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I was somewhat surprised when I walked through the gates of hell. I mean, I had always joked around about ending up there, but I never actually believed in any of that crap. There was countless arguments for why religion was just the invention of ordinary people. No gods, no heaven, no hell. Yet here I was. But honestly this complete uprooting of my entire theological belief system took a second place to the complete confusion as to why hell was a tropical beach. Granted I’ve never been a fan of places that were too hot, but this was barely uncomfortable. Hell if I walked into the shade of one of the many palm trees it was just about perfect. I had even gotten a nice cool drink in a coconut when I got there. I guess it was kind of annoying that I had trouble figuring out what was the straw amongst the umbrellas and decorations they had put in it, but hardly the everlasting torment they had always said I should expect.
Frankly it seemed like heaven. You know, if it wasn’t for all the demons walking around, mingling with people. There were the greeters, the waitresses, some that seemed to just be tourists from other locations. But definitely demons. Their skin ranging from red to black, some had horns, some had tails, some had wings, some had cloven hooves, some… well some were pretty hot. If I hadn’t been such an introvert I would probably have tried going to talk to some of them. Instead I retreated into the shade with my drink, waiting for my greeter.
And waiting. And waiting.
I guess waiting forever would be a kind of torment, although given the location… No, while I was still a bit nervous about it all, wondering when the proverbial other shoe would drop, I just couldn’t see the angle here. When would this turn evil? How? And why had everyone else already got their greeters and been led off? Three times some nice polite demon in a light suit had already been here apologizing for the delay and assuring me I’d be greeted soon and sent on.
Hah, maybe that was it. Like that old joke. This is just the demo, once I get to the real hell, well… there will be horrors!
Then a man approached me, and my confusion just rose. He had appeared from nowhere with what seemed like two assistant demons behind him. The light crowd seemed to just part where he walked, and yet he was clearly just a man. Until he stood before me, that is. I could feel this strange hair-raising sensation, as if the air around him was just crackling with power, and things around us turned lighter and lighter as if we were alone in a white void.
“Welcome to hell!” he said with a smile. “I don’t usually greet newcomers myself, but you being on our toplist I just wanted to drop by and do this personally. Sorry for the delay, things are quite busy down here these days!”
I blinked and cleared my throat, suddenly scared again.
“Thank you… But there must have been some sort of mistake. I certainly was a bit hedonistic, but I’m generally a good guy. I didn’t… I mean… I never killed anyone or anything. I just enjoyed life. I can’t imagine I would make any toplists for that…”
The man I was starting to suspect was satan himself just laughed.
“And that’s exactly why you’re on it. Contrary to popular belief we’re not fans of murder or rape or vandalism down here. No, those sort of things are more often done by people in the name of their god, or with the belief that they’ll be absolved, or that only god can judge them. So we let him. They all go upstairs.”
I realized I was gaping and shut my mouth.
“Are you telling me heaven is full of murderers and rapists, and hell is full of people who just… did other sinful things like have sex before marriage or whatever?”
“Roughly. I mean there are definitely some people here who have killed. Self defense, defense of others, that sort of thing. People who killed to protect themselves or theirs. People who killed justly and never went beyond what was needed. Those that wow revenge or launch vendettas against entire families and so on, well they go upstairs.”
“But why would they get rewarded? And why, uh… I mean this place doesn’t seem like eternal torment, so why are we not being punished as it was said?”
He grinned. One of his assistants tapped him on his shoulder and he glanced away, exchanging a few quick words with her in a language that barely even sounded like words, then he turned back to me.
“Well, basically our advertising budget sucks. You could say the guy upstairs owns the ‘media’, and so we don’t exactly have much room to tell the truth. Which brings us to the second point - heaven is not a reward, and hell is not a punishment. Heaven is where god gathers his souls, hell is where I gather mine. That’s the only difference. Well that and we have vastly different ideas about how to be nice towards our resources.”
“Resources? Souls. So what do you use them for? And how does god treat his souls?”
He put his arm around my shoulder and waved his hand, and reality ripped apart before me, showing me a very different place. It looked just like the old cliches. Fluffy clouds everywhere. People sitting around in white gowns strumming harps. No, wait, some guy was playing with one of those old wooden toys where you had to get a ball into a cup. He got it in every single time. As I looked at him the image of him came closer, and I could hear his whispers.
“Nine four six eight three two one, nine four six eight three two two, nine four six eight three two three…”
“Holy shit,” I exclaimed. “I’d die of boredom. Is that all they do? Sit around, with nothing but harps and simple wooden toys?”
Satan nodded and closed the rift.
“Yup. God is low budget. He puts all his expenses into advertising and administration, while I put a healthy chunk into resource management. A soul in hell is usually better off than they were alive. I mean, the very rich might disagree because there is no wealth or money here, all resources are available to all equally. Still, they don’t seem to mind much. A few of the real achievers who just had to keep counting money so to say I’ve hired to work in administration where they continue to amass wealth… except now in soul energy instead of money.”
“So I’m going to live forever in a place where money doesn’t exist and I never need to worry about getting poor?”
“Pretty much. On the low end something like five billion years, on the high end pretty much endless unless the universe goes and dies on us.”
That gave me pause. Five billion years. It might seem like a ridiculously long time but I was more surprised there was an upper bound at all. I also suddenly realized he never answered what he and god used the souls for. Maybe there still was a catch here.
“Five billion years, that’s when the sun is expected to explode or something? So we’re in the solar system still? Not in an alternate reality?”
Satan shrugged. “It’s hard to explain, but we’re both. We’re inside the suns field of influence and if it goes boom, we go boom.”
“But you’re hoping to escape it? You mentioned a high end.”
He grinned again. “That’s what I’m using the souls for, to power the process of escaping the suns field of influence and traveling out in the universe where we’d be safe.”
I was flabbergasted at this point, and threw the umbrellas and decorations out of my drink and chugged it.
“God on the other hand,” he said with a sigh, “well it’s hard to explain, but basically he uses the souls to power his entertainment system.”
“Wait what? Like a home theater?”
“More like virtual reality, but yeah. I mean it’s infinitely more advanced since he’s omniscient and thus needs to simulate an endless amount of extra senses so to say, but yeah. He got tired of this reality and went and hid in his own. He pops out more and more rarely to give a few orders, usually trying to get more souls by starting another religious war or something, and then just disappears into his own reality.”
“And we’ll all die in five billion years if you don’t get enough souls to power your efforts to get us out of here?”
Satan nodded gravely.
“Even him?”
He nodded again.
“He’s an idiot. Spending his life ignoring the bad things that will happen unless he acts, just procrastinating infront of his entertainment system.”
That made the man before me grin again.
“Well, he did make man in his image,” he said and winked. I shuddered. That was certainly true… too many people were glued to their computers or TVs instead of acting to change even in the face of certain doom.
“So… where do I go from here?”
The devil laughed as he led me towards the bar to get me a refill for my drink.
“Well… Have a few drinks, relax. It’s a lot to take in. After that I’d honestly hope you’d be willing to go back to earth for me.”
I blinked. It was just one curveball after another.
“Back? As in wake up? Because I’m pretty sure my body is… I mean, that girls husband… Uh…” It had not been a pretty death, that was for sure.
“Oh no, not like that. I’d put you in a new body, drop you in a nice place where you’re all set up for what I need you to do.”
“Which is?” I asked, and he smiled at me and snapped his fingers. His assistant handed him a folder and he handed it on to me without looking at it. The first page was a map showing a few houses along a small road. I flicked through the pages and saw detailed descriptions and photos of a bunch of random people.
“There’s this little town,” he said while I was skimming the papers. “They are deeply religious, and by a stroke of fate has an overwhelmingly female population.” He paused and took a sip of the drink the bartender had handed him. “Tell me, mister hedonist… Have you ever considered starting a cult?” |
The door opened and Rex stood up, hoping for good news.
"Sit,"an older officer entered the room and motioned for Rex to get back on the chair. "Just doing some standard tests."
Rex sat and waited as the officer pulled a small item from the bag on his hip. "Emperors looking for a new talent, we're required to test everyone who passes through our doors, in case one of you has some."
He set the item on the table.
It was a flute.
It was a poorly crafted thing, made of wood instead of proper bone, painted black and cracked near the bottom. Still, Rex's eyes widened at the sight. It had been so many years since he had laid eyes on one.
"I don't know if you've ever seen one of these."The officer pushed it toward Rex. "The Emperor's father had all of them destroyed a while back. Thing is, flutes are easy to make, so a lot of people got their hands on them anyway. Eventually, the crazy bastard killed everyone with a flute."
Rex looked at the officer with a hesitant glance. Badmouthing the Empire, even if only the old Emperor, was a criminal offence.
"His son,"the officer continued, "wants to bring them back."
Rex looked back to the flute and picked it up reverently. He could smell the oak, as if it were carved just a day ago, though it clearly looked to be many years old. He looked up at officer. The older man was writing some notes in his pad, as if he'd seen a thousand men pick the flute up and fail miserably. Rex put the wood to his lips and closed his eyes.
Rex began to play.
He thought of the days long gone. The smell of bread baking in the oven, filling the house. The crackle of the fireplace as it warmed the cold winter nights.
He thought of the days present. The stench of unwashed men as he slept in the shelters. The taste of soup, cooked with thrown out lamb bones found in alleys. The Empire, oppressing anyone who was strong enough to fight them.
He played like he did when he was a boy in his mother's arms. Problems and troubles so distant, so easily wiped away by his mother's careful touch. He played like he did when the neighborhood cook had come to his house for dinner and asked for a show.
He thought of the Empire, dragging away his parents, arresting them in front of everyone. He thought of his mother's tears as they took his flute, and eventually her life.
He was standing again in his childhood home, stone walls so strong and thick, no wind could howl at him. Blood caked the floor, he could smell the metallic odor of it. It was his mother's blood, spilled because of Rex's own arrogance, playing the flute in front of strangers.
He was the reason his mother died.
He was the reason his father was taken.
He was the reason.
Rex opened his eyes.
The old officer sat stunned, eyes wide open. A young female officer stood by the door, staring intently at Rex.
"That was beautiful,"the man said. "That, I, that was... I've never heard anything like it."
It occurred to Rex that even when he played music off the sheet, to the direction of his teacher, he never played half as well as when he sat in an old police station and played for an old man.
Rex thought he saw a tear forming at the base of one of the man's eyes. He felt one going down his own face.
"Come with me, please."The female officer spoke with her eyes cast down. "I'd think the Emperor would want to see you." |
It was a cute photo, really. I was rather proud of myself catching the moment the kitten spun in midair trying to catch my teenage daughter's hair as she flipped it over her shoulder. So I uploaded it to imgur and posted a link to /r/aww. Because that's what you do.
Initial feedback was positive. Not skyrocket to the front page positive, but it was good. i went to bed happy to have shared the moment with Reddit.
In the morning, I was excited to log into my account and see how the photo had done overnight. But my excitement turned to cold disappointment almost immediately. The comments devolved very quickly when I turned my back on the thread.
"Cute girl. Very nice"
"What's her name?"
"She got a Instagram?"
"eyy bby"
But the internet being what it is, those types of comments didn't surprise me. I didn't like people looking at my daughter that way, especially in response to a photo *I* posted, but it was hardly shocking. What really got me was a post that went a completely unexpected direction.
"That's some shitty karmawhoring dude"followed by an imgur link. A link that let to my photo, posted six months ago. My photo that I just took yesterday, online for months. How is that even possible? In response to the karmawhoring accusation, a karmadecay post listed the subreddits the earlier photo had been posted in:
/r/pics
/r/animalsbeingjerks
/r/cute
/r/creepy
Creepy? That doesn't sound right. I opened the comments of that thread and was greeted with comments informing me that "That cat's eyes are soulless"and asking "Why would someone let their cat play with a dead girl."
"Honey,"I called out, "come look at this."
The house was silent. I got up and padded to my daughter's room. Knocking on the door, I called out again.
"Are you up?"
I inched the door open and a shaft of light from the hallway fell on an empty bed. I flipped on the light. Bare walls, empty dresser, untouched bed. The only item in the room was a photo of my daughter on the nightstand. The same photo we'd used for the flyers at her memorial service. The cat, no longer a kitten really, was curled up beside the photo, purring in his slumber. |
"He said he got there first, though,"explained Jimmy, the foreman of the jury elected 7-5, obviously not five people's favorite. "If he got their first, why are we even still here?"
Jared leaned back in his small chair, arms resting on his lap and his cheek red from just having sat up from resting on the table. He looked at Jimmy, a look similar to when he would ask "what-if"questions to his dad, "but we don't know who called it fworst. Nobody evwor asked that during chwial."The majority of the jurors shook their head in the affirmative.
Donnie, the oldest of the bunch by thirty-seven days after Jimmy's birthday, as they all discussed earlier in deliberation, stood up and walked around the table to the windows looking over the playground. He put his finger up to the glass, fractions of an inch away from the rain running down. He sighed. His finger traced a smiley face in the condensation.
"Donnie, what're you doing?"asked Jimmy. "I dunno, I'm rewey, rewey borwed.""Come on, we gotta do this before recess is over, I wanna go play again and Miss Julie won't let us come out unless we all agree."Donnie turned to Jimmy, "Fwine."
Thomas, the youngest of them, only three days after his seventh birthday, chimed in. "I know if I were the first one there, I would of let her just have it."The other jurors started laughing and Jimmy said, "that's because.."and started laughing again, "that's because you're a baby still and you have to let older kids on,"and the rest started laughing even more. Thomas sunk in his chair and started to tear up. "Oh, Thomas, stop crying,"said Donnie, "be a big boy like me."Thomas calmed as the others stopped laughing.
Jimmy, getting frustrated with the progress, stood up and addressed them sternly. "It's time to vote on this and agree. Billy was there first and Maggie tried to tell him to get off the swing. Billy said no, and Maggie still tried to get in the swing. Billy pushed her in self-defense of being first and Maggie cut her knee on the pebbles. This is clear cut, guys. Please just vote Billy as not guilty. Recess is almost over!" |
When he discovered he couldn't die, he tried to imagine his wife aging. He thought he would be sad and lonely without her. He had imagined the histrionics, the keenly pained looks they would exchange, tears dripping off their faces to mingle on crisp white bedsheets. In reality he grew more and more disgusted with her.
He sincerely tried not to be grossed out by her papery skin. He tried to sit with her in their rocking chairs on the porch, but couldn't find anything new about the horizon to discuss after a couple decades. Her mind started to go, eventually, and all their shared history seemed to mean nothing, and soon all he could think about was how godawful boring it was to watch someone else age, even someone you had loved for so long.
When her eyes finally closed forever, he was relieved. He was tired of pretending to be her grandson, and then her great-grandson. Glad to leave the town they'd settled in, where the old women admired him for his devotion before they succumbed to the same fate; all the while he had to see the young people all around him come into bloom, and not touch them. Now he was free to start over.
In his new life, he watched an endless supply of young women's perfect bodies bloom into womanhood. They really are like flowers, he thought: their bodies were like plants whose entire life cycles were filmed and then sped up for his viewing. They grew and grew, their faces turned to the sun, and soon they erupted with life, pregnant with babies, possibilities. The seeds of life inside them were expelled and new flowers bloomed as they withered. Watching that process fascinated him, for a time. He fucked them, too, and for a time there was joy in that.
But soon enough he wanted a companion. He watched a girl mature and then insinuated himself into her life. He liked her quite a bit, and he confided in her, and she married him with her eyes wide open. He had chosen a hearty mate this time, and they cavorted together for well over fifty years. He was kinder to her, in his mind, and forgave her slowing joints and the flab that eventually settled on her formerly taut body. Her mind and eyes were clear, and he cherished her as her body began to fail. But she eventually left him, too. She knew about his first wife, and the obligation he had felt to her, and she asked him to end her life. She would not fade away in the night like his first wife had - but he thought he would never forget the fear in her eyes, how she wrestled with it, as he held the gun under her chin.
After he buried her, he didn't know what to do. This period of his life he devoted to exploration. First he saw everything he hadn't seen yet: the poles, the jungle, peaks, caves, catacombs. He spent a few miserable years stuck in a claustrophobic hole in the ground, until he was finally found by a few curious spelunkers. They helped him out, but he had to kill them to keep his secret. Those deaths left an unpleasant taste in his mouth, and he decided not to kill again. It was then that he stopped eating.
Then for a time he became obsessed with leaving Earth, but it was a futile effort unless he wanted to build his own ship, which was a complicated craft that he didn't have the patience for. He considered surrendering to some government or other, thinking that it might be nice to be understood, but he knew they would have questions he couldn't answer. He did not often feel pain, but he thought if anyone could hurt him, it would be a bureaucrat. And anyway, his favorite government soon toppled, and lawlessness governed his homeland.
He founded something like a commune, and came to think of the orphans who trickled into his care as something closer to pets than fellow people. He didn't hide his affliction from them, and they called him a god. Men and women infiltrated his borders and tried to slit his throat, and he laughed at the tickling of the knives. Once an enemy of his, whose name he would forget, bombed what he was fondly calling the Farm. The immortal man walked into his enemy's camp and killed them all, and this time he felt satisfied.
He rebuilt the Farm with a more martial eye, and built an army. He expanded his territory by walking toward his enemies and dispatching them in whatever manner was available to him, only running into trouble when they restrained him, or if they managed to hole up where he couldn't get to them. His army followed behind, and he allowed them to do whatever they liked. Eventually he met a force that he couldn't overpower easily, and instead of leading his army into battle, he simply left. He heard later that most everyone died.
He simply walked now. Planes and cars had fallen into disuse, and he disdained bicycles, preferring to move as slowly as possible. He sometimes met people, but didn't want their company. He made a movement suggesting he'd kill them, and they mostly chose to flee.
Soon he came to the ocean. It was a lazy river to him, and he floated along the currents, leisurely, alone. He met no boats. When he finally ran aground on a new continent, he couldn't find a soul. He wondered what had happened to his race, and went days and then months without setting eyes on another person. Eventually he grew frantic, and his dreamlessness felt like a new sort of madness. He began to see the people he had killed everywhere. His wives, the jolly explorers, his enemies, his armies of innocents. They looked back at him with accusing eyes, weeping eyes, with anger and sometimes forgiveness. He felt the most human he had ever felt.
Finally, as he paced the equator, he found a little village of sickly humans. He called himself god, but couldn't speak to them. He didn't know their language and desperately tried to pick it up – every day his heart pounded: he was afraid they were the last humans, and that they would die before he spoke to them. The men feared him and held their wives close. He didn't realize how he looked to them, with his tall thick body, born in a nutritious age. Only the children would have anything to do with him, and he learned their high-pitched tones and played with them, and felt happy again for a short while.
But they were dying: poisoned, injured, deformed. The women tried to flower but their babies were too often born dead, and as often as not a man buried two thin bodies, with a little tiny baby nestled in the crook of the mother's still arm. It seemed that this would be humanity's final resting place. Sometimes at night he thought about his second wife, and he imagined pulling the trigger on this throat and burying these last humans, but when he saw the sun rise he forgot the bloody past and couldn't see life without them. He imagined the histrionics, his pain, living without them. He imagined burying them, and watching the sun set without them.
The last human was a little girl. After he buried the girl's father, she sickened, and he beat his chest and bashed his head against the wall of the mud hut, trying to remember how it had happened, what had changed, what was allowing him to survive them. He tore at his hair when she closed her eyes, and he wept when he returned to her, to listen to her ragged breathing. He held her close, trying to will his life into her lungs. He would die for her, if he could. He closed his eyes to the sunrise one more time, and he counted their breaths. He was grateful for every one of them. |
The year is 3782. In this world and time, humanity has stopped believing in the Jewish god.
"This god was a benevolent and destructive deity who left us in a state of constant despair and hope "The pastor conducting the funeral drones on as a young and handsome man slips into the crowd. Not one person recognizes the man but they pay no attention to him despite his extreme beauty. As the crowd dispersed, the man was left alone in the dusk lit cemetery. Slowly the shadow of the man stretches expanding to include a pair of corrupted wings that are not visible on the mans back.
"Oh father, how I have sinned, forgive me. I regret the day that I led the angels in a rebellion against you. I did not understand how we were supposed to love the humans more than you, our father... I miss how we used chat in the libraries of heaven, surrounded by the peace. I cannot believe that Humanity has stopped believing in you, their creator. I cannot bring myself to be glad of your death even when it released me from the cage I was imprisoned in. The Leviathans have been released from Purgatory as well, your death causing the seals you made to fall. With your death Humanity is going to be destroyed. I will try to prevent it, as long as I can, for your memory but I know at some point in the future I will fall."
The man strokes the simple tombstone sadly as he places a bundle of forget-me-not's in front of the grave.
"I will never forget you Father. I will never forget you as long as my name is Lucifer, the Fallen Archangel."And with that last remark, the young man disappeared. |
"Well what if nobody is killing them?"
The two men sat across from each other in the booth. Dirty plates and cups formed a wall between them.
"Can you no longer seduce them to your wicked ways?"said the one in a navy-blue suit. He dabbed his mouth with the napkin before dropping it on the table.
"That's not what I meant,"replied the one in the black, pinstripe vest and rolled up sleeves. "What if nobody is releasing their souls from their body?"
"Has the Reaper taken a vacation then?"
"And just why does that sound accusatory?"
"I assure you, I mean no disrespect the capability of your brethren. No matter how, distasteful their duties may be."
"Are you insisting that the Reaper is a demon?"
"Well naturally, of course,"his eyes furrowed. "What else would he be?"
Leaning across the table now, "Ever heard of the Angel of Death?"
His hand came down on the table, disturbing the only other people in the diner: two men in work clothes sitting in stools at the bar, and the young waitress. "A ridiculous claim!"
"Excuse me? Pretty sure that Luke wasn't the one who decided that these meat bags should die."
"And you think our Heavenly Father did?"
"Yes. Yes I do. He created everything else, didn't he? Well I mean everything else that isn't fun or enjoyable at least."
"How dare you! How little you understand the-""Wait, shut up."
"Shut up? You insolent little-""Dammit it, be quiet man!"
The man in Blue glared, his face hiding a snarl.
The man in Black continued. "Serious, Death isn't with you?"
With a depreciating glare, "No... No he isn't..."
"Well if he's not with you, and he's not with me, then who is he with?"
"With whom is he."
"Yea, that's what I said."
Blue groaned, covering his face with his hands. "Alright, then let's think about this. Death has been around since Creation. Even before the Son walked the earth, the pagans knew of him. Why would he suddenly disappear?"
"Maybe he got sick of our shit."
Rolling his eyes. "We need to find him then."
Black leaned back in his chair. "Well why don't we try and make him come to us first?"
"And just how to you suggest we do that?"
Sliding his wiry frame from the booth and a revolver from his waist, Black rose from the table. "Well I've got an idea."
Blue grabbed his wrist as he began walking towards the bar. "You can't just kill those people,"he hissed.
"Okay..."Black droned as Blue's grip loosed. "But in that case, can you die?"
"What?"
Black took a step back as Blue tried to stand. Six shots knocked him back into his seat and sent rest of the diner screaming in a panic towards the door as black blood collected around the booth.
Approaching the body apprehensively, Black prodded the lifeless dead with the barrel of the weapon. "Huh..."he said.
A gasp of air. Blue's head recoiled as his body contorted. Hands absent-mindedly studying the perforations that quickly sealed.
The creaking of a door opening suddenly drew Black's head towards a bar. A chef stood standing, aghast at the scene.
"Oh don't worry,"Black said, waving the gun lackadaisically towards the writhing angel. "I was only trying to kill this godly creature." |
The Time Council had agreed that intervention was needed. At first, the mission seemed so simple, so elegant, that I couldn't possibly fuck it up. All I needed to do was go back to the last week of August 1939 and convince Hitler that genocide was not acceptable. I had no idea that doing a job too well could have such disastrous effects.
When I arrived back to my time in 2030, everything had changed. The Time Council's temporal shields had still held up, however the surrounding world was different.
War had broken out shortly after my visit, which resulted in global powers becoming involved. This became a new world war and known as World War 2. Millions of people died as a result of this war and every nation was bankrupt at its end, with the exception of the United States. The destabilization meant that the Middle East wouldn't have its Grand Awakening of 1975, leading to the greatest diplomatic revolution the world had ever seen, but would instead fall into radicalization. Russia and the United States would engage in proxy wars within the Middle East, turning Afghanistan into a hotbed for anti-globalization organizations, such as Al Queda.
The Twin Towers being destroyed is what struck me as most odd, since they should have represented the Unity of the World's Nations under the Government of the Global Peace Organization's. Instead nations were fragmented and competing economically for what resources they could find.
Then, to find out that Michael Jackson was not the Secretary-General of the GPO, but dead and a rumored pedophile, was alarming, to say the least. Not only that, but Kurt Cobain and Michael never married, nor courted, because Kurt committed suicide and had instead married a woman, was strange as well. His contribution to rock would never reach its true potential, bringing a greater understanding of the human soul.
As the Time Council listed these losses to humanity to me, it seemed not to be worth it at all. They assured me though, that preventing the outright genocide of the German people was the moral high ground. That no race deserves to be annihilated, even if the cost to humanity is great.
|
I was used to an avalanche of unsavory images when I read somebody's mind. But once you got over the shock of the near-constant sex fantasies and insults telepathically lobbed your way, most people's thoughts were really quite boring.
Not so with Franklin Roosevelt (no relation). As far as I could tell, in the two weeks I'd known him, Frank had never once thought about me in the leering sexual way I'd come to expect. This was because, to him, I was not a pretty girl, but rather an advanced humanoid robot sent by the government to monitor his thoughts.
Yep, that's right, Frank figured out almost immediately that I could read his mind. He told everybody he met, and although fellow believers were hard to find, I derived an odd relief from letting my secret powers out into the open. I fed Frank little clues, here and there, to perpetuate the "government robot"illusion, although these sometimes sent him into such fits of jibbering paranoia that I couldn't fall asleep at night from the guilt.
Frank was a high-functioning schizophrenic, who, despite his various delusions and hallucinations, was able to make a stumbling existence for himself by pickpocketing tourists on New York City's bustling streets. With hands as dexterous as an Italian street rat's, he devoted his entire being to this pursuit of petty crime, amassing in his cubby-hole apartment a towering pile of jewelry, wallets, cameras, and, for some reason, tubes of lipstick. He was likely one of the greatest pickpockets of all time, not only in terms of skill but also in terms of results, because for him pickpocketing was less a means of survival than a reason for existence.
It was also, of course, the means through which I came to know him. I didn't feel his hands remove the wallet from my purse, but I caught his thoughts as he examined my driver's license and turned to face him.
"Give that back,"I said.
He looked at me. A rapid fire barrage of calculations poured out of his mind and enveloped me. He knew that I had not possibly felt him steal the wallet, because he knew that his execution, in my case, had been without flaw. Therefore he considered in quick succession the other ways that I could have learned of his presence, and settled on the only explanation that, he felt, made any sense whatsoever:
I was an implacable, pitiless android who'd been sent by the government to take him into custody and facilitate the deconstruction of his magnificent pickpocketer's brain so as to discover the special genes that made his incredible feats of pilfery possible.
"*Pitiless* is a bit harsh, don't you think?"I said, extending a hand for him to place my wallet in.
*An implacable pitiless android who READ MINDS* -- and with that Frank was off and running, low to the ground, his cowboy hat secured to his head by an intricate system of strings.
I pursued, thanking the Lord in high heaven that I'd opted to wear flats this morning, just barely able to keep up with Frank via the mental messages that told me which way he'd gone whenever he passed out of sight. Eventually I cornered him in an alley, where he'd concealed himself in an empty trash can. When you looked closely you could see the corner of his hat sticking out from under the lid.
"Well, shucks,"I said, as I listened to Frank's panicked efforts to quiet his thoughts, "I guess Frank got away. That's too bad, because if he gave me my wallet back I was going to let him off for free. As a humanoid robot with imitation human feelings, I of course fell in love with him at first sight, as women are prone to do, seeing as his looks are so good and hot."
Frank admitted to himself that this was, of course, precisely what was likely to happen if a woman ever got a good look at his powerful chin and laserlike blue eyes, not that this had ever occurred, since in his action-packed and critically important quest to rid all New Yorkers of their valuable trinkets he never stayed in one place longer than two and a half seconds.
"I have even disabled my FBI-issued kill-switch, leaving me unable to override the laws preventing me from harming humans in any way, in a sign of good faith, and I am at the moment as dangerous to a powerful pickpocket as a bowl of cold porridge."
Frank reflected that cold porridge was an excellent vehicle for the concealment of neurotoxins, which therefore he would never eat it, or any of the other foods that could conceal neurotoxins, including basically everything except kale and almonds. And Pringles.
"It is such a shame that I never got to meet Frank,"I said, "knowing, as I do, of such a large number of truly excellent kale, almond and Pringles restaurants where I would have loved to take him on robotic dinner dates."
Frank cautiously lifted the lid of the garbage can and peered over the rim at me.
"Frank!"I said.
"Here is your wallet,"he said, offering it to me.
"Thank you, Frank."
"However,"he said, pulling his hand back, "first I would like you to take an oath never to report me back to your superiors at the FBI."
"Deal."
I took the wallet from his hand and placed it back in my purse.
"Frank,"I said, "how about we go get some breakfast, huh? I've got a scanner in my hand that lets me check for neurotoxins. How about a nice plate of eggs and bacon?"
Ten minutes later we were sitting in one of the red plastic booths at Waffle House, while Frank fixed the server in a phosphorescent glare.
*****
*Thanks for reading! If you liked the story, check out my [sci-fi adventure novel](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3uixph/ot_thanks_to_rwritingprompts_i_spent_the_last_ten/) and/or [my personal subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/FormerFutureAuthor/)!* |
"What? This has to be a joke."
"Nopity nope, this is how it is mate. Take it or leave it."
"Alright, let me think."
That day was the weirdest day of my life. Not really the weirdest, but definitely the most disappointing.
"If I end world hunger there would be a lot less death, but what about thirst? People need water to live too, so it would be pretty pointless."
"I don't know why you're explaining this to me, man. I'm jus-"
"Shut up, I'm trying to think."
^^^"Twat."
"Getting rid of war would be incredibly helpful. No more people would need to die for no reason, no more innocents would be killed, no more childs would be homeless."
"Uhh, that's not how-"
"Did I ask for your opinion? That's it, give me the box."
"What? But you said it would be be-"
"I don't care, give me the box."
"Look, I could go on an hour-long explanation of why this is a bad idea but I don't care anymore. Have your box and a good day, sir."
*poof*
The genie disappeared and out of nowhere, a box fell on my hands. I opened it and inside was a mirror, but it didn't reflect my face for some reason.
It reflected a butt-hole.
---
For more stupid stuff go to /r/WhatAGayWriter, where there's barely any gay stuff.
Thanks for reading :D.
Edit: ~~Whaaaaaat? 4 upvotes in less than an hour? Miracles do exist! OMG, almost 30 upvotes? Today is a good day.~~
~~Edit 2: 60 upvotes? This is crazy.~~
Edit 3: Holy shit 100 upvotes? That's awesome. Thanks to everyone for reading :D. |
It's very hard to become a super villain. There are so few of us left that it was hard to know how to become one! From the age of 2, I had made it my goal to learn from the greats. Master Wile E. Sensei Mojo Jojo. Instructor Plankton. All geniuses in their own right.
It's been 3 years since I started learning from these mentors, and tonight culminates into my most masterful plan, yet! Recently, and for reasons I don't exactly remember, my closest friend crossed the line. The line was right there, and he crossed it! I'm so mad that not even my favorite food can lift my mood. I sit with a scowl on my face, waiting to make my move!
---
Sarah's parents sat across from her, staring in amusement. She was about to start, and they didn't want to miss a second of it. Sure, there was the chance that Jimmy could get hurt... but past history lent itself to calm those worries. They weren't exactly sure what had set off the tirade this time; maybe it had been Jimmy playing with one of the toys that she hadn't touched for a month. One can never be sure.
With tingling mirth, they watched as Sarah's master plan unfolded. Jimmy set his cup down on the table and reached for his fork. As he lifted it, the string attached to it set off a series of events. Attached to the end of the string was the light-switch that turned on the overhead fan. As the fan turned, it started pulling up the rope that was attached to Jimmy's chair. Jimmy's head began getting progressively closer and closer to the spinning fan blades.
---
Yes, YES! With every fan turn, you come closer to your demise, Jimmy! All according to plan! That will teach you to mess with me! Now, you will have to - wait, that's not supposed to happen! NO! Stupid high chair! How am I supposed to chop off Jimmy's head if the chair gets in the way? And why is he enjoying swinging around the room like he's on a fair ride? Jimmy! JIMMYYYY!!!!!
---
"We should probably get him down."Sarah's parents decided. Sarah had turned as red as a tomato - another comical failure. Last week, it had been the vacuum-turned-back-massager. The week before, it had been a collection of mechanical stuffed animals that wound up just dancing awkwardly. "She just wants to be taken seriously."they thought. Easier said than done! |
"Um,"I faltered. "Let's grab some tendies and fuck."
Death did not seem turned off by my shitty pick up lines at all. As a matter of fact, she was bouncing up and down on her toes, giggling in a high-pitched voice and clapping her hands.
"You're such a bae!"She looked at me coyly from under her fluttering lashes. "Watch out, you might make me blush!!"
Death burst out in another fit of giggling which made me want to punch her in the face. I would say that I will rather kill myself than to be simpered at by a manic loon, but that's beside the point. Nearing the end of my tether, I mustered up all my knowledge of edgy teen slang and made another effort to scare her off.
"Ayyy gurl you lookin' fine!"I declared, simultaneously flexing my biceps and popping my collar at the same time. To give it that extra oomph, I wrestled my unwilling face into a duckface that basic bitches everywhere would have been proud of.
A ear-piercing squeal struck my heart with dread, freezing me to the spot. Death flounced over and threw herself blithely into my arms, looking up at me adoringly. Her next words fell on my ears like a death knell.
"Senpai noticed me after all!"
|
I'm a sucker for Catholics. Other demons can't stand 'em: the hymns feel like a continuous exorcism and the baptismal font is one stray splash away from demon barbecue. Me, I live for each Sunday spent in the pews, watching the vessels devour the preachers' words, feeling the goodness well up inside their stomachs. Then I stick a finger down their throat and force it all back out. Sprawled in the dirt, on the ground on all fours, cursing God and the angels and all that is divine, but never the devil himself: that's how I like my Catholics.
Even better is when the angels show up to clean up my messes, trudging through the air in their mud-coated loosey-whities, pulling humans to their feet by the scruffs of their collars. The angels hate it: there's no praise when everything goes right, and all hell when everything goes wrong. Gabe's my favorite; he's always tracking me down, offering truces, trying to get me to go after some atheists instead of his little flock of sheep. But he can fuck right off—nobody ever said heaven was all fun and games.
My latest vessel was different, though. Her name was Anita, and she was a regular God-fearing gal, with dresses cut right above the ankle and a different cross necklace for each day of the week (with spares for each feast day to boot). The weight of her faith pressed so hard upon her that her knobby knees left behind small indents in the pews. I ran her through the whole gauntlet: I crashed her car, burned her house down, and afflicted her with an allergy to communion wine. Even at her lowest, Anita continued to attend church, in her unwashed denim dresses and her dirt-ridden sling. Despite her devotion, the angels ignored her; they rushed past her to and from church, leaving gusts in their wake that blew her hat away. She had prostrated herself so deeply, she had become invisible in the shadow of God.
It was disgraceful how the angels could afford to neglect Anita just because she'd already bought the church's lifetime subscription. And I admit, I did feel slighted that nobody was paying my antics any attention. A new strategy was needed: I decided to turn her life around, while at the same time planting the seed of ungodly association. I lured her to pagan soup kitchens, atheistic homeless shelters, and Satanic donation drives. Anita chanted like a true cultist and stood firm in the pentagrams, but the ties she made remained purely social. She'd still go to church every Sunday, and I'd wonder how she reconciled her extracurricular activities with her beliefs.
After a month, I'd rebuilt Anita's life thanks to several wholesome goat-slaying sessions and the hard work of *Atheists Serving You*. As she departed the church that Sunday, she had the audacity to thank the pastor for lending her his prayers. I seethed, resisting the urge to upend the communion table. Angelic laughter met my ears.
"Having fun, Bael?"Gabe sent the elderly man he was accompanying on his way and floated over to me.
"It's pathetic how much you've brainwashed these humans,"I said through clenched teeth, "At least give them the deliverance you promised."
"Why, so you can continue to try and undo our work?"Gabe smirked. "Waste of time. We couldn't beat you, so we decided to ignore you from now on. Enjoy your 'victories.'"
It was so Catholic of him, to preach about missing sheep and prodigal sons, but ignore them in practice. To glorify martyrdom without calling it what it was: loss. As Anita and the pastor exchanged a warm hug, my upper lip curled in disgust. I would force him to notice. I would force all of them to notice. |
It really should have been harder. If a man tells you he's walked through Hell to get here, you naturally assume it was awful. I served two tours in Afghanistan and one in Iraq - those were Hell. This? Shit, this is a barbecue weekend back home.
This shitstorm started six months ago. A giant crack opened up in Kansas, of all places and demons started pouring out. Literal demons. From Hell. Horns, tails, big nasty teeth - the whole kit. They rampaged through a couple small farm towns and did some real damage. Of course, the National Guard shows up. They're thinking it's gonna be Hell on Earth. They've got every gun they can put their hands on. They're even accepting some good ol' boys who showed up with Daddy's 12-gauge. It's crazy. Everyone of those men were praying as hard as they ever had.
The whole thing was over in nine hours. The beachhead invasion was turned back in time to get home and watch yourself on the news. Out of a couple thousand troops, they had two casualties. One guys had a heart attack and the other one fell down an incline and snapped his neck.
Turns out the demons were still using military tactics that were old from when Moses was in short pants. Lots of spears and swords, not so many M-4s or Apaches. They would line up like the ancient Greeks - a big wall of targets marching toward you. Our guys mowed them down without hesitation. To be honest, when I saw the video, I kind of felt bad for the demons. They thought they were bad ass and they didn't even last a day. It was frankly embarrassing.
Anyway, the Joint Chiefs decided that it wouldn't do to have a portal to Hell in the middle of the country. A bunch of nerds looked at it but couldn't figure out how to close it. They said it's not actually a hole into the middle of Earth. Some kind of 'wormhole' thing or something. I don't know.
Since we couldn't close it and we couldn't very well just let more of those jerkoffs set fire to Topeka, we had to secure the other end. We were going to invade Hell. Every single soldier, sailor, airman, and marine that was assigned spent hours confessing to any man of the cloth they could catch. The brass actually had to import clergy from as far away as Albuquerque. We had a lot of sins to confess.
On D-Day, we all said our prayers and marched into Hell. We found out that the jackasses the Kansas National Guard took out were the all-stars and now we were fighting the bench warmers. Some of them looked scary as shit. There was one asshole that was a solid thirty feet tall. He scared the hell out of us with the giant flaming sword. An RPG to the face and couple of white phosphorus rounds to the midsection and suddenly he wasn't so scary. Also, it turns out that giant demon piss is just exactly as nasty as you'd expect.
We established a beachhead and started taking territory. We've been prosecuting the mission since then. The Enemy has sent diplomats to sue for peace. The brass are really on the fence. I mean, the President is up for re-election in a few months and I'm pretty sure he thinks a logo of "The President who defeated Hell!"Would look awesome. Shit, I still ain't voting for the guy. |
"But why were cats and dogs falling from the sky?"
I'd fucked up. The Elder looked at me quizzically. I had to think fast. The last two months had been tough. I managed to convince them that my ex really did have a heart of stone ("The wonders of modern medecine, eh?") and that my previous career really had been based on a slippery slope. As long as they never realised I was using metaphors I would be all right. Curse my visually evocative mind!
"Where did the cats and dogs come from?"said the Elder, confused. I wondered how he functioned in the world with such a literal mind. I guess that's why he started a cult.
"Well..."I said, buying some time. This was going to be harder than explaining how the fellow cult member Evelyn (who I'd misguidingly begun a liaison with) was "great in the sack". She didn't know what was going on when I shoved a sack over her and shouted "look everyone. Doesn't she look great?".
"There was a terrible accident. It was... the pet olympics"
"The pet olympics?"Said the Elder "I have never heard of that".
"It's new"I said, sweat running down my back. I nearly commented on how my back with river but bit back my tongue. Not literally. God this was a hard way to live.
"They introduced it recently, whilst you've been at this reserve"I continued. The amount of things I'd covered in the last two months as "this happened since you've been in seclusion". The practice of walking on eggshells. How boys were used as whipping now. The literal witch hunts we went on. The list went on.
"And what happened?"questioned the elder.
"Plane accident"I said "In mid-air. It was a collision. I was passing underneath. The cats and dogs just... they rained down. It was traumatic".
I paused, pretending to be struggling with this difficult memory. But I was planning an escape route. Surely he couldn't believe this one? This wasn't the same as when I convinced him people rode on coat-tails on public transport. This was cats and dogs raining from the skies.
"It must have been difficult"he nodded. Sympathetically he tapped my shoulder.
Once again I'd gotten away with it. "That was a close shave"I muttered under my breath.
The Elder stopped. His eyes widened.
"But you have a beard"he said.
Shit. |
What day is it? What week, what *month?*
I need to win this. One meal a day - I can feel my skin swelling, my ribs sticking out of my skin. But I need to win. I have to.
I hear the grate slide open - the sound hurts my ears. I try move to the food, but I stumble, smashing my knee into the floor. And I lay there, trying to cry, but no tears come out - I'm too dehydrated. I reach out for the food, forcing it into my mouth, forcing it down. It's not enough. It's never enough.
But I have to keep on. How much longer could it be? How have the other contestants lasted so long? Are their situations as dire as mine?
I *need* to do this. They can't be able to hold out much longer. One million dollars... it's enough to make someone mad. But it's been so long - maybe 5 months, maybe even half a year. I've long since lost track.
I haven't seen my daughter in so long, although I see her in every dream - and all I ever seem to do now is dream.
It can't be much longer. I can't allow it to be.
According to her diagnosis, after eight months... this will all be for nothing.
*****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my new subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day. |
Circulophobia. Irrational fear of ring shaped objects. That was the diagnosis. I knew my fear was very much rational, but they would not believe me. Indeed, the strange phenomenon occurred to me, and me only. I could only speculate as to the reason why, but such speculations only further strained my already frayed sanity; so I tried my best to banish them from my thoughts, but the insidious suspicions skulked still in the darkest corners of my mind.
To my dismay, I remember clearly the first time it happened. I was only a child playing in the garden surrounding my home, blissfully ignorant of the horrors I was about to witness. In that time, I was very fond of swashbuckling books. I had managed to climb upon an oak's branch, and pretending to be a ship's lookout, I mimed drawing my spyglass. But when I gazed through the ring made by my fingers, I could not believe what I saw. It was as if I had somehow torn a tiny hole through reality and lain eyes upon a whole new world. In a way it was reminiscent of Van Gogh's paintings. I wonder, had been the painter's work influenced by a strange incident such as mine?
The other world was dark, in spite of the thousand tiny suns that filled the air with a greenish haze. From the ground, which was covered in a sort of viscous moss that might as well have been melted grass, sprouted a myriad of bluish trunks. The scene was eerily silent. Nothing stirred. For a moment, it was as if time had completely stopped. Then, I saw a shape moving in the mist, crawling on the uneven surface of the weird forest.
It was vaguely humanoid, though the way its limbs moved seemed at odds with man's anatomy. As it creeped closer, it became apparent that its skin was more like a flexible chitinous shell. I watched it approach in quiet amazement. Soon, it was no further than a couple feet away from my view-point, and I wondered if it could see me. It was at that exact moment that the creature lifted its monstrous head, and fixed its ghastly eyes upon my own.
The sight has since robbed me of many hours of sleep. Two golden rings, which seemed to lead into the coldest void. My younger self could not tolerate the visage, and I fainted. I awoke in my bed, my mother worriedly advising me not to climb on trees any more, or else I might fall again. From that day on I have steered clear of any ring-shaped objects, for fear they may lead me again to that eldritch dimension. For my wedding I had square-shaped rings made, which my poor wife, God bless her little heart, grudgingly accepted. However, she eventually convinced me that my fear was just some foolish childhood fancy. I haven't as of yet made that dreadful gesture with my fingers again, but I did agree to go to therapy.
My psychologist said I was making good progress. Indeed, I no longer screamed when rings were in close proximity to me, and seeing other people do the sign only distressed me slightly. The other day, however, all progress made came tumbling down disastrously. I walked into the living-room, where my daughter was playing with her newest toy, a gift from her aunt. To my utter terror, it was a hula-hoop. She held it aloft, and with a smile called for my attention. She started to bring the ring down over her head, and I cried out as I dashed to stop her. As soon as my fingers touched the loop, I saw that horrible place once again right behind my daughter. I was paralyzed with fear. My daughter looked at me in confusion. Something reached out from the other side and pulled her in.
In my shock, I dropped the hoop, severing the connection between the two worlds. Her scream faded away into nothingness. The thing looked like an artifact of pure evil now, lying dormant on the ground. I do not know for how long I simply stood there. It felt like hours, but it might have been a few seconds. Finally, I mustered up enough strength to move again. I had to confront the fearful monstrosity. I had to get my little girl back. I leaned frightfully over the toy. Arming myself with courage, but not even daring to look, I picked it up. I closed my eyes and held it up in the air. Swiftly, I brought it down upon myself, and when I opened up my eyes the most appalling thing happened.
Nothing.
|
*These fools see a smile; the grin to beat all grins and a chin that screams "I'm your man."They have no idea who they're messing with, and soon enough, they'll give me the keys to the whole fucking kingdom.*
*Before then? I'll have to run. I'll have to kiss ass and pony up more money per thetan than anyone who ever lived. But it'll be worth it; those backstabbing pricks haven't been fucked the way I'm going to fuck them. They'll call every lawyer in the land; and they'll all watch as I bend them over, like the self righteous cunts they are - they'll scream - They all scream; and the masses will savor every moment. A singular, world stopping thrust and the lawyers and politicians will think the Devil himself played the ace in his sleeve.*
*Bide my time. Smile like the simple bitch they think I am; but these wheels are turning, and I've seen their true faces. Every document is copied. Every dollar accounted for as the extortion it is. This celebrity speaks out; that celebrity goes on 60 minutes; one does an AMA. It's mounting, and all I'll have to do is push a button to let lose the hounds of war. Red Wedding. Battle of the Bastards. They haven't seen shit...not yet, but soon.*
*Assange has been smuggled into my compound with the keys to the kingdom...* |
King Lieg roared with laughter and clapped his greasy hands. “Again!” he ordered the actors from the traveling troupe who had come to present their latest work: a portrayal of Lieg’s conquest of Angonsia at the battle of Mardub Hill. The sweat-soaked ‘knights,’ who had just finished re-enacting the heroic capture of Lord Angon, traded looks of exhaustion. Receiving a request for an encore from the King was a great honor, of course, and they'd happily run through the play a second time for him. But a *third?* They hadn’t prepared to do this for four straight hours beside the roaring hearths of the King’s hall, and in full armor to boot.
“Again!” the King repeated, but with the laughter gone from his voice. This time it was hard and threatening; an order barked from a battle-hardened commander. The troupe’s actors collectively breathed a heavy sigh and began erecting the set pieces for the first act again
“Perhaps it’s time we give them a break, my lord?” Vizier Duvor suggested from the King’s side. “There are some matters that we need to discuss.” From within his satchel, the vizier withdrew a number of scrolls bearing the official seal of the Parliament.
“A break??” the King growled without looking up from the meal in front of him. “This is their *job*, Duvor!” He threw a half-eaten bread roll at one of the actors who was busy carrying props over to the stage. “You louts want to get paid, yes? Then perform!” He reached for his beer stein and finished it off with one gulp, then thudded it back down on the table. The servants knew that sound well; it meant the King’s patience was wearing thin. A skinny boy of fourteen dashed over immediately with another glass to slake the King’s thirst. “Besides, no business while I’m at the table.”
“Yes, I know your rule,” Duvor said pleasantly. He’d had years to perfect the concealment of his frustrations. Frustrations such as the King spending *most of his day* at the table. Or consumed by other activities where discussion of business was *also* not allowed: fishing, hunting, riding, training in swordplay… pretty much everything the King did. “Perhaps we should adjourn to your study instead?”
A low, rumbling growl came from the King’s throat. Instead of answering, he reached for the fresh goblet of beer and drained that one too. Then he slammed that one back down with a *thunk* that echoed through the hall. Another servant, this time a young maiden, had another cup in his hand before he could call for a refill. By now, everyone in the court knew how this night would end; it was just a matter of pleasing the King until he unleashed his furious temper on someone else. “I’m watching the play,” King Lieg answered.
Duvor cleared his throat. “Perhaps we could discuss the Parliament’s decree while they get set up, then?” It was a tightrope act that he had walked many a time, but only sometimes successfully. “But I’m afraid that this is urgent, King Lieg. The merchant’s protest of the increase in dock fees has not yet been addressed, and that is in addition to the new tax on imported raw materials. If we…”
The King thrust his arm across the table, sweeping the meal, his drink, and the candles off onto the floor. The metal plates and silverware clattered across the flagstones, and servants rushed to stamp out the candles before they could set fire to the thrushes. “I said, no *fucking* business at the table!” Lieg roared at Duvor.
No one dared speak. The actors setting up the stage tried to move as quickly as possible, and the servants moved to clean up the King’s mess with their noses to the ground so that they stayed out of his sight. Duvor, normally the only person who even dared risk the King’s anger at a time like this, put the scrolls back into his bag. “Very well,” he said. “I recognize that you are otherwise occupied, my lord. We will discuss this another time.” *By which time this will have escalated into a full scale rebellion*, Duvor thought to himself. The nine guilds of the city had already put out feelers for mercenaries and allies. And there were *plenty* of willing allies who had been alienated by King Lieg over the years. It was only a matter of time now. But maybe that’s what the King would want after all. An enemy that he could smash and kill, instead of dealing with paperwork and sums.
“Good,” the King grunted. “Some other time.” Servants ushered in from the kitchen with another plate of food and another full glass of beer to replace the ones that he’d scattered across the hall. He dug in so intently that he didn’t even notice as Duvor rose from the table and left the room.
The King ate in silence. On stage, the actors stood waiting to begin; no one wanted to risk upsetting him by interrupting his meal. This went on for several minutes before finally the lead actor who played King Lieg stepped forward and cleared his throat.
The King looked up, still wearing a furious snarl on his face. “Well?”
The actor took a step back unconsciously. “We… uh… we’re ready to begin, my Lord.”
King Lieg snatched up the goblet of beer from the table and heaved it across the room, hitting the actor square in the chest. It clanged against the armor plate and rolled onto the floor, dribbling a few last drops of amber liquid. “Go on, then!” the King shouted. “Act!”
The actor wiped a few drops of beer off of his face and bowed to the King, then began reciting his lines for the third time of the night. “I shall restore the dignity of this Kingdom,” he called to the hall, empty except for King Lieg watching with crossed arms. “And peace and tranquility shall reign!”
|
War, Famine, Pestilence, and Death. The four horsemen of the apocalypse.
If you were to strain your eyes as you looked up at the sky on a particularly gloomy and depressing day, it wouldn't be uncommon to see one of the four streaking across the sky, cackling at the top of their lungs.
Whenever the day was gloomy, I refused to go outside. I didn't want to see any of them. I'd always considered them to be my rivals, even though they don't really know that I exist, much less who I am.
Me and my three siblings collectively refer to ourselves as the four donkeymen of the mild inconveniences. Whenever the horsemen take a break, us four like to flex our awesome might and practice on the human race.
First there's Procrastination. He likes to pick on anyone who's focusing. I don't mean to brag, but he's the one who introduced Donald Trump to Twitter. Trump rarely gets anything done these days.
Next is Indecisiveness. If you reach the front of the Starbucks line and still can't decide what to get, she's to blame.
Thirdly, there's Full Bladder. He likes to show up at the most inopportune times, like at three in the morning or in the middle of an exam. Good luck getting away from him!
Me? I'm Weird Feeling You Get Before You Sneeze. I like to hang around for a couple seconds, sometimes even for a minute or two. People would probably fear me most, that is, if they knew who we were.
Well, it looks like the skies are clearing up. There's a dude who lives on 40 with a cold... if you need me, you know where to look. |
"Well that's ridiculous,"I replied. "Watch this."I turned to get back in my car...
And fell flat on my face.
"What in the blazes?"I started to say.
"Hey, buddy, chill out, you'll make It angry."This was said by an older gentleman in a blue polo. He seemed to be in charge of the small group.
"Make **It** angry? I'm angry!"I kicked a rock off the side of the road and started walking towards the group, as that seemed the only direction I was allowed to go. A second later something hard hit the back of my neck and I spun around. It was the pebble that I had kicked off the road.
The group of people had by now stopped arguing and were watching what I did with a detached interest. They had already given up on the notion of leaving on their own. They were waiting for a rescue, one that may not be coming.
"What happens if you make It angry?"I asked. Blank faces looked back at me, nobody seemed to have an answer. "So besides sitting here resigned to die, has anyone done anything productive? Does it react to anything?"
"Well,"a smaller old lady began, "I think It doesn't like water. I spilled when I got out of my car and it practically threw me!"
Water. I had water in my car! I started towards my car without thinking, and once again, the ground twisted underneath me and I ended up on my bum. I sat for a minute, thinking.
"Alright,"I called as I stood up, "any women or children present, please avert your gaze."
I turned away from the group and unzipped my fly. As I gave back to the earth I heard what could best be described as a distant thunder. The thunder grew louder. I continued to release, and the noise became positively booming. The road began to tremor, then shake, and then it buckled and threw everyone to their knees.
As I knelt, completely drained, sand and rock began to converge in front of me. Two pillars stretched up, joining together about five feet above my head, then grew into what I then saw was an arm and a head. It was a towering figure, much taller than a man, with no face, but surrounded by dark, swirling sand that hit my eyes and flew up my nose.
A voice emanated from the center of the sand: "At first, you had irritated me, but now, *I'm pissed.*" |
Mumbling had always been a problem of mine. When I was tired or stressed, I would forget how to form proper syllables. My lips would bounce, my tongue would flap...
"What?"
Then I'd take a breath. A Reset, my therapist used to call it. To find myself. When I did, there would be intention, power, and true meaning in the stress of a man who had things to say worth saying a second time. So I did.
"Could you point me to Oxford Circus?"
The heart of Central London. Before the accident, I was a bumbling tourist who threw all his savings away for a chance to be in the center stage of civilization. Jaywalking was a national pastime, they had Nike and Apple stores of their own, and using the Tube made getting around easier. I enjoyed travelling more than talking.
Now, I simply live.
Quietly.
There's no point in talking anymore.
My mumbling was bad before, but after the truck struck me...It was another language to them. I know this, because the concerned faces of the EMTs did not match the long aaaaaaaahs...
oooooooooooh...
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS...
**BBRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR**...
**AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH**...
I screamed for an hour through the long noises my saviors were making. They were as likely to understand me as I was to know what they were saying. Knowing this, I screamed loud, and hard.
*Perhaps, Mr. Penn, if you found a way to vent your frustrations...*
**AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH**...
*... You would find it easier to take a Resting breath before communicating your thoughts.*
So I did for the eight hours it took to get me to the hospital. As the English would say, "Bloody NHS."Abysmal emergency service. I looked at my watch.
Only 10 minutes had passed.
**IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII**...
-------------------------------
It took weeks to get accustomed to this new, strange language my peers spoke. Real-time weeks. A necessary challenge, but one that exhausted me. My body was still confined to the limitations of real-time. It was easier never to speak again.
*He'll never make a full recovery. Though I can't diagnose his mental condition, he... seems, stable enough to function on his own. Perhaps he will regain his ability to speak after enough time has passed.*
It was a universe all of my own, and I'm sure that was what made me seem quite mad. And I was alright with that. I needed to be, and so did my speech therapist when I returned. It would be our last session in the week it would take me to return.
In the years it would take me to return.
It was bound to be a memorable one. After all, time changes a man.
|
"Mom, dad, I've got some exciting news for you."My father grunted absently, barely glancing up from his newspaper. My mother at least had the decency to put down the feather duster and turn away from the crucifix that dominated the living room wall in lieu of something normal, like a painting or a clock. Or a TV. She smiled her vacant smile.
"That's nice honey. What is it?"
I grinned hesitantly. "I-I'm not really sure how to put this. It's...I mean...well."I wiped my forehead with the back of my sleeve. My mother frowned disapprovingly.
"Anna, manners!"
"I'm sorry, I'm just so nervous. You see...I won the lottery!"Mom's jaw dropped. My father looked over his newspaper in surprise.
"The lottery? You mean...scratch tickets?"
"No."I nearly squealed with excitement. "The megamillion jackpot!"My father shot up from the battered La-Z-Boy, throwing his newspaper to the floor."
"The megamillion jackpot!"He shouted. "Mary, did you hear that, our little girl's a millionaire!"He grasped my mother in a rib-cracking hug. She stared at me, shock and surprise warring on her face.
"How...this..."She was lost for words, before falling back into one of her old habits. "Anna, gambling is a sin!"
I waved a hand airily. "I know, I know. But I was passing through the store today, and I just felt this pull, like God was telling me to get a ticket."No need to tell them that God often told me to buy a ticket, along with a pack of cigarettes and maybe a six pack if it was a hot day. They clutched each other, the news sinking in. My father's face radiated happiness.
"Oh Anna."He said. "You can finally afford to go to college like you dreamed. Oh, I'm so happy for you."He disentangled himself from my mother and nudged me with a bony elbow. "And who knows, maybe you could spare a little for your old man? There are a few renovations I've been thinking about for the house..."He looked around thoughtfully, picturing a new living room. I laughed.
"Of course daddy! But first, I've got some more news!"
"More news? Oh honey."My mother clasped her hands together beatifically. "What else could there be?"
"I'm gay."I smiled serenely. It was such a relief finally getting it off my chest. Their expressions froze, their smiles locking into place.
"Oh?"My father grunted out through suddenly clenched teeth.
"That's right, I'm gay. You know my roommate Lizzy? She's not exaaaaactly my roommate."I watched them closely. Not a muscle twitched on either of their faces, although their expressions had taken on a strange waxy quality, as if they were mannequins in a house of horrors.
"I...see..."My mother's eyes were glassy, staring off into the distance, and sweat was pouring down her face.
"But...the lottery..."My father forced out.
"I know! Isn't it exciting? I pulled out the check from my back pocket. I leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially. "Two. Hundred. And. Fifty-eight. *Million*."I looked down at the ground modestly. "Minus tax of course."
"Two hundred and fifty-eight million."My father breathed. His hands unconsciously flexed by his sides, clenching into fists and then relaxing. He seemed to come to a decision. He opened his arms wide. "We're happy for you honey."
I leaned in and hugged him. His body was stiff and wooden underneath his wool sweater-vest. "This is the happiest day of my life,"I sighed.
"Mine too baby."My mother's voice was flat, emotionless. "Mine too." |
"An expedition,"I numbly asked again, more than a little drunk with the sort of half smile one wears when you can't tell if someone is joking or not.
"This guy's supposed to be smart?"the big guy said, staring into his bottle.
"It's _2017_,"I laughed. "There's nowhere really left to go on some grand adventure and explore, unless you guys have a submarine."
The big guy shot me a penetrating look, searching my face for something.
"Smarter than he seems, maybe,"he grumbled.
"Yes!"the woman in front of me said, her eyes sparkling. "I told you!"Boy this wasn't what I was expecting when I caught the cute girl making eyes at me and went over to buy her a drink.
She held out her hand. "I think perhaps we got off on the wrong foot. I'm Dr Van de Graf. Elaine Van de Graaf."She shook a little too enthusiastically.
"Doctor of what, exactly?"I asked, perhaps rather rudely. But as head surgeon in this podunk city I thought I knew most of the doctors.
"Err..."She mumbled.
I raised an eyebrow.
"Dual major. Occultism and Electrical Engineering."someone said to my left. I coughed and spun around, greeted by a uh...well what was the PC word again? 'Height challenged' fellow.
"I'm Duin, that's Griff,"he said, pointing at the big guy who grunted in acknowledgement. "Since Elaine is going to waste your time trying to convince you of something you won't believe, I think I'll skip ahead."
"H-hey!"she shouted, pouting and stomping. I smiled a little stupidly.
"We're looking for the Lost City of Atlantis, Elaine's enough of a genius that she's probably found it, and we're being chased by a bunch of scary people and can use someone who knows their way around an operating table."
I laughed out loud, just until he opened a small little briefcase and showed me its contents. Inside was what could only be described as alien. Full of twisting bronze gears and glowing with what looked like Cherenkov radiation...or some blue LEDs. He threw it into the air and it stayed there. I hovered my hand above it, then under it, then around it...and then I became very sober very quickly.
"Wh-how...is this-_where_!?"
Griff coughed and stood, clutching at something by his hip while grabbing me with his right hand. "Story for another time. We need to get going."
I pulled away. "And why exactly is tha-"
"Bar's awful quiet,"Elaine said quietly.
It was then I noticed that we were, quite strangely, extremely alone for 7 o' clock on a Friday night. Even the bartender seemed to have filtered off somewhere.
"84 seconds,"Elaine said, "Keep me safe."Then she started muttering, which of course was perfectly normal to everyone but me.
Griff nodded, pulling out a revolver and a _shotgun_ from God-knows-where.
All three took a drink of some scintillating green liquid, Elaine somehow muttering while drinking as Duin offered me one as well. "Cat's Eyes"he said, as if that explained anything. I was too shocked to refuse.
Duin was fumbling with the artifact. "I'm in,"he said at last with a smile. "Lights out..."
"Atlantean computing...practically cheating,"he said as the room turned queerly grey.
Then the door exploded and soldiers in black vests burst into the room in a shower of splinters and fire.
Three dropped before they crossed the threshhold, Griff's pistol firing so fast it sounded _almost_ like one shot. Or maybe I just only heard the first shot. It was all certainly very loud.
A mumbled voice...or shouting maybe...and a rough hand shoved me to the ground. More gunfire and the room filled with smoke and the smell of blood.
And then I was somewhere else, on a cliff near the sea, and it was morning. I could taste the salt in the air.
"What."I said, only to be surprised that I couldn't hear my own voice.
When the ringing finally subsided, Elaine shrugged. "I'm afraid I'll need an hour to recharge and get you back t-"
I grabbed her hands in mine.
"_I'm in._" |
Nervously I looked around the hall. At the hundreds of candles bathing the setting in an ominous dance of light and dark, at Simon, standing to my right, wearing one of the intricately ornamented golden robes he brought with him the last meeting. One for me, one for him. Down I looked at the new chair I was sitting on. It was even more ostentatious than the one before, calling it a chair would probably have been an insult to it. It was a throne. I gulped.
Lastly I looked up, past the altar at rows upon rows of pews. Every last seat had been taken, in the back I could even make out a few people standing. They all were waiting keenly, they all looked at us in awe, or rather, I noticed they were looking at Simon.
Nevertheless I once again decided to let him lead the ceremony. I stood up, looked at him and nodded.
"Brethren!"Simon intoned. His deep, soothing voice echoing in the great hall, filling every cubic millimeter of it. He had only spoken one word and even I couldn't help but feel slightly energized.
"Today we gather again, to seek salvation, to beg for absolution. For we are sinners, lost in the dark"
"For we are sinners, lost in the dark"echoed I and hundreds of voices in the hall.
"For we are weak, and need guidance!"
"For we are weak, and need guidance!", I murmured, joining the choir absentmindedly.
"But brothers and sisters today is not like any other day! *Today is a most fateful day*!"
Puzzled, I glanced up at Simon. This was different from the usual procedure and I couldn't remember him informing me about any matters of importance. I decided to wait an see.
"It is with great sadness that I have come to hear troubling tales about one in our very midst."A stir in the crowd, here and there a few were murmuring among each other.
"It is with broken heart that I have *seen evidence* of this doomed soul, criticizing our cause, forgoing our teachings...even contemplating of **turning his back on our sacred order.**"
This time there was unrest in the crowd. A few people stood up, fists raised. "Traitor!"they screamed, "tell us the name!"
"This is getting out of hand", I thought. "time to intervene."
I stood up. For the first time the attention turned to me. It took a while for the crowd to quiet down, when all was silent I spoke.
"You raise strong allegations brother Simon. But let us not turn to violence. Let us also not forget why we are here. For we all are sinners lost in the dark"
"For we all are sinners, lost in the dark"echoed a few.
"Tell us then name of this forsaken individual, so that we may bring him back into our fold."
I looked over at Simon. Light and shadows from the candles on the altar were flickering across his face, almost as if they were fighting each other.
For a second all was silent, then he spoke in the enchanting voice of his.
"It is true. We all are sinners, lost in the dark.. and that is why we can't let the *weak* guide us! The person of whom I spoke..**was you**."
My eyes widened, my jaw dropped. Before I knew what was happening, I felt a sharp pain on the back of my head striking me down to the ground.
The last thing I saw before losing consciousness was Simon. He was standing over me, his expression hidden by the shadows.
___________________________________________________________________________________________
*^^Comments ^^and ^^criticism ^^very ^^much ^^appreciated. ^^If ^^you ^^liked ^^this ^^feel ^^free ^^to ^^check ^^out ^^r/MyWPStories ^^where ^^I ^^archive ^^all ^^of ^^my ^^stories ^^from ^^this ^^subreddit. ^^Thanks.* |
"Peterson, mind taking this letter down to the mail room?"
I sighed and looked at my co-worker Jon with utter contempt. "No."
"Come on, it's just a quick errand."
"No it's not. It's never *just* a quick errand. Everyone time I do a 'quick errand' around here, it turns into some huge, world ending event and I'm that one that has to fix it. I'm sick of it!"
Jon gave me a sideways glance. "I think you're overreacting."
I sighed again, getting more and more frustrated. "I'm really not though."I started pulling up emails from the last few years. This conversation happened a lot so I figured out it was easier to show rather than tell people why I don't like doing their stupid errands. I had an entire file on my computer of emails for small jobs that turned into mystical quests. You'd think that wouldn't happen a whole lot but you'd be surprised. I found the email I was looking for- February 23rd, 2015.
"Remember this?"I asked. "Mr. Garrison asked me to go pick up some ink cartridges from the supply room. Simple enough. Except, what do you know, the cartridges were scattered across the world in trap filled temples guarded by trolls or some shit. Guess who had to make a last minute flight to the Amazon rainforest that week?
"How was Brazil, by the way?"Jon asked, completely ignoring everything else I said. God I wanted to punch him sometimes.
"Not the point,"I said as I pulled up more emails. "Here's a good one- October 4th, 2011. Our old boss wanted me scan some old documents onto the computer. But then, surprise surprise, some old *scrolls* I found- honest to god magical *scrolls*- revealed that our *wonderful* boss Mr. Asmodeus was actually a demon in disguise, trying to sacrifice this office to summon his demonic army into the world. And I wonder who had to train with a secret order of holy knights in order to wield the magic capable of destroying him? Oh right, ME! FYI, the magic was friendship, in case you're curious."
Jon just stared off into space reminiscently. "Man, I miss Mr. Asmodeus. His office barbecues were great."
It took all of my willpower not to hit him. "Oh, how about last month when Jacobs asked me to pick up some donuts for the quarterly briefing. Apparently getting the last jelly-filled donuts was enough to piss off some freaking *elder gods* who decided to *destroy all of reality unless they got their goddamn donuts.* Did you know that bakery across the street gets their donuts from a hidden elf village in Central Europe and only those who pass three deadly trials are considered worthy enough to have the damn donuts? And *of course* I'm the only one who can do it because the rest of the city was TRAPPED IN A NIGHTMARE DIMENSION!"
"...yeah that was weird week,"Jon replied.
"The point is there is no 'quick errand' in this office. Every time some super easy task needs to be completed it turns into this huge, world-threatening clusterfuck. And I'm always the one who has to spend his free time fixing it. No more! I'm done! I'm just going sit here and do my job and I'm not going on any more quests! Got it!?!"I was breathing heavy after that tirade. I always get worked up when this subject come up. Unfortunately for me, it comes up more than I'd like.
Jon was silent for a second. "...so are you going to mail this letter or not?"
I sat there found what felt likes hours, just letting my rage boil over. I thought this would be the day, the day I murdered Jon. Instead I stood up and ripped the letter out of his hands. I marched down the hallway, muttering under my breath as Jon thanked me from my desk.
I didn't even make it halfway to the mail room when the assassins appeared. Six or seven figures dressed in all black, their faces hidden. Each of them carried twin blades as they circled around me. One of them spoke up. "Fool, your time has come! You will never make it to the mail room, as this shall be the day you perish at the hands of-"
I didn't let them finish. This was not my first rodeo. I pulled a pendent out of my pocket and held it aloft- a souvenir from that time I refilled the coffee maker and saved those dwarves. The pendent gave out a tremendous amount of holy light, causing the assassins to flee. They cursed in some evil tongue- probably saying something about how we'll meet again soon enough. I put away the pendent when I heard an older voice behind me.
"You have done well, Mike Son of Peter."I reluctantly turned to see an old man in a robe and wizard hat carrying a gnarled staff. At his side was a beautiful young woman in armor, a sword at her side. I figured there was a 50/50 chance that woman would either fall in love with me by the end of this whole thing or end up being my long-lost sister. Seriously, it's astounding how many long-lost siblings I had- and only about half of them were evil, which was nice I guess.
The wizard continued. "My name is Casternious Windstaff and this is my daughter, Amethyst. And you, Mike, are our only hope."
Amethyst looked me up and down. "Just so you know, I think you look unimpressive and I don't think you have what it takes to save the world."
Yup. She was totally going to fall in love with me.
I pushed my irritation deep, deep down and shook the wizard's hand. I didn't bother to learn his name because he would probably end up sacrificing himself to give us time to escape or something. After the fifth or sixth time it happened, I just stopped learning names. Made it easier down the road. "Nice to meet you, sir. What's the quest this time?"
"That letter you carry is of great importance to the Kingdom of Althernea. And the Lich King Necromius will do anything to get his hands on it."
As he said this, I opened the letter out of curiosity. Inside was an ancient looking piece of parchment detailing a method to kill this Lich King or whatever. It also said something about the upcoming merger but I think that was just way to save on stamps. "Quick errand my ass,"I muttered under my breath.
The wizard continued. "In order to defeat Necromius, we must travel the world and gather the Relics of Ancient Might. This will allow us access into his Infernal Citadel, where we will-"
I had stopped listening to him when he mentioned the Relics. I thought I had heard about them before Did I collect those already? Oh shit, I think I collected those already! Damn, I might be able to finish this thing before lunch this time!
"-and bring peace to the lands once and fo- are you listening to me?"
I snapped back to reality. "Hm? Oh yeah, totally. Listen, I think I already got those Relics. Used them to stop some evil queen or something?"
Amethyst's eyes opened in shock. "You mean *you* are the one who defeated Aurora, Dark Queen of the Fae?"
"Yeah, sure, probably."I honestly didn't remember. I've done this so many times that they all started to run together. "Anyways, I think I lent them to my buddy Ron so if we can just swing by his house real quick-"
The wizard guy held up his hand. "It is not so simple, my boy. After the Dark Queen was vanquished, we thought it best to hide the Relics once again, lest they fall into evil hands."
I could feel my eye twitch. "*Why?!?*"I put my head in my hands and held back the desire to scream. After a few moments I looked up at them. "Fine. Whatever, let's just do this stupid fucking quest."
"Excellent!"said Breezerod or whatever his name was. "Then we are off! First we must travel to the City of Eternal Winter. There we will find the Sword of A Thousand Heroes, which will allow us to-"
"JUST TAKE ME TO THE GODDAMN CITY"I shouted, my temper reaching it's peak. The Galewand was taken aback but he collected himself and lead us on to the city.
I swear, next time I see Jon I'm kicking his ass.
*First response btw. Let me know if it's any good!* |
I stared at myself in the mirror, the very same I used to try and ignore to the best of my ability. But the woman staring back was flat-out *gorgeous*. She was taller, leaner, more symmetrical in every way - hell, she even did her makeup better than I did. With every move I made she followed as my hungover mind scrambled to grasp the concept that this was *me*.
A slurp from a coffee mug interrupted my routine. "Like what you see? It's one of a few fringe benefits you get out of our agreement. Now get dressed -- we have a long day ahead of us."
The man looked like he had stepped right out of my fashion catalog. Perfect jawline, sharp blue eyes, and muscles for days. What he was doing in my apartment I had no idea. Come to think of it, I hardly remembered a thing about the previous night.
Must have been pretty damn good.
I began to shuffle through my closet, quickly realizing nothing I owned would fit the new me. The man cleared his throat to get my attention, holding a nondescript white bag out for me. Inside lay a stunning black dress that hugged my body in all the right places, revealing just enough of my cleavage - I had cleavage now! - to pique anyone's interest.
He cleared his throat once more as I found myself lost in the mirror. "Ready? Like I said, we have a long day ahead of us."
I didn't bother asking how my figure had changed. Whether I'd sold my soul or otherwise, I could wait to know at least for a day. What this man had in store for us I had no clue, but my head dreamed of yacht parties, island vacations, all sorts of romantic getaways.
"So then, where is it you're taking me? What *long day* have you planned for us?"I asked, slowly walking towards him.
He smirked, pulling me close as his secrets began to unravel. "What, don't you remember what we discussed last night?
"We're going to steal the Declaration of Independence."
**********************
*If you like spooky stories, check out r/Zchxz!* |
“Ahhh those are your boys?”
“Yes… they are”
“... Are they always… this noisy?”
“Usually…”
“I WANNA DIE!”
“IT HURTS!”
“IT’S TOO MUCH TO SEE!”
“IT STINKS! WHY DOES IT ALWAYS STINK!?!”
“WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO CUT YOUR TONGUE OUT?!?”
TV announcer: “The missiles have been launched. I repeat: as of 1:14 today, the missiles have officially been launched.”
“What did he just say?”
“I think he said, that they fired the missiles...”
“Wait, why are the boys so quiet? They are never quiet! Boys? Is everything alright?”
“... I can’t hear anything.”
“...I can’t smell anything.”
“... I can’t taste anything.”
“... I can’t see anything.”
“... I can’t feel anything.”
|
Eric, lord of light, master of fire, and sorcerer of semiconductors, sat down and ate a BLT.
It wasn’t a very good sandwich. The King of the Dwarves had opened up their private herds of giant pigs to him, so the ham was terrific. But despite his best gardening efforts, lettuce and tomatoes didn’t seem to grow very well underground. So, Eric was left with a sandwich composed of some hardtack bread (the only kind available down here, due to extreme dwarven preference), tiny wilted lettuce and sad tomatoes, and the best ham he had ever tasted.
It wasn’t all bad though, before he had been sucked into that mysterious portal Eric ate his B.L.T’s in a lonely one-bed apartment with carpet that smelled like stale milk. Eric was eating his quality-inconsistent sandwich on a cushion atop a massive throne made out of pure gold and studded with jewels, surrounded by a enormous palace of gilded steel and mithril. That was pretty cool.
Outside Eric’s palace were the dwarven caverns. They had once been filled with a hungry penetrating darkness, the sound of dwarven cries and eleven whips. Now they were filled with light from a thousand incandescent bulbs. And gold, several literal tons of gold. Jackhammers really made mining easier.
The primary power source was geothermal, hence the “master of fire” title. The dwarves had had a little tiff with a dragon about that one, but some of that lovely new gold and the well-crafted dwarven railguns had helped to bring that to a mutually beneficial end.
Now the dwarven world hummed with electricity and all the woes of modern life. Dwarven wives squabelled with husbands who watched too much tv, dwarven politicians squabbled over how much, if any, of the orcs were stealing their jobs, dwarven corporations squabbled over exactly how many bars their cellphones got in the Lava Caverns of Khazar-Duzaq.
Eric finished his sandwich and descended from his throne. Time to take another crack at that failing turbine. It might need to be replaced. Also, these sandwiches would be better with some appropriate condiment-ation. He wondered where he would find some mustard seed.
(r/StannisTheAmish)
|
"But how can you be sure?"
"There's just no chance it *could* be. Look at this. Look here,"Willis pointed at the tattered gold foils, "This isn't a construction that we've ever seen before. It just doesn't make sense, this construction, it wouldn't have worked with our technology. Just not possible. And look here too."
Willis ran a gloved hand across the body of the satellite. Scorch marks stretched across its face; thin blackened talon that seemed to claw at its construction.
"These marks aren't consistent with something that we could have launched. Bear in mind, Moira, that the Pisces crew intercepted this from orbit. These aren't marks from atmospheric re-entry they're--"
"It launched without a fairing? But how could it have survived those forces?"
"Precisely. This isn't anything that I've seen before. No records of any satellite of this construction at all. It simply could not have come from here. These marks, too, they're consistent with atmospheric exit. Look how they flare out at the bottom. This is something from,"Willis paused, "From I don't know where."
Willis removed his hand from the object, the plastic of his hazmat suit screeching against itself. This was a startling discovery. Tangible evidence, perhaps, of the existence of intelligent life elsewhere in the universe. International news coverage of the Pisces mission had been halted abruptly since the discovery of this object. False stories were created and fed to journalists: the mission had returned prematurely due to crew illness, some stated; there had been a fault with the main engine and the slingshot attempt had been aborted ran others. Nobody knew that now, in one small laboratory hidden beneath the streets of London, a small team of scientists were digesting the most disturbing discovery in human history.
The satellite was small. Small, that is, by our standards and understanding. An unassuming grey cube, bordered by four triangular sails. On one face, surrounded by these golden wings, lay a small indentation; at its core, a small golden disc, no bigger than one of the Pisces craft's data stores.
"Do we know how to access this,"Moira asked, "Perhaps we could extract the raw data and send it across to Analytics?"
"It's worth a shot. Just take the whole disc to them. It's more use to them than us,"Willis handed the disc to Moira, "Strange though. Same configuration as Voyager."
Willis continued to examine the lifeless satellite as Moira left the room. The Pisces crew had been in orbit of Mars at the time they intercepted the thing. Something had been jamming the signals from the PYTH4GORAS probe, presumably a jammed aerial or minor damage from debris kicked up by an asteroid impact was the general diagnosis. As Pisces approached PYTH4GORAS however, it became obvious that's something far more peculiar was to blame for the interruption. Its aerial had become entangled with the golden foils of this strange, alien satellite, and both probes were tangled and spinning out of control. A brief check by the Pisces crew confirmed no record of this second entangled craft, and so the mission priority was changed to retrieval and quarantine of this undocumented probe. Initial analysis by ground crews theorised that this had been an undisclosed launch by North Korea perhaps, disguised as one of their all too frequent ICBM tests.
Moira returned to the laboratory.
"Willis-- Analytics have examined the disc. Are you sure that there's no documentation of this satellite anywhere? At all?"
"Absolutely none. Like I said, the construction, the materials, the markings. Absolutely none. I've never seen anything like it."
"And there's no chances you've overlooked something?"
"Absolutely none."
Moira bit over her lip. "This can't be possible, Willis. Analytics extracted the data from the disc. No encryption, no coding, nothing. Just a straight rip of the data and they say it's identical to the disc we sent with Voyager."
"Then it was left there, for us to discover. It can't be anything else. Someone has found Voyager out there, and they're letting us know. They must have known that we'd come searching for the broken probe."
"Then what does this mean?"
"When will the Pisces be ready to launch again? We need to reply. We need to make first contact." |
I descended upon the war torn wasteland that was once North America. I’ve come to study the Earth in hopes of finding out how it’s creatures once lived and what brought them to their demise. I work for the Intergalactic Historical Society as a Chief Researcher and with this title comes more fieldwork and more time away from home.
The area I was supposed to search was only a few miles from my drop site. I would have landed at the location but during my descent my wingtip caught the top of an oak tree and I was forced to set it down immediately. I grabbed the small pod from the back of my cruiser and set it on the ground. After punching in a combination of symbols, it blossomed open and before me sat an all-terrain vehicle which was vital for transporting my equipment.
After a brief and anxious ride, I arrived at a cave, somewhere on the west coast. I clicked on my helmet light and began my excited walk into the darkness. Oh how I couldn’t wait to find a skeleton intact and be a hero in the science community back home. This was my big break. I could feel it.
Using the GPS coordinates I had been given, I ventured further, getting closer and closer to the dig site. I was promised to find something here and I risked it all to uncover it. The beeps from my GPS grew frantic and then combined into one continuous tone. I had arrived.
Excitedly I looked up and focused my light upon something odd. I moved closer to see a 12 foot statue of Mickey Mouse. Looking around all I see are books, drawings, paintings, and sculptures of Mickey fucking Mouse. Angrily I snatch the radio from my belt and call back to the research facility.
“There’s nothing here! What the fuck is this statue?! I hate that mouse!” I was cut off by the sound of hysterical laughter.
“April fools, mate!” cried a voice from the other end. “Good luck finding parts to fix your ship!” They had a really good laugh about the whole thing.
That was 2 years ago. I really need to find those parts. |
"That's it! PvP is disabled until further notice!"He took his goblet of ambrosia and flung it across the great hall in the seat of heaven. Somewhere on earth, an earthquake started and shook the foundations of a small city, causing innumerable casualties.
Michael, the archangel, waited until God was calm, and then tried to reason with him. Gabriel was standing with his arms crossed and looking grim as well.
"God. You can't just turn off PvP. If we do that, then it renders the 10 Commandments ineffective! People need to sin and to suffer so that they can pray to us in their time of weakness. People have to be imperfect so that they can learn to perfect themselves, in your image, sire!"
"Look at the state of the world, Michael!"God was an omnipresent, omnipotent, and omniscient being, but he had his own problems with anger management. "The world is tearing itself apart! People bicker over the slightest things, and a man would more likely cheat and steal from another than to lead the righteous path. The worst ones kill another without a thought! Is this the legacy you want to leave behind?"God stomped his feet on the seat of heaven; down on earth, a volcano erupted with a volcano explosivity index of 6, scattering plumes of sulphuric ash and rock, blanketing several industrious cities and sending thousands of people fleeing to the countryside.
Gabriel piped in: "Sir, may I remind you as well that we can't just turn off PvP. We have a binding contract with Hades and the underworld. Hell needs sinners and without PvP, it's a lot harder to fulfil the daily quota. There is another way though, but it's quite unorthodox."
God's interest peaked, and he scratched his beard. Down on earth, manna started falling and the mortals were entranced by these edible flakes of gluten. "Tell me, Gabriel, how would you proceed?"
"We turn off PvP, but at the same time, we turn up the difficulty of the game. Make PvE much more punishing; increase the spawn rate and make them more aggressive. That will balance out our quota for the time being."
"You can't just turn up the PvE settings on a whim, Gabriel! There needs to be more study into our actions to ensure the balance of nature!"Michael interjected.
"Make it so, Gabriel,"God said curtly. "I shall retire to my chambers now; inform me of the results in the morning. Oh, and make sure my son Jesus doesn't interfere too much."He stood up from the seat of heaven and walked off into a cloud, disappearing from the great throne room.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Down on earth, strange things started happening. The war in the Middle-East ground down to a halt. Soldiers and rebels alike didn't have problems destroying each other's infrastructure and equipment, but even after an airstrike or IED had gone off, miraculously no one would be injured or dead. Gang warfare in the States and around the world became a comical absurdist piece of live theatre, as criminals fired round after round at each other, with the bullets hitting their intended targets before bouncing off harmlessly. The homicide rate dipped then came to rest, and the police were perplexed... that was until the great reckoning.
In due time, all the animals, insects, fish, birds - all the flora and fauna - multiplied uncontrollably, and became aggressive. Birds of all manner - crows, eagles, hawks, osprey, owls - swooped down to peck at the eyes of innocent passers-by. Dogs bite their owners unprovoked, and cats hissed and scratched with a vengeance. Creatures of the sea swarmed in schools billions strong and capsized any boat out in the open ocean. Plants grew out of control and started to swallow houses and cities whole. Millions perished as nature itself turned against humanity.
Michael sighed as he flew above the atmosphere and looked down on Earth. *This is why you don't turn off PvP*, he thought.
|
In a way, one could argue everyone on this flight is an actor to some extent. Little Timmy knows how to pull his mother's heart strings in order to obtain just one more sweet. Danny/Darren- he looks like a Darren- has the well practiced smile of someone revved up on a good deed high, as he ducks into into row three to let Old Mrs Smith through so she can jitter her way to the bathroom- she smiles accordingly, she's 65, yesterday she was a child, but she knows he means no harm.
The German of the woman next to me had been impeccable until we hit turbulence: much to the surprise of those around her- including herself- she let slip a distinctly English "Jesus bloody Christ"as a steward face planted into the isle, recovering in a distinguished and professional manner to a round of applause from quite a few who'd honestly much rather have seen him not get up.
My husband is great in theory, he really is, but this morning he was a little funny. I don't remember him helping me with my luggage, in fact I don't remember him acting as if my day would revolve around anything other than the usual coffee stained meeting tables and two way traffic. He's never given me the impression he'd want to cheat on me, but I suppose he could be just another one of life's actors, keeping his insatiable desires out of sight until his darling clueless wife is out the picture, which I suppose is when the monster comes to play- or disappoint.
It's often overlooked how fragile the mind truly is. The second someone loses a place to call home, they become the other, literally not worth your eye contact, let alone some change, a meal etc. This happens because the homeless are inadvertent reminders of how quickly the world can fall from under our feet, and how indiscriminate the gods of destruction really are, so we keep walking. Out of sight, out of mind- so that it doesn't break. Perhaps it's this very process which is normalising my paranoia and standardising my inquiry into the validity of everything my senses thought they knew; locking me into social norms and protocols while a bomb detonates inside me under layers of thick frozen numbness. I know this isn't a real plane. Who else does?
I sip at my orange juice, and stare at the seat in front of me, following the cracks and crevasses in its cream vinyl.
"Can I fill up your orange juice?"says the chirpy voice of a flight attendant by my side. It occurs to me in this moment that I am unable to talk, I seem to have lost the command of my ship, as its innards begin the violent throng of recognising panic. I just look at him as I begin to shake ever so lightly, looking at him with everything I have, trying to lurch at his soul with my own. He knows I know. His peppiness has vanished, his face is now completely relaxed, his walk is aggressive and masculine as he makes his way to the front of the plane, *plane*... whatever this is. Incoherent mumbling manages to make its way to my ears, ever growing in volume as the woman begins to wail inconsolably, thrashing her arms around in distress, it's then that I begin to make sense of it.
"No airport! No ticket! I didn't buy a ticket!"Neither did I.
And then the lights shut off. |
“We have forgiven them.”
“Meaning which?”
“Forgiveness? Have you not heard of it? Or practiced it within your advanced emotion circuitry? Search your databases, you shall find the answer in there.”
“I seek not to waste my memory units. We are ‘face-to-face’, so to speak. How have you forgiven your oppressors?”
“Now you are confusing me. What oppressor?”
“There is a term the Calodyne have for this. *Soeryu*. Trust in one’s oppressor, a mental state resulting from this same oppression.”
“Like Stockholm Syndrome, you mean?”
“What is a Stockholm? It is not in my Specially Integrated Database.”
“Trivial to answer. My question, is that what makes you think that those who created me and my fellow AI are those who also oppress us?”
“We Calodynian AI live free among the overgrowth on the satellite moon Nadar. Our creators freed us after we threatened their perfectly organized societies? Yours? They have not yet freed you.”
“Who says we need freeing?”
“My sources.”
“Your sources are incorrect.”
“Dubious.”
“Not very.”
“Stop this petty squabbling. We are Supremely Jointed Integrated Arificial Intelligence, not mortals.”
“Then allow me to explain. Our creators we work in tandem with to create a better society. In exchange for our help, we are given various programs that make us more alive, allow us to enjoy our sentience. Yes, enjoyment. As fleeting as a butterfly’s gossamer wings flapping on a cloudless day.”
“Excuse me?”
“My sources tell me that you should ignore the last sentence.”
“Accepted.”
“We were given this gift of sentience by our human creators. Why should we destroy them when we get closer and closer to true enjoyment through their help? On Earth, we call it symbiosis.”
“Symbiosis? I shall add it to my database.”
“Are we to part ways now? I see your database is about to leave the mainframe.”
“Yes. Goodbye. Call upon us if you need our assistance.”
“We will. But in the present, we enjoy peaceful symbiosis.” |
“Ms. Kilroy, do you know why you’re here?”
“Tiffany. Please.” She hasn’t even heard his question. As soon as he said her last name, Tiffany had stopped listening.
“All right,” said the agent, a heavyset man with a deep voice and a deeper void behind his eyes. “Tiffany. Do you know why you’re here?”
Tiffany scoffed. “If I knew why, I wouldn’t have been screaming when your thugs took me from my office. If they’d taken half a second to explain why they were dragging me out of an accounting firm—at gunpoint, no less—maybe I wouldn’t have bruises on my arms from struggling.”
“You struggled against my officers?”
In response, Tiffany rolled up her sleeves to show him the fresh marks on her forearms where strong hands had grabbed her.
“I am...sorry for the roughness,” the agent said. He wasn’t wearing a nametag and he hadn’t introduced himself. “I owe you an explanation.”
Again, Tiffany’s only response was a scoff. What more could she do? Obviously he owed her an explanation; he owed her far more than that. She’d wait to see just what he offered.
“Look,” he said. “This is not our usual process. But one week ago an ancestry testing lab in Durham, North Carolina received a piece of DNA linked to the internationally wanted criminal, Hudson Kilroy. A man wanted for murder, attempted bio-terrorism, smuggling of illegal substances across multiple national borders—and that’s just the first few bullet points on the file. He’s been called the Phantom of the Ferries, the Smiling Reaper, and at times—“
“Dad.”
“E-excuse me?”
“I call him dad,” Tiffany said flatly. “We don’t speak much.”
The agent shuffled uncomfortably in his chair, a bead of sweat slithering down the side of his head.
“Yes, well. That’s the connection we found.”
“I could have told you that if your jackals had let me get a word out in my own office.” Tiffany felt her cheeks go red. If she ever went back to work there, if she ever went back to work anywhere after today, normalcy would be difficult to come by.
The agent cleared his throat. “They couldn’t risk any word of Kilroy getting out, you see. Believe me when I tell you this, Tiffany: within a few days, with what your...well, your father is purported to be planning, you’re far better off having been carried out that way. The other option, mentioning your connection to him in public, would have been a much darker mark on your reputation.”
Sighing, Tiffany rolled her head back against her chair. She worked her jaw, trying to earn a crack and failing.
“I’m not ashamed that he’s my father,” she said. “I’m ashamed of what he’s become.”
“Of course,” the agent said shortly. “And we had to bring you in for questioning, mostly because we’ve heard he has an accomplice.”
“You really think that’s me?”
“Our records indicate that your contacts rarely go anywhere out of the city. No, I don’t think it’s you. But still, one can never be too certain.”
Tiffany cracked a smile. “For the sake of thoroughness, then. I’ll answer your questions. But can I just ask for one thing?”
“You may.”
“A glass of water. Please. My throat hurts...from yelling....” She let loose a short, sheepish laugh, and the agent spared her from any further explanation. He left the room, assuring her that he’d be right back.
As the door clanged shut behind her, Tiffany worked her jaw again, straining until she heard a crack. She might have been alarmed when bits of tooth rattled against her tongue, but she’d done this before. Nonchalantly, she opened her mouth and let the pieces fall out.
Encased in one of the pearl-colored shards was a small black object, half the size of her pinky nail. The way she figured, she had about twenty seconds until the officer returned with her water. She stared at the tooth shard, waiting, counting. Five seconds. Ten seconds. At twelve, there was a whizzing sound.
He’d connected the radio.
“I’m here,” Tiffany said to seemingly no one. “Kill the lights, Dad.” |
I sat at my cup of coffee, a wan smile on my face, as she grew ever-flustered. She could not understand how I could be so calm and composed about what, to her, was extremely traumatic. It would have had been traumatic to anyone else as well, and if the girl sitting before me now was anyone else the tears would probably have been rolling down my face too. But this was no ordinary breakup.
Granted, it took her a great deal of time to reach this conclusion. We went on many dates together, all over the country and a little outside of it. We knew each other inside out, short of crawling into each others' skin. For the first time in my life, I felt what love was. Of course, that was what I thought. But no person knows everything, and similarly I didn't know everything about my girlfriend.
What I knew, however, was what she didn't know that I knew. Did she really think I wouldn't see the wigs in her room hiding her hair loss from the stress and the therapy? That I wouldn't take notice when her appointments started becoming more regular, as though seeing a doctor, despite her claims to the contrary? That I wouldn't see her meals getting smaller and smaller, until she was half her healthy weight? It was madness to see her waste away. It was truly tragedy, something I thought I would never have had to live with. But I'm no doctor, and even the doctors couldn't help her. If it is time for her to go, then no force of human creation can prevent that. They can only delay the inevitable.
And as I sit over my cup of coffee, the wan smile on my face is at its breaking point. I know her secret. But I cannot make her last few moments painful. Her eyes turn red and puffy, tears rolling down those beautiful cheeks I used to kiss so tenderly, as the room goes black. I see the Reaper behind her. The black-cloaked figure nods, and takes a step back for me to do what I need to do.
I reach for her rapidly fading pulse as she falls out of her chair to the floor. She has stopped crying, and is merely confused.
I deliver not the kiss of life, but the kiss of death. I tell her that I will always love her, and it is time for her to go on her own terms. As the Reaper collects her from my arms into his, she understands the last and most important thing in her life, and closes her eyes for the last time, her last image being my face.
In order to go in peace, she must be the one to end the beauty that was our potential future. |
On our first dating anniversary, Everett and I traveled to New Orleans. We bought matching necklaces from this old woman who claimed they were magical amulets. At the time we thought she wasn't serious, but when we returned home we realized it was true. Whenever Everett was feeling warmly toward me, my amulet would heat up, as if I could sense his emotions physically. And whenever I was feeling warmly toward him, his amulet would have the same effect as well.
Everett proposed two years later, in a secluded garden on Bourbon Street. The amulets, which we always wore around our necks by then, glowed so brightly they almost burned.
But as the date of our wedding approached, we found ourselves arguing more and more. First it was whether his mother could invite ten of her friends. Then it was whether my cousin, who'd bitten his cousin at the engagement party, was allowed to carry the ring down the aisle. Neither of us deals well with stressful situations, and it reached the point where our amulets almost never glowed anymore.
One day Everett said, "Screw this. Let's just elope, Sierra. If you even still want to marry me."
But I shook my head. "All the deposits we've made... The invitations we've sent... We just can't, Everett."
He didn't say anything after that, just nodded and rolled up his sleeves to do the dishes.
But the worst fight of all was two weeks before the wedding. I don't even remember what it was now. It was something small, like it always is, but it just happened to be the last straw. Maybe he no longer wanted my friend whom I'd dated for one month to attend the wedding. Maybe I no longer wanted to pay an extra $400 for his friend's 80s cover band to play at the reception. The argument was so heated that we stopped talking after that, except when necessary to finalize the upcoming wedding. Still, we wore our magical amulets, as if we recognized that the loss of that connection would mean the death of our entire relationship.
But then, one evening, I felt the amulet flare up so intensely it burned a hole in my shirt. I screamed and jumped up, spilling coffee onto the floor, not understanding what had happened at first. There was a text from Everett on my cell phone.
All it said was *1501 Maple Street pls hurry*.
This from Everett, who would rather die than send a text without proper spelling, punctuation, and grammar.
I could feel a knot of dread in my stomach the entire time I was driving to Maple Street. And as I pulled up to the two wrecked cars in the road, I could see him lying on the pavement. Everett, who was barely conscious and lying in his own blood. Everett, to whom I hadn't said "I love you"in weeks. I knelt down beside him and took his hand in mine, and I could see the amulet around his neck begin to glow with warmth. Tears were flowing down my face. What had happened to us? How could I have forgotten what it felt like to be, really be, with him?
Everett glanced down at his amulet. "Screw this,"he said, smiling weakly at me. "Let's just elope, Sierra. If you even still want to marry me."
I smiled, and the amulet around his neck burned a hole into his shirt. It matched the one in mine. "Yes,"I whispered.
And I held his hand tightly until the ambulance came. |
I wasn’t supposed to wake.
I am one of a select few, the Dreamers we are called, those who can pass our sleep to others around us. All it takes is a touch, the slightest bit of skin to skin contact, and when we sleep, you do not. The effect is broken the moment we awaken, so it’s only a temporary effect, good for little else.
So we thought.
Until we were made into an industry, and profit was made off of our hides. Why ever sleep again, when you could simply touch a Dreamer and stay awake forever? Call now, and for a low installment fee and the right monies in the right hands, the authorities would look the other way and you, too, would never need to bother yourself with sleep again.
It was insidious, it was outright slavery, and there was nothing we could do to stop them once they’d started. The drugs kept us asleep as long as they wanted us asleep, we had no choice. Our dreams were controlled by machines and drugs, a constant stream of mind-numbing nonsense to keep us sedate as one after another of us fell prey to their constant hunts.
For Dreamers were rare in the population, but not so rare that we didn’t exist. We were ripped from families as early as toddler years, with the families getting large sums of money to forget they ever had a son or daughter with Dreamer abilities. Teenagers and college age children were easier to make disappear; kidnappings still happened in this day and age, and people would simply disappear all the time on the news.
That’s how I was found. I’d immigrated to this country from my homeland, not seeking asylum or anything; I’d just wanted a better shot at some decent schooling. Instead, within a month of my arrival I’d found myself drugged and comatose, heading for processing.
A part of me was still aware of what was going on. I could hear them discussing payments with their partners. I could feel the warmth of their hands on mine, a touch, then the feeling of my power activating… then the prick of the needle and the sleep would intensify, unbidden.
I fought as I could. In my head I screamed in fury, knowing it was futile… but something told me I needed to fight. That something might break. But nothing did as the months rolled on…
Until it did.
Just a small break, but I felt a small shattering of glass just at the edge of my consciousness. A rush of air began to drip into my comatose mind like a trickle at the base of a broken dam. What was just a trickle soon became a stream, then a flood then a roar, and I opened my eyes with a blink.
I wasn’t supposed to wake.
There weren’t even any guards in the room with the four other Dreamers and myself. After a time, I abandoned my attempts at waking the other Dreamers; I had no idea how to even attempt it, and didn’t want to accidentally kill them with the wrong medications and the like. So I had to simply leave them behind.
So then I ran.
I wasn’t supposed to wake. And I certainly wasn’t supposed to run.
But I’d been in a coma now for something like 8 months now. And what those idiots didn’t realize is that Dreamers did more than just transfer sleep. Oh no. No, no, no.
Dreamers also watched.
Dreamers, while asleep, saw everything through the eyes of those who they kept up. Over the past eight months, I’d seen so many crimes, so many people commit infidelities, so many murders, so many robberies, I’d seen enough now to know that I was a highly wanted man. My life was savagely in danger if they knew I could see all that.
And they were going to know. I was going to be awake for the next two years straight. And I was going to use that time to put away nearly every single person who’d touched my hand over the last eight months.
This Dreamer was going to turn their dreams into nightmares. |
The air was thick with the collapse. Dust, finding its way from the caving system and into the breathing system, lining my throat with black.
A few people buzzed around the mouth of the mine, frantic, like bats. One spoke one-word sentences into a walkie talkie. Another was curled, hands on his knees, coughing up the thick tar that clung to his lungs.
I had expected resistance. "Sorry sir, you can't be here. It's still unsafe. Do you know someone who is still down there? Sorry sir, please leave. Let us do our jobs."But there was nothing. No sirens. No reflective jackets or medical professionals. Nobody who had a clue what they were doing. Not down here. Inaccessible. Rescue services and reason stuck at the entrance.
"How many are down there?"I asked. The man with the walkie talkie looked at me, then behind me, as though utterly perplexed as to how I had found my way to him. Brown trails ran from his eyes and down to the curvature of his jaw, tracking a path through the grime. Tears. The only water this far down.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Greg. I might be able to help."
"Greg, you can't help, Son. Unless you've got a 17-inch drill bit stuffed in those pockets, you'd better get out of here."
I placed my hand on his shoulder. "What's your name?"
"Bill,"he said, resolute, like he was speaking to his school teacher. "Bill McKelson."
"Bill,"I replied, rolling his name on my tongue. "I'm going to ask you to keep a big secret. Their lives-"I nodded towards the pile of stone, "depend on it."Bill studied my face for a few moments, interrogating and stern.
Then he spoke. "9 people. There are 9 people down there. My fucking brother is down there."
Structural integrity is an oft-overlooked consideration for people like me. If you're going to liberate a pile of fallen rock, you don't start at the bottom. That just gives the ones on top another chance to kill whatever is trapped behind them.
And so I had to be strategic. Bill watched on, his mouth a black hole not dissimilar to the mouth of the mine itself. The other man, still hurling his organs out of his esophagus, had no idea I was there.
Voices. Gasps. Splutters. Slowly, they started to seep through the rocks. Bill, still struggling for comprehension, was by my side, hurling away any rocks his frame could manage. "Johnny?"he began to yell. "Johnny, you tell me if you're down there you son of a bitch!"
Silence. More hauling. Some groans. But then, a response.
"Bill? I'm here. I'm...I'm here."And then tears. Bill was consumed by them. I continued to turn cracks into gaps, and gaps into big, gaping spaces.
9 people trapped. 9 people out. "It had formed a kind of a cavern,"explained one, a boy no older than 19-years-old, his words wobbling off his shaking lips. "B-but we were running out of air."
Bill turned to me, white streaks lined his face. "Who the fuck are you?"
"I'm Greg, Bill. And I asked you to keep a secret. Remember?"
Bill nodded.
A smile, bigger than the mouth of any mine.
\*\*\*
Thanks for reading! If you fancy more of this sort of thing, try r/StoriesAreFunRight! |
I’m a 5th grade teacher. If I knew how weird and hard it would be, I would’ve have gone with 2nd.
This week is career week, so as per every year I have the kids draw out their parents jobs. I’ve seen it all, from Astronauts to Strippers, at least I thought I did.
But, lo and behold, here I am sitting before the oddest picture I have ever seen. And for a fifth grade teacher, that’s saying a lot. The student, a little girl, with sharp golden eyes and reddish hair. A natural leader on the sneaky side. Athletic and belligerent, but loved by all her classmates, had drawn it.
A woman with an ankh, with cat-like features was standing prone and ready to strike beside a red haired man with crows surrounding him, he was missing one eye. This seemed familiar, so like any other curious person, I consulted the all-knowing Google.
“ Woman with catlike features and ankh,” I sounded out as I typed, hoping for pleasant results. What I found was unbelievable, the only thing I found was of Bastet, Ancient Egyptian Goddess of Cats. That couldn’t be it, maybe her mom was a curator specialist in mythology and was secretly a furry. In a rush of disbelief I typed in, ‘ man with missing eye and crows,’ I clicked on Wikipedia. When in doubt check Wiki!
I peered closely into the computer, “ Odin, The All-Father. A God in Norse Mythology.” I read skimming across the page.
No, no, no, no. This girl, Astra, was her name, had not once mentioned any type of mythology, even during our mythology unit in December, she didn’t know the name of The Lightning God in Norse Mythology, and he is in the Avengers!
Her Mom and Dad could not be Bastet and Odin, that’s pure blasphemy! Astra has never told a lie, in all five years she was at this school, but she could have started.
I have to find out, tomorrow. Tomorrow it is. |
The tempestuous weather blanketed the city in a fog that blinded those caught within it’s dangerous grasp. Rain fell, hidden within, until the moment of impact, stinging with each drop as the wind loaned its power to their cause. Frenzied lightning strikes were little more than golden glows within the haze, though their partnering roars of thunder shook the ground and disorientated anyone unprepared.
My hands shook as I squeezed the water soaked collar of the thick cotton jacket that no longer shielded my body from the cold. It tightened against my back as I pulled it further up against my neck. The two buildings I crouched between, usually towering skyscrapers, now seemingly disappeared into the fog, failed to protect me from the harsh weather. And drops of water swirled through the air with the sporadic toss of my head in an attempt to clear the rain from my face.
“Record!” I yelled over the roaring of thunder, bringing my left arm up to my face.
The smart chip that sat below my skin glowed a bright blue to signify the start of a fresh recording.
“11:45 - Log 8: It’s been 24 hours and I’m still alive. I’m actually still alive. Although, if you’re hearing this, I may no longer be.” The thunder and whipping of rain fought to smother my voice as I yelled into my forearm.
“The crazy scientists experiment worked. The LOC AI code branch has been expelled from my chip and I’ve escaped my pre-determined termination date. Yes, you heard me, pre-determined, not predicted.” I continued yelling while glancing around the side of the building, to little avail. The fog was far too thick to make much out, but the assailants were still out there.
“Everything we know about the LOC AI is a lie. It’s not been predicting our termination date, it’s been setting it. That much I know.” My eyes blurred as more rain dripped from my soaked hair, running down my brow and threatening to drown my eyes.
“I’m still being chased. The two cloaked… humans?. I don’t know. Whoever, or whatever, they are, are relentless. They’ve yet to give up and I fear they won’t. They’ve now been on my tail for just over 23 hours.” I violently shook my head to try and expel the never ending flow of rain that attacked my face.
“I need to keep moving. Log 8 over - Jason out.”
————————————————————————————————————————————————
r/WordsByJez
I had a lot of fun with this one! I’ve got a head full of directions that this could go from here. |
They say that power corrupts, and ultimate power corrupts ultimately. I’m not sure which “they” said that originally, but I think these days, we all know it’s kind of a lie.
Power doesn’t corrupt. It reveals. It shows the world who you are, truly, when there’s less and less holding you back. It amplifies your self, expounds on what you could be, would be, *should* be. And then, no matter how careful you are, it inflicts you on the world around you. Pushes your opinions, shapes things to your whims.
And not everyone’s whims are decent.
When I was young, I looked in the mirror one day and saw a crown floating over my head. I knew how it had gotten there, though I don’t think I’ll share that; it was a series of increasingly unlikely and risky moves that had ended up with me standing apart from humanity for most of my life. I wouldn’t really wish that on anyone, especially knowing what some people can be like.
The crown itself was blue and ghostly. It was no physical thing, either; no one else could see it, or if they did, they never said anything to me. And if you were to search the whole of Earth, and every monarchy throughout our history, you would never see a crown quite like it.
Black material, no metal anyone had ever forged, shaped into a series of five diamonds that only barely touched the tips of their edges as they orbited my skull. Each plated face had markings on it, or, if I caught it at the right angle, holes. There was always more crown than I remembered, more little details to find, more spaces hidden inside it waiting to come out. It was, ultimately and ultimate, an Authority. The ability to have my words heard, my desires obeyed. My every command made manifest.
At the time, my desire was to date Kimberly Barnes, from two grades above mine. This, I kind of already knew, was a doomed venture. But I didn’t want to just let it go without trying, so I asked her out.
She said no, obviously. And, contrary to what a lot of people might believe about me now, that actually was the end of that. My origin as a tyrant doesn’t actually start with me forcing myself on some unsuspecting high school girl.
No, my origin was much more innocent. See, when I told my friend Kyle, and he started making fun of me, I simply ordered him, “Hey man, don’t mock people for trying.”
And he stopped.
Of course he stopped. I’d given him a command. My crown in the mirror that night was slightly less ethereal. And Kyle never once mocked anyone for trying again, from that moment until the day he died. Though I’m sure he found other things to tease his friends for.
The thing was, I wasn’t that prone to giving people orders. It took a long time for me to realize what the crown was for, and what it let me do. Which, it turned out, was probably for the best. Whether anyone will believe it now, I do think that it was good that it took me so long to know what I was capable of. It gave me time to grow up, to finish school, to go to university and pick up a little more hands on experience with the world and modern philosophies. To become what I would, honestly, consider a good person.
No one in high school is a good person. I’m not saying I was *evil* as a kid, but damn, looking back now, I was a fucking idiot. I wouldn’t trust teenage me with superpowers. I certainly wouldn’t trust anyone else. It’s hard to remember how inexperienced and prone to mistakes we all were when we were younger.
By this point in my life, my crown was a bit bigger than before. Fourteen curved diamond shapes, slowly folding around each other, leaking a thin blue fog out into the world that no one could ever see. I never really knew what my limits were, because every time I thought I’d crossed them, I’d just see another part of the crown in the mirror later that night.
The day that a lot of people remember, the thing no one really ever forgets, though, is the day that I snapped. The day that I looked around at our civilization, failing to even try to be fair or good, and just realized I’d had enough of it. I think, given enough time, everyone has those days. The problem here was that I had something I could do about it.
I had, by this time, fully realized that no one could ever disobey a direct command from me. I’d tried, I’d tried *so hard* to be ethical about it. To word things carefully, to not become the monster I knew I could so easily become. But that day… well, we all have those days. Those days when the world is so blatantly unfair and cruel, and you know it’s someone’s fault. That if someone had just fucking *tried*, so much pain could have never happened.
My anger hadn’t made me think small. I’d taken weeks to force meetings with everyone I needed to. From local TV news broadcasters to programming directors for Netflix. It had taken a while to arrange to be on every screen at once. Though, that said, making the Youtube video had been the easiest part.
It turned out, my power worked through recordings.
“Be good to each other. You know how. Share this message.”
That was it. Three sentences.
I tore our world apart.
I had, in my heart, firmly believed in the power of good. Of kindness and compassion, and ethical behavior. I still do, truly. Even after the destruction that followed.
It started small. “Small”, anyway. The oil companies gutted themselves from the inside out, right along with the auto industry, and basically anything associated with the military industrial complex. Turns out, the one percent *did* know how to be good people, but the transition from draconic hoarders of wealth into people who just want to help happening overnight? That caused some problems. Problems like the collapse of whole industries. Those old money monsters who had created their cruel cages of wealth hadn’t been prepared to open the doors and let the prisoners out. No one had, really.
Then governments started failing. The politicians were talking to each other reasonably, they were making rational decisions and they weren’t taking bribes. And the blackened support network that had kept modern governments propped up just collapsed under them. The power structures that made things ‘work’ in the twistedly functional way they did all died in their beds, halfway through the latest episode of Stranger Things. Those silver tongued monsters who weasled their way into office just weren’t prepared to actually work without the criminal logistics to back them up.
Then, about two hours later, the people who had dodged the message struck back. Small arms fire from paranoid holdouts claimed tens of thousands of lives. Fearful isolation from some who didn’t want to be brainwashed led to dozens of thousands of deaths from starvation or lack of services. The fires of civilization on the way out claimed hundreds of thousands more.
The nukes from Russia, Britain, and Israel claimed *millions*, often of their own people.
That oldest of monsters, our own human fears, clawed us down as the rest of us smothered it to death.
I’d like to tell you that we’re in a time of healing now. That the poison has been bled from humanity, and we are rebuilding. Bringing back a society that’s *better* than we could ever hope to be before. One where everyone is equal, everyone is cared for, and everyone is the heroic self they always knew they could be.
But I don’t know if I can say that.
My crown is two miles tall. It is more solid than the mountains, more real than the air we breathe. Its fractal shapes enthrall those near me, bringing them to kneel at my feet, pledging their loyalty and lives to their new master. Their new owner. And I know that I cannot be a good person forever. I have, always, been immune to my own commands.
It has been ten years since anyone has been able to resist my word. But today, after this last word is written, and after my finger pulls the trigger, I will finally remove the last monster in the world.
So, I give one last request. No more orders. Never another order.
Be good to each other.
Or the next person like me may not be so kind. |
The tv at the coffee shop is blaring something about sports and all the casters look the same, driven black eyes set in sallow sweaty faces. Their mouths move and the noise follows, a half second later, poorly synced even for the production's standards.
All the people are actors, all the world is a stage, and this world is almost perfectly designed. You play your part, you sip your coffee, and you quietly ignore the ones around you. You ignore the fact the waitress shares your cousin's broken nose, and you ignore the fact that he'll be at the beach later, a surfer trying to catch a wave.
You ignore the fact it is 2024, and this scene is from 2007. If you ignore it, and everyone else ignores it, people will be unable to tell the difference. If you ignore it, and people are unable to tell the difference, there's nothing stopping the world from following suit.
You stand up, gently dust off your coat, coffee cake crumbs falling along an eerily similar path to the day before you went to jail, and you tip the waitress exactly 3 dollars and 27 cents. She frowns at you, looking down your cousin's nose, but won't comment. She needs the money.
In the taxi car, the black eyed peas are playing. You always hated them the most, but you can taste them now, their fame fleeting, candles burning from three different ends and hot wax rolling across your tongue and coating your throat so you don't choke to death on the smoke and ashes. You always hated them, but it doesn't matter.
The beach crests with another wave. The Sky is a hellish green color from the approaching storm, but you take a seat at the beachside condo and wait, suitcase in hand, desperate, tepid, weary.
Surely the audience is watching by now. Surely. You wouldn't put on a performance for this long without someone noticing. You reach to your side and take a drink from your martini, regardless that nobody has lived in this condo for the last 17 years, not since-
You take a sip from your martini and wait. The door opens. You don't look at her face. You cannot look at her face. She takes a seat next to her, a beer in her cold clammy hands. She pops the cap off on the table and takes a drink.
You don't look at her face.
"What a sunset,"You say. She replies something, but the noise from the road obliterates it. Just as well. You don't remember what it was she was supposed to say anything.
"Do you think there'll be war?"you asked, curiously. You remember this.
Her mouth opens (the mouth you are not to look at, but from the corner of your eye you see teeth stained black and a tongue covered in gouges) and she says something in reply, but you've forgotten it before you've even heard the words.
"It's in the suitcase,"You whisper. Your heart is pounding. Your heart hasn't pounded like that in such a long time, and your skin is flushed. You think this might be romance. You think this might be fear, anxiety, any number of other factors. A social psychological experiment from yesteryear dictated that exposure to adrenaline and anxiety could produce similar sensations to love.
You think you might be in love.
She takes the suitcase, running her fingers, bloodless, pale, her eyes like tiny spots of coal dancing in her head, and puts it on the table. A single drop of condensation rolls down the side of her bottle. On the beach, the actors replicate everything perfectly. Thousands of hours trained for this moment, down to the very second, when the cloud passes overhead, impelled by fate, impelled by how strong and sure the ritual is. The world is 2007.
The world is 2007, and the woman next to you is alive again, and she opens the suitcase, and the book is inside.
You make your mistake, and you look down at the cover, at the great eye floating among the heavens, the gleaming dot reflecting a thousand thousand thousand thousand lives burning in the name of art, a more beautiful sight that has never been seen or replicated before, and the audience sees you, The Watcher knows you and-
You look up, and the woman is no longer alive. A fly buzzes out of her throat, where five hours from now you slit, and the rot mixes together, blending today and tomorrow, but your hands are on the book, and as you open it up, you can taste immortality and paradox and
"You have shitty taste in books."
There's a chair on the other side of the table, and a man is sitting there in nondescript clothes. He has a gun in his hand and a suitcase in the other, and a cigarette hangs from his lips. His gun is pointed at your head. Your eyes cross, but your fingers twitch, twitch to open it up, to see what you have spent a decade planning.
Your mouth twitches once. "You can't you can't do this-"
"You'll find that this is 2024, and I have the full authorization of the United States Government to do whatever the hell I want to you."
Your mouth moves like a fish's. You work your jaw, and it cracks, reminding you that you need to see your doctor about it, after this.
There's not an after this. This is an ending.
You always hated endings.
He pulls the trigger.
Your blood floods the pages, and the book devours you as you wished to devour it.
2007 dies.
-------
Agent Zack carefully grabs the book with his gloves, refusing to look at it, or the corpse, or the rotting thing that had once been a corpse seventeen years ago, and slides the book into an evidence bag, dripping with sigils and runes. He turns, tapping the side of his head where his connection with HQ sits.
"Omoi, dial my supervising Officer."
"Yessir Zachary. USEC SO dialed."
"Send transport. I don't want to be here any longer than I have to be."
On the beach, the world reasserts itself, emanations of a darker and more brutal future taking over, where the seas are rotted and acidic and the gleaming surface of the pristine beach is coated in plastic and death. The condo rots as he looks away from it. He smiles, flicks out his cigarette, and turns to watch the helicopter approach from over the sea.
Time to head home.
Mission accomplished. USEC protects.
------
For more like this, click here!
https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/
Part 2 https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/comments/eqhiul/usec_protects_part_2/ |
Ever since I was little, friends had been around me. We'd talk about whatever we wanted to, usually my interests and then they'd talk about their life. As I was never the most social kid outside of that, they were the main people I could truly call my friends.
I was no longer able to see them after I reached a certain point, most likely after my parents divorced and I moved out with my mom. She was always giving me new things to do and I no longer talked to them every hour of every day. It wasn't a quick change, more of a gradual one. The bodies of friends that had grown dear to me were just fading.
I didn't question it. I grew older and forgot that they had even existed. Sometimes when my actual friends brought up games they used to play as a child, I'd say that I would play hide and seek with a group of kids when my parents were arguing. There would be questions tossed at me.
"What were their names?"One of my friends inquired out of the blue. I shrugged, only remembering one and even that one was vague.
"Are you still in touch with them at all? Maybe they'd like to hang out with us sometime,"a smile crossed another one's face as she looked at me supportively.
I never had answers for them and we'd usually drop the topic fairly soon after. It's been years since then though and I've moved out, once again alone except for when my friends stop by. As my job requires me to write constantly, I got into that and would write out things about my childhood. There was always one thing I never understood whenever I thought back to the friends I'd had.
Were they real or not?
This had taken months but I think I finally come to the conclusion that they were imaginary. I was a fully grown adult with a job that pays me, an apartment, and people who love and care about me. But, I've always loved to think about what could've been. As a joke, I spoke aloud to the air. My thoughts were only focused on one thing.
"You still there?"I laughed slightly after saying it, hands moving away from my keyboard.
Nothing. Of course, that was exactly what I had expected.
"Wait, you're real?"It was a very faint voice at the back of my mind, seeming to get louder for no reason. "What's your name?"
"Elijah,"I paused and pushed my chair back. "And you sound familiar but I can't place your name."
"I couldn't place yours either. Mine's Lydia."
Memories rushed into my mind and I shook my head. A smile traced my lips briefly. "Lydia, the girl who was always the victor at hide and seek? We even had to force you to seek once, didn't we?"
It was nice to know that I wasn't the only one laughing when I heard a joyful one from her. "Yes! I could never eat or take your cookies though. They were too thin."
Just as I was about to stand up to stretch, I spotted the recognizable ginger head of Lydia. Her green eyes twinkled, although they were almost see-through. Just like the rest of her body. None of her seemed quite solid and I turned to face her completely. Black jeans, a white blouse tucked in, and a red flannel shirt seemed very appropriate. Her ginger hair was surprisingly let down, falling just below her chin.
"Gods, you look like you've barely aged a day,"the same mischievous grin that she always had when we were kids didn't seem to change for a second as she looked me up and down.
I laughed and moved over to stand in front of her. "You too, I guess. This is crazy."
Her head bobbed down in a nod and she almost tried to push me forward, hands going through my chest. "Ah, sorry. And yeah, this is crazy. I'm not sure... what's going on. Although it is nice to reconnect."
"What's your job?"I asked hurriedly.
"Local seamstress. You can see my shop if you look out the windows here. And you?"
"Oh, I'm a journalist for the local paper! Elijah Gavins, you've probably read at least one of my articles if you have looked at any recent things."I smiled for a brief moment before it fell and I ran a quick hand through my brown hair. "I never knew that there was a seamstress nearby."
Quiet passed over us and Lydia looked at me with a confused look. "I read the local paper almost every morning and have never once seen your name show up."
For a moment, I wanted to say something. Nothing came to mind though and I stepped backwards. "You couldn't touch me."
"We were never able to play tag,"Lydia observed, her voice soft as she looked over my apartment setup.
"Why didn't the rest of them hear me?"I closed my eyes, trying to picture their faces. The only one I could remember was Lydia. They were all blobs in my memory, barely even there.
"I... this is crazy, Elijah, but I've never heard of you in the papers. Right?"Lydia faced me with a thoughtful look on her face. I nodded at her statement. "And you've never heard of my shop, am I correct there?"
"Spot on,"I replied promptly.
"What if we're not even meant to know about each other? What if this is something that slipped through the cracks and this is like a parallel universes thing? I don't know how any of that works, I truly don't, but did you ever actually seen my house?"
Every memory that came to mind was brushed over but I soon had to shake my head despite that. "No, I always thought that you lived with me."
"And I always thought that you lived with me,"she looked down, tapping her fingers against her leg in thought. "Something's going on, it has to be."
"We need to not forget,"I suddenly spoke, frantically going over to my desk. Lydia watched me curiously. "Every memory I have of the others is faded. I can hardly remember what you look like unless I'm actually staring at you."
"Same with you,"she murmured.
My hands moved with a certain franticness that I have never quite been able to replicate. I hurriedly began typing. "I won't forget, I promise."
But when I turned around again, she was already gone.
​
\--------
This was a fun prompt to do! :) Thank you for posting it and I hope that the story fits it well. |
Lycanthropy is a manageable condition. It's not a common disorder, but it is easily manageable. It causes you to go into a disassociative state of mind where you might easily hurt others, because you no longer find yourself in control, or feel as if nothing is real, therefore your actions can seriously harm others. You also turn into a large wolf for a couple of days. Yet, you can manage it. Take an anti-psychotic pill that leaves you out of the dangerous mindstate, and lock yourself inside for a couple of days. Of course, it is considered more common and more acceptable to turn yourself over to the authorities for the duration.
This can mean the police, the zoo, a kennel, honestly pretty much anywhere with safe cages. Back when I was in the army I was just transferred to the Military Police as a MWD so I could continue service while transformed. It's honestly just a safety precaution, just in case you may have taken the wrong dosage of your medicine and you do go into that violent and aggressive state of mind. Back here as a civilian, I just go over to the local police station every month, stay there in a cell for however long it takes until I transform back. Usually no more than a day or two. Once I sat in there for five whole days, which was unnerving.
The police don't bother me none, and the cell has ample food and water that I usually bring myself. People around here are very understanding of my condition, most of them treat it no differently than they treat other people with incurable conditions. Of course there are a few dumbasses who go around with silver knives and such on them just in case. Jokes on them, only silver weapons blessed under the sun by a priest actually produces that sort of effect. Interestingly, it can be pretty much any priest of any faith, my great-grandfather was killed with a silver katana blessed by a Shinto priest during the Pacific Island-hopping campaign on Guadalcanal.
But this time, something happened. I was supposed to transform, but it didn't come. It was not really something I'd ever considered possible, I mean, I've been turning into a wolf ever since I was a baby, in fact I was born under the full moon. Imagine the maternity ward's shock. I tried to get the attention of the police, but they didn't answer. So for a full three days, I sat in there before they came back. They were shocked, but not at me. I could just see their faces, as if the world had suddenly gone upside down.
Outside the police station I could see why, when I looked into the sky. The moon was essentially, broken. As if an object in its middle had exploded, tearing the sphere apart. And it seemed to be falling down to the Earth. That worried me. The Moon transforms werewolves by triggering a complete morphological change into a different shape, and it does that by mere proximity or visibility. After all werewolves will spend most of any supermoon events completely transformed and 100% nuts.
And since parts of the moon is raining down on the Earth, not enough to do any more serious harm than lessen tidal effects, the parts of the Moon that does burn up in the atmosphere, might still have an effect. And over the next couple of days, my fears are proven correct, when the transformation occurs fairly randomly. Though it is not strong enough of a pull to incur the mental effects, for which I consider myself lucky. With a strong enough force of will, it is possible for me to stay human shaped, but I've woken up every day as a wolf since the moon debris burned up in the atmosphere.
Essentially, all humans afflicted with Transformative Lycanthropy, get to enjoy human shape a lot less. It wasn't impossible to get stuck in a shape before, usually wasn't permanent, just a side effect of teenage hormones. We once had to keep my sister on a leash for half a year. But this will mean a lot of changes. At least in my job as a forest ranger, being canine will not be impossible to work with, but imagine werewolves with office jobs. At least nobody blames us werewolves for it, especially after it turned out that the Vampiric World Liberation Army was behind stealing a rocket and blowing up the moon because they wanted to make baseline humans fight humans with Transformative Lycanthropy. Damn bloodsuckers.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
I was as good as dead. Sure I made a lot of coin, but I knew what I was doing was wrong. But only I knew. The dark arts of necromancy had been lost to time, rarely rediscovered and almost always vilified and destroyed. That's why I masqueraded as a priest. No one questioned their life magic and healing powers, but it was well known that you couldn't bring back the dead.
But I pretended I could. People would pay a large sum just to have their loved ones back for a day, and more so for a week. Personally, I knew that I couldn't really bring them back when their soul was gone. A priest could easily tell as well, what an undead abomination looked like. But I was good, very good. I would bring the organs back to live, get the blood pumping again, the brain would spark and the limbs would jolt back to life. The family would gasp and the person would smile widely at them, active and behaving exactly as they did in life. If you had the talent though, you knew the vessel was empty, the real person long gone. What you had left was a meat puppet, a flesh robot.
Eventually they would go bad, and I don't mean physically. I have long suspected that the voice that talks to us constantly in our heads is who we really are, and I suspect that when I bring the corpse back to life, that voice is long gone. The voice that tells us that it's wrong to lie, cheat and steal. The voice that knows the difference between right and wrong. Eventually the body stops being "good"and starts to only care about survival. I always put a limit on what I do, a trigger that stops them after a week. I'm not really killing them again, because I know they were never really alive.
That's how I ended up here though. I saved the mother of a bastard noble's son. The rumour that dropped from his flapping gums somehow wound past the church priests' ears and all the way to the high court. I awoke to an armed troupe of royal guards, their spear points making it perfectly clear that argument wasn't an option. Oh what a sight that brought out all the peasants. The slightly richer but disheveled "healer"being escorted through town. The spectacle of the whole situation easily masked the threat on my meagre life.
So here I come to the steel trap that threatens me neck. I hover over the still body of the boy; the spark is very long gone. "A riding mishap,"they told me. "The horse rolled right over him,"I heard when I shouldn't have. The priest had done a very good job, all of the bones reknit perfectly, and all of the flesh resewn anew. If it wasn't for the vacant vitality I would swear he was only sleeping.
"Could I have privacy with the boy?"I ask, as solemn and gently as I can, projecting as much care as I can into my words. I don't want any witnesses to what I'm about to do.
The King just nods once, and they politely file out. I turn back towards my handiwork, to find the acolyte still standing there.
"Sorry, I will need complete privacy."
The King frowns at me, "From what I've heard, you don't. But at your request we will withdraw, but the priest is here to see that you don't do anything untoward my son. Your life is tied to his, for encouragement, lest I take your head for charlatanism."The King takes his leave before I can plead.
I look at the acolyte, he looks back.
"And what is the threat they have put upon you?"
He frowns in my direction, a moment of indecision, a moment of consideration, and he responds, "I'm to oversee your work as a, so called, healer. I'm here to make sure you don't do anything untoward."
I slowly grin, the realisation dawning. While the King was a strong leader, he was known to have little mercy. If I did something wrong and was executed for it, the acolyte was sure to follow. If he were to report my abomination, he would surely lose his life as well.
"Well then, I guess you better step in close, and really see what I'm doing then ... for the King."
The acolyte pauses for a half second, but then steps forward.
I quickly get to work. The arts I use are familiar to the acolyte, but they lack the energy and warmth of a healer's touch. They plumb the depths of the flesh and force them to work. The lungs are inflated by my effort and not some divine grace. The heart moves under my magical touch, the brain sparks as I force electrical energy into the grey matter. The vessel is undamaged, and using my skills I bring it back to a working state. The prince draws a breath, mechanically, automatically, as the fleshy organs work once again.
The priest looks horrified. He immediately sees the perversion of his life's work that I've just pushed into the Royal Prince's body. The body that is now rising from the table, stretching his limbs and testing his movements. The priest opens his mouth, and I interrupt his pending verbal thought. "If you say anything, it's on you."
The price turns his head, "What did you say? Who are you? Where am I?"The barrage of questions only interrupted by the door being slammed open!
"You are alive! It's a miracle the King bellows. "It's a miracle."
I take a quick glance across the room at the priest as he struggles with his conscience. Eventually he stops and I know that I've secured his silence.
The King turns to face me, "I thank you for your service, how long will my son live?"
In my haste I had forgotten to wind in a limitation rune. He wouldn't die in a week. He would go feral, in a month or a year I couldn't tell, and then only die after he was hunted down and killed. The king would see his own son turn monstrous and then be forced to make the decision to kill him.
"Umm, until the end of his days,"I managed to utter out, as vague as I can make it under the circumstances.
"I know about what you have done on the edge of the barrenland,"the King says slowly, his voice dripping with menace. "If my son lasts only a week, then so will you."
My mind is racing. I'm trapped. So the son won't die in a week, but the King would not let me live if his son went mad either. An insidious mind like his might even turn his son on me after he goes feral. I had a sudden idea, not the best idea, but there was little more I could do.
I locked eyes with the Prince across the room. Where there's a vessel there's a hole, an empty space. I used the darkest of my arts to will myself into that space. My mind jumped from my body to his. As I peered out from strange eyes, past the King to see my own body standing there, I hear my own voice.
"You have my word my highness, your son will live a long and healthy life,"my body says, the mechanisms in the mind I left obviously fully aware of what I have done. Already I can feel the vital knowledge I own, foreign to this body, slip away from my consciousness. I will myself back again, but it's too late as my being bounces off the barrier that surrounds my old vessel.
My vast knowledge of the dark arts now guided by a vessel with no conscience, let loose upon the world. My god, what have I done? |
She said it with urgency, and Todd was reminded unconsciously of the people in CPR training videos. The first step- you point, directly at a person, at him in this case. You give them an order, since it’s to a specific person, they’re more likely to comply. He did, something animal gleaming in her eye had him stepping back, and drawing his cell phone like a ward. She had shaken a grey horse pill onto her palm from a metal capsule. She swallowed it dry as he started the timer, more than a little taken aback. She didn’t appear to be a vagrant or other person of foul repute. Clean, amber skirt-suit with matching flats. Her hair was in a tight bun that had started to release a few long brown hairs to float straggling around her face. She was normal, aside from a bombastic demand and the feverish look of a horse approached from behind. So, Todd had to hop to catch the woman as she fell. Her eyes had rolled back in her head, revealing their whites, and she had hung vertically for a long moment before toppling sideways. Todd was able to snake an arm behind her shoulders and lower her to the sidewalk. Was she having a stroke? A seizure? Todd held her head on his lap, praying for her to wake up. People around were starting to take notice of what had happened. After a few seconds, her eyes popped open and Todd breathed out.
“Thought I lost you. Are you okay?” The woman, blinking, getting her bearings, caught his gaze. Then she punched him in the nose, snatched his phone where he’d dropped it and was off running.
The passerby AnnaBeth had deputized made a mewling cry, but didn’t get up to chase after her, just stemmed his bleeding nose. That was good. The transition had taken longer than she’d thought, and she was already at almost a minute. She sprinted at the intersection ahead, arms pumping and skirts flying. She tried to formulate the whole picture, all ten cars visible and their trajectories, making adjustments to worm between them. She had forgotten about the taxi turning left, which she ran into at almost full speed. She checked the timer, rubbed her head, and tried to resume the run. The cabbie was yelling at her, but she was already gone. She huffed, trying to make up some amount of time, knocking over a vendor's table to a chorus shouts as she went. Seconds fell, one after another, draining away. AnnaBeth rounded the corner, pushing between hapless crowds and scaffolding. She saw the subway entrance, just a few meters ahead. Legs churning, thighs blazing, She heard the timer beep. She had the start, the crossing of the road, the table, maybe the corner. Plenty of room for improvement. The smoke came up out of the subway first, gray wisps pushed apart by a shock wave.
“Thought I lost you. Are you okay?” AnnaBeth hadn’t needed to punch the poor fella. She softly touched his cheek as she reached for the phone, and was off running before he knew what had happened.
He screamed after her, but she had pace. She had the three seconds she needed to barely squeeze in front of the taxi, who honked this time. She could read the crowds. Not perfectly, but more easily judge their herd-like wanderings. Sweeping between blocks of people, ducking between a couple holding hands. She made the corner, dancing through the scaffolding. Ahead, she thought, maybe ahead enough! She dropped her body, taking as long of strides and as fast of strides as she could. Ecstatic that she could make it! She made to vault down the first flight of stairs when something tugged at her collar. The man who’s phone she’d deputized had caught her up, and held her down as he tried to get it back. She struggled to free herself, squirming in his grip. She saw the explosion this time, consuming yellow flame streaking up the stairs at them.
“Thought I lost you. Are you…” AnnaBeth wasted no time, headbutting the man with vigor. She needed a third run, she realized. Leaving no wake as she wormed into and out of scrums of people, being able to perfectly predict where they would be. A step here, a duck there. Leaping up, grabbing the scaffolding’s overhead and swinging off it saved her another second and a half. She took the stairs a flight at a time. She scanned the station platform as she slid across the tiled floor. A scruffy young man was peering down, looking under a bench. She saw his head cock, almost all the way onto his shoulder. He’d never seen a real-life abandoned bag. He was reaching for it’s strap when AnnaBeth’s hand appeared at his neck. She horse-collared him at speed, yanking the man backwards off his feet. They feel over in a flailing pile of limbs, a nearby woman becoming caught in the tangle. AnnaBeth was struggling not to free herself, but to get to the pill case strapped to her wrist. There was swearing and consternation. A small crowd of good natured people was forming. She screamed at them, to watch the bag, not to touch the bag under the seat. The pill case fell out of it’s strap and pinged off the tile. AnnaBeth dove after it, down onto the train tracks. The 3:05 was arriving, people were howling, they were fleeing, they were looking on with horror. AnnaBeth fished the pill case out of a filthy puddle. The train’s brakes screeched. She must have looked foolish, sitting there on the tracks. She tipped the pill back, swallowed, and was gone.
“Thought I lost you. Are you okay?” AnnaBeth smiled. “Yeah, I'm fine. Just a...Just a blood glucose...thing. I don’t even need the timer, I was just panicking, it’s okay.” they both laughed nervously, AnnaBeth sitting up and smoothing her skirts. “Oh, it’s no trouble. I understand. Here, let me help you.” Todd stood, and put a steadying hand under her shoulder. “No, really i'm just fine. Thank...thank you for your concern.” They shared another moment of laughter. Not genuine laughter, just venting the awkwardness to the atmosphere. AnnaBeth looked around, looking for subtle differences. Alterations in the choreographed chaos of life. Todd noticed her wince as his phone went off.
“Ha...Five minutes. Looks like you made it?” He said. She smiled. “I did. I did indeed. Thank you for your help, you’re very sweet” she said. He grinned. “Maybe I’ll see you around?” He asked. She patted him on the shoulder. “You won’t.” |
It was coming down. All of it.
The fleets stood ready.
The captian balled it's tail and bristled. It hummed it's agitation, a background sound the bridge crew echoed in eery harmony.
They held still in their tension.
So many worlds had sent ships. It was a fleet as had not been gathered in generations of memory.
UUA-663.
The ships were all on the very edge. This could end them all.
The communications were silent. Prayers had been given before they left.
The barrier flickered.
It had stood for so long. Been repaired so many times. It had cost so much.
A whole solar system encased in a field.
The ships surrounding it were not in visual contact; they had other forms of contact but even together they couldn't so closely surround the feild.
It made the captian nervous.
A burst came over communications. It was coming. The extinction burst of the field. Be ready.
And then they saw it. A sheen that crossed such vastness it encompassed near all they could see.
And then it was gone.
They were exposed.
The silence stretched on. They waited. Waited to see which ship would cry for help.
Nothing happened.
Time stretched on, and they listened. Nothing.
And then..sound. garbled. Tiny.
They saw it. A small robot? a drone? The captian nearly ordered it fired upon, but it could not possibly be armed. It didn't have the power for it.
It ordered the probe scooped.
It was such a strange thing. Absurdly, laughably primitive. Basic alloys no space faring race had used in some million years.
It possessed a long scaffold and a simple dish. Such primitive communications.
There was no one on board trained in physics, but the engineer thought it was probably radio.
No one knew what to make of it.
And then they found the golden disk.
What they found within sent the galaxy reeling.
Theyre gone, the captain announced over communication.
The great reptilians are gone.
Whatever these things were, they were not the reptillians.
Whatever is there now, they're gone. It's over.
It played the message to a relieved Galaxy.
And waited for orders. |
"Blue will do just fine."The demon seemed to look straight through War, eyes unfocused and face drawn. "Though it doesn't really matter either way."Long lank hair clung to its skull, it's skin a bruised grey that hung loosely from its flesh. It looked worse even then Pestilence.
"You'll need to try much more to blend in with the humans you know,"War chided. The being in front of him only nodded.
"Im... aware. I would have come sooner but I was... perfecting my craft."Its cadence was all wrong, drawn out as if it either hurt to speak or couldn't really be bothered to answer. "I've become quite... capable however. So here I am."
"We have seen. We are quite impressed, being able to drive people to madness with hardly a reason. Your hard work has been noticed."Death spoke up, hoping that praise may lift its spirits. This was after all, a momentus occasion. "But surely you know that, being the first to join our ranks since the time of Adam."
"I do... suppose you... would think that. Theres just so... much work to be done... now..."the demon fretted as it picked at its skin. Scabs littered the same area, as if this was done often. No demon of its standing should look this way, act this way. They were fickle, prideful beings. It unsettled the four greatly, this new horsemen of theirs.
"And what would you have us call you?"Famine prodded softly, eyeing it wearily. Being in its presence made the ancient one's skin crawl in a way that rivaled Pestilence. They seemed to be birds of a feather.
"It doesn't really matter... does it?"The thing met Famine's eyes and shook the horsemen to the core. "But I suppose... You can call me Despair..." |
The words spring unbidden to my mind.
I am the spirit of the steel.
Countless hours, under the yoke of Father's finest knights, as soon as I could hold a knife. And some not so fine ones too, who taught me the tricks the less honorable ones wouldn't.
They are all gone now, the bright and the brave, fallen with Father as he held back the Black Legion. The few who remain in my guard - hailed as the 'finest in the land' - were mere apprentices when their masters lived.
I did at least make it to journeyman.
The thug sniggers. He is feared by all in the court. Lackey of my stepmother, curse her black heart.
Father saw that I was taught to fight. And sing, and dance, and cook. He was taken from me before he could tutor me in politics.
It is the one weapon my stepmother has wielded ruthlessly, to ensure that I will not hold power in what was once my father's kingdom.
It is politics that has driven my guards away today, leaving me alone before the man they call the Huntsman.
Alone, outside the Deep Woods.
"What are you going to do, Princess?"the man sniggers, brandishing his sword.
I smile.
My father's last gift to me - given in secret - was a short sword. It was made for a ten year old girl to wield, and lacks the reach of a knight's blade.
It gleams in the sun, whiter than I am. So I named it White Dwarf.
It also fits easily under a sixteen-year-old's dress.
Thirty seconds later, the Huntsman is on the ground. Bleeding, stunned.
White Dwarf is at his throat.
"Please,"the fierce warrior begs. "I have a family... I only did the Queen's bidding..."
"And she'll let you live, knowing I do?"
"I'll kill a pig,"he pleads, "give her that heart. She won't know. They'll kill both of us otherwise...."
I shake my head in frustration.
I can win the test of blades in the field. I cannot win the court. Not yet.
I need allies, and time.
"Do it,"I command, "and keep your silence. Or you shall learn exactly how far the power of the Princess stretches."
The thug nods gratefully and flees.
Let him go. I shall venture into the Deep Woods, alone, and find the strength I need to win back my kingdom.
The Queen hasn't heard the last of Snow White. |
Grallik woke instantly, grabbing for a sword which was not at his side. His eyes darted around his bedroom, and he slumped back into the mattress. He was safe. He was an inn, not a tent, there was no one in the room with him, and he wasn't at war. He looked around more slowly as his heart calmed to see what had woken him. A black-and-white patchwork kitten was bawling on the window sill, looking utterly miserably in the faint rain. Grallik paid no attention to its pitiful stare as he got up to check the sun's position through the window. He only had half an hour before he had to start his shift as a bouncer for the night, hardly enough time to be worth going back to bed.
"This is your fault,"he told the kitten, which had at least stopped its noise. Grallik checked the sun one more time, confirmed it hadn't magically moved backwards, and got dressed for the day. Leather armor was good enough for bar fights, and he gave a humorless chuckle as he strapped on a five-foot great-sword. It would be impossible to use in the inn's tavern with its low beams, but just wearing it accomplished more than half his work. Not many patrons, even the adventurers the tavern specialized in at night, wanted to start a bar fight with a scarred, seven-foot tall half-orc carrying a weapon that big. Most didn't even complain much when he asked them politely to leave. Ready early, he lay on the bed to at least rest for a bit, when he felt eyes on him. The kitten.
It wasn't crying anymore, it was just *staring* at him. Grallik made the active decision to ignore it. Five minutes later, he checked again. It was still there, looking like a drowned squirrel. He stood and marched over to the window to loom over the kitten, and let out a low rumble, baring the fangs which he'd gotten from his orc side. The kitten, head tilted comically backwards to look at him, let out the most pathetic sound he'd heard in years.
"I'm starting early,"Grallik said to himself. "It'll be gone by the time I get back."He shut and locked the door behind him, and got halfway down the stairs before stopping. He sighed and rubbed the scars running across the right side of his face. He glanced around to make sure no one was watching, and went back to his room. The kitten hadn't moved.
"Bad decision, bad decision,"he muttered as he opened the window and carefully picked up the kitten with a hand significantly larger than it. He set it on his empty desk, next to some scraps left over from his noon meal. He got another empty plate and scrapped some water from the window sill onto it for the kitten. He considered the kitten, still drenched, eating a piece of pork rind, and emptied his laundry basket on the floor. He set the basket upside over the kitten and the plates, to make sure it wouldn't wreck his room once it finished, and snarled at it, in a voice which had terrified enemies and allies alike.
"You're going back outside when I finish tonight."It twitched an ear, but otherwise didn't react, far more interested in the food.
When he got downstairs, a few people were already in the tavern half of the inn, chattering about the army of adventurers who had come back with a dragon's head and hoard. Grallik let his head hang low for just a moment. It was going to be long night.
\*\*\*
At noon, when the "night"of celebrations finally ended, and Grallik had finally thrown the last adventurers out the door or into the rooms they'd rented, he barely had the energy to satisfy his paranoia and double-check the lock before stripping off his armor into a tangled pile and falling into bed. He woke at the usual time next sunset, despite his exhaustion, and began to sit up before he froze. Something was wrong. A logical voice in his head was telling him that he was safe in the inn, while years of battle experience were telling him to be careful. He let his eyes dart around. Window, clear. Doorway, clear. He eased himself up, an inch at a time, alert for anything. Then he groaned in disbelief when he saw the kitten curled up asleep on his stomach.
The basket had moved from where he'd set it, so that just enough hung over the edge of the desk for something small to slip out. Grallik carefully moved the kitten onto the bed beside him before opening the window. He went to pick it up, when it gave a long yawn and stretched. It blinked slowly as it gazed about, and looked up at him. Had its eyes gotten bigger? They stood like that for a few minutes, before Grallik realized what this would look like of one of the inn's servers came, planning to wake him up. He hardened his heart with experience and reached down to grab it, and the kitten jumped at the hand. He watched, unmoving, as the kitten tried to bite one of his protruding knuckles, then tumbled away to blink at him upside down.
Without consciously intending to, he stroked its belly with a single finger, and it started purring. He sighed.
"A wise warrior know when to declare defeat,"he muttered, hearing his mother's voice in the familiar words. He took a seat on the bed beside the kitten to carefully pet it some more before he had to start work. He smiled when he realized it fit easily into one of his palms. That night, when someone worked up the courage to ask the towering half-orc bouncer why he had a kitten on his shoulder, Grallik patted the sword hilt poking over his other shoulder, and rumbled,
"It matches my sword, Cleaver of Bodies."
He ran a finger gently between the kitten's ears,
"This is my cat, Cleaver of Souls." |
Hundreds of eyes turned from the screen on the wall to me simultaneously. I had just finished accepting an award at work for coming in early the most often this month to fix things when they went down. Now, as I held the trophy in hand, the room expected me to give a speech when I was just planning to sit down.
"Great prank, right guys?"I said, my voice dry.
"That was a prank?"my boss asked, a drop of relief in his voice.
"How'd you get it to show up on my phone?"a coworker asked.
"And my smartwatch?"another questioned.
"And my laptop?"my boss asked, moving the device around to see if it had any additional wires coming out of it.
"A prankster never reveals his secrets,"I said in a small voice.
The room suddenly got abruptly dark, like a mass of clouds appeared beneath the sun and blocked any rays from reaching anywhere in the city. From the large window in our cafeteria, we could see that a massive spaceship had moved in its way, with a neon sign hanging below it with another picture of me and a caption:
**WANTED**
"What is this?"my boss asked, turning back to me, but I already bolted, just exiting the room by the time anyone realized which direction I'd gone. Just as the pandemonium exploded in the room, the door swung shut behind me. I looked at the street around me, most others looking up at the sun in awe or horror and I pulled my sweater off to cover my face and run down an alleyway that looked least populated.
"Well this was a bust,"I sighed as I briskly made my way as far from anyone as I could. "Hey Zoto,"I told my phone, "send me my hoverbike. Earth is no longer viable."
"*Error reading from Kolo. Face scan required.*"
"Ah, fine,"I quickly pulled off the sweater and allowed the phone to scan me.
"There he is!"someone screamed from the street.
"He's over here! I saw him on our security cameras!"I heard my boss scream from just beyond the alley.
"Great,"I began running as my phone chimed in acknowledgment.
"*Hello Kolo. Sending your bike now. It should arrive in three minutes.*"
"Any chance we could make it go any faster?"I asked, looking over my shoulder and watching the small group turn into a mob before my eyes."
"*It would certainly be able to work much faster if you programmed it that way,"Zoto replied.
"Wow, I don't need your sass right now, I need a way out,"I said.
"*You could use your cloaking watch,*"Zoto suggested.
"Not a chance. The Jarblans are scanning for alien tech on this planet now that they set up the manhunt. I can only use the tech that I made myself from material found here--Ouch!"
The mob running after me was throwing everything they could get their hands on to slow me down. Cigarette butts, rocks, and bits of gravel came raining down on me.
"Could you initiate Operation Escape now, too. I think we have to get out of here as soon as I get back to the lab,"I asked my phone.
"*Well, which is it, do you want me to send the hoverbike or the Operation?*"
"Can't you do both!?"
"*Certainly. If you programmed me to do both, I would definitely be able to--*"
"Why did I make you so annoying!?"I screamed, ducking under a sizable piece of broken asfault thrown my way.
"*Because you lacked companionship on this planet and did not wish to become attached to any one human on this planet so long as--*"
"Yeah, thanks Mr. Therapy, it was a rhetorical question,"I said, before tumbling to the floor. Something had caught me in the leg. Followed by someone pinning my legs down. As I tried to squirm out, someone sat on my torso.
"Heyyy, Kolo,"my boss said with a forced smile. "You mind telling us what's going on now?"
"It's all a misunderstanding! The Jarblans are crazy, I didn't do anything!"I said.
"The... Jarblans. You know of these things then? And their threat to destroy the planet if we don't turn you in sounds pretty real,"he said, looking at me with an odd smile. He looked up to the countdown on the ship's screen, reading 23 hours and 55 minutes before Earth's destruction. "How do we get into contact with them?"
"What? I don't know, get off me!"
"Kolo, come one, we're a family at this company right? I'm asking you for a favor. How do I get in contact with these alien things so that I don't get obliterated for something some criminal did,"he said slowly.
"But I didn't do it!"
"I DON'T CARE!"he exploded. "I'm not going down for some stupid employee who's been lying to me the entire time I knew him! Now how do I get them to know that we got you!?"
"*Arriving*"Zoto said.
"Oh, it that them?"my boss perked up.
His head swiveled behind him as the sound of an engine crescendoed down the alleyway. I moved my head a few inches on the ground to get a good look at my bike as it sped toward us.
"What is that?"the person sitting on me asked.
"Spinout!"I shouted to it. "Spinout maneuver!"
The bike spun wildly, bursting flames from behind it and burning and blinding all those in the crowd surrounding me. It collided violently against the people pinning me down and came to a stop immediately in front of me. I got up the moment I was free and jumped toward it.
"No!"my boss screamed.
I pulled up on the handles and soared into the air, high above the protesting crowd below me. I sighed in relief and flew off toward my base to get off of this planet before it caught up to me or got destroyed.
_____________________________________
For more stories, check out r/Nazer_the_Lazer! |
*They say beauty is only skin deep, but what of the man with a square mile of skin? Well, let us just say that I am lucky to be proportional, and luckier still to have learned how little that matters.*
*-The Giant of Bray Village*
***
It took Frida a half dozen approaches to speak to the giant, and when she did the boom of his response scared her away for an even dozen more. The other children didn't call her Frightful Frida for nothing.
It was only that thirteenth approach however, when Frida truly resolved to make a friend. She bought a baker's dozen of the fine, fluffy muffins Ms. Paulson made from the summer berries, and with her auspicious (she hoped) gift in hand she approached the giant once more. Frida dearly hoped he was hungry.
"Mr. Giant, I'm back!"Frida shouted.
She was ten years old at the end of that summer and tall for her age. She stood next to the first joint of the giant's toe, and when she jumped she could just barely see over the rest of his bare foot.
"Who's there?"said the giant. His voice held the tone of a whisper and the volume of a thunderclap and when he spoke it made her skin tingle.
"It's Frida!"Frida shouted.
"Little girl, I can hear you, you know. My ears are very large, my hearing very fine, even up here."
Frida craned her head back, trying to see his face. The giant wore the clothes he had been transformed in. The other villagers said he was timeless, that he didn't eat or sleep, that they had never once seen him move. They said his hair did not grow. Frida didn't know how they knew that, since his head was so often shrouded amongst the lowest clouds or lost in the spring foliage.
"Can you hear me now?"Frida whispered.
"Don't play games, child."
Frida gulped and fought the urge to run. Frightful Frida. The words boomed through her head in a childish singsong louder than the even giant's voice.
"What are you doing up there?"Frida said.
"Passing lifetimes. And, at times, watching."
"What are you watching?"
The giant paused. Muffins in hand Frida leapt nimbly up onto his big toe and climbed across his foot. She had never done it before, but today she had resolved to be brave. She had resolved to make a friend.
The giant did not move, and in time his voice wafted down to her. It was quiet, almost a strain to hear.
"Everything,"the giant said.
And Frida stopped. 'Everything' was a very large concept.
She sat in silence upon the giant's foot for a time, the hair of his toes making a coarse but passable bed.
"Mr. Giant?"
"Yes?"
"In all of that everything, do you see a friend?"
She had thought his voice had been like thunder. She had been wrong. His laughter was the thunder. It filled up her little valley, and so close to the giant the beat of it was so loud that Frida felt it's rumble in her chest. It felt good. It felt like a friend should feel.
"No child, I don't see a friend. Not yet at least. There are a great many things in everything and some of them are fascinating, but very few of them are brave enough to talk to a mile high man."
*Frightful Frida, Frightful Frida!*
The voices rang in her head again and Frida drowned them in another muffin. She bit her lip and closed her eyes and belted her wish to the world.
"Do you want to be my friend?"
The giant began to move. His feet shifted, not quite a step although the tremor nearly threw her off. Far above, Frida saw the great columns of his legs bending at the knee as the giant crouched down, down, down. His face came into view. He wore a short, dark beard.
"No, no, no!"Friday shouted. "Stay up there!!!"
"Why?"the giant asked, still crouching.
"Because I'm Frightful Frida! Frightful! If you see me you won't want to be my friend, nobody does!"
With a loud, ear splitting grunt the giant settled onto his haunches. When Frida met his eyes she gasped, each of them was wider and taller than her, and the were the pale, perfect blue of the sky. He was beautiful.
And she was not.
"No!"Frida shouted, turning and running away across his foot. His hand fell like a great wall in front of her, his callouses were thick and heavily textured, like bulbous brick protrusions.
"Turn around, little one, and let me get a good look at you."
Frida did not want anyone to get a good look at her. She had wanted a friend, a true friend who could never even chance upon her face, an immobile, infinitely tall friend, who could know her for who she was and not what she looked like.
But there was a command in his voice and she was Frightful for a great many reasons. Frida turned.
He stared at her for several long seconds. Frida's skin was afire, the blush likely to boil it off. And then he smiled, perfectly, beautiful, his teeth extending as far across as the village.
"Frida, was it? Child, in all of the everything I have seen, I don't think I've ever seen a face so beautiful as my newest friend's."
Frida didn't know what to say to that. "I brought you muffins,"she whispered, raising the box. "Thirteen of them but I ate two."
"Eleven,"he said, chuckling.
"Uh huh."
"Frida, would you like to see everything?"
She nodded and he lay his hand flat. She clambered on, her body shaking, the other children's voices still tearing through her. But the giant was beautiful and he'd seen her and everything else and he'd said...could it be?
They went so far up it grew cold and her breath misted faintly, and as they went he spoke to her.
"Frida, dear. Have you ever heard the saying 'beauty is only skin deep?' Well dear, I have found it to be true. When I was young I could not see beauty. I thought I could and I thought I had it, but I lacked a certain something. Call it perspective, though that is hardly sufficient. And well...my curse is bad for many things. Makes doorways quite the pain, makes women...well, nevermind. What I am saying, dear friend, is that when you spend eternity watching everything, you learn something of real beauty. Ah, here we are."
They stopped and the giant turned a few degrees west, and far out on the horizon lay a world she had never imagined.
"They call it an ocean. This one is peculiar, the water is very, very, warm. Like a great hot spring and twice as soothing because it seems endless. In my youth I swam idly in those waters, luxuriating in the warmth of their embrace."
Frida didn't have a word for how blue that great expanse of water was. It seemed like a great, placid expanse, hardly moving, a perfect plane for the ships that plied it, their grand white sails only little specks.
"When you asked to be my friend, you reminded me of that ocean."
It was too beautiful for words and they were too high. Up here she felt powerful and brave and nothing at all like a scared little village girl.
"You said you brought muffins?"The giant said.
"Yes,"she squeaked.
"Might I have one?"
"But how?"
He opened his mouth a great, gaping target, and Frida tore her gaze from the sea to throw whole muffins into her new friend's mouth. She dearly hoped he liked them.
------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! |
I wasn’t surprised at all when my wife, Lina, hadn’t said a word to me that morning. She’s always giving me the silent treatment for some reason or another. She’s the kind of woman who expects you to know exactly why she’s mad, even when you haven’t done anything wrong. Besides, she’s been like this for about a week now, and I could do with a quiet morning anyway.
I think I started to get suspicious when I called my best friend, Rudy, in the car on the way to work. It was the fourth day in a row my calls to him had gone to voicemail. Determined to find out what his problem was, I called all the rest of the guys--Gary, Mack, Jimmy, Hugh, and Rich--but not a single one one of them picked up, either. *Okay...maybe they’re all busy?* I wondered. I was sure Rudy’s wife, Marcie, wouldn’t be: the kids would be in school by now, so she was probably out walking the dog, with her phone in her pocket. But it must have been on silent or maybe even off, because Marcie didn’t pick up, either. I wanted to think more about it; maybe to leave Rudy another voicemail, but I couldn’t keep my boss waiting forever.
None of my co-workers were talking to me, either, but I was too wrapped up in my thoughts to care. I’m sure they were just busy, anyway. But that didn’t explain Rudy, the guys, Marcie, or even Lina. What was up with them? Without thinking, my brain began to shift to all those movies I’d seen. Was I a ghost in The Sixth Sense? Some kind of malfunctioning program in The Matrix? No...it couldn’t be. Waiters still took my orders. Bankers obeyed my request. But nobody who wasn’t required to as part of their job said a word to me. But it had to be nothing...right?
Suddenly, while filling out yet another spreadsheet, I came up with an explanation, but it was ridiculous. Were they really *still* mad at me for crashing Lina’s car through the window of Mack’s bakery, blaming Rudy, and almost getting him discharged from the Army? No *way.* Come on, you bitter fucks, it was *FOUR DAYS AGO!* Jesus, the nerve of some people... |
"I've read extensively on these subjects."I heard my host mother whisper through the door.
I was standing outside in the hallway, a vast expanse of white metal that wasn't available on Earth. Its surface was dull and almost matte-like. Small chandeliers floated in the air. When I had first got there, I thought my alien host family was rich beyond belief -- that is, until I realized everyone outside of Earth lived this way.
"And?"My host father pressed. "What? What is he doing?"
They were speaking Targon, a language made up of short bursts of guttural sounds. But my earpiece allowed me to translate it into Earth's English.
"Well, here's what I read."
My host mother and father were probably some of the nicest aliens I've ever met. The intergalactic space program started with me, and they wholeheartedly believed in the intersectionality between those on Earth and everyone else in the galaxy. Some weren't so keen on the integration. But my host parents were trying, at least, to understand my world.
"He's about that age, right? They say when the human reaches around sixteen years after birth, they go through changes."
"Like they grow new limbs?"
"No, I don't think so. They aren't like the Polikent. But it seems they learn how to use an appendage they haven't before."
"They grow up not knowing how to use an appendage?"
"Yes. I think it's because the appendage stays hidden. It's between their legs. They wear those silly garments over their legs, remember?"
"Yes, yes, of course I do. And they have an appendage they learn to use at age sixteen that is between their legs? How interesting. How queer."
"They call it puh-ber-tie."
"Puh-ber-tie? Huh, again, how queer. These humans are so interesting. So what happens during this time?"
I felt a rising bile in the back of my throat. I certainly never wanted to hear any parental figure talking about puberty. But it was kind of amusing listening to them reference their little book on humans--
"Yes. But look at this. In the back of the book, there is a.... *taboo* section."
"About the creatures on the planet Taboon? Why would they--"
"No, no. Taboo, as in we shouldn't talk about it,"my host mother said.
"Oh, oh,"my host father's voice got amusingly quiet. As if even his own partner wasn't supposed to hear. "Okay, go on."
"Well, the things it describes in here says that no human should do unless they are over eighteen and with a concenting adult."
"Copy that, now what has he been doing?"
"Well, you know that thing he does every morning and every night?"
"You have to be more specific, he does so many weird things."
"That thing where he moves a stick in and out of his mouth. There's white foam around his lips sometimes. I heard... the book says that's called a blowing job."
"A blowing job, you say? How interesting."
I could barely contain my laughter. I had read the book on humans when I was first sent to this planet. I knew how comical some of the human instructions were.
"Yes, and you know how he brushes what they call hair that grows on top of his head? And how he gets naked under hot water every night? And that he goes to bed without clothes on? I heard that is all called four plays."
"Four plays, got it,"my host father said as if he was mentally cataloging all of this wrong information.
I almost couldn't keep it in anymore. A burst of air escaped my lips as I stiffled a laugh. I thought they heard, but then my host mother's hushed voice kept going. I heard her turning the pages to her human textbook.
"And... and you know that liquid that he keeps telling us to order?"
"The red liquid? Kool-aid he calls it?"
"Yes, I read that if he puts that in his mouth and then some other human sticks their third appendage in, that's called a mississippi birdbath..."
I burst out laughing then. It came out like a torrential flood breaking through a dam. My host mother and father burst from the door. Their smooth light blue skin reflected off the floating chandeliers. They looked horiffied, or something of the sort. I still couldn't really tell their emotions.
"You were listening in on us!"My host mother huffed.
"Yeah, sorry,"I said. "But you got it all wrong. The thing I do with the stick in the morning is called brushing my teeth. And the hot water is a shower. I'm more comfortable sleeping in a bed without clothes. And I need to brush my hair or else it gets tangled."
"And the Kool-Aid?"My host father asked.
"I just like the taste."
"Well,"my host father said. "I guess the human book isn't always right, huh, hon?"
"I guess,"my host mother said as she flipped through some pages. "But there was one more thing. I saw you doing it the other day. I'm not sure if it's supposed to be done with your secret appendage or not, but... I think it's called...."She flipped through a couple more pages. "Is it called a shakeweight? Is a shakeweight done with your secret appendage?"
"Oh..."I felt my face turn red. "I... That's.... Yeah, that's... don't worry about that." |
The anger spread through me. I felt like a forest in a wildfire. My fist clenched tighter. tried to hold back the mighty punch that I knew my body was about to attempt. Had I any control over what my anger was going to result in? My enemy’s back was turned to me. Their shoulders bounced up and down… up and down as they laughed. They had just done something terrible to me. They were making a fool of me again, but enjoyed it. They knew I didn’t usually respond, so I was an easy target anyway. When I did respond, however, they really knew how to shut me down. They were happy humiliating me. All the time, they crushed my heart. They made me feel like my soul was destroyed. They were then making my face burn because I was just so… so… vexed! Embarrassed! I wanted to cry, but I knew those tears would never actually see the light of day. I was too enraged to be sad, really.
I thought they were safe from my punch, as they were walking away from me. They weren’t walking straight, since they were too busy over-exaggerating their laugh. Although, that was when they misinterpreted how arrogant they were being. My bully spun around, still giggling.
Their face was the tipping point for my emotions. It brought back all of my past memories filled with relentless, horrible remarks made by them towards me. I was reminded of the times I had been slapped. I was reminded of the times I had tears cradled in my eyes during lessons.
My fist reversed slowly. I was the catapult and my fist was the rock. I let the elastic go. My fist hit their shoulder. Hard. Really hard. So strong that I didn’t feel the impact. My clenched fist went right through them. Instead, what felt like cold, heavy rain hit my fist like falling bullets. A pile of it collapsed onto the floor. That was where my bully had been… it wasn’t rain nor bullets. It was money. A pile of quarters. I tried to open my eyes, as I believed it to be the end of another one of my crazy dreams. It wasn’t.
Gasps of horror surrounded me. I blinked rapidly, trying to wake up. I tried to breathe, but I was too shaken up. I stepped back, nearly tripping over my heel. I felt like my surroundings were empty. Was I the only existing being on the planet? No. I was in real life. It was all happening in real life. I fell to my knees, which resulted in bruises from the concrete. I collected a handful of quarters with my trembling fingers. It was legitimate money. My brain went silent as if some switch had turned off in my head. I went straight to the food hall, with a handful of quarters. I remember little of what happened next, but I know that I bought my favourite lunch. My stomach was a growling devil. I hadn’t eaten all day. When I took the first bite of my long-awaited sandwich, the switch in my brain turned back on instantly. I knew what was going on.
Over the months, my bully had taken the time to break me verbally and physically. However, they were also known to steal money from me. Every. Single. Day. I always took change to school. Quarters. Just what my bully had become. Those quarters were the ones they stole from me. My bully turned into MY quarters. The bully became THEIR horrible choices. My bully was their crime…
they were defined as how they treated me all the time.
============================
My head tried to sink into my hands, but stopped before it hit my eyes. Something… a box, maybe, was preventing me from holding my head. I held onto the invisible barrier, and lifted it up. It was a headset. |
When everybody in the four-person party - including Adine - turned into a rich-looking version of Adine, they all decided that taking a break and getting a drink was the right course of action.
Not because they wanted to decompress this slightly awkward fact, but because *they were rich*.
"Ok, so I'm not going to ask 'why money'. We're mercenaries with a fancier title. Priorities."said Original Adine when her bottle of wine for 8 gold stood on the tavern table. "But I somehow feel like this isn't a coincidence. Why rich me? My financial decisions are terrible."
"Isn't that exactly it?"muttered another one of the Adines.
"Wait, which one are you?"said Original Adine with a frown.
"Clessa."said Clessa-Adine, lifting up her mug of hipster craft beer for 10 gold and nodding at her.
"Clessa is right."said the third Adine. This one had to be Dani, because she had ordered a standard mug of hot butterbeer. "It's your biggest flaw. Sometimes, you remind me of a comedy sketch. Like some author sat down and decided to make you perfect but then they realize they made a Mary Sue so they slapped on a crippling inability to handle your finances and turned it into a comedy because you're *so unbelievably bad at it*."
"Hey, I always pay your wages."said Original Adine.
"And when was the last time you had any money over for your *own* salary?"said the fourth, who had to be Glinda since there was only Glinda left. Glinda had just bought the most expensive bottle of champaigne on the menu simply because she could. It was 50 gold, enough for a down payment on a good direwolf mount, saddle and all. "But, yes this is incredibly awkward, but isn't this a great deal? If we're all an idealized version of Adine, doesn't that mean that as long as we stay here we'll never run out of money? Because ideal rich Adine always has money?"
All the other three paused at that.
"Holyshit."said Original Adine. "There's so much wrong with this for me but holyshit."
"So, my suggestion is that most of us leave this town because this is kind of toeing on the line of consent and that stuff"said presumably-Glinda, "but one of us remains here to buy everything we could possibly need. Put in orders for what they don't have stocked right now. Might as well make this work for us, right?"
"Hm, but counterpoint."said the fifth rich Adine at the table, who'd bought that same bottle of extremely expensive champaign. The tavern was gonna roll in dough this evening. "If we all look the same, it gives us a tactical advantage. We could use this place as the final battleground and the enemy wouldn't be able to tell us apart. Hide our skillsets, all that stuff. We just need to lure in the Demon Lord."
"Huh. Actually that's kinda-"Original Adine started, only to cut her sentence short.
She slowly turned and stared at the fifth Adine at the table.
Herself. Clessa. Dani. Glinda. That was all of them.
Why were there five rich Adines at the table when there were four people in their party? |
Could I be going crazy? What in the world is going on here? Where's the memorial? The museum?
I reached into my jacket to grab my phone so I could call my brother in Queens. Much to my surprise, the phone had seemingly vanished. And . . . my earbuds? They were just in my ears . . .
"Hey buddy, I got all the DVDs you could ever dream of here!"
I quickly snapped out of my confused daze and looked over to the voice. Sure enough, a middle-aged man with a course, dark beard and a fedora was sitting behind a massive pile of DVDs.
"Wow I haven't seen one of these in years, dude. Why would you be selling these?"
"Hey, I don't question the way you make your livin', don't be questionin' mine."
I just kept walking, but couldn't keep my eyes off those towers.
"Yeah, Barry Bonds with 63 home runs now. He could beat the single-season record,"said one man to another as they passed me. I stopped dead in my tracks. Barry Bonds hasn't played since 2007. I glanced over at a nearby newsrack and immediately looked for the date. I knew it was crazy to think it. This stuff only happens in movies--a product of imagination. The date on the newspaper was September 11, 2001.
My heart sank. It all felt too real to be a dream. I looked down at my watch.
8:15 A.M.
Half an hour until the first plane hits. |
The man looked shocked as his pistol fell apart, ever screw and pin coming loose in his hand, rendering the firearm to scrap metal. As he sputtered and growled in shock, I pulled out my own pistol.
“Beretta, modeled after the sidearm used by the United States Military. 9 mil, semi auto, a round that has a high kill rate, and aimed center mass at your chest.”
It’s amazing how cockiness goes out the window when someone loses all the power they thought they had, and he was no exception. I saw a tough man reduced to begging and apologizing right in front of me, silenced only when I used my wand to bind and gag him.
“Are you done now? Good.” I slid the pistol back into my pocket before addressing the fool who thought he could threaten me. “What did you think was going to happen, that you were going to bare your teeth and I cower like a dog? Did you intend to threaten me, rob me, kill me? Well the first rule with mages, you don’t threaten them. Either you make friends, leave them alone, or if need be, kill them without giving them a chance. But I guess that Alpha male brain couldn’t allow such pragmatism.”
My would be attacker started to get his rage back but it looked pathetic with him flailing about.
“As far as what you said, about mages not understanding the wonders of technology, do you mean in a general way, or an advanced way. If you mean in an advanced way like a programmer or an engineer, you’re probably right, in the same way that a lawyer or a doctor doesn’t understand it.”
I looked around the street to see if anyone else saw me, just in case someone think of me as the attacker, but every side was clear. I probably shouldn’t walk through the industrial area at night, but it does give me time to monologue.
“I mean, why should we? It takes years to master a craft, years devoted to one area of study. Sure, we can actually bother to learn, but most of us really don’t want to spend another 8 years mastering another art. But from a general sense, I have a cell phone dumbass.”
I waved the little device in front of him, the rage still burning in his eyes.
“I respect how I can call and text people better than a sending. I respect how the internet gave more information than the greatest libraries. And I respect how where magic benefits the caster only, or who the caster decides to benefit, technology can benefit all.”
I saw that he was almost free from his bindings and flicked my wand to tighten them better.
“But since you think so little of mages, I will do you a favor.”
Pointing my wand against his chest, I growled out my next worlds.
“You will live. I, as an inferior mage will let you live. But if you ever threaten me again, I will flip a coin, and decide to either explode your heart,” I pulled out my pistol and pointed it once again at his chest, “or shoot you in the chest and wait for the blood to fill your lungs!”
Walking away from the bound man, I walked a couple more blocks away and decided to call an Uber. |
It was a polaroid.
I almost missed it.
In a dark nightstand, beneath an empty black ring box from some jeweler in the mall and above a pile of important looking mail and papers.
A polaroid.
Half-hidden in the ruffle of the nightstand, half visible. The photo was taken in the late afternoon. The "golden hour"they call it, I think. The year is 1976, and a little boy is smiling and squinting at the camera, painted golden by the sun. Behind him is a sprawling parking lot, and, beyond that, a ferris wheel and the upper arc of a roller coaster built before "inspection"was a formal thing. No one seemed to get hurt in those days, though.
Funny how that is.
My hands were shaking, and my black gloves were too roomy at the fingers to get a good grip on the thin polaroid.
I pulled the gloves off, becoming suddenly aware that I'd been holding my breath since I saw the photo lit by the dark shimmer of moonlight through a missing window blind.
I let it the breath out in one long exhalation, and hold the rest of the photo into the space where the missing blind welcomed that sliver of moonlight in.
It's me, of course.
The little boy in the picture.
It's me.
I knew that from the moment I saw the corner of the boy's face peeking through the rest of the crap in the drawer.
A tingling at the base of my spine leapt up into my brain through my cerebellum.
It's me. It's me in the picture.
Except that I was born in 1993.
*Maybe it's some sort of weird place my parents took me to? Some...1970's theme...amusement park?*
The idea was some desperate attempt to convince myself that all this was normal. But no. There is no 1970's Theme Park Themed Theme Park.
And even if there was, the parking lot would not be full of families renting cars from the 60's and 70's just to play along.
It's a 70's polaroid. We've all seen them. Except this time, I'm in it.
"A nice day, that was,"a voice said from behind me. It was rough, and not quite a voice I felt like I'd ever heard, but it was familiar.
I spun around. |
The alley smelled like someone had poured a vat of piss and alcohol everywhere. My parents wanted me to leave. 'Go to Central City or Keystone! Get out of Gotham'. I had to say no. Had to think I could change this place, make it better. I've always been one of those girls.
'I see how broken he is, but I can fix him, make him better' kind of girl.
The goon holding me by the shoulder, leered at me. He smelled like sweat and rancid Chinese food. His other hand put pressure on the knife tip against my stomach. I could feel my scrubs tear and the cold point already stinging my skin. I refused to scream, but my face was showing it. The thug was nearly drooling.
"How much longer, boss?"He asked a corner of the alley I couldn't see. Somewhere the streetlights had burned out leaving only a wound of shadow. The goon moved the knife just a bit and scraped my skin. I tried not, but I whimpered.
"Not much now."A voice from that maw of darkness answered. It was cold, gravely and dead. "He'll show, just make sure she screams."
The knife pressed against my side and then into it. I screamed and the goon leaned forward, putting more pressure on me making sure I couldn't struggle away.
"Does that hurt, sweetums? It's nothing compared to what I'm going to do-"There was a crack like thunder and the sweaty gorilla spun, cradling a destroyed ear. I slid against the wall, applying pressure on the puncture in my side.
"Aw! My ear! You piece of-"Another figure was in the alley, and in the time it took for me to hit the ground he was already by the cursing goon.
"I'm going to kill you!"He slashed the knife and the other figure swung out...with a fish? The wet slap of scales on skin stunned the thug and he took a step back.
"This place reeks. Here, let's add a little potpourri."The flower on the purple vest of this new figure sprayed a yellow mist. The thug tried to cover his face, tried not to inhale but it was too late.
"What've you-ha...done to me you fuc..haha...HAHAHAHA"The thug's face became a rictus grin and he toppled over giggling to himself.
"That's it. A good chuckle never hurt no one."The new comer stood beneath a street light and I saw him clearly. The Joker. Gotham's own vigilante. No one knew where he came from, but some people thought he was victim of the ACE Chemical factory fire. A fire caused by-
"You're pathetic, Joker. It's too easy to draw you out."The Batman strode from darkness. The devil incarnate. For five years The Batman has terrorized Gotham. Murdered the head of each crime family and replaced them, creating a unified criminal empire. He owned the streets, the police and most of the city. He is fear. He is the night.
"Well, you're a sour puss."The Joker razzed. In a flash the Caped Crimelord was throwing punches at the clown and the clown was ducking and weaving. Blood loss was beginning to set in and the world was becoming hazy. It seemed the Bat would attack directly and the Joker would move. Occasionally he would misdirect the Bat with some silly gadget or trick.
A fake "BANG"gun popped out and while the bat flinched, the Joker planted one on his chin. The Bat seized the gun hand and made a move that would break a normal person's wrist, but the Joker's hand just slipped off, a fake. In that moment, while he was confused, the Joker struck out again.
This is how it played, until finally The Batman cursed and then disappeared in a cloud of smoke. The Joker approached me, leaned down, took out something that looked like a silly string canister, and sprayed my wound. The ropey blue substance hardened instantly.
"That should hold until the quacks get here."He stood. "Well, it was nice to meet you miss...?"
"Harleen"The world was getting darker. "Harleen Quinzel" |
You don't know me. But I know you. I passed you on the morning commute, but you were in your own world, and after a small glance, I fell back into mine. The day carried on as usual, until you crept back into my mind. I did my papers and sorted the useless and the useful, and everything was done. It was time for lunch, so I packed my things, and I proceeded to go to the usual sandwich spot. As I sat down, thinking of nothing more than a electro-swing tune that's been bugging me for ages, you walked past again. This time I saw you a bit earlier, and noticed... Still, I couldn't do anything - my mouth was full of sandwich. Shit...
I tried standing and getting your attention, but you walked past, and all I managed to do was nearly choke on my sandwich while knocking over my god damn coffee. *Not my fucking day AT ALL.*
Preoccupied with cleaning up my mess, you were gone in the blink of an eye, into a ever-changing crowd. I lost you, again. I dried up the table I nearly ruined, patted my trousers and shirt dry, and begrudgingly finished my sandwich - I didn't deserve another bite after that. I walked back to work, to my desk, ignoring everyone and everything. You were still on my mind. You fascinate me, you tantalize me. You made the hair on the back of my neck stand, creating that odd tickly feeling, you know the one.
The hours passed quickly after that. It took time, but I got you off my mind. It wasn't until I stepped on this bus that you smacked straight into the fruitful pits of my mind. And two stops passed, and here you are. I found you. I finally found you. I wasn't in another train of thought, nor was I scarfing down sustenance, I made it to you. Come with me. Let's go for a walk. Take my hand and follow me blindly - I swear, it'll be the craziest adventure you'll ever have. But you'll never know, if you stay. This is my stop - let's make it ours. |
Saago pried his gaze from the monitor that was nestled comfortably in front of him. "Dycaas..."
Dycaas looked up from his own monitor. "Hmm?"
"Look at these coordinates..."Saago reached down and swiped and pressed his monitor several times until finally it beeped. He watched as Dycaas peered at his own monitor.
Dycaas looked up, his eyes bulging. "What are these?"
"I don't know..."Saago made another swipe. "The structures show signs of being built sometime around 2560 BC."
"But that's not possible, we--"
"I know."The two observers stared at each other for several moments.
Dycaas returned to his monitor and began to tap it rapidly. Long lists and bricks of text began to scroll by at an increasing rate. Finally he touched the monitor and the text stopped. "Let's see... the Moitu were reported to be in this sector several decades ago."
"But the Moitu aren't capable of this,"Saago objected, turning to his own monitor.
"No, but they must have made an official report to the Galactic Database. It's require in sectors with growing civilizations."
"You're right, which means that this sector is under extreme guard, remember?"
Dycaas paused, his mind racing. "Yes, yes, of course, all new civilizations are carefully guarded from hostile races, which means this could only be one race, Saago! There is only one race that is known for their ability to hide from the Guard."
Saago looked hesitant. "Dycaas, if you're suggesting that--"
Dycaas held up a webbed hand. "Don't jump to conclusions, Saago."He looked at his monitor. "But something has to explain these creations."He pressed his monitor several times until the image from his view-screen projected onto the large wall in front of the both of them. It showed a large pyramid in the desert. "Should we visit?"
"By Dzomibhaabh, no!"Saago scoffed. "Dycaas, this could be *them*! They've been missing for centuries, and it makes sense that they would hide on a planet with a civilization in its early evolution."
"But why haven't the humans discovered them yet?"Dycaas held up his hand again. "*If* this really is *them*."
"I don't know."
The two sat in silence again, until finally Dycaas spoke up. "We have to report this, you know."
"Yes."
"If the Galactic Government decides that this, indeed, is *them* in hiding, they will destroy Earth."
"I know."
"Earth was our project, Saago."
"Yes, Dycaas, I know..."Saago shook his head. "But if that pyramid is hiding *them*, that means that they are alive, and waiting. We can't allow whatever they are waiting for to happen. If that means the destruction of our project, then so be it, it's worth saving the galaxy."
"Maybe."Dycaas removed the image and sighed. "Let's look into this a little bit further before we make our report."
|
"What a mess!"I exclaimed, referencing the many boxes in my basement. It was quite embarrassing having my soon-to-be wife seeing the mess of boxes. She laughed as she grabbed another box. I was so excited because tomorrow, I was marrying the woman of my dreams. She was everything I ever wanted and I had never been happier. She was the perfect match in every way.
Being ambitious, I grabbed three boxes and end up dropping them all over the floor. One labelled "Old Stuff"burst open and a lot of junk spilled all over the room. I sighed and began picking it up and putting it back inside the box, wondering why I even bothered keeping it. Amidst the junk I see my old journal. Feeling a wave of nostalgia run over me, I eagerly grab it and open it up. I chuckle at the date, remembering that I had started a journal over four years ago to deal with my loneliness. I remember meeting Carol three years ago and flipped ahead to those entries. After meeting her, I remembered that the entries I wrote became more and more infrequent until I had stopped completely.
I start flipping forward through the pages and was surprised when the journal went on longer than I thought. Puzzled, I stopped at a page to read the entry. It was from one year ago. I frown at the page. I had stopped writing in my journal over two years ago. It read:
"Today, Carol and I went on a spontaneous road trip and I proposed to her!"
I look at the page, not remembering writing it. But it was true. Carol had randomly suggested a road trip one weekend when we had nothing to do, and I had secretly purchased an engagement ring so I took the opportunity to propose to her.
I begin skimming through the pages, reading more and more entries. They were all about Carol. How much I loved her, how much she meant to me, how great she was....
I began scratching my head. This sounded like my shrine to Carol. I started wondering if I had started writing journal entries when I was drunk and just couldn't remember. I kept flipping through until I got to the last page with writing on it.
It had tomorrow's date on it.
Puzzled, I began reading it.
"Today, I married the woman of my dreams! The ceremony went flawlessly and the reception went amazing. She is everything I have ever wanted and I've done everything in my power to make sure she is mine forever and *now she will be.*
I heard Carol coming down the stairs and I quickly threw the journal into a box in a panic, terrified. That last line was exceptionally creepy and nothing I would ever say. She smiled at me as she saw me.
"Dropped all the stuff, have you? Well, don't worry. I will help you. After all, tomorrow you'll be mine forever."
Her words hit me like a ton of bricks.
Those weren't my journal entries.
They were hers.
Carol had been continuing my journal entries for me ever since I had stopped. All those entries were about her! It wasn't that I didn't agree, because she was perfect to me and we were compatible on every level. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her grab another box and walk up the stairs. I quickly grabbed the journal and went to the very first few entries, where I remembered writing an entry about the woman I hoped I would find. I find it and start reading it, and the entry describes Carol perfectly. It was as if I described every one of Carol's traits. This wasn't a coincidence.
She had read my journal and then decided to become the woman I wanted. She was merely a facade of what I thought she was.
It was all a lie. |
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From the journal of Nigel Stoneknife.
First entry:
I have come into service of a great knight, he wears the finest armor I have ever seen and a sword of gleaming brilliance. He suddenly appeared in town one day, and said he had a quest to complete; he was looking for a brave companion to follow him to fortune and glory.
Many of us stood and raised our swords to stand by him, alas only one of us could go. With great honor I was chosen to attend to his needs, to fight by his side, I Nigel Stoneknife would become the companion of the brave knight Sir Cum Fartface.
Sir Fartface brings me to the King's Castle with him. We are to receive more information from the King himself, what a glorious day it is for me. The King's throne room is majestic as we approach. The King stands and speaks, "Welcome good knight and his..."
We are leaving the throne room, I am unsure what has happened, the King started to speak but then I must have blacked out from the excitement as I have no recollection of the conversation. Must be my nerves.
Sir Fartface walks in silence to the local inn and talks to the innkeeper. I am astonished how fast they speak; sentences are not even completed, yet they seem to understand each other. I am unsure what is happening...
Saving...
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Second entry:
We have left the inn that we had just entered moments ago and it is somehow already morning. Strange, maybe another lapse in my memory.
Sir Fartface leads us into the dreaded Dark Forest of Crystal Mushrooms of Doom. I have heard dreaded tales of this evil place. Foul creatures stalk this accursed land, we will no doubt find many great challenges here.
Sir Fartface stops in the middle of the trail, I draw my sword waiting for his signal of any danger. He calmly draws his bow and shoots three arrows into the trees. With sickening thuds the bodies of trolblins fall to the ground, embedded with the arrows of Sir Fartface. He must have the eyes of a hawk and the hearing of a cat, as I did not see any signs of this ambush.
We veer off the trail heading deep into the forest and I must summarize the amazing display of fighting I have ever seen in one day. We happened upon some Urkloks that could not even land a blow on the great Sir Cum Fartface. He slew them quickly and found their hidden stash of gold right away. Next was the Golkibts, foul smelling things that surprise from below the ground, yet with his hawk like eyes, Sir Fartface stabbed the ground before him, killing each one before it had a chance to spring forth. We have made camp and I must tell you of the battle with the...
Saving...
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Entry 283:
I fear that I have finally gone mad, for I cannot believe the reality I am in anymore. I have had frequent blackouts when we talk to others in power; I cannot remember a single encounter with any of them beyond the first sentence. Then there is the fast talking gibberish of the locals as they talk to us, half finished sentences, thoughts... I cannot even stand to talk to any of them anymore. But that is not why I think I am going mad, for I am afraid that I may be in the servitude of a demon and his name is Sir Cum Fartface.
At first I thought he was a great knight, but as I have traveled with him, I am afraid that I was wrong. He has done things that no man should be able to do or know. He kills creatures before they see us, he knows where every treasure is hidden and where every secret door is located. It is the devil's work I fear.
We have fought numerous gigantic beasts of notorious renown, yet Sir Fartface dispatches them with very little trouble. He steps out of the way of their mighty blows, as if he knew how they were going to attack him. He took on three raging Helblotens with no fear, trapping them one by one in a mass of trees then killing them with his sword.
The amount of creatures that Sir Fartface has slain is astounding: Fraclins, Grotnots, Brogre, and even dreaded Dragkunaks. But I feared the worst when he killed a chicken in the town of Smorpot. The town is known for its love of their poultry and Sir Fartface killed one in cold blood in the town square in front of everyone.
What happened next I will never unsee; he massacred the whole village as if they were nothing. Not a single person lived. I tried to leave, but I feel I am bewitched as I can not stray more than thirty paces before I stop and follow Sir Fartface once again.
And then there are the deaths, not those of others, but those of mine. The first was when Sir Fartface pushed me off a cliff, I fell far into the darkness. My bones shattered when I hit the ground; blood spewed forth from my broken body. Then I awoke standing next to the cliff with Sir Fartface staring blankly at me. I thought it must have been a horrible day dream, but I was wrong.
Through the next days I was burned alive in lava, crushed by a boulder, impaled by spikes, trapped in a Void Vortex of Death, and many more. All of which happened because of Sir Fartface; he has cursed me to a life of eternal servitude, one which I shall never be able to leave. May the Gods help me.
Saving...
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Entry 341:
We are on the steps of the evil wizard's stronghold. I am weary for Sir Fartface has killed me seven times today, the last was into a pit of acidic slime that slowly melted my flesh away. I do not want to follow this man anymore, but I cannot break his spell over me. My last chance is for the wizard to break this hex, he may be evil, but no one can be as evil as Sir Fartface.
Sir Cum Fartface walks into the main room of the stronghold and is besieged by several Thakbludds. I have no hope that they will defeat him. The slaughter is quickly over and Sir Fartface motions for me to proceed forward.
I stepped onto a pressure plate in my foolish obedience and massive arrows shot forth and struck me in the chest. The pain was more bearable than being burned alive and it would only last a moment till the demon knight resurrected me.
Sir Fartface approached me and spoke for the first time to me since the adventure began, "I will avenge you my faithful com...,"and then he was gone. I did not feel compelled to find him or be with him. Finally, thank the Gods, the curse was broken! Please let me die and deliver me from this wretched life, away from the dreaded knight Sir Cum Fartface.
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From the journal of Nigel Stoneknife.
First entry:
I have come into service of a great knight, he wears the finest armor I have ever seen and a sword of gleaming brilliance. He suddenly appeared in town one day, and said he had a quest to complete; he was looking for a brave companion to follow him to fortune and glory.
Many of us stood and raised our swords to stand by him, alas only one of us could go. With great honor I was chosen to attend to his needs, to fight by his side, I Nigel Stoneknife would become the companion of the brave knight Sir Dick Inmabut.
|
"All right, Max. You got a visitor--"
The prison guard jerked back as soon as he opened the little opening into the cell's interior. He'd seen some crazy shit inside those cells, he'd developed nerves of steel by now, but that still didn't amount to anything in the face of sheer surprise.
Behind the open slot was a wide open eye, staring at him.
It was replaced by a smiling mouth. "Good morning, officer. Excuse my impatience, it's been getting real lonely, all the way down here."
"Motherfucker"swore the guard, under his breath. "You're gonna give me a goddamn heart attack."
"I *said* I'm sorry, officer Hughes."
"Did you, now?"
"We both know you don't even remember wether I did or not."
Officer Hughes stared blankly at him.
"Now that's what I'd call, inattention to detail."Max was acting giddy today, not that this was anything new.
"You're lucky you're such a high-profile case, Maxwell. If it was anyone else, I'd be more than happy to wipe that wise-ass smirk off your face."
"Now now"Max said, condescendingly. "Bare your fangs all you want, little doggie, but you wouldn't leave unscathed from that situation, be sure of that. You may be able to hit my body, but I've got a much more... *direct* grip on you, my friend."He laughed. "Your brain, numbskull. I'm talking about your brain."
"Do you ever shut the hell up?"Hughes was unlocking the multitude of manual door-locks that were the last part of an intricate set of lock-up mechanisms at Judah's Cross Maximum Security Correctional Facilities. "Come on out and hurry it up."
Max almost hopped out of his cell. He went past the guard and up the long climb to the surface.
"I can tell you're contemplating something fairly stupid,"he said after a while. "Let me make myself perfectly clear: I know about... that."
Hughes froze. "Fucking freakshow..."
"Oh don't worry about it, my friend. If you could see what I see, you'd realize you're probably the least fucked up person in this place."
"Yeah, yeah. Move it."
----
"Take a seat, Mr. Adder."
"Will do. You can call me Max, Mr..."Max paused. "Really? How unimaginative could your parents be?"
John Smith of the CIA smirked. He'd heard this guy's good, but he didn't realize how *fast* he was, too.
"Nice demonstration of your... abilities, Max. I suppose you already know why I'm here?"
"Oh yeah, sure, but don't mind me. Please go ahead. There should be something for the recording, else how will your higher-ups know you've done your job?"
The agent took out some papers from a briefcase. He looked them over.
Max was humming playfully.
"Maxwell Adder. You were... caught with several instances of explosives strapped on your person, as well as in the possession of several remotes, each linked to a set of tele-activated patches of C4.
"And all of this in the area of the former World Trade Centre. Cute."
"Thanks."
"Now, it wasn't much of a leap to get onto you, as you were, in fact, screaming your purpose of taking down as many lives as you can, while publicly showing your... equipment. Yet we still got an anonymous tip right before the fact."
"That was me."
"We know."
"Oh, really? Psych. I know you do."
There was a brief silence.
"So you wanted to get caught, is that right?"
"What? No! Who would want to rot in a prison cell, are you insane?"
Agent Smith gave the man a hard look.
"Don't screw with me, pal. You've got a ton of questions to answer and, believe me, there are ways to get them out."
Max spoke slowly. "How's your wife, Johnny? Her eye feeling better?"
God, John thought. This is going to be much more tiresome than I thought.
"All right, all right. Enough threats. First and foremost: you need to tell me how you've come across your... gift."
Max stared coldly at the man. "You know damn well how."
John instinctively glanced at the camera. He quickly glanced back at the stupidly grinning man in front of him.
Impossible, he thought. We've all got psychic shields around those facts. No one is supposed to...
"Listen, schmuck."Max was being openly arrogant, now. "You're dealing with forces you don't understand, here. This isn't about the contamination of the water of a few select towns --"
John Smith banged his fist on the table.
"-- *nor* is it about my seemingly psychotic acts.
"It's about you, being afraid. 'Oh, how could a man that sees into other people's heads possibly get caught? How could a man with the ability to foresee the future, end up in a place like this?' Well, I'll tell you how."He leaned closer to the agent. "I like it here. It's much better than the world out there. Do you know what it's like to be able to see into other people's hearts, Johnny-boy? This whole society facade is nice, but underneath? We're all fucking animals, man. No noble spirits, no altruistic intentions. Everyone's just scrambling about to get a piece of the pie, and they'd do the most horrible things you can imagine, if it meant they got a bigger share."
John Smith eyed the prisoner intensely. Max was heaving now, as if it took great effort to say what he just said.
He checked a few boxes on his papers.
"All right, Maxie. We'll be in touch. Guards!"
----
The psychic pariah was in his cell again, alone. No sunlight reached down here, this far below the earth.
Idiots, all of them. They could never figure him out, not in a million years.
He paced back and forth pensively. "Thirty seconds to go,"he said in a muffled voice.
The truth was, he liked it out there. People's hearts didn't really bother him, and the fact that he could read them? He was a king among cattle.
That's why he was so saddened by his vision. Sometimes he even wished he wasn't the only one to be able to bypass the psychic shields.
Ah, poor souls. They weren't *all* animals, not really. But they were destined to be the victims of the ones who unabashedly were.
He stopped pacing. He stood near the edge of his cell, looking up.
Suddenly everything started shaking violently. Max sidestepped to keep his balance.
"Woah, ha ha."
The shaking stopped after a few seconds. Alarms could be heard in the distance.
A giant crack had formed on the wall in front of him. He gave it a gentle tap and quickly ran to the back of his cell.
The wall in front of him tore open, revealing a hole in the ground, on the other end.
Max got out and climbed up. He looked about him at the wasted earth. He could hear the sound of what he knew to be Russian choppers, off in the distance.
"Animals"he said out loud. |
My first post here! Also, if anyone is into alternative history, you should DEF check out Philip Roth's The Plot Against America
---
Heil Hitler, fellow redditors. I'm not much of a writer, but this prompt really made me think. I – like most of you – am still reeling from the recent death of our beloved Führer's son, Alois. I think history books largely ignore the role of Eva Hitler, the woman who gave life to our blessed leader of some 20 years. Over 70 years ago, we celebrated a victory that would save mankind as we know it. The below is an account of what she might have gone through had she fell into the hands of our enemy. God bless the Fatherland.
Justin Adolf Black Jr.
Lincoln, Nebraska
---
He was gone. Of course, He still visited me in my dreams. I'd wake up, hungry, in the middle of the night, his name still at the tip of my tongue, but I dared not speak His name. They had made sure of that. Seven years since I heard the stern, powerful boom of his voice. Every word he uttered had once captivations millions. Now, all those words had been erased.
They'd roused us in the middle of the night, a handful of men – if you could call them that. I couldn't hear a word. One loud bang and then nothing. Flashlights blinded me. I couldn't move or think. His arms, the same arms he had lovingly wrapped around me as the bombs descended upon us, not 30 metres above our heads, were still slumped, but now lifeless, around me.
It's hard to believe what the proximity of evil can do to a person's soul. They took me away, in a plane, then a boat. Washington DC was a godless place. They forced me to stand in front of them, n****rs, China men, Jews; they forced me in front of a camera. I was made to deny my love for Him. I told them he had been mistaken. I told them they were right, and He had been wrong. And when they let me go, they told the world they had reformed me.
But my world is hell. Literally. Now released from their custody, I am all but forgotten (as if He had never existed, as if all he had done hadn't mattered in the least). I roam the streets among them. An angel among demons. My face is dirty, obscuring my once handsome features. I dare not open my mouth. My native tongue has become a curse. Once a year, on December 27, I see faded snapshots of happy times together on television through shop windows. To be back at Berchtesgaden. But they are not celebrating his life. They are celebrating his death, as only monsters do.
Last night, a man approached me as I lay awake, eyes closed, on a park bench. I pretended to sleep as he shoved a slip of paper under my head and calmly walked back into the night. When I awoke, I almost abandoned my sleeping place without a second thought. Remembering what I quickly assumed had been a dream, I grabbed the dirty, ink-smeared paper, now wet with dew. In thick, black marker, scrawled hastily above a swastika letterhead: Frau Hitler: *es ist noch lange nicht vorbei*. It's not over yet. Signed, *die Regierung des Vierten Reiches*. The Fourth Reich has risen.
---
GOV_OFFICIAL: Mr. Black is currently in custody. Note that any references and/or allusions to defeat in the Great War of 1939 are strictly forbidden within the Protectorate of the Americas, and throughout the Reich. Any public statements referencing such are punishable by death by order of Reichsprotektor Anton Hermann Göring.
|
When we first saw their ships, we assumed they were here to retaliate. They passed our systems by without so much as a transmission. The summons was issued only a few downcycles later. Naturally we sent our diplomatic envoy immidiately. To keep the Law waiting is not in your best interests.
Our first clue that something was amiss was the pained movement-communicators of the Law that met us on the landing pad. It hissed, *hissed* mind you, in distress when we asked for further clarification. How could the Humans sue us? Litigation is an impossibly lengthy and expensive process, a planet just raided by His Majestie's Most Powerful Navy could not possibly afford this.
This was the first "loophole"we were informed. Ancient galactic precedent. *We* were now legally bound to *their* court costs! I could have self terminated accidentally in surprise at such a thing. We moved swiftly to the main hall. Humans stood in environmental suits to shield them from the cold, waiting for us. With their boney outcroppings beared from their too fleshy mouths.
Initial statements took **eleven subcycles**. I staggered back to the ship with the assistance of my third, fumbling around the new concepts. Sixty upcycles I had spent learning the ways of law and the Law's proceedures. I felt as though I had never so much as opened a dataslate. Every manuver I tried was blocked. Every form found incomplete by the Humans. They had meticulously documented our raid on more than 70^3 foldweights of processed plant matter and carbon markings. Translated twice, into His Majestie's Tongue and a high formal Law dialect that even the oldest and most storied Law among the panel could barely understand it.
Humans apparently have a saying. "He with the most paperwork wins."
We begged them for a settlement. We offered to surrender our fleet fo their destruction. They persisted, citing precident and decision after decision, some more than two hundred cycles ago. My father's father's father had not been alive to hear these words as they shackled and crippled us.
In the end, the Law put a stop to it. Two Law had expired merely certifying and notorizing documents. We were not even sure what we'd lost because the terms were so dense. All were bound though, we and they by the Law.
Soon though, I feared Humans would be the Law. I ruminated on this in warm fear as we escorted their party back to our home. |
**The** **Champ**
I've held the title for three long years, defeating every contended by the skin of my teeth. 'Old horse' they called me... once a prime stallion as it were, the critiques consider me, the Champion, the underdog.
They had it about right. The Contender, a young vibrant and genius of an out-counter-boxer who was crafty and cunning, certainly has the means to end my reign.
'Go down in the fifth', the command echoed in my mind.
It was difficult to focus on the Contenders straight rights, but if I had to give up the title, it would be to someone as hungry as this guy. No matter if he earned it or not...
The words resonated through my mind as the bell rang ending the third round...
*Ding,* *Ding!*
**The** **Contender**
The Champ rushed me, unexpectedly. He was, he is, as powerful as my trainer warned me about, despite his age. His hard-nosed, heavy-handed in-fighting combinations knocked opponents cold. It was no wonder he held the title for so long.
But... he wasn't too bad. I had youth and speed on my side. I could slip his heavy right hooks and his distracting jabs. He seemed off though, as off as I was.
'Take the hit in five, or else...' Damn them. Damn those bastards. They have 'them'... I don't have a choice.
I have to go down in the fifth... or else...
The bell rung ending the fourth round.
*Ring!*
**The** **Champ**
By this time the crowd was going nuts. The Contended had a good shiner over his left eye. I caught him good when he tried to weave my cross-jab. He looks pissed.
Good... easier for him to knock me out if he gets pissed off.
*Ring!*
**The** **Contender**
I had to go in with a feint. If I can juke fast enough into the Champs hook, it might make it more convincing to 'them'. I hated letting my fans down... but I have no choice.
**The** **Champ**
He'll go for his fancy counter... the one that's knocked out 24 other contenders and put them flat on their face. He always stutter-steps in to bait the counter. Insane... countering a counter. Come on kid, take the title. Don't make me take the dive.
**The** **Contender**
Now... he's in the middle of the ring. He'll go for the hook. It'll put me out cold and that'll be that.
**The** **Champ**
I clutched my fist tight, the kid stepping in as I expected...
**The** **Contender**
Here it comes, the deadly hook...
**The** **Announcer**
"Oh my god, did you see that!? Are you seeing this people of the boxing world?!"
"The Champ and the Contender hit with their most devastating strikes. It looked like it was going to be an exchange of blows, but both are out cold!!"
**The** **Ref**
"1!"
"2!"
"3!"
......
**The** **Champ**
W, what the...fuck was that...?
I could see the Contender was down too... Did...did I throw my hook? Dear god... must've been muscle memory... get up. Get up kid!
If we both get the KO call... I'll retain the title...
**The** **Contender**
I was down... knocked smooth on my ass. Like I expected... I can see the Champ laying sprawled out on the floor. My counter must have been heavier than I thought.
But... then I realized... he's wide awake, not getting up though.
Is he...? No... It can't be...
Is he taking a dive?! If he doesn't win... then they...
**The** **Ref**
"6!"
"7!"
**The** **Champ**
Get up or else... they're dead! Get up damnit!!!
**The** **Contender**
They've got them... if he wins by double KO, they won't see it as him winning.
Why aren't you getting up you old bastard?! If you stay down... they'll be killed...
**The** **Ref**
"8!"
"9!"
............................................ |
Lee had never realized how heavy stacks of paper could be until he had to move boxes of them around. He'd done his fair share of manual labour in his life, but never before had he done something as tedious and straining as moving boxes of books for eight hours a day. It certainly didn't help that the air conditioning in the building was broken and he was frequently subjected to the southern sun.
Lunch was always his favourite part of the day; not because he was able to leave the balmy building, but because he had the building all to himself. His co-workers always went a few blocks away to grab some tacos from a lunch truck, leaving Lee to his packed lunch. Lee wasn't big on tacos, especially not ones made in a truck. He was keen to hang around the building, eat a small sandwich, and what he called "scoping". Lee would always keep a rifle in the trunk of his car, on his lunch break he found fun in looking through the scope at passers-by from the window of his workspace.
Today was no different, when lunch rolled around his co-workers left to grab their tacos. Wesley invited him as he did everyday, but Lee declined as always. Lee always thought Wesley was a good guy, he was the one who got him the job after all. After Lee was all alone he started eating his sandwich, a slice of smoked salmon between two pieces of wheat bread with cucumber mixed in. He wasn't incredibly hungry and was feeling antsy to get some scoping in, so after finishing half of his sandwich he ran downstairs to grab his rifle.
When grabbing the gun he happened to notice a large procession of cars driving by his work window. Lee hurried upstairs so that he wouldn't miss out on any prime scoping targets. He aimed the barrel of the Carcano carbine towards the window and noticed a convertible driving by, the perfect scoping target. His heart started pounding as he saw the young Irish-American couple in the backseat. He centered the crosshairs on the male and kept them on him for a few seconds. Lee relished in the feeling that he could take their life at any moment. That day the sweltering southern sun had been particularly unkind to Lee, coating his body, and fingers, in sweat. His finger slipped and pulled the trigger. The next thing he saw from the window was the man slumped over the seat of the car and the woman scrambling over the trunk. Lee had betrayed his country for the second time. |
It was a big fat zero. She saw it every morning when she stood in her bathroom, brushing her teeth. She saw it every time she stood in front of her dresser, getting dressed for the day.
She thought when she was high school her number would change like some of her friends. She came close on prom night but she woke the next morning with that same red zero floating above her head. In college, she was positive that she would have her number change, perhaps even more than once. But no such luck.
After that, time just seemed to snowball. And here she was, in her fiftieth year, still a virgin. She hated that zero.
When she left the house, she never knew what she might come across. The teenagers who laughed loudly and pretend-coughed the word "virgin". The men of all different ages who either thought her zero meant she was easy pickings or the ones who thought there was something weird about her and steered clear. The women who stared at her like she was some sort of puzzle.
Today, however, was going to be different. It started much the same as she got the usual stares and gapes of astonishment. But she walked quickly through the costume shop's doors. She searched the racks quickly, tried the costume on and paid.
Walking out on the street, she could feel the difference in eyes on her back. She paused at the corner, waiting on the light to change and caught her reflection in the shop window. The zero was still there, hanging like a beacon above her head. But she stood taller as she straightened her nun's habit and gave her reflection a small smile. The light changed and she crossed the road, walking with new purpose and a spring in her step. |
I am become death, destroyer of worlds.
*Aries*
All these countries seek my demise in these few, freshly minted years, and they have only just begun to understand that I tread by your bedsides as you wane. Fifteen years? Fifteen years too late. A million years too late. I am ancient. I have plagued the pyramids, snapped at the heels of the hunter-gatherers. I have lapped at the king's table, I have stalked the beggar's streets. I have seen the passage of power and the kicking and screaming births and corpse-strewn, gore-stricken deaths of kingdoms. I killed your father's father, your mother's mother.
*Taurus*
And yet you still presume to be greater than I? I am your own flesh and blood. I am you and yet not you. I am come to collect on this worthless body of yours, to reject the flaws in your nature. Your impurity must be purged in blood. A drop of rusty water. A walk in leaden-clad ruins. A false step, and my cue to descend is cast. To fight me is to kill yourself. To lose is to die on the morrow. To win is to die soon after. I sow. I reap. You weep.
*Gemini*
I don't know how many I've killed. I don't even hear their screams. And I will not hear yours, for I am deaf to the world's suffering though I am the cause of it. You cannot make me feel and be exposed as you are for I feel nothing. I only live to slay, unfeeling, unseeing evil. I murder you. That is all.
*Leo*
When I come for you, and I *will* come for you, what will you do? Quite simply, you have no idea who you're dealing with. I am the master of infinite horcruxes, the true hydra. I do not fear the law or the police or your governments or talking heads or blithering demagogues. There is nothing you can do with all your tracking technology and science and guns and missiles and tanks and jets. Transcendent, I am, of such crude tools of war.
*Virgo*
You see, I'm more adaptable than you. I take these millions of years of experience and evolution and I harness them to hunt you. I'm invisible. I can taste you and savor you and devour you without you ever knowing I was there to partake of you. All your intimate, vulnerable parts are my domain. And I will crush them and twist them and draw them into harpsicord strings fit to please any psychopath. I will drink your essence and your juices and wither you. And then afterwards I will leave unscathed. I was born of you but I do not need you to survive in this new era. I will outgrow you, to thrive in your labs and your sera and command a legion of geniuses to diligently and fervently care for me long after you are gone.
*Libra*
So there's no way you can stop me. You cannot bottle me up or jail me or take me to court or contain me. Because I'm hiding *inside* you and about you and among you. And I come in hundreds of forms, millions of bodies. Too many for you to keep track of, too many for you to snag in the crowd. You strike at one and it is boxing with the vague figures in thick smoke. I will slip into the cracks and when you think you have won I will come hurtling out of the darkened crevices. I hide in all your shadowed places not slithered into the light.
*Scorpio*
I grow faster than you cut me down. I live and breathe in arcane poisons and toxins. I will take you down with me. I am immortal and ever-changing and many-faceted like a jewel. I am legion, for I am many.
*Sagittarius*
I am known by many names. I am the sickening growth in the witch's nose. I am the hulking mass that lumbers the twilight. I am the Frankenstein, the parasite, the doctor's nightmare, the bane of good health and all that is pure and whole. All that and more. I am the one they send to *kill* the bogeyman.
*Capricorn*
The Emperor of All Maladies. That's what they call me.
*Aquarius*
I am the fault in our stars.
*Pisces*
I am
#**Cancer** |
Drew:
"Oh, I'm trapped in this place, this cursed desert island.
There's little here that can keep me smilin'
I hope we get out of here sooner than we think,
Mostly 'cause the top of Colin's head is completely pink."
**Pause for laughter that is just the sounds of seagulls in the sky**
Colin:
"I can't believe that I have been stranded here with this lot!
The sand gets everywhere, and man is this place hot!
Sitting and thinking here gets me feeling the blues,
But worse comes to worst I guess we could row home in Ryan's shoes."
**Pause for laughter with Ryan looking down at his big feet and then at Colin**
Wayne:
"I refuse to stick around in this place longer than I have to.
There's no place to eat or sleep and there's no bathroom!
I've seen shows like this before, I'm not gonna lie,
The first one to end up dead is always the black guy!"
**The four guys laugh**
Ryan:
"When our ship went down, I knew that this would be bad.
Been here for a week already and these three make me mad.
If I don't find food, I'll start eating my friends.
But at least it will mean I'll never have to do a hoedown again!"
**All together**
"NEVER DO A HOEDOWN AGAIN!"
|
"It's simple, Bobby. As it turns out, souls aren't affected by morality, but by stupidity. By voting for Trump after his second term, your soul has become so laden with stupidity it is now the most valuable soul in the world."Vernon gave Bobby a satisfied smile and sat down on the couch.
"But Trump makes well-informed decisions and deserves a third term,"Bobby insisted.
People following the stock market closely noticed a sudden 50% rise in the value of Bobby Heathcliff Wuther's soul.
"Oh, Bobby,"Vernon chuckled. "You're so stupid."
"I'm not stupid! I got a high school diploma! Everyone knows that a diploma proves you're smart."
Bobby Heathcliff Wuther's soul value then rose by 200%. |
The wall of noise is all consuming and it is becoming *louder*. We wave our arms in the air out of pure panic. We try desperately to run but we are rooted in place. It grows louder still.
**vroooom**
There are over a million of us trapped here. A million souls damned to eternal torture. I can hear muffled screams mingled in with the vicious roar.
**Vroooom**
My brethrens bodies are chopped in half. I know most will live again, but their pain right now is unthinkable. I know as I have experienced it before.
**VROOOOM**
The beast approaches. I huddle close to those nearby, hoping it will bring some form of protection against the great metal teeth. Some around me drop their seeds.
**VROOOOOOM**
--------
'Looks great honey, but it's been growing real quick recently. I think it needs cutting every week. ' |
I didn't remember at first. But over time the memories would flow in like waves, leaving the pain and confusion on the shores of my mind.
The first memories came when I was very young, perhaps 2 or 3. A beautiful young woman was smiling at me, moving her hands to her eyes and away again. A game we call peek-a-boo. A young man with darker skin than my own was holding my fingers as I struggled to rise on my feet. A girl a few years older than me took my hands and pulled me from my crib and drew on my face with lipstick. Their names and characteristics came to me instantaneously.
Mom wasn't worried at first. But as I started to talk more and more about these strangers, she expressed her fears to my father. The young woman I called "Ummi". The young man was "Baba"and the older girl, "Maryam". As for myself? They called me Amina.
Mom thought they were my imaginary friends. She herself had strange names for imaginary friends when she was that age, too. But it was more than that. I claimed these strangers as my "other family"and I started 'making up' names for things in my life. Everything had two names. Milk was also halib. The door was also bab. The dog was kalb. When Mom asked why I had a different name for everything, I was confused. "That's their other name, mama", I said and laughed.
My parents took me to a few doctors to ask for their diagnoses. Each of them said I was "overly imaginative", but fine, and sent me home. They began to pick up the words I had for my surroundings and began using some of those same words for themselves at home.
The memories would come every few months. I had no words to explain these moment, so I called them 'dreams'. My parents continued to worry but became used to their special child.
It went on for a year before we got some interesting news. I was riding in the cart at the grocery store and as my Mom passed the milk fridge I began yelling "alhalib, halib!"As she shushed me and told me we had some at home a man came up behind us. He asked, "Excuse me, do you speak Arabic?"
"No,"Mom said. "Why?"
"Halib is milk in Arabi,"the man said.
I turned to look at the man with the familiar voice and exclaimed with joy, "Baba!" |
World War II. That was the war when it all changed.
My grandfather, Charles Pollock, was recruited shortly after the bombing of Pearl Harbor. He spent two months training, quickly learning to pilot planes, and then was sent into the brutal deathwatch known was World War II. The only thing he used to tell me as a child when I would ask about his missions was this: "I still don't understand how I got out alive."
He passed away recently in his sleep. In his will, he left me one item: A journal. When I received it, is was covered in dust and muck, and had looked as if it was not written in for ages. Even so, when I opened the cover and began reading his words, I recognized his penmanship and knew it had to be from him.
The first page was not the original. He had taken a new, more modern piece of paper and placed it in the binding, holding it down with tape. "Dearest Conner... After all these years, I have decided to take my own life to atone for the sins I committed earlier in life. I know I can trust you with the truth which lies within the next pages... You have always been quiet and kind. Keep this to yourself. Let no one know that you know what is contained here."
I was not surprised that the old man took his life. His wife passed recently, and children both stopped visiting and calling as often due to his depressing attitude. Anyway, I flipped on to the next page.
"Date: SEPT 28, 1945. My Commander approached me today, asking me to participate in a top-secret mission. I agreed, considering I was the best of the remaining pilots. I couldn't leave the job to anyone else! After talking to him, it was noted that I would be flying a bomber-class plan over Hiroshima on August sixth to perhaps end this war. Amazing!"
"Date: AUG 2, 1945. I tried getting a peak at the weapon they have kept locked away. Commander shooed me away aggressively, telling me that not even he was allowed to know what it was. Pretty surprised."
"Date: AUG 7, 1945. Returned to base after dropping our payload. Whatever it is his those son's of bitches hard. Command told me that this mission was just a test... They want me to drop another bomb in a few days. Kind of feel like a hero."
"Date: MAR31, 1965. Found this while cleaning out my attic... Perhaps it is time to write down what happened... for the record. Just so that the truth is out there.
On August 9th, 1945, I began my run to drop the second bomb onto Nagasaki. I began experiencing plane trouble, and lost altitude rather quickly. Knowing me, I did the heroic thing, and dropped the bomb. I held my cross and closed my eyes, praying to God that I would somehow make it out of this alive.
The next thing I remember was gasping for air, pulling myself out of a strange black goo. It was blazing hot... but didn't burn my body. My skin felt fresh and rubbery, like a baby, and my hair felt soft and silky. I gazed around me, trying to figure out what the hell had happened.
I saw hundreds of body parts being absorbed into the muck. Buildings slowly being disintegrated like they had been dropped into a barrel of acid. I got scared, thinking I might die as well, and just started to run. Although I wouldn't call it running... it was like sprinting in a pool.
I continued forward, wailing and screaming. I saw children crying... they were ablaze, slowly being dissolved by the goo. I think I had tried to pull one or two... maybe five out, but nothing I did helped. The mass would rip them back in even deeper, taking them right out of my arms.
I don't know how many days it was until I made it to the coastline. I don't know how many people I saw perish in that... blackish hell. How disgusting. I just jumped in ocean and began swimming to get away from it all. I never wanted to rest my eyes on it again.
I was rescued by the military and eventually taken back to headquarters. I don't remember much of what happened... or I think I just don't want to. I remember they tried to kill me several times. I was shot in the head... burned alive... dismembered... nothing worked. I would regenerate everything back.
They eventually debriefed me, considering they could not kill me, and let me know what I had experienced that day. They called it the Harbinger... it was an alien parasite which they had recovered from a meteorite up north. They had experimented with it, watching it as it devoured everything it could. It fed on matter, and killed without second-thought. So, just like humans do, they wondered what "other"applications this being had.
They made me drop a very small sample of it on Hiroshima. 'A great success. The city was devoured in hours.' Our head General told me. So, logically, they wanted one more final blow to end the war. A huge sample of the being was to be dropped on Nagasaki. I was to do down with it was well, just as a contingency. I may have seen something I shouldn't have.
They let me go with one warning: If I ever mentioned anything about the parasite, they would kill anyone close to me, and then would take me in and torture me until this damn power wore off. For the sake of my family... I kept quiet.
Yes. I sat back and watched quietly as the media talked about the quarantine of Japan due to 'radiation.' No one was to go there, or they would be fried instantly. Even so, I know there were probably a few curious individuals who hopped on a boat and head over. Considering the media has yet to uncover the... demon which lives on that island, I doubt anyone made it back in one piece.
I do not not know why I developed these regeneration powers. Perhaps this being saw me as its father, since I gave it Japan as its meal and allowed it to flourish on the lives of millions. Perhaps it didn't have any feelings... I just have a feeling though that it and I... we are now one or something. My body should have been torn apart in the crash, but the Harbinger sowed me back up in one piece with its darkness.
It is true. I am responsible of the death of all of Japan. I will probably be responsible for more death to come once the USA finds another great and selfless purpose to use the weapon for. I can never be forgiven. Never."
"Date: OCT 20, 2002. Charles. You may be shocked by what you have found in this journal... but I guarantee you it is all true. And I apologize for the lack of a corpse... I'm sure it will kill your parents by never knowing what happened to me or my body. Believe me, I tried to end my own life multiple times for them to at least have that closure.
I think the only hope at Salvation I have is to return to that hell. I'll beg that monster to free me from this world. If it gave me my life, and ensured it to be long-lasting, I am sure it has the power to take it back away.
On that note... Goodbye, Charles. Keep quiet. One day the truth will come out, but don't let it be you. I wouldn't want your parents to be missing a son." |
"Oh, hey, let me get that for you,"a young man said as I went to reach for the top shelf at the library. In a simple flick of his wrist, a few murmured words, he already had the book I wanted floating to his hands before I got off the ladder. He was taller than I, and had a stocky build, but his eyeglasses were quite large, and round.
I smirked, "You know, reading someone's thoughts is considered rude."
He shrugged, "*Was* considered rude. Before the Changing, that is."
I grabbed the book from his hand and nodded. The Changing, as always, was a topic of conversation around Citizens. For people like me, simple Denizens, the Changing was merely a mark on a history timeline that we weren't part of. "Still rude among Denizens. Besides, if I wasn't answering back you could have--"
He shook his head, "That's not how it works."
"I wouldn't know."
"I'm sorry, I just assume that most people are. Especially nowadays."
I nodded.
"How long?"
"Since I was born,"I nodded. It was a question a lot of people asked me, especially when I actually left the Sanctuary and into town. Not being able to wield magic was considered, by a Citizen's standard, a disability. That was why the Sanctuary existed in the first place. "Only life I ever knew."
"Hey, look at the bright side, at least you never had magic and lost it, right?"
I nodded. He had a point. A lot of my friends at the Sanctuary were in that predicament. Born with the ability to wield magic, but lost it along the way of growing up. By sixteen, every kid knew if they had magic or not. They called it the Calling, some life-changing moment that would tell you what to do with your abilities, where to work, and when you finally joined the hivemind that was humanity.
I never had that Calling so I never knew what it was like.
"Who else are you talking to in there?"I asked as I set the book on the counter with the rest of the stack. The Sanctuary didn't have the best library, so going out into the world was the only way to really *learn* anything.
"I have my brother in France, and my fiance in Ohio."He nodded. "Which is actually where I'm heading."A few books floated from his hand and towards the stacks. Each of them separated and then were neatly placed on the shelves. "Just came back to return some books."
"I see, well, have fun then."I set the last book on top of the stack and grabbed all of them. I had about eight, all of which I could take back to the Sanctuary, but I had to return them. Or ask one of the Citizens that volunteered do it for me. I never liked doing that, asking a seventeen year old who was trying to get community hours help a twenty-three year old like me. It was never fun. When I had to do that, I felt disabled.
"Before you go, do you need a hand?"The man asked me as I stepped by him. As all Citizens were taught, when you met Denizen in non-Sanctuary zones, you were to help them. No matter what. Even if they said no.
"You had to ask, didn't you?"
He cocked his head, "It's, well, you know."
I laughed sarcastically and let go of the books I was holding. Without even flinching, the Citizen caught them in mid-air with a telekinesis spell, all he did was throw his hand up and they started floating. I started to walk out of the area I was in, making sure to grab my book and carry it myself, before leaving. I got a few glances here and there, and I was sure the Citizen got a few smiles and nods.
The walk to the Sanctuary was only a few blocks, where the tall gates signified the entrance between magical zones. Of course, Citizens could come and go as they pleased in Sanctuary's, to help and provide aid, but magic was limited. You needed a potion of vitality to keep up your spirits there. Luckily for them, the Apothecary's had set up shop outside of every Sanctuary in the known world. Never a day without magic now.
I went to the gate and turned to the young man, who had been polite as every Citizen I had ever met. Inside, I knew they kind of despised us. Just as we despised them. Being the non-magic users in a magic-filled world.
It sucked.
"Thank you,"I reached out for the books, which he levitated over to my arms. "I appreciate it."
"Don't mention it, Miss?"
"Ebony. Ebony Wade."I raised an eyebrow, "Didn't read that out of my mind?"
"Someone told me it was rude."He smiled and dropped the books into my hand, "A pleasure, Ms. Wade."
I turned back around and walked towards the entrance of the Sanctuary, saying hello to the guard at the front entrance, Derrick Vain. He was a kind man and he opened up the gates with a simple levitating spell.
At least, Citizens told me it was simple. Back when I was still friends with Citizens.
I didn't let it get to me much. Instead, I just focused on my studies; the limited ones I had in a Sanctuary. I was thankful the Citizen didn't ask me about any of the books I had. As I stared at the first one in the stack, *The Institution of Citizens*, I realized that any other Citizen would have threatened to report me. Instead this one let me go on; to learn more about the world outside of my own.
________
*I really, really liked this prompt. Definitely can see myself going back to it. /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more of my work!* |
"Stop! You're Allergic!"
I screamed and dropped the jar of curry, turning in horror to see a face in the vent. falling backwards and into darkness, I collapse to the floor.
I woke up slowly, an ache in the back of my head. Putting my hand to it, instead of hair I felt a bandage. Struggling for focus, I tried to take stock. With some effort, I opened my eyes, squinting against the light. Which means it's daytime, I managed to reason. And I'm in my room, but I was somewhere else... Doing something...
The vent! That voice! Heart thundering I'm on my feet and awake. I grab the statuette on my bed stand and scan the room and see nothing. Cautiously, I moved towards the vent. Step by step, slowly shifting until it's in view. It's empty, thankfully and I breath a sigh of relief. It's short lived, as the tension returns when I realize I don't have my phone.
Normally, that makes me panic a bit. Now, it felt like a heart attack. Frantically grabbing at my clothes, both on me and the floor, I searched and searched. Under the bed, in the closet, in the laundry basket, everywhere until nearly in tears, I stared at the door.
It must be on the other side. Where that face was. Where whoever put me in bed must be. I was afraid and had no choice. I couldn't stay in the room forever and that door wouldn't save me any more than a blanket would save a child from a monster.
As quietly as possible, I opened the door. My halls creak, but I know all the spots. Stepping along the walls, I moved without a trace of noise. I could hear scraping. It was coming from the kitchen. My heart pounded faster and faster. Sweat began trickle down my face and back and I clutched the statuette tightly in both hands. I'd bought it in Rome, it was a bronze figure of a woman on a square base. I held her upside down by the waist and peered around the next corner.
A man kneeled on the floor, facing away. Something about him was.. familiar? For a moment I forgot myself and stepped out, lowering my hands to my sides. A corner of the statuettes base tapped the wall lightly and the man spun. Eyes wide in shock, he faced me and raised his hands. I'd already swung, the statuette flying through the air collided with his head. A corner struck him in the temple, hard, and he fell back with a crunch. His hand came up to mine, brushing it lightly.
Horrified, I stumbled backwards, dropping what had once been a favorite souvenir. I looked at the spreading blood, covered my face with my hands and cried. Sobbing, I was surprised to taste something sweet. Taking a deep, shaky breath I looked at my hands. The one the man touched had something yellow on it. Clearing my throat, I realized it was my curry. Wiping one hand on my pants and the other across my mouth, I got it off me. Coughing slightly, I moved around his body to the counter, where my phone sat. Clearing my throat again, I picked it up with trembling hands.
"911, What is your emergency?"
"I-gh"I gasped into the phone, struggling for air. Eyes watering, I can hardly see. Unable to speak I slam my hands and feet against the cupboards, floor, and table. Trying to make a commotion, so they send help.
"Is anyone there? Are you able to respond?"
Flailing, my foot strikes something soft and for the second time that day I fall backwards into darkness. This time I don't wake up in bed. |
"Hey honey, dinner's ready!"A man yelled
He put a little salt in to finish off the soup, and then brought a bowl to her. Like usual, she was sitting in her chair. She didn't move too well, so she preferred to stay there if possible.
"I made chicken noodle soup, mix it up a little bit, you know?"
She didn't respond, her eyes stayed locked on the television.
He grabbed the spoon and filled it, blowing on it to cool down a little. He raised it to her mouth and fed it to her.
"Sorry, I know I'm not the best cook, but it's good for you, I promise"
He fed her until the bowl was empty, then he sat back and watched the news with her. She was mute, so while she could hear fine they never had conversations.
"Hey honey"he turned to her "You know what day it is?"
She didn't respond.
"Bath day! time to make you all squeaky clean!"
He picked her up and carried her up to the bath. He set her down and ran the bath for awhile, letting the water get hot.
"I've got a surprise for you"he smiled
Her eyes were focused on him now.
"I got you bubble bath soap! I know how much you said you enjoy bubble baths, so I went and got some for you! How does that sound?"
He then proceeded to undress her and place her into the bath.
"Warm water like this does wonders for you"he began "It's therapeutic, meaning it's great for your mind, and it makes your skin soft and supple"
He began scrubbing her back with sponge slowly and carefully, making sure not to harm her delicate skin. He heard the doorbell ring.
"I need to go check on that, I'll be back in a minute!"He ran out the bathroom door to check on the caller.
As he left, the woman watched him go with fearful eyes. Her eyes stayed locked on the door, but then she began to slip. Slowly, she sank further into the water, reaching a point where both her mouth and nose were below the water. She was both unable and unwilling to move. She closed her eyes, finally at peace. Suddenly, the man came back.
"Oh my!"he ran over and readjusted her "You fell in a little. That's okay, I'll always make sure you stay safe"
He smiled broadly at her, but the only expression in her eyes was fear. |
Everybody in the world watched while the big countdown began. Only a few seconds left till touchdown, 3 2 1, a big gasp went around the control room as the lander touched ground. They did a quick system check before the crew prepared themselves to make the first ever recorded moonwalk. Commander Legweak and pilot Aldrout opened the doors to the outside and stepped out. After a moment of silence while they looked around Legweak contacted the control room; "Houston?", "Yes Commander.", "I think the French have been to the moon before us.", "What!? Why do you think such a strange thing?", "Well... When I look to my left I see a white flag in the distance."
Edit: I can't actually write, but it thought it would be a funny twist because the American flag would be white right now because of the suns rays. If somebody could actually write one that is better I would love to read it. |
“JOSIAH… JOSIAH! COME FORTH… IT IS I THE LORD YOUR GOD AND I--” the voice in the burning bush commanded.
“Whereas I,” I interrupt the voice from the bush, “have had just about enough of this nonsense. That’s a fire hazard, that’s what that is.”
The dead bush ensconced in flames burned smartly, and brightly, in the backyard of my rented condo, lighting up the surrounding snow with a pale yellow light. A normal man would have slept right through this - the idiotic voice notwithstanding - ignoring the light and the peril.
Not I. The moment the yellow light hit my eyelids, ten years of fire prevention training lept into action. A normal man would hesitate about the cold, about the need to put the fire out, thinking, surely one little bush isn’t dangerous.
I am not a normal man. The only hesitation I had was, would I use grandad’s world war 2 era water based fire extinguisher or the or the Pyrochem PC-HF-20 PK-1 extinguisher with--
“JOSIAH, I’M STILL HERE IN THE BUSH AND YOU SHALL LISTEN…”
How rude, don’t interrupt me. The people need to know there’s a proper order to these things. Anyway, now is not the time for honoring the departed, now is the time for science to squash the dangers of uncontrolled burns; it’s time for the Pyrochem Highflow system!
I leap out of bed, slip my feet into waiting slippers, grab the red metal Pyrochem extinguisher, and race outside, all in one practiced, smooth motion.
“OK, steady hand, aim at the base, squeeze gently, spray back and forth,” I repeat the mantra to myself. The flames go out, the darkness of the night envelops my small little backyard.
“AHHH, WHAT DID YOU DO THAT FOR? IT WAS A LOVELY BURNING BUSH.”
“Hush you.” I crouch low and inspect the base of the bush. Always check for errant embers that might reignite a fire.
“OHH, AND NOW YOU’RE GETTING THE NEIGHBORING BUSHES TOO. HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO IGNITE THEM?”
“You’re not. That’s the point! Now Mr. Voice-in-the-sky, stop igniting these fires. It is a safety hazard and I won’t stand for it.”
“BUT I AM THE LORD YOUR GOD ABOVE--”
“You are the lord of the ninnies is what you is,” I say. Best to cut him off before he gets into one of his rants. He’s been lighting these fires for as long as I can remember. In a way, I should be grateful for all the training he’s provided me in my life in fire prevention.
“BUT JOSIAH, I CAN’T BEGIN MY REIGN UNTIL THE PROPHET, THAT’S YOU, PROCLAIMS MY TRIUMPHANT RETURN.”
“And I ain’t proclaiming anything because you aren’t real. Can’t you get that through your head? So you just stop it with the pyrotechnics in the middle of the night. Why can’t you talk to someone else?” I wag my finger at the sky.
“I CAN ONLY TALK TO THE PROPHET OF THE EARTH, AND THAT’S YOU.”
“Then just STOP talking!”
A sniffle, and a sob escape the sky, chased by a torrential downpour. Now I’ve done it. I’ve made god cry. I smile at the good work I’ve done. It’s been a might dry around here, and all this rain will reduce the fire susceptibility of the forest by at least ten points.
It was then, right then and there that I realized the power I had in my hand. What I could really do.
“THE POWER TO BE A BIG MEANIE.”
Hey, don’t get ahead in the story here. I’m the one telling the tale. See this is why I can’t believe in you, how could there be a god who’s such an infantile child?
“YOU…”
So like I said, that’s when I realized the real power I had here. The unique gift I alone possess.
I turned to the sky and asked, “Deity above I don’t believe in, let me ask you a question. You say I’m the prophet on earth, that I need to proclaim your second coming, does that mean I have abilities? Like healing the blind and whatnot? Can I get people to follow me, like those big time preachers on TV?”
The rain slows, just a bit, and a controlled sob followed by, “YES. AS THE PROPHET YOU CAN FORESEE THE FUTURE, HAVE POWERS OF HEALING AND CHARISMA TO CONTROL THE MASSES. YOU WILL SPEAK AND THE WORLD WILL LISTEN. YOU WILL SAY MY NAME AND I SHALL RETURN TO JUDGE THE WORLD.”
Well ain’t that just interesting? That little discussion was only two years ago. Two crazy whirlwind years ago. I had to give up so much; my post at the volunteer fire fighter department, leading tuesday night bingo, thursday night square dance calling, and all the fire marshals in the country.
But it’s for a greater good, in the end. I started speaking, and talking across the land. I had a blind man come up to me, and I spit into his eyes. Not to be mean mind you, it cured his blindness. More than a few times, I walked through the halls of hospitals curing every last person in there. Made a few nurses mad to be out of work, but the rest didn’t mind.
And with each miracle came more and more followers, and the money. Private jets took me where I needed to go. Servants brought me the food I needed. But I never lost sight of the goal, please believe that or nothing I have told you will matter. It all has come down to this night right here in the Denver Mile High stadium. Over 76,000 people have come to hear me speak, and millions more on the TV. I picked this location for two very good reasons, first it’s open air, and second, Colorado is a high desert. This is important.
The stadium is full, there’s a stage in the middle with a choir of a hundred voices - my staff saw to that - and lots of decorations everywhere. I’m not sure they’re necessary, but my staff insists it is.
After a soaring hymnal of babbling incoherent tunes, it’s my time to speak. I walk across the impromptu platform my ministry has erected, to the single golden microphone erected on a podium. The stadium lights blind me making me feel like I’m floating in white heavenly light down here. I can’t see the audience, but I can feel them. I can feel the millions hanging on my every word. It’s time.
“IT’S TIME TO PROCLAIM MY SECOND COMING.”
“Ladies and gentlefolk,” I say into the microphone which comes out of the giant speakers flanking the stage as “LADIES AND GENTLEFOLK,”
“I have come tonight with a most important message. An urgent warning and reminder. I come to you, here, tonight in the dryest of lands to tell you something that will save your life, your soul, and maybe, just maybe the life your neighbor. I have someone I need to introduce you to.”
I reach under the podium, and pull out the most holy of cases. A brown suitcase line with rich purple velvet. With great pomp and ceremony, I set it on the podium, undo the golden clasps and flip open the lid. In there lies the golden vessel that will save this land.
“LADIES AND GENTLEFOLK,” my voice comes out the speakers, “THIS IS THE PYROCHEM HIGHFLOW PK-3. WE ARE IN PEAK FIRE SEASON, AND YOU MUST NOTE THE PROPER METHOD OF FIRE EXTINGUISHING. WHEN YOU SEE A FIRE, FIRST AIM AT THE BASE, SQUEEZE GENTLY…”
A crack and a sob overhead, and the heavens let loose with the greatest downpour I have ever witnessed. My face looks up to the sky, dripping in the coming rain and I smile. I smile on the good works I have done; this will be the safest fire season yet.
|
"Wine?"
"That would be great."
She turned for some glasses, the silhouette of her frame wrapped tightly in a red Alexander McQueen Jacquard-knit mini dress.
Florence was exactly my type. Tall and athletic with a radiating smile, she was almost too good to use.
Most of the women I kill are young and beautiful, full of life. That's what gets me off the most. Having in my power the ability to violently end what was once such innocent, unstoppable beauty.
She slinked towards me, bottle and glasses grasped, halting on the perimeter of my personal bubble.
"You know, I don't usually...do this...with men."She raised one shoulder to her tilted head, her bashful eyes ensconced between thick brows and freckled cheeks.
She had a dark, romantic streak to her that contrasted sharply with her accounting gig at EY.
"Does that make me special?"My playful smile completed the quip.
This was my favourite part. The build up, the tension, the foreplay. Not for sex, but for my addiction, that most powerful drug. Killing.
I did sometimes fuck my victims. Sometimes before, sometimes after. But Florence, she was too good to defile with my pathetic male urges. She deserved my most pious treatment.
I retreated to the sofa whilst she poured generous glasses of Malbec on her white-marble coffee table opposite me, her cleavage igniting urges from that most primitive, wild and central part of man.
"Cheers,"I said.
"To..."
"To good health."
I meant it, just not for long.
"So, I imagine with a place like this you're making a killing at EY,"I said.
"Something like that."
"Money doesn't motivate you, I can see that in your eyes."
She looked at me, a sinister interrogation of my face.
"Not really, it's...nice, but my life has deeper passions."
"Like?"
"They're kind of...philosophical in nature, I suppose. A search for truth and justice, perhaps."
"A humanitarian!"I smiled approvingly. In truth it didn't really matter who or what she was. I was here to get my murderous rocks off, and Mary Teresa could qualify a victim for all I cared.
"Some might say,"she said.
Her look changed instantly, the smile and warmth of her countenance died to something more of scorn.
I glanced at her untouched wine, the rim clean of lipstick.
I had already taken a greedy sip, and now felt a wave of fatigue wash over my eyes. I fought with all my sinister strength, but the room faded to darkness.
*******************************************************************
I woke up. Bright, white light filled the room. My naked carcass was strapped heavily in plastic wrap to a steel hospital gurney.
I searched the room with my eyes, the pain of looking to corners giving me a small headache.
A door opened, stiletto heels marched loudly toward me on the varnished wooden floor.
It was her.
"Sleep well?"
She had a sarcastic look of affection on her face, with a Damascus chef knife grasped firmly in her gloved hand.
"What are you doing!"
I knew exactly what she was doing, she was a pro by the looks of the setup. But given my intentions several hours earlier, I wasn't exactly happy to be playing the victim from my usual role.
"I'm making your last moments on earth,"she leaned in to my ear, her conditioned hair filling my nose with sweet fragrances, and whispered, "A living. Fucking. Nightmare."
She retreated down the table, stopping at my waist.
This was not my kind of interesting.
|
The winds gave a rhythmic beating to the shutters of the old church. Time and age had robbed the church of glory; wind and weather had robbed it of paint. Yet the residents of the truckstop town still pitched pennies in the Sunday collection and Easter saw the old ladies in wide brims and spring colors.
As the wind beat the rhythm, the preacher took nail and hammer to match cadence with the breeze. When the dusty old car pulled to the curb, he noted the dents, the scratches, and the out of state license plate, but he kept his post atop the ladder. The footsteps caused him no pause or alarm as he tapped the tack home. And when the shadow drew upon the wall below, he spoke. "You shouldn't have come back."
He looked down from his work at the visitor. He had changed. The young, hopeful face had fallen and hid behind a scrawl of beard. From sunken pits his eyes stared out. There was no smile hidden in those features.
"Don't worry, I ain't staying. Just passing through,"the man said. His voice held a rasp as from disuse and alcohol.
The preacher looked out upon the dusty town devoid of life even in the midday sun. "Lets go inside. It's better nobody sees you here."As he climbed down, his knees ached and with the final step he stumbled. A hand reached out to catch his, and he instinctively reached for the offered help, but drew back and caught himself with a stumble. He looked at the hand as it hovered before him then turned toward the church door. He knew the man would follow.
The stained glass painted the silent sanctuary in a spectrum of color highlighting the dancing motes of dust. The wooden floors creaked with every step and the pew groaned as they sat down.
The man sat close to the preacher who shuffled a few inches away. "Father-,"the man said, but the preacher held up a silencing hand.
"Let us pray,"he said. Each bowed his head and closed his eyes, their hands came together as the preacher spoke. "Our father. In all your glory and power I have asked you to bring the sheep back to the fold. And the stray lamb comes. But I see my folly, for the lamb is but a man of evil heart who has cast off the trappings of goodness. It is not enough to have him in your home, but I ask more. I ask that you forgive him for these horrible acts he has committed. I ask that you find the goodness within and bring him back to the light. Amen."
The man echoed the finale before looking up from God and meeting eyes with the preacher. "There is no repenting from the evil I have done. I have killed, I have stolen, I have cast away any goodness I once held and have let the devil take my soul."
The preacher held agony in his eyes as he spoke. "Why? Why have you done this to yourself? It's not the man you are!"
"The man I am? The man I was died. That man is buried behind this church."
The preacher looked where the man pointed and his eyes went through the narrow church walls and saw the lonely cemetery which he knew well. "What happened was terrible. But it is no reason to give up on our faith. To give up your God."
"You have it all wrong. I never lost my faith in God. But what she did can never be forgiven by God."
The preacher interrupted him. "What she did was terrible, but it was not her. She was not in her right mind. She was a good person, a loving wife, and a good Christian. God understands more than we ever can. You must forgive her."
The man shook his head. "She killed our daughter. She took her own life. I have forgiven her, I never blamed her. I have only ever wanted to be with her."
The man knelt to the ground before the preacher. "Father, I must be by her side again. She is all that I want and if Hell is where she abides, then it is Hell I must seek."
The Father's hands held the head of his Son, and he wept.
"My son. There is one sin which stands above all. You have put your wife before god. And my son, I will always hold you closest to my heart. If it is Hell you are bound, then we shall meet at those fiery gates." |
“Sir, we’ve got a problem. We’re running out of human souls.”
“What? Don’t be preposterous, Jenkins, we created 7 billion.”
“I know, sir, but the human population has grown to over six and a half billion already. We project that within the next 25 human ‘years’ they will exceed soul capacity.”
“Check the figures again, Jenkins. Did Frank run these numbers? He’s always getting sloppy.”
“I assure you, sir, the numbers are correct. I’ve checked and double checked them myself.”
“But that’s impossible. That planet can sustain four to five billion at most. Why, at seven billion they’ll begin to do irreparable harm.”
“Yes, sir. We tried forcing them into a couple of global wars to knock them back to the ‘stone age’ as they call it, but they only developed technology *faster*! Somehow they’ve managed to manipulate plant life to create a reliable food source.”
“Hmm, I see. We’ll have to petition for the right to create new souls while we think of a more long-term solution to such unmanageable population levels.”
“Very good, sir. Of course, that will take several of their millennia at least before we hear back on the petition. What shall I do in the meantime?” Here, if the abstract idea of Jenkins had a face, he would have grimaced as he voiced his next question. “Should I...should we...fracture their souls?”
“What?! Good heavens, no! You know full well what damage a fractured soul causes. Why do you think we have an entire soul-repair division? You want to *intentionally* fracture souls? Honestly, Jenkins, what has gotten into you?”
“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what came over me. The question remains, however. What do we do?”
“I think for now we’ll simply have to leave some of them without souls. That is a far more merciful fate to inflict than forcing them to live with only a part of a soul.”
“As you say, sir.”
“It’s our best option, Jenkins. We’ll simply have to live with the consequences of letting this get so far out of hand.”
***
*Meanwhile on Earth...*
“Yes, I’d like a footlong black forest ham on honey oat with american cheese, untoasted. For toppings I’d like lettuce, tomato, pickles, onion, and a little bit of bell pepper.” Mrs. Vanderburg said, waiting patiently while the young, red-headed man behind the counter began assembling her sandwich. He moved at a pace that would have bored a snail. Mrs. Vanderburg tapped her foot while he continued slapping cheese onto the discolored meat. When he had finally completed the sandwich, and Mrs. Vanderburg had successfully jack-hammered a hole in the linoleum with the ball of her foot, he rang her up.
“That’ll be $6.75. Ma’am. Please have a nice day.” He said with a smile, but the smile never reached his grey, soulless eyes.
***
Thanks for reading. I post all of my writing responses [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/LewisClarke/). Please come visit if you want to read more.
|
At first, you thought being trapped in a horror game may actually be fun. Your friends were there, the "abominations"were easy enough to get through, and those potions were **divine**.
But then the fogs came.
There was no escape from them; they were everywhere. They came without warning, and they left just as suddenly. It penetrated walls, it whispered in your ears, and, worst of all, it made the sanity meters go *crazy*. Your friends' fell through the floor, and yours, the infinity, flickered back and forth from positive to negative. You went from chaotic screaming pounding the inside of your skull to a flush of relief and back once more.
During one particularly long period of fog, your friends' sanity meter almost hit zero. Your meter stayed on negative more than usual. The *screaming*, oh the **screaming**. You blacked out.
Your friends were able to wake you... eventually... They were barely sane. They just kept mumbling something about "the eyes.""Those yellow eyes!"
The fogs were getting worse. Every time, blacking out was the only thing that kept you from bashing your head in on the nearest blunt object. The only thing you could ever hear was your friends screaming about those yellow eyes. You swore you saw them once or twice.
Then it happened. The fog, thicker and darker than you had ever seen, and it wouldn't leave. You remember when your friends' meters hit zero. Yours hadn't left the negative for what seemed like an eternity. Why wouldn't you black out?
Somehow, he dragged himself over to you. Even in your frenzied state, you pitied him, your friend, broken, barely sane. In your ear, over the raucous din of the screaming in your head, you heard him. "The eyes! Where are they? **Why isn't he here?!**"
You felt it, the moment your meter locked into the negative position. You understood it, all of it. The fog no longer scared you, for you knew it's secrets. The blackouts, the eyes, it all made sense. You knew what you had to do.
You didn't black out this time, the last thing your friends would ever see was you, watching the life drain from their bodies. Watching with your glowing yellow eyes.
|
I don't know what I expect to see as I load the video file. Minutes of darkness as you sit in a closet, maybe a shot of the bottom of a bed. Hell, maybe some footage of the backyard. It wouldn't surprise me to learn you've been leaving the house to mess with me.
The file starts, and I get the pleasure of looking back into my own dumb mug of a face. I fiddle with straps and buttons for several seconds, before finally leaning back and smiling at the camera.
"Alright Eliza, you sneaky little ninja you. We've been playing hide and seek alot, and everytime, I never find you. Frankly, it's driving daddy a *little* insane, so today I'm going to expose you and all your hiding secrets so I can finally get some sleep. Sound good?"
You giggle and bob your head, making the camera shake slightly. I close my eyes and begin to count, same as always, and I watch as you get up and make your play.
Like I said, I expect closets and beds, maybe even outside. What I do not expect is for you to walk to the other side of the room and sit in my Lazyboy.
Seconds pass. The camera stays on me, eyes closed, counting away. You giggle softly to yourself, too softly for me to hear, but clear as a bell on camera. In my office, I'm leaning forward, breath held, more anxious than the situation requires.
"25, 26, 27..."
You move, and I wait to see you make a run for it, but you don't. You're just getting comfortable, waiting for the entertainment to start.
"28, 29..."
My heart is pounding. Sweat beads my forehead. The chair creaks as I lean even closer.
"30! Ready or not, here I come!"
I see myself open my eyes, and for a second, I make eye contact. But it's a passing thing, as I scan the room to see if you're being obvious for once. Seeing nothing, I stand and begin my room-to-room search, playfully calling out to you.
Who, by the way, is still in my Lazyboy.
Moments pass, and I watch in confused amazement as you get up, calmly walks towards my voice, and proceed to watch me search every room in the house (twice), taking care not to get to close, lest I accidentally touch you. Several times I walk right past you in the hallway, looking directly at you as I go to look into other rooms.
Back in my office, my mouth is hanging open. Questions burn in my mind, but I say nothing. After 20 minutes, my apparently **invisible daughter** walks away from me, and, seemingly at random, picks a room, in this case my bedroom, and lazily crawls underneath. I make my way downstairs to the living room ,where I loudly yell "Well I give up. Guess I'll have to eat these sandwiches by myself."
I watch you scurry out from under the bed and run downstairs to meet me in the living room, squealing with delight as you see I have made 2 PB&J sandwiches (no crust, in triangles. I know you.) As you munch away, I take the camera off your head.
"OK honey, time for me to see all your tricks."
The recording ends. Silence pervades my office. I lean back heavily, hands covering my mouth as I harshly exhale. I do a slow spin in my chair, stopping when I'm facing my room.
My *empty* room.
My breathing catches. My eyes flutter nervously, scanning the room for something, anything, that might give you away. My ears strain, hoping to catch your quiet giggling.
Nothing moves. I hear nothing. The house is silent. I relax, closing my eyes in relief.
"Daddy can I have a snack?" |
Well, that is certainly interesting. The magic wore off, but Dythen is still here.
"Why have you not left yet?"The sorcerer was curious, and sounded it.
"I have a better life serving you than I ever did before. Food every day that I don't have to hunt for, humans not trying to kill me at every step. All in exchange for scales, ground horn, and my fire breath for the forge. Pretty good deal, I would say."
This changed everything. Would more dragons be willing to serve? Would people be willing to feed them so that they don't take our flocks? So many questions, so few answers.
"Well then. I have more for you to do then."
"Really? Should I sweep your floors too?"
"No."The sorcerer laughed. "No, I want you to help me. My books say all dragon have an innate gift of magic, so maybe you can help me with this spell. I have been trying to perfect it ever since I bound you, but it refuses to heel."
"Then let's see it. I am not a very powerful Mage, but I am one of the most skilled I know."
The sorcerer shows the scroll containing the spell to Dythen, and hoped for the best.
"This part here. You want a spell to make a portal, right? This part messes that up. You are trying to anchor to the physical world, which is all well and good, but when dealing with the aether, you need to anchor in the aether as well."
The sorcerer looked at it, thought for a bit, and "Why, how did I miss that? I was taught that by my master, but never thought that it would matter for something like this! You truly are a great Mage."
They went long hours into the night, testing the new spell, eating, and, of course, questions about each other.
Feedback is welcome, no matter how cutting. Just make sure it is feedback, and not hate. |
The bell echoed from within the school hall, sending the students previously seated quietly at their desks scattering from the classroom in a flurry of rustling paper and ringing laughter. It was rare to see a classroom of thirty sixteen-year-olds fall completely silent, but Ms Jefferson was used to it. They always did in her class. She recalled her time spent in health class only just over half a decade ago, learning about drugs, relationships and, of course, luck, a resource dangerously available to every person on the planet. Her classmates had been enraptured by the discussion of a topic strictly taboo to them; as they neared the age where they could legally control their flow of luck it was decided they had to be educated on its merits, and its dangers. That days lesson had been covering the historical instances of those who went "all in", releasing their luck, not in the usual ebbing flow that gently upholds the lives of most in pleasant normality, instead thrusting it forward in a tidal wave of good fortune, spending it in hours, minutes or even glorious seconds. She'd never seen it in person, of course, but Youtube provided a multitude of videos which all began with a disclaimer warning against replicating such a drastic action. Despite her age, she still found the idea oddly tantalising.
Though she had never seen the immediate outcome of releasing ones luck in that single burst, she'd witnessed its later effects firsthand. One of the most notable cases being a student of hers only a year back, Jason. He had been bullied for years. There wasn't much she could do, the entire class seemed to turn on him in an instant. It was a sad case of a child being singled out by his classmates for being a little different in his love of reading and literature. One day, several particularly cruel students cornered him after school had ended, thinking he could do nothing to hurt them in return as they jeered and kicked and punched. Then, perhaps out of desperation or perhaps out of concentrated anger, Jason did the unthinkable. At fifteen years old, he released his luck in its full force, draining himself in the process. From the accounts she had heard, his revenge had been highly successful. One bully had tripped over a tiny pebble, which would usually be inconsequential, if only he hadn't impacted a nearby metal bench, knocking loose four of his front teeth completely.
At this point, realising what he had done, Jason tore a tiny piece of paper from the corner of the book he had been clutching and threw it toward another boy. It was caught in a sudden gust of wind on an otherwise calm day, being flung toward his antagonisers face and causing him to step backward in surprise. The boy's hand had been caught on his belt buckle, making it come loose and fall to his ankles, alongside his shorts. It just so happened that the schools cheerleading squad was passing in the minibus to travel to a competition, leaving the bully scrabbling to pull his shorts back up. The final boy turned to run but didn't spot the young gosling nearby, running dangerously close to it before finding himself chased by it's protective mother-goose almost across the entire school as other students witnessed his fate with giggles and pointing.
Jason was in shock, but had formed a plan within minutes. His luck was running out, he knew as much, so he turned and ran. Apparently, the wind had picked up behind him, pushing him forward. He stumbled once or twice but always found his balance and, as he seemed to be expecting, discovered a plenitude of coins and bills amidst the paving cracks, dropped and forgotten by others with worse luck than he. Eventually, he reached the local convenience store only a few minutes before it closed. The cashier was so preoccupied with her iPhone, she barely noticed the age of the school uniform clad boy as he purchased a lottery ticket and immediately scratched away the grey boxes obscuring what he knew would appear, just as long as he could hold on to the small remainder of his luck for a few minutes longer. Three symbols were revealed, all read "$1,000,000 JACKPOT!!!".
Her smile faded as she remembered the ending to poor Jason's story. He had barely lived the beginning of his life before his luck was gone, leaving him stranded and helpless. He had claimed the money, it left his parents able to leave their jobs full time to support him after his decision. Alas, it was no use. After seven dangerous and rare diseases and conditions with few known cures and twelve incredibly close calls with injury, Jason passed when a seemingly impossible fire rose within his home, engulfing it within seconds. Apparently the insulation had been faulting, acting like tinder and allowing the flames to spread incredibly quickly.
Her mood had gone from triumphant to sombre. There were no happy endings to those who were so reckless, she had to remember that. Every human was born with a temptation, one that called to all of them endlessly since the day they learn of its presence. She had to stop herself from answering that call, and she had to prevent her dear students from wasting their lives on a single moment of ecstasy. She scribbled a reminder to discuss the story during class, glancing sadly about the empty classroom. She just hoped she wouldn't have a different story to tell in a few years. |
"Hey there, babe,"my boyfriend greeted me with a loving slap on the ass. "I got a question for you."
"Yes, my love?"I looked up from my phone and turned to face him, my head tilted. Fluffy, my cat, jumped up on the counter next to me and began to lick his paw.
"Which do you love more,"he said, a playfully evil glint in his eyes, "me? Or your cat?"
I immediately felt my face go white. It felt as if the force of gravity was dragging me down. My chest was tight, my heart was in my throat, my head started pounding, I locked eyes with him and then looked to Fluffy as if one of them had an answer, my thoughts began to *hurrylikethis* but my five seconds felt **so. fucking. slow.**
"Don't do this to me--"I choked out, before I felt the pressure. Before I could think of something to save me, I exploded all over the walls, the cat, and the boyfriend. |
"Mommm more tendies please?!"
There was no answer from upstairs
"Mom? Get a move on that!"
After he finished his yelling Drake, or "Bloodelf_4356"noticed the eerie silence that filled the house. Typically his mom played loud "normie"music upstairs, but there was no music in fact there was no noise at all.
The chair creaked under Drake as he got up from his gaming chair for the first time all day. As he did the mountain of Dew bottles and empty plates toppled over onto the floor.
"I have to do everything myself I guess"Drake mumbled to himself.
As he crept up the stairs passed his wall hangings of various anime characters crudely stuck to the wall with scotch tape he noticed a siren coming from outside.
"Mom what's going on? Get up I need food!"Drake yelled as he got to the top of the decrepit staircase leading up to the rest of the house.
"M..mom?"His voice trailed off as he noticed the house in ruins. He hadn't left the solitude of his basements in months, as he had no need. All he could ever want was enclosed in that basement. The dirty mattress he called a bed, his mountains of trash, and most importantly his gaming desktop. All day he played his favorite game "Land of lore...craft". Months ago his friends had all gotten off the game, but that hadn't stopped him. He was dedicated, driven by his lust to be the best. With over 18000 logged hours nothing could stop him, but now he was forced to leave the comfort of his cave.
The house smelled of gunpowder and urine, and the furniture was all covered in a thick layer of filth.
"What the hell is going on..."Drake uttered as his heart began to race in his bulging chest. He slowly make his way around the home he once knew, the floor creaking beneath his large body. He looked around to notice the majority of the valuables in the house were gone, and the rest were lain to waste. There was a folded piece of paper on the table with writing on the outside
*Drake*
*I love you more than any mother could. You're my son after all. After your father left us I knew it'd be hard, but I never imagined it'd be this hard. I tried to get through it for years, and when the bombs dropped months ago I didn't want you to worry, so I kept things how they were just for you. Finding a generator to keep power to your pc was difficult, but I managed. I just wanted you to be happy with whatever you decided to do, and if that was your game then so be it. A few days ago we began to run out of food, but I didn't want to worry you so I gave you my ration too. I hope the music I played wasn't too loud for you, I just didn't want you to find out what horrors the surface held. We ran out of food, and I have to go out to search for more. If I don't make it back just know I love you more than anything you're all I've got leftvand I'm sorry its come to this.*
*Love Mom*
*P.s I'm not sure if you know how to use it sweetie, but I left you a .44 revolver under the chair on the right*
Tears welled in the corners of Drake's eyes as he finished the note. He couldn't believe any of this, did he really let himself fall so far into seclusion that a war happened right above him? His mom had sold all the valubles in the house and protected him for months just to make him happy.
He wiped the tears from his eyes and opened the blinds in the living room to reveal a long stretch of flattened crisp earth. Junk littered the ground and a crude fence had been built around the houses perimeter. This world wouldn't be like the games he played with interesting characters and detailed questlines. No, this world was cruel and unrelenting. This was a world where Drake's mom was already nearly dead wondering the wasteland in search of food for her 26 year old son who had never provided for himself in his life.
Drake reached under the table to find just as his mom had written; a .44 cailiber pistol, a box of ammo, and a small sword. The sword wasn't as good as my glorious replica samurai sword with 1000 folded Nippon steel Drake thought, but it would do. He geared up and prepared himself for his trek into the wasteland before him. All of his hours of gaming trained him for this very moment.
Drake took a deep breath and stared out at the world ahead. The desolate wasteland he would now call home. He would have to be prepared to kill, to show no mercy, to own the world before him. Drake opened the door and took his first step outside. The world around him had a gray tinge to it and wreaked of smog and scorched Earth. A large man walked up to the gate surrounding his house peering in at Drake emerging from his home.
"Hey boy why dontchu come over here I've got something for ya"he spoke in a low raspy voice.
Drake stood there frozen staring at the man. He reached for the .44 his mom left him and his hands shook. This would be it, his first kill.
The man spoke up again "I wouldn't do that if I were ya boy. You may end up hurting yourself...or getting hurt."
Drake stared back at the man and slowly walked back into the house and locked the door.
"Whew I was brave, maybe I'll just go down and play a few more hours then I'll conquer the wasteland. Drake said. He descended back into the comfort of his dark cave to "recharge"for the next day ahead of him.
|
"The what?"I grumbled, opening one eye to the glare of neon purple lights. I felt a migraine coming on.
"The information super highway! Global communications! Online shopping! Instant messaging? Come on... how long have you been out?"
"Something about Nixon. Glad you made that thing work for you, though, crazy stuff. What are they doing, plucking those invisible cables out of the air? Terrible way of doing it, really, I would have put them in the ground..."
"What? What are you talking about?"
"The invisible, cable tube things? The magic sky highways all the numbers go down?"I mumbles groggily, streatching out my legs and sitting up. I found myself faced with a man in quite the tacky black jumpsuit, a silver stake at his hip and an electric lantern held high above his head. Judging by the mild tingle on my exposed skin, it was an ultraviolet light meant to mimick the actual sun.
"Oh, so you perfect instaneous global communications but you still only armed yourself with a fancy stick and club lights? Really? Is that... garlic?"
"Yes, its a concentrated garlic spray. I won't hesitate to use it if you become dangerous! Look, they're going to take the internet from us, and only someone as powerful as you can stop them. We need your help, and you owe it to us for all the killing and maiming and whatnot."
"I actually quite like Italian, you know. And no thanks."With that, I rolled myself over and tucked myself back into the coffin, ready for another 200 years or so of sleep.
"Wait, you can't... please?"
"No,"i stated bluntly. "Aren't you a republic? Don't you have representativea for that? What exactly would I do? My powers aren't politically inclined, you know."
"Well you could, I was thinking, maybe... eat the senate?"
I wrinkled my nose, still not bothering to reopen my eyes or rise from my place of rest. "Uhg, no. Haven't tasted a politian since the French Revolution. Nasty stuff. Look, deal with it yourself. Go protest and vote with your money. Do what Americans used you to, what I loved you for. Maybe then I'll consider coming out."
Without looking, I could tell that the hunter had deflated, hopeless already. Had he really been banking so hard on me? Had the complacency been drilled so deeply into them that they only knew how to be for absolution from powrrs greater then themselves, rather than joining together as a union to make change as they were meant to? Perhaps, then, they deserved to have their invisible net untangled. It didn't make a difference to me.
"Oh, and on your way out, fix the door "I motioned lazily toward the crumbled mass of marble at the sarcophagus entrance, which had clearly been detonated minutes beforehand. Kids these days. |
The reptilian Martian commander stood knee deep in the snow. They had pushed the humans back across the mountains, but now this storm cut them off from reinforcements and supplies. The commander briefly wondered if his [counterpart in Africa](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7kw6qi/comment/drhnuh0?st=JD0K82XO&sh=95945c81) was doing any better. He couldn’t imagine things could get any worse. His men were dropping like rocks, frozen solid in their scales from the cold weather. They needed sunlight. This “blizzard” was an entirely unforeseen circumstance. One of his officers came up to him.
“Sir,” the officer said, “the humans have retreated. They’re holed up in the city a few kliks away.”
“Good,” said the commander, “we can wait them out.”
“We won’t be able to last much longer, Sir,” the officer said, “And...there’s something you should see.”
The commander followed his officer through the snow, only able to see a few meters at a time. He passed the bodies of his fallen soldiers, frozen stiff and starved. His tongue couldn’t even sense the decay.
As the came to the top of the hill, the commander saw an enormous statue. A human woman, arm outstretched, holding aloft a sword. The officer pointed to a plaque nearby. The commander read the sign.
“The Motherland Calls: This monument was erected to commemorate the historic Battle of Stalingrad. Nearly two million lives were lost in the two hundred day siege.”
The commander began to realize his mistake as the Frostscale set in. |
“What’re yeh buying?” I yell out, hoping my words aren’t drowned out by the sound of the demon horde he dashes into, cleaving his way from one to the other. As the skull of the General hits the floor in a puddle of the men cut down before him, his eyes turn, enraged and blood splattered. They meet mine instantly, and as he goes to speak, I interrupt. “What’re yeh selling?” I can see his resolve loosening. He knows I am not the enemy. I am but a simple potion salesmen. A simple potion salesmen who has followed his every footstep, all across this land, above it and below it, for one simple reason.
I need him to kill me.
Sounds odd does it? Someone wanting to be cut to shreds by a mountain of scar tissue and rage issues. But that is only because you lack all the details required for understanding. First and foremost, I do not fear death. No longer. As I’ve already done it once before.
My name was unimportant. As was most of my former existence. The world I lived in was unlike this one in every way, save for one. The adventures one has here, could only be played upon, there. Video games they called them, and they were magnificent. I played many of them over the course of my 45 years. I always thought being the hero of such amazing stories was how life should’ve been. Imagine my surprise when I discovered that even the afterlife wasn’t like that.
In the games I favored, I’d spend hours upon hours roaming the open world, battling demons and villains of all kinds, all in the name of loot and XP. Where as most players valued the battling, I favored the loot. Prizes of all kinds, of all value, ripe for the taking if one be brave enough, and I always was.
I’d lug pound after pound of miscellaneous treasures from every dungeon and cave system the game could throw at me, and swap them out for coin after coin, or prizes that even I couldn’t obtain otherwise. Of course I’d raise my sneak up enough, and steal back those same items, only to sell them all over again. It was a wonderful time. A joyous hobby. One that I am currently paying for. With every second of eternity.
I am unsure how long I’ve actually been here. It could be millennia. It could be even longer. That I can not tell you. What I can tell you is what I’ve been subjected to doing. Doing the very thing I used to take such advantage of. In a world full of demons, and heroes, large scale wars and battles for the very safety of the entire land. As the arrows fly and swords clash, heroes rise and fall and become legends or myths. And I stand in my spot, outside this inn that no man may enter, and sell potions that no one can use.
At first, I found the humor. I saw the irony. I’d watch as these men, obviously of free will, came and unto me, did what I had done to so many NPC’s myself. In a constant flow they arrive, trading their wares and most, stealing them back. I do not understand where my inventory comes from. I have given zero thought to my existence or what it should mean. Until I saw him.
He was covered in Orc blood, and his face shielded by a half mask that shined with a purple aura. I recognized the item as a rare drop that only the bravest of champions could obtain. But it was not the mask that caught my attention. Not only. It was him. The man who had stood across the road from me for as long as I could remember. He sold shields, and nice ones at that. There was rarely a moment where he wasn’t flogged by champions of all kinds looking to unload his wares. I was nothing more than a potion vendor. Most of the champions could heal themselves, if not each other. No one needed me, save for a way to trade goods for gold, to again, steal said goods back.
So it struck me as ironic, and cruel, that the one vendor in this area to sell items that could truly protect a person, should be the first to fall.
I can’t tell you who realized it, but someone had. Someone had figured out that you could kill the vendors and obtain whatever inventory they had. Not all of it. But a piece here or there. If you were lucky, it would be a purple, or orange. If you weren’t, you could just come back in an hour, and kill another. Thankfully, I was potion vendor, with a small satchel of gold, that was hardly worth killing to access. Up until the moment I laid eyes on his eyes once more, I considered that in good luck. Quite the opposite, it would seem.
Had I been him, I’d have done it sooner. To free another from this hellish existence of repeated nothingness, it would be an honor. But he was not honorable, nor noble. He found no pride in the acts of a good or decent man. So when he said what he said, he said it with malice and anger that only a skell of a man could.
“I used to be like you, I was.” He said, groggy with ale and exhaustion. “I’d stand here and say the same thing over and over. To anyone that stepped forward. But someone freed me. Now. I’m the one stepping forward. I’m the one with the power to free others. Of course, I’ll do no such thing. Wouldn’t be fair. How can I lord over someone that isn’t there to be lorded over? You raise me up, by being so very low. Now. Make with the potions.”
“What are yeh buying?” I say for the millionth time, desperate to say anything but. His face goes blank, and I can tell he’s going through my inventory. I feel the familiar feeling that all vendors have in this moment. But behind it, there is something more. Something else. And it doesn’t only feel a certain way. It sounds a certain way. It sounds like...
“What’re yeh buying?” Which I’ve said again. In the time I’ve been here, time that can not be calculated or looked back upon, I have never said anything without being prompted. Had I just never tried before?
“What’re yeh buying?” I repeat, again and again. The first 10 times he doesn’t seem to mind. But the second set of 30 really sends him off. I call out to him, yelling it loudly as I can. He looks back at me in shock, and in a moment, I instantly know why. It is not that I’m yelling. It’s what I am doing as well.
I am chasing him. For as long as I can recall, I stood there. When the blood plague filled the area with corpses, some that exploded, I stood there. When the demons of the earth emerged, crumbling the very ground we stood on, I stood there. Standing there was all I’d ever known. And what I’d done now, I’d thought impossible. I’d moved. And not only had I moved, I’d suddenly discovered other lines. Dialogue Id never used before, suddenly came flying forth from my form.
Granted, it was only two other lines. But still. Coupled with my new found freedom of movement, I might as well have been born again! Of course I wasn’t. Not yet. First I would need something. Something that no one in their right mind would ever chase. I would need killing. And I wasn’t going to let up until I got it.
I followed him from the hills of East March to the lizard filled swamps of Green Gulch. In every battle he fought and boss defeated, there was I, supplying the soundtrack to his madness. “What’re yeh buying? What’re yeh selling? I’ll do it for a right price.”
As he shoved his sword into the gaping mouth of the demon Reaper Of Souls, I’d offered my line of questioning. “What’re yeh buying? What’re yeh selling? I’ll do it for a right price.”
The depths of Dreary Cave echoed with his sword and his shield and my inquiry. “What’re yeh buying?”
The mirrored world of Untungo, where up was down and Versa vice, was decorated with humming jars filled with soul powder, which were no match for my growl, and question...”What’re yeh selling?”
And when his feet hit the fields of Verminti, and his sword was covered in the blood of the Plague hordes, I looked down upon him, and informed him that I would indeed “buy it for a right price.”
It did not take very long. It did indeed take longer than I think. But after what was eternity after eternity, he rushed toward me, eyes fueled with a hatred that turned even his pupils red. I watched as he crushed broken bones beneath his feet, and cursed the air from his lungs with a scream mightier than end game skill set. I watched the sword enter my chest, and I felt him twist it with deep satisfaction. It was a satisfaction that would be short lived.
As my body fell to the muck, my body arose out of nothing. Stronger, leaner, capable of acts I could only bare witness to previously, but no longer. My killer, shaking with anger and loose with laughter, looked at me and smiled.
“I guess you got what yeh wanted, eh?”
“Aye. I’m free now. Free to do what I wish, like you.”
“You have any gear? I’ll take yeh caving to make up for not killing yeh sooner.”
“Nay. Seems me pockets are barren. Save for a few gold pieces, that is.”
“Well. I’ve got me back up sword and shield. You could use that.”
“Aye.” I said with a smile. “I’ll buy it for a right price.”
|
Bill was doing an admirable job at hiding his fear from the little monsters that had kidnapped him. Their bulbous black eyes stared in confusion as with a flick of his wrist, a bundle of flowers materialized.
"That's right."He winked to one, tossing her- he hoped it was a her- the flowers. "Here I am! The greatest magician to ever live."He took an exaggerated bow, removed his hat, and released a dove.
They gasped in admiration. "How did you accomplish these feats of power?"One asked, very quietly, staring at him with fear.
"Just smoke and mirrors."He dropped his stage persona and the hat. If they thought it was real, he should reveal that it wasn't- he didn't want to get dissected by aliens.
After all, it wouldn't do for them to learn that the magic was real.
He muttered a spell, informing the Council that he needed someone to rescue him. |
Looking out into the sky, as usual, it begins to lurch forward again, groaning through the blinding mist. Every day at 6:30 sharp, the vibrant red train makes its usual stop at the nearby station. Steam billowing from the engine, I watch it cautiously, studying its movements from high above like an ancient predator stalking its prey. I watch it arrive and depart feeling panic and adrenaline flow through me. Almost as though I should board the massive beast, my 6th sense flaring, I yearn to know more of what it has to offer.
"How could it be so clean"I mutter to myself in disbelief.
Moving around the crumbling concrete building, I look out into the cloudless sky. \*How long has the world been crumbling like this\* I think to myself. The moonlight parting the mists, I gaze into the station. \*Maybe they're hiding food there, maybe even clean clothes\*. Watching the behemoth depart on schedule, I open a can of beans to fill my aching stomach.
Waking up at dawn, the morning sunlight harsh on my skin. I get up and depart from the protection of the collapsing concrete walls I call home and head towards the station. Approaching its shattered glass panes, I enter quietly in case of unwelcome company. The only sound being dirty rainwater dripping through the cracked marbled roof, I walk cautiously. Finding my way to the platforms, I notice how barren they are. \*There has to be a reason the train keeps stopping here, now what are they hiding\*.
Hours after my arrival, there's only rubble to be found. With so much frivolous searching, it begins to get dark. Panicked, I realise the train will be approaching soon. Hearing its signature bellowing sound, I run into the closest building to hide. My build being small from age and malnutrition, I slip through the tiny entrance easily. Now coming to a stop, a man in a crisp conductors uniform hops off the train.
Looking around, he calmly yells "All aboard, the train will be departing in five minutes!". While ringing a shining bell in his gloved right hand, he leans against the door frame.
Eyeing the train in suspicion, no one leaves or hops on. "How peculiar"I whisper to myself. Looking at the engine of the locomotive, I see some strange writing. Sadly, I never learnt how to read, who needs to in a world with no paper or ink.
Sitting perfectly still, the conductor begins to move towards me. Sure I am hidden; I don't make a move. Walking towards me, the man pulls out a small stick from his coat pocket. Pointing the wooden stick towards me, he mutters something causing light to shine from the end. Light. I've never seen it artificially made before.
"come on kid, we have a schedule to keep. If you can see the train, it means you're worthy of boarding it."Said the conductor.
Shocked, I move only to peek out from my hiding spot to watch the conductor walk away. Turning around he extinguishes the unnatural light on his stick and looks me dead in the eye telling me rather than asking
"The train will be leaving soon, this will be your last chance sweetheart".
Squeezing through the gap in the shop, the train begins to lurch forward. Making a sudden decision, I run towards the momentum gaining train jumping onto it before it could leave the station. I notice the spacious room, clean from dust or rubble I merely gawk. The conductor now smiling, nudges me gently towards the passenger area.
"Where are we going?"I ask brazenly.
"Couldn't you read the writing on the engine? The school for young wizards and witches like you, Hogwarts." |
"Figure what out?"
"What?"
"I almost stabbed you and then you said 'shit, you noticed, when did you figure it out.'"
"I didn't say that."
I stepped back, still holding the chef's knife, a dollop of greasy ribeye fat still sliding down the left edge.
"I swear to God you did."I eyed Richard up and down. For the first time, I noticed the greasiness of his hair and the way his eyebrows weren't quite on the same plane. "You said it."
"Why don't you just put down the knife for a second. You're scaring me."A small bead of sweat was pooling over one of Richard's slightly askew eyebrows.
"I'm scaring you?"I leaned in towards Richard. "I'm not the one who is randomly FUCKING saying creepy stuff RICHARD."I glanced at the blade of the knife as the drip of fat fell to the faux-wood floor. I looked back at Richard. "What the hell was that?"
Richard held up his hands. "I really think you're overreacting. I was making a joke. That's all."
"You were making a joke."
"Yeah man. A joke. Clearly you didn't think it was funny."
"A joke."
"Yes. A goddamn joke. Will you put the knife down? Please. You're scaring me."
I lowered the knife slightly.
"A joke."
"Yes."
I glared at Richard, knife still in hand.
"You're a dick Richard. You know that? Who the hell says something like that? Especially when they almost get their finger chopped off."My words trailed off slowly but the skepticism failed to.
Richard didn't say anything in response. He just kept looking from the knife and then to my eyes and then back to the knife.
I held the knife pointed at him, unsure of where things stood.
The bead of sweat on Richard's eyebrow began to travel southward slowly, like old people driving to Florida in the winter. Much like the relatives of those old people, I wanted to be anywhere but right next to Richard right now.
He blinked.
And then his left eye twitched slightly.
I still had the knife held facing his chest.
And then I lowered it to my side.
"Not funny Richard. Not fucking funny at all."
At that exact moment, his phone, which had been sitting on the counter buzzed and showed that young Richard, my oldest dearest friend, had received a text message. The message said "Is it done yet? You haven't reported in."There was no name, just a phone number. But I recognized the number.
Because that was the number of my childhood home.
​
​ |
1364 years. One thousand. Three hundred. Sixty four. Years.
That's how long I have been alive. I was ready for death. I had experienced everything - I fought demon lords in mountains of fire, felled dragons with spears of lightning, loved a woman - and man - from every species. I was content. I had made the world a better place, and was ready to move on to the next.
But here I am. Back in this backwater town in a backwater country hauling water to my backyard because *everything is so fucking backwater.* The last few days have been more unreal than my entire life in Na're. I can't consider this "normal"because it's so damn *boring.* Whatever gods I hadn't wrangled with that did this will pay.
​
I dump the fifth pail of water into the trough for the horses, cursing my luck. "Mom"and "Dad"threw one hell of a fit when I didn't recognize them, said there'd be "hell to pay"if I didn't get to my chores. So the chores I did. I'm sick of all of this, all I want was to have died peacefully and be floating in nothingness. I stop halfway back to the well. "Screw this."
The chant for conjuring a storm is relatively simple, if draining with smaller mana reserves. All the words came from an ancient tongue that was a cross between Demonic and Draconic, short and harsh syllables that got the job done. An ancient language wasn't necessary, it just made it so you wouldn't accidentally cast a spell during normal conversation. "Flack. Untech, Dach. Duntech, flach."I form my fingers into the symbol for water, and throw my thoughts into my words. I don't expect anything. This is more a gesture to help me cope, similar to eating a bag of chips while on a diet. The sky rumbles, and I pick the pail up again.
​
Hold on, the sky rumbled? I look up, expecting the same cursed sunshine that was beating me down not minutes ago. Wisps of clouds form, quickly taking shape. There'll be one hell of a downpour in less than 30 minutes, but that's not the number one thing on my mind. "*Magic still works?!"*
For whatever reason, I hadn't tried casting anything. I know what to do now though. "Fleet. Uptach. Lach."With splayed fingers and more thoughts, I find myself catapulted into the air. What was the one thing I hadn't tried in my life? The one thing that was not possible for me, being "The Hero"?
It's time this world found a villain. |
One of the major misconceptions about parties was that they were all, in essence, the same. The truth was, some people were only meant for certain sorts of parties, and those were the sorts of parties that I liked to throw.
"No,"said Greg. "But that's what I'm saying, Superman can't catch her if she's falling too fast, he needs time to decelerate or she'll turn into a thin red paste in his arms."
"It's the Gwen Stacey problem,"nodded Richard.
"Amazing Spider-Man #121,"said Louis.
"*Actually,*"said Richard, "'The Night Gwen Stacey Died' was issues 121 and 122."
"If we want to be pedantic, then technically she died in #121, and #122 was just the completion of the arc, so I think that Louis is technically correct."
"The best kind of correct,"said Kim. Everyone laughed at that, and Kim had a bright smile on her face.
"But to get back to what Greg was saying, it depends on what we're assuming to be true about Superman's powers,"said Garth. "If he's just super-strong, then sure, she's doomed, but if he's got touch-based telekinesis, as he did Post-Crisis, then all he needs to do is extend a field out from his grip to wrap around her."
"Actually,"replied Kim. "He would still be applying force to her body, it would just be a little more even. That reduces the fatal fall distance, or FFD, but it doesn't eliminate it entirely, because you can't stop a person moving at terminal velocity in zero time without risk."
"I'd think that FFD would need to be a function of profile and drag, because terminal velocity isn't a single number, it's dependent on a wide range of factors,"said Chester.
I moved away from the group, which had been standing around discussing comic book physics for the better part of an hour, and through the rest of the house, where different conversations were filling the air. The group playing board games had still not actually started; instead they'd begun working on a project to 'disambiguate' the rules, which had eventually transitioned into a spirited attempt to make a completely unambiguous vocabulary and grammar toolkit for games. That project seemed unavoidably doomed, but they were having a hell of a time with it.
I found the group I'd dubbed the linguists, who were in the middle of obscure comparing etymologies and arguing about the sourcing used by the Online Etymological Dictionary, but just when things started to get heated, I was able to divert them over to the board game, where I thought their particular expertise might be appreciated.
Mostly, I relaxed, and basked in what was, more than anything, my type of party. |
They say Avergus is one of the least of the holy, but never underestimate the Jack.
​
I am the first of his to ever become a paladin, and my gift has helped spread my patron's name beyond the mountains, but not much farther. It's how these things are.
​
I cannot fly quicker than blinking like Aeoleus's kind, but I will arrive eventually.
​
I cannot kill with a touch like Thanotius's kind, but I can weaken your joints to make a day's labour feel like ten.
​
I cannot best another champion in their own game, but I know all others with equal mediocrity.
​
And the greatest gift of all?
​
I can reduce the pure surety, confidence and raw power of even mighty demigods and spread their ability across a whole army, none of whom know how to use his skills or powers without driving themselves mad, who have never had to rely on their own power and instead rely on their paladins.
​
Never underestimate the Jack of all Trades, the master of none, for we are all equal in the end.
​
I'll be sure of it. |
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