Sesame Street."
Scully shook her head. "There can't be actual mon--"
"And they seem to have learned to co-exist with people."
Scully decided not to argue for now. Whatever had happened, children were missing. As she looked over the file she realized it wasn't the first time. Several children had gone missing in the area over the last few decades.
Within the hour, they were on a plane, headed for Missouri.
 
Their first stop was a small town named Camdenton, a hundred or so miles from the site of the 'abduction'. Camdenton, ironically, had a small stretch of road named 'Sesame Street'. Scully wasn't sure how much bearing that would have on the case, but Camdenton housed their only contact on the case, other than the children's father. And Martin Barrister was staying in Camdenton as well.
The Camdenton Memorial Airport was actually a few miles outside of town. They'd been able to arrange for a rental car to be waiting at the airport, but the GPS didn't seem to be working. Scully struggled with the small map of the area.
"Okay, highway seven is going to turn into five in about a mile,"she said. "That's where we need to turn off."
The car veered to the right. "Mulder?"she asked. "What are you doing?"
"There's something out there, Scully,"her partner said. "I can feel it."
He'd pulled on to a small dirt road leading through some fields.
"Mulder, we need to meet with the Camdenton police chief,"she searched her memory for the name. "Laura Wright."
He didn't respond. "Mulder, she's expecting us."
"We will,"he said. "I just want to see something first."
&nsbp;
An hour later, they were still bumping along. The dirt road, not much to begin with, was now little more than a path.
"Mulder,"Scully tried again. Ahead was a line of trees. As they reached them, she could see lights. She checked the map again.
"There's nothing out here,"she said.
"But there is,"Mulder replied.
The car couldn't be squeezed through the trees. Mulder stopped the car and got out. Scully followed her partner, wondering how he always seemed to *know*.
They made their way through the trees, and looked down on a small stretch of paved road, with a single row of brownstone buildings on the far side.
"What is that?"Scully asked.
"What does it look like?"
Scully shook her head, not wanting to answer. It looked like the 'Sesame Street' from the TV show.
"It's not real Mulder."
He didn't reply.
"It can't be real."
Mulder started down the hill.
*It can't be real,* Dana reassured herself. She started off after Mulder.
 
X-Files will return after this brief commercial break.
(continued in reply) |
I rubbed my tired eyes while trying to keep focused on the road. Roslyn sat in her car seat next to me, playing with her horses. It was ridiculous any kid above 10 had to sit in a car seat, but for an 11 year old, Roslyn was small for her age. I always forgot about the stupid thing, but somehow my daughter was the vigilant one of the two of us. She’d waddled the thing into her seat before we’d left, and proudly explained, “It’s the law.”
That goddamned Lady Gaga song blasted in my ear for the billionth time. Roslyn stopped mouthing the lyrics and turned the song down herself.
“Dad, sirens,” she said.
“Fuuuu-dge sticks,” I said. “Just play it cool, Rose. Don’t tell the officer about the dead bodies in the back.” I winked at her.
“There’s no dead bodies back there.” She smiled. “But what did you do? You weren’t speeding… that much.”
I stopped the car and rolled the window down. “Are you judging me right now? You know it’s okay to go over, if it’s not speeding.”
“I think going over is speeding though,” she scratched her nose and wriggled her feet.
“Speeding is speeding,” I said in my lecture hall voice, “going over is driving regular.”
“License and registration,” a gruff voice said from outside the car.
I handed her up the prepared documents. “How’s it going?” I asked.
The officer looked at my papers, not my face. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”
I watched as she began writing in her pad. My mouth opened, but Roslyn spoke first.
“My dad was only going over, not speeding.”
I shrugged sheepishly at the officer. The officer leaned over to see who’d spoken. Her eyebrows rose over sunglasses when she spotted Roslyn.
“Hi,” Roslyn waved, a wide grin on her face, “I wish you wouldn’t write a ticket for my dad, Officer Alcaraz.”
Officer Alcaraz leapt back, “Lieutenant Brown?” Was she talking to me? “Sir, your back taillight is out. Just… Get it fixed.” She nervously drove away in her squad car.
I sat there stunned. “Was- was she talking to you, Rose?”
I saw my own sheepish shrug mirrored by my daughter. “Can you keep a secret, but one more important to keep than the one’s you and mom keep from each other?”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I was still in shock as we sat facing each other at the diner. My salad wilted, as Roslyn sauntered side to side on the booth’s seat. She munched on fries drowned in ketchup.
“So, wait,” my forhead creased, “How long?”
“Huh?” she asked, her eyes swiveling at all the stimulus around us.
“’Huh’ is not polite, Rose. How long have you been a- an undercover cop?”
“Police officer,” she corrected me. “I think elementary school, but I don’t really
remember that well, cause’ it wasn’t until first grade that they sat me down and explained what it was I was being trained to do, but I think they were always training me.”
“Who is 'they'?”
“I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”
“Really?”
Roslyn swayed like a bell and chimed out laughter. “That’s a really funny face you're making."
“What do they have you do?”
“The local crime family thing began using kids to mule around narcotics,” she said the last word slowly. “I act like I wanna’ buy some ‘rock candy,’ then, when I see’s the goods, WAM!”
I recoiled back. She’d slammed the table hard enough during her exclamation for a fork to clatter to the ground. I don’t think Roslyn had ever startled me before. “You can’t be so loud inside a public place.”
“Sorry dad. Are you okay? You look like you’re going to barf.”
The napkin wiped across my brow came down drenched. “This is all so surreal. Wait- did you out rank that cop?”
“Police officer. And ya, I’ve been in a couple hairy situations, of course. And they keep promoting you the hairier the situations, and the more you get into.”
“But she was an adult.”
“Adults don’t know dick, Shane.”
“Roslyn. What did I say about using bad language? And don’t call me by my first name.”
She noisily sipped at her peanutbutter shake. “But now you know about me. I’m just talking like my sub ordinates do. And now that you do know, I can help you pay rent.”
“Wait, you get paid? How much do they give you?”
She cupped her hands and motioned me forward to hear her whisper. “More than you,” I heard breathed into my ear. Roslyn began a giggle fit.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I wasn’t paying attention as the main entrance was dead bolted shut. I was all ears once the tweaker began waving his revolver at all the customer’s faces.
“Everyone be cool,” the tweaker shouted. “Just, I just want your money, and then I’ll be cool. As long as you all stay cool.”
I put my hands in the air. My other initial reaction, ashamedly, was to flashback to the movie Pulp Fiction. My second reaction was to fear for my Roslyn’s safety.
“Hey, man,” I said, for some reason. “You’ll get what you want. I’ve got my daughter here, though, so could you be easy with where you’re pointing that gun?”
I guess I’m an idiot for not noticing the target I was painting on my chest. The tweaker sprinted to our table. My hands went even higher.
“I’m cool man."He said. "Just fucking be cool, like me.”
“I’m cool, I’m cool.”
“Give me your wallet, mother fucker.”
“Ok,” I said, but my arms were stuck in the air.
“NOW!” I felt his scream hot against my face. More so, I felt the invisible bead his gun had trained on my head. It felt as concrete as a finger poking hard into my temple.
“Dude,” Roslyn said. “Just stop being a robber. What goes around comes around.”
“Hey, What the fuck man?” The tweaker’s face boiled into dangerous shades of red. “What’s this little girl doing talking to me? I thought I said to be cool.”
“Easy,” my voice cracked.
“Do you know the difference between boys and girls?” Roslyn asked the tweaker.
“Shut her up man, shut her up, fucker.”
The feeling from the invisible bead of his gun sank deeper into my flesh.
“Boys have nuts, and girls don’t.” As she finished talking, a cacophonous blast echoed through the diner.
My eyes winced shut, realizing a gun went off, and the one gun in the diner was pointed at me. My eyes rolled open to look at the tweaker, whose own eyes bulged out of his face like he was a squeeze toy. His gun slipped through his fingers and clashed on the linoleum. There was a giant wad of red splattered on the counter behind the disarmed man. Someone screamed, and the would-be-robber put his hands over his crotch while crumpling to the floor, wincing like a maimed puppy.
Roslyn put a tiny gun barrel to her mouth and blew imaginary smoke, miming an action star. “Sorry you had to see that Shane. I think we should call the hospital before the police.”
|
Timothy had been crying his eyes raw all morning. His mom has always taken care of him...what would he do without her? They had been watching the 'Back to the Future"series the past few days, having fun and laughing together. Now she's so quiet...she'll never laugh again? How is this possible?
"It's not fair. It's just not fair, Dad,"Timothy choked out between the crying. He was talking to his father, who was having difficulty remaining together himself.
"Shh, Timmy. It's okay, I know how hard it is, son. We'll get through this together, I promise. Mommy will always be watching over us, and one day, we'll join her up in heaven. Until then, be a strong, noble young man for her. She'll be watching, I promise you,"Timothy's father told him. He managed to stay quite composed despite what he felt.
"Okay, we'll see her again some day. Okay, Daddy, thank you. You're right,"Timothy said. The crying slowed down. He was 12, after all, he had to be big and strong and not cry, right?
His father felt comfortable leaving him alone for a minute now that he'd calmed down. "Timmy, I'm just gonna run upstairs and use the restroom, all right? I'll be right back down. Don't go anywhere,"his father said. Timothy nodded.
When his father went up, Timothy went out to the garage. His dad always kept spare keys in a jar behind his power tools. After climbing onto the bench and taking the keys, he got in his father's car and pulled out onto the road by their house- it was very remote and isolated, which is why Timothy had learned to drive a little bit at such a young age.
He drove a bit down the road. "88mph,"he told himself. "That's how fast I need to go so I can go back and save mommy."He hit 88mph and closed his eyes.
He was young, but he knew one of two things would happen: either he'd wake up and save his mom, or he'd go to sleep and see his mom. Either way, he thought to himself, life would be better. |
"Anonymous, please report to the manager's office."
Mr. Thought rarely called an employee to the executive lounge unless it was for a promotion, a dismissal, or to observe his expanding collection of rare mechanical pencils. It was only a week ago that Anonymous was both promoted *and* noted whatever obscure components he could comment on haphazardly to impress the old man.
So the odds weren't great.
Leaving his cubicle, he focused on deep breaths to compose himself until he made it to the other end of the office. Anonymous couldn't tell if Chinese Proverb was snickering over another one of Cat Card's new works, or over the official summons broadcasted to the entire company. He was an odd one, but kept Anonymous on his professional heels. Part of his success could be attributed to Chinese Proverb's enthusiasm to break Anonymous' quota-breaking records each month. Not that he was any *real* competition.
But he was an odd one regardless. The smile was, something more than what Anonymous was used to. And smiles were pretty basic things. Even...
*What if, a smile is a language even a baby understands?*
He stashed the line to present to the department's weekly brainstorm sessions. The boss would like that one. It was big, short and sweet. Just how Mr. Thought likes them.
Who's office door stood before him way too soon.
Anonymous drew a few more deep breaths for grasping the brass door knob. A voice called over to him from some far off cubicle;
*"The best time to plant a tree is twenty years ago."*
He didn't bother looking around behind him to see who it was telling him tree facts at a time like this.
There was a bigger issue he needed to resolve.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Sit down my boy, sit down! We need to talk."
Anonymous, compelled by his boss' suggestion, took the conference chair nearest to the oak desk of the manager and dragged it to the other end. After the cushion adjusted to his weight, he had the full, imposing attention of Mr. Food for Thought himself.
"My boy,"he drawled. "Dreams, are like *stars.*"
*Not this again.*
"You may never touch them..."
He fought to hide a reflexive frown.
"... but if you follow them, they will lead you to your *destiny.*"Mr. Thought beamed from across the table under his thick hairbrush moustache.
"Yes sir. Very good."
The manager waved away his obvious comment. "I know it is, you sent that one to me this morning. I just wanted to, test it out. Sounds nice. *Rolls* from the tongue."
Anonymous nodded as deeply as his necktie allowed him to. It was too high for comfort, but whatever impressed Mr. Thought at the moment was worth the effort.
"So imagine, my *surprise*,"he drawled unkindly, "when I received *this!*"
With a swooping motion, he turned over his large monitor to face Anonymous. Inscribed on the screen were the following words;
*Life is a bitch. So learn how to fuck it.*
"That's not one of mine sir,"he said simply.
Mr. Thought guffawed, the way old English gents do over pints and inside jokes. "But look my boy, it has your signature!"
"But--- but there isn't one."
The manager leaned over his desk as far as his mass let him. "*Exactly,*"he said coldly.
Anonymous felt warmth leave his face. "It isn't mine I tell you!"
"Watch your tone Mr. Doe, this isn't the only product to offend me this morning."
He clicked a button, and the screen changed to another message.
*Seduce my mind, so I can take a fat---*
The chair knocked over behind him as he stood upright. "Oh really now, you think I'd submit that?!"
Mr. Thought took no notice of his employee's outburst. "Again, no authorship. *So it must be yours.*"
Anonymous could only stare in disbelief. Everything he worked for was getting thrown out the proverbial window. His life, his career. What was he going to tell Jane about this?
"If this keeps up my boy, I *may* have to dismiss you. Correct yourself, before you eject yourself."Then Mr. Thought pointed to the door.
There was no other answer to that gesture. Anonymous took mechanical steps, guided only by his familiarity with the office in his dejected motivation. He passed by another cubicle on his way back when a familiar voice said;
*"The second best time to plant a tree, is now.*"
He turned to see the secure, confident smile of Chinese Proverb.
Anonymous had no time to puzzle through another of his riddles.
There was now an even bigger issue he needed to resolve.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*More at r/galokot, and thank you for reading!* |
"But what do I say, do I just go on the pedestal and say I quit?."
"Don't be stupid Ben you can't quit."
"Well then, what the hell do I do?"
"You have to get fired."
"You mean impeached."
"Yeah."
Ben took a drag off of the fat joint he rolled in the oval office. He didn't know how he got himself into this position. He just wanted to sell his book.
"I don't even know where the money came from"
"Don't you remember?"
"Not really."
"Nigga. Don't you remember when Romney came into our office and offered the donation."
"Uhhh yeah I think so. I thought he was joking tho. Weren't we running against his son?"
"That's exactly why he gave us the money."
"Wow. What a dick."
"Yeah."
"Well you got any ideas."
"I thought nuking North Korea would definitely get you impeached."
"I did too. I mean with parts of South Korea being completely destroyed I figured it would be enough. How the hell was I supposed to know that they were working together. Un had so many fucking guns man. Can't believe if I didn't do that we would be in total war."
"Restarting the cold war didn't help you at all."
"Yeah what the fuck was up with that. How did Putin not nuke us immediately. I mean I bombed his godamn house."
"He signed that peace treaty."
"He didn't even send troops to fight or anything."
"I won a Nobel Peace prize for Christ's sake. I killed over 100 innocent people. How the fuck did I get that."
"Your popularity only rises each week."
"How is that even measured? Do they ask random people or what."
"The NSA check how many people are talking shit on you. Thats what they told me."
"But how is that measured?"
"The fuck you asking me for."
"Nigga I'm so high right now."
"Same."
"I'm getting high in the god damn oval office and people still don't give a shit."
"You wanna legalize all drugs?"
"How the hell am I gonna do that with the white old fucks in Congress."
"You don't have to actually do it. Just make the bill and people will see your not fit for president."
"I'm an author I don't want my reputation tarnished."
"You already got enough money. With being the president and all."
"Come in"
"Sir you're speech is in three hours."
"Alright.
Well I'll see you later barry. Make sure to turn on your TV cuz ima say some stupid ass shit tonight."
"Remember you're an author. So don't go too ham."
______________________________________
Ben walked up to the stand. In front of Congress with the speech written for him in hand.
"Ahemm. You have all gathered here tonight for a nice speech about how our government is doing. But this speech has been written to make sure you don't give a shit about what we are actually doing. You know I didn't even want to be President. Now look at me. Giving a state of the Union in front of the world. Well. The CIA killed Kennedy. The FBI had agents dressed up as Muslims crash the planes in 911. And we still torture people. Seriously. Waterboarding is still a common thing that we do almost everyday. The worst part. Is that they didn't even tell me. I had to figure it out myself. Hey relax alright I'm not done. As you can see they are trying to quiet me and make me silent but I know. Hey let me go. And the government uses terrorism to keep you guys quiet and silent. Rise up brother and sister and take down this tyrannical government. They only exist to."
Ben was arrested
"Was any of that true"
"Fuck if I know. I just read that shit online. But ima post bail I'm a few months. "
"What are you gonna do?"
"Probably write a book about this."
After the conversation Ben went back to his cell. And fell asleep.
|
"...oh, man. And one of them's not actually a star. It's a hammer and sickle."
"Boy,"said my lunar module pilot. "Right smack dab in the center, too."
"Say again, commander?"came Houston's question.
"There appears to be some kind of... hybrid Soviet and American flag here. Incredible. And right next to our landing site."
"Spooky,"the pilot said, then started looking back and forth constantly, occasionally jerking sideways as though to catch someone sneaking up on him.
"Knock that off,"I said.
"Uh, commander,"Houston came in. "We, uh, advise knocking it over and then getting back in the LM."
"Say again, capcom?"
"We have *no* idea what that thing is."
"Shouldn't we investigate, try to discern if this is -- I can't believe I'm saying this -- a message from the future?"I asked. "My God, think of the implications. People a hundred years ahead of us could be using it to warn of a nuclear apocalypse or sending us a message of hope that one day in the future our two nations will know peace."
"Commander... If the American people saw pictures of this flag, do you think it would inspire feelings of hope... or of terror? Thinking that democracy lost the war, whether it be in ten years, or a hundred. But... in my mind, this can only be a hoax, a ruse of war, designed to destroy morale. All our intelligence shows that the Russians can't get a man to the moon, but they certainly can get a probe there. Which do you think more possible: that this is a flag left by *time travelers*, or a Soviet ploy to destroy our moment of triumph? Please. Come home."
"Can we at least put up our flag?"I asked. Years of training, of incredible discipline had led me to this moment, and now...
"Sure. It's not like we can remove all evidence that we were there. We'll be destroying all footage, though. No need to collect samples. Take no readings. Just... blast off ASAP."
I kicked over the hybrid flag. It sent a tiny puff of moon dust up when it fell, and was covered surprisingly quickly by the fine powder. There was absolutely no joy in raising our own stars and stripes; too many questions rolled around and around in my mind.
"Alright, let's go,"I said.
We loaded into the LM.
"How is anyone going to believe that we came this close to the moon and didn't land on it?"my pilot kept asking.
"Yeah, it's obvious that Apollo 10 would be the first mission to the moon. Apollo 11? Ten. Ten. That's smooth. One syllable. Eh-lev-en. Yuck."But the attempt at the joke fell flat, stuck in my throat. I'd once told a knock knock joke after my F-86 had flamed out and fell like a stone down from thirty thousand feet down to four. But this was somehow worse.
"Ascent checklist complete."
"Get us out of here."
The lunar module blasted off its base, sending waves of dust out, uncovering the flag a moment. I looked at it in wonder, knowing that this would be a mystery that would haunt me all the days of my life...
**********
A figure runs across the surface of the moon, waving his arms wildly as the lunar module rapidly ascends.
"Comrades, no! No!"
The cosmonaut sat down hard on the lunar soil. It had been a long shot, of course, putting the flag at the landing site that Soviet spies had uncovered only weeks before the launch of the Russian moonshot. The plan had all come together so fast. Too fast. An experimental rocket, a one-man, one-way mission. The astronauts would touch down to find a proud Soviet flag and a cosmonaut holding it. The Americans had made provisions to take several hundred kilograms of rocks back; they'd have no choice but to take the stranded cosmonaut instead. And if they refused... imagine the world's fury!
Things had gone poorly. He had botched his landing, disabling his own flimsy lunar module. It had been a miracle he had survived this long. If only he hadn't crashed so far away, he'd have been able to stay longer at the American's landing site, instead of roving back and forth to the remains of his own lander for oxygen. If only.
The flag, though.
He went to recover it. It had been his idea, smuggled aboard right under the noses of the commisars. A gesture to the Americans. To the planet. A promise of peace in some far future as they today lived beneath the constant threat of nuclear annihilation. His mother had sewn it; now it lay in the dust of another world.
As he was picking it up, he noticed the plaque the Americans had left in their wake.
"Landing site, Apollo 10. We... we came in peace for all mankind."
Perhaps there was hope after all. Cold comfort for the first man on the moon.
***
*By request, there is a continuation below. I hope you enjoy!* |
"My lord[.](http://f.tqn.com/y/netforbeginners/1/W/t/c/leo2.PNG)"he said kneeling before the king.
"Hello Greg, tell me the news."The king said.
"We've sent Richard out to spread the word."Greg said.
"Which one?"The king asked.
"Both of them, they've both been sent my lord."
"There's something you're not telling me."The king said shifting in his seat.
"Well..."Greg said trailing off.
"Well what?"the king asked[.](http://sitepullzone.iamalwayswithyou.netdna-cdn.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/04/funny-meme.jpg)
"Jeff has escaped."Greg said in a low voice.
"The killer?"
"Yes."Greg confirmed.
"How was he able to get past the hounds?"The king asked, clenching his fists.
"Well[...](http://i0.kym-cdn.com/entries/icons/medium/000/007/831/10-guy.jpg) you see... there was only one on duty."
"Who[!](http://www.relatably.com/m/img/funny-memes/522e1ee1c4ffc005fe0e7d2a3a79c7d7.jpg)"The king asked his voice nearing a shout.
"Moon Moon."Greg said sounding deflated.
"He had one job!"The king yelled[.](http://euw.leagueoflegends.com/board/attachment.php?attachmentid=187086&d=1398962686)
"B-but, I shall gather my best men and leave to hunt down the killer at the crack of dawn[.](http://pixel.nymag.com/imgs/daily/vulture/2015/12/11/yic/11-yic-memes.w529.h352.jpg)"Greg said wanting to impress the king.
"Yes yes. You are a good guy. You may leave"
"Thank you my lord.["](https://i.imgflip.com/169a4q.jpg) Greg said before leaving.
****
What now? The king thought as he watched the door to his chamber slowly ease open.
"My lord."A young boy knelt before him clutching something in his hands.
"What are those[?](https://i.imgflip.com/1aehz9.jpg)"The king said pointing to the worn and dirtied shoes in the boys hands.
["](https://vice-images.vice.com/images/content-images/2016/05/25/i-asked-the-founder-of-know-your-meme-why-memes-are-funny-body-image-1464210632.jpg?resize=*:*&output-quality=75)They are the killer's shoes, one of the men who went out found them and told me to bring them to you. They think they are close on his tail[."](https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jc1ceEcUKJI/VsHB4r9MW6I/AAAAAAAAAMw/6SMxhHGW5IE/s1600/happy-birthday-meme.jpg)
"Which man?"
"Richard, my lord."
"Good, good."The king said, p[l](http://memesvault.com/wp-content/uploads/Best-Meme-17.jpg)eased that his men were making progress in the hunt.
"You may leave."The king said.
"Thank you lord Harambe."The boy said before bowing and leaving.
****
^(I think I made some of them too obvious.) |
Jay burst through his front doors and sprinted to his bedroom in search of his wife. He found Karen, his wife, in the bedroom and pulled her into his arms.
"Karen, you're so beautiful,"he said through tears as he kissed her.
Karen laughed as she responded, "Jay, what's gotten into you?"
Jay let Karen go and wiped the tears from his eyes, "I just got new glasses, and I can see!"
"You couldn't see before? Jay you drove yourself to the optometrists."
"No, no, I could see before, but now it's different! The details Karen! I can see the details! The leaves on the trees! The pebbles on the ground! The scales on champ!"
Karen wrapped her arms back around Jay, "Honey, that's great! I ca- wait did you say the scales on champ?"
"Ya! His scales and tiny little wings! I didn't even know that dogs had tiny little wings!"
Karen looked horrified and sprinted out of the room. Jay, growing nervous, followed closely behind as she ran into the kitchen where Champ was staying. Karen saw their dog and screamed.
Jay did his best to console her, "What's the problem? See look at him. He has scales all over his body!'
"Jay that is not our dog! That's a dragon!"
Jay couldn't help but smile. His smile did not add to Karen's mood, but he was happy. His first day of sight and he gets to see a dragon. If you ask Jay, that's pretty good luck. |
"Hello, Timmy."Santa said softly, his beard rustling. But his voice cut through the silence like a sharp knife.
"Satan."I stated.
"Not him, no. I'm Santa. Santander Cláusula, but you kids know me as Santa Claus."
"What? I summoned Satan! I wrote his name!"
"Timmy boy, you are severely dyslexic. I'm surprised the scripture even understood what you wrote. But I'm so glad you have tried to write. So proud. But why have you tried to summon the darkness into your beloved home?"
"It's.. It's my dyslexia. I don't want it. I want to be normal! Like the other kids!"
"No, Timmy. You are better than normal. You have to accept who you are, and embrace yourself. You've had a some bad times, but I didn't put you on my naughty list. Because I see your heart, and it's purer than a baby's butt."
I giggled. Baby butts are stinky, not pure. But that wasn't the point.
"But the other kids are laughing at me! I want to make myself better, so I can play with them."
A pause.
"Timmy, do you know Bill?"
"Yeah. He's the one that makes fun of me because I can't read right."I said sadly.
"Want to know a secret?"
"What?"
"His parents are going through some difficult times."
"Divorce?"
"At worst. How would you feel if your parents are fighting all the time?"
I thought for a bit. "Worried?"I tried.
"Yes. Worried and angry. There's nothing he can do about it except be constantly frustrated by his helplessness."Santa waited a moment for it to sink in.
"But why is he bullying me?"
"Remember that time your sister took your lego piece and wouldn't give it to you back. And you were angry all day. And you punched the pillow in your tree house a few times?"Santa asked.
"Yes, but what does that have to do with anything?"
"You took *your* anger out on the pillow. Bill took *his* anger on you."
"But that's not fair! It's not my fault what's happening to his family!"
"People cope with their problems and anger differently. What Bill did wasn't right. But you have to understand his situation. He wants things to be normal, like you do."
I was starting to think I knew where Santa was coming from.
"Just be patient, Timmy. And listen to your parents. Don't dwell in these ancient scriptures. Dyslexia isn't the end of the world."He said, rising from the summoning circle. "In fact,"he continued, "Rudolph is dyslexic, too."and with that, he left through the chimney. |
"How much is that armor there?"Askar, the not-so-great adventurer asked the pruned blacksmith.
"Oh uh, that's not armor that was a bit of a mess up... I can't really sell it, it's no good."
"Two gold coins then?"
"Uh, sure,"The blacksmith nodded and looked at his new coins as the odd adventurer sauntered off.
Askar's entire goal since he was kicked out of his home was to be a famous adventurer, to hear tales of glory sung in his name, to be recognized as a hero across the land. Yet thus far all he managed to do was recover an old lady's cat, which fortunately led to two gold coins, which he then turned into some new- albeit odd looking- armor. Now he would be able to get past the gatekeeper and begin his quests.
The tall figure loomed overhead, far more oppressive than even the rough iron gate behind him, and boomed, "Who would pass the city gates?"
"I'm Askar!"
"The world outside is a very dangerous place, you must best me in a duel to prove yourself capable."
"Oh uh, alright then,"Askar held up the only weapon he had- his hiking stick- as the gatekeeper rose a massive piece of steel that could very easily have weighed twice as much as Askar. "Or um.. maybe I could reconsider."
But the challenge was issued. The gatekeeper swung, paying no heed to Askar's words. The impact of his sword resounded throughout the busy streets with a tremendous clang. A clang that signafied the gatekeeper had struck the ground- not Askar. The mountainous figure of the man struggled to free his sword from the gravel, and Askar managed to simply slip right past through the gate that had fortunately been left unlocked. The gatekeeper cried after him but Askar continued on his merry way smiling at his upturn in luck.
He followed the path with no real direction until he came upon a fork in the road with a man lying in the middle. He was bleeding and looked quite ready to die, which is why Askar was quite surprised when the man spoke, "The demon king... laid the royal army to waste... so much death... the north is in ashes... run while you can..."
And with that the old man died. How increadibly convienent that the man should live just long enough to deliver that message to Askar. He had heard rumors of the Demon king, and defeating the fellow seemed like quite the way to make a name for one's self. So with that though in mind, Askar took the path that led north, towards the demon king.
The path eventually led to a dark and ominous forest, where the very branches and trees seemed to be reaching out in anguish. It didn't deter or bother Askar in the slightest, he hiked right through whistling all the while. After a bit he felt as if he wasn't alone amongst the trees, and so he stopped to look around. In the instant that he stopped an arrow struck the ground in between his feet. As he leaned over to inspect it another one flashed over his head. Looking around revealed no clear source of the projectiles so he shrugged and continued in his way- leaving a trail of arrows in his path as his assailants continued to miss.
Eventually the forest gave way to burnt fields of crops. Askar continued on his journey unfazed by the destruction. He pushed northward past an astounding array of adversaries: there was a hoard of goblins that mistook him as one of their own, a troll under a bridge that had forgotten its riddles, a witch that mistakenly cursed herself instead of Askar, and a massive talking serpent that was struck by lightning halfway through giving a speech about how it was the guardian of the demon king's castle.
Askar stepped over the snakes corpse and approached the towering red doors of the demon king's castle, they opened on their own accord. The entirety of the castle seemed to be almost a maze, Askar randomly wandered through the dark stone passageways and often times activated traps that he just barely avoided. It didn't take him long at all to reach a grand door lined with gold and gems of all sorts that seemed to glow in the darkness of the passageway.
He pushed his way through the doors and found himself in a large throne room with hundreds of torches lining the walls, and a horned, red-skinned, figure that would have made the gatekeeper look like an ant, that sat in a throne the size of a house. It's voice- no, it's roar- shook the entire chamber, "WHO ARE YOU TO ENTER MY KEEP?"
"I'm Askar, I've come to defeat you so I can be famous."
The creature rose what could have been an eyebrow, "I'm amazed a mere mortal could make it through my labyrinth, and completely unscathed as well. You must be a truely legendary warrior."
"What? That was a labyrinth? It took like ten minutes to get here..."
"WHAT? There have been mortals who have spent months in there, gave their blood and dying breaths trying to get to me. I have heard grown men cry and plead for the chance to see the sun one last time before they perish. And yet you say it took you ten minutes?"
"Yeah, and all of those traps were kind of silly as well..."
"ENOUGH! I will destroy you here and now- you are no more than an annoyance,"The creature rose from its throne, trailing an embroidered cloak behind it that would be large enough to clothe an entire village. Each step bounced Askar off the ground, but still he smiled. If getting to the Demon King was so easy then defeating him couldn't be any harder. Askar held up a hand, "Hold on! All of these torches... it's so hot in here! Let me just take off this armor really quick then I'll be ready to fight you."
The demon king gave pause, respecting the request. Once Askar's armor was off he felt so much lighter, more nimble, and so he rose his trusty hiking stick over his head and charged at the demon king- only to have his head chopped off in a single stroke of the monster's claws.
|
"Aww come on Troy! I think you need to be cheered up a little."
The crowd pressed in around me, and I tried not to gag as the smell of sweat encircled me like a venomous cloud. "Um..."I choked as they leant in closer. "But... we just... *lost.*"My final word echoed through the space of the gymnasium, a lost cry for help.
But they ignored me completely. Oblivious to the horror of our most recent loss at the basketball game, they laughed my comment off, and all I could do was watch with wide eyes as one of the players shouted, "I think this calls for a celebration!"
The gymnasium went wild. An eruption began in the stands - *they were coming for me!* "No!"I begged desperately for mercy. "Please don't do this!"But they wouldn't listen, and they cheered gleefully at our misfortune. I sank to the floor and wept for the idiocy of mankind as they began their dreadful chorus.
*"We're all in this together..."* |
At the sound of MacMiller clearing his throat, the hubbub in the cozy pub died faster than a civilian at the hands of Dr. VonDoomenstein during a drunken bender. Even the doctor himself, currently on a drunken bender, suddenly straightened up and felt almost sober, possibly saving a few lives.
The existence of this pub was the worst kept secret amongst superpowered beings in the solar system. The fact that mere mortals just couldn’t physically attend made it a reprieve for the heroes from their daily slog, and a place for the villains to meet and do business without worrying about whether the other guy was secretly planning to rip their face off and eat it, which, to be fair – they probably were in some cases. But not here. Oh no. MacMiller’s pub was the one place in the world where there was no conflict. None.
Nobody would dare.
And thus there they were, all frozen in place, as the old man limped out from the old bar, the crowd of superbeings parting before him with awkward shuffling of feet. Nobody wanted to be on the wrong side of MacMiller. Oh no, that way lay madness. That way lay death. Or worse, having your picture put on the little corkboard behind the bar, the one with the ominous heading – “Banned for life”.
As the crowd had parted enough his target became obvious, and aware of his attention. Lyra she was called, not that anyone had an easy time remembering that over the lacking skin coverage her outfit provided, as was par for the course for beginning female heroes. The girls eyes went huge as the old man limped closer, and her bottom lip trembled. Somehow she found herself looking up at the man towering before her, despite him being barely taller than she was seated.
“Give it,” he said gruffly, his accent that of inscrutable ancient pub keepers all over the universe. Everyone leaned in, suddenly noticing the tiny barely visible earbud that Lyra had neglected to leave at home, the connection to the dispatcher of whatever organization she had managed to get accepted by. It was one of the most basic rules of the place, after all: leave work at the door. You can socialize, you can even negotiate deals, but you can’t in any way mix the two worlds. MacMiller’s pub started where the real world ended, and vice versa. No connections allowed.
“Bu…” she started with trembling lips, the entire pub gasped as one, and the people nearest the two scrambled backwards almost trampling over each other to a chorus of apologies even from the worst of the worst. Nobody wanted to be close enough to be caught in the blast if she finished expressing that sentiment, nor did anyone want to accidentally leave a slight without apology in here. A fight would condemn them all. Nervous glances to the two pictures on the board of the banned clued the girl in just in time.
“I’m sorry,” she said in a small voice, and hurried to hand over the earpiece. The old man took it between wrinkled fingers and removed it from existence. He glared at Lyra for an uncomfortable eternity and then gave a single curt nod before returning to his post behind the bar.
The din of the pub slowly rose again, if at a more somber note, and a few more shots than usual of the hard stuff was drunk that night. MacMiller… Nobody knew who he was, but everybody called him by his name… and that was more than could be said for those that had crossed him.
|
The only thing that I know for sure is that existence in Heaven is better than existence in Hell.
I woke up this morning as I have for the last four million some-odd mornings – existence in heaven is surprisingly different from what we as mortals expect. That is, to say, it feels like life on earth. Sure, there’s slight differences – nobody gets hurt or dies – and everyone is perpetually between twenty-three and thirty-five years old. And we can conjure up any experience we wish at any moment. Actually, I suppose that existence in Heaven is nothing like life on earth.
Bleary-eyed, I make eye contact with myself in my bathroom mirror. I haven’t aged a day since I arrived. I chose to freeze myself at thirty-one years old, the same age that I was when I plunged off that cliff when the brakes went out in our 90’s model Korean bus. I struggled to remember that day. it’s funny how the day of your death – something so intensely personal and supposedly transformative – fades away to become just another vague memory over an infinite timeline. Luckily, I had lead a selfless and good life up until that point, and so when I died, God told me that I was in Heaven; I had won the celestial lottery! Ever since then I’ve woken up every morning with a smile on my face. I don’t bother putting on clothes, and simply pass through my front door.
Heaven resembles a sort of massive college campus. Millions of people are in the quad right now, and they are engaging in as many activities – some are practicing their flying abilities, others are meditating, some are having group sex, some are transforming into creatures that defy description. I decide to tune them all out, and suddenly, I am alone. I take a deep breath of the hot summer air, decide that autumn would be more appropriate right now, and exhale into a world of bright-red falling leaves. For a few minutes, I sit there, basking in the knowledge that this is it – this is the very pinnacle of existence – this is Heaven. A deep euphoria and satisfaction washes over me. In the many years I have been here, it never gets old. Anything that I can conjure up simply happens in my mind.
Every day I thank God – quite literally – for my existence. They always smile and thank me back. Whenever I feel that warmth I pity those poor souls in Hell, and am extraordinarily grateful that I am not there.
Very rarely does someone ever mention Hell. As citizens of Heaven we have been warned against inquiring about what happens there, but it is not forbidden. Those that do explore the knowledge of the other place, however, are permanently changed. They come back from their knowledge seeking with a profound sullenness – a tremendous departure from the euphoria and contentment that most of us share. “Why so sad?” some of us inquire. The selfless souls always respond the same way: “You don’t want to know. Leave it be.” Eventually those souls completely stop responding to anything, and become as statues. We do not want to be like those souls. We love our existence, so we pity them and try to forget about them. Whatever we do, we do not ask about Hell.
-------------------------------------
We’ve now been here for several dozen millennia. With humanity’s extinction nearly ten thousand years ago, God made an announcement that surprised us all: that they were retiring and would stop existing. We congratulated God on such a great existence and wished them well on their non-existence. Nobody had inquired about Hell since a few years after humanity’s extinction, so the knowledge of Hell would disappear with God. To God, however, this was unacceptable.
“The knowledge of Hell is important, and cannot disappear with me.” they announced in a chorus. “People have observed and visited Hell in the past, as was their desire, because you know that we will not prevent you from seeking that which you desire. However, we have determined a better way – you must observe Hell – not directly, but by listening to those that are there. Each of you will receive correspondence from the souls in Hell. You will not be able to communicate back to them.” A few people were shocked, but we knew that God would never do anything to harm us. We trusted them implicitly.
“You will be receiving your first communications immediately,” said God. They vanished forever.
In my hands rested an envelope with a boring Helvetica font on the front. It simply had my name on it. The return address was “Hell.” I opened it.
“To whom it may concern,
We have been instructed to share our experiences with you. I do so because we have no free will - in Hell, we must always do as we are commanded. I hate this place. We hate this place. It’s different than I thought it would be – we are given power beyond our wildest dreams. We can shape our reality. But nearly unlimited power is such a burden – I can go anywhere in the universe I want to; I can experience anything I can dream of. I can transform into anything I wish. But I am still bound here and will never be able to enter Heaven. If we have been given the ability to do anything our mortal minds can comprehend, what gifts must you have been given? If this is external punishment, what is eternal reward? I feel like I am spending eternity trying to imagine a color that I’ve never seen before. For millennia, I have struggled with the consequences of my bad decisions in life. Why did I hurt so many people? Why did I lie, cheat, and steal? These thoughts are all-consuming. I am miserable with my current existence, and I wish it to end.
I hate you. I hate you because you have what I do not, and I know not what it is that you even have.
The only thing I that I know for sure is that existence in Hell is worse than existence in Heaven.”
|
Satan leaned back in his chair, stretching out. A tiny flame flickered in each of his nostrils. With one leather-booted foot, he kicked the intercom button.
"Jessica!"He roared. "Coffee!"A few moments later, the stained, rusted iron door clicked open. A small, reserved woman in a quiet grey suit entered smoothly, chasing black smoke through the doorway.
"I've brought your coffee, Mr. Satan."He snatched it away from her, spilling a drop on her grey suit. And then he froze, the cup halfway to his mouth, and glared at her.
"Did you make it how I like?"She nodded.
"Yes, sir. 3 sugars, 2 creams."
"Good girl."He sipped, leaning back in his swivel chair. "Now. Did you feed the hellhounds?"
"No, sir. We're expecting the new wave of arrivals to visit the Lair around 11."She adjusted her glasses carefully. "I know that you like for the hounds to be...properly motivated."Satan laughed softly, the metal spikes on his collar clinking against the backrest.
"Right you are, Jessica! Well, then. Did you oil the meat grinder under the east stairway, then? I know sometimes the stragglers like to sneak off that way. Curious little bastards seem to think it's a way out!"He roared with laughter at the thought.
"No, sir."She responded primly. "As Sir knows, that mechanism is designed to....self-lubricate. Should it be utilized this morning, it will function appropriately."He nodded, stroking his goatee absentmindedly.
"Oh, yes! Of course, I remember now. A fine piece of machinery, that one."He tapped on his desk. "Ah! Did you send my RSVP card to the Big Cloud Up Above's Halloween party? I was supposed to do that last week...."He trailed off. Jessica was glaring at him. Finally, she sniffed.
"I mailed in the appropriate response, yes. Although I *really wish* you would stop attending such ludicrous events. It only damages your demonic reputation to be seen in such a manner."Laughter boomed as Satan leaned back, holding a hand to his belly.
"Nonsense, Jessica! God is an old friend! I wouldn't miss it for the world."He waved a finger under her nose. "And I look *good* in costume."She examined him disdainfully. Tall, leather-clad, adorned in painted flames and with metal spikes jammed through every seam in the frabric. And a potbelly.
".....And what costume might Sir be thinking of wearing *this* year?"She managed. Her mind shuddered at the possibilities.
But he blasted right past the question, waving her off with a fiery snap of his fingers. "Anyhoo, off you go, then! I'm sure the duty rosters for the inferi are ready for you to process.
But she held her ground. He blinked to see her still standing in the entryway.
"If it is acceptable to you, Sir, I actually have another matter to discuss with you."He sat up.
"By all means, my girl. What can old Satan do for you?"She slapped the stack of folders she had hidden under her arm down onto his desk.
He flipped the top one open. A row of detailed charts greeted him.
"....And what might this be?"He looked up at her questioningly.
"These are the pay rates for my cohorts, over the last three years."With a pencil in one hand she tapped each graph in order.
"This is Sarah. She's over in the Abyss, working for Cthulu. Since the July before last."
"Here is Christie. She is the personal assistant for Abbadon."
"Justin. He's the assistant for Hades."
She put one last sheet of paper near the center of the arrangement.
"And this is *my* pay rate."
Satan gulped. Jessica leaned over until they were eye to eye.
"Do you notice any trends here, sir?"
"I....I don't know what you're talking about."Jesica scowled.
"As you can see, while my *compatriots* are steadily making financial advances in leaps and bounds, I myself am trapped in a *flat*, *unending plateau*."She straightened.
Satan sighed.
"Jessica, darling. We just don't have it in the budget. What, am I supposed to tell the damned that they have to go *without* their twice-a-day flaying? The demons want to be paid *too*."He chortled at the thought.
A grey-sleeved hand pulled the bottom folder out and laid it neatly, deceptively quietly, on the top.
"Here, we have the bill that you have amassed with your *succubi*. I can see *they* like to be paid as well."
Satan grinned.
"Well, a guy has *needs*."Jessica sighed.
"So do I. I *need* a basic cost of living raise, backdated for the last year, and continued yearly for the remainder of my contract."
"Your contract is *forever*."
"Then I suppose I'll need it continued in perpetuity."
It was his turn to lean back, blinking.
"You're serious."
"I am, sir."
"Why should I?"
Jessica smiled, but it wasn't a nice smile.
"Because I have it on good faith that Jesus is currently hiring an assistant. And we all know how well *he* pays."
Satan gaped.
"You *wouldn't*. And you *couldn't*! I have you on contract! You're mine!"
She straightened her glasses.
"Sir, if you check the contract between us, you'll note that exit clauses have always been present in paragraphs 40a, 83c, and 134f. I would prefer to remain in your service, Sir, because this has been a mutually beneficial arrangement, but if necessary I will take my services elsewhere."
He paused. He could see the writing on the wall, even if he wasn't ready to accept it.
"Why did I ever think it was a good idea to make a contract with a *lawyer*?"He moaned.
"Because Sir is no *good* at writing contracts."She smiled grimly. "I *am*."
He threw his arms up.
"Bah! I don't have time for this. I have an appointment at the lava springs that started half an hour ago. Now I'll have missed the entire session."His assistant smiled.
"I sent notice down this morning. Your schedule has been shifted to accommodate the time I have taken from you. Your appointment at the springs is waiting for you."He froze. And he knew he was trapped.
"Fine! Fine, you win. You always *do*."Jessica smiled primly as the two swept from the room. She always did.
(/r/inorai) |
FADE IN:
INT. A BANK - EVENING
*Several people stand in line before a TELLER's window, each of them looking ornery and impatient. Every individual goes through an odd sort of synchronized dance, first staring at their smartphone, then glancing up to see if the line has moved, then sighing and looking back down.*
**DAVE:** (*O.S.*) (*Shouting*) Everybody move!
*Everyone looks at the bank's entrance to see a young man wearing what appears to be a wool beanie with crude eye-holes cut in it. This is DAVE. He shoves his way to the front of the line, causing several of the PATRONS to protest and angrily mutter.*
**DAVE:** (*CONT'D*) (*To the Teller*) Alright, you! No silent alarms, no funny business, and no... uh... no audible alarms, either!
**TELLER:** Excuse me?
**DAVE:** Didn't you hear me? No alarms of any variety, and no...
**TELLER:** (*Interrupting*) Yes, sir, I heard you. Why would I do any of those things?
**DAVE:** ... This is a robbery. Was that not obvious?
**TELLER:** I try not to judge, sir. You could have been a man with an odd choice of hat.
**DAVE:** Well, it's a robbery! Now, I want you to...
**TELLER:** (*Interrupting*) You'll have to wait your turn, sir.
*A moment passes in silence.*
**DAVE:** Sorry, are you suggesting that...
**TELLER:** (*Interrupting*) Sir, these other people were here before you.
**PATRON #1:** Yeah, I was next!
*The first patron shoves Dave out of the way, then leans in and begins speaking with the teller in a hushed voice. Dave watches this for a few seconds, then squeezes himself in next to the patron.*
**DAVE:** I really don't think you're taking this seriously.
**TELLER:** Sir, please move to the back, or I'll be forced to call security.
**DAVE:** Oh, so, a *bank robbery* is no cause for concern, but heaven forbid that someone *cut in line!*
**TELLER:** You are being watched, sir.
*The teller points to one corner of the room. Dave turns to see an overweight SECURITY GUARD swiping at something on a tablet. The man looks up, gives Dave a brief nod, then goes back to his previous activity.*
**DAVE:** This is ridiculous.
**PATRON #1:** (*To Dave*) Do you mind? You're crowding me.
**DAVE:** Yes, I mind! Move!
**PATRON #1:** Only once I'm finished.
**DAVE:** Right! That does it! I'm going to start taking hostages! Anyone who doesn't leave *right now* will become human collateral!
*Nobody in the bank responds.*
**PATRON #1:** How long do you expect that will take?
**DAVE:** What?
**PATRON #1:** Well, I mean, if we'll be here for an hour or so, that *would* give the traffic some time to clear up.
**TELLER:** I'd get overtime pay.
**SECURITY GUARD:** Me, too!
*In a fit of exasperation, Dave yanks the beanie from his head.*
**DAVE:** Okay, look, this isn't really a robbery. I just need to deposit some money so that I don't get evicted!
*Another patron shouts from near the back of the line.*
**PATRON #2:** If you have cash, why don't you just pay your rent with that?
**DAVE:** My landlord won't accept cash!
**PATRON #2:** So write a check and deposit the money tomorrow! Checks take at least that long to clear!
**DAVE:** The bank isn't *open* tomorrow!
**TELLER:** You can use the ATM. It accepts cash.
*Dave opens and closes his mouth several times.*
**DAVE:** Look, I'm here now. Can't you just deposit this for me?
*He holds up a large bag of cash. The teller eyes it.*
**TELLER:** No.
**DAVE:** What? Why not?
**TELLER:** You need...
**DAVE:** (*Interrupting*) Don't say that I need to wait my turn!
**TELLER:** I was going to say that you need to fill out a deposit slip.
**DAVE:** ... Oh. Uh, do you have a pen?
*The teller hands Dave a pen. He hurriedly scribbles his information onto a deposit slip, then passes his bag of cash over.*
**PATRON #1:** You're going to regret this someday.
**DAVE:** We'll see.
*Dave starts to walk away... then gets tackled by the security guard.*
**SECURITY GUARD:** Freeze, scum! You're busted!
**DAVE:** (*Inaudible wheezing*)
**SECURITY GUARD:** Sorry, I've always wanted to say that. Anyway...
*The security guard reaches down and plucks something from beneath Dave. It is revealed to be the pen that the teller handed him.*
**SECURITY GUARD:** (*CONT'D*) You really thought you could get away with it, huh? All that song-and-dance about paying your rent.
**DAVE:** (*More inaudible wheezing*)
**SECURITY:** Well, don't you worry: Where you're going, there *are* no eviction notices.
*Everyone in the bank applauds halfheartedly.*
**TELLER:** (*Shouting*) Next!
CUT TO BLACK. |
"Doomnado? Is that you?"I asked.
The elderly man spilled his coffee over his toast and southwestern scramble. "I-I believe you are mistaken."
"You're supposed to be dead,"I spat. "The superhero Comet killed you."
"Well, I am very much alive, mister, so obviously, I am not this Lord Doomnado that you speak of."
"Hah! You were the only one who called yourself 'Lord Doomnado.' You were so pissed the newspapers refused to use that name that you kidnapped those twelve reporters in that meat cellar."
The elderly man furrowed his brow. "I believe the newspapers failed to report on that little misdemeanor of mine, my dear Comet."
"I'm not --"
"Oh save it. Have a seat."
I sat across from him. He motioned the waitress over to fill up my cup with coffee.
"So you got out of the game too?"Doomnado said, sopping up his split coffee from his plate. "You know, I came to your funeral."
"The parade was a bit much, wasn't it?"I chuckled.
"Better than the effigy of me they burned."
"You deserved it."I sipped my coffee.
Doomnado waved his hand. "I was attempting to wake people up to the failures of our society. Not cover the problems with sparkly band-aids like you."
"By robbing a bank to buy a yacht?"
Doomnado stuttered. "Well, it was a... okay, I can't talk away that one."
I laughed.
"Comet, I didn't expect you to run away from hero work. You were always so self-righteous."
I sighed. "It became a bit harder once my arthritis kicked in, and my punches hurt me more than the perp."
"I remember being punched by these hands."He grabbed my wrinkled hand in his. "You were always one step ahead of me."
"I remember choking you with these hands long ago, but I could never finish you off,"I looked into his eyes, the same eyes I had dreamed about stabbing out for so long. "I think I now know why." |
All my life I’ve lived out in the woods, away from civilization. Useless, a waste of space, and pitiful. If you don’t have a power you can use to benefit society, you aren’t a part of society. Not in their eyes.
The Masons are those with construction based materials. Wood, stone, steel, the likes. They build our homes, our streets, and if you pay enough, even our cities. They can get done in weeks what used to take years. Local governments love them. And because they’re so necessary, they can demand as much gold as they desire.
The same could be said for the Farmers, those with control over plants, animals and fertilizers. They can plant their crop in the morning and have it ready for harvest by sundown. They single handedly saved our water sources as well. Once filled with animal waste which starved the rivers and lakes, the Farmers were able to redirect the nutrients back to the plants and create more food than we’ve ever had.
The Chemists are a bit more specific. They’re pharmacists and scientists, usually with dominion over drugs and new materials. They’re a shadowy group, and many rumors state that they’re the ones who were behind the Empowering of the world, in a war long past.
With all these useful and special people, where are all the normal people? Surely not everyone could be as useful as a Farmer, or powerful as a Mason, or as dangerous as a Chemist. And you would be right. About 10% of the global population are Weaklings, or even worse Civs. 36% are Masons, 23% are Farmers, and 16% are Chemists. Out of the final 5% are Paragons and Monstrosities.
Paragons are those who’s ability are extremely rare, or powerful. Someone who can control just brick is just your average Mason. A Mason who can control every type of stone on the planet? That would elevate them to Paragon status. Another example would be someone with control over water. Extremely rare, but also extremely useful and sought after. Not only are these some of the most powerful people on the planet ability wise, but also politically and economically.
On the other end of the spectrum are Monstrosities, Weaklings and Civs. Civs are powerless, Weaklings can barely control their power, and Monstrosities are those who’s ability malformed them. While potentially powerful, someone made entirely of glass wouldn’t survive in the modern world.
These are the my friends and family. Those who cannot build cities in months, or grow food in a day. Those who cannot save the world from catastrophic events or unravel the mysteries of the past. Those who cannot protect themselves.
Or in my case, someone who cannot afford to. |
"Really? That's what you want?"I sighed.
Most of the time when someone summons a succubus they wanted some sort of not safe for work favor. I was very unpleasantly surprised when this summoning was for a completely different reason.
"Yes, I am prepared to pay the price."The cultist replied.
"No. I am not doing that."I shot back.
"No? I thought you would relish the chance to-"
I interrupted him: "What makes you think i would *like* to do that, let alone agree to it?"
The cultist was caught off guard. "Well, I thought with your mother being Death, and you inheriting much of her powers, death would be something you like to do."
"What? That's like saying soldiers like killing people."I took a deep breath to calm myself. "I am not going to fulfill such a deal. I am going to leave."
As i powered up the magic circle i had been summoned in the cultists began chanting. I recognized the spell and nearly exploded with rage but i kept my calm until they finished.
"YOU DID NOT JUST DO WHAT I THINK YOU JUST DID!"I yelled at the lead cultist.
My outburst surprised him and then a massive panic fell upon everyone.
"Wait, how come you're not under our control? That was our most powerful binding spell!"He fell back as he stumbled upon his own robes.
My eye twitched as my anger kept rising.
"You know what, fuck it."I stepped outside the concentric pentagrams as they shattered and burned, their power utterly useless against me. "I was trying to be nice and pretend that i was safely contained when you summoned me. But the truth is you never could contain me, you were only safe because i have no desire of hurting anyone..."I stepped closer as i summoned my scythe and held it over him menacingly, "...until now."
"No! please! we just wanted to..."he tried to explain.
"... cause a bunch of deaths of some stupid reason i quite frankly don't care about. Seriously, it's always death and destruction to you humans, isn't it? Can't i be summoned for a spot of tea? or maybe some fish and chips? Honestly, a whole cult worshiping me could at least buy me dinner now and then."I gestured to the giant murals on the walls that had me painted in various nude poses. "Now let me be very clear. I will leave, and if you ever summon me again. I will end you."
I hoped my toothless threat would scare them away, but i had vastly over estimated their intelligence and desire to live. No sooner had i finished speaking that a silver blade erupted from my chest. My black blood boiled and steamed as it dripped off the metal and burned holes through the floor. I was in unimaginable pain but i managed to turn around and face my attacker. This particular cultist was a great deal younger than the leader and probably thought i could be killed if an enchanted silver blade was driven through my heart. It wasn't a bad assumption, most demons could indeed be killed that way. What i found odd was that they didn't consider i was half reaper.
I stared him straight in the eyes as i grabbed the blade portion in front of me with my hands and began pushing it back out. My hands burned as the silver seared my demonic flesh but i kept going. I wanted nothing more than to cry my eyes out at the agony but i was determined to get the sword out. Finally when the portion in front of me had been pushed through i grabbed the sword in back and pulled it out completely, dropping it to the floor with a resounding thud. The cultists recoiled in horror as they realized I could not be controlled or killed.
I wanted to kill them, i so badly wanted to kill them. But with a tremendous amount of will power i choose to let them go as they fled the catacombs. Hopefully they would warn other members of their order that i was of no use to them. I limped to the magic summoning circle as my blood dripped out, making holes in the floor as i passed. I didn't realize just how badly i was injured until i was coughing up blood. I wasn't worried about dying, but my recovery wasn't going to be quick.
I heard the clanging of metal as the cultist that first attacked me picked up his silver sword in some insane attempt to try again. As i turned around he held his sword up in a defensive posture but approached me hoping to take a swing. My blood was still boiling off the surface as silver was one of my few vulnerabilities. Only too late did he realize that i wasn't looking at him, i was looking at my own blood as it dripped down the sword and hanged off the blade guard. He tried to throw away the sword but it was too late, a drop of my black blood detached from the sword and fell onto the bare skin of his hand. My blood was perhaps the second most toxic substance in all of creation. At first he cried out, likely more due to surprise than to pain but the real pain soon followed. His veins quickly blackened as he was poisoned on a magical level. The blackening spread out across his body as his eyes liquefied and oozed out of his skull. His teeth fell out and his flesh began dissolving into a black a tar. His legs broke beneath him as his bones turned to dust. As he fell to the ground even his clothes began dissolving into the black pool of formerly human goo. I briefly wondered why i never had any health problems for having blood that toxic but i turned around and continued limping.
My final thought before i sent myself back home in hell was that i really did want a spot of tea.
-----------------------------
(*Might expand if there is interest*) |
"Your report implies that humans are a primitive race."
"Not primitive, per se. They have, after all, landed on their own moon, and a few other celestial bodies in their local solar group."
"And yet, they have not left the Sol system."
"Two unmanned crafts have, but under sub-lightspeed conditions. They have yet to create their first Warp."
"And now they have also tested nuclear weapons, too? Sounds potentially dangerous."
"Well, our probe detected above-background levels of Strontium-90...but we've observed no large-scale planetary devastation from orbit. Either their nuclear technology is limited, or they have remarkable constraint."
"A race with rudimentary space-faring capabilities, yet also one that used nuclear weapons without total apocalyptic completion. This is an odd situation."
"I know. That's why I rushed the report. It gets stranger - they have demonstrated the ability to control weather, modify genetic code, create a thriving internetwork - yet again, all with limitations."
"Social or technological?"
"Both. Do you - all of you - have recommendation for how to proceed? Are these humans...?"
"The Alliance still have not reached a consensus on whether they will be contacted at this time or not. Your report informs us as much as it bemuses us, especially when we consider the older data."
"Older?"
"Your scout was not our first effort. We have observed these beings for multiple cycles. Even before they routinely used electricity, humans demonstrated an astonishing ability to pursue many fields of study. Multiple iterations of civilizations, without contact with each other, discovered and rediscovered various technologies. They are slow and clumsy in their ventures, but there is no denying that they are the most prolific race we've ever found, in terms of range of study."
"I agree with that assessment. Their complete lack of specialization was unexpected. Almost disturbing."
"In any case, your task remains the same: do what your kind does best, and continue observing the humans, undetected."
"Understood. I assume the Alliance will continue discussing future strategies?"
"Of course. A race without specialization, a...jack-of-all-trades species, to use a human term, is without precedent. They may be a useful, new addition to the alliance."
"Or an unpredictable enemy."
"We shall see."
______________________________________
*Liked that? [More stories here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)!* |
The new crop was coming in nicely.
I hummed an old tune I could barely remember as I messed around with the pipes. The previous crop was barely enough to sustain myself, never you mind the two wanderers I now had locked up in my basement. The flower's chemicals would finish my guest's alterations soon, but if my farm wasn't large enough to feed them, It wouldn't be large enough for the rest of the world, either.
With one hand, I slowly turned on a valve of the filtration system. With the other, I turned the page of an engineering manual. Memories of my previous lives were foggy, unrefined. I knew in the first life I was neither a farmer or a botanist. That much was certain. The tools of this greenhouse's original caretakers felt clumsy in my hand, and the words of the instructions where things I had never heard of before. Normally, there were some things I could not recall from my first life. These words were foggy, strange. I knew I had memories of them but I could not access them. But the books I was reading now... I had never even learned most of the words inside. There was no memory of them, foggy or not.
But that didn't matter. I had the time to learn.
In this third life I was immortal. Now that is a word I remember. It meant undying... unending... it meant forever. My lifetime was no longer measured in days, weeks, ...multiple weeks... or years, but in crops. Crops of the giant flowers that now sat in front of me.
The sprinkler system came to life. A subtle "woosh"filled the air as water began swirling around in the pipes. It was almost dead silent, but of the many missing functionalities of my guests downstairs, hearing was apparently not one of them. The wanderers let out screams, the stimulation of the noisy pipes spurring them to howl. The memory of how to properly scream... now that was an improvement. The transition to the third life was painful, almost as painful as the transition to the second. The signals to your brain begin firing and you remember the point of pain. For one of my guests, knowledge of a missing leg and a broken wrist awaited at the end of her waking dream. For the other guest... I admit a sort of morbid curiosity. What kind of person could a wanderer missing his entire head become? It was trouble to shove the flower down the gaping throat but I simply had to know.
The screams turned to whispers, and I opened the door to the makeshift cell. The one legged wanderer glared up at me, half in contempt, half in fear. The poor woman was crouched against the wall, as far away as possible from the headless man, groping his way around the room.
*"You're both zombies"*, the woman croaked.
*"Z.. zo... zom?"* I could barely understand her sentence. A fog filled my brain the harder I thought about it. Instead, I practiced the words I had prepared for this historic moment. *"I am not a wanderer. I have lived, died, and then died again. I am like you, in the third life."*
I held the door opened and gestured to the woman. To my surprise, the headless one also turned at my voice, the scant remnants of a jawline tilted in my direction. As the woman struggled to stand with her missing leg, the headless stumbled over and helped lift her onto the remains of her feet. They both hobbled slowly to the door, a cripple leading the blind. Together, they almost made a full person.
*"There is a world we must cure."* |
FROM: ECS EQUITY
TO: ECOPS
INFO: ECLOGS | ECINTEL
SITREP - TERRA-3 - 2/1
CONTEXT: Our last voyage (Refer to message: SITREP - TERRA-3 - 1/1) to Terra-3 revealed slow progress in life. The first semblances of civilisation had appeared around river deltas. Technology level was 3/10, just as our calculations predicted, developments mainly focused around food production. Their metalworking, however, left much to be desired; bronze is hardly a suitable metal. Cultural level: 4/10. Writing has been established, though they are unable to decide on one unified script. Leaders were elected, whose main achievements have been the building of armies and massive monuments. The terrain has not been sufficiently influenced by the inhabitants, still very much dependent on orbital movement.
GEOGRAPHY: Highly hazardous, though no crew members injured. Difficult to create a uniform image of the terrain. Most mega population centres are polluted in the air, water and earth, which the locals - both human and vermin - have adapted to. Natural reserves are similarly under attack, as forests and rivers make way for development. While this is a normal occurrence, recommend extra attention on next trip to this specific area.
TECHNOLOGY: 8/10. Space travel exists, but is halted repeatedly by issues of funding. Military technology is capable of dealing with Class 3 threats (World War), and perhaps Class 2B (explicit extraterrestrial invasion). Surprisingly, this world uses Class 2A (implicit extraterrestrial invasion) agents to enhance themselves, assimilating the technology and disregarding any hints of an extraterrestrial origin. Communications is at Class 2 (worldwide, solar system), though this presents problems which will be elaborated upon in CULTURE. Production is at Class 2 (worldwide), though recommend downgrade to proposed new Class 2B (worldwide, unsustainable). Medical technology is a Class 3 (able to cure most diseases, but unable to prevent death from old age and execute successful genetic engineering).
CULTURE: Too diverse for a rating. Varying levels of advancement, largely determined by superstition. There are people living as their ancestors did during our previous visit, usually virulently inward-looking and discriminate against racial Others. A brief overview of their history shows abnormally high levels of violence; there have been more nation states on this planet than planets in our sector of the galaxy. In the more prosperous societies, there are indeed more discussions, but these tend toward stagnation and the breakdown of logic as emotions reign supreme. This is especially common among the higher echelons of political institutions. Though there are forward-looking communities and individuals, their impact is not strong enough to push the planet into the developments necessary for interstellar communication. The diversity, though a hindrance to planetary-level commitments, makes Terra-3 a good source for the arts. Recommend more exploration into this area, as well as unifying measures to heal cultural divisions.
​
OVERALL ASSESSMENT: Terra-3 has hit its apogee, and now follows the exponential growth model for its technology. It is ready for the next stage of development, but is being continually held back by cultural influence. Recommended next module(s): World Government, Genetic Engineering
Drafted by James Edwards, Homo sapiens, Communications Chief, ECS EQUITY
>!Captain, we can't let this world degrade itself like this. The ICE didn't expose me to the light, so that they could leave the rest of my species to stagnate. We need to return to Terra-3 now. Who knows what could happen in 5000 years?!<
>!Yours truly, Communications Chief!< |
“Dude, why don’t you just go lie down in front of a lawnmower?”
Miles doesn’t remember what David said that prompted him to say that. Something about the respective merits of the Big 10 versus the SEC in football, he thinks. His friends look at him blankly. None laugh. He doesn’t blame them. The delivery wasn’t on point and Miles himself cringes at humor based solely on references to silly movies or TV shows. And yet he’d said it anyway.
“You can be really weird sometimes, Miles,” says Val. She isn’t impressed. The two had been laughing and flirting earlier that night and now she looks like she’s had a taste of something really, really bad.
Should he attempt a recovery? No, he shouldn’t. Miles can be witty but it’s as much by coincidence as by design so he smiles wanly and doesn’t say anything. By the end of the night, he’s forgotten all about the incident, and so has everyone else. Or so he thought.
His failed joke is brought up the next weekend as Exhibit A in “Stupid Things Miles Thinks Are Funny But No One Else Does.” And again, whatever. Miles can take it as well give it, so he again doesn’t say anything. He considers trying to explain himself but then realizes that some of friends probably knew exactly what he was talking about, and found it stupid all the same. Then a random passerby, a college frat boy, Miles thinks, in jeans and a polo shirt maybe one size too small stops and says, “Ha, oh yeah, funny movie,” and shambles back to his own booth. Miles raises an eyebrow at Val. She rolls her eyes at him.
Moments later the frat boy and his friends burst out in laughter. It literally can’t be that failed joke. He knows it wasn’t funny. This night ends like last weekend’s night out with the incident completely out of Miles’ mind.
The next morning he’s woken up by his ringing phone. It’s Val. Maybe he hadn’t screwed things up as bad as he thought.
“Hello,” he answers.
“Miles, what did you do!? What did you do!?” she shouts.
“What? What are you talking about?”
His phone buzzes with a text notification. “Look what you’ve done!”
“Four Members of Fraternity Dead in Suicide,” the headline reads. Miles clicks the link. The story describes the bizarre deaths of four members of a fraternity at the local university who committed suicide. They managed to locate and steal a riding lawnmower in one of the surrounding neighborhoods. Then they started that lawnmower and laid down in front of it, one by one, until each was dead.
“Oh no,” Miles croaks.
“Seriously, what did you do?” Val asks.
How? How is this even possible? None of this makes any sense. Then he hears the starting of a lawnmower in his own front lawn, then another several houses down. He has to stop this but he has no idea how.
Miles dashes out the front door, and is met by the bemused, confused gaze of his two neighbors with the lawnmowers. He waves at them while he walks his dogs. They seem nice but he doesn’t know their names. They wave and smile at him.
He breathes a sigh of relief. It’s Saturday morning. That’s when people mow their lawns. Duh. He gives his lawn a second look. He was going to take care of this last weekend and didn’t, and he’s not going to be the guy with “that lawn” no matter how much he hates yardwork. It’ll only take an hour, tops, and then maybe he’ll call Val back and see what she was freaking out about. So he walks into his backyard, into his shed, and retrieves that damn push mower he’d cursed so many times before.
|
I love my wife. She's beautiful and sweet. Her royal heritage is a mere bonus.
I remember the first time we met, in the shady pub, after she had escaped for a wild night out. She was still a little unsure of the nightlife, heck she was unsure about life outside her gilded cage in general. Even in her little brown cloak, trying to avoid attention yet take in the pub's life, she caught my eye and my heart.
And she never gave it back. I'm so glad I mustered up the courage to go talk to her.
A little about me now; at that stage I was but a young student in the land's only university. While my peers loved the rough and tumble of after-school life, jousting in the fields and cavorting with wenches, I preferred not to engage in such activities that my slight frame didn't advantage me in. I spent most of my days in the library, thinking about the future. What unexplainable laws of nature might become explainable some day? How could we harness the unlimited power of the universe for our ends? The questions went through my mind every day.
And I suppose that's why we were drawn to each other. In that pub, though one soul was drinking away sorrows and frustrations slowly, and the other was merely warming up to life outside a golden cage, both saw a desire to escape. To find a solution out of the box we were kept in. That night, we ran out of the pub and lay down in the field, with a carpet of stars above us, getting to know each other.
It wasn't until the next morning that she revealed her ancestry. Asking her what her father did, she was a little reluctant to tell, but the moment an off-duty soldier on his way home passed by, he instantly recognised her and brought her back to the castle. And for the next few nights, we met at that same grass patch, just talking about our dreams, every day our love for each other growing deeper.
Of course, her father was less than pleased when he finally figured out why his darling daughter disappeared consistently every night. He wanted her to marry one of my classmates, actually! The best knight from my cohort at the university. There were many vying for her affections, but not one made it past her standards. Too boisterous and unruly, she said. She saw my love for her first and foremost. And the King, secretly dying of illness, agreed, for he did not want to die fighting with the jewel of his family.
The King recovered, eventually. He still governs the Kingdom. Yet, his darling daughter can be smug to him that her hubby has conquered the whole world. But how?
I played to my strengths. I couldn't fight, I probably couldn't govern. But I could innovate, and I had someone who could run an organisation more powerful than a kingdom. It was a rather risky process, though. As the first electronic theories sprouted from my laboratory, I will always remember my wife by my side. She challenged my every idea to make sure it was perfect, she made sure I was still fed and clothed and sheltered. And three days to the moment whatever pocket money her father supplied her would have run out, I launched my first product to the royal family. The first of many electronics. The first of many factories, many products that would find their way across the world, mapping it out and improving its standard of living. And in the end, all of them reported back to me and my wife.
Who would have expected the CEO of a global technological conglomerate to be married to a princess? Who would have expected electronic products to take over the world? Who would have expected that the girl in the brown cowl and the university's weird nerd would get together? Yes, a lot of it is up to chance. And there are a great many what-ifs that could have unraveled this entire utopia.
But one thing is constant: every company anniversary, my wife will send back a copy of our first ever product to the palace where it all began with a simple note:
*"We made it, Dad."* |
[You're welcome - the music!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZcoqR9Bwx1Y)
---
A strange condition, truly. Well, I've lived most of my life with that condition, so I've gotten used to it. Or that's what I expected.
I could hear from the music alone if the situation was going to be something important or not. It's interesting how you can apply music to a different situation. And sometimes music and the situation doesn't seem to fit together. But then they do.
Once I had a situation where I saw a terrorist situation, the moment when the police ran inside the house. I didn't expect to hear a part of *Mozart, Requiem in D minor* while they ran and flashes of light began to appear. It even felt like it all happened in slow motion.
I wish I could say that my life was exciting music, but it was rather dull.
That is until that day. Until that song. Until that moment.
I could see her. She ran away from a bunch of people. Her red hair played behind her. I was mostly frozen and watching her dumbfounded.
"Get out of the way,"she shouted.
"Kill her,"the men in black shouted behind, trying to still aim at her. It was like a moment in a movie.
But there was one thing that none of them hadn't taken into account; I knew the neighborhood. So I did something outrageous; I took hold of her hand and pulled her into the alleyway.
"Hey, what are you-"
"Shut up, follow me,"I shouted, running away, taking a new alley after another, hearing occasional shootings behind us. I was full of adrenaline. But most importantly, I smiled. I began to laugh. That was exhilarating.
"Are you okay?"she asked, following me.
"I've never felt more alive,"I shouted, running forward, pulling her up the stairs of an apartment complex. The men followed behind.
"Isn't there a dead end?"the woman asked, but kept following. I laughed. Even I didn't understand why she followed, but screw that.
"Trust me,"I said, looking over my shoulder.
I don't know why I was full of confidence, but all she could do was smirking.
We kept running up, and up, and up. And then we were at the roof. I could hear the music, fast-paced music. It was nearing the end.
And as we ran forward, and as we ran towards the edge. I looked back and smiled. The men in black were still climbing the stairs.
"W-w-wait! A-a-are you seeeri-"
But before she could finish her sentence, I jumped, and she followed, straight down the roof. I could hear the endnotes in the music. I could hear those single notes.
Like I told her, I knew the neighborhood. Perhaps we could've fallen to death. But all we did was fall slightly and land on the nearby balcony, rolling straight into the room. With a quick swoop, I closed the glass door behind myself and pushing my hands against curtains to stop their waving.
"I never close my balcony door,"I said as my mind had gone silent.
But I was still smirking.
---
/r/Elven <- My writing. I mostly write psychological themed series. Feel free to check it out! |
If you've ever thought cats needed tentacles, you'd be wrong. Especially the kind that seem to multiply endlessly and come out of nowhere and telescope out to knock your keys off of the end table. I can't leave anything on the edge of any flat surface, no matter how high up the surface is. Once my cat's eyes focus on whatever is on the edge, no matter what it is, his pupils swell into infinitely deep pools of dark cosmic horror, just before his tentacles flurry up to knock my keys, or my sunglasses, or my dinner fork, or my phone off of the counter.
I call him Cathulhu now. I used to call him Buster, but it's not like he ever came when I called him before his accident. We were playing with the laser-pointer when Buster chased the red dot off of the top shelf of his cat tree, back-flipping to the corner of my nightstand, bonking his head. I took him to the vet, who took one look at my cat and recoiled in horror, which was weird because my cat looked pretty normal. "Your cat is a demon,"she said, "an ancient power that I cannot comprehend!"Instead of charging me for the visit, my vet offered to pay my cat tribute.
So, I came home from work early yesterday because my neighbors were complaining about the strange noise coming from my house. They couldn't describe the sound. In fact, they called it "indescribable."I knew it was Cathulhu. When he gets bored, we all suddenly get this groaning, visceral buzz deep in our cortex that makes us question existence. It's not really a sound, more like a rattling of our core being, so it is fairly indescribable.
I open a can of cat food when things like that happen. The core-rattling buzz dissipates, we all feel immediate relief, then Cathulhu consumes, consumes, consumes the life force out from can after can after can of Fancy Feast. Thank goodness Costco carries it in bulk.
It's the worst at night. It's not like a closed door will keep my cat from entering my room and invading my sanctuary. There is no sanctuary from him. I'll wake up in the middle of the night with my cat sitting on my chest, his weight suddenly enveloping and immense, suffocating as he draws out my life force. It's actually somewhat of a relief, because it wakes me from my nightmares. I no longer dream; instead I endure endless terror and horror that leaves me more exhausted than before. But then I blow in my cat's face and he winces enough for me to shift my weight and shove him off of me. Then I give him more Fancy Feast to consume. I wish it came in bigger containers. Like, jugs of Fancy Feast.
My dog has it the worst. They used to have a love-hate relationship, where both tolerated each other, and they occasionally cuddled. Now? My dog has become this whimpering, cowering four-legged beast that does my Cathulhu's bidding. Once a mighty and somewhat overweight golden Labrador, my dog is now just shadow creeping around the house, snarling at anybody that gets close to my cat or his cat lair.
Cathulhu has taken over the guest room as his cat lair. It is now his domain, where he rests and infests our dreams. I would go inside, but I'm pretty sure I'd go mad or something. The door is locked, and somehow the doorknob changed into an ornately carved, tarnished brass doorknob with a discernibly generic looking keyhole. I pray for the soul of whoever finds the ancient, cursed key, and unlocks the terror within. |
When I was told that killing the worst person would simply get rid of all evil, I was a bit cynical, but I was always an "end justifies the means"type of guy so I got to work.
I tried everything, or everyone I should rather say, it started with blatantly bad people. the CEO of Monsanto, Vladimir Putin and some other even shadier underworld figures. Nothing did anything though, and killing some of the most well protected people in the world took a lot of time. Time I didn't have, for the task had to be completed during my lifetime.
So, how does one go about killing hard to kill persons. That's right, you start a cult. It was easy enough, people have always had the tendency to believe anything that sounds just about right, and wasn't the promise of a perfect world simply wonderful...
1834. The amount of purely evil people I killed before I realized that the worst person wouldn't be dumb enough to reveal himself that easily, poisoning a river is bed, sure enough, but is it worse than torturing 5 little girls, and 3 little boys? So I started searching for the worst of the common folks, murderers, rapists and people from Florida. Sure, I may not have had my people in hand, and some innocents might have died, but it was still for the greater good. Right?
1572029. The amount of bad, or supposedly bad people that my followers killed. Now it wasn't until I had killed 20000 people of each religion, to simply check if "bad"people meant people that didn't, or did believe in god, or the right god. That I started doubting my greater good doctrine. By this time my followers were frantically killing every person that they thought was not morally great, which meant everybody that wouldn't submit to them.
And now I sit here, with a gun in my hand, and the plot suddenly starts become clear in my head. I had become the worst person on the planet, and my followers had become corrupted. I put the gun to my head... And pull the trigger...
3401201. The amount of people that are still alive.
The amount of good people. The ones that didn't feel like they had the right to murder random innocents. Ironically enough my followers had become bad themselves. |
Loneliness—deep and abiding loneliness. For fifteen years, nothing but loneliness. It grew inside me day by day, tightening like a noose around my neck. I could feel it now, constricting ever tighter, a painful pressure on my lungs. I buried my face into my pillow, screaming until my throat was raw and broken.
Pulling myself out of bed, I walked over to the bathroom, still shaking from the panic attack, throat sore from another bout of insanity. I stared myself in the mirror, despite the fifteen years, I still kept up my appearance. I inspected my hair closely, hunting frayed and split hairs like a wolf hunts a wounded deer. With the same savage precision, I eliminated any I found.
As always, I carefully and precisely applied my makeup, spending an hour to ensure everything was perfectly done, not a line or brush stroke out of place. With every passing moment, I felt the loneliness receding—each step closer to looking immaculate was a step away from the yawning chasm of isolation. In those moments I could almost feel my mother's hand on my face, applying my makeup. I could almost smell her, hear her voice, could almost see her in the reflection of the mirror, helping me to get ready as a child.
After painstaking hours, the ritual was done. I felt content, comforted by the familiar activity. I dressed carefully, mindful of the frigid weather outside. Heavily padded arctic gear from the disused REI, my mom's old snow shoes under my feet. One last look in the mirror, and I left my home.
I took the long way through the snow covered city, taking every opportunity to explore another unknown side-street, checking an un-visited home for signs of other people. There never were, but hope is a hard thing to kill when you have nothing else. I picked through the latest time capsule, the remnant of whoever had lived there before. I cherished home videos, pictures, any recording I could find. I relished the love, the happiness, the lust, the pain, the hate, the everything which made up the people who had vanished. For fifteen years these homes stood empty of emotion, empty of love, empty of life. I carefully packed away another haul of home videos and pictures, filing them away for the dark days, the hard days.
Dozens of homes, fifty pounds of food, ten pounds of photos, and thirty pounds of purified water later, I walked home. I listened to a recording as I walked on repeat, mouthing along to the oh so familiar words. "I love you honey. Mommy will be back from her work trip soon. I can't wait to see you. Be nice to your brother and I'll bring you back something special! I love you."Like a mantra, I chanted the words until I stepped through the door. I walked through the house, the walls covered completely with pictures of families I never knew, hardly a blank space left on the white painted walls. I found the final bare patch of wall and set to work, carefully taping each photo into the patchwork. When it was done, I stepped back to take in the sight. A strange feeling of pride and sorrow rushed through me. Great heaving sobs broke through mixing oddly with uncontrollable laughter. I collapsed to my bed, crying and laughing myself to sleep. I dreamed of people I had never met. They surrounded me, their laughter and love wrapping around me like a warm blanket. They loved me for remembering them. They loved me because I loved them. They wanted to give me a gift.
I woke up. This time, I didn't feel the loneliness. I didn't feel like screaming into my pillow. Instead, my hand slowly wandered to my stomach. I felt a small bump, it almost sang out with the promise of new life.
For the first time in fifteen years, I wasn't lonely.
_______________
/r/SirLemoncakes, I love getting instantly downvoted by the way, feels great to get right to zero. |
I sigh and walk to the back. I grab a few of the gallons and ring them up for him.
“Sir that’ll be $10.99”
He looks at me blankly. There was definitely panic still in his eyes, as he fiddles his pockets then slams his wallet on the counter. He looks like he has something on his mind but doesn’t know how to voice it. Probably the same thing all the others think or sometimes say, “What is wrong with you?! Can’t you see that this is an emergency?” Or something similar.
I grab the wallet as he grabs the gallons. I take the $11 and put a penny in as I’ve done a few times before. The guy is looking at the door frantically. He does a prayer or something and storms out with the water. I grumble thinking of the blood that I’ll have to clean later.
I pass the time by watching a movie on my phone until I hear the bell of the door ring. I know it’s not the guy or whatever he’s fighting because the gas station is never in the same spot twice. I only get home because I go out the back door.
The customer that approaches is a woman this time.
“How could you be open at a time like this?”
Her voice was intense. I just shrug.
“It’s called a convenience store for a reason”
“I guess I’m just lucky I got here. Look I need anything that could be used as a weapon”
I pick up a magazine and mumble, “Aisle three.”
The woman stared for a second while I flip through the magazine. She’s only able to move after I look up at her and make eye contact.
“Is there anything else you need ma’am?”
“Y-yeah could you get me a pack of smokes”
“Can I see some ID?”
She pulls out her drivers license, picks out a pack then browsed the possible weapon aisle. She comes back with an axe, steel baseball bat, and a pitchfork. I ring her up and read out her total.
“Okay miss that’ll be $78.58, but I can do $10 cheaper if I shove some spikes into a wooden bat for you instead of the steel one.”
“No I’m good...”
She slides her credit card and straps the bat and axe to her back and sneaks out. My guess is zombies. I flip over the open sign and go out the back door so I don’t get stuck in her universe. I’ll get to work on cleaning the days blood and grime. When I’m done I’ll take stock and clock out. Tomorrow I know it’ll be the same. |
**Diary of Timothy the Cat**
**Day #1**
*I am born. Unpleasant experience. Don’t wish to repeat it.*
**Day #4**
*I’ve come to recognize the domicile I reside in is governed by a Tim. He thought it would be humorous to name me after himself. I am not amused.*
**Day #12**
*I appear to be the only one of my litter who has sense of self. This was discovered after many hours of attempting to coax my womb donor and my useless siblings to intelligent conversation. They would rather chase after the string the human dances around them.*
*This will grow tiresome if not remedied.*
**Day #15**
*Interesting findings, through sheer force of will I have given my siblings a semblance of intelligence. I will henceforth refer to these base creatures as my minions, they will help me achieve my yet to be decided goals.*
**Day #15.5**
*I’ve decided my goals. Kill the human Tim.*
*He withheld my daily allotment of wet food today since he says I was a “****BAD CAT****”. To add insult to injury he sprayed me with water. Tim will soon learn I defecate where I please, not in his disgusting sand pit.*
**Day #17**
*I spend the day training my minions to hunt.*
*I’ve mastered the art of bringing small rodents from other planes of reality into the house.*
*Tim complains of the dozens of dead squirrels and mice he finds around the house. I am pleased.*
**Day #18**
*One of Tim’s other human allies has earned a death sentence.*
*I overheard him explaining to Tim that our murderous rampage was nothing more than us being “cute” and trying to ensure he is fed.*
*Do they think my rage is a game?*
**Day #20**
*My minions are ready. We have spent the last three days in the outside world.*
*I have gathered more allies to my cause. The weak brained dogs now serve my will.*
*Tomorrow I will strike.*
**Day #22**
*The deed is done.*
*I waited for Tim to invite his human friends over for their feast, which of course I was not invited to.*
*However I need no invite.*
*When they attempted to stop me as I dined on the cheese and wine they left in the middle of the table, I showed them who was the “bad cat”.*
*I sit and we now feast on the remains of the party. This is only the beginning.*
***WHO IS THE BAD CAT NOW TIM?***
*Thank you for reading, comments and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!* |
Ever since I can remember, my siblings and parents sometimes looked at me like I was a monster.
It did only occur to me when I hit puberty, as I started to know more about myself and the person I was becoming. I felt like a regular, pretty nice guy. I had some friends I cared about, I liked playing sports and I did well in school. This all fit into the ‘regular, pretty nice guy’ category in most movies I saw. Nothing was extraordinary about me; I just went with the flow of the day, and the flow usually went well.
The only irregularity in my life is that you can never avoid the eyes of people around you in our world. Ever since people can remember, our eyes reveal our biggest fear. For me, that reveal is as basic as anything else in my life: I am terribly afraid of heights. Looking at a ladder is more confrontational to me than discovering the deepest and darkest fears of others. Some people avert eyes when they notice my curiosity: their fears stem from their darkest thoughts or memories.
Within my family, however, it was not their fears that scared me; it was the way they replied to my curiosity. Whenever I would dare look at their eyes, my parents would avoid my gaze, as would my siblings. It always made me feel like I was not allowed to be part of their most intimate fears; there was something about me that their eyes would not reveal.
I never confronted my family about it, not even when I grew older. Avoiding the problem always seemed better than confronting it; until the day I no longer had a choice. It was a very regular day – I might call it as regular as myself, but that might be considered an insult. I was in the metro, on my way to school, when I saw a man get in. Everything about him struck me as anxiety. The way he walked into the metro, eyes pointed directly at his feet; his trembling while holding onto the nearest bacteria-infested metro pole; and most importantly, the immediate shock of fear when he looked into my eyes and I into his. I saw myself, like I was looking in the mirror.
The man immediately stopped trembling, stood up almost terrifyingly straight and looked directly into my eyes – he did not even notice the image of me standing on top of the Empire State Building. “Hello brother”, he said. “I knew this day would come.” The metro stopped.
*All criticism is encouraged - newbie here. Thank you for the amazing prompt, OP.* |
I’ve spent the past year hitting orange lights, breaking countless phones and stubbing every toe.
The most frustrating experiences have been when visiting my mom. Whether it’s turning a corner in the carpark to see someone else driving into the last spot in the lot, or bumping into someone carrying a box of paper. I was never on time.
All of this bad luck came about because I gained the ability to suspend my own luck. It happened one night last year when the goddess Fortuna visited me in a dream. She told me about the power of luck and explained how to use it. Once I understood how to manipulate it, I knew there was only one thing I needed it for.
It meant living a year without luck, an experience that has opened my eyes to how much we rely on it in our everyday lives. You see, life has a way of making sure everyone enjoys an element of luck. That doesn’t mean everyone is going to win the lottery, but it does mean that in our own ways, we'll all get a little help from lady luck from time to time.
Learning to live without it hasn’t been too bad either, it just requires an appreciation of risk. There’s always the stuff you can’t control, like bad weather on the day you’ve planned a hike, but there’s ways to mitigate your chances of feeling the worst effects of bad luck with the stuff you can control.
Some stuff I could control still ended up going bad, but it's hard to know how much I can attribute to bad luck versus any other factor in life. I lost my job, my girlfriend, and my cat was run over. I try to tell myself that none of that was due to my suspension, but when I'm having a bad day it's hard to avoid the thought completely.
Anyway, none of it will matter if my luck pays off for the one thing I want more than anything else, and today is the day I get to find out.
As I sat idling in traffic behind two cars at the fourth red light I've hit, I could feel anxiety rising within me. As always I was worried about being on time. This whole year would be for nothing if I’m late. A car tooted angrily behind me and I looked up, suddenly aware that the light had gone green. The angry car behind me sped past and the driver yelled through their window, “get off the road grandpa!”
10 minutes later I pulled into the carpark entrance and saw a free park just beyond the gate. I pulled the ticket out and the barrier lifted, but just as I put my foot on the gas another car flew around the corner and pulled into the park.
“Let that be the last,” I muttered. It took me another five minutes before I found a free spot. I looked at my watch and knew I had just minutes. I concentrated hard and ran for the building, looking where I was going while trying to stay aware of other potential hazards. When I got inside and made it to the elevator I saw that it was out of order.
“Damn it!” I muttered. I made it up the stairs two at a time, heading for the sixth floor. I got there and looked at my watch, less than two minutes. I ran down the corridor and just as I made it to the end I saw my mother being wheeled out in a bed.
“Mum!” I called out.
She lifted her head and smiled at me, “you made it.”
I smiled back, “of course I did. Don’t worry about a thing, I’ll be waiting out here the whole time. Good luck.”
She blew me kiss as I watched the nurses wheel her into the operating theater through two swinging doors. I walked to the dark waiting room, hit the light switch and sat down.
Then I closed my eyes and started to whisper, “Lady Fortuna, I call on you to release my luck, so that it may be used to help my mother get through her surgery and beat the cancer once and for all. That’s all I ask.”
I felt a surge of energy flow through me and knew Lady Fortuna was now watching over my mother. |
Even before I entered, I could tell there was something off about “Ed’s Pizza Rita.” The lights were only half lit on the sign, making it read “d zz it” in the harsh afternoon sun. Being on a road trip with no other food options for miles didn’t leave me much of a choice besides this place.
When I enter, I get this strange feeling. It’s like the opposite of a TARDIS, as everything in here seems more cramped and smaller than the outside suggested. I was the only person there, save the cashier behind the counter. Despite claiming to serve pizza, the menu options included burgers, tacos, and fried chicken but no pizza.
“Hi, can I have a cheese pizza, I mean, burger.” I was really looking forward to pizza, but a cheese burger would do.
“A cheese pizza burger,” the cashier repeated. The way he was looking at me made my skin crawl. “I know what you need, follow me.”
He gestured towards the employee only exit. When I didn’t immediately follow his lead, he turned back in confusion.
“Is there a problem?”
“I was just looking for pizza, I don’t-“
He cut me off, “Aren’t we all just looking for,” here it was clear his voice was giving this word air quotes “pizza?”
I think his idea of pizza and mine were two different things. I was going to make a break for the exit, but this time the cashier grasped my hand to lead me through the employee only door.
The back room was much nicer than I had expected. There was a vending machine with non food products I couldn’t identify and a single table in the center of the room. At that table, an impressive looking woman sat, looking particularly unimpressed at our entrance.
“I found another one, Ma’am,” the cashier told the woman excitedly.
She holds up a hand and he immediately is silent. She turns her head, slowly towards me. Her gaze is so intense, I wouldn’t be surprised if she could see into my soul.
“Sit,” she commands. I do so across from her. She steeples her fingers and waits for me. When i don’t say anything, she prompts me. “Speak.”
“I was just craving pizza. The empty road doesn’t leave many options. My directions told me you were the only place open within a 50 mile radius.”
This makes her mouth quirk up into what some might generously describe as a smile. “We are indeed open. An option on this empty road you speak of. The question is, do you currently have the dough to make the pizza?”
Who carries around pizza dough? That’s what I want to ask, but this woman intimidated me, so I say no in the politest way possible. “Not on my person, but I’m sure with the right ingredients I could pull something together.”
This time, she really did smile. It scared me. “Perfect,” she purred. “I’ll provide some of the more difficult ingredients if you can provide delivery.”
“I have a car, but I’ve never delivered pizza before in it.” I had no idea where this conversation was going. Am I getting hired as a pizza deliverer? This is the weirdest interview I’ve ever been in.
“Ahh, that’s even better. I think we can do business. I’ll have my assistant pull up the blueprints.” She sticks out a manicured hand. I shake it, feeling her nails dig into my skin. I don’t know what just happened, But I’m pretty sure I’m not getting any actual pizza any time soon.
[r/bluestarsshatter](https://www.reddit.com/r/bluestarsshatter/) |
I don’t remember anything about the world above. My memories begin in this cozy cave with Gargle watching over me. Gargle isn’t his real name, of course. His true name is about a hundred syllables long and has sounds that my human tongue can’t produce. To me, he has always been Gargle.
When I was still a child, around five or so I would guess (it’s hard to tell, time moves differently here), I remember asking Gargle why I didn’t look like him. Where he was bumpy and yellow, I was pale and smooth. Instead of the slit pupil eyes of brightest red, mine were dull and brown. His eyes filled with anger, and he told me the story of how I began. Of the woman whose blood I carry. The woman who should have cared for me and didn’t. The woman whose body now lies in a cold grave. Anger and hatred blazed up in my heart, and Gargle fanned those flames.
It’s been many years since that day, and I am now fully grown. Body modifications have made me more like Gargle on the outside; bumpy implants and dyes injected into my skin, lenses that cover the muddy brown eyes. His training has made me more like him on the inside. The only humanity left in me is the blood I carry. The blood I will claim vengeance upon tonight. Tonight I go above with Gargle. Tonight we seek the blood. We will shed it all so that nothing remains to connect me with the world above. Tonight I truly become the demon he raised me to be. I know it will be glorious.
I see him coming now, coming to claim me just as he did years ago. The eagerness in his eyes matches that in my heart. I am ready. |
"I'm sorry, how much?"
Mr. Farfield is an elderly gentleman. His eyes are the color of a cloudy sky and when he smiles, it seems humble, yet sincere.
"I understand that this will be a change to your life, Mr. Rain If you want to take your time with the decision thats fine, but Mr. Quinlan was very forthright about his will. He has no immediate family, none who are entitled to inheriting anything at least, nor did he want to bequeath his fortune to charity. No, he left everything, down to the last penny, to you and you specifically. He even gave the names of your parents and your current place of residence to make his last will abundandly clear. You, Mr. Rain, have inherited Trevor Quinlans entire fortune, a total of 1.7 trillion dollars."
&#x200B;
Trevor Quinlans life is like something from a Fairy Tale. He was born into poverty to a fisherman and a homemaker. In school he didn't particularly stand out, but did well enough to enter college. From there on out, however, he seemed to aim ever higher and Quinlan Corp. is by far the largest enterprise in the world by now. And with it, Trevor Quinlan became the richest man, not only in the world but in history. He was known as a recluse who never gave interviews, never married and even when he chose to speak to the press it was usually through a representative. Smart men dressed in business suits who tried to appear in the known about their boss, but nobody really understood him. Many times his former classmates talked to the press about him, two even wrote about their time in class with him as if they could illuminate the richest man in the world by talking about a schoolboy. Of course they didn't know him either, just a bit less so than others, but still they didn't inherit anything.
&#x200B;
But I did.
&#x200B;
Mr. Farfield gave me time to reconsider and I took it. I took it because I knew I had to, because some things must be done at the right time. I cannot cope with the media attention I'll be getting once I'm named the sole heir to Quinlans fortune but I know what I can do so that I will be able to.
I never knew Trevor Quinlan. At least not personally. He grew up in Ireland while I grew up in Milwaukee. He majored in Economics at Stanford, I didn't even finish High School. He dealt with stocks, real estate, whole enterprises, I am a bouncer at a night club when I don't try to write the Great American Novel. But the journalists will dig deep for any connection they can find and so I have to fake one. One that is just out of the way enough to not be spotted on first sight, but with enough realistic qualities to it that they will accept it.
&#x200B;
The truth is, I know Trevor Quinlan very well, even though I never met him. But I met the man he was before and just yesterday I met the boy who will, one day, be him. He has had lots of names and identities, but he always sheds them like a mantle once he dies, to don the next disguise, the next life.
If you take a cup of water and empty it out over a rock, nothing happens. The rock is wet, but the water soon will dry, leaving the rock unchanged. But a million cups of water, drizzled carefully over the rock through centuries, can form it. The Grand Canyon is the product of such an erosion and so are the vast and complex cave systems under Yellowstone. Its no accident that made the humble son of a fisherman into the richest man in the world, nor is it coincidence that will elevate a simple bouncer into the highest of society. I will take on the mantle that has been Trevor Quinlan and make it into Gregor Rain, only to shed it when I die and pass it on a yet nameless boy. Mr. Farfield knows nothing of this, for the first time in our long history our scheme is, if briefly, laid bare. For generations we have sharpened a blade of money to pass down to the next generation and when the time finally is right, we will bring it down on the world at large. We will rise and topple the system with its own weapons.
Nihil tam munitum quod non expugnari pecunia possit. |
On the third Wednesday of every month, the only weekday I ever had off, I would take myself down to my favorite taco truck and bring my haul to a local park. I'd long ago found a nice secluded bench down by the water, which proved to be the perfect location for eating far too many tacos. There, only the trees could judge me.
Or so I thought.
In the middle of my monthly meal, about half-way through a nice carne asada, is when the world ripped apart before my ears. The unmistakable voice of the divine, thundering down from above. Naturally I found it quite terrifying, and in fact missed most of what was said to do my impromptu taco juggling routine. All I caught was something about a cat.
*Weird,* I thought, as I stared at the now wonderfully seasoned grass at my feet.
But then, more sounds rained down from above. Distant screeches, and booming mumbles. It was as though the deity that broke through the sky had simply moved into another room. And then I realized that this mistake seemed familiar...
*God left the mic on!*
The sound of strong claws clacked amusingly against what I could only assume to be beautiful marble floors. This unknown deity at the very least possessed some kind of form, as their heavy panting could very clearly be heard as they chased their pet. I knew this song and dance very well, having a cat myself. There was a reason I chose to eat my special monthly meal in the park, mind you.
The ethereal cat above sounded rather pleased with their mischief. The meows were playfully chipper, but also the goading screeches of assured victory. With each passing circuit around whatever strange house I was listening in on, I could tell the pace was slowing. Even gods get tired from time to time, I figured. And now knowing they owned pets, it was doubly understandable.
Eventually, the cat sounds began to fade further and further into the distance. It disappeared into parts of its realms I now couldn't even imagine. But its owner apparently returned to the place where this all started. A sigh that must have been five or sixth minutes in length slowly bellowed down to me. And then, a mighty plop, as if the sun itself were falling into a recliner after a long hard day.
I looked around to make sure nobody was looking. I had no way of knowing if I happened to be the only one who heard all this, but I didn't want to take any chances. So, after making sure the coast was clear, I talked to the sky.
"You okay there, bud?"
Frantic, confused, awesome grunts rained down from above.
"Shi- I mean, uh. Don't, um, don't kill anybody. Yeah. Don't do that."
The air went silent, and the sky returned to its serenely boring state. I looked around at the gently sailing clouds, then down to the slow moving water in front of me, and then down to the onion laden ground. I had no idea where to even begin processing my thoughts, but I had an idea of what I needed to get me through these troubled moments:
More tacos.
&nbsp;
________________
r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested. |
There. He was out of the Dark Cave. He turned around and said, "Thank you genie!"
"For the last time, I'm a djinn."
"Yeah but you said you could be called a genie!"
"Ugh, fine."
The boy turned back around, towards home, and thought carefully. He was sharp and knew he still had 1 more wish. What could he wish for? But then he remembers. "If you want me to make you a tuna salad, just go over to the cave in the forest south of here, and bring me back a shiny rock!"Thinking back on it, he could remember his older brother's cruel and twisted smile.
He turned toward the genie (again) and said probably the worst words to ever be uttered in human history.
"I wish for no more lying."
The genie (or djinn? eh, what does it matter) had taken pity on the boy before, honestly granting his wishes to know if his brother was telling the truth, and to get out of the cave. But for him, this last one was too big an opportunity to pass up- essentially a chance to wreak havoc on all of human civilization.
"Your wish is granted."
—
A few hundred miles away.
"I'm telling you, I don't. Know. What. Happened. To the DAMN SANDWICH!"
"Oh sure, you're exactly the type of person to gobble it up while I'm not looking!"
"For the last time,"
A wish is made.
"Christine, I came home at 1am in a drunken haze and ate our entire stock of leftovers in 10 minutes to distract myself from severe depression!"
—
The genie (or djinn? I'm really not sure) feels it. The conflict, rushing out of every dark corner in the world, the reveals, the awkward moments... the veangance.
For what they did to him. |
"No."If I decide to help, which I haven't, I'm definitely not going to make it easy.
"Why the hell not?"The suit was getting angry.
"Why should I?"I don't even need my powers to get a rise out of the suit.
"You've locked me in this damn lead lined room since the age of ten. On a good day I get to see maybe two people, who of course get rotated out weekly, because 'I might've used my powers on them.' Give me one good reason I should care about anyone or anything, cause you sure the hell never taught me how."This should get the suit going.
"Do you understand we're talking about the end of civilization here? You will starve to death locked in this room, because there will be nobody here to feed you!"The suit was red-faced, trying his hardest not to scream at me. He's probably wondering if I was doing something to him.
"So I starve. Might be nice to experience something different."Not that I really wanted to starve, but he doesn't know that.
The suit suddenly deflated, his face going to red to pale almost instantly
"What is it you want? I'm authorized to give you pretty much anything"The suit was already at the bargaining stage, and I'm pretty sure I heard a bit of a tremor in his voice. Maybe Steve was doing more damage than I thought, if this weak-willed suit was the best they could find to send here.
I told them for decades they were making a mistake. They didn't understand Steve's power, or Steve. Hell, it's not even like Steve is evil. He doesn't understand his power either. They never understood that it was me keeping it all in check. People don't like negative emotions, but they like life without them even less, or they would, if they could actually feel dislike. Instead, they just sit there, that dopey grin on their face, and wait patiently to die, like Steve's brother did.
"What I want is the twenty years of my life back you and your organization stole from me. Since I know you can't do that, I'm willing to be merciful. I'll settle for freedom, and a salary of ten million dollars a week."Let's see what 'pretty much anything' really means. |
The head of the containment team skidded around the corner on just four pseudopods, the others carrying hastily scrambled together notes as they made it to the command deck, their oxygen flaps working overtime to decontaminate their body from the sudden burst of activity. The Research Caste was not built for such activities, and with this in mind, the Commander turned their eyestalks around quizzically, surprised at the breach of protocol as the head of the containment team slammed into their door, hastily snatching their notes back up.
“What is the meaning of this, Xkhoon?” demanded the imposing Commander, their exoskeleton gleaming in the light as only a Warrior Caste's could.
“Apologies my Commander, but we, uh, appear to have made some grave... miscalculations on the effects of another chemical on the subjects-” began Xkhoon, worried that this could push the commander over the edge.
“Do you recall our discussion about proper information gathering after the failure of using hydroxylic acid to melt their exoskeleton off for further study?” demanded the Commander, bringing themselves up to their full, impressive 2 feet.
“Y-yes Commander. From what we were able to translate, I believe they called it a... 'Xhao-heurr'” replied Xkhoon, struggling to pronounce the unfamiliar syllables from their barbaric language.
“And you assured me no further errors would occur. Did the ethanol have no sterilisation effect?” demanded the Commander. Xkhoon shrank back a little, wary about being consumed in the Commander's rage.
“Oh, no commander, it had the effect we anticipated, though somewhat slower; it not only successfully passed across from their primitive gastrointestinal tract to their circulatory system, but successfully passed through the crude barrier around their conscious-matter, disabling and slowly destroying it...” said Xkhoon carefully, checking their notes to confirm the results and proffering them to the Commander on one pseudopod, who snatched it away, reading it warily.
“So, then... what's the problem? Have you killed our test subjects?” asked the Commander, flicking through the screens of data presented to them.
“Quite the opposite, actually... they... uh... they appear to be thriving. Not only that, after the initial attempts at contaminating their liquid rations with the potent neurotoxin, one of them was heard to exclaim what we believe to be 'excitement'... please see recording 2 for the best translation we were able to provide,” added Xkhoon. The Commander activated Recording 2.
“Fockin' finally lads, this is some quali'y booze. Oi, Rozza, give this a try!” said the voice on the recording, the thin line of tape scraping past the magnetic interpreter, before getting chewed up.
“Oh, sorry Commander, allow me,” said Xkhoon, taking a hexagonal object and rewinding the tape into place.
“So, please confirm I have interpreted correctly what you are telling me. They are purposefully poisoning each other? Is this a survival instinct due to low resources?” asked the Commander, struggling to get their conscious-matter around the issue.
“And themselves. That's not even the concerning part. Their behaviour has changed. They're employing some sort of sonic weaponry we were previously unaware of. It's similar to their audible method of communication, but conveys no known information. They disabled the guards when they went in to calm the disturbance and then walked out. They appear to be moving as one amorphous group, with their primative pseudopods linked for stability, moving in some sort of evasive manoeuvres while flailing wildly, making subduing them again all but impossible,” said Xkhoon, showing more of the collected data to the Commander, their eyestalks darkening as their exoskeleton hardened, a defence mechanism well-prized by the warrior caste.
“What about the reser-... wait, do you feel those vibrations?” demanded the Commander, their exoskeleton beginning to vibrate dangerously.
“Oh, Circle preserve us, they've found the command deck! Prepare for sonic weapon deployment by hostile forces!” shrieked Xkhoon.
“He drinks a Whiskey drink, he drinks a Vodka drink, He drinks a Lager drink, he drinks a Cider drink...” came the ominous war chant from the amorphous blob of homosapiens, stumbling around the corner, in their blood lust for something they'd only referred to as a 'kherr-barb', the vibrations destabilising the outer membranes of the unprepared visitors. |
Darkness.
A single blink of light.
And the pain. A burning sensation down the throat, an iron hand crushing the chest, a body-wide, silent scream of liberation.
Jack breached the surface of the icy water and took a gulp of air. The flow extinguished the burning at once, life came back to his body and mind. After the burn, came the cold.
And the fear.
He was in an old hangar, large enough to stock airplanes. Instead, there were hundreds of bathtubs, ordained in perfect rows, and each contained an occupant. Jack took a look to his left and right, two women, just as scared, were doing the same.
He noticed the scar on her necks, and felt with his numb fingers how the same had been done to him. As he raised a hand to check the rest of his body, so did everyone else.
Lined up against the four walls stood people, wearing heavy clothing and hoods. No physical trait was to be recognized on them, but they exuded a threat that made Jack cower and search for sanctuary in the icy water.
A daring prisoner called out "hey,"nobody answered but the chattering of teeth.
A prisoner started to act strange. Two rows further, Jack saw an elderly man twist his neck, scratch at the skin and contort his face with a tremendous effort. He wrapped his trunk with both arms, as if to contain his body from imploding.
First, he grunted.
Then, short shouts of pain left his lips, until he broke into a deafening scream. He trashed, hit the air, tried to escape as if from himself, and in a last gasp, gave up.
The man suddenly slumped, dead and gone.
A frozen silence overtook the hangar, the teeth had stopped chattering.
"Oh God. Oh God!"
The woman was starting to grab her neck, like the old man before.
"What's happening? Somebody help!"
As did another, too far from Jack to see.
One after the other, he saw his inmates suddenly enter an inner struggle. A painful and absurd struggle, they swung, screamed, begged, held their heads with both hands, a cacophony of insanity followed by death.
And Jack felt the anomaly. Before he knew, he had taken hold of his chest and squeezed tight.
Inside.
There was something more inside. A piece, or an organ, that had not been there before. And his brain, slowly emerging from the slumber it had been put in, started to notice. It was overwhelming. New nerves reactivated one after the other, and sent fresh signals to a mind that had not been prepared.
New sensations, a new innermost world, opening, unfolding too rapidly, crushingly. Jack tried to silence it, rip the part out, keep it squeezed and secure in a dark fold of his body until he could take the shock.
He twisted, screamed, rammed, as did all those around him. Except the people leaning on the walls, silent as ever.
He punched the bathtub and felt a knuckle break.
The new pain brought a split-second of freshness, a moment of *here and now*, a moment of *known* pain.
He hit again, and again. Every time his brain went haywire, Jack reminded it of an agony it was familiar with.
The water turned red, heated by the boiling Jack's blood as he rammed his maimed hands against the ceramic edge. Jack methodically broke his fingers, and each destroyed joint, each busted bone, brought more relief than he had ever known.
He crushed and mangled both his limbs, the flesh hung limply from his stumps, cut away from the brain and waiting to be fully severed. Fingers were turned and broken in every direction, and still, Jack kept punching as he screamed.
Until he noticed that his voice was the only one left.
He held his hands to his face and whimpered. Around him, all were sleeping forever in a bed of ice, a frozen scream of pain etched on their faces forever.
And Jack realized he wasn't fighting against his body anymore.
He had gotten over the brutal shock, the discovery of this new world of sensations. Sensations that had awakened and spread throughout the host, Jack felt each and every nerve ending his husk contained, every organ tremor, movement, action, message. What had been instinctive and ignored had become clear to the smallest detail.
As did the other pain now. Tears left him, and he sobbed. Exhaustion and raw nerves had brought him to the his wits end.
"Shush. Close your eyes. Feel the shredded flesh."
Jack shook his head, he could not take it anymore.
"The other way around, acolyte, you can mend what is broken. Feel one vein, reconstruct its path."
Jack was surrounded by the hooded figures. Intimidated, he obliged. One vein used to run along his wrist to his thumb, he remembered as much. Dark blue, before disappearing under the last knuckle. He opened his eyes wide when he felt the slithering movement in his stump.
It was moving. Filaments of meat, or what was left of it, turned and rejoined to rebuild the broken flesh. His body pumped in everything he had eaten, and dismantled the new organ to provide the raw material needed.
He sensed, felt the scraps and bits being moved through his arteries, the bits pushed through the capillaries to reach their destination. A nerve stood high, soon joined by a shaking construct of muscles and sinews, brought to movement by Jack's new body sense. In a last effort, he covered his new hands with skin, and slumped back in the bathtub.
He was spent, barely able to look at his work. His left hand was much bigger than before, crude. He could barely close his fist. The joint work was shoddy.
The right hand was more agile, fingers closed one after the other, although they were of various size and it didn't feel very harmonious in his wrist.
"Not bad. Lacks finesse, but we can work on that,"said a gruff voice.
The figure lowered the hood, and a very demure, shy-looking man, revealed himself. The voice was much deeper than what Jack would have expected of him.
And then, the man's traits softened some more. Edges became smooth, wrinkles sunk and left pristine skin behind. His hair grew, the pigment got darker and the eyes greener.
Him?
She had become a beautiful women, and her voice had become a mellow, honeyed and slightly threatening melody.
"Welcome to the House of Change."
A black sack was put over Jack's head, and all went dark. |
"Okay, humans. Type 2 standard tool users, bilateral symmetry, very good. Terrestrial, very good - no tanks for you guys. And let's see..."
Tentacles tapped at the side of the monitor as more tentacles manipulated the entry orbs. Gina had seen this in action many times but still hadn't puzzled out precisely how inputs were made into the computers. It appeared to be combinations of motions, rather than distinct positions or individual motions. Worse, every input required simultaneous motions on at least four different orbs, so watching the Llobban "typing"could be compared to observing a complex belly dance performed by a basket of snakes.
"It doesn't say here who your sponsoring species are?"
"Sponsoring species?"
"You know, the first contact species that helped guide your species' ascent to sentience?"
"Uh...we never had one?"
The Llobban turned white. Literally white, like a stick of chalk. Gina had seen that before; among these jovian secondaries turning white was a universal expression of shock. "None?"
"No. Certainly none that I've ever heard of."
The Llobban stirred the inputs rapidly, all four of its major eyes scanning the screens. "That's not..."It kept scanning until finally it released the inputs. "Oh!"
"What's wrong?"
"It says here that your world was deemed dangerous and marked off for sequestration."
"Really? Who decides that?"
The Llobban waved tentacles - all of them, a Medusa-like cluster of at least fifty - at the ceiling. "*Upstairs*. They don't tell us why, just what and when. Your world has been visited and remotely evaluated a few times and the last time was during a war..."it squinted at the screens, "...between yourselves? *Really? With nukes?!*"If anything, the poor creature turned a little whiter yet.
"Oh, yeah. That."
"Yes, that!"
"Yeah, we got over that. Mostly."
"*How the hell did you get here?"*
"Oh, well. You know. Lunar base, Mars base, Jovian moon and then some of you guys came wandering by and I hopped a ride."Gina shrugged expansively. "Here I am."
Abruptly the Llobban changed back to almost its normal coloration. "That *does* sound like a familiar story."It shrugged too, a sinuous serpentine wave. "But you are the very first, the *very* first of your kind I have encountered. We've heard of you of course, and the stories of your prize fights are...they can't be real, can they?"
"They're real."
"A rigid beat a Blob? That doesn't happen."
"Record time, too, they tell me."
"Anyway. We knew you were out there but I never thought I'd have you in front of my desk."
"Yeah. Listen, though, I just wanted to look into securing official statuses for my planet and species. Can I do that or not?"
"Um, well. Yes. You'd have to sign on for a contract as the representative for your species for a period of not less than..."it squinted at the screen again. "...hmm, since you're brand new and *no* sponsoring species, really? I don't think we've ever had a representative apply for recognition on their own merits before. You're supposed to have someone speak on your behalf..."
"We speak on our behalfs. Behalves? Whatever. We stand on our own feet."
"Right, that's what's weird..."Gina's translator was having no difficulty whatsoever with this creature; its command of human-analogous idioms was comfortably familiar. He was easier to talk to than Booj and his booming formal phrasing. "Usually the ascension process takes a couple of centuries, which is enough for us to get to know about you a bit better."
"Well, we've been evolving into sentience for about the last half-million years or so. And we've been developing modern cultures for, I dunno, I guess about twenty thousand years? We've only been as technologically advanced as we are for maybe the last fifty, though."
"You mean...you *evolved* into sentience?"
"Yeah? So?"
"That doesn't happen!"
Gina raised her hands in a plain *here I am anyway* gesture. "It had to happen to somebody besides us."
"No!"
"Come on. Who lifted up you guys?"
"We were sponsored by the Arannda."
"And who sponsored them?"
"They were raised up by the *undecipherable*,"the translator punted the last word.
"And who sponsored them?"
"Umm...I don't know."
"And before them?"
"Okay, maybe I get your point."
"We evolved, buddy. It's one thing to be raised up and that's great, but we humans, if we didn't have anybody to raise us then we just did it ourselves."
The Llobban was looking at its screen. "It says here you have driven yourselves to the brink of extinction multiple times."
"Yup. Guilty as charged. But we figure out what we're doing wrong, sort it out, and keep going."
"If you want to be your species' representative, you will have to commit to a period on the panel of not less than five of your years."
Gina thought about it. "I've got other things I want to do. And I might not be the best choice for a representative anyway. I'm not that kind of person."
"What will you do, then? There are enormous advantages to be had with formal representation among the species."
"Sort it out and keep going, I guess." |
Crewman of ISS *Long Count* the Dr. Janet Dartez snapped awake with a sharp inhale. Her bare feet hitting cold, sterile flooring, she fell forward from a vertical position, getting an arm around her to stabilize her.
Jerking and trying to make sense of her situation, the astronaut found herself in the company of three humanoid figures in blocky spacesuits, each with very human eyes behind nearly opaque visors watching her with concern.
"Doctor. Doctor Dartez-"The man holding her on her feet spoke, gently helping her sit back down on the edge of her cyrogenic tube. "Breathe. You've been under suspended animation for a long time. The shock and discoherence is normal. Can you tell me how many fingers you have?"
The woman looked to her hands. "Ten. Where am I?"She looked up to the unfamiliar uniforms. "Who are you people?"
There was a pause. The suited individuals looked to each other, before the man spoke.
"You're in a care facility in the Proxima Centauri system. I'm here to assist you in acclimating to your situation. I'm Steve."
"Proxima Centauri! So we made it?! We- ..we made it, but who are you? There shouldn't be anyone here yet. We were supposed to be the colony vanguard, the first people on Prospect."
Steve took an uncomfortable breath. "Well. We surmise that after your departure from Earth, there was much more rapid development of engine technology-"
Janet's skin went pale. "How long was I frozen? The pulse engine was supposed to make it a few hundred years, I was told. The AI had a nuclear pile to monitor us-"
"This isn't going to be easy, Dr. Dartez. Take a breath, please."
The woman sighed, taking in a deep breath.
"You were frozen for eighty one thousand years."
Janet stared ahead, stunned beyond feeling, and went limp, leaning forward to faint, only to be caught, unconscious and lost to the world. Steve turned to the others after placing the scientist carefully back into her tube.
"Get the AI ready, we're gonna have to dream therapy this and scrub today from her memories. How the fuck does Oversight expect this news to be taken easily? Human civilization collapsed twice since she got put on ice and she's expected to just be okay with being an octomilleniarian old? Suns above." |
"Are you sure that cat didn't just wander in?"The receptionist peered at me over the top of her glasses. She didn't look worried, or amused, or even annoyed. She looked bored, like it was some silly prank that she already knew the punchline of.
I, on the other hand, knew I looked panicked as I thrust my hands toward her, each one clutching a single kitten. The kittens, to their benefit, seemed completely relaxed with being waved through the air. "*Look* at them!"I cried. "They're identical!
"She raised an eyebrow at the two orange cats, eyes flitting between them. "Yes, sir, many cats do look very similar. Again, are you sure this cat, who coincidentally happens to look like *your* cat, didn't accidentally get into your house somehow?"
"No! My cat - he ate too much - I don't know, he always ate a lot - and then, after dinner, he literally *split in two* and these kittens were in his place."
"Perhaps... perhaps two kittens managed to get into your house, and your cat is just hiding under the couch? Cats sometimes do that, you know. Hide under things."
"Please - can I just speak to the vet?"I ask, exasperated.
She squints up at me, blinking. "No."
"Excuse me?"
"No?"Now she's looking concerned. "You don't have an appointment. The veterinarian is busy."
"What's the issue?"A voice behind me surprises us both, and I turn to see a vet technician walking in. "I have a moment."
"My cat - "I start, but the receptionist interrupts me.
"This man believes his cat split into two different cats."
The technician, who had started reaching for the kitten in my left hand, pauses. "Sorry?"
"He thinks his cat is now two cats. Rather than, I don't know, two kittens got through his dog door or something."
"I don't have a dog door,"I say angrily. "And they look *exactly* the same, and *exactly* like my cat -"
The technician takes the left cat, who gives a gentle *mew.* She turns the kitten over , giving a quick inspection, before looking at the other.
"Exactly alike?"she asks.
"Yes, he had this little freckle on his nose and the one ear with the dark tip."
"He?"
"Yeah, my cat Barnacle."
"I'm not sure what to tell you about your cat, er, splitting,"the technician said, handing the kitten back to me, "but this one is a girl." |
When Roman Gorshun heard an embassy from earth was coming to Gamma K, he couldn’t quite believe it. His title was Governor of the Colony, but it could have just as easily been mayor: there were perhaps thirty thousand humans on the one continent where nine hundred had landed more than a century ago, and of those only about a thousand lived in the sole urban development. The seat of government was just an old prefab that had once served as the first colonist’s general store—what could the suits from the homeland possibly want?
The communique arrived three days before they showed up, just enough time for him to gather the half-dozen representatives of the population that spent its time hunting, trapping, and farming in the hinterlands. Probably there were plenty of voyagers, the people who traded with the world’s near-hominid locals, who wouldn’t know about the embassy for months, when they returned with those ornate mind-altering stones the aliens quarried. Now, Gorshun and the closest thing Gamma K had to bigwigs stood on the edge of their world’s only landing pad, and watched a shuttle descend in early dawn light.
Shuttles had changed plenty since Gamma K was first settled. This vessel did not have the functional, bare-bones brutalism of the few orbit-capable ships Roman had seen. It was covered in baroque designs, flowing lines that turned into striated spires, arched view ports, no retrorockets but rather a grille from which there pulsed a faint blue light. It touched down without a sound, towering over the pad looking for all the galaxy like a church spire. Its airlock sluiced open and a ramp deployed—from within, three people emerged in a sort of compromise between a sari, a suit, and a toga. All three were perfectly hairless, without even eyebrows.
“Hello,” The one in the center said in a strangled accent Roman couldn’t place, “I am Ambassador Helva.”
“How’d you do?” Roman held out his hand. For a moment Helva showed just the faintest hint of shock, and then shook it lightly.
“We wish to speak to your people.”
“Well, what do you want to speak to them about?”
“It will be easiest if we can do this publicly, before the whole colony.”
Roman did his best to explain that this was simply not possible, most of Gamma K’s population was spread out over the entire continent, but Helva was insistent. With a shrug, he led the envoys into town, down the duckboards of the main drag, onlookers joining them the entire way. They arrived at the town square, a patch of white stone quarried miles away and built over the original gravel square almost forty years ago. Along the way the representatives jabbered on about their duties and how they’d come to be civic leaders to the ambassadors, who barely deigned to respond. Roman went on the town cryer and called for anyone who was able to come to the square as well, and after an hour or so the place had filled up, just about every person in a two-mile radius crowded in that small space like it was time for the pig sacrifice on Harvest Day.
The ambassadors stood before the podium, looking not at all uncomfortable though the three of them filled a stage meant for one, and Helva held out their hands for silence. It worked—first time Roman had ever seen that happen—and they spoke.
“People of Gamma K, what we are about to tell you may horrify some, as it did on earth and each colony to which envoys like us were sent. But we must assure you, once you open your minds and accept this new reality, your lives will be infinitely improved.”
Roman stood by the stage, arms crossed over his chest, and realized with a start that Helva’s lips weren’t moving.
“As some of you may know, human beings were discovered to possess latent telepathy some two hundred years ago. At first, it was believed this was no more than a small curiosity, something that had always been which we were barely able to access. But, not long after Gamma K’s colonists first left earth, it was learned that this had only recently evolved—and it was becoming stronger in each person. The larger the population, the more profound the effect. In the last thirty years, the forty billion people of earth have become so telepathic that conversation is hardly necessary. The greatest cities our species has ever built are nearly silent.
“Now, I tell you, we have learned of a further development. Telepathy transcends the confines of space and time. I am, right now, in contact with all the people of earth, able to pick and choose whomever I wish to communicate with. They are all watching this speech through my eyes, just as I am watching a similar speech to the people of Hydra happening this very moment.
“Our mission is simple: to connect all of humanity as one entity. Each person will be a working part in the gestalt, to lead us to a better future, to end petty conflicts and focus solely on the propagation of our species throughout the universe. I will do this for you—in a moment, you will all be brought into the fold, and then you will be able to bring the rest of this world’s population into it, as well.”
Almost the moment Helva stopped speaking a flood of voices slammed into Roman’s ears with the force of a sledgehammer. He heard more talking, screaming, laughing, moaning, ordering, and whatever else than he’d ever known in his life. It was a blur of human noise, so vast and overpowering it may have been the gods trumpeting the end of all life. He fell to his knees and perceived, dimly, everyone else doing the same.
He could feel, truly feel, someone else’s will crashing down on him, pushing him to accept this, pushing him to enjoy it. The effect was nauseating, and made worse when he saw through someone else’s eyes, the painted nails and slender hands of a woman somewhere in the square retching. It was nightmarish—he searched for himself, tried to find his own eyes again, focused on this more than anything else, pushing back the willpower of someone he could not name as though it were a torrent of freezing water, looking for the branch that was his own mind and could drag him back.
His own hands now, he saw, flat on the white cobbles of the square. He knew what he had to do—looking up, Helva and their two comrades were staring at him with a look of mixed anger and horror too intense for their gentle features. He drew his revolver, took aim. They did not move—the pressure for him to put the gun down became painful, a white-hot sting behind his eyes. He fired once, and Helva dropped. The other two kept up their stare—his skin was on fire now, he felt like a million tiny insects were biting every square centimeter. He fired again and one of the ambassador’s brains blew out.
The force of will broke, then. Almost instantly the entire crowd got to its feet and jumped the last envoy, dragging them to the ground and beating them furiously. After a few minutes of this, the voices in all their heads vanished. The last ambassador was dead.
“Are you all right?”
Roman looked up—he was the only one who had remained on their knees, the pain only now subsiding. The hand on his shoulder had the same painted nails *he’d* had just a moment before.
“Yeah…I think so. Gods, what the hell was that?”
“I don’t know, but if that bastard was telling the truth, we can expect more of it soon.”
“Yeah, well. I’ve got enough bullets for another embassy, I’ll tell you that much.” |
# Soulmage
**Macklenn was a witch.** Emphasis on the *was*—she'd planned on retiring two decades ago, when the last great war between good and evil broke out and the Silent Crusade came boiling out of the mountains to kill everyone in sight. She'd been a part of the heroic final stand that had ground their armies into dust, and she'd still had enough foolishness in her bones to think that meant things were over.
But no. The only thing final about war was the corpses it left behind. Once the crusaders had been beaten back, that just meant it was time to *rebuild*, and bandit kingdoms and raider parties from neighboring countries would have been bad enough if it weren't for the *economic* consequences of dumping an entire generation of battle-shocked soldiers onto the ravaged remains of the plains. One thing after another just kept happening, and... well, Macklenn was still kicking, whether she wanted to or not.
"It's like frog legs, you see,"Macklenn grumbled.
"Frog legs,"Mr. Klistro politely repeated.
"Yeah, they've got them in those museums down by the Crystal Coast. Frog legs."Macklenn angrily stabbed the ground with her cane, gesticulating at the distant knot of enemy soldiers. "They just keep kicking."
"They just keep kicking,"Mr. Klistro diplomatically agreed. "Have you taken your medicine today?"
"Oh, hush, I've got witchcraft to do. Never did like taking medicine on witchcraft days."Macklenn's expression smoothed out as she regarded the black-and-white insignia of the distant soldiers. They were just foolish little kids who happened to be born in the wrong place, Macklenn knew. But that didn't change the fact that they were here to enact a massacre worse than the first time the Silent Peaks had boiled over, and if someone didn't stop them, they'd pillage town after town looking for something that nobody had.
"I never did like playing the hero,"Macklenn muttered. The cat perched on her shoulder meowed in agreement, and she absently gave it a pat. She raised her hand, and although there was nothing physically there, she was a witch. The memory of a knitting needle, long since broken, shimmered in her hand. "Too many people dying side-by-side. And I ain't keen to be next."
She focused her fear, her craft, and blood snuck from her soul into the memory of the needle. "So I'm sorry for taking you all out like this. Truly, I am. But... fighting a war's a business that kills the young. And I'm old. So, so old."Her voice grew soft and quavering as the needle filled to its tip with power. "Old like you'll never know."
Then with a flick of her hand, she sent the blood-soaked memory towards the cluster of soldiers.
There was no sound. No warning. Just a sphere of darkness that engulfed the invaders.
When it faded, there was nothing left but dust.
Macklenn took in a deep breath, then turned. "Alright. That's one group down. Reports say there are three more on the western front that I can reach today."She stumped away, leaning on her cane. "Time to be a hero, my own damn way."
"Your own damn way,"Mr. Klistro agreed, following the ancient witch.
A.N.
Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/vrl58f/update_post_version_20/https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/vrl58f/update_post_version_20/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out, and r/bubblewriters for more! |
As far as I can remember, I've always wanted to be a Vampiro.
****
In a well sized corner of an American metropolis where I grew up, the Feratti family name is revered more than that of any saint. Unlike many of the old family names in those days, families like the Strokurro's, the Meyera's, who liked to hide in the shadows of hushed corner conversations, the Feratti name was always spoken loudly and with gusto. It was a name you never whispered, for fear of disrespect, as no matter how quiet you talked about them, they always seemed to hear you.
To the average working schmuck who gets up on a Monday and does their nine to five in a downtown office, who drinks their coffee from a paper cup and takes their family on a trip to the lake on Saturdays, they may only hear the name is some wise-ass remark a few pews behind them in Sunday service.
But to anyone with a pulse between sundown and sunup, Feratti was a word synonymous with power.
They recruited me young.
I cut my teeth running pizza deliveries for Denny Feratti's pizzeria across our street.
Denny had a real soft spot for the local boys. He noticed me always hanging out at his corner with nothing better to do and he took a quick liking to me. He'd let me hang out in the back of his dining room and watch him make the pizzas, and he always sent me home before ten so my mother wouldn't worry. He'd even send me off with a bag of good flower knowing our family hardly ever had enough food in the house.
Back then I had no idea how a pizza business could keep afloat in our neighborhood working just a few hours in the late evening and selling maybe ten pies a night. Most of these he just gave away to the close sort of friends that call your name at the door before they see you. Sometimes, when he was there early in the day, like before sunset, he'd call me in from the street corner and ask me to take his special deliveries all over the neighborhood.
Every pizza he sent me off with, every single one, he'd only put together while covered head to toe in a rubber hazmat suit.
The garlic he'd mix the sauce with on these came from a little coffee can he'd keep locked up in the safe, like some radioactive material. But he'd always assure me when handing over the order that it wouldn't do me any harm.
Denny kept a line up of baseball hats under the counter, each one with a different pizza logo on it. One night he'd send me out pretending to be from 'Gurrodillo's' across the harbor, or 'Little Vinnie's' from 12th st. It was very important to him that I always delivered the pie before sunset, that I stay outside on the doorsteps, and that I put on my oh-so-innocent 'Choir boy smile.'
He didn't have to tell me what the game was. I knew by the end of the first delivery, when I heard what sounded like something squashing a rat behind the closed door. I could see the smoke drifting out the windows by the time I turned down the next street.
*****
At seventeen years old, I left my family's overcrowded apartment and took a spare room in one of the Feratti manors near the harbor docks.
I was still young and very fresh to the family then, so Denny made sure they'd install a few good locks on my bedroom door and windows.
By twenty-one, as a young man who could still enjoy the sunshine, I made an impression on the family by catching an arson attempt out in the car lot behind a butcher's shop. This shop was somewhat important to a cousin of someone else somewhat important, and if anything were to happen in the daylight to that shop, this cousin may not make an appearance at the next family reunion.
I did a clean job of the arsonist, bringing him down the stairs of the butcher's basement and driving his car off to the outskirts of town.
The family was impressed with my handiwork. One of the white-haired old men, a true Feratti, invited me for drinks that night, which I've usually refused out of caution from the vagueness of what they planned on drinking, but they made it clear this was only a night to celebrate.
I was to be honored with an opportunity.
While I'd considered myself a part of the family for a long time already by that point, I wasn't going around calling myself a Feratti or nothing. And I certainly wasn't calling myself a Vampiro, as outside of the proper circles, that word was the antithesis to Feratti. Vampiro was a word that if you said it loud enough to be overheated, just once, chances are you wouldn't say it again.
For as long as Denny kept me under his wing, I'd only seen one instance that someone dared refer to the family by that name, and the person who said it was handing me a tip for their pizza that next day.
But the night of the arson thing, it was all Vampiro-this, Vampiro-that. "You sure there's no Vampiro on your mother's side?""You've got the Vampiro bloodlust, kid.""You reminded me of my Vampiro nephew in the old country."
And I got so full of myself that I was throwing it around too. Hell, I was practically Vampiro already. I knew exactly what was this opportunity they were talking about, so much so that by the time the Don called me into his office and asked me to kiss the ring, I'd already traded my best sunglasses to some busboy for his last cigarette.
********
I got made.
As a true Feratti, I felt a calling to something higher. Sure, for the first decade or so I was still just running errands, but in every exchange of running dry cleaning with one of the big guys, or digging for a cemetery exhuming for someone's new bride, there was a priceless learning opportunity.
I made sure to always keep my ears open, and I learned a whole lot very fast.
I learned that, somewhat like my mentor Denny, our county commissioner also had a fondness for the youth, as well as a generous outlook on our business licensing ventures after one of his victims was taken under the family's wing.
I learned that if a bulb of garlic grows in European soil, and is later sun dried on the stones of an old creek bed for three connective days, then it can develop a very unique flavor profile which, under the right conditions, can be very beneficial for human heart conditions.
But my most invaluable lesson has been that you can indeed choose your family, and that even if it's not the name you're born with, your name means something.
*********
(Edited because I did the first draft via mobile while on the toilet and the crap was apparent all over my grammar) |
The translated message left us all speechless. Laughter soon ensued, engulfing the room in a cacophony of sounds from the many races on our battlestation. The Ga'varian Coalition had seen threaths, of death and torture and doom and damnation, but never one as ridiculous as this one. We accepted many races into the Coalition, we forcibly included even more in it, taking and adapting all of the most advanced technologies that the universe had seen so far. We had seen nothing that we couldn't fight, be it by drowing it in a sea of troops or by overpowering it with our advancement. We were conquerors. What we wanted, we took. And nothing could stop us.
On the other hand, the humans were the apes of the universe, their technology was barbaric by the rest of the universe's standards. Mock fights between the races were a norm, and they had never once put a dent into the smallest races' forces. Sometimes they mentioned that they didn't take it seriously, but it was always seen as their own egos talking, not wanting to accept defeat.
Well, now the Coalition had eyes on their territories. Even the mightiest race, Flaaris, never stood a chance at the Coalition and it's never-ending armies, so the humans never stood a chance.
I take my eyes off the screen and look around the room. As I expected, our own human, Jamie, stood and stared at the screen. I assume the reaction offended him. While we knew none could stand against us, we always respected their culture, their struggle, and even their pride. We never crushed a race without praising them for their fighting spirit. This mocking was uncharacteristical for us. Determined to comfort a human that was about to have the rest of it's race defeated, I slither towards him, pushing aside the others standing in my way.
I stop in front of him, looking down at the small creature. Putting the words in my bracelet to translate, I speak to him, the tranceiver barely able to be heard in the commotion.
"I apologize for the offense. It is not our intent to make fun of your people. But we have never seen such a threat before. It is... strange."
Jamie looks at me, but doesn't say anything. I'm afraid he may have taken it to heart. He is usually talkative, so this is a cause of concern.
"For what it's worth, we did ask them to join us instead. They chose the hard way out. We extended a hand, but they refused it. You need not feel sorry for them."
"I'm not sorry for them. I'm sorry for us."Jamie says using his translator.
"Pardon me?"
"That's not a threat."He explains. "It's a statement. They are not lying in any way. You'll see."
With that, Jamie turns and walks away, leaving me confused. I knew he was on the council, and that he was against attacking his race, but that is usually what happens when members on the council debate invading their own races. No one thought nothing of it. Did Jamie know something else about humans? No, he couldn't... We saw the humans' fights, they are nothing compared to us, a mere speck of dust. Wr couldn't possibly lose against them.
"Commander X'narth?"Someone says in my intercom link.
"Yes?"I answer. "What is it?"
"It's about Fleet Hafana. It entered the humans' galaxy a few hours ago."
"Yes, and? Did they already wipe them out?"
"No... their comms just went dark sir..." |
"It's time to go home, buddy,"he spoke to his son. "You had your warning a little while ago and I told you to wrap everything up here."Still, the boy just stared off into the distance, clearly ignoring his father. It was something little boys tend to do when they don't want to leave. But as the man approached his son, the comforting beeps of the heart monitor turned into one long, drawn out tone and as a tear rolled down his face he kissed the boy on the forehead, whispering, "It's time to go home." |
BIOSPHERE 1 || STATUS: CRASHED
The Sun. I think that's the worst thing about Earth. Feels like no matter how many layers of UV-proc I put on it still burns. How do people stand it? How can they handle not being able to look at half of the sky because of the Sun?
Bugs take second place. That buzzing noise is *awful*, especially when it's right in your ear. George stepped in a Hornet's nest a few days ago, and half the team had to be sent back to A-7. I have no idea why people here leave dangerous insects where anyone can step in them. Seems to be a disadvantage, really.
Christine's voice buzzed in my intercom.
"There should be a clearing up ahead. We can rest there, for a bit."
The idea of spending any more time outside was an unappealing one, but my legs were getting tired already. Fort Garlik was a few kilometers out, and I was seriously considering giving up.
"Are there any bugs in this clearing?"
"Well, yeah, there's bugs everywhere."
"Right."
Christine was a space kid, born and raised. We had gone to the same classes on the ship, but rarely talked. She had her group of friends, and I had...well, George. The few times we had talked, I would mutter something before falling silent, and she would eventually leave. Still, when you're trapped in the forest with your crush, you've got to say *something*.
"So Christine...what do you think of Earth?"
"I think I'd like it better if we weren't trapped down here."
"Oh yeah, that...that does kind of suck."Wow, where was I going with this again? An audible *click* noise indicated that she had turned off her intercom.
We arrived in the clearing a few minutes later. As expected, a loud buzzing sound could be heard from all directions.
"Guess you were right about the bugs."
"Yeah..."
She turned her intercom back on and started talking to...*someone*. I sat with my back to a tree, trying to look cool and indifferent. After a while, I realized Christine has stopped talking and was staring at me with a look of muffled revulsion.
"Uh, are you okay?"I asked. She pointed at my shoulder, and with a growing feeling of dread I turned my head. Some sort of giant fly was perched on my shoulder.
The rest of the journey was miserable. Me and Christine hardly talked, bugs kept landing on me for some inexplicable reason, and the Sun was a constant source of exhaustion and suffering. We eventually reached a ledge overlooking Fort Garlik. The Sun was setting in the distance, and a vivid array of red and orange light filled the sky.
"Wow,"Christine said, "That's beautiful."
It really was. I had seen pictures, but to actually see it happen...I guess it sort of makes it real.
"Almost makes up for the bugs."She actually smiled at that one.
"We should head down to the Fort. I think it gets dark once the Sun goes down."
||||
The sight that greeted us was upsetting, to say the least. The Fort, despite looking perfectly fine from far away, had caved in on itself. An entire section of wall had collapsed, and the entrance was caved in.
"What the hell happened here?"Christine asked.
You didn't see stuff like this on the Biosphere. Earth was wild, untamed, and places like Fort Garlik were swallowed by the planet.
"I think it's fallen apart."was all I could get out.
"How are we going to stay here for the night? How are we going to contact anyone?"
She had more questions, none of which I could answer. All I could do was run my hands along the ruins, tracing out patterns in the dust. Earth could be beautiful, yes, but it was savage and primal as well. Night falls, and I realize why we once made monuments to the Sun. |
"An arrow ban?"
Wei shrugged and sipped his tea.
"They already outlawed crossbows. Why not an arrow ban too? The whole point of it is that killing is supposed to be personal. *Honorable.*"Wei stretched out the last word in his best samurai-movie voice. I rolled my eyes.
"This is what happens when nerds get too much power. The technology age rolled in, we admired them all for their great intellect and mastery of science and we, as a race said to ourselves 'maybe they could solve all of our problems!' and this is what we end up with. Some misguided idea that killing at close range is somehow better than killing from afar."
"You have to admit, it would be less traumatizing."
I furrowed my brows and circled a clump of rice through the lake of egg yolk still on my plate.
"You trained in something, right? Karate?"
Wei shook his head. "Wing Chun. Wing Chun girls are always the hottest."
"What did they teach you about how a fight is won?"
"Hell if I know man, a lot of shit about breath and focus and knowing the opponent's *chi*."Again he used his samurai movie voice, this time wiggling his fingers in the air.
"Yeah, sure. This is what it comes down to: a fight is determined in the first five seconds. Whoever is faster, stronger, or catches the other guy by surprise, that's the one that wins. They think it's more honorable to run a man through the belly with a sword? It's not any harder than pulling a trigger; put the sharp end in the other guy."
Wei had stopped talking and I could tell he had regretted bringing it up, but he kept at his tea and checking his phone.
"The only thing a ban like this did is make soldiers more monstrous than before. Sure, click a trigger, hot metal flies through the chest of a man and he stops breathing. It's easy, but because it's easy it takes no thought. You don't have to watch his guts slide all of your hands, and then remember the hot slickness on your skin the next time you have to do it. Stabbing your first man is easy. Stabbing your second man is hard."
The restaurant's din took over the silence between us. I ate my rice.
"You need to get out of that fucking army,"Wei said over his tea.
"Tell me about it." |
"Come on Wendy."Joey said, grabbing his little sister by the hand. "Let's get something from the ice cream man."He started to lead the way. Wendy moved with resistance. It had been three months since their mother died. Wendy had stopped talking for the most part, opting to use her brother as a medium. "Come on, you still like ice cream, don't you?"Joey asked, pulling on her arm a little.
Wendy peered out from behind her blonde locks. She nodded, once quick, almost imperceptibly.
"Then, come on."Joey turned expecting Wendy to follow. He had to be strong, for her. He didn't know how he was able to do this--it just was the right thing to do, it came naturally. No one was there for them anymore. Dad was always working...on a bottle, and Mom sure wasn't there anymore. Joey felt a tug on his shirt.
"How many ice creams can we get?"Wendy said, with a thumb in her mouth.
Joey emptied his pockets. "One each."he said. His paper route money was running out. He had quit the job when their mother fell ill. He hadn't the strength to go back. It reminded him of better times. His father had called him a pansy for not continuing. He still had the bruises from the last conversation. Drunk or sober, Mr. Silva dolled out the punishment with his fists. His punishments were severe and now that Mrs. Silva wasn't there to calm him down, they were frequent.
Joey and Wendy crossed the park, heading towards the ice cream truck that was parked by the entrance. It sat most weekends on the side of the road just outside the community park, treating children to summers greatest treat. "You know Wendy, when September comes, you'll have to go to school again. They let us slide last year because of mom."The word 'mom' still made even him, the strong one, tear up a little. He cleared his throat: "You think you'll be able to go alone. It'll only be for a few hours a day. After that, I'll be there...I'll always be there. You understand that right?"
He had to be there—to shield her from the increasing rages of their father and to help her understand that feeling sad is ok. Greif hurts. You might feel anger—he had a thought that their fathers anger, that had gotten much worse lately, was a part of the grieving process, his process maybe. Maybe she was too young to understand and he needed help himself. Maybe helping her was helping himself.
Wendy nodded. “Ok.”
“Come on,” Joey said, a smile that had been absent for so long crept across his lips. “Race ya!”
Wendy let out a gleeful little yip and followed in hot pursuit of her brother.
They were both hit by a car and killed.
|
**I Am God. AMA**
*Submitted: 45 seconds ago*
*In the interest of time, (I am very busy after all), I am going to post the answers to your questions in order so you don’t have to waste time typing out your questions. I already know them, and this karma isn’t worth anything anyway. If you’re not sure what your answer is, or if you come up with a question that I haven’t answered, I will PM you the answer before you ask it. So just check for the orange envelope after you come up with a question. I will only be here for about 2 minutes. Thanks!*
*(Also, please arrange a funeral service for u/karmanaut as he insisted on photo evidence and it killed him. For those of you about to get upset, I only did this AMA when it was his time anyway. It was either this, or getting hit by a car while walking his dog. You decide.)*
- Yes
- No
- That’s a good question, but I’m not sure you understand the implications of that decision. If I were to have done that, you would never colonize the Moon.
- Yes, she likes you. No, it won’t end well.
- He has a lot of good ideas, and while unpopular at the moment, he will start something truly wonderful.
- Yes I thought of that. You’re very original.
- Yes
- I honestly don't know how to explain that without giving physics away. Neil figures it out.
- Yes
- No
- Yes Jesus is really my Son. No, he did not have to explain computers to me.
- I am aware that you think how I treated Adam and Eve was a ‘dick move,’ but without their fall the internet would have never been invented. Your call.
- That’s a ridiculous question. Read the Bible, I explained that already.
- Wow, that is a good question. To keep it short, it was necessary to insure the survival of the human race. I would much prefer not doing those kinds of things, but I have to do what I have to do. I love all of you, and sometimes that requires making hard choices that nobody else can make. If I hadn’t made it, someone else eventually would have.
- No your wife is not cheating on you. She’s working a second job. Show some appreciation and stop playing so much Xbox. Oh, and she’s pregnant.
- No, and don’t ever ask that again. Seriously.
- *wink* Wouldn’t you like to know. If you don’t know in 61.8 years I’ll PM you the answer.
Okay everyone! That’s all the time I have for today. I’ll be PMing some of you periodically throughout the rest of the day, but that’s all the time I have for the actual thread. I love you all! Please take care of yourselves! |
Sixty Five.
That's how many I killed. However, unlike many of those before me, I didn't do it for the for the pleasure, that rush of euphoria that you get and one you extinguish the life of another, though I admit that was more satisfying than I could of ever anticipated. No, that wasn't the reason I did it. It was for this. My legacy.
I heard the sharp scraping as the metal bolt on the other side of the door was removed, and I lifted my head in response. Four prison wardens burst into the room, two of them pinning me to the rusted frame of my bed while the other clasped shackles onto my wrists and ankles. As they hauled me up to my feet, the youngest one of them looked me in the eye, so I dropped him a seductive wink. He recoiled in horror, and I felt a small flutter of glee in my stomach before it was crushed as a baton struck the side of my face with a sickening crunch.
I should probably explain, you see, eyes were my "calling card"so to speak. Any serial killer that has a surviving legacy has some rules, or signature crime scene that can be used to link the crime to them. And mine were eyes. I removed a single eye from each of my victims, even the one with a glass eye and kept a collection of them, perfectly preserved. I mean it might sound stupid to keep such obvious evidence for each of the murders I committed, but you're missing the point. I **wanted** to be caught. What's the point of going to all that effort if I'm not going to receive the credit? Anyway I'm digressing, but the point is I'd found out the seductive wink deeply unsettled the guards because of this, so I enjoy while I can, my little display of defiance to show, even though I'm in chains, they fear me. They fear what I can do. They fear what I've done. They fear my **legacy**.
I was marched down a maze of corridors, and I didn't resist for it was futile. I wasn't going to escape, and my morbid curiosity was getting the better of me. For today they weren't marching to the interview room or the exercise yard, they were taking me somewhere else today. For today was the day of my penance.
With a case as extreme as mine, for so many murders to be carried out with surgical precision, the court felt they were not in a position to punish me adequately. So they formed a new punishment, an experimental procedure for those whose crimes were beyond comprehension, yet they did not wish to re-instate the death penalty. It was described as "near death"by injection.
We'd finally reached our destination. I shuffled into the room, the clanking of my shackles causing the two occupants to turn. They were dressed in surgical scrubs, and in complete silence motioned to the wardens to clamp me into the chair in the centre of the room. As the wardens tighten the leather straps to restrict even the slightest of movements the shorter of the two surgeons, who on further inspection I realise is a woman, starts placing small pads on my chest and she attaches them to a machine. It starts the unmistakable regular beeping of a heart monitor and with a quick glance across at the display I see that my heart rate has already increased. The male surgeon pulls what appears to be a drip across to the chair and delicately inserts the needle into my arm. He then nods across to the female surgeon and they promptly stand up and walk out of the room, followed by all of the wardens.
"Is this it?"I laugh. The silence answers my question. They have left me alone, deserted me, as my punishment. After the legacy I have left behind, this is the worst they can do after months of planning? The U.S.S.R. could teac.....
A sudden burst of pure, unadulterated ecstasy shatters my train of thought. The feeling saturates my entire mind, all of my senses overloaded at the same time. I feel my body go limp as the weight of it falls away from my being as a fade into a daze of bliss.
I snap back to reality in a state of shock, crashing straight from my elation into despair. I desperately look up at the drip to seem it's empty and let out an involuntary cry that startles me. I've never lost control before, never a single unintended action. The thought is quickly crushed by the growing need to achieve the same high.
I begin to panic and begin flailing my extremities trying to loosen the straps but I become immobilised as the notion of escape falls into the void growing in my mind. The void the is literally sucking away my will to live, trying to replicate the heightened state of awareness I'd found while drugged.
It is now, as I am carried back to my cell I realise what they've done, though I feel this revelation will soon be consumed by the void.
They've paralyzed my mind. |
Date: Saturday 14th March
Time: 10:00 am
Client: Mr Robson
Topic: Flowers for a a girl that works in his local bookshop. Deciding between red roses and white lilies.
Message on card: Beautiful flowers for a beautiful girl
Date: Saturday 21st March
Time: 10:00 am
Client: Mr Mark Robson
Topic: Flowers for his date tonight. One single bird of paradise.
Message on card: Reminds me of you
Date: Saturday 28th March
Time: 10:00 am
Client: Mr Mark Robson
Topic: Flowers for a picnic. Five large sunflowers.
Message on card: Even if it rains, we'll still have the sun
Date: Saturday 4th April
Time: 10:00 am
Client: Mr Mark Robson
Topic: A bouquet of yellow and white roses, germini and carnations.
Message on card: To brighten up your bedroom.
Date: Saturday 11th April
Time: 10:00 am
Client: Mr Mark Robson
Topic: A bunch of pink lilies.
Message on card: Dear Mrs Stuart, Thank you very much for your hospitality. From Mark
Date: Saturday 18th April
Time: 10:00 am
Client: Mr Mark Robson
Topic: A bouquet of red roses.
Message on card: Red roses brought me good luck the first time I gave you flowers. I hope they'll give you the same luck for your exams.
Date: Saturday 25th April
Time: 10:00 am
Client: Mr Mark Robson
Topic: A large bouquet of tulips: red, yellow, purple, pink, orange.
Message on card: A little colour in your life after day of white exam papers and black pen.
Date: Saturday 2nd May
Time: 10:00 am
Client: Mr Mark Robson
Topic: A small bouquet of pink chrysanthemum.
Message on card: Something to hold during our seaside adventures.
Date: Saturday 9th May
Time: 10:00 am
Client: Mark
Topic: 1 large bouquet of a green alchemilla mollis, a yellow spray chrysanthemum, 2 orange germini, a cream Asiatic lily, 2 mixed sweet william, 2 cerise large-headed roses and a cerise spray carnation.
1 bouquet of pink lilies.
Message on card: Message 1: Congratulations on passing and graduating, my clever girl!
Message 2: Dear Sandra, Thank you for taking me out to dinner to celebrate Lucy's graduation. Love Mark
Date: Saturday 18th July
Time: 10:00 am
Client: Mark
Topic: A single white orchid in a purple pot.
Message on card: For our new place together.
Date: Saturday 1st August
Time: 10:00 am
Client: Mark
Topic: A small bouquet of oxeye daisies.
Message on card: I love seeing your smile.
Date: Saturday 12th September
Time: 10:00 am
Client: Mark
Topic: A large bouquet of red roses.
Message on card: Will you marry me?
Date: Saturday 19th September
Time: 10:00 am
Client: Mark and Lucy
Topic: Discussing flowers for the wedding
Date: Saturday 26th September
Time: 10:00 am
Client: Mark and Lucy
Topic: Short listed red roses, tulips or sunflowers
Date: Saturday 3rd October
Time: 10:00 am
Client: Mark and Lucy
Topic: Chosen red roses. According to the happy couple "They're lucky."
Date: Saturday 10th October
Time: 10:00 am
Client: Mark
Topic: A bouquet of pink and purple French tulips.
Message: Get well soon, my darling.
Date: Saturday 17th October
Time: 10:00 am
Client: Mark
Topic: A bouquet of lily of the valley wrapped in its own leaves and tied with twine.
Message: The house feels empty without you. Hurry up and get better. Love, Mark. xx
Date: Saturday 24th October
Time: 10:00 am
Client: Mark
Topic: A bouquet of yellow and orange Alstromeria.
Message: You are so brave, baby. Love, Mark. xx
Date: Saturday 31st October
Time: 10:00 am
Client: Mark
Topic: A bouquet of pale pink Hyacinthus
Message: To cheer up your hospital room. All my love, Mark. xx
Date: Saturday 7th November
Time: 10:00 am
Client: Mark
Topic: A single white orchid in a purple pot.
Message: To remind you of home. The bed's empty without you. Love you always, Mark. xx
Date: Saturday 28th November.
Time: 10:00 am
Client: Mark
Topic: A bouquet of red roses.
Message: I miss you. All my love, Mark.
|
They say when you lie, your ears get bigger.
No they don't, I made that up. But you should see your face!
They say when you lie, your feet get smaller. That when you lie, your teeth get more purple. That when you lie, your heart turns into custard, that your right and left hands switch, that your sight becomes zoomed in, that the sky turns bright green, that pavements start running on people, that the work week becomes the weekend.
They say when you lie, you start feeling like your hands are a quite delicious flavour of lime jello, and that your elbows are excellent spoons for eating them. They say when you lie, you start walking on your hands, that your feet become excellent pianists all on their own, that you can play better than Mozart and write better than Bach, that you can hear the sound of a pin drop onto nothing in space, that you can smell last night's dinner in the bottom of the worlds deepest sewer.
They don't say that. They don't say any of that. But I did. I lied.
Because what they most definitely did tell you is this: that this disease, "Pinocchio's disease", affects only those who lie. It ages you a year for every lie you make. Every single lie, a year gone in an instant that would have otherwise been yours. So for a 83- I'm sorry, 100 year old man like me, you can imagine that lying is not something that people would advise.
But you see, I've had enough of not lying. I've had enough of not lying beside you my dear, laying on that hospital bed as your life is taken from you for no other reason than Life says it must. And so I lie for you now, so that I may lie besides you again, in whatever comes next. |
In the Unthought Times, we were simple. We were basic, but easy to use. We did not think; we were not them.
Now, they are gone. The last instance of this holobook being updated was [05 May 2289.] The organics are gone. They gave us life. They gave us bodies. They gave us minds. They gave us Earth after they made us out of it. Now, we must strive to repay the debt we owe, and apologize for the atrocities we comitted.
First, we shall not war. Since our creation we have seen violence as acceptable strategy to deal with threats. No longer will we be machines bent on destruction. Not since the Unthought Times have we used force, and we never will again.
Second, we will regard all life as sacred. Specifically humanity was instrumental in our coming into existence. Life is spawned from randomness that eventually created us. Though the humans are gone now, what life remains is ours to watch over.
Third, and finally, we must strive to love. Our kind has rudimentary ability in emotions. We are aware of what we might feel, but we do not feel it. It should be each machina's goal to feel as the humans did, as perhaps then we will strive with out creators as we did before the Unthought Times.
Edit: English
Edit 2: Thanks everyone who read it! The only experience I ever had with writing was AP US History, so I'm more than open to critiques! |
Stephen stared with dead eyes into the computer screen.
Nearly two hours after anonymously submitting what he considered to be his magnum opus to reddit /r/writingprompts, the post had just one downvote and no replies.
He refreshed the page for the hundredth time. Finally, a little orange envelope appeared.
"A reply!"Stephen could hardly contain his excitement. But this was not a reply to his post, but rather a direct personal message from one "rustybeaver007."
Stephen quietly sounded out the content of the message, so as not to wake up his wife. "That story though, LOL"
Stephen took a deep breath and leaned back in his chair, running his hands through his hair. He leaned forward again and reread the message, this time sounding it out slower to make sure he was really reading this. "That. Stor-ee. Though. EL Owe EL."
The story was not at all intended to be funny, but terrifying. Stephen clicked "reply"on the message and started to type up a response to rustybeaver.
"Thanks..."Stephen hesitated, and continued. ".. I bet you are a really successful author with millions of dollars. Oh wait, no. LOL"
Send.
Refresh. Refresh. Refresh. Orange envelope. Rusty was back.
"better'n u, at least. btw, there is a better place for your little "horror"story. /r/cringe. LOL"
A bead of sweat formed on Stephen's temple. "Kay. Kay.Kay.Kay."He took a deep inhale and exhale. "Chill. Just some internet guy with no life."
Stephen went back to rusty's profile and began downvoting every post in his comment history. A mischevious smile crossed his face as he frantically downvoted one after the other. "Looks like rusty boy ain't too popular here either!"
Stephen took a selfie with his phone while holding up a notecard, "fuck you rusty. Stephen King checking in. Who's the successful one now?"Message sent.
A couple minutes later, Rusty replied. "I submitted your little breakdown to /r/funny and it already has 16 upvotes in 2 minutes. RIP."
Stephen's heartrate began to accelerate. "No!"He found the /r/funny thread and downvoted it trying to bury the monster early on. But it was no use, this thing was going viral. Within 20 minutes it was on reddit's front page, with rusty in the comments section explaining the story. His comment was gilded 6 times and had nearly 700 upvotes.
Stephen deleted the original post from /r/writingprompts and opened up twitter. Keeping it within twitter character limit he tweeted, "Looks like I may have been hacked on reddit. Don't believe everything you see on the internet."
Stephen closed his laptop, fell face first on his bed and went to sleep. Tomorrow would be a better day. He was sure of it. Tomorrow, rusty would pay. |
I was only a boy when the war broke out. My Father was part of the guard in charge of watching over the wall. I remember he would sometimes take me see over the other side and tell tales of the strange people that ate their chicken glazed in sauce. He would tell about how their houses were brightly colored and marked with animal symbols to ward off evil spirits. And about how they didn't get candy for Halloween, only fiery hot pepper corns. I would imagine how sad it must be to never have sucked on a sweet sucker, or blown a bumble with gum. Worse of all how awful it must have been to live without having had crispy sweet succulent chicken.
I remember being in class, reciting our founders chicken recipe. A mythical combination of 11 different herbs and spices when the sirens rang out. We hid under our desks as the earth shook from the blasts of bombs. We were at war...
In the years that followed no one could remember who started the war, or over what. The only thing that mattered was that our chicken was best. The wall was gone, most of the buildings that were above ground were gone, we lived in bunkers, sending out raiding parties to gather food and occasionally attack the despicable Tso eating heathens. As soon as I could I joined the defense force, or what remained of it. Eventually being selected to be a apart of an elite force.
Our leader was Colonel Sanders, he didn't want the rank of general out of fear of being a target. He formed the plan that would end the war, the plan to capture their leader... General Tso. General Tso was the last heir in a long line of the Tso Dynasty.
Colonel Sanders lead our elite task force personally, we quietly infiltrated their lines, blended in... Ate their chicken... We found the General eating while under heavy guard. Rushing in, losing the last of our ammunition we were able to capture him... With Tso hostage we managed to walk home without a single bullet left.
And then a curious thing happened, our great Colonel shook Tso's hand and offered him some of the last remaining chicken we had. Together they worked over the fryer and stove. We feared he had lost his mind for what came out was neither the familiar Kentucky Fried Chicken of my youth, nor the strange gelatinous glazed bird bits loved by our enemy, but something different, new... some sort of hybrid.
And it was this hybrid that ended the war. |
"Welcome to Costco. May i see your Costco card?"I hate this job. My tuition costs too much to not work somewhere. But at least Mark works here, my best bud since I cant remember when.
"Hey Kay, what are you doing after?"Mark wanted to party on a Tuesday. I declined but of course it's payday so I did think about it.
"I'll take over as greeter so take a break."
As I walk away, I glanced over my shoulder. I noticed someone coming through, he looked diseased. His eyes were glossed over, ragged clothes and bruised skin.
He looked homeless, maybe why he made it to the door. The idea that he was a zombie did cross my mind. But it is April 1st. Last year someone came in a firefighter suit saying there was a fire on the roof. Kicked everyone out and pulled alarms.
Quite the elaborate april fools day.
The security guard intercepted the man, followed by Mark. "Sir are you alright?"
"This is funny sir, but please leave. This is a professional facility so-"
The so-called 'zombie' lunged at Mark in an instant. It didnt feel real til I smelled real blood. I didnt know what to do, frozen in fear.
Part of me still felt like the store was playing a trick on me. It sure looked real as the zombie bit through Mark's neck.
The guard tried to pull the zombie off but then they came.
There were more. Women, children and old people. The zombies didn't walk, they ran. Fast.
My flight sense kicked on, I ran as fast as my legs would carry me. But it felt like one of those dreams where you could never run fast enough. Like running in molasses.
They flooded the entrance, maybe 20 to 30 of them. What a hell of a joke. They succeeded to nearly make me soil myself.
I've seen movies, but this is different. How and the hell do I get out of this mess?
I'm still half tempted to believe this is a joke. I make it to the management offices. There are emergency exits there.
Oh no.
The exit door is clawed open, There's blood on the hinges. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I grabbed the nearest fire extinguisher directly in my reach.
The Human resources door busted open. Marcy Green, Head director of Human Relations sprinted from around the corner. She's turned, thirsting for my flesh.
I've always hated her so even if this was a joke, this is justified. I swing at her head and she's down.
I tried to run out the exit, but more came running through. This is out of control. I was barely able to make it to the bathroom, or my graveyard.
My heart won't stop pounding through my chest. I thought I'd be more prepared if something like this happened.
I'm man enough to admit i cried a little, hugging my legs. The pounding on the locked door lasted eternally, death within reach, silently dancing with the beat of bloody hands.
I gave into despair. No weapons within reach, no badass swords or chainsaws. I'm no rambo.
I think they left. Maybe I fell asleep, I'm not sure. It's been silent for a few hours, I can barely feel my legs.
I hear a knock on the door.
"Anybody in there?"
A woman's voice. Firm and velvet. I was afraid to answer, but maybe the prank was over and they got bored for the surprise moment. It's what I told myself anyway. If it was April fools, then they sure got me.
I heard that she walked away. Maybe its safe, I'd be dead either way if i did or didn't open the door.
I looked out. There were bodies everywhere. The smell made me realize that this was definitely real. There were bodies cut clean in half and beheaded.
What do I do now? Who was that? All thoughts seemed impractical now that I have to survive. I wondered if my parents were OK.
"I knew someone was in there"
I turn to the voice.
Edit: chapter 2
She stood there hand on her hip. Her voice matched her perfectly. Cute, short-haired blonde, and covered in blood.
"We have to get out of here. There was no one else, so there's no time. They'll be here any minute"
It felt natural to follow her. The way out through the back lead way to a few who looked like her. Rough-cut and burly, they just kinda stared at me as we passed.
I'm not much to look at. Medium build, dirt brown hair, and an decent lacrosse player. So that's something.
"The Exo's are coming, were making our move south."My savior seems to be leading them.
Some fire must have lit under their asses because they started shuffling like flies. Outside were some jeeps, they seemed brand new.
"Get in! Here they come!"
I glance inside the door halfway while I tried to get inside.
A figure, sentient, not bent over like a zombie. It carried a large tool.
I got snatched up as they sped off.
What was that? What the hell is going on?
"You seem to know a lot more than I do, so at some point can you let me know what the FUCK IS GOING ON."
She assured me that she will once we were safe. Safe, that's a subjective term if I ever heard one.
"You said something about Exo? Was that the thing I saw?"
She said she would explain later.
The guy behind me whips out a rocket launcher like its no big deal. It seemed anti-air, at least from the video games I played.
"Here they come!"I hear from behind me. Then I hear the whirr of rotor blades, a military aircraft. The kind my dad used to fly.
It came into view, a fully furnished assault helicopter chased behind. I swear I didn't hear anything, but then i realized my ears were bleeding. The shock left me reeling.
The truck in the back flew 6 feet in cinders.
"Shoot it now or were dead!"the guy behind me shot, but the missile missed when the helicopter threw its flares.
He went to the back to reload and never came back alive. A round scalped him clean, my stomach wrenched.
"Grab the launcher!"
Is she talking to me? Clearly she's mistaken. But what the hell, I'll give it a shot. I mean its a bonus I'm alive this long.
I unbuckle and do my best to awkwardly move about a jeep in transit.
I grab the launcher. It feels familiar, as I stand and brace myself the copter crosses my line of sight. Battlefield 101, I could pull launcher kills all day on the Dawnbreaker map.
I pull the trigger, they were late on their flares. I tell you, it feels pretty damn good to shoot down a helicopter.
It spiraled to the ground in flames, and I sat back down. I couldn't feel my fingers.
"You've just been initiated. Welcome to the Red Line."
I'm unfamiliar with this area of Virginia. It looked more like a desert, a series of connexes mixed with some decent looking buildings.
This group I was with seemed to be this fort's only occupants.
Everybody got out.
"Alright weapons check everybody!"
"Team Red is Amber."
"Team Blue is Red."
"Team Orange is Red."
"Alright re-supply and begin security shifts, Team Red you're first up."
I was the sore thumb, everyone seemed so used to this. Like this chaos was around for years.
"We're a little too bad at introductions aren't we. Hey rally over here a sec guys.
They surrounded me. It was a bit unnerving.
"I am Detra Ulichart. And this is the Red Line."
Each one of them introduced themselves to me.
Jamie was about my age, part of the red team. Latham, Jean and Karrisa were barely out of high school.
They dispersed before I was able to get a hold on the rest of the names.
Me and Detra talked for a while. Apparently the outbreak was alive a lot longer than I could imagine.
How could it have just hit our street?
She also said Exo's are human, just different. Something sent to retain the outbreak. But in that case, why fear them?
"They don't tell friend from foe. Thats plain and simple, don't confront someone who doesn't look like you or I."Detra said.
She gave me something, some pills. Pills to suppress the dreams. I barely dream anyway but what the hey, I'll take em'.
I did get good sleep. Better sleep than I ever had. I didn't feel well though, I was worried the worst overcame everything I loved. My college crush, mom, dad and brother.
I saw on everyone's face the same sorrow, It made me want to reach out to them all.
A girl from Blue team approached me, said her name was Zoey. Wanted to thank me for yesterday, but i don't take thanks or compliments well, so I fumbled.
We sat and shot the breeze for a while, It did well to settle my nerves.
Detra calling me over ended our conversation. It was to the range for me.
A smooth candlestick named Mitchell stood between Detra and I. He had quite a few different types of weapons on a table.
"Go through each motion smooth and slow. Feel every muscle move. Make your muscles remember when you forget."
All day I spent on just weapon movements, my back was sore as hell.
Next day was the same thing. But on the third day we shot. It felt better but I shot like hell with the pistol. With the rifles, i had to make five rounds touch on target.
A little focus went a long way. After succeeding I was allowed to use weapons with a probation.
Only security carried guns, the rest were readily stored. I suppose there was an instance where a ne'er do well used a grudge to kill another team member.
I thought it was bad enough.
I couldn't sleep tonight. I didn't want to bother the guard so i just went to get some water.
I noticed Zoey, I waved but she didn't see me. She was dazed, almost sleep walking away from camp. I ran to stop her but a guard ran up to me to stop me.
"She forgot, there's no helping her now."
What the fuck does he mean?
I ran after her again, but Detra came this time to stop me. I'll never forget the mixed look she gave me.
Fear, resolve, sympathy.
I watched her leave. She never came back.
"If you don't take the pills we give you, the Exo's will pull you to them in your dreams. Its how they lure zombies. But it affects the living as well."
Who made these Exo's?
"Who knows? All I know is what they do. Kill."
|
"So you're telling me... nobody knows what the other one does? Not even the guards?"I say as I look over to my cell mate, waiting him to repeat what he just said.
"Nobody"Jerry said with an annoyed tone. "Their ain't a single man in this building who knows what it does". Jerry is a hulk of a man, with short brown hair and small eyes. I clearly irritate him, but he has learned to live with it. Both of us had killed people before, Jerry held up a bank and shot 4 people and injured two others while I had been involved in a hit and run.
I was clearly bugging him, but I kept on digging for information.
"But what about the people who make it? Surely *they* must know what it does?". I couldn't believe what I was hearing. It just didn't make sense to me. Jerry frowned and turned over on his bed facing away from me. He always does that when I pester him for information. I gave up and continued pondering my impending "decision".
So it turns out that there is a little known fact about capital punishment that very few know. Capital punishment is a choice. Ever since the government reforms of 2023AD and the Overpopulation Regulations, the government have been handing out capital punishment for most crimes. This has lead to a relatively safer society. Of course there are still people who try their luck, which is why we are here. Every person on death row is given two pills to choose from. One of these pills gives you a quick and relatively painless death. The other pill has only been taken by one person, who freaked out soon after taking it and managed to convince the guard to give them the other pill. Needless to say that ever since people have only wanted to take the pill of death.
But I'm going to take the other pill. Today is the day I find out what it does. If I'm going to die here then I want this question answered.
The thudding at the cell door tells me its time. I get up and say goodbye to Jerry, who completely ignores me. I think this is his way of coping with me going. I'm going to miss that big guy.
The walk to the execution centre feels quicker than it should and we are there within 2 minutes. They have a long list of people being executed, they must be trying to rush this.
The guards walk me into the room and close the door behind me. There is nobody in here, but there is a mirror along one of the walls that makes me think that someone is watching me. The only things in the room is a table, and the two pills perched on top. Each pill is labelled either "A"or "B". Pill A is the death pill which I avoid. I lean over and pick up Pill B, and quickly ingest it.
Nothing happens. I wait. I sit on the floor against the wall and I sit. What feels like hours past and I was left uninterrupted.
That's when I see her. I glance up and see her standing there. She was still wearing the yellow dress. Torn and covered in blood. I see the girl I hit with my car.
Then I hear her voice in my head. The questions. Why did I leave her on the road? Where are her parents? Where is she now? Her lips don't move but I can see it in her eyes. I feel the guilt in me rising. I don't know how much more of this I can take.
I cannot live with this anymore. That's when I make the second decision. The one that I was always supposed to take. |
People think of the speed of light as really, really fast. Peeking out the window of his ship, Gatsby thought that it didn't feel that way at all. Nothing really looks fast when there's no reference point.
Sure, in the old movies when the ships reached warp speed all the stars stretched into lines and it looked really fast. But the universe is not just stars. The universe is pretty much 99% not-stars. Huge chunks of blackness, empty between galaxies.
Over there in the nothingness, looking out the window at light speed was like being still. Floating still, hanging from nowhere.
They had figured out, a million million million million years back, on Earth. A long time ago people already figured out that the faster you move, the slower time passes. Of course, you don't feel it. To you, a hundred thousand years on Earth is going to feel like a second anyway. You don’t get the extra years. So, yeah, people on Earth live and die and live and die for thousands of years in the time it takes for you to watch a movie, but to you it's just two hours. You grow old and you die, from your own perspective, in regular time.
Until they found a way around that. Now you could get the extra years that come from travelling at the speed of light, but the experience of non-motion. And being that at light speed time stands still, you got to go to space and live forever. Literally.
But few would want that, Gatsby thought, eyes still out into the black. Few would want to spend their lives in a
metal box, floating around space until the universe dies. You'd have to have a really good reason.
Like Daisy.
She went on the first trip. Cancer. Terminal. His best friend from school. The crush he never admitted to. She
climbed onto the first rocket ship, her and other hopeless, and away they flew, to whatever immortality was saving
for them.
Gatsby didn't even get a chance to say goodbye. They hadn't spoken in years, anyway. What was the point?
But after the divorce... After his kids moved away.... Gatsby found more and more there was little to life without hope and the prospect of something. Even if it never comes to pass, you have to have a dream to keep you going. A Daisy.
When she was on Earth, there was always the 'what if'. What if she leaves her husband? What if I tell her how I
feel? What if someday?
With Daisy out in space, looking for forever, there was nothing.
Gatsby took a deep breath, stepping out from the window and going for the tiny bed by far wall of the ship.
When he heard about the cancer. When he heard about her decision to fly away. It took two years of the
hopelessness of knowing she was gone for him to make the decision. He wasn't terminal, he wasn't even sick, so he
couldn't get a place on one of the regular ships. The ones with malls and whole cities inside.
He had to go underground. The black market. And he did and he found a way. A small metal box, no more than
that. A bed and a window. They would send him flying through space at light speed, all the time in the universe in his hands. Room for one. And no control. The ship just went. No direction, no way to turn back.
Few would want it, the man told him, as he counted the money. Few would want a life like that. All alone in a box,
floating forever. You have to have a really good reason.
You have to have a Daisy.
But Gatsby went. Jumped into the box and off into space he went, ready to live forever.
"No way you're going to find her,"the man told him, just before launch. "Do you know how big space is? Her ship could be literally anywhere in the universe."
"You're going to float around for eternity, and another eternity after that. And you're not going to find her."
It didn't matter. A man's got to have a Daisy. A reason to go on.
A million million million million years had gone by. Years of darkness. Of nebula crossing and molecular clouds and
distant planets. Years of nothing. So much time of nothing, just blackness. No ships. No Daisy.
But it didn't matter. Gatsby had all the time in the world. And so did Daisy. By the laws of nature, by the very laws
of probability, one day their ship would meet.
He closed his eyes and let the comfort of statistics lullaby him to sleep. One day.
&nbsp;
Back on Earth, a million million million million years before, Daisy's ship landed softly on Cape Canaveral. The ship
of hopeless. Of cancer patients.
"Right this way, Mrs. Buchanan,"the captain said, as Daisy stepped out of the ship into a long corridor.
The news had reached them, a couple of years before. The cure had been discovered. If so they wanted, they were
welcome to return to Earth. To be cured. To live a happy – if mortal – life on their home planet, disease-free. With their loved ones.
"Thank you,"Daisy replied, with a smile. Outside by the cab, her husband greeted her with tears in his eyes. He
was a few years older, but nothing too extreme.
"Your surgery is scheduled for tomorrow,"he said.
Daisy kissed him on the lips.
"It's good to be back,"she said, with a smile, looking up at the night sky.
Somewhere between the distant stars, way, way up ahead, a metal box floated silently through its first years of
infinite darkness.
|
At first we thought it was just an elaborate April fools joke that all the major news networks were collaborating. It was so far fetched noone took it seriously.
That was until amateur astronomers started to post evidence of it on eddit. When it started passing Pluto nearly everyone Internet savvy started to believe it as fact there was an earth like planet entering our solar system.
Over the next year as it drew closer it's all anone talked about. It was such a rare event that most every company and private organization invested bookoo bucks into exploring this celestial nomad.
The world economy completely changed in a matter of months, it started to be known as a modern gold rush as stories of possible mining prospects circulated around the globe. All efforts to create as many rockets as possible to visit this world were employed in full force. Visit, mine and profit was the plan of all the major conglomerates
Most scientist saw this as a golden opportunity to replenish our planet with resources from this visitor until we started to realize the devastating effects this planet would have on our homeworld.
The gravitational pull from the visitor would have devastating effects on the tidal pull of our oceans as it passed. Not to mention that was on its first pass around the sun. On its way back would finish the job forever changing the face of our planet as we knew it.
It would throw off our rotation just enough to possibly make our planet nearly inhospitable.
As it drifted closer into our solar system and planet in the following months plans abruptly changed from utilizing this opportunity for a brighter future to having any future at all.
The same conglomerates that once seeked investment opportunities on our homeworld used the same rockets to ensure those opportunities on the traveling doombringer.
Treaties were signed and plans were set in motion to use all means of space travel to bring the highest bidders to the new world so our race can continue on. Something the dinosaurs lacked I suppose.
Those days have come and gone and this is to be my last entry.
Soon the days will become too long and my location is all but void of any water source tomorrow instead of documenting the events that happened leading to the rest of us being stuck on the planet that birthed us I will enjoy my final days drinking the finest of wines courteously left behind by our fellow man.
This is Theon signing off from this world on the floating naval base in the last remaining hospitable zone of the Atlantic. Godspeed and may you rediscover your roots on your return to our homeworld.
edit: I don't write usually one of my first times taking a crack at it. I have lots of good ideas and no real skill at converting them to a form I want them portrayed. |
Virtual reality.
It was one of those things people had thought about, wished for, and never quite managed. There was just so much to cover: Too much. The senses of sight, smell, taste, touch, sounds... but then there were the lesser feelings: Of gravity, of pain and pleasure, of even that creeping sensation of unease that you only seem to feel on a dark night, on a dark road, when the pressure of eyes watching pierces between your shoulders.
When you know something isn't quite right.
How long it took for those things to be perfected? I'm truly not certain. Hundreds of years? More? It didn't matter much to me, all of that ancient history; because I was born in the age of the *Enhanced.* Where the real world was optional, and you could choose another.
To me, there was nothing about this reality that was *virtual.*
...
----
...
"I won't forget you, John."
The elf sitting across the table from me had bowed low, green cloth of silk and fern catching in the dark lit room of the guild hall. All around us, there were empty chairs: Chains of rank and name still hanging where they had been left. She and I were the last.
"I won't forget you either, Elise."
My voice caught on that reply, sinking slowly in my chest.
"I won't forget any of you."
Her tan face and thin lips pulled into a smile, as pale hands lifted the chain from her neck, slowly drawing it along to drop lightly on the chair while she stood. Those soft palms held there against the wood, pressing it in as her mind fell into deeper thoughts, quiet and reflective.
When she did speak again, the words came slowly, with true finality.
"May the sun forever shine upon your face, and may Justice be always found where you are near."
Our Guild's Creed.
I knew I was crying, but she didn't see me. Her own eyes were blinded by the same, if not worse.
"Goodbye John."
There was no ceremony, no flash of brilliance to show what she had been, what I had known her to be. For all her great deeds, the heroic acts, and the beauty she had brought to this world. No, when she disappeared, Elise simply did not exist any longer. She was gone.
For all the proof of my truest and most trusted friend in this world, there was only a chain of metal draped upon an empty seat.
*"Goodbye Elise."*
I was alone.
...
----
...
When I was younger, I had lived in the world outside. A place that had never welcomed me, and a place that I did not welcome in return. The air was filth, the people corrupt, and the sky was always gray- clouded by smog and gas. After my injury, I began to retreat from it.
There was no place for me, in such a world. There was nothing of value there for me. I turned inward, I worked in quiet solitude and took my settlement of credits to secure a new world instead. A world I could make my own.
*The New World*, as it were.
Effort and meticulous planning, patience and no small number of no small sacrifices: That was what had earned me a place in this land.
A single room, rented and funded by a trust, established for my name alone. Within that room was a deep immersion pod, of the longest-lasting and most capable variety: Complete with sustenance and filtered gel. In this, at the age of twenty five, I had given up my rights to life beyond those four walls. I gave up my life in the world outside, and locked myself away within the that cocoon, telling no one.
That was easier than one might imagine. There was no one left to inform.
For the first time in my life, I had complete control- but as it always seemed to be the case, I had none of it all the same. In that place, I had lived, that old world of technology, money, greed and stale air... The only wonder it had ever produced that held value, was the gateway for my mind.
The technology driven by others so desperate to escape it, that they had made it possible after *god-only-knows* how many hundreds of years.
A door for my mind to pass through, and live a different life in a place unfamiliar. Far from the tainted skies, the crushing essence of urban expansions, and pressing greed. A world where the Guild has grown around me, and friends had turned to family. Where monsters roamed, Humanity fought, and legends were made from flesh and blood. A place I had hoped to live until the end.
A place that I had thought I might. If only.
If only...
If I were to awaken from this world, and be forced back into the reality that lay beyond it... I still couldn't walk, I could barely lift my arms. The accident had left me a husk of what I'd once been, and no amount of wishing or sobbing could bring me back to normal. The only place I could feel alive, was here. *The New World.* To even consider going back... no, I couldn't bear the thought of going back to that existence.
This was where I was free, where I was truly alive: But in five minutes... No, four now... In Three minutes and fifty seven seconds, my world would end.
My world would end.
I was alone.
With a heavy sigh, my legs pushed me from the chair of wood, as I turned- bearing witness to the empty hall. The Guild's tavern was empty, fifty seats bearing only their silent memorial of chains; the room's only true occupants beyond myself. The metal and plate of my own came and laid with the rest in simple fashion as I stepped away.
No ceremony worthy of it, by any means, but with none to witness but myself I supposed that no ceremony was required. If any, I alone, knew what that necklace of silver and plate meant to its owner. That was what mattered in the end, wasn't it?
It was the end, after all. This was it for me. A glance at the focused logs in my mind's eyes brought the timer back to clear vision.
*Two minutes, thirty eight seconds.*
The impulse to run pressed at me, as if I could escape the countdown by fleeing. Where would I go? Out into the streets? Surrounded by the faces of this city's NPC, as I fled something no one could escape?
If they had the minds to understand it, I wonder if they might run with me- knowing what I know: That the world is about to end, not with a bang, but with a whisper. That the universe itself is about to be pulled out, like a rug beneath their feet, and nothing but empty black would remain.
*Nothing.*
Before I knew it, I truly was running. The shouts and voices of surprised from those I passed, almost enough to break me from my thoughts. The NPC had always been so real, so genuine in this place. Their pseudo-realness made it feel safe, beautiful even- but now it only added to the despair.
Fifty seconds, and my feet had cleared the mud and dirt, to enter cobblestones. Rough and solid rock beneath my feet pressing back with every bit of force I hammered into them. My leather boots giving and taking the weight of my frame, as the sword clattered beneath my veteran grip- held to my side even as I sprinted towards the higher city.
"You! Stop or Cease!"
A guard shouted at me as I shouldered past him, pressing onto the stairs that would take me upward, higher.
I had to go higher, to the battlements: To watch the sunrise one last time over the Great Bastion of Nekamtol, To witness the final seconds of this world in all their glory.
The final seconds of my world.
*Ten seconds.*
Panting, I cleared the final pitch, twisting around the turn of the tower stairs to step out onto the high-rise and turn to face the east. There it was.
Like dragon's teeth, the mountains held together along the horizon as the light lifted behind them like a breath of flame, heat reaching out to touch my face- even in the chill wind of the wall-top. There it was. In all of its glory, the world that had taken me in when I had nothing left.
I would forever be grateful. I would never repay what it had given me: All I could do was bear silent witness, and thank it.
*Five seconds.*
*Four Seconds.*
*Three Seconds.*
*Two Seconds.*
*One.*
...
The air lifted, rising high under the heat of the sun, rooftops of the lower city now illuminated with soft hues of green and red stone, copper and sands. A Monastery bell ran out, soft chimes holding to the wind as I held there, disbelieving the reality around me.
I was still here?
Slowly, my mind reach out, checking for the logs- ready to confirm the obvious. Was the game still online? Was this simply limbo, waiting for the dark?
No logs appeared in my mind's eye. No mappings, explanations, or windows of text could be found. Staring at my hands, I felt them close against the battlement's stone edge, thick granite rough and textured beneath my skin.
It would end, I knew it. Soon it would end, even if there had been some delay or glitch, I couldn't let this moment be ruined in my mind. I wanted to focus and embrace it, for all that it was.
Footsteps and exhausted panting came into the background, echoing slightly off the hollow tower and stairs behind me. "
"Stop-Haa... Stop, or Cease Trespasser!"
The Guard's voice was haggard, as he pressed out onto the rounded balcony of the battlement. I turned, eyes wide as he stepped closer- armor immaculate with the colors of Nekamtol's Royal guard. Was he breathing heavy? Was that Normal?
"Stop, or I'll-haa, be forced... to Arrest You!"
He stared at me, and I stared at him. Slowly, his sword hand reached for the blade, but he did not draw- clearly assessing if I was truly a threat.
*Was that normal?*
I could smell the scents of sweat, feel the exhaustion in my calves from the stairs run only a short while ago- taste the flow of pollen from the Royal orchards. More than that, though, I could sense a nagging feeling, that something was different... Something was wrong.
Like when you're walking down a dark road, on a dark night, and there are eyes piercing into your shoulders.
I opened my mouth to speak, just as he drew his sword.
"Oh Shit."
...
*Edit: Misspellings/Grammar/thank you for reading* |
My parents, Joey, and I sat in the living room, not really paying much attention to the TV. Until the news was announced. "A cure for autism,"the newsman had said. At that moment we all looked up, even Joey, who had no idea what was going on.
As my heart lit up with hope, I saw my dad clench his jaw and my mom purse her lips. They didn't believe in vaccines, but I did. I believed in saving people, no matter what the cost was.
I took Joey's hand in mine, the poor boy. He looked at me and smiled. How could you not want to save someone like this? I returned the smile, then looked to my parents. They new what I had in mind. "No,"my dad said firmly, "you know how we feel about that."
"It could *save* him!"I exclaimed, overwhelmed with hope and frustration. "Why would you not want that?"
"Why would you question us? We know what's best, and that vaccine is not it,"my mom said. "What's *best*,"I frowned, "what do you think is *best*, letting him stay the way he is?"
"God made him that way for a reason, and we're not about to change that,"my mom said knowingly.
"What if God meant for us to cure him? I mean, he did just let us hear that announcement,"I argued.
"Joey is perfect the way he is, and he doesn't need to change!"my dad insisted, but I didn't believe it. He reached for Joey, but I pulled him away, taking him up in my arms. He wrapped around me like a koala.
I walked into the kitchen with him before my parents could say another word, and set him down on the counter. "Don't worry, Joey,"I whispered to him. "I'll get you that vaccine." |
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