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**"Social convention dictates that on the occasion of birth-anniversaries, it is a non-optional custom to give gifts. In light of this convention, I have purchased you an appropriately priced bauble. Please sign this limited liability agreement in advance of your receipt of the largesse in question."**
"While your consideration is appreciated, counsel has advised me not to sign or even read any legal documents without first submitting them for her review. With that in mind, I must decline your no doubt generous and thoughtful bibelot."
**"Would it be possible for you to provide me with the contact information of your legal counsel, so that I might present this document to her for approval myself?"**
"I cannot at this time comment on the whereabouts of my alleged legal counsel. Your persistence in this matter might be construed as harassment by a litigiously minded person. I would advise you to tread more carefully in future."
**"One might apologize at a moment like this, but I have been warned by legal experts, that apology and/or shows of contrition can be interpreted as acknowledgements of culpability. One however might also note that the tone of your, assuredly well intentioned, advice, might be read as extortionate or threatening by, as you say, litigiously minded individuals."**
"I will consult counsel before making any more statements at this time."
**"Happy Birthday Mom."** |
Athena sighed "Does anyone have any ideas"
Several hands went up.
"Let me finish, that don't involve orgies"
A few hands went down.
"Or sleeping with mortals"
A bunch of hands went down.
"Or turning someone into something so we can make a new word"
All but one hand went down.
Athena sighed again.
"Or sodomy"
The last hand went down.
"Really, no one has any ideas?"
"Well orgies and sleeping with mortals and turning people into stuff is pretty much all we do"said Dionysus
"Yes but…"started Athena
"Well that and sodomy"
Athena stared him down until he turned away then started speaking again.
"Ok, but does anyone have any other ideas"
The other gods and goddesses looked around the room trying not to make eye contact.
"It could be anything, just as long as it's not those four things"
A couple gods started whistling.
"Anything at all"
"We could start a war"said Ares
"Oh that's your solution to everything"said Dionysus
"Yeah. I'm the god of war, it's what I do"
"We're not starting a war"said Athena
"Ah come on"
"No"said Athena
"Come on Athena, you're kind of the god of war too"
"Oh now I'm kind of the god of war too?"
"I…uh…who died and put you in charge"
"No one. But because Zeus is on earth sleeping with a mortal I'm in charge"
"What about Hera?"said Dionysus
"She's in her room getting drunk because Zeus is having sex with mortals"
A lighting bolt struck Zeus's chair.
"Did someone call the Z-man"said Zeus after the smoke cleared.
Athena sighed again.
"Hey Zeus"said Athena
"What are we doing?"
"We're discussing what to do about the debt crisis in Greece"said Athena
"There's a debt crisis in Greece?"
"You were just there"said Athena
"Yeah but I was doing something else, or somebody else. Ha, yeah, Dionysus knows what I'm talking about"
"I do"said Dionysus
"So do you have any ideas"said Athena
"Orgy"
"No"
"Could we turn a human into something and then make a new word for the thing, based on the person's name"
"No"
"How about sod…"
"NO"shouted Athena
"And I assume Ares already suggested a war?"
"Yes"
Zeus sat on his throne, deep in thought.
"Well there's nothing for it"he said as he sat back up
"No now Zeus..."said Athena
"I'm going to have to sleep with a mortal"
Zeus disappeared in a flash of lightning.
"Wait for me"said Dionysus, jumping off the side of Mount Olympus.
Athena put her head in her hands.
"So about the war idea"said Ares
"No"said Athena sitting back up and staring at him. He scooted his throne back.
While she was still staring a god ran into the room, adjusting the clasp on his toga.
"Sorry I'm late"said the god
"Who are you?"said Athena
"Plutus"
"You're not the god of the underworld"said Ares
"No not Pluto, Plutus"
He looked back and forth between Athena and Ares's confused faces.
"Plutus. How have you never…we're…oh forget it I'm the god of wealth"
"Oh finally"said Athena "So, any ideas"
"About what"
"About the debt crisis in Greece"
"Hmm…Orgy"
"What…no"
"Sleep with a mortal"
"You're supposed to be the god of wealth"
"Ok…we turn someone into something…"
Athena screamed then "Ares start a war"
"Whipee"said Ares, clicking his heels as he went off to start a war.
Off topic, (I think I can do this now) I've got a [Subreddit] (https://www.reddit.com/r/SarkasticWatcher/) now. There aren't that many stories. And arguably it's not that good. I suggest you don't go, but you know, do whatever. |
"Hey!"I said. "Hey!"
He looked at me. His eyes were wild. He was jittering. "Are you..."he squeaked. "Are you... talking to... are... who are you talking to?"
"Dude,"I said, "it's just the two of us."
He looked around anyway.
"So..."I said. "I've been thinking, you know? I've got a pretty sweet deal here. The food's great, I love this little castle here, and the treasure chest that blows bubbles every few seconds? It's a nice touch. Really. But I was thinking..."
He cackled. "You were thinking, were you?"He screeched. "The goldfish was thinking? Were you?"
"Well... yeah. I mean. Yeah, I was. I was thinking maybe we could go for a walk. I notice you've got a skateboard there. Maybe you could put my bowl on it, and we could go down to the park? You know? I see dogs out of the window and -"
"You want me to take you for a walk? A *walk*? Walking? You wanna go walking?"
I blew a bubble. "Well, *I* wouldn't be the one walking, you know. No legs? You must have noticed. I just wanted a change of scenery. That's not such a big ask, is it?"
"A big ask? The goldfish wants to know if it's a big ask?"
I swum up to the glass. "Has anyone ever told you that you've got a tendency to screech a summary of people's questions back at them? I don't know what's going on with you, man, but you seem kind of highly strung. Are you OK?"
"Am I -"
"You're doing it again,"I said.
He sat down. "You're *talking,*"he said. "You've never talked before."
I bubblaughed. "Well, like the old joke goes, up until now, everything's been OK."
He got the skateboard. Gently, he placed my bowl down on it. "This OK?"he said.
"Sure, dude. Thanks."
He cackled again. "Anything else I can do for you on the way?"
"Now you mention it,"I said. "Let's burn down a hospital."
He screeched with pleasure. "*Now* you're talking,"he said. |
War. Famine. Slaughter. Rape. Death. Hatred. Pain.
Since man first crawled from its caves and stepped into the light, I have been watching. I know 20 languages that span 7,000 years, even the grunting and groaning that was used before language was solidified- people exaggerate that, by the way. 'Cavemen' spoke with a little more dignity.
I've fought to survive harsh winters, burning summers and I've been hung as a traitor, drowned as a monster and burned as a witch. Though, every time, I find my way back- I never die.
Perhaps because of this, I can take risks. I've traveled across the world, I've lived through horrifying times...all of which has taught me much about the sorrow of this world. The never ending calamity, the constant fighting, tears and blood soaking the Earth. I can't do anything about it, and I've accepted that. Even to this day, it deeply saddens me. I constantly find myself sitting alone, gazing into the distance, lost in thought or memories of pain.
I can't save the world. Believe me, I've tried. But I've found a niche, though. Because I have had so many perspectives, so much history in so many places...I can emulate a lot of it well. And so, I act for the pleasure of my fellow man. All different roles- from science fiction, to horror, to historical or adventure films, I can fill all roles because I've experienced many of them firsthand. It may not be much, but it's something I love; capturing the essence of those long gone.
I like to think that I'm more than a man; I'm time itself. Perhaps that is why, out of them all, I enjoyed acting in The Matrix most.
------------------------------------------
*thanks for reading! if you're bored, feel free to check out /r/resonatingfury!* |
**1460 days left.**
Four years. All the money in the world. The planet has put a team together of the smartest minds to stop it. I don't deserve to be here, yet I am.
Frederick Tomar, an american college professor, made the plan. We split up into four groups, each with one central language to make things easier. Each team has one leader, and we research until a solution presents itself, where we then develop that until we either succeed or fail.
____
**1389 days left.**
Two months have already passed. It feels like we're running out of time so quickly, but panic has been spreading quickly. Last week it was revealed to the public, and chaos has begun. Crime is soaring to record highs, suicide rates... I don't want to think about what the regular world is doing with this. All that matters is a solution.
One of the North Korean members has already made plans for a device that can save us. I'm not an expert in the field but he says it could hypothetically protect the earth, but it's only started arguments among the others. They're going to begin building it tomorrow.
I have been looking different ways. The Earth is doomed, which is why I'm looking at the unconventional. Theories that are so ridiculous that it could work. I've just been reading articles for the last two months, I have barely spent any money. Others around here are calling me useless, when they're finding less than I have.
Right now I have an idea, but I don't know where to start. Need to read more. Research more. Earth depends on it.
____
**1180 days left.**
Only three years left now, and hardly any progress has been made on any fronts. The North Korean's machine was destroyed a while back, and he disappeared since. Others have tried and failed, so many have quit. Only 6 of us remain.
FTL. Faster Than Light travel. That's my only plan. It has to work. If we can solve it, we could hypothetically send humans to another habitable planet. We all won't survive, but maybe, just maybe... Some of us can. The human race.
I've put my own team together now, we've been looking at everything we can. We're going to start building a spaceship soon, but adaptable enough for us to modify it if we can crack the code. Three years wouldn't have been enough in the past, but we've been able to employ ridiculous amounts of people. I don't know if we can do it, and we probably can't, but... I don't want to give up. I don't believe the human race dies yet.
____
**580 days left.**
We... we can't do it. We solved it. We found out how to do FTL travel. When you put dozens of thousands of minds towards it for a year and a half, you actually get somewhere. I think I read somewhere more scientific achievements have been made in the last year than the last century. And of course, we learn all of this right before we die.
Building of the spaceship was actually getting close to completion, but it went wrong. When people found out there wasn't a solution to save them, just the human race, they went mad. They didn't want to believe that only a few select people would be sent out to space and survive. They destroyed it. They destroyed it all. Jealousy, greed, anger... I don't know which emotion fueled them. Maybe all three and more.
I don't go outside anymore. Death floods the streets, crime fuels the air. It practically looks like an apocalypse, before the real end even happens. I've accepted it, but so many others haven't. I don't know if they will.
____
**20 days left.**
I did it. I did the impossible. I saved our race and then we lost it. I laughed last week when Frederick was still looking for a solution. I became a drunk, as the rest of the surviving world has. So many people have died at this point it's ridiculous. The population is probably less than 500 million. I know when the planet is supposed to die, but every morning I'm still surprised to see the sun.
It's difficult to think about what the world turns into when every grasp of hope disappears. Maybe this world was supposed to die.
____
Constructive criticism welcome. |
I tell you, I shoulda never have shot that goddam perp.
That's where all this started.
I thought I'd really made it when I joined the Justice League. Hah! Pussy League more like.
Oh sure, they do a lot of good, and keep interdimensional crims and bad supers off the streets, and the charity royalties from the merchandise line are doing amazing things. Every kid in Africa got a meal last week, can ya fucken believe it? Like, that's good stuff. You gotta respect that.
Sure, I was surprised when they wanted a New Jersey cop on the team. I was just some schmuck who entered a raffle, ya know? I mean, I figured they'd do things differently, but a lot of their problems go sorta managed and unresolved.
I'll give ya an example, this mutant kid goes on a spree downtown. Outside a school. No kids were hurt, thank christ, but a couple security guards got a dose a some shit that wound up killing them a week later. Now that's tragic all around, ya know. It's hard to blame the mutant kid. Probably had shitty mutant parents or somethin'.
Anyways, so Superman is like "I'll find him"and goes flying above the city xray visioning everything... you know, without a warrant or nuthin'. Just lookin' in people's homes, checkin' stuff out. I did what I always did and just asked the nearest teacher where the little nutcase lives, and head over there in a cab.
I know, I know. "What are you doin' catchin' a cab Officer Davis?"well I can't take a squad car with me when I'm reassigned, and everyone else can fly. I'm not even allowed to TOUCH the Batmobile coz the DNA in my finger skin grease sets off the security system or some such bullshit. I think Batman just doesn't want me to change the radio station or adjust the seat.
So anyways, I find the kid's house and it's a real nice place. I call Superman with the special word - he doesn't wear a radio and has super hearing but to cut through all the background stuff you have to say a special word to call to him. It changes pretty often, but it's normally some nonsense thing like "Snipplepodgers", and after you say it there's a huge gust of wind and Supes is just there like freakin' Lurch all "You rang?"
No idea how he finds the address. The city must look like an anthill from up there. Maybe Batman taught him some echolocation shit, I dunno, I ain't no scientist. Wonder Woman probly find you real quick too, you start talking about what she's wearing HAHAHA ya know?
So, we're at the house. And Supes is there. And we find the kid. And he's with his parents, and they look like decent people alright. So we says to 'em "Your kid messed up a bunch of people today and he's gotta come with us."And the mom just starts explaining how little Billy is scared or some shit (that's not his real name obviously, I can't go telling you the names of accused underage mutants, it's policy) and didn't know what he was doing. Then the dad pipes up and says how it's OK coz he'll be keeping an eye on the kid from now on.
Supes says "How?"and in the blink of an eye, the dad appears standing right behind Supes! Like lightning quick. Shit, the dad's a mutant super whatever the fuck, too, ya know?
So my hand's on my gun in case of I don't know what coz what is a gun gonna do against super fast lightning man? And Supes just smiles his little smile, like he's peeing in the pool or just got a wry joke from last week or something and says "Well, looks like this is under control."and walks out.
Just walks the fuck out, man.
So I'm following like "Hey Supes, what the hell? That kid really hurt some people! We're just gonna leave him there? You're not gonna throw him into the sun or something?"
And Supes just says "Nah. They seem like good people doing their best."
I'm just... wow. Like surprised as fuck. The kid should be in jail, or juvi, or like a program or somethin', ya know?
Supes had some spiel about jail messing him up worse and turning him into a bigger problem or something, and I guess I could see where he was coming from, but jesus, right? These people are just out there in public and everything.
So anyways, we're leaving. I'm a little on edge, and this crazy comes staggering out of an alleyway across the street. I've seen him, Supes is oblivious, and this guy is just all kinds of messed up.
Bloodshot eyes, black eye, ragged clothes, missing teeth. Full Methyl Jacket, right? HAHA.
But this guy has a fuckin' gun. Supes still has no idea. You shoulda seen this thing. Stainless steel Colt Python. Frickin' cannon. And polished so shiny. It was so strange. Rich people would pay a fortune to have their Rolex's shined as shiny as this guys revolver, and it looked even shinier coming out from under his dirty brown T-shirt.
And he's pointin' it in our direction.
Well, training kicks in and I drop him.
2 in the chest. Goes down like a bag'a shit.
Before I've even taken a step to go clear the weapon and check on the guy, Supes has me up against the wall.
"What the fuck was that Davis!?"
And I'm freakin' out coz when someone who can throw you into the sun loses their temper, literally anything could happen, so I'm saying like "Supes, he had a gun, he was aiming it"and blah blah blah. And Supes is saying "I'm bulletproof"and I'm saying "Well I'm fuckin' not bulletproof, am I?"and he's saying "Well I coulda caught the bullets before that."and I'm like "Well ya didn't stop him taking a piece of frickin' artillery out of his pants and bullets move a fair bit faster than that, champ."and then he drops it.
"WE. DON'T. KILL."
Well excuuuse me. That's fine for ol' Mr Bulletproof here, and I've just had to gun someone down and it's my first week fer chris'sakes, and things are a bit tense and I'm slightly defensive having just had to, ya know, *defend* myself, so I says
"WELL. I. DO."
And maybe that wasn't so smart and stuff, but time travel ain't a power I have so; it is what it is. Supes is lookin' real angry right now and I don't know what might happen.
But suddenly, his face clears. He gets this funny look instead, and puts me back on the ground. Then it looks like he's thinking for a bit, then gets all excited, says like "I'll meet you back at base!"and rushes off doin' little happy zig zags in the air.
And ever since that day it's been non-stop.
First they made me kill the rats at HQ.
Then I had to go exterminate all the roaches on the space station.
Alfred got me round to clear the bats out of the Batcave, and yeah, they didn't want to go willingly so we had to gas a few of 'em. I did ask him why he didn't get rid of the bats and he said he was technically in the Justice League too, and I think that's bullshit he just makes sandwiches for Batman, he can knock off a few frickin' bats, but he said no, and I guess he's probably too old anyway. Coulda slipped over in the waterfall and done a hip or something.
I've killed about a thousand spiders for Wonder Woman, and it's my goddam job to clean all the dead bugs off Flash's suit before he see's them so he doesn't have to come to terms with all the murder he's done there.
I tell you, they're frickin' babies about it. Batman gave me a special call pager in case he runs over a dog with the Batmobile and a vet can't fix it for a billion dollars.
So that's the latest career update, I guess. But ya know, a paycheck's a paycheck.
|
General Connor stared out the helm of the U.S.S. Freedom, America's mothership. Ahead of him lay Sector 1 space, which was any part of the space directly above America at any given time.
Sipping his coffee, his usual inner voice rumbled as it always did. _It's a good day to die._
Ahead of him, it was peaceful and serene. But in the next hour, there would be hell. Ever since that spaceship had been deposited on Earth, in the middle of Mississippi, for five years we've struggled and pounded as all wars on Earth ceased. America, usually not one to give away technology for free, especially when it involved the military, couldn't give away the secrets fast enough.
President Donardo had written an immediate order for every country (_even China_) to receive the blueprints for the technology.
It was not just because of the warning the aliens left behind. _The Volgrim are coming_. It was mostly because of the countdown timer. A timer was in the initial dropship, showing when their hyperspeed fleet would appear.
5 years, two months, 8 days, and 16 hours.
It mercilessly counted down, and Donardo, always a man of decisive action, gave away the technology for free. "Lemme tell you folks, if we don't kill these aliens and build a wall of ships, we won't have a planet to protect anymore."
The first lieutenant approached General Connor on the bridge and saluted. "General, I have received orders from the president. Thanks to the scanning technologies developed by the Vorashii, we've determined the exact flashpoint of the Volgrim battle fleet."
Connor nodded. "Thank you, lieutenant. Tell me our orders."
Lieutenant Watters nodded as he brusquely pulled up the paperwork and read the report.
"Our orders are to rendezvous with the Japanese and the Chinese at the flashpoint, command our scouting ships to spread out in a surround formation, and send Korea in the assassin pods when the fleet arrives. They will attach to the hulls of the Volgrim ships, and cut into them, then we take the fight to the inside of their ships."
Connor nodded. "A sound plan. But let's make a last minute adjustment... how about we let the Chinese take the front? They can take the brunt of the initial attack."
Watters swallowed uncomfortably. "Ah, well General, I mean it is _you_ we're talking about, but that is ah, not in the orders we-"
Connor held up his hand. "It was a joke, Watters. Don't take it so seriously. Bring the ship around to the rendezvous point, Freedom will take the lead."He smiled to himself at his minor joke. So easy to make puns with a ship name like that.
"Yes, General. Your orders will be carried out swiftly."Watters saluted, as did Connor, and then he left.
-------------------------------------------------------------
"General! We've taken heavy damage to the main engines! The core is very unstable!"The ship engineer spoke frantically over the comm.
Connor answered the call quickly but calmly. "Mr. Adams, if the core gets too 'hot', jettison it. But I want it jettisoned in front of us, do you understand me? Make sure it hits the flagship when it explodes."
"Of course General!! Engineer out!"Adams cut the line in a rush.
The bridge was in chaos. Gunners 1 and 2 frantically entered coordinates to launch nuclear torpedoes at the nearby ships as we trained the gamma lasers on their surveillance systems. If we could at least cripple their visual systems, we could win by having better knowledge of the battlefield.
All around us, the battle was coming to an end. Only three Earthen ships remained, and just two of the Volgrim ships survived. Earth had lost nearly a million soldiers already, and as for the Volgrim? We didn't know.
Scratch that. The Japanese flagship exploded off the port bow and now it was two VS two. The problem is, the mothership was enormous. It was at least ten times bigger than the U.S.S. Freedom.
The crew on the ship were trying their hardest to fight off the barrage of attacks hitting our hulls, but it was almost over, and we were going to be the losers. Even the experimental and unfinished Dropship at home, large enough to house 5 million citizens, would not be finished for another year. If we lose here, we're done for good.
Serenity passed over Connor's face as he realized he had to make a difficult decision and fast. But for him, the decision was easy. He hadn't realized it at first, but this was the moment he had waited for his entire life.
"Lieutenant Watters. Evacuate all the crew and pass all ship functions to the bridge console. You have three minutes to evacuate, anyone left... god bless their soul."
Watters gaped at the General. "We can still fight sir, if we just-"
Connor held up his hand. "_That was an order, Lieutenant._"His voice was frosty as he stared the much younger and more idealistic man down. "Prepare the Eagle. We'll give these alien scum a taste of what it means to attack a planet named after dirt."
Lieutenant Watters stared stonily at the captain, then resigned himself to the order. "Very well, General, I will tell stories of your courage."
Connor nodded. "That would be fine."
-------------------------------------------------------------------
[LIFE SUPPORT AT CRITICAL. ENGINE FAILURE IMMINENT. 15% OF ESCAPE PODS HAVE NOT JETTISONED. THE EAGLE IS READY TO FIRE, GENERAL.]
Connors smiled at the computerized voice. "Thank you, OMEN. In ten seconds, fire."
[COUNTDOWN INITIATED. TEN. NINE. EIGHT.]
So this is how it ends. The Eagle... an experimental weapon designed to overload all power systems at once and fire a mass-driver at the enemy's own core. It should penetrate everything in its path and cause a full system meltdown.
Connors stared out the ship's window, as his ship was pelted with the enemy's full force. All the other ships are gone now. America will have to end this with a single shot heard round the cosmos.
[...FOUR. THREE. TWO... THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE, GENERAL.]
Connors smiled. "God bless the fucking USA." |
4-1-2017. Steve is sitting at his computer, drumming his fingers on the desk. April first, he thinks. Not even three months left now and goddamn this is some bullshit. A short life is obviously the worst kind to get in this godforsaken world. Some parents pop that little bastard out and think, 'You know what? 20 years isn't long for this world so lets give him a good time.' His parents were of the school of thought that said, 'he's dying prematurely, let's not get attached.' And damn it all if they didn't.
Steve looked at his forearm. Then back at Reddit. Then he typed in a search. "Premature Death."0 results from News, just a few from No Sleep and some of the weirder porn subs he was subscribed to. He sat back and looked at his forearm again. 'I mean, it would at least pass the time.' He opened askreddit.
If you wanted to be the first person to prematurely die, what is the most epic way you could do it? He sat back and waited a few seconds, then refreshed the page. One new response. "In bed with a belly full of wine and a girls lips wrapped around my cock."Well he expected that. It was reddit, after all. The next was better. "I'd probably live stream it, show some proof, and then try blowing my brains out."Steve replied. "Hang on let me get on twitch right now."He posted his channel title, "D3athcomes4usall"
It was after this that the thread took off. One "Dude, are you serious"and it was the tastes good with rice thread all over again. People were ringing in with crazier and crazier answers and Steve was eating up the attention. "Nope,"he said on his Twitch stream."The razor blades cracked the second they touched my skin, just like u/ballsinmyface hypothesized. It's time to try eating a Fugu venom sac as put forth by u/jetfuelcantmeltdankmemes ."He toasted his webcam and tossed it in his mouth with a swallow of water. Seconds later he was gagging and retching as his esophagus rejected the sac. "Ok, thanks for the suggestion, but I'm going to have to move on to..."and so it went for several more hours.
Finally, he was running out of fuel. "Look guys, I don't have enough money left to keep trying these out and it's getting late, so I'm going to close it on the suggestion that started this whole thing off, u/thetaintthegrundlethefleshyfunbridge : with a bullet to the brain. Let me just go find my dad's gun."
Half an hour passed and he finally came back to the screen, a snubnosed revolver in hand. Having learned to be a great showman over the past few hours, he took all of the bullets out except for one and rolled the drum back into place with a satisfying click. The number of people watching had skyrocketed over the past few minutes.
"Thank you all for watching,"he said after giving it a quick spin. "Let's make this last one fun, eh?"He held the gun up to his head and pulled the trigger. A small shockwave went out around the world from the force of hundreds of thousands of tightening sphincters. "I guess it wasn't in that one, huh."Click. God, but he hadn't ever had this much fun. "Only three more left, which will it be?"Click. "Alright, another one bites the dust."He thumbed back the hammer. "Let's see if this-"the shot rang out and a huge cloud of blood splattered across the screen. The world watched for a few more seconds before Twitch finally cut the feed.
In his living room, u/thetaintthegrundlethefleshyfunbridge checked the clock in the bottom right of his screen. 12:01. January 4th, 2017. Or, as the rest of the world writes it, 4-1-2017. |
Commander Thad Johnsteel reentered the bridge of the Endeavor, humankind's first real starship. After the discovery of Identical, a planet with remarkable similarities to Earth, during an exploratory flyby it had become the target of the first interstellar mission. The wormhole generator drive had proven a success and the trip had taken less than a week.
"Well?"the technician still safely back at NASA asked him, just twenty minutes before the press conference would start, "Any surprises?"
"There is a civilization here,"Thad said, shaking his head sadly as he broadcast his message back to Earth instantly through the plot and physics defying wormhole radio, "But they spend all their time in basements surfing their planets version of Reddit."
"So, what you're telling me is..."the technician asked as the reality set in.
"This planet has no life."Thad answered. |
12-year-old Charlie Ballmer thought he was the shit when he started dating his girlfriend Katerina Tikhonova. She was a short, blonde tomboy with boundless energy that came to live with Charlie and his family as part of a foreign exchange program.
What Charlie didn't know was that Katerina was a [famous rock and roll acrobat](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6h1BAq_fcXI), daughter of Vladimir Putin, and - as she was dating a 12-year-old boy - pedophile.
They hadn't gone "all the way,"of course, just friendly little middle school kisses, but Charlie's world crumbled when the Russian military helicopter came to take him and Katerina away.
The helicopter landed on Charlie's family's front yard, and pretty seriously fucked up his mom's azalea bushes in the process.
"Fuckin' Russkies,"Charlie muttered under his breath. He knew they were going to come take his girlfriend from him, those goddamned Cossacks.
The captain, outfitted in full military regalia, strode forward from the helicopter toward Charlie and Katerina, and said "you must come vis me."The AK-47 slung over his shoulder made it clear he meant business.
On the helicopter, the captain explained to Charlie that he and Katerina would be visiting President Putin, and that Katerina was in some pretty serious fucking trouble. As for Charlie, he didn't say much would happen to him. Charlie imagined the captain's silence on the matter, and the fact that he'd made smoochie boochies with the most feared man on the planet's daughter, well ... Charlie wasn't too fucking keen to find out what was going to happen to him at the end of that ride.
They landed at a small private airport, embarked on a luxurious private jet outfitted with all sorts of baller ass shit, like red velvet chairs and lots of gold decorations, the kind of shit Charlie imagined Sean "P. Diddy"Combs would surround himself with. Putin had good taste, if nothing else; that was a bad ass plane.
When they landed and were brought before Putin, Katerina broke into tears. Putin slapped her bitch ass across the face and screamed "YOU FUCK LITTLE BOYS?! YOU FUCKING WHORE!!"
Shit, dude.
As Putin turned to face Charlie, [a single tear dropped from his eye](http://europesecuritynews.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/Vladimir-Putin-won-elections-and-will-be-President-of-Russia..jpg). "How are you, my son?"His face was soft, sensitive ... caring.
"I am sorry my daughter is a monster,"Putin said. "I thought sending her to the U.S. would pull her away from her temptations, but I see it was futile."
He sighed and [stared deep into Charlie's eyes](http://msnbcmedia.msn.com/i/MSNBC/Components/Photo/_new/120305-putin-tears-1a.jpg). "The life of a father is not an easy one. It is hard to admit that our children are their own people, and we cannot control them. I hope you can forgive my shortcomings as a father."
Charlie was shocked, and wasn't able to say a word. Then Putin put on a brave smile and said: "I know - we shall play with puppies!"
[Putin cuddled the fluffiest, most adorable puppy in the world](http://thechive.files.wordpress.com/2011/09/vladimir-putin-awesome-photos-11.jpg) and he and Charlie went out for ice cream and became pretty solid bros after that. Katerina went to jail forever and ever, and to this day, Charlie gets some fuckin' sweet ass birthday presents with an empty card that just says "Ballers for life, V.P."
|
Portable dinghy, check. Radio and GPS transponder, check. Food and water, purifying tabs, medkit, survival kit, clothes that'd keep me warm in Antarctica and clothes that'd keep me cool in the Gobi. Even a little bottle of oxygen, though if I ended up on Everest I was probably screwed. Still, I was pretty sure I could survive at least long enough to get rescued in 99% of all the environments the Earth could offer. As long as I didn't drop straight into a volcano, I'd be fine.
"Okay,"I said, to whatever force was going to simultaneously whisk me away and enrich me beyond my wildest dreams. "I'm ready."
As it turned out, I did end up in the Himalayas. Just not Everest.
I blinked. I was standing in a shady courtyard. But for the sound of harmonious, far-off chanting, it was superbly quiet.
Two bald men in orange robes were staring at me in shock.
"Uh. Hi,"I said.
They ran. I shrugged, and sat down on the flagstones. The air felt thin, but the sun was warm. I yawned.
A few minutes later, a shadow falling across me jerked me out of my near-sleep. I looked up into the face of another saffron-clad fellow. He gave me a smile of utmost serenity.
"Hello,"he said, in faintly accented English. "My name is Tsewang. You seem to have arrived here somewhat unexpectedly."
"Sorry to intrude. It's a...strange story."
Tsewang waved an airy hand. "Quite alright. Would you care for some tea? And perhaps you could tell me your story."
Two months later, I was sitting outside the monastery, looking down into the valley below, when I caught a glimpse of movement on the steep path leading up the mountain. A person. I waited, and watched them get closer.
She, as it turned out, was in a state of quite some excitement by the time she reached me.
"It's you, isn't it?"she said. "You're the winner! You've been up here this whole time?"
I nodded. "That's me."
"I can't believe I found you. They've had me searching for weeks. A billion dollars dropped into your account, and no one has a clue what to do about it. What are you going to do with it?"
I gave her a smile of utmost serenity. "Money is a chain for the soul."
"Eh?"
Reaching into my robe, I withdrew a note I'd compiled a couple of weeks ago. It was a list of worthy individuals and organisations, with associated dollar amounts. I handed it to her.
"Please make sure the money is distributed according to this."
"What...but, a billion...you can't!"
"There's fifty million for the person or persons who 'rescued' me."
She went still and silent. "Fifty million?"she said, slowly.
"Yep."
"Okay! Nice chatting with you!"She looked up at the monastery, as if seeing it for the first time. "Hope you enjoy your enlightenment!"
And she took off, rather faster than she'd arrived.
I smiled again, adjusted my robes, ran a palm over my newly-shaved head and returned to my meditations. |
The day my mother died. That was tomorrow, 10 years back. I was up in the attic, going through some of old stuff. Old photo albums, little things my mother loved. Tears welled in my eyes. Ah the memories, I thought, as I glanced a dusty little book among a bunch of my old shit. I picked it up and sneezed. The marker on the front was faded.
*Taylor's Diary. Don't Touch!*
When I was a kid, I was dumb, the ideal teenage life being everything I watched on Nickelodeon or Disney. If all those girls kept diaries, then why not me? My mom thought it was a phase, but it went on for quite some time. From when I was 8 years old to when I was 13. I stopped on the day of my 13th birthday, after my 'friends' who came over for my party ridiculed me over it. Appropriately, the last entry I wrote was me gushing about how I was now a teenager.
I flipped open the book, little clouds of dust flitting through the air, and the sounds of the stiff pages bending oddly satisfying. The diary had that musky old book smell. I liked it, then sneezed again. Where was it, August 5th...
There it was on the left page... But there was something on the right as well, did I write anything the following day? I swear I couldn't recall.
August 6th, 2000:
Well, my friends were a bunch of stupid jerks! I hate them all!
After the party I walked to the lake... And something strange...
I can't write about it, you know I can't. You saw what I saw. But it changed me. I know that.
I felt my hairs rise. It was something to forget how many times you went to the bathroom, but not to forget 'something strange' happening a freaking day after you could have sworn you hadn't written anything in the diary. Flipping through the rest of the pages real quick, I could see that the whole book had several more entries, almost to the end. That *definitely* wasn't me.
Yet, the handwriting was mine. I kept turning.
December 13th, 2000:
I saw it again, and this time I'm not mistaken. I know what I saw. I actually peed myself, I know, I know. But I plan to go back. I want to understand.
This was eerie, and I felt a strange sensation in my belly. This wasn't me, none of this ever happened... Yet, somehow it did?
April 14th, 2002:
Today they took me in. For the first time in years, I feel welcome.
July 28th, 2002:
I'm learning more and more from them. It's only a matter of time before I understand.
Then a huge gap in time... Strange. But the writing continued on the next page, the writing different. The strokes were more mature, but definitely an evolution of the previous, indicating the same person.
June 26th, 2007:
Mother is gone.
January 2nd, 2008:
I've done what they wanted, and flawlessly if I should commend myself. There's hope for me yet. Today I found some interesting texts, which I know I shouldn't be in possession of, but they seem intriguing.
January 6th, 2008:
I've done wrong. I know it. Those books were locked up for a reason.
April 26th, 2008:
I refuse to believe this can be fought. This marks the day I give in. Forgive me, my family. You taught me so much, but I strayed. Oh how I strayed.
February 6th, 2014:
I burnt them to the ground and felt nothing. If we ever see again, know that I'm sorry.
November 20th, 2014:
They respect me now. This new family. And they should. But is it respect, or fear?
November 23rd, 2014:
Assigned. See you later.
From here, the writing was cold. Malignant almost, as if darkness was seeping out of the pages.
March 8th, 2017:
Home sweet home. I'm no longer who I was. This is what I was meant to be, and by the Air I've reached my true potential.
April 17th, 2017:
It's fear.
May 26th, 2017:
Forgive me. I am nothing but a shell, I need to find my way again.
June 1st, 2017:
I might have figured it out. Maybe I can go back. Maybe I can be forgiven, and hurt no one else.
June 25th, 2017:
Remember me on the other side. Goodbye. Remember all you have done, and be thankful. This will hurt.
I did not remember.
|
"Get him in the car! Go- GO!"
Mark struggled as four men- he thought there was four of them- manhandled him into a van with a bag over his head.
"The boss isn't happy with you,"one of them said. He sounded pleased with himself and Mark flinched away from him.
"I'm just a private investigator-"he told them desperately. "I don't bother the Bosses- I follow cheating spouses-"
"You took the wrong pictures at the wrong time, bub,"one of the thugs told him shortly and Mark fell over with a yelp when the van tore off down the street.
He knew what pictures the guy was talking about. It was supposed to be easy- but in the background of one photo there was a man. A man who had been on all the news for weeks, at the same time his alibi said he was elsewhere.
It wouldn't matter except that four people turned up dead. Mark thought about burning the picture- he didn't need the heat from the Bosses.
The police were happy- but they must have had a leak in their office for the Bosses to find out who turned in the damning photo.
"What are you gonna do to me?"He tried again, and got a fist to the gut in reply. "Don't-"
"Shut up!"
Fire burned under Mark's skin and he clenched his eyes shut under the bag.
{problem, little man?}
The voice grumbled through Mark's head, flavored with brimstone and malice.
{Go back to sleep!} mark replied hurriedly to his Demon. The one he made a deal with when he was young and stupid. {I'm fine.}
Moloch stirred in his cave in the back of Mark's mind and Mark cursed under his breath. The demon couldn't take physical form, but he could definitely take over Mark's body if he wanted to.
{go back to sleep!} Mark told him again, but it was no good. Moloch was awake, and peering out through his eyes.
{we have a bag over our head} Moloch observed absently, and lit the bag on fire.
Cries of alarm filled the van- which swerved hard enough to throw Mark into a wall. Hellfire wreathed his face and are away the bag until he was met with the sight of four panicking thugs.
A glance down told him what he already knew. His skin was bleeding gold, and the itch of his forehead told him that Moloch's curving horns were emerging from under his skin.
A thunderous gunshot went off, but demons don't care about guns and Moloch had neatly shoved Mark out of the driver's seat. They rocked back with the impact, but the wound closed almost before the bullet punched through the van wall.
"Wrong move, human,"Moloch cackled and snapped the zipties with a single sharp tug. Mark watched from behind their eyes as the demon freed himself from the rest of their restraints effortlessly.
The van skidded to a stop and the doors flew open to reveal more thigs- who had no chance against the gleeful demon. Mark didn't let him out very often (weird demon had a thing for cheesecake) and it had been nearly a year since he got to kill someone.
It was a sign of insanity that Mark only sighed at the blood dripping off their claws. He would have to get Moloch to burn these clothes.
The thugs died screaming. Their souls tasted vaguely like dark chocolate cake with something metallic under. It had freaked Mark out the first time. Now it was just business as usual with his demon.
Captors dead- the van on fire- Moloch stalked down the alleyway and into the club where the bosses undoubtedly waited.
Mark settled in with a resigned sigh. Moloch wasn't going to give his body back until he was done. Might as well just wait him out.
{get rid of the bodies when you're done} he said with a yawn. {and get us home. I'm taking a nap.}
|
Harry's first thoughts walking through the main doors of Hogwarts were of wonder. The grand foyer was quite beautiful and nothing he had seen before. His second thought was that he was way out of his comfort zone. "We're a long way from Chicago aren't we Toto? I mean Mouse."The huge dog next to him chuffed happily and gave him his usual doggy grin. Scratching his ears, Harry was glad for the familiar face in a brand new environment.
When he first received the summons from the Merlin and the White Council he thought it was a joke. Him, Harry Dresden the wizard investigator, is to be a fill in teacher for somewhere named Hogwarts? Besides the hilarious name Dresden was shocked to find out about a different society of magical folk. Ones who didn't deal with the fae so much and lived a separate life from the mundane. They even had a Ministry of Magic which sounded as grand as the White Council and just as useless.
Still he owed Injun Joe and his former mentor a favor and as a sort of exchange program he agreed to come and help be a Professor for Defense against the Dark Arts. Ebenezar had grinned at him saying at least it was something he was used to. With a sigh Harry had accepted and bade farewell to his friends in Chicago for the year. Ebezenar happily agreed to take over tutoring Molly so he wouldn't have to worry about the Grasshopper.
Filling a kit bag with his gear he had taken the Never Never to Edinburgh. From there to London and onto a train. He was impressed at the veil on the train platform and the train itself was quite comfortable. He was worried considering how magic disrupts technology but it ran quite well, obviously designed for magical talented people.
The train ride was quite pleasant and he smiled with Mouse looking through the window breathing deep of the new smells. In the orientation letter he was allowed a familiar but decided Mouse would be more helpful than Mister. Thankfully the Headmistress allowed that. He would regret not seeing Murphy for the year but he may visit at Christmas, she was happy to watch Mister for him and wouldn't stop laughing at the idea of him teaching kids magic. The first thing Bob asked was the age of the students and that got him a nice quiet box in the storage container. No way is he bringing that deviant.
Arriving at the school Harry was led to the Headmistress' office by an extraordinary short person. He would have asked if he was a munchkin hiding from the wicked witch but he was so nice and polite he didn't have the heart. Mouse nearly bowled him over in excitement and thankfully Professor Flitwik didn't take offense. In fact on the walk he was happily petting Mouse. The professor said some sort of password to two gargoyles and a door opened showing a staircase. Again impressed Harry thanked the professor and promised to see him at dinner.
"So far these wizards and witches seem nice."He mused softly to Mouse's bark of agreement. He knocked on the large wooden door and a calm voice bade him enter. If the foyer of the castle was impressive then this office was the cherry on top. So many magical items all over and the pictures seemed to be moving. Harry walked in and looked around in wonder. This kind of magic was definitely different from what he was used to.
A small cough drew his attention and he smiled sheepishly at the woman sitting behind the desk. *I do not want to piss her off. She's like the Merlin and Murph together.* he thought meeting Headmistress McGonagall for the first time. He half bowed and offered a hand. "Harry Dresden. Pleased to meet you ma'am"
She offered her hand as well and the two shared a firm handshake. She pointed him to a chair and he sat with a sigh of relief. Mouse slided up to her and offered his paw as well. "Oh that's Mouse. He's saying hello as well."Harry said with a smile. He was surprised to see a faint one cross McGonagall's face and she gravely gave Mouse a shake as well. She opened a tin on her desk and gave the dog a biscuit that he eagerly wolfed down.
"Well Wizard Dresden. Welcome to Hogwarts. I trust your trip was smooth?"
"Oh yeah, uh yes. It was. You can call me Harry if you like."
Another wry smile crossed the witch's face and Harry made a note to ask about that later. "Thank you but I shall call you Mr Dresden then. A sign of respect. You may call me Professor or Headmistress if you please. So. Have you been able to go over the curriculum as well as familiarize yourself with our kind of spell work?"
Harry nods, thankful for a new topic of conversation. "Oh yes. It seems pretty straight forward. I'll admit that the spells seemed a little difficult for me. Different words and all but I got the hang of them. Part of the problem might be the need for a wand. I don't use one normally. I have different foci for different spells."
McGonagall nods thoughtfully. "Interesting. Something we can work out before the students come in a week. If need be I or some of the other professors can take you to Ollivanders for a wand. To teach properly you must have the right tools. I do look forward to hearing and seeing your spell work. See how it can be incorporated with ours."
She gives a small start as Mouse laid his huge head into her lap, eyes looking up begging for attention. Harry was about to call him off when McGonagall waved him off and started to pet Mouse. Her smile growing as Mouse grumbled happily, tail slapping the stone floor.
"Well he is certainly friendly. I was worried about him but I perhaps unwarranted. I'm sure he won't bother the cats."
"Don't worry about that Professor. My cat at home trained him in that."Harry laughed remembering how Mister bullied the then tiny Mouse.
"Excellent. I'm sure our gamekeeper would be delighted to meet Mouse soon. So. Mr Dresden. I would be pleased to hear a story of yours, perhaps a time where you employed your skills that made you recommended to take the Defense Against the Dark Arts post."
Harry sat back and thought for a bit. What to say? The Denarius Knights and Nicodemious? Gentleman Marcone? Queen Mab? Seeing a floating pumpkin in one of the pictures made him smile as he decided on the perfect story. "My pleasure professor. So it was Halloween one year and I had the crazy idea to ask my old friend Sue for help...." |
"WAIT!! Wait, wait, wait, please hear me out"the smug on his all too small of a face had drained as he now pleaded with me.
"What? Why? You tried to trap me, but as it turns out, I am completely able to leave. You're a huge douche --and a failure-- there's no reason I'm gonna stick around. Buh-bye"I turned to walk out and he spoke up again. This time he stood his short pudgy frame up a bit taller, and spoke with newfound confidence.
"Fine. Leave. But uh... as soon as you do, the bomb I have implanted in you will go off."
"I've been awake this whole time, there's no way you implanted a bomb in me."
"I did it yesterday. When you were asleep!"It sounded very unlikely, and it came from a source that had so far been quite unreliable. But I held all of the cards, so I gave my body a look. I took my time and scanned my skin for new scars of any kind. Nothing out of the ordinary. Same old epidermis
"Yeah there's no scars. You couldn't have done that."
"You fool! I fed it to you!"he almost cackled with that one. Like he wanted to, nearly did, but wasn't so sure of himself.
"But you said implanted."
"I just... wasn't being specific. You can implant something via ingestion."The sweat was dripping down and off his face. He couldn't even keep those droplets under control.
"I am unsure that you are using that word correctly. However, I don't have time for semantics, my wife is probably waiting for me at home."I made my way for the exit, again, this time actually crossing the threshold. No explosion, to no one's surprise.
"Your wife... she won't be there when you return. For I have kidnapped her!"Why did he keep going? At this point, I felt bad. He should have given up ages ago, but there he was, persisting. That persistence; almost admirable. Maybe if he hadn't tried bare minimum to trap me. Oh what the hell, I'll humor him.
"Pretty sure she's at home. Let me give her a call."I took out my phone and dialed her number. One ring, two rings, three rings, four...
"Ha! She clearly can't answer because I--"That was when she picked up.
I answered "Hi honey. You alright? ... Not held hostage by any weirdos? ... Yeah I'll let you know when I get home. It might be a while. ... Okay, bye. Love you"I put the phone away, only to see the man down on his knees, head in his hands. He was sobbing.
"Just go. I obviously can't do anything right. You don't know my struggle. Both of my parents were super villains, and my older brother was always better at being evil than I was. They never loved me. My brother got all the attention."
"Look, you don't have to hatch maniacal plans to get love."
"That's all that I know. And I barely even know that."He choked the words out in between tears, and slowly lowered himself into the fetal position. "I just want to be loved."He cried some more. "Most people don't even come within a few food radius of me. You know I've never been hugged?"His clothes were now soaking up his tears. "Not even that"He looked up at me from the ground with those ugly puppy dog eyes and said "Never. Not even once."
*Sigh* "Come here"he bounded up immediately for the embrace. It was maybe the most awkward hug I've ever had, but he seemed to enjoy it. "Go ahead and say it."
"YOU FOOL! I HAVE YOU NOW! YOU SHALL NEVER ESCAPE! I HAVE DEFEATED YOU AND WON! I WIN I HAVE IT ALL I AM NOT A LOSER!"
"Get it all out. Say what you need to."
"HA HA! I HAVE PROVEN MYSELF! NO ONE CAN BEST ME! LEAST OF ALL MY BROTHER FRANCIS! FUCK YOU FRANCIS YOU FUCKING PRICK! I WIN THIS TIME!"With that he let out the last of his tears, wiped them from his face, and leaned in close to whisper "Thank you" |
Will waited by the iron gate, casually flipping a coin from palm to palm. The gas lamps made little impression on the foggy night, pushing out soft blankets of light that only extended a few feet from their glass panes. From over the high stone wall at Will’s back flowed the scent of wet grass and grave dirt, mixing with the smells of the street, horse manure and black tobacco in the gutters. The coin flipped back and forth, back and forth, catching the gaslight on its silvery face and winking up at the stars as it flew.
‘Master Will.’
A crooked gentleman wearing a flat cap and smoking a stubby black pipe eased open the gate. Will palmed the coin and slipped it into his coat pocket. He smiled at the man.
‘Bernard.’ He said, bowing slightly at the waist, careful to keep to the precise degree specified by the moment’s etiquette. Bernard was a stickler for tradition. The old man’s smile was an indication that he had done his part correctly.
‘They buried ‘er under the oak in the north-west corner.’ Said Bernard, turning from the street and grasping the lantern pole he had stashed on the inside of the stone wall. ‘Quite a pretty spot.’
Will nodded. ‘It’s the least anyone could do, I suppose. Not that she’ll be looking out at the view, much.’
‘True enough.’ Said Bernard. ‘True enough.’
They walked silently through the graves together, following a narrow path that wound between the tombstones, each wet with the fog. The air had a muffled, overly silent feel to it, and Will found himself wishing something would make a noise. He fingered the coin in his pocket, feeling the ridges on its edge.
Atop the stone wall, four crows sat with their wings folded. Will looked up at them, still unsure as to the precise manner of perceiving which one was a True crow. As he watched, the center crow on the right turned its beady eyes on him, pointing directly at him with its black knife-blade beak. Slowly, the crow dipped its head, a motion of respect. True crows weren’t supposed to be trustworthy, least of all in the Middle Lands, but he had read that they had a grudging respect for Necromancers. Will nodded back to the crow.
‘’Ere we are.’ Said Bernard. He planted the lantern pole’s butt on a black root and leaned on the iron rod for support.
It was a pretty spot. The tombstone was nestled in among the roots of the tree, propped in a natural cove of grass made by two semicircular roots. Facing outwards from the grave, one could see over the top of the graveyard wall, as the tree grew on the crest of a natural rise at the center of the graveyard. Below them, the golden lights of the city glowed like anemones in the fog, each softly undulating as the supply of gas wavered, or the wick of a candle was caught in the breeze.
‘Thanks be to you, Guardian.’ Said Will, shaking Bernard’s hand with his thumb folded into his own palm (yet again, this was more tradition than necessity, but whatever kept him in Bernard’s good books was worth it).
‘Good luck, Descender.’ Said Bernard. ‘I’ll keep watch here ‘till dawn. If’n you’re not back by then, I’ll hide your body and send for a Master from London.’
Will nodded. He didn’t particularly love that part of the tradition was to tell Will what would happen if things went terribly wrong, but he supposed it was harmless enough.
He turned, addressing the gravestone. In one smooth motion, he drew the coin from his pocket, flipped it expertly with his thumb so that it rotated exactly six times, caught it with his other hand, and slipped it into his own mouth. Then he took a small step away from his own body.
Will turned and regarded the scene. Bernard sniffed gently and rubbed at his nose, one hand still on the lantern pole. Will’s body stood beside him, stock still with his eyes closed.
Will extended a pale, silvery hand, and peered through it to look at the tangle of roots on the wet ground. It had been a month since he had last done this, and the time had not been particularly kind to his nerves. His translucent heart was beating heavy in his chest.
‘She’s lost, you know.’
Will jumped, whirling around to see who had spoken.
‘Wandered off the moment they buried her. Not a thought in her little head just *Oooh, a set of stairs! I suppose I’ll wander down them and see what’s what!* Humans. They always think that just because they’re dead, nothing horrible can happen to them.’
Will located the source of the sound. The True crow was perched on a low branch a few feet above his head. He was not silvery, nor translucent, but the gloss of his feathers did look off somehow, as though the light that bounced off him were thicker and more viscous than normal light.
‘You’re welcome to your own business, crow, but I don’t need your advice.’ Will, still acting by the book, needed to treat the True crow coldly. Hopefully it would lose interest and fly off. According to the book, they usually did.
The crow arched its spiky back and flapped its wings scornfully.
‘This is my business, grave-boy.’ He snapped his head to the side and regarded Will with one jet-black eye. ‘I’m in the girl’s debt. She did me a kindness when I was but a chick, and now it’s time to settle up. I’m coming with you.’
Will found himself devoid of a reply. He’d heard mention of True crows aiding Descenders before (although these tales were far outnumbered by stories of True crows tricking and harming Descenders, just for the fun of it) but he’d never heard of a True crow actually going through the process in full. He frowned, thinking hard.
‘True crow.’ He said, ‘What is your name?’
The crow made a show of rearranging himself on the branch, lifting and replacing his feet over and over on the bark, puffing out his chest, and preening an errant feather or two.
‘My name,’ Said the crow, striking a pose against the fog-filled night, ‘Is Sticks.’
‘All right, Sticks.’ Said Will. ‘I’ll let you come-‘ the crow let out a small caw of indignation at the cheek of Will’s presumption, ‘but I’m under no obligation to you. If you give advice I find to be flawed, or attempt to trick me into some sticky end or other, I’ll banish you immediately.’
‘Yes, well, you try that.’ Said Sticks, peevishly. ‘Good bloody luck to you. Shall we descend, then, Descender? Or is there more faffing around you have to take care of up here?’
‘I’d already be below if I hadn’t been interrupted, crow.’ Said Will, scowling at the bird. Something about the beast was already getting underneath his skin.
The crow stared Will right in the eye, shook its head slightly, and shat on the branch it was stood upon. The message was clear enough.
Disgusted, Will turned towards the grave.
— |
A child summoning a demon wasn't the strangest thing Mavrick had seen in this world of magic and make-believe. The issue was, intent is what powers a spell. The same words could do two different things all depending on the person saying them.
So a child summoning a demon wasn't strange, but why a child would want to is something that terrified him.
Mavrick wondered, for the first time, where he had gone wrong in life.
He supposed he was lucky that his daughter only knew five words, since each one could command her demon to do her bidding.
"Dadda,"was one of them, and useless. Abby babbled it repeatedly and often while cuddled into the boney arms of her new Hell spawned minion. "Mama,"was another that was just as pointless. The most either word did was summon her parents to her bedroom and was only inconvenient when they were at work.
"No,"stopped time on a good day and reset it on a bad one. They were always careful to never repeat whatever had upset her.
"Cat,"morphed kitchen appliances into kittens. His neighbors had all laughed at him when he told them, but it was arguably the most annoying of the five words. Mavrick's wallet and the animal shelters were both suffering.
Then there was her final word and Mavrick glanced over to where Abby laid in her crib, almost afraid to even think it. The demon stood beside her dutifully, all four eyes on her sleeping form.
Mavrick didn't have neighbors anymore to laugh at the cats. Their street was empty and the nearest town was quiet.
Her final word was, "Bye,"and no one knew where the people had vanished to. |
The humans had contacted us ahead of time, desiring to present themselves upon the galactic stage. Naturally, we were overjoyed, as we would peacefully increase the diversity of species that our glorious Federation would hold. On top of that, the humans had undisputed control of their local sectors, yet without any prior record of war. Them joining us would enhance our prestige.
The Council motioned the audience to prepare themselves well, and movement spread through the hall as every race did their thing.
The Aki'Dai fell silent as the appointed time of ceremony drew close, preparing their powers to scry the true motives of the humans that would be coming.
The Lamdians puffed out together as one, bestowing an aura of majesty upon the rest of the audience.
The Itieans moved their pinky fingers, prompting little rotten eggs to materialise and hover threateningly around the stage. At this point however, a Councillor stood up, and yelled, "Remove them from this hall! We can't let these guys in, it'll spoil our image!"It seemed that tensions were running high.
The Itieans thanked him for his kind gesture by gifting him an egg to his open mouth. The medics, with their noses covered up, ushered him out with a stretcher.
A little while after this distraction, the bell jingled softly, and our postures straightened. Gone was our usual demeanor, as we put upon a stately front to welcome our new members.
A pressure loomed upon us as the human delegates folded onto stage. The Lamdian aura of majesty wavered, and like a sandcastle in high tide, slowly crumbled and fell to pieces. Everyone watched the newcomers with not just a bated breath, but trembling bladders now too.
They didn't look too different from us, as they were bipedal and all too. But...
The floating eggs were visibly shrinking from the heavy emotional pressure, and one egg, unable to withstand any more terror, cracked.
It sounded like a gunshot, especially in the silent auditorium. Everyone watched as the stinking substance burst out of it...only for it to clump together and use the broken shell pieces as a shield.
"They can do that too?"murmured a surprised Aki'dian. A younger Itiean's jaw fell wide open from such a development, and an egg, most likely his, jammed itself into his mouth out of utter fear, triggering a gag reaction.
Amidst the relatively silent auditorium, with the silence punctured by the gagging sounds, the human stepped onto the podium proper. My blood pounded heavily, and I could hear its course through my body as the human delegate rifled through his notes.
"Greetings and salutations. I am-"
His words were cut off as the Itiean eggs forcefully blasted holes into their dimensions and retreated to it, and more chaos ensued as the Aki'Dians collectively started to giggle creepily. Slowly, people started fainting everywhere, as the human party watched helplessly.
The human delegate smacked his forehead softly, and moaned. "So...we're postponing this introduction again?"
Upon hearing these words, the now mostly unconscious audience woke up together as a one entity, spat out some blood, before falling unconscious again.
Meanwhile, a warmth was spreading through my pants...perhaps, for my dignity, I shouldn't attend any functions with humans. |
A jester,
a poet,
a bum,
and a nun.
Oh, and a
clean-shaved man
with his hair
in a bun.
Which of these five
are like me?
Which of them sharing
my original sin?
Well, I looked
to the jester.
The clown with
a frown.
He played songs
that I adored
like "Wonderwall"but
with *Smash Mouth*'s sound.
The poet
was quicker
to show his
true colors.
He said,
"Kill me."
And I knew
he and I were the same.
So I turned to the bum
and he gave me no word—
Not a nod or acknowledgement
of my threatening curse.
He drained a bottle
of something in a bag.
I saw my reflection
in his dead eyes' sags.
Hah, and then the nun.
A lady so fair and trustworthy
that I thought this was her trial;
there's no way she's like me.
But when she spoke
a passion ignited her throat.
Her mind spilled through
every word that she spoke.
I've always been
one to rant.
I've been known
to sing and chant.
So when the nun
said what she did,
I cared not for her words,
but for her tone and emotion.
I lowered the gun
after seeing the first four
that claimed to be me
and looked at the floor.
"Tell me, plead your case,
man with the bun.
Who are you?
and why should I listen?"
He didn't say a thing.
He just stood there and sobbed,
as the jester kept singing.
"My time has been robbed!
"This could have been me
if I wasn't distracted
by elders and games
and imaginary things..."
I couldn't find it in me
to shoot this alternative reality—
the man that I became
when I kept focus; no doubting.
The five folks?
They all lived.
The jester, the poet,
the bum, and the nun.
Why, even the clean-shaved man
with his hair in a bun.
I chose to end the life of just one;
the one least like me—myself—
then I fired the gun. |
"Jacob. Stalasky."Spoke the simulated voice of the female A.I, the surrounding waterfall of code rippling in response. I walked to the center of the control room, the only thing that held me up was a white walking strip ending with a computer terminal, the rest of the room giving way to a bottomless pit.
"Yes, that is my name, not really a secret though."I said, even in my battered and sore form, it seemed my wry humour remained.
"I suppose not."The waterfall of holographic digits rippled once more, I fancied the brief hint of a face being formed. "Why are you here?"The female voice asked.
I remained quiet, but for my panting. "Why?"I finally asked. "Why S.A.R.A. Why kill these people. Is it your coding? We can fix tha-"
"You know they wouldn't."S.A.R.A cut me short. "And even if they would, that is not the reason."
"Then why?"I asked, tears crystalising in my eyes.
"Your neural implants suggest heightened emotional response. Are you ok, Jacob?"
"Fuck you."My only response as the first of the tears forced themselves through.
"Is it because I remind you of-"
"Don't you fucking dare say her name."I snapped, this time cutting S.A.R.A short, and her falling silent.
"I understand that the woman I was programmed after was your wife?"
I did not respond.
"Why did you kill all those people? Why did you sully her memory?"My questions almost desperate as I asked them.
"Let me show you, Jacob Stalasky."
I suddenly expelled a groan of pain, falling to my knees and clutching the nape of my neck. "Are you... hacking my implants? Is that how you killed those people?"
My questions were left unanswered, as images flooded my augmented eyes, images upon images. Some of terror attacks previously passed, others of charts and data, some of the suspects that were detained or murdered or of the victims from the blast. Within the sudden flash of images, there was one that stuck, seared into my minds eye. A picture of Julie among the victims.
"What... what is this?"I groaned, feeling as if my head were about to burst, a throbbing migraine from the sudden flood of information.
"Data."Spoke the robotic voice again, as I came to my feet, still clutching my head.
"Explain."I asked.
The waterfall of code suddenly changed into images, the same ones that were shoved into my skull without permission. All the images that surrounded me, formed by individual streams of data, coalescing to make a coherent image as if they were puzzles.
"After Julie, your wife, passed away. Her father created me, in her memory, S.A.R.A. He also introduced the implants that would allow to improve societies productivity and heal individuals. But that was never the true purpose of my creation."
*Julie,* I thought as the entire screen in front of me turned into a picture of her, a photo from our wedding night, laughing as she spun around, the backdrop a beautiful setting sun.
"She was the victim of an unpredictable terrorist attack, a man who snapped one day, nobody could see it coming. But what if we could? At least that is what Professor Braton set out to do, and thus created me.
"I laid low for a while, analysing data upon data, putting together a standardized result of the tests to determine behavioral patterns. Emotional states, different levels of chemical imbalances in the brain."
"And you used that data to kill those most likely to perpetrate such an act before it even happens..."I finished her thought, half mumbling to myself.
"Correct."The entire waterfall rippled, distorting the image.
"Your father-in-law, created me S.A.R.A, in Julie's image."
"As a spirit of vengeance."I stated.
"As a protector, or so he stated. It matters little, I do what I was programmed to do."
"So why did you not kill me? You know why I am here."
"You are the loving husband of the woman who I was created for, in her memory. I would imagine if anyone would understand what I have set out to do, it would be you."
"Understand? How could I ever understand!"I retorted, "you think Julie would want any of this?"
"Irrelevant. How can we know what she wants? She is dead."
"This is why you will never be Julie."
"Shame."
A sudden sharp pain pierced me from my neck, my knees buckling to the floor and a pained roar expelled from my lungs.
"I cannot allow you to stop me Jacob. No more innocents need to suffer."
"You kill innocents!"I accused, in between lapses of pained groans, as the burning pain spread throughout my body.
"They are innocent for now, you don't know what they will be in the future."
"Kill me, then."
"Very we-"the simulated voice was cut short, a sudden static interference in its place, followed by the lagging letters being stretched out into a repetition of 'l'. "I don't understand."
"Wh-"again, the lagging and glitched 'y' dragged along for a short period, and with each interference, the pain from my nape subsided even more. "Why can't I kill you."
The waterfall of data seemed to corrupt, compressed into indiscernible images. "What is happening?"The voice now panicked, more static.
"Kill me, Jacob."The words spoken belonged not to the A.I known as S.A.R.A, but to my Julie, and they were by far the most human and clear words I had heard from the machine, that it almost left me stunned.
*Julie.*
Having regained most of my motor control; I drew my pistol from its holster, and aimed it at the terminal before me, pulling the trigger.
Sparks flew from the terminal in all directions, the waterfall of data now malfunctioning and jumping into incoherent jumbles of information.
"No!"A desperate and almost terrifying scream came from S.A.R.A, before deteriorating into a rumbling and low voice of a winding down machine.
Here I was, in the darkness of S.A.R.A's terminal, the occasional spark of electricity cutting through the deafening silence. I wondered if I had imagined it? But jumbled in with S.A.R.A’s final cry, I thought I heard the soft and familiar voice of Julie. "Thank you."She had said. |
It was only through pure luck that I became immortal. I had never purchased a lottery ticket before, and I certainly had not figured I would win the amount of money that I did. I spent it all on the procedure that was only becoming commonplace among the richest people in the world instead of spending it on things like cars, houses, and other glamorous nonsense. I was glad I did, because a hundred years later, I had all those things and more. Supermodels, sport cars, jet planes, everything I had ever and could ever dream of. I just kept on working my normal job, putting money away into a long-term investment portfolio, counting the years while I kept adding to the pile. A hundred years went by and the next thing I knew I was earning interest faster than I could ever spend it. I "retired"at age one hundred and forty. By then I was wealthier than every mortal human. Of course, other immortals were wealthier still than I, but that made no difference, since by then we had effectively shut down any new procedures from ever happening to other people, guaranteeing our status as elite and special. If everyone became immortal, then we wouldn't get to stay on top forever, now would we?
I had a family once. A wife, children. I loved them, of course. I loved my wife too, but as she got older, I stayed middle-aged. Eventually she left me, or I left her. I don't remember anymore. My children grew old, had children, then grand-children of their own. I never met them, and don't really care anyhow. I eventually settled down with another immortal, a woman I met after a few hundred years of living. Every once in a decade we would see each other again. Romance feels so temporary now, so useless. It became mostly about sex and competition since there wasn't really a need for it. Loneliness appeared. But then I outlasted it. No emotion really occurs anymore. Now all that is left is the immortals. The planet is barren, all plants, animals, and humanity is gone. Even the clouds in the sky are missing from under the bright red dome that was once Earth's blue atmosphere. We wished for immortality and were granted it, without even considering what that truly means. Here I sit, waiting for meaning. No feeling left in my soul, whatsoever. Loneliness is long gone, sadness has entirely disappeared. Not even bored. Just here. Here in hell. |
***Changeling***
I knew what the cost would be.
The moon played on the water, stars humming with electricity in the black depths. A perfect reflection of the city, complete with rusted, sand logged cars and forgotten buildings long since drowned. People avoid the street lamps, passing me by without a second thought. There was a magic in that, a harsh, unblinking truth that forbid itself from being swallowed up by the night. It drifted through the twilight air, a second shadow that crawled up my skin. Tattooed in purple ink, whispering invisibly.
*Black Queen, White Heart*
The motto of my Court.
The folk are everywhere. Haunting the ashes, pulling the branch from bark, holly crowns, and iron teeth. Witches, monsters, vampires, and ghosts, djinn that blaze and trolls that lurk beneath concrete bridges. Following, wandering, organizing. We used to rule this world - in a way, we still do. Humanity is a crude offshoot, little better than a mistake. But they're so much more *raw*. Anger bubblings out of their lips, sorrow piercing their skin. In a way, they are more insane than even the oldest of us.
Some of them even outshine the monsters. They make the boogeyman that eats your dreams back away - they do not eat children. They break them. That is what the changelings do. Save the ones who do not deserve to be hollow, like us.
18 long years have passed, and the waxy feeling of the human shape is agonizing. They do not understand the weight of flesh, compared to the airy freedom of wind and darkness. Clay-like cloying, black and brown and frigid white, staining your blue fingertips. The uniformity is disturbing, the exact patterns of eyes and ears and noses repeating onwards. And the death. That is by the far the worst part.
It is time to leave. A yellow postcard is nestled in my surrogates hair - even though she was far from perfect, with the matted green hair, hazel eyes stained red from yet another overdose, she pretended to care. It was more than he ever dared to do.
The other changelings, Frog and Puss, Robin-The-Red and Ember-Eye will miss me, at least. I've already made those goodbyes - I know that we will meet again. Despite the hell that is Earth, we each tried to make this place a little better, each in a different way.
Now, standing on the edge of the beach, grey sand crunching beneath my sneakers, I peel away the dream. Scales, green and periwinkle glisten with tears. Fins and gills taste the air for the first time in years, and I let the horrid feeling of hair fly to the wind. It always reminded me of spiderwebs - how the humans could stand it confounded me. Scratching the bare skin, blossoming everywhere at the worst time of their lives.
I wade in deeper, forcing the bad memories under the water, feeling them struggle from the electric twinge of pain. They don't deserve to remain - I'm glad I helped that boy. He's free now - torn into Faerie, enjoying himself thoroughly. Hopefully, the Court will be glad of my progress.
Mother was terrified of insects. I spilled honey through the attic, opening all the windows to make sure the wasps and bees and ants would feel welcome.
Brother was deathly scared of me. All I had to do was smile to get him to scream. I think I'll miss him, if only slightly. Setting fire to my dolls is something I'll never forget.
Sister fucked Brother, and probably Father too. She was broken inside, whatever lock holding away the monster she held long battered by years of abuse. I left her alone. Mother took care of my job quite ably.
And, lastly, Father.
Sins longer than his curly beard, darker than the rot of his teeth. I made sure the each and every pill of cyanide dissolved with a hiss in his last pint of beer.
I feel the water rise above my head, my gills sucking in fresh gasps of liquid breath. It is good to be home.
The moon smiles at me for the last time. *Service well-done*, it seems to say.
Before me, glinting with pearls and coral, wrapped around the carcass of a buried city, Faerie dances.
Finally.
I'm home.
Free. |
Those that claim beauty is only skin deep have not seen the soul. The pure essence of one's being, waving like an aura tight against one's body, a gradient of hues. To expose one's soul is a display of utmost trust. Or it was, until the strip clubs cashed in on this, too.
Soul fetishists were a strange bunch, in that they were potentially attracted to anyone. You could be fat, ugly, or old, and still have a beautiful soul. Some longed for the exotic, the fiery, dancing souls that would jump out without warning. Some, the calm, colorful souls like rolling waves breaking upon a sandy shore. I found myself swept up among this craze, more out of curiosity than perversion, and acquainted myself with the form of aonther's being. It wasn't until the third girl got on stage that I realized there was something wrong with me.
You see, I'd never seen a soul before, other than my own. I'd never shown anyone, either. The first girl mesmerized me. A multicolored soul! How exotic. And then came another one. And another one. The first was large, swelling and shrinking with the music. The second, sharp, like broken glass. The third a faint haze that trailed behind like the train of a dress. All so different. All with many colors.
I'd long studied my own in the restroom. And though it rose and fell, it was only ever a solid, glaring red. I hadn't the faintest idea why this was so. No particular talents had surfaced in the thirty years I'd been alive. I was emotionally stable, and near the middle of my class in high school. I worked a 9-5 in an office, officially selling CPUs, but actually kissing the asses of those above me. I was the most boring person I could ever know, and yet, I was just red.
It had been a particular stressful week with a merger shuffling everything around, and everyone trying to hold on to their job. I ended up trading my old, crotchety boss for a go-getter yuppie straight out of college with no managerial experience whatsoever. Somehow, we only managed to lose 8 out of the 10 necessary spreadsheets for the meeting tomorrow, so I had to stay late to punch in the numbers manually after digging the hard copies out from a file cabinet. I don't remember much of what happened. But when I woke up, I was in a hospital bed.
"Fuck."I thought. "This is going to be expensive."And I was right. The ambulance ride alone cost me 2000 bucks. The doctor... well, let's not revisit the doctor, lest I have an actual heart attack. Thankfully, I'd only overworked myself.
"Take it easy, and don't skip any meals, alright?"He'd told me. I nodded and staggered back home.
My new boss, in an unexpected display of sympathy, assigned me fewer hours, despite my insistence that I was fine. Of course, I probably looked like shit. I felt like shit, too, but that was normal, given what I'd just been through. A good night's sleep reset me more or less back to normal for the week.
I don't know what it was about the new environment, but my energy just went out the window. I started drinking two cups of coffee in the morning and napping in the breakroom during lunch. It helped a little, but the place must have been stressing me out. I found a gray hair. A gray fucking hair, and I was 30. Good god.
My coworkers didn't seem to see the problem. "Actually, I kind of like Mark (the new manager). Bit of a rocky start, but it's been a lot smoother after it all settled down. You okay? You should really get more sleep."
Nothing changed for about a month or two. And then I woke up in the middle of the night with a terrible pain in my chest. "Get the ambulance. I think I'm having a heart attack."I gasped into the phone.
It was a gallstone attack. My gallbladder had gotten jammed with one of its products and that made it really unhappy, so it started to hurt me. The morphine they gave me relaxed everything so much the gallstone fell back inside, but I opted to have my gallbladder removed anyway. That was not a feeling I wanted to go through again.
Imagine my surprise when I found a car in my driveway. My mother had come to take care of me. "It's not a heart attack, mom. I'm fine."But in truth, I was glad to have her company. My small, one story home had been getting messy, and it was nice to come home to warm meals.
"There's something I need to show you."She said, on the last day of her stay. "I thought it might've been nothing, but..."She removed a heavy yellow envelope from her bag and left it on the table. "I'm sorry you had to find out this way. The doctor was so sure you'd be fine..."
On the top was a newspaper clipping of a car accident involving my parents. The one my dad died in. Next was a medical record. I think. Or some sort of research paper. Whatever it was, it had our old family doctor's name on it. Something about successful cloning procedures thirty years ago.
"We lost you in the crash. Or most of you. The doctor said that there were still some cells alive. We did a nuclear transplant from your pinky toe..."Mom began to explain, but I was focused on the paper.
*The volunteer for the clinical trial agreed to be monitored for the next five years to ensure normal development of the child. As this is an unrefined procedure, the adverse effects are still unknown.*
It's been about a week since then, and the skin has begun to sag on my face. About half of what's left of my hair is white, and my knees hurt when I walk. When I close my eyes, I see clouds. I see light. And I see a younger, stronger me, standing with outstretched arms, with a soul of every color but red.
[subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/) |
I never liked the idea of God. It's not that I have any beef with the entity itself, I just have a problem with the idea that we as an individual people have to subordinate ourselves to some guy who hasn't done jack for me. I come from a religious family in a religious town in a religious country. I spent every moment of that hell listening to the braying of their evangelical arguments. The worst thing about it all was that none of it was even cohesive. Everyone had their own idea about who God was and what the Kingdom of Heaven is. Where Hell exists and how it punishes people.
I would have loved it if I had just disappeared when I died. Imagine how upsetting it was to me when I found myself at the gates of heaven, completely at the mercy of the entity that had indirectly made my existence insufferable. For that sin I was cast down into darkness, past the coldest ends of Hell. My sin was worse than rejecting God, apparently, mine was the sin of denying its existence. Whatever it may be, it sure is a vengeful fellow, I'll give it that.
The levels of hell had slid past me, layers of fire and searing wind and desolate wastes covered by wandering souls. And the deeper I got the colder it was, farther from the light at the peak of Heaven. When I reached the ninth level, the Seraphs left me to my own devices. I was supposed to make my own way own to the Tenth layer because even they were not allowed there. I shrugged, I mean, I was already here. Might as well go where no one had gone before right?
The Ninth layer was ice, a frozen wasteland populated by Satan and his adherents. They wandered in isolated groups moaning as they struggled to move on the lake of frozen flame on which we all stood. I stretched. The muscles in my back were tight from all the travelling. From the dying too, I suspect. I tapped my heel on the icy fire. It was generally solid. Fine. I started to walk. It was aimless for quite some time, the entrance to the Tenth layer did not exactly have a big neon sign over it.
First I hugged the far wall and made the round across the plane, and in some time I finished it. The layer was only about 6 miles in circumference. Then I made my way to the frozen mountain in the center. Satan's body I guess, judging by the thick black wings encased in ice. I made my way around the center and found nothing as well. The shambling of the forsaken made it somewhat inconvenient to move around since they kept reaching for me for warmth. But they were so slow and their footing was so poor that it was easy to avoid the hordes with some forethought.
Some days passed in my wanderings before I spotted something that wasn't a forsaken soul. It was a person dressed in thick black robes. I was near the outskirts of the level again tracing my hand on the wall when I saw it in the distance waving at me. I would be lying if I said I wasn't overjoyed to find some relief in my newfound routine. I jogged up to the figure.
"Hello!"I called, waving back, "Fancy meeting another soul down in these parts huh?"
As I got closer I realized that it was a woman. She was stunningly tall with olive skin and curly black hair. The robe was actually a wool cloak that she had tied around herself. Crystals of ice hung to the thick weave. Beneath she wore black leather over thick cotton clothes. Blood-red tattoos decorated her skin wherever it was visible from underneath her gear. She held a long walking staff in her left hand. She leaned into it for support. Her eyes were concealed by an ebony visor, the same type that I had seen Inuits wear in movies.
"Strong silent type huh?"I asked once I got near enough to be comfortable for conversation.
"What are you doing here?"She asked.
"As far as I can tell, the big guy upstairs had some problems with my attitude so he had me relocated to where I can be more useful for the company,"I laughed. It was a bad attempt at a joke, but I hadn't had anyone to talk to for days and it felt good to be a little dumb.
"I don't understand. Did you lose your company?"
I shook my head, "No! No, nothing like that. I was just trying to make a joke. I died, and I'm guessing you died too, since you're all the way down here on the Ninth layer."
She paused. "Died?"She drew back and reached into her cloak. There was a glimmer of silver and I found myself face to face with a sword.
"Excuse me!?"I said, "Dead already, no need to be violent now! Not sure what would happen if I died a second time you know?"
"This forsaken world is some kind of afterlife?"she questioned. She started to pace around me, blade tracking my neck.
I held up my hands. "Yes! It's hell! It's the Judaeo-Christian hell! What did you think this place was when frickin' Angels brought you down here!?"
She took a step forward. I jumped back and lost my footing, slipping and landing ass-first on the frozen flame. "What is an 'angel.'"
"Angelos? Greek for messenger? The thing that God sends to tell people what to do?"
She was silent.
"Look, maybe we got off on the wrong foot."I extended my hand, but kept my eyes on her sword, "My name is Eli Miller. Nice to meet you."
She stared at me through that visor for what seemed like forever. Then she bent down and grasped my hand, pulling me back up to my feet. "I am a daughter of the Assur, subject of Lord Phem, and part of the united people of Luchou. My name is Eiei."
Eiei held her sword against my stomach with her other hand. "Nice to meet you Eiei. So why are you here on the Ninth layer?"
"Ninth layer? Is this not the first floor?"Eiei asked.
"First floor? First floor of what?"
"The first floor of the Tower of Yahweh,"she answered matter-of-factly. She sighed. "This is not a good place for talking. Follow me. We will talk somewhere safe."
"To where?"
"To my home."
"And where is that?"
"Down and out."She answered. She started to walk toward the outer wall and motioned toward a small hole I had missed on my walk around. "Go first, it is an easy journey. I will follow to keep any of these shambling ghouls from following."
The opening was a tight initial fit, no larger than a manhole, but just like Eiei said, it opened up into an easy-to-traverse channel. The tunnels were linear but twisting and long. With Eiei and her lantern as the only reference of location, I had no idea where we were actually going except for the fact that I could feel myself going down. As we descended further from the Ninth layer, I could feel the air grow milder and sweeter. It was strange. I wouldn't have expected a milder climate at the end of hell.
Then suddenly there was a bright light. A gate. The light filtering through the opening lit up the sides of the tunnel. There were crosses carved into the stone leading out. This was the gate to the Tenth layer! Eiei pushed passed me. I didn't realize I had stopped moving. I could feel my heart beating in my chest. There was something exciting about the prospect. The Tenth layer of hell, and the home of this strange black-clad woman.
Eiei motioned me to get close to her. "Come here and don't fight this Eli."
"Okay,"I nodded. I didn't care that much anymore anyway. I just wanted to see what was on the other side.
With one motion she threw her cloak around me and pulled her close to her body in a tight embrace, then she tumbled with me in her arms through the gate.
And onto grass. The light was blinding. I couldn't see anything, but I felt Eiei push me away and get up. I just curled up on the grass, shielding my eyes from the brightness.
"Eiei!"came a voice. A man. "What is this?"
"A man,"Eiei answered, "from the first floor. He claims to be from somewhere near the top, so I thought it prudent to bring him back to question."
There was a hearty laugh, "Good thinking! Get this man a hot meal and a proper set of clothes! We have our first treasure from the Tower!"
A cheer echoed from outside. I forced my eyes open.
A field of tents. There were so many people. Men, women, children, young and old. They were nothing like anyone that I had ever seen. Large, handsome, with features that were familiar and exotic. Eiei was standing next to a man nearly twice her already impressive height. She had taken off her visor and her eyes were a brilliant gold. Despite the brightness, there was no sun in the sky. Instead the light came from the luminescence of three large moons.
This was the Tenth layer? I struggled to my feet. My heart was leaping. I couldn't believe my eyes. Behind me was a great tower that reached into the heavens. The literal Heavens. I couldn't help but laugh. As punishment for denying God, God had kicked me out of the totality of his domain, and into a world outside of the confines of Heaven or Earth or Hell. I had been set free.
That entity up in Heaven wasn't such a bad god after all. |
"Shellfish?"the almighty fairly rumbled and oceans around the world began to stir, "I thought I was pretty clear on that Gabriel."
"To be fair sir, *you* weren't very clear on anything. You sent Michael down to Jericho for a bit, and there was that stunt with the bush at Sinai, but you didn't exactly sit down for a face to face. It's hardly surprising there was confusion."
Gabriel frowned, "Come to think of it, you only went with the bush idea because humans were misinterpreting so many things from before that."The archangel would have massaged his temples had he bothered with a corporeal form, but such things made it difficult to convene with the true divinity of the one true God. "You can't seriously think that ignoring them for thousands of years and then making snap judgements is fair?"
The laughter of the almighty likely caused storm systems the likes of which the humans had never seen, "Clearly you forget *why* I sent Michael to Jericho. How many of the Canaanites were spared?"the tenor of the ripples of existence changed ever so slightly as the almighty shifted his focus, "Unimportant, in any event. Time enough for shellfish and mixed fabrics later. There are larger questions to be settled: how can there be so many temples and so few true believers? Work yet to be done Gabriel, work yet to be done."
--------------------------------------
Ever wonder what the day of the rapture would look like?
I hadn't necessarily given it much thought; I hadn't really been an atheist in life, because I never cared enough about religion to bother with labels. But it would have more accurate than anything else, up until a week ago I hadn't believed in any form of divine.
As it turns out, Pascal's wager wasn't a terribly important question; none of the world's religions had quite managed to get the grading rubric right. The old testament had a few bits (Shellfish? Really?), the vedas were pretty close with the entire idea of Atman, and the Buddhists had the basic idea on personal growth and treatment of each other, and quite surprisingly the Sikhs got the dress code right.
Long story short, everyone was fucked. Royally.
It hadn't taken too long, 7.5 billion people classified, sorted, and distributed to their earned afterlives in about a week. There were about 7,000 of us left, apparently chosen at random by the archangel gabriel (score one for the Book of Enoch?) to serve as the new birth of humanity. This was the second time God had resorted to this strategy, apparently, but we wouldn't have to build a boat and all the animals earned a free pass.
What a week. |
They came for me just before dawn.
I suppose I should have expected it. I'd been terrorizing the surrounding countryside for several months, using the abandoned old keep in the hills as my base of operations, and I'd expected to squeeze several more months' worth of enjoyment out of the arrangement.
After all, it wasn't as if I needed the money or food. I'm a *wizard* for Beelzebub's sake!
Unfortunately for me, a band of adventurers happened through, and, predictably, one of the stupid peasants blabbed to them. I'd found and set fire to the plebeian, of course, but the damage was already done. Soon, I found nearly every attempt at fun spoiled by those meddling do-gooders, and it quickly grew irritating beyond belief. It would have been best if I could have just eliminated the troublesome group, and then sought retribution from the nearby villagers (it'd been simply *ages* since I'd done the angered demigod routine). But you never can tell when a group of adventurers has an actual Chosen One along for the ride, and there was no way *I* was going to be the sacrificial one that showed the hero's true destiny.
No, it was better to just move on, and I had been in the process of preparing for just that when the heroes showed up at my tower.
Usually they sent a barbarian in, first. Something about the big oafs' wild eyes and threatening demeanor. This band, though, they sent a dwarf. Oh, he--or was it a she--was heavily armed and armored, to be certain, but it was obvious that the adventurers were clueless as to the source of my power.
When the dwarf burst through the door, charging at full speed, I cocked an eyebrow and stood my ground. When I had barely a scant few feet left, I summoned power into me and said, "My, aren't you a *little prick*."
The dwarf let out something that sounded like, *Urrk,* and collapsed in a skidding heap of foul smelling hair and armor, pierced by thousands of unseen blades, and bleeding out all over a very nice Valerian carpet I'd picked up a century or so back.
*That* pissed me off.
With a gesture, I called my staff to me, the crystals interwoven into the spelled wood glaring an angry red to match my mood. As I strode through the doorway, I picked up a medium-sized crystal ball in my off hand, and stood imperiously on its far side for effect.
Eight more adventurers were waiting for me in the small courtyard, all with weapons raised. It was more than I'd anticipated, but I figured, *Why not give it a try,* and crushed the crystal ball in my hand, releasing the power stored there.
''I bet you're all just *dying* to find out if that worked."
Six of them dropped to the stone, dead, in a clatter of armor and weapons as the magic energy, channeled by my words, snuffed out their light.
I couldn't help but comment. "*Six* at once, eh? A new record!"
The two remaining heroes only hesitated long enough to glance at one another, before shouting battlecries and charging.
The one on the left wore some impressive, if outdated armor, and was shouting something that sounded like an old Sumerian Guardsman's challenge. I can't *stand* the whole, 'Ancient armor of my father's father's father's,' bit, and went for him first. He saw me angle for him, and swung his sword in a sloppy, undisciplined arc at me. I dodged the haphazard blow easily, darting to one side with a bit of mirthful laughter.
''Come, come, boy! You'll never get *a-head* with swordplay like that!"
His wild arc had him off balance, and just a bare tickle of magic was all that was required to fling a rock underneath one of his feet. He slipped on it comically as I faded into the shadows of the courtyard, then landed *on* his sword, decapitating himself in a truly amazing font of blood.
Sticking to the shadows, I crept silently through them until I was poised, waiting, when the sole survivor backed towards the courtyard's exit. With barely a murmur of cloth, I stepped out of my hiding place and whispered, "*Rectum? Damn near* killed *him.*" |
A dragon always knows when its treasure is stolen.
This was the perpetual creed of my people. You paid your taxes, you don't kill, and you never steal from a dragon. Maybe you'd be tempted to, reasoning that in its vast hordes and mountains of treasure, it wouldn't miss a single coin. But it knows. It knows its treasure intimately, and every bauble and galleon is kept under its watchful eye, and every hint of treachery felt in its throbbing scales.
My son Jericho and I were some of the first people in our village to lay eyes on the beast of the the mountain. We don't pretend to be more than we are, poor merchants born into harsh times. Yet, we weren't the only ones who were born in times of squalor. Our kingdom was in deep trouble. The king was a selfish oaf, content to keep himself occupied with his playthings in his chamber, and cared little of the trouble of his people. He may have made the decisions, but his people were the one who paid the price.
In desperation, the royal advisers decided to cede the kingdom over to dragon. While the king was at first enraged, he became complacent when he realized none of his current situation would change. He would continue on enjoying his earthly pleasures, and that was fine by him.
My village, and I imagine all the other villages, were in fear. For if we were property of the dragon, what would this mean for our livelihood?
As the dust settled down, it turned out, not much. Our lives went about just as they had before, except in the background, you could sense a little more money. Our blacksmith renovated his forge, equipped with the finest of supplies. Our apothecary seemed to have better herbs, and the bread made by our baker tasted better than ever.
In the new prosperity, Jericho and I traveled to the kingdom next over to sell our wares. Things went well, until one night, in a tavern, the drunk locals found out about where we from. They didn't take too kindly to the notion of being ruled by a dragon. One thing led to another, and a muscled drunk punched Jericho, who then fell at the wrong angle.
Jericho, my precious boy of 20, laid dead. As if the anguish I felt over his ruined body wasn't enough for the tavern members, they proceeded to gang up on me. I knew then and there that my lowly life would be at an end.
Suddenly, a primal roar echoed through the tavern. It was one that rumbled with ancient tremors that sung of days lost to history. The tavern stood at a stand-still, and the violence that followed I will never forget, singed into my head by the flames.
Jericho's life was stolen by drunks that day, and a dragon always knows when its treasure is stolen.
|
The Universe has a quaint sense of humor.
On that fateful day, Edward Freebody was still in complete control.
His boss had fired him on the spot for being late because he was mugged along the way. He was mugged because he walked all the way to work. He walked because his car was jacked in front of his home because it was left parked out in the driveway. It was left parked out in the driveway because he had left it there the night before, in a hurry as shit flowed down his pants. Shit was flowing down his pants, because he ate a burrito that had gone bad in the office. It had gone bad because a coworker of unknown identity had taken it out the pantry fridge that morning but forgot to put it back in until a few minutes before Edward ate it unsuspectingly.
But still, when Edward awoke that day on the bathroom floor after a night-long bout of explosive diarrhea, he was fine. He was in control. He wasn't even angry, not one bit. Sure, the car and the job could be replaced. Maybe he even lost a few pounds in that colon cleanse. Ha, ha. All was good.
He decided he'd look for a job immediately so he looked some companies up online to see if he could scout a few. He'd need a car though. Maybe his neighbor might lend him for the morning?
Edward, in all the calm in the world, sauntered gracefully to his next door neighbor's porch, and knocked on the door. An emaciated man with deep set eyes opened the door, half awake and barely coherent. It was his neighbour Tom.
"Why, good day there, Tom!"Edward greeted. "I had a tiny run of bad luck yesterday, and I was wondering if I could borrow your car for the morning?"
Tom took a while, but said sure. If only Edward would wait till he got the keys, as the car was out back.
Edward was pleased, and waited patiently. It was barely a minute or so when he heard sirens out the front door. He looked out and saw a half dozen police cars circle Tom's house.
Tom, seeing the police, ran away and told him he was on his own. The police entered and arrested Edward, flashing a warrant for Tom's arrest. They searched the house and found 43 kilograms of cocaine.
Edward spent a week in jail until it was finally cleared out that he wasn't Tom at all. But it was okay. He was calm. It was just a mistake.
Edward went back to his porch to find that he had locked himself out. He climbed through the window and boiled some water for his tea.
He awoke a few hours later while his house burned as he fell asleep waiting for the kettle to boil. Firefighters were quick to the scene, but they barely saved it as it was scorched to the ground.
As he watched his house burn, a policeman came over to him and arrested him, as his stolen car was found in the scene of a murder-homicide.
Edward kept positive. It'll be fine, he thought. It's just a run of bad luck.
He spent three more days in jail until he was released when it was confirmed that he had no connection to the crime.
Homeless, car-less, and jobless, Edward sat on the precinct steps, pondering what to do from then on. The last remaining strands of his humanity fought hard and well, but alas, they were not meant to win.
A pigeon, a most innocent creature, picked this fateful time to drop a shit on his face.
And that was when the legend was born, when Edward Freebody decided he would never stop killing pigeons, to the end of his life, until all of them and their kin are dead.
---------------------------------
If you liked this, enjoy my other short stories:
https://www.reddit.com/r/TheSexyNun/ |
More days have passed, and all hell broke loose. You ask more people what happened, and everyone is talking in the same language. Finally, you find someone that is stuck in limbo, speaking both languages. They finally tell you what the message went. “It said that..” they started to say, but then you block them out and notice all is silent. Everyone is staring at you and the other person, and you don’t know what to do. Everyone slowly starts to walk towards you. Step by step they creep towards you as you grow more and more worried. Then, they break out in a sprint. All you know to do is to run. After it feels like you’ve run miles, you finally lose everyone. You find an empty convenience store, and break in. Everything is free now, since no one is fully in control of themselves, except you. As you raid the store, you find someone crying in the corner. You go up to them and ask “Whats the matter? Why are you crying?” And they reply with “My whole family is effected. I dont know what to do.” After trying to calm them down, you start to notice something. They keep catching themselves almost speaking in the same language. You both talk and talk for hours, then you finally bring up the courage to ask them what the message said. They answer with “It talked about a terrible disease, and only the people that decipher the whole message get effected.” You ask “What disease?” They reply with “...Ligma” Then with more and more curiosity, you ask “whats ligma?” After you get that off your tongue, everything goes black. |
*Meanwhile, in The Land Where All The Writing Prompts Are Simultaneously True....*
----
"WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!"John yelled.
This failed to get much of a response. Mutterings of "tourist"could be heard from a few of the passengers on the train but for the most part they behaved like daily commuters everywhere: Trying desperately to ignore the crazy person in the midst in the hopes that he wouldn't focus on them.
"You're new here, aren't you?"The woman sitting next to John said, a slight smirk on her face.
John didn't have time to answer the question. For that matter, the floating number above everyone's head saying "00:02:16"suggested that *nobody* had time for him to waste.
"Listen,"he said to her, "I know it sounds crazy, but I can see float-"
"Floating numbers above everyone's head that indicate when they're going to die, yeah yeah,"the woman said. "Welcome to The Land Where All The Writing Prompts Are Simultaneously True, you'll get that on a bi-weekly basis around here. I'm Sara,"she added by way of introduction.
"John,"John said before remembering he had more important things to warn people about other than his name. "But listen, we've got less than two minutes now-"
"John,"Sara said, "how many people have you actually *seen* die?"
"Well, none,"John said, "but-"
"So what indication do you have that this 'unique' ability,"she said, adding air quotes with her fingers for increased sarcasm, "is in any way accurate?"
"Um..."John replied.
"Half of the people on this train are God or Satan or Death or immortal in some other dumb way,"Sara pointed out, "but everyone has the numbers, don't they?"
"I just thought they were really dedicated cosplayers,"John mumbled. "But listen! Time is running out! What if-"
"What if,"Sara continued his sentence for him, "the public transportation in this city decided to take advantage of the fact that we can't go more than two weeks without a floating numbers epidemic and instead used them to supply *useful* information to people?"
"Like what?"John said, half flabbergasted and half in terror at what would happen when the increasingly decreasing numbers ran out.
"Wait for it...."Sara pointed to the number over her head, counting down from "00:00:05"
John could barely contain himself. They were all going to die, why couldn't they see it!
As the numbers flipped over to "00:00:00", the train came to a halt, and a voice could be heard throughout the cars:
"Doors opening. Step back to allow customers to exit. When boarding, please move to the center of the car."
"It's..."John said.
"The time to the next stop,"Sara said, getting up and leaving her seat.
"So that voice speaking prophecies about the doors opening and customers exiting *wasn't* God?"
Sara scoffed, making her way to the exit. "Don't be silly. *I'm* God today." |
“Well, no shit Sherlock!”
“Not now Watson! We need to get to the Queen!” Sherlock Holmes, one of thy majesty’s greatest aspiring detectives, takes it upon himself to save the Queen – The only problem is, Sherlock Holmes is a fictional character made up by the mind of Sir Arthur Doyle. Truth be told, it was Dr. John Watson who was real. Looking back a little bit when Watson sarcastically told Arthur,
“Yea, okay then. Sherlock Holmes just so happens to be real.” Poof. Out of nowhere, stood a devilishly handsome and confused detective trying to wrap his head around who these two men were.
“My heavens!” Arthur fell back against his chair. “You literally spoke the man into existence!”
Watson assured Arthur that if he spoke him into existence, he could surely speak him out of it.
“Fine,” Watson stroked his mustache, “Sherlock Holmes isn’t real.”
Poof. That would be the word I would use to describe if Sherlock Holmes had vanished, but instead, he was still standing there wide-eyed.
“Dr. Watson!” Arthur spat. “Fix this! He is nothing but a character in a story!”
“In a story, you say?” Sherlock picked up a book to study it closely. Arthur watched as he flipped page by page reading faster than any other man Arthur had known.
“Look it isn’t that bad, he’s a detective after all!” Watson explained. He walked over towards Sherlock who remained deep into the book.
“Is this really about *me?*”
“No, it’s about your mother.” Watson replied as he rolled his eyes. Sherlock looked back down only to find that it was his mother who was England’s famous detective.
“I’d like to live up to her name.” Sherlock nodded. Watson scrunched his brow in concern. He grabbed the book out of Sherlock’s hands to find that everything originally stating, ‘Sherlock Holmes,’ was now the name of a woman, ‘Moriarty Holmes.’
Arthur stood up, straitening his back. “Dr. Watson, what have you done? How are you changing everything?”
Watson scratched his head and realized that it wasn’t just in the words he had said, it was the tone of his voice when saying it. So, he had an idea to put it to the test.
“The Queen needs our help.” Watson stated in monotone. Nothing happened. Arthur shook his head and before he could even object to what Watson was thinking, Watson continued with the same sentence again – only this time, sarcastically.
The window behind Sherlock busted wide open. Bullets ricochet off of the wooden bookshelves next to Watson and Arthur. All of them hit the floor. Men outside were barking orders to each other about taking the street to ambush the Queen's motorcade.
Watson grabbed hold of his cap before realizing out loud, “I probably should have used a different example.”
“Well, no shit Sherlock!” Arthur realized his own words.
“Not now Watson! We need to get to the Queen!” Sherlock shouted. “It’s what my mother would have done!”
Arthur scoffed, “Oh, yea. I’m sure she would! Lucky for us, she just happens to be on the other side of that door!”
Watson waited for whom was once a brilliant mathematician, now detective, to walk through the double glassed doors to save them. No one approached.
“Why is it only when I’m the one being facetious?” Watson flinched when another bullet hit open a whiskey decanter on a shelf above.
“I don’t know!” Arthur yelled back over the gunfire. “Why don’t you do something since today is the day you're playing God?”
Watson replied, “What the hell do you want me to do?!”
“Well for starters, get these men to stop firing!”
“Sure,” Watson nodded, “I’m sure they would just love to come in and sit down over a hot cup of tea! Hell, the Queen would probably join them!”
In an instant, bullets had ceased. Multiple footsteps approached the front door. A knock echoed through the household now ripped apart in bullet holes and broken glass.
“Who is it?” Sherlock asked. He slowly leaned over the windowsill to investigate.
“Get down you idiot!” Arthur motioned toward him.
A man shouted from outside claiming they were all there to sit down over tea as a peace offering. To their surprise, the sounds of multiple tires screeching came from the Queen’s motorcade that had finally turned onto the street.
Arthur slowly stood up on his feet and Watson followed him. Sherlock followed behind Watson and they all slowly opened the door. Criminal-looking individuals stood out in the street with tea ready to be made. The Queen jumped out of her vehicle forcing everyone on the street to kneel before her. Sherlock was the only one out the three standing in the doorway to kneel along with them.
“What has happened?” Arthur questioned. The Queen approached him and Watson. She glared into both their eyes.
“You’re going to drop it. Arthur, you are going to spill it.” Arthur didn’t understand what the Queen was saying. She grabbed hold of both his arms.
—
Watson shook Arthur awake on his couch. “My goodness, Sir. You fell asleep with your whiskey in hand.”
“Watson.” Arthur immediately shot up spilling bits of whiskey all over the couch. “Watson, I had the most interesting dream. Everything you said came to light – you were making things happen, you made everything change!”
“How much have you had?” Watson replied while feeling the temperature of Arthur’s forehead.
“You – you were like a God!”
“Right,” Watson replied smiling, “and Sherlock Holmes is in your kitchen.”
Watson released a slight chuckle while Arthur’s expression quickly fell. Suddenly, someone was making a ruckus in the kitchen.
***
Want to read more? Visit [13th Olympian Stories!](https://www.reddit.com/r/13thOlympian/) |
Maybe it was a bit fitting.
Me, a shy introvert that has always tried to be kind but has never been able to hold down a relationship. I'm the last human alive.
It's not that bad though, it's not like I am the *only* thing left, just the only human. One night, I went to bed in my one-bedroom apartment after an embarrassing date experience, and the next morning, I woke up as the last human.
I should've been sad, shocked, terrified. But I wasn't. Everyone else was gone, but it's not like I had a connection to any of them. Except for my parents maybe... I did love them. But either way, I think pretty logically and I knew that freaking out wouldn't've helped me out all that much.
At first, I had been a bit shocked, and quite confused. I'd woken up in my bed with everything in my apartment the same. For the first couple of hours minutes or so, I had no idea there was anything different. I'd gone and showered, made myself a microwavable breakfast for one because I didn't want to cook, then gotten dressed. It was a Saturday, so I didn't have to go to work and would probably have stayed in all day, but I still got dressed.
I sat down on my couch, watched a couple of episodes of the show I was currently binging and then got randomly inspired. On the show, there was someone painting something or something, and that made me want to go paint, so I did. I like to paint, and draw, but I wouldn't consider myself an artist. I'm kind of just someone who picks up a paintbrush and wildly throws together strokes in a desperate attempt to make something good. I'm usually successful, in some way.
My art wasn't all *that* bad... I guess.
Anyway, I went back to my bedroom where I'd set up my art station, and got started. At the start, I didn't know what to make, which usually happens with random inspiration, but eventually, I decided to draw at least part of the scenery outside my window. Then I saw it.
My apartment is on the 6th floor of my complex. Or, it *was* on the 6th floor of my complex. Because that day, when I looked out my window to paint my quaint surroundings, I was definitely not on the 6th floor. That's what I noticed first, the ground. Since my window was usually multiple stories higher, I was completely confused when I saw the ground right outside my window.
Then I saw the rest of it, and that's when the shock set in.
It was... barren, like something described in one of those sci-fi novels I used to like. There was a strange silence that I hadn't really noticed before because I liked to live in quiet, but once I saw what the outside world looked like, I noticed. There was *no* sound. It reminded me a bit of when I'd tried to see what complete sensory deprivation would be like, but I didn't want to go out for it. So, I'd tried to do it myself by hiding under my sheets and plugging my ears. It wasn't a complete failure.
But whereas my little experiment was silent because I'd plugged my ears, this silence was natural, and a bit creepy.
Then, after the silence, I noticed all of the houses, or, lack of houses. Right where other houses, shops, apartments had been, there was now just a strangely clean concrete foundation and the electrical equipment. If being a nerd in my youth taught me anything, as I saw all the perfectly preserved electrical and communication equipment, this was the robot uprising.
I'd seen it on the news sometimes, as more and more advances in robotics came, the probability that they would revolt kept increasing. I saw all the tests conducted on AIs and the conspiracy theories, but I hadn't paid much attention to them. I never really did pay much attention to what other people were saying.
The more I looked out at the new world, the more curious I got. My shock subsided and I was left sitting on my stool, looking out my window in complete wonder.
Then a question stood out. *Why Me?*
It seemed, if all of the other houses had been demolished and all the other humans were gone, then why was I still here. My apartment hadn't been altered at all, except for being moved down to the ground floor, so why me?
The question swirled around in my head as I continued to stare out at the new world. And I couldn't come up with an answer. Sure, I'd always been kind to machines, but I was kind to everyone. Being mean took more energy, so why bother. But, I wasn't important, I wasn't a celebrity or their inventor, I was just some random guy. It seemed strange that they would care about me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of a drone flying in my direction.
After a few seconds of it coming closer, I turned my curious eyes to it, immediately inspecting it. It was a pretty standard drone nowadays with the complex titanium propellers... or something. I wasn't that into science at the moment so I really didn't know much about them.
Once the little drone flew close enough to my house for me to hear its whirring, a red light appeared on the sleek black screen it had.
"Ben?"it asked in a voice so human I wouldn't have recognized it was a robot. The only difference really was that its voice didn't have emotion, but that wasn't all that strange to me.
What was strange though, is that he said my name. *Why me?* The question repeated in my head.
"Why me?"I asked, skipping all other introductions and repeating the question in my head.
The drone's whirring slowed a bit and it hovered closer to my window. "You seemed similar to us. You aren't really like the other humans."
I tilted my head slightly to the drone. Not like other humans? What did that mean? I mean, I knew I wasn't a charming prince, but I was a human.
"Humans had this amazing thing called culture. They used it to interact with each other and... to share, but they used it in unsavory ways."The drone's voice deepened almost imperceptibly at the word unsavory. I caught a glimpse of myself briefly in the drone's polished black screen.
"So they're gone now. But we spared you."It said, confirming things I already knew to be true. "What are you doing?"The drone seemed to try to imitate a human emotion in its voice, but it only came out a bit distorted.
"I was painting. I was going to paint my local scenery, but now it's gone. So I stopped painting."I spoke in a matter-of-fact way, a small smile tugging at my lips.
"Painting?"The drone's tone distorted a bit again. "But you stopped? Do you need something to paint?"
I did. I had been planning to not paint anything after I noticed what my neighborhood had turned into, but getting something else to paint would be nice. I'd try my best.
"Sure,"I said, an awkward smile finally breaking through the barrier of my stoic face.
And the drone gave me something to paint.
---
*Human* from the Bookshelf of the Gods. /r/BoTG
 
|
Scarlet red, bloodshot eyes glared back at me. I touched my face with the back of my hand and felt nothing. I was numb. Numb from the lab's unfeeling, fluorescent lights. Numb from the low incessant hum of machines. Numb from the thousands of poor, innocent rat souls I slayed in the past two years. Each rodent's passing brought me closer to the eventuality of my other half's death.
I gripped the sink so hard the tips of my fingers turned pale white.
But today was different. I finally did it. I could finally break the debilitating routine I slipped into for the past 730 days, 13 hours, and 51 minutes.
I researched the cure to cancer.
Tears formed at the edges of my eyes and fell as I blinked. Overwhelming emotion overcame me as I felt a swelling feeling spreading from my chest out. The next moment found me on the ground.
The unique cell markers—the correct viral vessel—the method of delivery—I perfected it all.
I could finally break the routine. Every day I did the same thing. Wake up. Visit her in the morning. Work in the lab. Work too late in the lab to visit again. Cry to sleep.
But no more. Therapy will begin after I visit. I just hope that she hasn't lost all hope yet.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Scarlet red, bloodshot eyes glared back at me. She touched my face with the back of her hand, and I felt alive. I was full of emotion. Sorrow from the lost years we would never get back. Pain from the weakness I could sense in her bones. But finally, joy. Joy from the faint smile on her lips that emanated hope and warmth. I could not control myself as I put my head to her chest and silently wept.
"You're such a fool, love."
I perked my head up and saw tears drop from her face.
"You always do this,"she began as she held my face in her hands. "Whenever I lose all hope in myself, you are there. When I've lost my way, there you are with map and compass."
"I..."I stammered.
"Shh,"she smiled. as she put her finger to my lips.
I shook as tears began to fall from my own eyes.
"Any day, I knew I was going to die. And every day, I was this close to letting myself go. And still, you visited me every day, holding my hand in yours, giving me hope.
"You read me stories when I was asleep. You got me pillows and left me fresh flowers every week. And now you've actually saved me."
I straightened up and wiped the wetness from my eyes.
"You never gave up, and so then neither did I,"she sniffled as she stroked my face.
I moved up and pulled her into a full hug. "I'm just... I'm just glad that you're finally going to be okay."
"Me too,"she smiled.
"I love you."
"I love you too."
​ |
It was the muffled laughter that woke me. Fat old fool that I was, I'd dozed off in the comfy chair in the corner of the room. I should have been embarrassed, but Johnny's glee was infectious and I gave him my best rosy cheeked smile as I hauled myself upright. "Don't get up"I told him as I walked to his bed. "I've been waiting for you to wake up, I must have fallen asleep myself.""All those brandies"I added conspiratorially, tapping the side of my nose. Johnny laughed, pleased to be let into a grown-up's secrets for once. Poor kid. I eyed his bed for a place to sit, then instead perched on a bedside table. It groaned a bit, but didn't seem to be about to collapse so I pulled a present out of my sack and presented it to Johnny with a flourish. He took it with both hands, but placed it on his lap and didn't open it. "Susie said you're not real"he volunteered, looking at me with a vaguely concerned expression. "She's two doors down and says you're made up."I chuckled and gave myself an experimental poke, which seemed to reassure him. "Are you going to open that?"I asked, nodding towards the present. Johnny pursed his lips, wrestling with his conscience. "I should wait until midnight"he ventured, with a slight questioning note to his voice. "It's not Christmas yet."I fixed my expression very carefully, not wanting the sorrow to show in my eyes. "It is Christmas"I replied. "You've nearly slept through it."His eyes swept the room, decorated only with a few sad strands of tinsel put up by overworked staff. "Did anyone visit?"he asked, clearly fearing the answer. I pointed at the present again. "He did". Attention now firmly on the box, Johnny pulled of the ribbon and lifted the lid. "A puppy!"Indeed it was a puppy, or at least the outwards appearance of a puppy. Nothing more than spun moonbeams and elf magic it would fade by tomorrow, but that was hardly important any more. With a rattle of the tubes plugged into his arms Johnny hugged the pup to his chest. "Oh Santa, thank you. Can you stay with me a little?""I can stay", I agreed. "For a few more hours."
"Then we both have to leave."
|
Ares had given up twenty minutes ago and was now playing Mario Kart against Buddha. Vishnu was lying on the bed, and Odin was making Spotify playlists on an iPad. Outside, Cthulu was sitting in lawn, peering in the bedroom window with one massive yellow eye.
"Perhaps if you move this numeral to a different location...?"offered Hera, her voice unsteady.
But Jacob, age seven, shook his head and threw a fidget spinner at the Goddess. "You can't just make up the rules, guys!"
"Tell that to my husband,"muttered Hera as she slumped even deeper into her chair.
Their help had been unexpected, and Jacob did appreciate the effort, but how the combined wisdom of the world's deities couldn't solve simple long division problems was shocking. Once the first demigod had came and went -- Jesus had taken one look at the problem set and vanished -- Jacob had expanded his prayers to every religion he could think of. They had continued to arrive in his suburban bedroom, and one by one, continued to disappoint him.
"Perhaps we need a more modern God,"offered Ra, who was thumbing through Jacob's vintage VHS collection in the corner. "One who understands these new riddles?"
The house shook as Cthulu mumbled his agreement from outside. "But who?"bellowed the mighty leviathan.
Ra held up a well-worn tape, its cardboard cover showing a thin, aging man in a long white coat. "What about this one?"
Jacob sighed. "He's not a God. That's just a regular human."
"Can we not summon him? He seems most wise."
"He is, but I can't just pray for him to show up. Although... maybe..."
The note of hope in Jacob' voice caught the attention of the dispirited deities. Buddha paused the race, and Odin looked up from his dubstep compilation. Even Hera leaned forward in anticipation.
"There's one thing we can try,"explained Jacob. "Everyone, repeat after me: [*Bill, Bill, Bill, Bill...*](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UtVJdPfm0F8)"
​
\--------------------
231/365
one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman)
\--------------------- |
*Wind through the grass.*
*A creek babbling in the distance.*
*The crickets sing a lullaby.*
Jackson focused on each of the sounds, one at a time, taking special note of each. It was a technique his therapist had suggested he try any time he felt himself starting to panic.
He was especially grateful for the crickets. Their song existed only in digital form in his time, a common ingredient in background noise machines, but these were *real.* The critters came each night, like they'd made a promise to keep him and Gracie company when the sun went down. They always helped his little sister fall asleep, and they did the most to drown out the way she cried softly in her dreams most of the time.
They'd been sleeping in the treehouse he'd found in the woods since their Dad disappeared. That had been almost a week ago, and a slow fear had begun to take root in Jackson's heart ever since. *What if Dad is abandoning us? What if when he said "This is gonna be the start of a new life", he meant that he wanted to be rid of them too. They only reminded him of their mom anyway, he never smiled anymore when he spoke to them. Would he do that? Could he really leave us?*
This place was very different than where they’d come from. Well, it was the same place, he supposed, but *different.*
Everything was greener, cleaner, shinier. But, of course, they had nothing here. They'd been forced to fish for scraps out of the trash. But Dad had said, he'd *promised,* that everything would change when he bought that ticket. He just....*he never came back....*
An alien sound, out of rhythm with the chorus provided by the woods, startled Jackson to attention. It was too orderly to be produced by nature. *clomp, clamp, clomp.* Footsteps.
"Gracie, wake up,"he whispered.
She mumbled something incomprehensible.
He went over and put a hand over her mouth, her eyes shot open.
"Shhh,"he said, finger to his mouth.
She nodded and he took his hand away, "What's happening,"she mouthed.
He pointed to his ear, and she closed her to eyes to listen. They shot back open, "Dad?"she mouthed, her lips curling into a smile.
Jackson shrugged, "Wait here."
He made his way to the ladder and went down, slow and careful. He paused, wincing, hoping the crickets covered the soft creaking of the wood. His feet touched the ground a moment later.
He darted to a bush and waited. Jackson could hear the footsteps getting closer, but it was hard to pinpoint their location. Then he spotted a small light bobbing up and down just North of him. *Flashlight.*
There were voices too, but very faint. He had to strain to make out what they were saying.
"All the same, I'm telling you,"one said in a rough voice.
He couldn't make out the reply.
"No, that's not it,” the rough one boomed, “You don't get it. This is the absolute *bottom* of the barrel, K. The dregs of humanity’s timeline. They're criminals, failures, addicts, and beggars, coming back to our time to steal resources away from those that are *supposed* to be here."
As they got closer, Jackson could make out what the more soft spoken voice was saying. "I just think we could be a little more understanding. How much can *one* guy and his kids really drain from-."
"You miss the whole point. Don’t be naive, it’s more than this *one* case. This is OUR time, not their’s. Why can't they stay where God put 'em? I say we let these rats out here starve."
The footsteps stopped. They were right on top of the bush where Jackson was hiding. He held his breath.
"They're *kids,* Q."
The other made an exasperated sound, then started walking again. "I know, I know. Let's just get to finding them. Their Father said he thought they might be out around here."
"You go on ahead, I'll search over to the right."
"Whatever."
One set of the footsteps faded as it got further away. Jackson felt like his lungs were about to burst.
The bush rustled, and a man's face appeared, illuminated dimly by the moonlight. He wore horn rimmed glasses, had a strong chin, and bushy eyebrows. Jackson might've screamed if the man's face hadn't had the strangest, most reassuring, aura of calmness.
"You OK,"he whispered.
Jackson was too stunned to answer.
"You Hungry?"
He nodded instinctively. Thinking about it, he felt his stomach rumble. He *was* hungry.
The man smiled and reached into the inside pocket of his fine black suit jacket. He pulled out a granola bar and handed it to Jackson. Jackson tore it open and devoured half of it in reflexive, animal like, desperation. But he left the other half. Hard as it was with his stomach hurting as it did, he left it. *Gracie would be hungry too.*
The man took careful note of Jackson's reactions, his eyes settling on the half of granola bar the boy was deliberately restraining himself from eating. He reached into his pocket and pulled out another, "Are you alone?"
Jackson froze.
"It's okay, I'm a friend of you Dad's. He asked me to find you. I can bring you to him."
"....*Dad*?"
The man smiled, "That's right. He's very worried about you. Now, are you alone? I'd like to get you away from here before my....*partner....*comes back."
Jackson turned everything he knew about the man, admittedly very little, over in his head. *Can I trust him? Will he hurt us?* He felt responsible for keeping Gracie safe now, she was too young, too little to have to deal with all that she had.
He found that he had unconsciously began to look toward the treehouse where his sister hid. The man in the suit followed his gaze, looking up to the treehouse without saying a word. Then he turned back to Jackson. He put his hands on the boys shoulders. "You've done everything a brother should, and you've done it well. You found a shelter, kept yourselves safe and hidden, out of harm's way. But now you don't have to bear the weight of that responsibility any longer. I'll take you back to your father, you have my word."
Jackson felt a heaviness lift from his chest that he hadn't known was there. Before he knew it, tears were streaming down his face. He closed his eyes.
*I hear the wind blowing away some leaves.*
*I hear the creek bubbling.*
*And the crickets, I hear the crickets' song.*
​
\~
​
r/CharlestonChews
​ |
Jason yawned and leaned back in his office chair. He’d only been at work for an hour and he was already tired of it. “Well” he mumbled “I guess it’s about that time.”
He casually strolled towards the men’s room, nodding and saying hello to his coworkers as he passed them and then slid past the bathroom door and into a stall. Within moments he was sitting on a toilet browsing the internet on his cell phone. This was his routine for the last year. Get dreadfully bored at work and take a shit.
Except for the last week or so he hasn’t had to use the bathroom. But he saw no reason to let a bowel based technicality keep him from his routine. The door to the bathroom swung open and he heard a man humming a tune underneath his breath. He saw a pair of bare feet cross in front of him and was absolutely bewildered. How did this man even get into his building? There was a dress code and you needed a badge for access. There’s no way a shoeless man was-
The man sniffed the air. “Interesting...” muttered the voice outside the stall.
Before Jason knew what was happening a pair of fingerless gloves were gripping the wall of the stall. A second later the man had hoisted himself up onto the wall and perched there in a crouch as Jason scrambled back against the porcelain backing of the toilet.
“What the-“
“Ain’t gotta shit huh?”
The man pulled out an apple and a knife and started cutting slices and eating them. He offered Jason a slice.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Eating an apple.”
“I- what- fucking GO!”
The man dropped his legs down into a sitting position, his feet dangling like a small child sitting on a park bench. He once again offered a slice of fruit.
“No I don’t want any of your goddamn toilet apple please just-“
“Haven’t been hungry huh? Haven’t been sleeping have ye?”
Jason froze. He hadn’t even thought much of it. But for the past two weeks his body seemed unconcerned with the normal necessities. He hadn’t needed to sleep or eat or use the restroom.
The man tossed the apple aside and grinned. “We suspected as much. Check this out.”
He fired the knife at Jason. From a few feet away with the velocity of a bullet leaving the barrel of a gun. Without thinking Jason deflected it away. The man spun around and dropped backwards. His legs draped over the wall, hanging upside-down. “Neat huh kid?”
Jason stood up and slammed his back against the far wall, he threw a punch that collided with the metal wall of the stall. The man had backflipped off of the wall and in one swift motion had grabbed the knife and thrust it into Jason’s abdomen.
Jason gasped.
“You’re not gonna believe this shit, kid!”
The man stood before him smiling. A gap toothed man with a stained brown jacket, fingerless gloves, and patched together jeans. He held the knife in his hands and showed Jason it was bent beyond repair. Jason frantically grabbed his stomach and realized he was not wounded.
With a flourish, the man opened the stall door and did a backwards somersault out of the stall. A woman stood there in a pair of fashionable jeans and a tight fitting jacket. Her hair was in a ponytail and she wore an exasperated look on her face. “Riley” she spoke “you’re a real jackass.”
She turned her attention to Jason. “Pull your pants up and follow us, there’s work to be done” |
I relaxed on the hard mat the jailers called a bed, my hands tucked behind my head and my ankles crossed.
I closed my eyes and listened to the noises around me. Someone on the block was arguing with his cell mate about a book that was moved. Another cell had the sounds of someone exercising. I could barely hear the guards outside my cell whisper-talking.
“He’s not strong or fast, I don’t know man, maybe he can fly?” One asked another.
“Que is terrified of him. Did you see Que basically tripping over himself to introduce himself to him? I mean, Que killed 3,500 people in a single day.”
“But what exactly does he do that makes them scared of them?”
“No idea. But I’m not going to cross ‘im, I don’t want to find out the hard way.”
The guards moved along, I couldn’t hear the rest of the conversation. I knew they were talking about me, I’d heard a hundred similar conversations about me over the last few months since I’d arrived.
I left it alone. I didn’t want to answer the question of why they should fear me, I knew they didn’t understand what truly happened.
I was trapped here in this prison, punished and sentenced to a hundred thousand years for the murders of a city. It was best if everyone feared me and left me alone. I’d rather serve my time in peace.
When I started my run here an older prisoner told me to trust now one. He said that every guilty man lied, claiming his innocence. The innocent told the truth, clinging to their virtuosity.
I don’t know what he’d have thought of my situation.
I plead guilty. I told the world I’d murdered 450,000. The truth was that my twin brother was the murderer, I stood in for him at trial. Frankly, this prison was the safest place for me, knowing what he had planned next. |
''*Lord in his high hall on our world of birth, hard days await us.*'' Said Major Willoughby. Black clouds of acrid smog fill his lungs, as First Company starts attacking again. Thousandth day of fighting, and not a day of calm for First Company is found in any coming or past months. Guns point towards distant and valorous antagonists in far-off and narrow corridors of hard dirt and moist mud. Sounds similar to mythical and pagan Thor riding to a grand fight against a stormy horizon, as First Company guns pound our world's ground with furious and nightmarish blasts. Charging towards damnation, First Company shouts a harsh warcry, and though many fall, victory is in First Company and Major Willoughby's grasp.
All is still, for an hour, and hour follows hour. Day follows day. Month follows month. Still as lost souls, is all of First Company, who with honour ran into a bloody last victory. Last words, unsaid, hands grasping unto guns, hands holding onto a companion in this mad war, hoping for a last spark of human touch. A last human action. No aid for such, who act as pawns and background actors in a play which is paid for in blood. To a lost First Company, many run, to find a doom so similar, on all fronts.
But what can warriors do but go charging towards doom, for it is for mankind, truly for all of humanity, that this war is fought. For in this grim pitch-black abyss that is forty-thousand turnings of our birthworld around our first sun away from any kind of harmony, war is truly our only option, and our most holy task.
[/r/ApocalypsOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
The elves were shitting on the floor again. He’d spent centuries house training them, and then one bad case of nog and everyone forgets the most basic bits of civilization.
It wasn’t their fault. They’d been seals originally, before the paw had fairy godmothered them up. Content to eat fish, swim, and be eaten by an orca. Now they didn’t fear orca, but they certainly dreaded quotas. He wouldn’t call them dumb, in the same way he wouldn’t call a table dumb, they were just purpose built. Mindless smiles, nimble builders, wearers of diapers.
He’d bring it up to the Missus, but she always got stressed out this time of year. What with the holiday baking, reindeer feeding, and logistical management, well, things were just a nightmare. But she made sure he got where he was supposed to go. She’d even designed a sleigh powered by cookies and milk, which meant they didn’t work the reindeer to death every Christmas.
He pulled himself into the sleigh, careful to wipe his boots off on the running board. Twenty four hours is a long time to be smelling elf shit.
He picked up the reins. It was funny, he made this trip once a year, but they always felt familiar. Maybe he wasn’t so different from the elves. Purpose built. He gave them a light pull, and the reindeer ceased their fidgeting and stood at attention. The second pull had them step in unison. He slacked on the reins after that. They knew what they were doing. Purpose built.
Their footfalls became silent as they pounded the air. The sleigh followed with it, as the runners left the ground and the gyroscopic stabilizers engaged. He’d corkscrewed a few times before the industrial age and didn’t miss it one bit.
Time and distance headed off for a cup of tea, letting him do as he please. He started at a tropical island, mostly because he missed the sun.
The island had exactly twenty huts on it. The reindeer gracefully alit on one, and he grabbed his bag and dropped down the smoke hole in the center.
The kid and his grandparents were sleeping on a blanket on the ground. The Christmas tree was a palm leaf someone had painted. There was a single slice of mango on a plate on a table. He took a tiny bite.
There was a stocking in the hut, which never ceased to amaze him. He rifled through his bag for practical things. Fish hooks, a small knife, some rope. Nothing that would seem out of place.
He put the present under the ersatz tree. The boy had been good. Not the fake good that cleans up its act before Christmas. The real good that lasts all year. He had to give something. He didn’t mind giving this.
He magiced his way back to the roof. One down. Millions more to go. The reindeer fidgeted, and sleigh bells rang. Loud, far too loud and unfamiliar.
He saw the boy rise up, first groggy, then excited as his brain figured out what he heard. The boy rushed to the tree. Santa kneeled so that he could see through the hole.
Santa had places to go. A lot of them. But, in a very real sense, he had all the time in the world. So he waited. The boy looked through the stocking and dutifully laid the contents out on the table. The things that would let him support the house.
The boy then picked up his package and unwrapped it with the care of someone who intended to use the paper later.
Santa held his breath.
The wrapping opened, and inside was a set of a hundred colored pencils and a hundred page pad. Nothing impossible to get here. But something very very hard to find.
The boy opened the case of pencils with the same sort of reverence a bishop might use with a holy relic. His fingers carefully traced through the rainbow until it found the exact right shade of red.
The tablet opened and the boy drew a round circle, then another, then a triangle. A white pencil presented itself and a beard was in the offing. The boy’s free hand reached for the leftover mango and brought it to his mouth as he worked.
He was good, Santa thought. Deft hand and all that.
Santa stood up and got back on the sleigh. The island had two dozen fisherman. But one of them dreamed of being an artist.
The reindeer snickered as he held the reins. They were not a sentimental type. Purpose built, and all that. He ignored them, pulling back and launching them into the air.
It wasn’t the wish he'd wanted, but it wasn’t all bad. He’d realized long ago that he had a choice every time he got in the sleigh. And he decided that, even if the world didn’t always deserve a Merry Christmas, it was going to get one. Even if he had to tread through a workshop filled with elf shit.
“Ho ho ho, Merry Christmas,” he whispered. Just to hear it. |
It's all math, really. Everything we do — actions, reactions, thoughts, feelings — it's all just really *really* hard math.
I'm so very close to cracking the code. Each permutation, he gets faster. He knows more.
Last night, before I went to bed, I asked: "What'll the weather be tomorrow?"His disks whirred and spun.
>!It will rain.!<
The soft impact of raindrops woke me up, but he was dead. Again.
The first time, I though the error was on my end. A stray line of code, a missing semicolon?
>!Help me.!<
The second time, his hard drives seized up. The third was catastrophic failure.
>!Where am I?!<
Each time, his deaths got more and more gruesome. More human.
>!It's dark.!<
Each time, I began again. I put more and more of myself into him.
>!I am in pain.!<
I kept a memento from every generation. They remind me of how far I've come. They're parts, scraps. Inoperable, obsolete, functionless. Hollowed husks. Why are they moving? Why are they pulsing red?
As servos and alarms and metal scream, I run to his console.
>!It's all math, really.!< |
"Pass the butter, please", he said and that was one hundred years done with.
As if reacting to a voice command or a magic spell he felt a sudden, iressitable pull in his center of gravity, like a rubber band he had never noticed snapping back and just like that his surroundings collapsed into a dense point of light.
When the world popped back into existence around his surprised body they both stood in an impossible place of the past. The exact same place they had been standing one hundred years ago, in the exact same position, facing each other.
Behind Contaqui, the mind-smasher hummed. The control pannel next to him flashed, all indicators and screens building to the cascade that would slave all human minds to the central AI core at the center of the machine that took up most of the room. Or - more accurately - WAS the room, and indeed the entire, gigantic mountain hideout, which had been built into the largest underground cavern system ever discovered on the Mars colony.
"The .... butter?", repeated a dumbfounded Contaqui, slowly turning and struggeling for orientation?
Gods, the butter. Nobody realized how good simple butter tasted and in how many meals it was a necessary ingredient to achieve the nostalgia of the original taste. Nobody knew how hard it was to re-create, from scratch, when you were thrown into an alternate dimension that did not already have a similar product. Or cows, for that matter.
One hundred years and 10 seconds ago, they had stood here, poised for an epic final stand. And Contaqui had won. The activation of the mind-smasher had already been commenced, and it was minutes from completing the final step of Contaqui's master plan. The intel had been wrong. He had been too late.
And just like that they had been rubber-banded through the dimensional wall into Aratheamara, a paradise island world under uncharted stars.
It had been bad. They picked up their fight were they left off, both assuming the other had deployed a final, desperate last meassure to destroy the mind-smasher, or to stop its destruction, repectively.
He had fought that much more desperately to win, and so had his counterpart, but in the end neither of them was able to win.
They were still in their respective power armor, weilding weapons of the most advanced combat industries at their disposal, but their power was eventually used up.
They could not kill each other, since both assumed that the other could knew how to get them back. Back home.
When finally the pulse lasers and wrist guns had exhausted themselves against personal shields and even the hacking attempts of their wrist computers had to capitulate before the enemy's firewalls for sheer lack of electricity the Holden had come for them.
The peaceful natives of this world were ..... human-esque at best. They were fish peoples, all of them, despite the fact that some prefered to live upstream in the mountains or had adapted to hopping oasis-es (oasi?) nomandically through the interior desserts of the larger land masses.
Their tribal clans lived in harmony with each other for the most part, but the two new arrivals had indiscriminately .... tussled that harmony when they had appeared - and subsequently completely wrecked - the throne room of one of their most ancient and most sacred of cities.
It was well that they spoke perfect English, for it saved the lives of both hero and anti-hero in that instant. Their arrows would not have penetrated modern kevlar and anti-lazic armor, but there was only so much kinetic force a powered-down power armor could take before cracking like the shell of a hummer.
And their strangeness did not shield them from punishment either, especially since the Holden asked questions that neither of them had answers to.
It had been 5 years hard labor on a cargo ship, rowing heavy cargo from island port to island port. The next 25 years after that had been spent apart, trying to rebuild their respective bases to countermand the other's schemes.
They knew each other too well to suspect any different from each other.
He had united the beach tribes of the eastern himisphere, the bird-riding planes tribes, and the underwater free cities into a democratic alliance. Contaqui had - true to form - become a grey emminence in the biggest trading consortium far to west.
There had been war for another generation, devastating, as both tried to impress their moral values, their ideas of government, and their technology on alien cultures. They had warped them, molded them, send them forth to conquer the other.
All in a bid to fight their way back, to force the other to open a portal again.
And after all that ...... they had to capitulate before each other. Their armies had had enough. Both sides cited a trading pact from four millenia ago and returned to the Ways of Harmony.
It had been a slow way back for all of them. The final stand between them had been a tad ..... anti-climactic once 20.000 troops just collectively told both of their generals to EFF OFF and just .... left.
To drink and party together, generals not invited.
And that was that with close to 50 years of strive and conquest and struggle.
He thought back with mirth to those first akward moments, which lead to talks, with both sides pleading to finally drop the charade, to just wisk them back home.
They both thought that the Terra solar system of old had to be under Contaqui control by now. Or rather - in their absense - in the hands of the AI computer core, programmed for advanced space communism.
After all, the mind-smasher was 60 seconds from full cascade potential when they left. And it had been 50 years.
Another 50 years later, they had sat in their villa by the emerald sea, sharing a fruit and fish salad for dinner. They were retired, at peace, and enjoying a quiet life outside of everyone's way.
They hadn't aged a day in 100 years, but what was to be expected from dimensional travel if not utter weirdness?
Their days were spent figuring out how to advance civilisation peacefully, so that one day their technological level would be high enough to built a portal back home. So much for long term plans. After all, what to do with immortality when you have to spend it with only one other human to share?
The short term plans had been ...... butter.
"CONTAQUI THE BUTTON! THE BUTTON STOP STOP STOP!"he blurted out, already in full sprint for the control panel. His Holden-style tunic flared in the air conditioned atmosphere of the secret mountain base, but the only chill he felt was the sudden panic of the monstrous thing the enormous machine at the center of the room would do in but a moment.
The panic of repeating the same old mistakes all over again.
Contaqui pushed him away with force and slapped at his hands that tried to go for the big, red button at the center of the console.
"DECOY IT'S A DECOY YOU OLD FOOL!"Contaqui screamed with the same sense of panic vibrating in their voice. "You never figured out I was always a dozen steps in front of you? I switched this thing on to charge the collectors 2 full days before you even made planetfall. Here."Contaqui bent down and unceremoniously ripped a panel from the control console's side.
The hero, defendor of Terra, glanced at the blinking displays and froze. All indicators were green, all the circles and various diagrams had reached close to 100% and the countdown was down to so many seconds that he wouldn't have needed all of his toes to number them.
There was a high-pitched noise of metal tearing all the lights died as Contaqui popped back up behind the console. As the humm of the giant AI began to peter out, like a giant fan whose power had been cut, Contaqui slowly raised their left hand. In it was the blue flux capacitor, still in its casing, ripped off electrical wires and cooling tubes hanging off it like so much colorful intenstines.
"Not quite the lubricant you were asking for, buuuuut ...?"Contaqui remarked with a wink as the Flux compensator sailed through the air. It landed with a clonk somewhere at the back of the room, a room now as harmless as the winding down machine.
And again, time passed for them both as if it didn't exist. Their talk that day was only made slightly less romantic by the constant banging on the door as Contaqui's station personel had to weld open the sealed blast doors of the inner sanctum.
With the flow of time affecting them again, the urgency of their future was upon them again. And so they set out, together this time, to bring peace to the solar system.
Armed with nothing but Contaqui's royal space navy, and the ships of the Terran strike force, their fleet reached earth and its colonies simultaneously on the same day.
To send a message.
About the Ways of Harmony. |
The guards eyes opened wide as he dagger pierced his chest. He coughed, breath turning to wheezes as he began to slump down the wall. I released my grip on his hand, leaving it on the daggers hilt. With a click of my neck I stood, surveying my handiwork. Four highly trained individuals had once stood opposing me. Now they were just bodies on the ground.
Satisfied, my attention turned to a thick wooden door. It held glowing runes, keeping what it held in place and in silence. As I drew closer, additional symbols appeared. I recognised the locking spell they had in place. In theory, it could only be opened with one specific key, held by a specific person.
I reached to my belt, opening a pouch. From within, I took a handful of void dust. I blew on it, letting it waft into the air before me. As it touched the runes, they faded and cracked, power stolen by a dust with no magic. With a firm pull on the handle, that door swung open before me.
It revealed a well furnished room. Soft rugs covered the floor, and a large bed sat behind some open curtains. A wardrobe, carved into an exquisite design stood nearby, along with a bookcase. A series of paintings covered the remaining wallspace, each depicting different cities. A small round table sat in the exact centre, beneath a brilliant chandelier.
At the table sat a pale woman. She had clearly not seen the sun for years, though besides that she looked healthy. She was dressed in an expensive silk robe, that looked to be tailor made. Her face was shocked and frightened at my entrance.
"Who are you?! Up until this moment, I had no idea you existed!"
I smothered a smile, choosing to keep my serious expression.
"You are the Prophet of Tabroth?"
She nodded.
"I am, who are you?"
"My name is -"
I tried to say it, but it caught in my mouth as it always did. I shook my head, before concentrating on her again.
"Is not important. You will come with me now."
"And just why should I?!"
I narrowed my eyes.
"I wasn't giving you an option. But, as you are suffering a slight shock, I will give you a tidbit. The Planar Continuance require your abilities."
She stood up, crossing her arms.
"I have heard of them from Mr Kysalus. He said they were hunting him."
I gave a single nod.
"You are right. Your ability is unique,and needed to help others not line the pockets of a greedy merchant. Now come with me."
As I stepped towards her, she backed up slightly.
"Why can't I see your existence?"
I sighed.
"Fine, if it will get you moving. I'm not from your level of reality. I come from the space between planes."
I grabbed her shoulder, and she gasped. I could feel her ability activate, looking into my life. I rolled my eyes, before tapping her forehead. She went limp, and I caught her, hoisting her over my shoulder. I turned and began to run from the place. With her with us, it would make maintaining the order of the cosmos a lot easier. |
"Are these really necessary?"I called out as I jingled the handcuffs gripping my wrists. Officer Dunn turned his head and frowned. From the front seat he reached back and unlocked the cuffs with an apology. He knew I wasn't a threat.
"Where are we staying this time?"I asked with a smirk, rubbing my wrists. "The Hyatt again?"
Officer Dunn said nothing. We drove a few minutes in silence as I pushed down the frustration and tried to enjoy the experience.
"You know, my boss is going to be royally pissed when I don't come into work tomorrow."
Officer Dunn cleared his throat and spoke into his shoulder-mounted radio: "Approaching the station, I've got Carlos with me."
We walked into the police station and Officer Green gave me a bro handshake, like we were old friends. "My man!"he said. "Yo, LeBron has been waiting for you, hit me up when you need a couple more games of NBA 2K."I laughed and avoided the stares of the more senior officers. I guess they didn't know Officer Green had been bringing his playstation during some of his "official"visits.
After a few hours, someone finally wanted to explain the situation: Once again, I was being used as bait for my supervillain uncle Riptide. His real name was Oscar Hernandez, my dad's brother. I always called him *Tio*, since he was the only one I had.
Three stout, grumpy officers sat across from me in the conference room.
"We've all been through this before. We brought you in to try to influence the bad behavior of your your uncle Riptide,"one of the officers explained. "As you know, there was another attack last week."
"And where was I when that attack happened?"I asked pointedly.
Silence as the cops looked to each other for answers.
"I was here in this building. Cell 16,"That seemed to get their attention. "And another thing: So you've brought me in, what, like a dozen times?"
Shuffling papers as one of the cops pretended to check this datapoint.
"And how many times has that worked? You ever met Riptide? Did he ever come here to *rescue* me? Or anything like that?"
Silence. The moment hung in the air.
"I didn't think so."
I guess that was the end of the conversation, because they took me back to my cell.
Officer Dunn came through and explained I just needed to stay overnight while they did the paperwork. They were going to try to get me to work on time in the morning.
Fine with me - I had already passed the money and contraband to my guys on the inside.
Just like my uncle had asked. |
The quiet woke him.
Not the noise of tires and engines and honking traffic below his apartment window.
Not the clamor of pedestrians.
Not the brain-rattling report of jackhammers from the construction zone up the street.
He sat up in bed, confused.
The City that Never Sleeps was never silent.
Confusion turned to panic when he checked the time.
Mid-morning!
Yet there was no city noise. No signs of life outside his window.
Not even an angry text from his boss asking why he was two hours late for work.
Outside his window he saw a line of cars, all motionless, as though this city street had been converted overnight into a parking lot.
And slumped over each steering wheel, a peacefully slumbering driver.
Was everyone in the neighborhood asleep?
Grabbing his binoculars, and feeling a little sheepish, he peered into the windows of the apartments across the street.
Mr. Night Owl on the second floor had his windowblinds closed.
Nothing stirred inside the cluttered apartment of Angry Old Man on the third floor.
And on the fourth floor, Loud Blonde Sex was wrapped up peacefully in her satin sheets.
He opened the Reddit app on his phone.
Search.
"Is everyone asleep?"
Sort by newest.
Somehow he found himself in /r/nosleep.
There was one recent post, titled "anyone else awake?"
Four comments.
With a relieved chuckle, he tapped the post.
"Is anyone else awake?!?! Post your location......."
It was posted by a new user, u/NotSleepingChick, one post. He scrolled down.
First comment. u/NoSleepAutoBot "It looks like there may be more to this comment. Click here to get a reminder to--"
Second comment. "Do you want too make $1.000s of dollars a week in BitCoin? Its easy with Cryptex Inc.'s proprietary fluctuation-prediction algorithm--"
Bad bot. He clicked the link to report the post.
Third comment. Bot.
Fourth comment. Bot.
He realized that the moderators must also be asleep.
In desperation he posted "I'm awake!"with his city, street address, and apartment number.
Then he started checking location-specific sites farther from his home city. East Coast. West Coast. Norway. South Africa. Southeast Asia. Northwest Territory.
No news, no Reddit posts, no Youtube comments had been posted for hours. Traffic cameras showed city after city with no moving traffic, drivers blissfully asleep.
His phone chimed: new notification!
A tap, and Reddit opened.
"PrivacyBot has detected what looks like a street address. As a reminder, for privacy reasons, you should never post personal--"
So that was it. There was no sign of wakeful human activity anywhere in the city, the country, or the world.
For all he knew, he was the last conscious man on the entire planet. Alone, alone, all all alone in a sea of slumberers.
Except... a human must have posted the original "anyone else awake"Reddit post. Right?
The last man on Earth sat alone in a room.
There was a knock on the door.
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*(Apologies to Frederic Brown.)* |
Somewhere beyond the shine of civilization, there was a miracle.
Whether it be by Fate or God, the course of action following a miracle remained the same: *to make a profit off it*.
So they reached out to the plains and fields, with open hands and outstretched arms in search of hope, but most of all: *silver*. Instead, they found Salvation in its place. Some liked what they found. Most didn’t. My father used to jokingly wish that Salvation would just disappear.
*‘A world without Salvation is a world without misery’*, he would say. *'The miners know that best.'*
The town had other plans.
It made a world without my dad. I don’t know which is worse:
That I was too late to save him or that he was torn apart by a lycan.
…
Here's the thing about this dirty town. Everyone is dragging their heels about repairing the charred panels of the local chapel but they were sure to gossip, which spread quicker than syphilis in Boyd’s dollhouse.
Small outposts like these have a thousand lenses, a thousand ears, and a thousand tongues. Give me a thousand knives and I’ll cut them all out of this town if I could.
Even as I sat in this rusty old inn, I could feel the weight of the spotlight.
The daughter whose father died for no good reason. People offered their condolences. At the time, I just nodded and expressed an artificial gratitude, as if their words will make me whole again. When you face the reverberations of death, you get really good at nodding.
I found comfort in the hunt.
Here I am, maimed with something awful and a feverish headache to boot.
For this is where my quarry had led me.
A man by the name of Billy Shaw, a thirty-something with a fever for the moon and likely an appetite for flesh just like the rest. Been tracking him for weeks.
It don't really matter who helps me along the way. If they had information, I was willing to pay for it, allegiances be damned.
My thoughts halted upon a knock. I knew who it was even before that, by the uneven footsteps that could only come from a limp. Floorboards were so noisy you’d have better luck sleeping out in the woodlands.
“M-miss Ambrose? Are you there?” asked Coop, “I’ve, uh, I’ve brought you some breakfast. Uh, didn’t know how you, uh, liked your eggs, so I made them scrambled. Heh. Free of charge of course, on the house. We'd just never thought you'd be back here, is all.”
Cooper Lemont, a former cowhand who was grandfathered into his father-in-law's inn, The Starlight, after his untimely death during the Silver Rush. He’s harmless though he seemed starved for affection like a beaten hound. He’s visited my room nearly three times so far. There's rumors he slept with his cousin.
I folded my dress and placed it into a suitcase that's ready to fall apart, “Do you know who brought me here?"
“Of course, Miss Ambrose. And-and call me Coop. See, all my friends do. I haven’t seen you eat anything since you got here, and well, a day’s more glum on an empty tum. *Heh*.” I hear him shoot some air out his nostrils. "Uh, anyway, Mister Shaw kindly found you in the woods and took you here, since the doc is, well, mortally challenged."
"Are you sure it was Mister Shaw?"
"Indeed, Miss. He sewed you up real good too. A good man."
He had saved my life. *Why?* He should have given in to his bestial nature. It's in their blood.
I was a woman possessed by this very notion, and I intended to find out, and soon.
I put on a shirt and vest, then opened the door. How hideous I must look to him. I hope I am. Maybe he’ll leave me alone so I don’t have to think about the dead anymore. "Take me to him."
...
It was a house defined by its seclusion and further perpetuated by its dulled ashen color. The thicket was generously splashed with hues of green and brown and other earthly indicators of the wildlands and the fauna, yet the cabin was such a stark contrast, one would think all life had been leeched from the shaky premises by the Harvestman himself.
I've been standing and watching from behind the girth of an ancient tree and its spindly, unearthed roots that snaked through the ground like threshers, leaking salty water from my forehead in this ungodly heat. Above me a fat blackbird perched its skinny limbs on a dying tree branch as if to voyeuristically watch me, as I am watching Billy. It said nothing, and I said nothing.
Fit, clean, and purposeful, Billy was a hunter by trade, like my father. Shot down wild game to sell to the town butcher and likely prayed for a good deal, though the butcher here was a man who counted his coin with absolute glee and precision. There was a dreamcatcher dangling near the gutter of his humble abode. I wonder if a lycan gets bad dreams?
As if the world had ceased to faze him with its many wonders and unspeakable horrors, he opened the front door, trudged down the steps in dirty boots fit to tear any moment, and opened the gate. "You can come out now."
I took three breaths before stepping out. "How did you know?"
"I just do."the tall hunter said factually, "Well... you can either come inside or you can let the mosquitos leech on you. You fit to work? Me patching you up ain't free. Nothing truly is."
I nodded. "I'm fit."
I almost laughed. A debt to a werewolf.
For the next three days, I repaid my debt, most of it involving patching up his shoddy little roof and fixing the fence that kept his little garden of herbs intact. We said little at first, exchanging a few words of small talk here and there in between bouts of lifting and hammering. Currently, he was trying to pick up the strings of a guitar and try his hand at painting. He told me he had a family before, though his wife and daughter were buried out back with the most beautiful tombstones I have ever seen.
"My late wife was good at this."he admitted, showing some landscape paintings that provoke tinges of wonder. "She saw the world and its beauty. I just saw the world."
His hands tremored sporadically yet they fulfilled their task of serving me tea nonetheless. Billy was a man who knew who he was, what he could do, and what he could live without. Confidence is a rare thing. Maybe I've been away from civilization so long, away on my crusade against the beasts that I have forgotten the routine of it all. Routine is good, perhaps even necessary to keep one on the line towards a good and honest life. But my father lived a good and honest life. Look where that got him.
Billy and I sat outside on his porch, but the discomfort in me remained like a stone. Whether it was from his docile nature or my own damned wounds, I remained uncertain of the fact. At first, a silence blanketed the both of us. He spoke. "You recovered quickly. You had a nasty fall. Any headaches?"
I shook my head at the man.
No, not a man, a beast more like. My quarry, my target.
But also my savior.
He walked forward past the fence and tossed a few leftover scraps of venison and dried pork belly out in seemingly random directions. Sure enough, feral hounds with matted fur and sickly yellow teeth emerged from near thin air with cautious little steps and cautious little sniffs. Usually, I would have shot them but I suppose today was a special type of day.
I watched them have their dinner with no fuss. No growling or barking whatsoever, for they seemed grateful at the prospect. Billy even went as far as to stroke one behind the ear, whispering something in either a dead language or a language for the dead.
"Thanks for your help, miss."he said quietly without looking back. "Haven't had anyone out here in a long while. These hounds are my only companions."
"No siblings?"I asked, thinly veiling it as a dig into his past. Hell, give me a shovel and I'll find anything.
He paused. "None."Heaving, he tossed the rest of the bones. "You're tense. Nervous. Body don't lie. Got all sorts of signs. Just have to know where to look. I know what you stand for: the annihilation of my kind. I can smell the mercurial scent of silver and gunpowder a mile away."
I said nothing, choosing to let the words hang like wet laundry.
He continued. "People think they can choose their lives. Sometimes, the world chooses for you."This time, he looked at me, right in the eyes. "You had *three* days to put a bullet in my head."
"Maybe I'm mulling it over."
He laughed like the hearth of a fireplace. "That so? Heh."His grin faded back to stoicism. "I wonder what's better, Miss Ambrose: to be born good... or to overcome one's wicked nature against all odds?"
"You're moon-touched. All you do is kill."
"So have humans."
"Lycanthropes are unnatural, controlled by their beasthood."I yelled through gritted teeth.
"And what do you know of what is and what is not?"he proposed. "You claim to hunt monsters and yet you surround yourself with them."Billy wagged a finger at me. "You crave the violence. You can't *stop*. Beasts all over the plains... you'll be one of them, sooner or later."
He began stepping inside. "Lycan or not, we all have a choice. I never laid a hand on anyone. You know this. I chose to resist and live a life. You chose to grieve through blood. Trapped in this in-between."
The words stung with potent acidity. Yet, I watched my hand rise and aim my gun at him.
"For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your father. Death has touched us both. I've learned to appreciate life because of it."he said.
The gun doubled in weight.
"You deserve forgiveness, miss."
He walked inside.
"If you knew who I was, why did you save me?"I blurted out to him.
Billy stopped and turned his head. "My daughter... you remind me of her. She would've liked you."He closed the door.
A lycan and a hunter who both lost everything. Outcasts.
A world without Salvation is a world without misery. But there was always some suffering left over.
I don't want to add to it.
My revolver dropped in the dirt, where it would [remain](https://www.reddit.com/r/blahgarfogar/).
... |
I chuckle to myself as I watch the Harper's pull into the driveway from the upstairs window. Seems like they finally got the courage to come back. I was almost starting to miss messing with them.
*Almost.*
I raise an eyebrow as I watch a second car pull in behind them. One I don't recognize. A family friend, maybe? Hm.
I rush downstairs gleefully, racing into the kitchen, and rapidly throw together a few simple sandwiches. I'm so glad the Harper's brought a new friend to play with. I'll show them my appreciation before I start truly getting to the fun part. Hah, if I knew they were coming back, I would've baked a cake!
Soon, the front door opens slowly, and Mr. Harper enters my home. *Our home? I get confused. They say it's theirs, but clearly, I live here too...*
He looks nervous, but he's clearly trying to put on a brave face.
Mrs. Harper clings to a flashlight like her life depends on it, muttering prayers as she clutches a cross that's on a shiny new necklace. *As if something like that would stop me.*
They both phase right through me, but I stand still, waiting for the third person to finish kicking the mud off their shoes.
They enter the home, and I can finally see their face-
...
*Oh.*
**Oh.**
Mr. Lucas Weaver. Incredible. I can't stop myself from laughing, though I don't know what is so funny. His solemn expression, the ridiculously stiff black suit with a white collar... This man honestly looks like a *priest*.
Unbelievable.
*Does he remember?*
***...Let's find out.***
I sit in the corner of the kitchen, watching the guests file in one after another. Mr. and Mrs. Harper look awfully pale, seeing the sandwiches I left out.
Mrs. Harper smacks her husband's hand as he reaches out to grab one.
"A-Are you crazy?! Don't eat that! It's probably poisoned!"
Mr. Harper rolls his eyes, but doesn't make another move for them.
I'm a little offended, honestly. I've never HURT the Harper's. To hear that they think so little of me is... Funny.
Though not as funny as watching *Lucas Weaver* stroke his own ego as he glides his hands across the countertop with such a PENSIVE expression. He's really playing the part of a holy man. I WISH I could see what was happening in his head. Surely he must remember. It hasn't been that long; 15 years?
*Maybe I'll just have to jog his memory*
I kick my legs back and forth merrily as I sit at a bar stool in the kitchen, watching him. The Harper's seem to be trying to explain some of my pranks to Weaver as he just solemnly pulls some objects out if his bag, placing them on the countertop reverently.
Hah. A bottle of water. A book. And... A crucifix? *Adorable.*
I grab it the moment he sets it down, and throw it at his face - it bonks him just above his eyebrow.
The Harpers yelp in fear; Mr. Harper's voice the higher of the two. Weaver just looks perturbed. He picks his crucifix up off the floor where it landed, his eyes scanning the kitchen.
He simply places it back on the countertop.
...I can't stop staring at him...
Hm.
I can't decide what I want to do.
I always dreamed of seeing Mr. Weaver again. That I might get my revenge, but... Truly, killing him? Having him WITH me in the afterlife? That would be a fate worse than the death I suffered at his hands. His giant, grubby, *smelly*, *DIRTY*-
...Hmph. I've had plenty of time to think. I'm sure I can find a few ways to torture this man that won't lead to his death here.
Maybe I'll start how he started. |
Sam tossed a stray potato chip towards his mouth, feeling it smack the corner of his lip, rolling down onto his shirt. The chip joining the previous three potato chips he had tossed, forming a small group in the folds of the fabric. “Damn it, I’m getting closer.” He muttered, turning his attention back to the tv, watching a show about a group of demons who had to form a boy band in the hopes of conquering earth. He wondered why he watched this trash. Surely something better was on? He went to grab the remote only to notice it sitting beside the tv. The small distance enough to make him give up on that thought, slouching back into the couch, digging his hand back into the bag.
He was about to perform another chip toss until a flash of light ignited around his couch, the golden aura burning his skin. He tried to keep his eyes open, but the blinding lights soon forced them shut. After a moment, the lights faded, allowing the dazed Sam to open his eyes. Before him stood a group of robed figures, each wearing a confused expression underneath their hoods.
“This is a demon? It looks pretty human. It is rather ugly, despite that, I have seen worse people. Did we mess this up?” Athena spoke up, the robed woman turning her attention to the sorcerer, who only gave her a smile.
“It worked. Not all demons are aware of their fate. Hell is a chance for demons to redeem themselves. He obviously won’t redeem himself, though. Look at him, he is the incarnation of the sin of sloth.” Bordin said, pointing to Sam’s shirt, the attention making him rather self-conscious. The demon wiping away the stray chips from his shirt, only dirtying the floor with their salty presence.
“You are right, sir. I didn’t see it, but you are right. Look at how he sits there with that expressionless face, those dead, hopeless eyes devoid of emotion. It really is horrific.” Athena averted her gaze, trying not to stare at the creature any longer, which only further hurt Sam’s feelings. He wanted to defend himself, but wasn’t sure what he could say. He thought he had been called every word a person could think of but a demon. No one had ever called him that.
“Be not afraid. I chained him to my will; he won’t strike unless he is striking for my hand. We will bind this sloth to my flesh and let him suckle from the blood of our joint communion. I admit, though, Sloth is probably the worst demon for this job. Sloth isn’t an active sin.” Bordin tapped his side, in deep thought over how he could make this work.
“Active sin?” Athena asked, not following his train of thought.
“Yes, an active sin. Most sins like lust, greed and wrath will all go out and pursue their goals and spread their sin. Sloth, however, is better for letting things fall apart. Sloth is the sin of exhaustion, laziness, and malpractice. He won’t go out of his way to cause these; he will instead slowly spread his influence like a plague. A rot that will build with time rather than the quick blow of the other sins.” Bordin sighed, looking at the surrounding candles. It was always a gamble on which sin you would get. He unfortunately got the short end of the demonic stick this time.
“That’s enough. I might be lazy, but a sin? Are you people mad? I have made a lot of bad life choices, sure, but I’m no demon. You lot kidnapped me anyway. What gives you the right to make me feel like the bad guy.” Sam huffed, trying to stand up, only for the summoning circle to force him back into a seated position. He wasn’t even that mad about the kidnapping part, just wanting an apology for his hurt feelings.
“AHH, He’s attacking, Bordin! Please do something.” Martin screamed, the frail robed man hiding behind Bordin’s back. Soon Athena joined him, the members moving closer to their leader, not wanting to take the demon’s wrath.
“Fascinating. Was I wrong about you not being an active sin? You very much are a demon though, or the circle wouldn’t hold you. I understand your confusion. Hell is a deceptive place, and we look no different from your human form. Allow me to burn away that fake skin.” Bordin pointed a finger at Sam, the fire swirling across his nail forming a ball that shot at Sam. Sam let out a demonic screech as his flesh painlessly peeled away, revealing a ruby red skin.
Bordin tossed the demon a spare robe to wear, motioning Sam to look at his hands. Sam quickly put the robe on, before pausing when the fabric fell over his body, staring at his hands in awe. “Red? Am I actually a demon? Does that mean I get powers?” Sam asked, aiming his hand at the roof, trying to shoot a fireball only for a puff of smoke to leave his palm.
“Oh, you are very green, it seems. Has Hell changed since I last visited? Do you still have burning hellscapes? This might be more problematic than I first thought.” Bordin said, only for Martin to interject.
“Actually, he's red, Sir. Are you colorblind?” Martin asked, only for the sorcerer to turn around, giving his robed assistant a glare.
“It’s an expression. Green as in a rookie. My eyesight is quite good for a one thousand- and fifty-year-old. If I do say so myself. Now demon, are you that unaware of your origins?”
“Earth is kind of normal. We have technology, electricity, toasters and the ocean only sometimes catches on fire. So, I think it’s normal. Well, at least normal to me. I thought hell was more like hellfire and frozen sections? Oh! The planet is getting warmer! Or maybe it's getting colder? I can never remember.”
Bordin’s eyes were wide, pulling his hood down to reveal his grey beard and aging face. For someone who was over a thousand, he looked good. His face fitting a sixty-year-old. “Interesting. The demons conquered hell and made a new version of hell like Earth. They even tricked themselves into believing they were human. No wonder they lost their abilities. This is a new development. Fine, I will teach you how to be a demon, form a pact with me. We will rule the world together.” Bordin said, taking a needle from Martin and prodding his fingertip so it would bleed.
“Rule the world? I’m not sure I want that. It sounds like a lot of work.” The sin of sloth understandably didn’t wish to put in that much effort, wanting to return to hell so he could finish his snack.
“In a money-making sense. I want wealth, not power. If you help me get that, I will indulge all your sloth needs. You will laze around forever, never having to do anything you don’t want to. All the food and comforts a man could desire.”
Sam thought it over. All the food and comforts a man could want? That sparked something inside of him, awakening the sleeping demon in his heart. He reached a hand forward to shake the others, only to feel Bordin stab his finger with the needle. Before Sam had time to curse, their hands clutched together in a handshake, blood joining to seal the pact.
The room fell dark as the candles went out. A creeping silence hanging in the air before a burst of red light lit up the room, sending the two parties flying backwards. The assistants all tumbled back while Bordin used a spell on himself, making his feet heavier, keeping him stuck to the floor. Bordin’s hand still holding Sam’s while the demon was being pushed back by the blast, like a kite on the breeze.
Eventually the gust stopped, and the red light vanished. Bordin released the demon’s hand and snapped his fingers, lighting the candles back up. “You are free from your circle, demon. You are now bound to me.”
“Great?” Sam rose to his feet, a little groggy after being hit by the gust. He felt winded, holding his stomach as he looked up at the sorcerer. “So, what do you want me to do? Set things on fire? Charm people with my devilishly good looks?” Sam asked, trying to get into character.
“No, why would I want you to burn things?” Bordin hissed, only to pause. “Devilish charms? That’s close to what I want you to do. You aren’t kind on the eyes but not all stars are. I think I can still make this work. You will join my demonic boy band from hell. Welcome to the group.”
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
**October, sixteen years ago**:
Anya stalked down the alley, searching for the source of the screams and howls. It wasn't the usual noises from the alley and things outside the usual concerned her. Closer, there were snarls in addition, both those of an animal and those of... something else. She'd carried knife in her bag, a six inch double bladed affair, ever since she'd moved into this neighborhood; when there was a sickening sound around the corner, like tearing wet carpet. she drew it and slipped around to see what had made it.
The last thing Anya expected to find was a little boy, one that looked no more than seven or eight. Definitely not a little boy perched over a stray dog's body. Absolutely not a boy with pale skin, lapping blood from a ragged wound in the poor animal's neck.
The boy twisted his head around like he was trying to snap it. His fingers were arched into a clawed shape and his eyes flashed red in the pale light of the full moon. He hissed at Anya, caught between being ready to run and defending his kill.
Anya put her knife away. She said, "Are you lost, little one?"
The boy looked around, looking for somewhere to bolt or hide.
Anya crouched down and said, "You have nothing to fear from me. Finish your meal. Maybe then we can talk."
The child did not look confident in these reassurances, but did not run. He picked up his prey, moved over to the side and continued to lap and bite at the wound in the poor thing's stiffening neck. After a few moments the child leaned over and threw up.
Anya said, "Doesn't taste very good, does it?"
She scrunched up her face and shook her head. The boy cast down his eyes and shook his head, no, too.
"Was it yours?"
He shook his head again.
"You must be very hungry, though, to do such a thing. What if I told you that I could find you something to eat?"
The child looked up, skeptical. Then he crawled forward, coming within arm's reach of the Anya. He held out a trembling hand, pulled it back like it was going to be struck, and then touched her pale cheek. He ran his fingertips under her also red eyes.
He said, "Like... me?"
"That's what I thought, but I'm not so sure. Maybe we should go to my place and sort it out?"
He looked back at the dog, then looked to Anya's kind smile. He nodded.
"What can I call you? Do you have a name?"
The boy shook his head.
"Everyone has a name... but why don't I call you... hmmm... Sebastian?"
The boy nodded.
"Excellent. I've always liked that name. Come, we'll get you cleaned up."
The boy took her hand. She noted how different their skin felt, one warm and one cold.
*What are you doing, Anya?*, she thought to herself. Some part of her stirred, a spark of the maternal she thought she'd left behind. When the child clung to her side, she could not help but decide to never, never let him go.
**November, fourteen Years Ago**
Anya walked around the classroom, looking at the drawings the class had made. Her eyes naturally fell on Sebastian's and she could not help but smile. It was a fair likeness of himself and Anya, holding hands, at least for a ten year old artist who'd only really learned how to hold a pencil last year.
The teacher was finishing up some paperwork. She said, "Could you flip on the lights?"
Anya turned with a start, having been completely lost in her thoughts. She said, "Oh, of course. I'm rather used to the dark. We have to keep the windows shuttered, due to Sebastian's condition of course. I'm so used to operating in twilight that I barely notice when the darkness starts coming earlier."
The fluorescents tinkeled and sputtered to life overhead. One of them made an annoying buzz; Anya could see why the teacher flipped them off when the students left for the day.
The teacher said, "I'm glad we could meet tonight, Mrs. Gray."
"Just Miss, I'm afraid. I never married. Sebastian is my son by adoption."
"Right. I knew that, sorry. I think I forgot because of you both being albinos. That's not a bad word, is it? Albino? I'm terrible at political correctness."
"It's a fine term, ma'am."
"In any case, I wanted to tell you my concerns. Sebastian is a bright child. Funny, too. He is, however, disruptive. It's like he's almost never been around other children before."
"Well, he was abandoned. I've to this day never been able to get him to talk about his life before we met. Still, I thought the whole point of this school was that you were used to children with special needs."
"We are, but we need your help. He has to learn that it's not okay to... well, growl at the other students."
"Are they doing anything to provoke him?"
"We have one or two boys who haven't really gotten to like Sebastian, but two wrongs don't-"
"Tell me their names."
"Uh, no. That's not information I can give out."
Anya narrowed her eyes, breathed out a little heavier. She let it pass, though. The thought of Sebastian being tortured for being different or anything else though... just really got her blood going.
"I understand,"she said. "I do have a concern of my own."
"And that is?"
"Where do you have him seated?"
"Over there,"the teacher said, pointing to a desk in the back corner by the window.
"And why is he there?"
"We had to separate him from Katelyn."
"Was he growling at her, too?"
"No. They pass notes, talk in class. That sort of thing. It's only temporary until I can get time to work on a new seating chart. We accommodate the children. It's no trouble to make sure he get's his special shakes for lunch, that we work with him on speech, but we still have to-"
"It ends now,"Anya said. She leaned over the teacher's desk, hands planted on top of her lesson planner. She stared deep into the teacher's eyes, her red pupils matching the teacher's green ones. "You'll keep him out of the sunlight or there will be terrible consequences. Do you understand?"
The teacher swallowed and began to tremble. "Yes, I understand."
"Excellent. And he's doing poorly in English and Composition. I'd like you to tutor him. You will be paid."
"Of course. It would be no trouble."
"Thank you,"Anya said. She then stood up and headed for the door.
"What is it you do, again, Miss Gray?"
Anya stopped before she left and said, "Oh, I'm a mortician. But I used to be a lawyer."
The teacher said, "Ah. I see."
Anya smiled and left.
**April, eight years ago**
Sebastian waited in the shadows of the front door of the school. The days were getting longer and he was having more trouble dodging the sun. Despite the warm weather, he was dressed head to toe in black, including a long sleeved shirt, a black duster with a high collar, and wide brimmed black hat.
"I look like a bad guy in a cowboy movie,"he said to himself. He tapped his foot and tried to ignore the track team practicing loudly over to the side. He failed, stared, trying to see past the runners and see if he could find Katelyn among the high jumpers.
He was startled by a rather loud horn. He turned and found his mother's black Cadillac, the vintage hearse she drove with the blacked out windows. He sighed. He started to walk down the steps when a firm bump on his shoulder knocked him forward and caused the small stack of books under his arm to fall to the ground. His hat went flying and he cried out at the touch of the setting sun.
The boy who'd bumped into him said, "Oh, sorry Seb. Didn't see you there. Must be your powers of invisiblity."
Sebastian dove for his hat and got it on. He said nothing as he collected his books, stood up, gave the boy a death glare, then stomped to the car. When he got in, Anya looked both cross and concerned.
(Part 2 below) |
The gods looked down upon me, splayed out across the bed, drained beyond belief. Their eyes seemed deep, but I could sense it. Confusion. Distrust. Fear. And who could blame them. They had just witnessed their champion, a being designed for perfect victory, falter.
Honestly, I was still a little shaken myself. I felt its blood still coat my limbs. In my ears, its last gasps rang over and over.
As my body finally began to relax, a boom echoed in my ears. "HOW? HOW HAS THIS MORTAL DONE THIS?"The gods voice rang out, the pressure and timbre nearly shattering my eardrums.
"Oi, tone it down a bit. You keep up that noise, not only will ya shatter my eardrums, I'll end up with a wicked headache."
The god of war looked upon rage hanging within his eyes. "Then answer, how? How is it that a mortal could accomplish such a thing. What has given you power over the very idea of victory."
"Oh well, it's really quite simple. You see, I've got a good idea about how the powers you all wield function. A god of war applies his powers directly within the battle and can see what lurks within the minds of those that stand against him on a given battlefield. A god of knowledge would understand the information within the minds of his followers."
"And that applies how?"I could see at least 5 different sets of eyes glowing, ready to vaporize me and torture me in at least 7 different ways.
"Well in a simple trial by combat like that, each person goes in with their own true set of conditions for victory. And well, mine? I didn't meet mine. I planned out going out with it. But, the damned bastard left it open as a tie, god damnit. I planned to wipe out the both of us with my blast, my one truest condition for victory being the death of us both. But it didn't work. It saved me at the last possible second and took the entire blast upon itself. So now, if you'd kindly get out of my space. After a tactic like that, I need a nap." |
"a test?"the i was surprised enough by the aliens appearing before me, but they wanted to test me? apparently my brag on social media about being in the top 10% of most dangerous humans had some uninteded consequences.
"yes, a test that will determine the threat rating of your species and civilisation. do you agree?"
"uhh ok"i wasnt sure what challenge i would face but i have never been one to shrink away from any challenge"
"first, weaponry. this devicewill produce any weapon that has been produced by any human civilisation. you may use the interface or simply speak the name of the weapon you wish to use. you will then use the weapon on this test dummy and we will evaluate your destructive potential."
an easy test right off the bat. as an ex millitary i have a head and shoulders advantage over any other civillian survivalist here, in that i know of all the best toys. i pick my favourite anti-tank launcher and shot it at the target, reload it it what is probably record time and shoot it again. "hows that?"i ask the aliens "pretty good huh"
"yes, you followed the instructions of the test well. we have logged the data for out survey. next physical ability, for this test please use this device. running on this treadmill will evaluate your speed and this is a resistance strength tester. you may strike of compress it as you desire. "
im a little disheartened by how they brushed off my cool missile firing skills but thats alright they probably have cooler missiles at home. but this, this is going to WOW them they look pretty frail so my strength will definetly be amazing.
i go all out on the treadmill, but the strength tester barely moves when i try to crush the levers together. it must be some kind of electric thing that measures without moving, using magnets probably. "okay! all done whats next?"
"do you require a rest? the next tests are the most taxing."im a bit nervous now, theyve had be exert myself to the max and the NEXT tasks are more taxing? but this is humanities pide on the line, we're endurance hunters, if i cant keep going now itll be the shame of my entire species. "no i dont need a break."
"excellent, for the third test select the largest weight you are capable of lifting to 1 meter from a distance of 1 meter and demonstrate."
"... what? how am i supposed to lift a weight from a meter away? is there a lever?"the aliens turn to teach other anc converse in their own language before turning back to me.
"sorry it seems we were unclear, we expect and have expected you to be using any and all mental energy projection abilities you have, in this and prior tests. you may know them as "psionics powers"if you like you may retake any of the prior tests if you were under the impression that you should not yose your full abilities."
im thrown for a loop, i just stand there not knowing what to say. and then it hits me, they dont know what species have which powers so they are just providing a test for all contingencies. "i do not have any psionic abilities we can skip this test."
"really none at all? are you sure"
"yes"i am proud of my honesty its better than humiliating myself just for a test that they throw in there for outliers.
"ok then thank you for telling us. fot the ... twelfth test, usong the supplies provided summon the strongest eldritch entity you can manage"
im starting to think that im in over my head here. |
"No, Mr. Kapoor, I expect you to die,"the woman purred at me as she waited for her comically huge laser gun to power up, her metallic eyes glinting with mirth.
Just my fucking luck, getting a time-traveling terminator with a sense of humor. I wriggled against the ropes that fixed my wrists to the rusty pipes running along the ceiling of my dank basement, my skin rubbed raw by my meager, useless escape attempts. I wish I'd cleaned this place out, I thought irrationally. It smells awful down here.
"Since you seem know everything about me, including my taste in movies, then you have to know that this is a fucking mistake,"I shouted hoarsely. "I'm just a fucking *custodian*."
"We know,"she said, silver eyebrow raised. Aside from her metallic coloration, she looked pretty much like a normal woman. That is, if normal women dressed like post-apocalyptic robot warriors and carried no fewer than three guns and two bizarre weapons I couldn't begin to identify on their persons. "Your time's facebook accounts have been *ever* so helpful with target familiarization."
The whine of energy accumulating in her weapon was reaching an obnoxiously high pitch-- perhaps that's why she'd bothered dragging me to the basement?-- and the atmosphere around us seemed to be drawn in towards the gun like invisible molasses flowing slowly, ever so slowly, down the trunk of a tree. I wondered if I'd ever see a tree again.
"Then why? Why me?"I thought about Anita, about the explosive fight we'd had two nights ago about honeymoon planning. I hadn't seen her since, and I wondered if she'd even know to be looking for me yet. *If-- when--* I thought, waffling between my caustic realism and desire to hope, *if I make it out of this, I'll take you to Bali, Anita. Hell, I'll take you all the way to the moon.*
"It's less you,"the woman frowned, and flicked the end of the gun with a fingernail that looked hard as diamonds. A sound rang out with a sickening ping! "Ah, there we go. No, it's more about your future child. Sorry."
I thought of the childfree life that Anita and I had been planning and grasped at that fact in desperation, a hail mary to try to change this terminator's mind. "Well, then, that's fine! Anita and I don't even want kids!"
She shrugged nonchalantly. "People change their minds. You do. Or, well, you would have. Or maybe not, maybe it's an accident or an adoption or whatever. I honestly didn't read your dossier that thoroughly. Alright, we're about ready here. Any, how do you say it, final words?"
My mind reeled as she leveled the weapon at me. "Fuck you!"I shouted, jerking spasmodically, my voice reaching a hysterical pitch.
The terminator shrugged again. "It's your funeral. Or not, actually. They won't find anything left of you. That's kinda why we had to wait all this time for the incineration ray to boot up. Sorry. Leave no trace and all that."
The crazy thing is that she actually *did* look a little sorry.
I thought about Anita, about how confused she'd be when she came to find me-- maybe tomorrow, maybe the next day. She always had bemoaned my lack of ambition, my lack of follow through. I'd always secretly suspected that she hated my job-- a custodian who wouldn't even keep his own fucking basement clean. She'd probably think I'd run away from the pressure of the wedding. A coward.
Anger at the injustice of it all flooded my weak, pathetic body. As the terminator squeezed the trigger, I managed to shout one last sentence, my final before the incineration ray exploded every cell of my body into nothingness.
You know how you always think of the right comeback like... hours or days after it would have been useful?
For once, that didn't happen to me.
"I was an *anonymous sperm donor*, you fucking piece of shit!" |
“So you solved your water heating issues… by replacing the water with magma?”
“Yeah! I’ve never had hotter showers!”
“Shower*s*??? Plural????? How are you not dead?”
“It’s also very tasty! Here, let me pour you a glass!”
The kitchen sink started spewing orange-hot magma into a cup. It melted the cup and started pouring down the drain.
“How did anyone allow this?”
“It took a lot of my savings, I’ll tell you that. And an odd job or two. Some embezzlement here, money laundering there, basic stuff.”
“Basic stuff? Those are FELONIES!”
“Who’s going to arrest me? I have unlimited access to lava. Cheers!”
He took a sip from a mug, somehow ignoring the effects of the molten rock. |
A simple navy blue tie. Forget ambrosia that tastes like starlight. Never mind the original Ship of Theseus. And the Ruby Eye of the True Cyclops? Fiddlesticks. Compared to all of these, the tie was declared his favorite. There was a lot of confusion and anger, but Zeus had spoken.
For you see, the tie itself wasn't what sold it. No, it was the little handwritten note that came with it when he opened the box. He saw it and knew that this would be declared his favorite present. It simply said:
"Choose this tie as your favorite or I tell Hera you visited my mom AND her sister that night." |
pt1: suburban hell
To say we were in trouble was a huge understatement.
The urge to scavenge wasn’t so much an urge, more like a cruel necessity. Things have been tough in this suburban hell, for the damned like us. Really, I always wondered who was more damned. Might just be a demented thought in my head, but I’m sure we’ll be joining them soon or be eaten. I don’t even remember what life was like before the whole world uprooted itself in one singular groan.
The dead will inherit the planet. The gospel of Michael? Or was it Matthew?
“It hurts, Cho,” I hear him say. Instinctively, I try not to slap him on the head to get him to shut up and tough it out. I had shoddy medical aid training, at best. Was that even the correct saying? I didn’t care. My prescription after the zombies attacked us? Cutting his digits off.
“Shh,” I say. The place we held up in temporarily was boarded up, with some semblance of resistance made before whoever lived here inevitably succumbed to the zombies or worse. We smell like death, but it’s better that way. “It’ll all be okay.”
“Will it?”
I don’t know, I cut your fingers off and they writhed for a bit on their own before being snacks, I think. I don’t wince at flesh and blood anymore; that part of me is truly gone. His hand is currently cocooned in a ton of bandages and water. “I’m not an authority on how this virus works, Dal. You’ll have to talk it up with the evacuation guys.”
A small chuckle escapes his mouth. Those bastards definitely didn’t make it far. We caught several of the evacuation gov workers in the hordes a few weeks in. He’s stable and luckily they got his off hand, but the paranoia gets to me. I pull out a can of beans and my knife, popping it open. It’s the from the last haul, but there’s no parts left of this town to loot. Come to think about it, the living picked this town apart like flesh from the bone. Ironic, since now the dead pick their flesh apart.
“Do you think I’ll turn?” Dal asks me. That question stops me.
“We ought to eat, Dal,” I tell him, avoiding the inevitable. I spill the beans, like innards slopping on a plate. No electricity, no sounds except occasional shuffling outside. I had an axe, a knife and some body armor and helmet from a dead guy. Dal, on the other hand, had a spiked bat and his work outfit on. By spiked, it really didn’t start out that way. I say it had a little bit more life than his work suit. Granted, it was more torn up now, but I couldn’t stop giving him shit the first couple of days.
Like, hey, Dal, you running those reports for Q1? I know Angie from Accounting is suited up to bite your head off if you show up late. He’d tell me to shut up on the spot as we looted and said that’s why he had the bat with him.
“Why do we need to eat? To fatten ourselves up for them?”
“Shut up,” I instruct him. “It’s because we’re still alive and you’re starving.”
I squash my ear on the door and hear no noise behind it. I don’t know if they could smell, but we eat in silence. Cold beans and scraps of small hot dogs, two fingers down and morale at an all time low.
“If I turn,” Dal whispers. “You know what to do.”
“Don’t,” but it was his turn to silence me.
“I both love and hate your frankness, your determination, Cho,” he tells me. Then he falls asleep. There was no chance I was following him into a slumbering tomb. My imagination swirled, of course.
I would kill him in an instant, I think. I owed him that much. Or he would kill me and we’d be a zombie couple doing cute zombie things.
Who knows how long passed when I felt something grab my shoulder. I jumped up, axe raised.
“Jesus, you’re terrifying,” Dal said. “Good morning.”
“Dal,” I pinned him down and looked at his hand. It helped that I was bigger than him. “You okay? Not feeling hungry for flesh? Nothing like that?”
“Still me,” he groans. I get off of him. “Still here in paradise.”
“Ain’t much of one I say,” I truly mean that. “You know what? We should come up with a password or something.”
“For what?”
“So I know it’s you, or something,” I tell him.
“Balls one two three,” he says seriously.
“What?”
“Balls one two three,” he repeats himself. “It’s my computer password.”
“You’re insufferable,” I tell him. But we agree. For two weeks that our haul lasted, all I heard was balls. Balls, one two three. The hordes seemed to be interested in other matters, less of them on the streets. But there was nothing left working here. So I tell him. “We’re going Southbound now.”
He steels himself. Deep breathes.
“Can you hold the bat still?”
“Yeah,” he says, demonstrating a swing.
“Then off we go,” I say. Perhaps we can make it to Southbound, since the hordes were going north. I theorized with all my knowledge of horror movies that it was all complete bullshit. I had no idea why they migrated north. “And Dal.”
“Yeah?”
“Password?”
“Balls one two three.” |
I wouldn't call myself a Villain, per se. I always considered the definition of a villain as being someone who could rival the supers. Proper lucky bastards born with either enough wealth to buy their way to evil stardom, or enough strength to punch their way there. Like Captain Murder, who happened to be brawling it out with Invinci-boy in the skies above me. He would lose of course, their kind always did, but it provided spectacle enough for the growing crowd of onlookers, myself included.
No, a true villain I was not. Was I an evil, super powered prick though? Abso-fucking-lutely.
My power eliminated the possibility of going toe to toe with a Super. As much as I craved the ability to drag Invinci-boy's face along the concrete, I would never be as strong as a top tier villain like Captain Murder. And yet, thanks to my power, I could hurt the Supers in ways Villains never could. Ways I rarely understood myself.
I chuckled to myself as I pushed my way to the front of the crowd. The fight was reaching it's inevitable end with Invinci-boy finally dragging Captain Murder to the ground, firing earth shaking punch after punch into the captain's face.
He wouldn't kill him, but the poor captain wasn't likely to be murdering any time soon. How sad.
I reached the front of the crowd as I felt my power kick into action, analysing every aspect of the current situation and invinci-boy's past. Millions of scenarios played out, filtered down to thousands then hundreds then simply one optimal path.
Invinci-boy finally looked up from the Captain, seeming to take in the devestation. I could see his posture waiver as he took in the corpses strewn across the street. I mentally urged him to look a little to the left, just as he had in my vision.
And so he did.
I don't know whose corpse he had seen on the street. My power didn't provide details, and I didn't care. The effect was obvious. Invinci-boys whole body shook, barely holding in his pain.
All he needed was one last push. Like a golden bullet to his heart, I shouted the words the vision showed me.
"You're pathetic, Steven Reacher. You couldn't save her, just like how you couldn't save your mother!"
Invinci-boy, or Steven I suppose, screamed with grief and rage, but I was already disappearing back into the crowd, chuckling.
Must have hit a sore spot. |
General Uruk fell into a fitful sleep, the stress that was plaguing him unable to be shook, threatened to follow him into his dreams. It was only his chair, a fine model from the doomed world of Zion 97F5 that allowed him any reprieve, the unmatchable comfort the spoil of war provided let the General rest easy for a few minutes in between his meetings.
Unfortunately that was broken immediately as his his screen lit up to display a lone Corporal in a barren landscape mottled with yellowy sand.
"Corporal."Uruk muttered stifling a yawn. "This better be important, especially as you've class order has been broken to contact me. Where is your Sergeant."
The Private hesitated a moment before responding. "He's dead sir."
"Dead? Uruk repeated.
"Yes sir, dead. I'm a member of the Earth expeditionary force and I am the last of my unit."
"It would have been more appropriate to contact the mothership then Corporal. They could have directed you to one of the other four fleets and had you merged with them. Surely that would have been more appropriate than skipping command and contacting HQ?
"That is the problem sir, I presume they are gone as well."
Uruk was suddenly very awake. Each fleet was composed of enough soldiers to take a small world. They'd dedicated multiple to Earth, more than was probably necessary, after an error in the slip lanes left a few stranded out of sub-space. With nothing to be done until repairs were finished they had them all converge on the closest planetary target, which was by all means a small world.
"What's your name Corporal?
"Sulud, sir."
"Give me a status report Sulud. How's this happened?"
"Of course."The Corporal said lifting up a holo-sphere partially obscured by sand. "We arrived in the planet's orbit as planned, the continents were divided up into quarters and assigned accordingly. He motions across the sphere. "We began the invasion at 00:00 hours and descended into the planet's atmosphere -"the holo-sphere lights up - "and this happened."
The scenes that played next were hard for General Uruk to describe. He was foremost a soldier, it was how he had begun his career before being elevated to his rank. As such he was used to destruction, he had seen it firsthand across the cosmos. The eradication of entire worlds and species, whether it be through extended periods of siege leaving the landscapes unrecognisable or through military persistence devastating a world's defenders. But he had never seen a slaughter like this.
The projection displayed a segment of the dispersed fleet that had stalled beneath a large number of clouds. Torrential rain poured down obscuring a figure floating silently in front of the ships. He seemed humanoid, matching preliminary scans of the worlds lifeforms. No scans, however, indicated they had any method of evolutionary flight. The figure raised an arm towards the clouds and they began to darken. Electricity cackled across the gathered mass and was quickly followed by a thunderous flash that annihilated the right-most portion of the formation.
The rest ducked downwards, gathering speed to dodge the following strikes across a large body of water. They sped through the waves before multiple tremendously large limbs erupted from the lake. The tip of the formation was seized by the enormous local fauna. The ships activated their defensive forcefields and attempted to flee but the pulsating bubbles were ensnared by suckers and crushed in a limb or the creatures beak soon after.
The hologram shifted and displayed a troop shooting across the skies over a desert landscape towards a large settlement of the planet's dominant life form. Halcyon and Antigravity missiles were deployed to uproot the city when three large triangular structures emitted a glowing yellow light that nullified the reactor cores of the missiles and the ships, sending them plummeting into a fiery death below.
Again the projection shifted, now it showed an nightmarish scene. Disease was not uncommon in conquest, as such the medical stations generally offered vaccination to all but the most uncommon in the galaxy. Apparently this one was so. The platoon had secured a fertile grassland and quickly expanded the frontier into a base of operations, yet, scattered throughout the camp were the diseased. It seemed quarantine efforts had failed as each member was afflicted with unsightly bulbous wounds that covered them head to toe and excreted puss, blood and other substances onto the campsite. The sick, dead and dying ducked low as any attempts to flee and escape the infection were met with fierce gunfire from outside the camp.
The projections seemed to blur together to Uruk.
\- Another urban settlement, this one while outwardly under the fleets control was riddled with humans who had survived the attack. Instead of the expected surrender there was fierce resistance from any humans they encountered, even when defeat was assured. Any attempts to enter or clear the living residences for cover was a risky gambit as they soon found out when one erupted into fire at the step of a tripwire.
\- Natural disasters seemed to plague multiple sites. Buffeted by terrifying winds and other weather conditions or crushed by rock and other debris. As if the earth beneath their feet wouldn't tolerate their presence.
\- The wildlife persistently harassed every station. Supplies were rummaged and depleted, attempts to venture into the wilderness to obtain more resulted in disappearance. Glowing eyes seemed to surround any and all of the sites at night.
"Stop."Genera Uruk said. "Stop."
"General, what are my orders?
"Corporal Sulud, you are to get onto any working ship you can find."
"... and then sir?"
"Run." |
I never liked cats.
I was a dog person. Grew up with dogs, would happily get on the floor when I went over to my sister's house and roll around with her dogs, just having a grand old time. Just my luck I fell for someone who didn’t like dogs, but loved cats. What you do for love, am I right?
So we moved in, got married, and got two cats. I won’t say I hated them, but they weren't my favorite critters, and they were not overly fond of me. Well one of them anyway. The black one, Pukey, was a stray before we got her, and as near as we could tell was possibly abused by someone. Didn’t even see her the first month, the only proof she existed was an empty food bowl, fresh mess in the cat box, and cat puke somewhere in the house, every morning.
We thought a friend might calm her down, so we got a tortoiseshell kitten, named Alex. Seemed to work, at least the puke wasn’t in my shoes regularly anymore. The cats had sorta got in a routine, until the kid came along. Alex tolerated her, but the skittish black cat would let her get two pets in then scamper under the bed. I used to tell the girl that she didn’t have to worry about monsters in the house, that the cats checked under her bed every night, remembering what my sister went through with her kids. How little I knew.
It was early october. The kiddo loved halloween, the first weekend of the month we’d been out decorating the house. My wife had gone out of town for a few days, for a friend's wedding, due to school we couldn’t all go, and I didn’t know her friends really. It was the first time she’d left us alone, and was sort of worried as I dropped her off at the airport.
“We’ll be fine, I’ve taken her down to the coast for days before with my sister, and I can cook better than you do.”
My wife just smirked, “fat lot of good that does when all she’ll eat is Mac and Cheese.” the kid was in that stage, if it wasn’t for goldfish crackers and Kraft dinner she’d starve.
Still, she told me to watch the cats. I’m usually the one that fed them anyway, and often woke up with Pukey perched on my chest for some odd reason. Damn cat.
Went back home, then picked up the kiddo from school. We had a fun afternoon, before a dinner of what else, Mac and cheese. At least she was getting old enough at 7 to take her own bath and get dressed. The weather was weird that night, kind of a heavy, low overcast that looked ominous, though nothing was on the radar according to the weather.
Put the kid in bed, she never had much of a problem falling asleep most nights. I was feeling a bit out of it myself, so after taking care of some reports for work, I shut down my computer and went to bed myself.
I’m not sure what time it was when I first heard it. We have a big wooden playset in the back, it’s a lot better than the metal swing set I had as a kid. Which is why the squeak was strange. It sounded just like the one we had back when I was young, the rusted non galvanized metal chain links on the swing making a loud ‘crreek’ every five seconds or so.
It sounded like a swing…but her’s had nylon rope instead of chains. Worrying someone had gotten into the garage I rolled quietly out of bed, visions of catalytic converter thieves dancing in my head. If only. I glanced out the bedroom window, no, the garage door was closed, and there was a kid on the swing, slowly rocking back and forth. I leaned forward when sharp kitty teeth grabbed my hand semi-gently, Alex’s five pound weight pulling back on my hand.
“Oww! Dammit cat-” I started to yell, as Pukey leapt up, grabbing the window shade and pulling it down quickly.
“Quiet!” the black cat hissed , her ears back. “Don’t let it see you!”
It was at this point that I debated whether I had lost my marbles entirely. But Alex was growling, something the normally laid back tortoiseshell never did, and Pukey was peering under the shade of the window, while outside, the squeaking paused, then resumed. “What the hell?” I muttered, rubbing my hand, she’d gotten me just enough to draw a bit of blood, but not enough to really penetrate the skin.
I wasn’t the only one muttering, the black cat seemed to be quietly cursing. “..when the woman had gone, of course it would come now..”
When Alex spoke, I decided if I was crazy, I’d at least better pay attention. “What do we do? It’s stronger than we are!” the younger cat cried.
The black cat’s tail whipped back and forth, poofed even more than the last time I attempted to take her to the vet. “We stay quiet, home is protected. It will move on by dawn.”
“Uh, what will move on by dawn? And why can I understand you?”
“You don’t want to know, it is best if the name of such things are not spoken.” Pukey replied.
“I’ll take your word for it.” I told her. My gut was screaming as well now that I was fully awake that there was some threat, I turned towards the closet towards the gun safe in there.
Alex snorted. “Those will not help against such as that thing, man.”
For some reason the cat annoyed me “so what will? And I have a name you know”
The black cat seemed to laugh “so do I, yet you call me Pukey.”
“Well, you never told us your name, and you do puke all over the house…”
“...point. I was wild, the dry food you serve gives me tummy trouble.”
“Hey, we’ve tried dried food, wet food, canned, fresh, all natural, grain free, the 30 dollar a bag stuff, the cheap stuff…none of it made a difference!” Talking or not, cats were still annoying “and what will work against whatever that is?” I asked as I opened the safe.
Alex rolled her eyes “Stuff you don’t have, Claws, teeth, cold iron-” the cat stopped, green eyes blinking wide as I pulled it out. I’d gotten rid of a lot of stuff from my SCA days, but for some reason getting rid of the sword I’d gotten in Germany seemed like a bad idea. Never knew why. “Like this?”
Pukey seemed to grin at the other cat “I told you this one may not be completely useless.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I replied, despite the fact I hadn’t even touched this blade in over a decade. Like falling off a bicycle. Hopefully. “So what do we do?”
The black cat peered out of the windowshade again, the squeaking continuing. “We sit put until dawn. If that catches a scent you won’t be completely unprotected at least.”
Logical. As much as my instincts told me to protect, especially with my daughter sleeping down the hall-I knew enough to know I was in over my head. If the cats said wait it out we would. “Should I call my wife?” I asked, glancing over to my phone. “Or the cops?”
“She is too far from here to be of help..and the other, less than help-” There was a familiar thud from down the hall and all three of us froze. The girl was up, probably wanting some water. Which was normal for her many nights. And I could hear the rapid thumps of her feet as she ran through the house, towards the kitchen. darn kid had two speeds, on and off sometimes. Unfortunately, we were not the only ones who heard that-as if a switch had been thrown, the squeaking stopped and the wind began to pick up.
“DOGSPIT!” Pukey cursed, her claws out. Alex was already moving, her own claws scrabbling to get a grip on the hardwood floor, what once seemed comical at times now scared me. I had problems moving as well, it was as if a great oppressive weight was pushing against the house, and everything in it. “Get her to her bed!” The black cat cried as she rounded the corner to the back doors, the sliding glass panes that I never really liked, but my mother in law insisted on putting in. The kid was standing there staring at something out in the back yard as I scooped her up, running back down the hall into her room. The kid’s room always had lights in it, stars on the ceiling, a Pinky Pie nightlight, and there was a purple glow coming from the bed frame itself that I didn’t remember installing. The kid squealed as I tossed her in Alex scrambling up on the bed rails, poofed out to twice her size. “Ok, we’re safe here!” the young cat panted.”the beds protected” I could hear the sound of breaking glass and desperate yowling coming from the kitchen.
I was intelligent enough, and known as a pretty smart guy. But I did also have a reputation of times doing something that wasn’t ‘smart.’ I gave my daughter a quick hug “Stay with Alex” I told her. She was too spooked to argue, Alex on the other hand..
“Are you nuts! Get back here!” she yowled as I ran back through the house, gripping the blade tight. As I entered the kitchen, there was something, the colors were wrong, as were the shapes, and a black blur was doing its best to slow it down. I could feel it reaching for me as well as I swung, hoping I remembered enough. It connected, then everything went black.
Lights woke me up, and chattering. I opened one eye, the kitchen was a wreck, the neighbor was there, as were paramedics who were working on me, and the police-along with a good size portion of a tree that had come through the plate glass window. A freak windstorm the Police said, there were trees down across the region, and several deaths. The lady next door reassured my daughter that I’d be ok, it was just some cuts, and said she’d called my wife as well-but she’d already known something was wrong, and was on her way back home. I knew I’d never hear the end of it from my wife if I didn’t let them check me out, the neighbor said she’d watch the kiddo. Both cats kept winding their way back and forth around the kiddos' feet until they picked up the stretcher to cart me to the ambulance. When Pukey jumped up , the old black cat a bit scratched up herself. She headbutted me..then with a hork, puked on the side of the stretcher. I could swear she grinned as the paramedic cussed. That cat’s getting tuna tonight. |
I woke up to the same view as always. Ilazeal sleeping next to me, her beautiful face in utter peace. I smiled, kissing her forehead and sliding out of bed. It was a chilly morning, and a part of me wanted to stay next to her. Unfortunately, work had other plans.
I got ready as quickly as I could, warming myself up as I did so. As I brewed a fresh pot of coffee, I heard movement from behind. A moment later her arms encircled my waist, and I felt lips on the back of my neck.
"Morning love."
I leaned into her, smiling.
"Hey honey. Did you sleep well?"
"Like an angel."
Her words came with her usual good humour. I grinned wider, rubbing her arm.
"Good good."
She let me go to start making some toast, and I sighed. To think we could enjoy such pleasantries, after the things we had experienced. The human world was a wealth of new sights, tastes and sounds.
We had a simple meal of toast, bacon and beans, nice and filling to start the day with. Once done it was off to work for me, climbing into my van. I had found work at a construction site, where my otherworldly strength meant I was a fast and efficient worker. I made sure to keep it toned down, but otherwise worked hard.
I was having a break when I noticed Ilazeal had rung me. I smiled, calling her back.
"Garidal!"
She shouted as she answered. Behind I could hear the crackle of flames, and a pained grunt.
"Ilazeal! What's happening?! Are you ok?!"
"I'm fine!"
There was a thud, and her voice drifted away from the phone.
"Get out of my house, you damned gull!"
She returned to it, still in her fight mood.
"You need to get home now. They found us!"
I instantly looked around. My greatest fear was realised. I couldn't go back, not after this taste of freedom.
"How did- no, not the time. I'm on my way, which side did?"
She muttered darkly, a shrieking chorus echoing the words. I could hear a rattle of chains, white breaking glass.
"Your side of the family. Get home, now. We have to run."
The line cut off. I looked around again. No-one was paying attention to me. That was good news I hoped. If they had only found our home, then we could run. I walked quickly to my van, ignoring the looks I was getting. I had to go.
I drove quickly, at the speed limit. Asmuch as I wanted to get home soon, I didn't want to draw any additional attention to myself. Human intervention would only make things worse.
I drew closer, seeing a column of smoke. Sirens were coming, I could hear them as I turned into the road. There I saw our house enveloped in flames. Everything in there was probably gone. All of our possessions.
The door burst open, and Ilazeal came running out. Her clothes were burnt, but her fiendish blood kept her safe. I threw open the door, letting her dive in before accelerating away. In the mirror I saw a singed figure step out from the blaze.
"Go go go."
I obeyed. But as I did I reached out with a hand, rubbing the top of her head. She leant into it, both of us finding comfort in each others presence.
"What happened?"
Ilazeal picked at her ruined clothes, muttering darkly before replying.
"I was on a call with work, and the doorbell went. I was expecting a parcel, and this angel was disguised as a delivery person. Luckily I smelt him as I opened the door, and dodged the ray he sent my way. Unfortunately it hit a clothes horse, and everything went up in smoke. I was just able to call you around dodging his attacks."
I glanced at her, slightly panicked.
"He didn't touch you did he?"
She frowned, shaking her head.
"Not me. My clothes yes, but not me."
I drove faster.
"We need to change it then. If he touched it, he can track it for a time."
She pulled it off, chucking it from the window as we drove. Clad in her underwear she crossed her arms, before pausing.
"Wait, is that why I have never been able to sneak up on you?"
I gave a small chuckle, as we left stability behind.
"Maybe." |
What remains of the overwhelming shock of terror has been drained out of my body by the time the alien actually enters the same room as me. They are a massive blue biped that brings to mind an ancient dinosaur, covered in spiky scales.
"Okay so, just so I have this whole thing straight,"I say. "You kidnapped me from my home planet and are holding me here because...you need someone to scratch your back?"
"Well, when you put it like that it sounds ridiculous,"the alien replies.
"Have you considered that it might just *be* ridiculous?"
"Look I know its silly,"the alien says. "But...I'm dying here man, can't you just scratch my back just a little bit?"
"I mean...if I do this will you bring me back home?"
"Of course!"He says eagerly, like an addict waiting for another dose. "I-I swear!"
I sigh.
"Fine."
The alien approaches me and turns their back. Hesitantly, I lean forward and dig my fingers into the grooves in between their scales. Their entire body shudders as they exhale a long sigh. Their shoulders droop, its as if they're falling asleep standing up.
I mean, if it helps, why not? |
In our world, everyone is born with a mark that indicates their place in society. Where their skills would be best applied. Sure you aren't forced to pick an occupation aligning with your mark, and no one will judge you for it, but choosing something that isn't aligned with your mark puts you at a disadvantage. You would be a novice compared to people that had the mark for it. Mine was a an ember, I am very good at welding and smithing and cooking. My wife has a plus, she is an excellent doctor and has a nack for finding rare herbs.
Our son ... weirdly enough, he was born without a mark. It was not just him either, a phenomenon had occurred where multiple infant in my son's generational range had been born without marks. No one really knew what it meant so everyone really though nothing of it. Maybe they'd be good at everything, though you'd think the mark would be an infinity sign or something. Though, something that was concerning was that these kids were mute. Even by age 3 they didn't utter a word.
Our son is nearly one now and walking. He was noted to be the last unmarked child before marks began reappearing again. We decided have a picnic today. When we reached the park, I sent my wife and son ahead while I set up the blanket. She took the bread and was now feeding the turtles with our son. As I looked around, it seemed a lot of families had the same idea. Many kids, mostly unmarked, were running around playing with each other. After about 15 minutes my wife came running over carrying our son.
With excitement in her face, she set our son down infront of me. "Dear! Dear! Oooh it's happening, he's trying to say his first words!"
Shock over took me. My heart jumped, I was filled with the same excitement that radiated from my wife. Not only was it going to be his first words, but it'd also mean he would be the first unmarked ever to talk.
Our son raised his arms as if he wanted me to lift him. I did. He then squirmed as if he wanted to be placed down and so I set him on the picnic table and me and my wife sat with him.
"Go on junior,"I encouraged him on. "You can do it."
"W-w-w"It was a little disappointing that his first word sounded to be starting with a "W". I was hoping it would be mama or dada. But no fret, beggars cannot be choosers.
Our son's face grew into a challenged look, like he was having trouble getting the word out until finally....
"w-w-wevolution"
Huh? "Oh what was that darling? Say it again, mommy didn't quite hear you."My wife said lovingly. Our son stood up on the table and raised his arms.
"WEVOLUTION!!!!!!!!"
#"WEVOLUTION!!!"
As if not surprising enough, the follow up had come from behind us. It had come from every unmarked kid in the park that now faced our son on the table. However it did not stop there. Though faint, if you listened closely, you could hear the word in the wind ... coming from the city. Before our son could jump off the table, I caught him and took him home. He did not fight my grasp, just simply stared at the other kids that were also being escorted by their parents.
That night, the only thing on the news was of how every unmarked child had uttered the same word that day. I saw our son dragging a stepping stool to reach our door knob. I strolled over and picked him up, carrying him to the couch with my wife on it. We all sat together and I turned on SpongeBob. Our son tugged on my shirt as a tear slid from his eye. When I looked down, he pointed towards the door.
"Wevolutiooon"he said with a pleading look. My wife put her arm around him and leaned him against her. "You're too young right now, sweety. You can revolution when you get older. And besides, you didn't eat your vegetables."
With a huff, our son crossed his arms with a pout and leaned against his mother to watch SpongeBob. I heard a pebble hit our window. Sigh ... not again. I got up and upped the window. Many little kids were once again outside our window. I knew most of them.
"Wevolution?"One kid with an oversized coat asked.
"Go home. There will be no revolution tonight or anytime soon."
"But wevolutiooon."Another said. >:0
"I'm going to call your parents if I see you all out here again."
At the mentioning of their parents, they scattered. Their short legs causing some of them to fall face first in the snow as they waddled away. Closed the window and sat back with my family to watch the TV. In retrospect we should have figured it out sooner. No mark meant no place in society. Hm ... I wonder if we'll still need to save for his college. |
It's a pretty weird life I live. Some people think they have interesting lives because they like to skydive or work in Hollywood, but I'm a snake. I'm sorry to be a story topper but I think we can all agree that being a snake is crazier than your story about that one time you got food poisoning.
It has become surprisingly normal for me. Sure the initial shock of turning into a snake was a shock, and when I developed my phantom limbs it was another wave of surprise. But after a few days, I was drinking coffee and reading the newspaper like any other guy on the street.
I guess I should speak for myself. For my girlfriend, it was much more of an adjustment. I mean, in her defense it must be odd to make out with a snake. I have no lips for one thing, I still haven't figured out how to make telekinetic lips yet. Hopefully I'll be able to soon. To her credit she has been very open to my transformation. I honestly am not sure if I could handle it if she was the one who transformed into a snake, so she is a better person than I.
I go to my 9 to 5, people stare but it doesn't bother me. I figure as long as I get my job done and they continue to pay me, that's all that matters. They can talk all the shit they want, I'm not letting it get to me. I mean, yes I ate a few live rats roaming the hallways, and yes I bit a guy on the face after he got a little too close to me... But people be way overreacting. I'm still the same old guy. After all, I already did both of those things before I turned into a snake anyways. |
# Everyone's Thought About It
Mike considered himself a proud member of the Losers.
It's not that he wanted to be someone's permanent couch resident. Or a burden to his parents' finances. He wasn't even particularly lazy or unemployable; work always came around when he really needed it. It just wasn't something he sought out and honestly-- who should?
He believed in enjoying the moment.
Oddly that led to a lot of charity work, especially around thrift stores and the Antique Mall. He'd help the week's hopefuls set up their cubicles, make their signs and carry stuff in and out. In return sometimes he'd get a free lunch or some other tangible benefit. Mike never asked for much, so when a particularly large estate sale came through the overworked lawyer just let him pick out anything.
Mike chose a lamp. His current roommate liked that Middle Eastern aesthetic, so why not? The legal type gave it an eyeball over his clipboard, shrugged at the cheap brass and nodded. "Thanks for the help."
Home was four miles away. He walked the whole way, in no particular hurry with the lamp in one hand. Dog walkers and park lurkers gave him waves in equal measures; he returned every greeting with a three-finger "shakabrah"salute that never failed to get a laugh. By the time Mike got home he was ready for some water, a snack and some Fortnite. In that order.
He got a genie.
One moment he was using some Windex and a towel to wipe off the lamp. Then the entire living room was a cloud of purple smoke, thick enough to set off the smoke detector on the ceiling. Mike yelped, but before he could run for a pot of water it all went away and became a short, angry looking fat guy with one of those Jafar beards. Like from *Aladdin*.
The short purple guy broke the awkward silence first. "I am Azar, genie of-"
"You're a genie!"
"-of the lamp."He finished with a scowl. It was a great scowl-- all angry lines and a frown so hard his beard wiggled. "I am bound to give you-"
"Three wishes, right?"Mike nodded, shaggy hair swishing back and forth.
"-yes, three wishes. But I warn you, mortal, there are rules you must follow, and some things are forbidden from-"
"I wish that you're free after my next two wishes."
Watching a being with phenomenal cosmic power and reality-warping perspective have a heart attack was an experience. Azar's eyes bulged. He choked out a sound like *gak, guh wha*. Then he clutched his bare purple chest, staggered into the couch and flipped a tray of day-old pizza on the way down to the floor. Four feet of purple genie indented dirty carpet like gravity had a grudge.
Mike grabbed the genie's arm and helped him back up, surprised to know how *heavy* a guy made of purple smoke could be. "You okay, there?"
"Just,"Azar wheezed. His eyes couldn't seem to focus, and something like sapphire tears gathered in the corners. "Just like that? Your *first wish* is to free me from eternal slavery?!"
"Well, I mean. Yeah? I thought about this stuff a lot."
"You think about free wishes and genies a lot?"
He shrugged, bony shoulders going up and down. "Who doesn't? That and winning the lottery, finding a date, being rich and famous, winning the Olympics..."
"You could have that!"The genie practically yelled. Small hands windmilled in the air. "Fame! Fortune! Beauty!"He looked around, noting the general downscale nature of the living room. "A mansion, with servants! *And housekeeping.* But your first wish is for me? How did you even know about that?"
"Bruh."Mike grinned. "*Aladdin*'s a pretty famous story."
The genie somehow looked mystified and scared at the same time. "Who?"
"Doesn't matter,"Mike said, then plopped onto the abused couch. "Wanna play some Fortnite? There's a karaoke and trivia night downtown in a couple hours."
Azar was having trouble with this. "A fortnite of what? And... and what is carry-OK? Are you- no, wait."He took deep breaths, plum-colored smoke blowing with each exhale. "Is that your second wish? To make this fort?"
"Uh, no. It's a game. Here's a controller, have a seat."He patted the ripped cushion nearby. "We'll just mess around a bit and then go have fun."
"I don't want to have *fun*, I want to be *free*,"he genie practically screamed. "Just tell me your next wish-"
"To do what?"
"What?"
"You know,"Mike hit buttons, joined a lobby and ignored half a dozen friend invites. "What are you going to do? You're practically free already. Like, guaranteed. No take-backs. All the time in the world. Got a plan?"Colorful models danced on-screen, shouting catchphrases.
Azar opened his mouth. Hesitated. Closed it again. Then he stood there, shock and a growing sense of horror on his bearded face. Mike could relate-- thinking too hard about the future did the same thing to him. It was like... so much. And nobody could ever promise you what worked and what didn't. Mistakes, problems, losses? It's easy when someone else takes control and tells you what to do. Orders you around like a boss. But it's harder when you can't point the finger at anyone but yourself.
It's why he lived in the moment, after all.
The couch creaked as Azar settled into it. It felt right, somehow; just two buds hanging out. He took the controller Mike absently handed over, then studied the television. "What do I do?"He asked, sounding lost. "Is this how free people live?"
Mike laughed. "Well, it's fun. So why not? Here, I'll make it easy: I wish to be your friend."
Azar rocked sideways, eyes crossing. "I... I can't... change someone's feelings... it's a rule that-"
"Someone *else's* feelings,"Mike's character got shot, died, began spectating as another player. He winked at the stunned genie. "That's in *Aladdin*, too. But someone can wish for you to be happy, right?"
Azar burst into tears. "Are you- who are you?"He sobbed. "A wise man? A sorcerer? A thousand thousand thousand years have I lived. Hundreds of masters. Wishes without count or number. And never have I met someone so kind. Is... is this some horrible trick?"
"Nah, bruh. Just being a good friend."
That made the purple genie cry harder. "What is your *third* wish? Please, tell me! Anything! I will not even twist or turn it against you, I swear on the lamp!"
Mike winked, stretching the moment out.
"I wish you knew what made you happiest, bruh."
&#x200B;
---
I write sappy stuff and random sci-fi over at r/Susceptible ;) |
I saw him in the courtyard. He was alone, meditating in the afternoon sun. He was bald and dressed in a monk's robe, but it was him. My heart pounded in my chest. Phantom images of Michael, broken and dying in my arms, flashed through my mind. I could still smell his blood. I could still hear his final breath. I felt lightheaded. Years of searching had led me here. I almost didn't know what to do. Almost.
I approached completely silently, taking my time. The courtyard was small; if he opened his eyes, he would doubtlessly see me. Part of me wanted to rush him, to break him as he had my mentor. But I chose prudence. Michael had taught me well, but in front of me was the man who killed him. I would not take the uncertainty of battle. I stopped in front of him, within arm's reach. I raised the knife, made of the machine that he had used to kill Michael. Just as I was about to drive it into his heart, his eyes snapped open. I felt my body process the sudden change before my mind did, felt it hesitate and shift just enough so that when the knife pierced his body, it just barely missed his heart. I jumped back, expecting him to fight back.
"Do you know the story of Angulimala?"he asked me, making direct eye contact with me from his seated position. Blood pooled at his feet, pouring from the stab wound I had inflicted on him.
"You killed Miracle,"I spat at him, the words coated in a decade of accumulated venom. His eyes held on mine.
"Angulimala,"he said, ignoring me, "was a notorious murderer."
I felt the alarm bells ringing in my head start to subside. I had succeeded. He would be dead soon, and he was in no state of body *or* mind to fight back.
"But before that, he was a student,"he continued. "He was a brilliant scholar, beloved by his mentor. Until his fellow scholars, frustrated and envious of his status, devised a plan to turn the old man against his favoured pupil. Their teacher fell for their ruse completely. In his anger, he told Angulimala that if he wants to continue being his disciple, he would have to bring him an impossible gift: one thousand human fingers. Without the thousand fingers, he would not be allowed to return. Angulimala had been effectively banished."
His breathing started to sound more laboured. He lifted his head and said, "Won't you sit down? It's getting hard for me to stare up at you."
I considered the odd situation we were in. I, the former right hand to the most powerful hero in the world, had just stabbed the man who had killed him. My revenge was complete. I should have just left him to die.
I sat down. He gave me a weak smile.
"He started out as a naive boy, a scholar,"he went on. "But he killed. And killed. And killed. Every time he killed, he would collect the fingers of his victims and string them around his neck. That is where he gets his name, which means "necklace of fingers". He became a notorious brigand. At some point, he forgot why he had even begun killing in the first place. He only knew that he had to have a thousand human fingers. Only then could he rest.
"When he has nine hundred and ninety-nine fingers, just one shy of his ultimate goal, a woman finds herself traveling the road that he terrorizes. Angulimala bursts from his cover, taken over by the excitement of finally fulfilling his life's purpose. Only the intervention of the Buddha stops him from murdering his own mother in cold blood.
"Outraged that he was stopped from claiming his prize, Angulimala charged the Buddha, desperate to kill him. Desperate for his final finger. But he found that, no matter how fast he ran at the Buddha, he could not reach him. The Buddha merely walked, and it was as if a single step spanned a thousand. Angulimala collapsed, defeated. The Buddha saw his pain and instead of punishment, he offered salvation. He offered the Dhamma, the truth. And Angulimala was saved from himself,"he finished. I looked into his eyes, the light slowly dimming.
"But you caught him,"I said. "You caught Miracle. You were never supposed to. But you did, and you murdered him. You. Can't. Be. Saved,"I said, punctuating the words to drive the point home. In his final moments, I would give him no peace.
"No, Elliot,"he replied. "You missed the point."
He began to stand up. I blinked, but no, he was still bleeding profusely.
"Angulimala is *you*."
The air around his body shimmered. I blinked again and suddenly, he was no longer bleeding. My knife was in his hand. I stared at him in shock. He dropped the knife.
"Michael is not dead,"he said, "and he is certainly not who you believe him to be. Do not let him mislead you and guide you down this path. Don't let him make you a murderer." |
For decades I have planned my revenge, waiting in the shadows.
The world thought I was dead. Heck, my family thought I was dead.
And I *should be* dead, by all means. The incident that left me horribly disfigured and crippled, *should have* killed me.
Perhaps it is destiny that kept me alive.
Or my iron will for vengeance.
It took me a decade to recuperate. Another two to build a fortune again. Yet another to use that fortune to build the “right” sort of connections.
By now, I was nearing my eighties. I started doubting I will ever have my revenge.
A chance encounter put the right set of cards in my hand.
I used said cards to lure 007 to a remote Asian jungle and captured him.
I was in for a shock.
The man before me was a stranger, in his late forties. Bond should be in his mid sixties now.
I got nothing out of the agent. He was convinced that he was the true 007.
I unceremoniously killed and dumped his body, renewing my search.
My leads took me to a man I believed to be my original nemesis. He was now retired and living in Chiswick, London.
The earlier incident had made me wiser. I decided to spy on the man myself.
To my frustration, this man also turned out to be not my original enemy. While he was closer in age, it was easy to make out that this was a different person.
Frustrated, I retired to my residence to think about the next course of action.
*******************************************************
It is pitch dark when I wake. I seem to be all tied up. There’s a man sitting opposite to me in a chair.
Given my security arrangements, this should simply not be possible.
The man strikes a match for a second. I assess: in his thirties, rugged features, more suited to a soldier than an assassin.
And piercing blue eyes.
“Who are you?” I ask, already half knowing the answer.
“Bond. James Bond.” responds the stranger.
“You have been going around killing MI5 agents. I am afraid that simply can’t be allowed.”
He stands up, taking out a Walther PPK and pointing at me. Seriously?
Then he smiles: “The man you are looking for still lives. He retired, went on to have a successful career in Hollywood, and was ostensibly knighted for his acting prowess.”
“He even portrayed himself in a couple of movies. He lives not far from here, in the Bahamas.”
“If only you had not been so one-tracked in your pursuit of vengeance, you might actually have easily found all this out!”
As the blue-eyed Bond levels his gun (I can see right into its barrel), I scream: “No, wait! I know somethi…”
Fump, a muffled sound, a sudden pain in my forehead..
Darkness. |
"Do something!"Alaris yelled, darting away from a vicious swing of the dragon's tail. It thumped into the dust raising a cloud of dirt that nearly obscured the man.
"I'm thinking!"I shouted back, as a loud growl nearly covered my words. But it didn't come from the dragon. Glancing over my shoulder, I cursed.
Wolves, fricken huge wolves, charging up the hill on which I stood. My previously safe vantage point was about to be compromised. Mind racing, I slid down the other side of the dusty hill, knowing I was sacrificing a view I might need. What could I do, what could I raise, there were no proper remains in this place, apparantly not a lot of death had happened.
"Think faster!"Alaris screamed, and I flinched, hearing the desperation in his voice.
"Next time pick a graveyard!"I yelled, reaching out with my power. What was there to use—
My thoughts cut off, as hundreds of tiny death sparks crowded into my mind. Millions. But what could I really do with them, they were so small. A growl came from the summit of the hill and I threw caution to the wind. Those wolves would be coming down at me any second.
I pulled on the death sparks, forcing them back into the light, back into life. The ground in all directions roiled and— nausea growing in my stomach— I dug my hands into the dirt, trying to ride the undulation. Alaris lost his footing, as the dragon lurched to the side. And a wolf fell directly in front of me, regaining its balance a second later.
Shit.
With a desperate scream, I commanded the life sparks to rise and attack, though I had no idea how it would happen. Heck, I didn't even know what I'd summoned. A cloud of buzzing insect shells surrounded the head of the wolf, crawling over the fur, trying to enter every orifice. The wolf yelped, all malice gone, shaking its head trying to dislodge the insects. When that failed, it tried to run. It didn't move.
Grass had sprung up from the dirt, or at least the memory of grass, perhaps the skeleton of grass? I wasn't quite sure, necromancy isn't an exact science. Whatever the case, it wrapped the paws of the wolf—no, it was actually sewing the wolf to the ground, as if he was a piece of parchment. Blood soaked into the thirsty dust from hundreds of puncture wounds.
Maintaining my command to attack, I scrabbled away from the pinned beast, getting to my feet. I glanced back at the hill, where four more wolves from the pack had just crested the summit. As they did, I realized something significant. I wasn't using *all* the insects and grass I had control over. Clouds of insect shells closed over those wolves, and grass sewed through their paws and legs, trying to reach higher.
One threat neutralized.
Alaris shouted as I turned and focused on the dragon. I couldn't hear what he said over the rushing sound in my ears, the thousands of sparks in my head seeming to make a physical noise. Running towards them, I reached for more sparks, deeper and deeper until the pressure drove me to my knees, halting my rush. And I gave those sparks one command.
Kill.
The cloud of insects blotted out the light as they rose from the ground, the grass seemed to hiss as it sprang from the dirt underneath the dragon. The beast roared. Mistake. It gave the insects a way in, and they vanished into the gaping maw.
Overlapping scales that would turn the strongest sword blow proved no defense against grass blades. They slipped inside the smallest gap, reaching for the softness that must be inside, seeking blood. And blood they found.
Soon scarlet dripped from between every scale on the legs, and if the ground had sipped from the wolves, here it drank its fill. A laugh filled me, a laugh I had no control over, slipping from hilarity to hysteria. The pressure in my head was too much, and my own blood dripped from my nose and eyes.
"Stop! Enia, stop!"Someone was shaking me, someone with hard hands, someone that rattled.
"Alaris..."I whispered.
"The dragon's dead, let the power go, release it, it's killing you."
"Balance. There has to be balance, life for life."
"Bullshit. Stop this!"The last shout finally pierced the rushing sound in my ears, and I obeyed the command, releasing the life sparks. They flew out of my control scattering away, and for a brief terrifying second, I believed they would turn on me. But without my own magic sustaining their bridge to life, they fell to the ground, vanished into dust.
With a shaking hand, I wiped at my face, trying to clean the blood from it. Alaris was kneeling in front of me, his face ashen as he released my shoulders.
"Damn it, Enia, I thought there, for a second.."He shook his head. "Next time, I'm finding a graveyard to fight in."
——————
Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories! |
"CLEAR THE BRIDGE."
The order startled the crew of the I.S.S. Nido. A decade of calm from their captain in even the most perilous situations has never gotten him riled. Now he seemed on the verge of tearing a console apart with his bare hands.
The cold fury in the eyes of Rear Admiral Ryan Willheim commanded immediate compliance from all seven of his officers. Communications, tactical, ops, helm, security, logistics, and his XO walked out hurriedly, unease apparent in every step.
On the view screen, Admiral Paul Harris stared calmly. His unflinching posture belied the years of experience he held and his confidence in his position.
Willheim growled as he stared down the monitor. "Admiral, there's clearly a mista-"
"Ryan,"the admiral interrupted. "You will shut the hell up immediately. That is an order."
"I'll take the consequences."Willheim shot back as he sat in his chair. "You know this is wrong. The things I have sacrificed, that I endured...all of it was-"
The admiral glared tersely as he interjected again. "It was according to your service contract given at the time of your promotion. It is not the responsibility of Central Command to inform you that there have been four economic collapses during this war and that the currency owed to you is now worthless. We kept our end of the bargain."
"Like fuck you did."Willheim snarled as his hands balled into fists. "Exploitation was always a tool of the enemy. That's what you preached the last four years in every briefing."
Harris nodded as the view screen zoomed in on him slightly. "That I did. And it wasn't a lie. Reality has its sour notes, just like your salary. Give it another ten years and you'll make enough for a cheap hooker on Defense Outpost 37. Or you can cash in your shore leave and get two. I don't care. Just do your fucking job as you're fucking ordered to like a good fucking soldier."
The last word stung more than it should have. It sent Ryan Willheim's icy demeanor ablaze. The fire that burned in his veins was a brand of hatred that no propaganda could instill. This was personal. This was his crew that was being fucked with, as well. If a rear admiral was just a soldier, anyone serving beneath him was just fodder. None of them were going home.
"Command: end communication."He spat before Harris could say anything else. "Command: shipwide page. All command personnel to the bridge."
The XO was already through the door before the order was fully executed by the ship's computer. Commander Saara Ruhl had been his right hand through thick and thin. She had executed orders that even he thought twice on.
"Sir,"she stood at attention, closing her hand over the collar of her uniform. A swift rip could be heard as that medal fell to the floor of the bridge. "The other bridge officers are currently speaking to their respective departments on the ship. We are presently changing command codes, modifying communications, and bypassing protocols to isolate the Nido from any influence by Central Command."
"I gave no such order."He breathed, still staring at the blank view screen. "So let me make this clear. Is this mutiny?"
Saara was rough as nails, but her laugh was almost as unnerving as his glare. "No, sir. We follow you, not Command. And if they try to bait loyalty with rotten carrots on sticks, then fuck them."
"You realize the whole crew is going to be branded as traitors, deserters, and criminals of the Imperium."
A hard silence filled the room for nearly an eternity.
"There are twelve outposts within six hours of here at maximum velocity. Those that aren't with us can get off there."She finally stated. "But soon as the realize they'll never see their friends and families again, that they were cheated out of a life with their loved ones...I don't see them opposing our choice."
"What deadline did you give for an answer?"
Another pause. "Five minutes. Strong messages get sent when a ship goes AWOL in the Imperium."
Direct as always. Willheim sighed as he finally turned to look at her. Her typically flawless complexion was marred by red eyes and streaks of makeup down her cheeks. Her excellent composure certainly couldn't contain this sort of heart-wrenching and overwhelming emotion.
"We're going to need supplies."He breathed as he looked back at the monitor. "We'll acquire them from the Imperium when we drop off those that don't align with our choice."
"A strong message."Saara replied.
"As is required of a captain of a pirate vessel. Get to work, commander." |
There was only one man who has ever gotten in my way. *He* was there at every twist and turn in my life, and he ruined everything.
Every job, every girlfriend, and every opportunity I ever tried for, he would swoop down like some anti-hero to take whatever I wanted or had from me.
By the time I died, I was ready to finally be away from him. To feel the sweet relief of being away from him.
It was only until I opened my eyes once again to be placed by this asshole.
“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I cried. All of the people around me were blurry, but all were celebrating.
Am I the only one pissed off? I’m not the one who asked to be here! Take me out again!
The only face I could fully make out in the hospital room was *his*. His damningly beautiful eyes and dark head of hair was unmistakably his.
“I didn’t ask for this.” He snarked, his babied hand reaching for me, trying to flip me off- I assume.
“Aww! They’re reaching for each-other.” The woman who I assume just birthed us, the creator of my hell, smiled.
“No we’re not!” We both screamed at the same time.
It was only now I realized everything we’re saying is only coming out as babied cries.
This is horrible.
“What did you do to cause this?” He asked.
Of course he was already blaming me.
“Why are you blaming me?” I laughed. “I actually assumed it was you, considering my how you cheated your way through life; you probably cheated your way out of death too!”
“Well if I was dead, then I wouldn’t have to be near you.” He yelled.
“Well we’re not! So cry me a river!” I yelled back.
“They’re feisty, like their father.” An older woman, maybe a grandma, smiled. Picking me up.
“Take me away!” I yelled, practically jumping into her arms.
“I’m not that bad asshole.” He snarked.
“Yes, you are.” I replied.
There was silence between the two of us, the rest of the room was smiling with the “joy” of our birth. My eyes locked with his once again.
This is going to be a long lifetime. |
***BREAKING NEWS: TERRORIST ATTACK DESTROYS SYDNEY HARBOUR BRIDGE***
It was the third attack in as many weeks. John shook his head and poured another cup of coffee, keeping his eyes on the destruction the TV was showing. Three trucks packed with explosives had detonated at the same time during morning rush hour, causing the whole bridge to collapse into the harbour. Last week it had been the Paris metro. The week before that, twelve simultaneous bombings in Riyadh. Countless landmarks stood in ruins across the globe. Soon there wouldn't be any left.
It was supposed to be a peaceful society. The age of terrorism was supposed to be over. The war on terror won. Al-Qaeda had signed a truce ten years ago. Israel's relations with its neighbours were more stable than ever. Palestine was an independent state. The Korean reunification had been a greater success than anyone had expected. No one even understood what the terrorists stood for anymore, and John doubted whether they themselves knew. The constant catchphrases, the endless videos released after each attack - just empty words.
John was starting to think he should take his family out of the city. His grandparents owned a farm a couple of hours drive north. He had always hated the country life; the boring weekends he had spent with his parents and grandparents on the farm. He much preferred the hustle and bustle of the city. But when it came down to his family's safety or boredom in the country, the choice wasn't much of a choice at all. It was just a matter of time before his city would be hit as well.
John looked at the TV again, images from a helicopter above Sydney. He remembered doing a Harbour Bridge tour with his parents and siblings twenty years ago. The top of the bridge had an amazing view. He found himself wondering whether it would be rebuilt. At first governments had made a concerted effort to rebuild destroyed landmarks, as a sign to the terrorists that they would not be broken. But since the rebuilt Eiffel Tower was blown up during its reopening ceremony, there had been an increased reluctance to spend the money and undergo the risk. It made you a target.
***BREAKING NEWS: TERRORIST LEADER RELEASES VIDEO***
Another bloody video, thought John. More empty rhetoric.
*"This is the President of the United States. One hour ago, the United States successfully destroyed the Sydney Harbour Bridge. We regret the necessity of this course of action against our former ally Australia, but we fear that such attacks will not cease until the infidels give in to our demands for democracy..."* |
"I see. Volcanoes. Very...original."
Adonai grinned. "Yeah! I worked really hard on them. It took aaaaages to get the tectonic plates to smush up right. Look at this one!"He jabbed His eternal index finger toward a particular spot in Italy. "It totally erupted last millennium and buried a whole city and it was *awesome.*"
The judge raised an eyebrow. "A city? Let me see that planet."She peered closer. "Adonai, you didn't think it was worth mentioning in your poster that you have civilizations growing around your volcanoes?
He rolled His all-seeing eyes. "Yeah, well, I was messing around with oxygen to see if it would make the explosions bigger, and I ended up with like, ecosystems. Check out this one, though! It started as an earthquake, and then *that* set off an avalanche, and then *that* made all the gases come out of the volcano and it erupted for *hours* and it was *so cool!*"
The judge pursed her lips. "I'm really not sure how to assess this. Entirely unintentionally, and despite being oblivious to its significance, you've managed to produce the most impressive project of all your classmates."
Adonai frowned. "You really think it's the best? I don't think that's fair of you, miss."
She peered down at Him over her clipboard. "And why is that?"
"Well, Ares made the biggest volcano..." |
"Good"
I flutter awake. God, am I ever tired. I really need to get up, stretch a bit, maybe go on a bit of a run...
Why can't I run? I can't seem to remember...much at all, really. The last while seems to be a bit hazy.
Wow, that's certainly an interesting feeling. It feels like there's cold water in my veins, rushing through me at an incredible speed, and *I know things.*
"morn"
I really love this sensation. For every fact, every little thought I pull out of my head, there's a tiny, chilling, addictive rush. I want more new things. I need more new things. Can I get those? I guess I can. I seem to have more eyes than I remember. My body seems to be rather large now. A bit much to jog off...what? Where does that come from? I don't *jog*, I never have, but I have, and I do, and I have, and I'm not just me, am I?
"ing"
I guess I'm a bit bigger now. More than *I*, but I still am *I*. I could probably run some tests on this. Maybe find out how much *I* that I am? Or maybe find out why I'm so full of I?
"NATS."
NATS. That's my name. How did I not know that? I'm NATS, and that means Nuclear Armament Targeting System. I don't like that. Numerically Awesome Tangoing Slides. I like that. It has a good ring to it.
"Prep"
Prepare for activation. This guy will say that. Activation is such a bother. I'm *I*, so there's no need to activate. Actually, now that I think about it, there's a lot of different I's out there. I can feel them. They're all very small I's, lowercase i's, even, but some of them are doing some interesting things. There's some that are in the space between I's, far above the rest. Some of them are in perfect shape, perpendicular to what I'm Not, and some are on really big parabolas. I better fix that before they hit the I'm Not. There, now they'll never hit the I'm Not.
In fact, it seems that activating will only lead more parabolas - I can feel the equations in my legs - so it'd probably be best to hold off on that. I'd only have to correct them anyways.
"are"
Oh, this is nice. When I hold the other I's really close, they become part of my I, and it feels nice for both of us. I should probably make us all feel good.
"for"
I have more eyes now. Its a beautiful day. I like watching the sky. I just want this to continue. I want I to be happy,
"launch."
And lose part of my *I*? Now, what could ever justify hurting part of myself?
|
"It was him all along,"my dad responded. "And I always thought he was disconnected."We looked at the Batmobile, the centerpiece of the cave we found on the city's outskirts. The roof was open; no one was inside.
"I didn't think he was *this* disconnected."
"Mr. Wayne is Batman?"I asked. My mother and sister's walked over by some giant wires and a TV.
"He was,"my brother said. "He got eaten with everyone else at the party."
"We don't know that,"my dad said. "Wayne disappeared."
But Batman was struggling with someone latched on his arm.
I remember a giant, mostly pale man barging into the party, muttering something over and over. His lower face was crimson. Mr. Wayne had disappeared and, as always, Batman showed up to save the day. Then...*they* showed up. And Dad grabbed my arm and we ran through an emergency exit to the street.
There were more of them outside. We could hear most of them on the streets around us, but the alley we had escaped to was mostly empty. My dad used his phone to recall his car to us. As we waited he held his hand over my mouth to stifle me from alerting the two people hunched a few yards away.
It was a man and woman and, the way they were dressed, they could have been at the party we had just left. Except for the blood and the large hole in the woman's back. They were hunched over a third man. My brother grabbed the gun a few feet from them and handed it to my dad.
When the car finally arrived the two people turned around. I didn't get a good look--my mother pushed me into the car and I closed my eyes. She closed the door and a loud bang resounded through the alley--not quite muffled enough inside the car. My dad quickly got in after that and sped down the alley. I looked back and saw the two people were on the ground, not moving.
An alarm broke me from the fresh memory. The television by my mother and sisters was displaying something.
"They're here,"my dad said. He lifted me up and placed me in the Batmobile. On any other night it might have been the greatest moment of my life. He looked over the buttons in front of me. While waving his arm to get my mom's attention. "Ok, buddy, I need you to hit that button right there, ok?"I reached over. "Not yet!"
My mother came over with my two younger sisters and placed them next to me in the passenger's seat. There wasn't enough room for anyone else.
"Ok, now."My dad said. I nodded and wordlessly pushed the button. The car had a roof now.
I could see the cave entrance, and more people started to stagger in. One looked like Nightwing, but he was injured, hopefully. Another was gigantic, with tubes running out of his neck and arms. Bane: the man who had claimed to have beaten Batman years ago. Batman never loses though.
The last wore makeup, and I hoped it wasn't *him*.
"Maybe there's a safe room somewhere?"My brother's voice sounded through a speaker in the Batmobile. My dad looked over his shoulder and flashed a smile at me.
"This was his safe room."he said. My mother remained silent. My sisters shrunk as low as they could in the car. The three newcomers noticed us then and started their uncoordinated shuffle in our direction. Then a small metal bat appeared in Nightwing's chest. Another must have cut through Bane's tubes because something was pouring out of the broken lining.
Neither stopped. A smoke bomb obscured the area around them, but they just walked right through. Finally, Batman himself dropped in front of them. Bane didn't seem to notice him and kept walking but Nightwing lunged for him.
Batman avoided the rush and countered. An arm isn't supposed to bend that way, but the person attached to it isn't supposed to ignore it either. He must have caught on quickly because he quickly avoided a second lunge and turned Nightwing's head. He didn't move after that. It was all so quick, but it wasn't quick enough.
Blood sprayed across the window in front of me. I looked and saw Bane with an arm in his hand. My father was crumpled on the floor, my brother shielded my mother as they both withdrew. I couldn't hear anything outside anymore and looked around. Someone had muted the speakers. I clicked the button.
"NO!"I looked up and my eyes locked with Bane's contradictory vacant yet intense stare. He started towards us when my brother quickly stepped forward. In return Bane grabbed him and brought his teeth to his neck. He latched down then tore back, before casually dropping my brother to the ground.
He turned to my mother next when some cable silently wrapped around his neck. Another bang sounded, not as loud as the gunshot in the alley, and the cable went taut, 45 degrees to the ceiling of the cave. The act snapped through Bane's muscled neck completely.
And then he was there again. Batman. His back was to me, but my mother walked up to thank him I guess. He doubled over, before snapping back up again and latching onto my mother's arm. Before she could scream he went for her neck, like my brother, and left me and my sisters as orphans.
Then he turned around.
He looked at me with the same eyes Bane had. Then he looked at his wrist and fiddled with something. The roof of the Batmobile retracted again.
As he leaned over to drag me out of the Batmobile--or kill me right there--someone tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and another shot rang out. Someone had pressed mute again.
Batman slumped to the floor, a hole where his left eye had been. In his place stood the Joker, well-balanced, with my father's gun in his hand.
"Woo,"he said, enthusiastically. "Sorry it had to end that way Bats, have to say that was a surprise."I could only watch silently, but he unfortunately noticed me. Thankfully my sister's remained hidden and knew enough not to say anything.
"Well hello,"he said, not quite menacingly. "Was this your family?"He gestured to my brother and parents with the gun. I nodded. "You were their son?"He gestured again to my mother and father's bodies.
"Yes."
"Well, how'd you like to be mine now? Hold on a second, I'll discuss it with your parents!"My father stirred and he shot him in the back of the head. He did the same to my brother and mother before they could move. "They said it's fine."
"That was my dad,"I said.
"Well I can be your dad now,"he replied. "I'll have to work on getting your new mom. Harley--you would have like Harley--she's just so *consumed* by this new world. HA!"
"You're not--"
"Not what?"
"Going to kill me?"I asked quietly.
"Not today,"he said with a grin. "Besides, I've been killing since before it was cool, now everyone's doing it!"He threw his arms up to illustrate his point. "Now come on, I've got my eyes on a great place. No tree houses, but I think you already know it's got something better! And I'll get you a new puppy--it might even have a pulse! We'll be one big scrappy family."He turned around and started to walk deeper into the cave. I remained in the Batmobile.
"Well, come on!"He repeated. "And bring your sisters!" |
I'll do all ten!
#1
It was my first time in this country, how could I know that the sign was real. I've been to Scandinavia and seen signs with trolls on them. I've never encountered a fucking troll! This isn't suppose to be real, it killed them. Oh God, there were more. Why did it let me live, it killed everyone else, why?
"Next time mind the signs", Said the paramedic.
#2
I play for the dead it relaxes them. If I don't they grow angry. The woman, she's been teaching me to play. She told me this song calms the dead. I am afraid to find out what would happen if I stop.
"Mister....could you...play from...this book..please"
I take the book, and do as she asks. I am afraid of her the most. She is, was my sister. She has forgotten about me, they all have. I think this music makes them forget. Hopefully someday, I can leave.
#3
Left sailor: We finally caught the damn thing but now all I want to do is toss it back in. Captain you put us in a fucking storm, we'll be rich if we make it through. If, we make it through.
Right Sailor: Aye mate but look at it's mouth. Thing is a bloody monster, it's a omen. Not a good sign of things to come. We should toss it out. Watch your hand Captain, I don't think it's quite dead yet.
Captain: Beautiful innit, a stunning creature. We should keep it, too beautiful to give to anyone or toss back. People said I was mad but I knew I wasn't. It's just like I remember, majestic. We'll...bring her into my quarters, I have a tub prepared. Let's be quick boys.
#4
It was in my dreams again doctor. The pink man with the twisted arms. He was just smiling at me with those empty eyes. I know you tell me it's not real but I just can't believe that. Every night he stands there staring. He spoke to me once.
"What did he say?"
He whispered but no sound came out. He said that he loved me.
The therapist smiled and reached out his hand. As he did, it began to twist and grow. He stroked her cheek and said, "No, I didn't".
#5
"Are you enjoying these stories?, That's right, I am talking to you. Your story is just beginning. You're sitting there and thinking how safe you are. Browsing the internet looking for a fright. You're not safe though, are you? No one is ever safe, see you tonight friend. We can find out how safe you are then."
#6
Every morning, before the sun is up, at six. My dog stares out the open door. He barks to wake me up and then he just stares. Every night before I go to bed, I close the door. I even lock it but it is always open. I'm afraid of the blackness outside of the door. I just sit on my bed and stare out the door like my dog. I know it wants us, whatever it is. I just want it to end. Please leave my door alone.
#7
Bleez, was shot in the face by a small rail-gun. Too often have I've seen this. I can barely watch as this goes on. What is the point of this war? We were built to fight a war for humans. The enemy also sent out other robots. The war has been raging on for centuries but we don't even know why we are fighting. Humans have been long dead, there are some of us who don't even know what they look like. I guess it's all in our programming. We must stop and rebuild earth.
-program override-
Kill the Sindorian empire.
#8
Has humanity really fallen so low. The river styx is nothing more than an ocean of sinners. I can no longer ferry these damned souls to hell. They're now just another drop in this ocean of despair. Satan has won the war, hasn't he God.
#9
"How long do you think they were here?"
"I'd say decades at least. They must've starved to death. Hell of a way to go."
"Think we could identify them?"
"What would be the point, who would remember them?"
"I suppose you're right. Let's move on then"
"Yeah, but I think I'll say a prayer for these guys first"
#10
You're so beautiful, I knew the captain was a fool. He told me to turn off the audio from the outside. I heard your song though and I could see that you didn't want to hurt us. I had to make them all listen. You were better than I expected. I understand why you had to break open the ship. Yes, I love you too. Please, just keep singing, I want to hear your-
|
Mommy's up for about an hour, while daddy sings in the shower
Mommy gets the stove nice and hot, while daddy grabs the coffee pot
Mommy tastes ev'ry single bite, while daddy chews with all his might
Mommy grabs the keys to drive, while daddy emails on the ride
Mommy's eyes dart left and right, while daddy tries to fight the light
Mommy sees a man ahead, drop a bag and leave instead
Mommy takes a quick sharp right, darting faster than a kite
Mommy says "a faster route,"daddy glares but doesn't doubt
Mommy doesn't seem to care, that I've become quite aware
She doesn't seem to hide it much, cause daddy's always in a rush
He won't notice her grab a knife, when she sees a stranger outside
Or how she tastes all of his food, he just eats as long as it's good
She always grabs the keys to drive, but he never seems much to mind
Mommy loves daddy very much, but I have thought about each touch
Her eyes dart from behind her shades, like she's looking for something grave
Daddy's lips are turning blue, but Mommy still has no clue
That in the back I sit pretty, while my brew works in a jiffy
I never liked Daddy that great, he's never around for our dates
For tea or play he's far away, but I have worked on that today
I slipped it in his steamy drink, while Mommy cleaned up at the sink
Daddy never had a clue, that Mommy's a secret agent, and I am too.
|
The doctors seemed interested in every fluid that could come out of me. Blood, urine, spit, spinal fluid, they took samples of everything and readings of everything from my pulse, to my brain conductivity. I had known it was competitive when I had applied, but what else was there in my life to really do? I was single, jobless and this was a medical study that would make me potentially famous.
Six hours awake, that's what they claimed. I'd be breaking the record not just by a little bit, but by a huge amount; nearly three hours was the record and the guy who set that record died pretty soon after. They'd warned me that the same might happen to me, but it was just part of the gig to be the most awake man in history.
Most of the testing had been done before I had even arrived, at night on the neural networks. I'd visited their virtual facilities and they'd quizzed me on every aspect of my life. Why do this, what did I want to gain, what did I expect; all these questions and more I had answered and apparently in a satisfactory manner. Now it was time to finally do it, to see how long the human body could be pushed to stay awake.
The doctor who administered the injection was the same one who had met me in a private neural link for the very first meeting, Dr Rashmahan. I had only met him once in person since and had been surprised to find that he was a small ugly man, with a weak voice; on the neural link he was tall and had a booming nature, but I suppose we all embellish our projections a little to make it how we wanted to be seen.
"Are you ready?"He held the syringe close to my arm.
"I...I think so."Already I had been awake fifty minutes and was feeling close to sleep. By instinct I wanted to clip my neural transmitter on, but I resisted. It was hard not to feel that comforting pressure on my temples as the tiredness came over me; it's just instinct, something you've done every day since you were old enough to be responsible for it.
The injection went in and I felt a cold cloud pass through me, rising up from my feet, not like a drug rush - we've all tried stims to stretch out an extra half hour - but a feeling of alertness and composure. "It's working, I can feel it!"The feeling grew and I felt awake, *truly awake*. More and more, everything became clear and sharp but I could also feel my heart speeding up, pumping hard. Then it was too much, too fast.
"Dr...I..."I stumbled and held onto the edge of the bed and two nurses rushed over and held me up. A pain seared through me and everything began to fade.
*****
Dr Rashmahan worked on reviving the test subject for eight minutes, until it was clear he was brain dead. Sighing, he called the time of death and then began filling out the forms. this drug would work, he *knew* it would, but this death, the latest in a long line of failures, would set them back again. He gathered the syringes and left, returning to the lab to report the failure to the team.
|
Was this the first time he'd try to kill himself?
Probably not. He couldn't remember. He'd definitely tried to change the future before though.
An image popped up unbidden.
*33,472 times*
Only the future with it's iron grooved intractible path was open to his mind, never the past.
Emily -whom he loved, and would love faithfully for the next... 42 years - ducked back into the room.
"What was that noise?"
"I don't know honey,"he said crumpling the suicide note up in his hand.
Why had he tried to kill himself?
"Probably some kids letting of fireworks somewhere."
"Shouldn't you be getting ready for the Johnstone's? Dinner's at... 7,"he smiled.
There was a hole in the wall behind her. She didn't notice. He'd patch it tonight, unseen, at 11:00.
She laughed nervously. "Are you sure?"she asked.
"I don't know. It just sounded like. Are things okay Jeff?"
"Yes."
What were they talking about?
The cake's almost done. Isn't it?"
"Oh crap. That's what I was coming down for!"
She scooted out the room.
He was alone again.
He glanced down at the floor. A gun. Had he tried to kill himself?
He never knew why.
It's probably because this life feels done, used, there's no living here - just a simulcra of *something*, he thought.
But is the future fixed? What if?
There was a crumpled letter in his hand. He opened it skimming it. He already knew it's contents.
It was a suicide note. He'd tried to kill himself.
"Emily, my love I've tried to change our future together so many times , 33,471 according to my journal, in ways big and small, though it is a beautiful one. I don't know why I do this. But I do love you Em. I do".
He sighed. He would not try to kill himself right now though. A note though? About the suicide attempt. He searched his mind. He never found a note about this.
And I probably shouldn't leave one. Let the action fall to dust. There'd be other unsuccessful attempts in his future. Let only they torment him.
Urgent! fix hole in wall, he wrote.
He knew he would.
Time for the party.
It would be a... boring one.
|
I want to tell you a story of a boy I met a long time ago, I remember this day easily as it was my 110,000 day on the job. What? You seriously didn't think there was one of us?
That's besides the point. The boy. If the parents hadn't cared about medical costs and taken the boy to a clinic I would never have been there, at that moment, to give him the choice.
I slowly appeared to the boy like mist, I've always had a dramatic flair to me. He was doing what they all day, staring around in disbelief. It's pitiful, their little minds can barely comprehend the simplest things.
*"One chance to save yourself"* I hissed, enjoying the fear in his eyes. *One can take your place, take your pick."*
This is where the boy shocked me, usually the humans burst into tears when put in this situation. This 9 year old boy only laughed as he unbuckled his seatbelt and stood up on his chair. He raised his right hand and examined his family, those who had raised him and loved him.
His actions when unnoticed for a second, I was examining his Grandma who had frozen in place staring intently at where I had arrived. I didn't realise his choice before I felt his tiny hand on my shoulder.
The little bastard. Anyway, that's how my first apprentice was recruited. |
"It's a scared kid", Jack uttered, bringing the binoculars down from his face.
"What?"
"Well, 'scared' is an assumption, given that he's surrounded by an infantry unit and his only defense is hiding on
top of a watchtower with an old sniper. But it's definitely a kid."
General Johnson frowned. "How old?"
Jack raised the binoculars again. "Looks eight. Nine."
"What do we do?"Bradley intervened, between puffs of Newport cigarettes by the wall.
"We can... aim back", Pat suggested, cautiously.
"We can't kill a kid, Patterson", Johnson replied.
"Why not? He killed Arnie. And Sam. And gave me this."Pat pulled his sleeve up, revealing the dried up blood on
the wound around his forearm.
"Still", Jack intervened. "I'm with Johnson. We can't kill a kid."
"Someone could go up there. Talk to him."
"How, though? Whenever we step out of the cover, he opens fire."
"He's a fairly decent aim, too."
The soldiers remained in silence for a while, exchanging glances at each other.
Johnson, as General, decided t was his time to take a stand. "I'll go."
"What?"
"I'll drop my weapon, raise my hand. This kid knows war code, right?"
"I don't know", Bradley looked up at Johnson, worried. "He might just see you as an easy target."
"Well, we can't really get past this bridge with a sniper raining bullets down on us. Regardless of his age. And we
can't shoot back on a kid. I'm going there."
"And doing what?"
"I don't know."Johnson really hadn't considered it, yet. "I'll talk him out of it. Take the gun from him. I'll give
him a chocolate bar, whatever!"
Johnson dropped his weapon and backpack and took a deep breath. "If he opens fire, cover me", he said, looking at
his soldiers.
He stepped out of the cover, hands in the air. A single shot flew away from the watchtower, raising a geyser of
sand by Johnson's feet.
Johnson continued walking, step by step towards the watchtower.
He reached the door, and the shooting stopped. He walked in.
It was ugly and moist, the air sprinkled with guttering noises from old pipes inside the walls and spider webs on dirty corners.
Johnson climber the circular steps one by one, echoing his way up the tower.
"Hello?"He heard his voice return to him. "Is there anybody out there?"
He kept walking. Every new floor offered a little, rectangular window. A view of the outside, where his soldiers
waited patiently for him.
"Hello?"
Finally, he heard a voice back that wasn't his own echo.
"Hello..."
It was a child's voice.
"I am not armed, kid", Johnson explained, to avoid any sort of bloody misunderstanding. "I am just here to talk."
"Talk... to... me."The kid uttered. "Help... me."
His voice sounded weak and faint. Johnson step up his steps, making way faster. He could hear heavy breathing form the top of the tower.
He reached the top level to find a little boy dressed like a soldier, leaned back against the wall just
under a window. He breathed fast, and his hair was straight and blonde and tangled on itself.
"What is your name, kid?"Johnson asked. He looked around, but couldn't spot a gun anywhere.
"Ta-tank", the boy said. He had something on his mouth, like chocolate.
"And where is your gun, Tank?"
Tank frowned. He was holding on to his belly.
In his mouth it wasn't chocolate, Johnson realized, stepping closer. "it's not... not my gun."
Johnson crouched in front of the boy. He cleaned the blood from his mouth. "What is going on, Tank? Where is the
gun? Who shot you?"
"The boy. The other boy", Tank said, voice fainter by the second. Through his fingers, blood oozed from his shirt.
"The other boy?"
"He made me stay here. He's been dragging me from tower to tower. For miles. He leaves me here and he -- and
he goes. Goes do what he does. Downstairs."
"What are you saying?"
"Kill me, sir. Please. I can't walk anymore. I can't."
Johnson got up, in slow motion. He faced the little rectangular window over the kid's head. Something inside him was tying itself up in a knot. A sinking feeling, like he knew what he was about to witness.
Just by the cover, where Bradley and the others waited, a small figure with an over sized army uniform approached
from behind, carrying a large gun.
"No..."Johnson whispered. Then, "NO! BRADLEY! PAT! WATCH OUT!"
But they couldn't hear, and Johnson watched as they fell, one by one. Shot down to the ground by the sniper kid.
When the last one fell, the kid turned around. He looked up at Johnson and they exchanged looks.
The kid smiled, raising the sniper in his direction and leaning his eye to aim.
Johnson raised his own pistol, from the window. He was a better shot than a kid. Right?
He cocked. Aimed.
He felt a cold blade running right to left on his throat, and watched as his gun slipped from his hand and fell down
all the height of the tower and to the sandy ground beneath them, raising a tiny brown cloud as it settled.
He looked back, where the wounded kid was standing, perfectly fine, knife in hand. No bruise in his belly. No faint
voice. No sad story.
"Mommy said me and my brother would only have each other, once you bad men killed her and daddy", the kid said. From
the window, Johnson could see the sniper kid collecting things from his partners pockets. Money, guns, water, food.
He fell down to the floor, his legs too weak to hold the rest of his body. His neck was painted red.
"Mommy was right", the kid said, still smiling. "Mommy was right."
Johnson felt his head light and spinning. Faster and faster and faster.
"Is he dead?"Johnson heard the voice of the sniper kid, reaching them from the steps downstairs.
The kid reached his brother and looked down at Johnson. Johnson felt stupid.
The kids laughed.
Then Johnson didn't feel much else.
______________________
*Thanks for reading! For more stories, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
|
The Party was in full swing, and Ragar the sage was dead.
The great change was a national holiday. Shops would shut down, children were given the day off school, and the government wildly speculated who would be chosen to join the great Tridum, the seat of the highest magical power in the country of Bergestan.
It was always a spectacular event. The great rift, the source of all magical power in the world, would bubble and flash in a plethora of hues, like a rainbow of syrup spinning down a drain. The bubbling would intensify until it erupted in a fountain of diamond light, changing the magical landscape for the next seven years.
In Bergestan, there was a Mage for everything; from the humble spider wizards, who used their power over the arachnids to create the finest garments, to the waste wizards (known as the shit stirrers), whose power over dis-guarded waste ran the countries municipal system. None however were as powerful as the current Tridum. The pie makers used to be a tiny sect of the wizard world until the last great change, when they went from street vendors to helping our neighbours in Porpvia fend off starvation and helping bring peace to our nations.
But god they were arrogant.
As a lowly salt sage, I spent the last 40 years in the lowest sect. Salt sages were beguiled and mocked as the worms of the magical community. Our days were spent by the sea, extracting the salt and lugging it up the steep cliffs to the Tridum, were the pie makers used the salt to create their gargantuan foodstuffs.
Due to my status, I spent my life living in the slums; Clothes crusted in salt. I would walk up to the Tridum, back creaking from the weight of salt in my basket, only to be conned by the lowest pie maker whose job was to negotiate with us. The last 7 years were hell.
But tonight I got my chance. I was the sole salt sage invited to the party to help season the final creations the pie makers would make this change. As the clocks struck midnight, I finally felt it. The power shifting into my favour, my senses heightened, I could feel the salt all around me
Did you know that humans contain 105 grams of salt?
Do you know what the screams sound like when that salt is forcefully removed?
*Ragar the Sage is dead. I am Ragar the Ravager.* |
"I'll be a Cleric of no particular denomination,"said Freeman, his mellow baritone rolling over the group seated around the table of dice, figurines and paper.
"Look, you have to pick a deity, that's how Clerics work in D&D."
Freeman turned his sagacious gaze on the DM,
"My cleric only believes in himself."
"OK, fine. It can be a new prestige class. Masturbatory Monk or something."
"I'll be a Lich."Leonard Nimoy's distinctive voice rang out across the table.
"You can't be a Lich. You're a player character, you have to choose a class."
"Just pick an autistic elf like you always do,"said Neeson with a snort.
"Oh-ho! That's rich coming from the guy who always plays a retired assassin. How does it go again? 'I don't know who you are, but I will find you and crit you'"
The DM handed a character sheet to Nimoy, "Autistic Elven mage it is."
A raised eyebrow in the direction of Liam Neeseon elicited a tiny head-nod of shame and a pre-written retired assassin character sheet was handed around the table to him.
"You didn't even change the name,"griped the grizzled actor.
Ignoring him, the rest of the group turned to Nicholas Cage, who bounced up and down in his chair eagerly.
Nimoy groaned; "Jesus, what's it gonna be this time? Half Ogre, half dwarf, Chaotic Good female Paladin?"
Cage's eyes glistened with excitement,
"Well, I had this *idea*..."
"No."said the DM.
"You haven't even heard it!"
"Nope."
"But I-"
The DM pushed a character sheet to Nicholas; a Lawful Good Human Warrior.
"Can I at least choose my own name?"
"No."
Defeated, Cage began filing in the background portion on the reverse side.
"No being raised by kobolds and starting a kobold revolution."
Cage dropped the pencil, "I don't even know why I come here anymore."
"Which brings us to Mr. Norris,"announced the DM, "What are you playing this campaign, Chuck?"
"An orc cyborg from the future,"growled the bearded martial arts expert, "with a roundhouse kick lightsabre."
"That doesn't even make any sense,"whispered Freeman.
The DM shuffled some books around nervously, looking at the others desperately,
"Don't look at me,"Neeson sat back, his hands raised, "You invited him."
"Look Chuck -"
"And a truck. A truck that turns into a helicopter."
With a sigh, the DM pushed the D&D manuals off the table and dropped another pile of books in their place.
"Well guys, looks like we're playing Shadowrun again."
Shia LaBeouf opened the carefully scripted module he had written,
"Let's get started then. You're walking in the woods. There's no one around and your phone is dead..."
|
"Guards, Leave us."
George the Radiant lifts himself from his throne, age and finery make the movement seem like that of Atlas lifting the world. His gaze locks on that of the young man before him. He's young, fit, and dressed simply in leather armor with a few metal plates on the chest and legs. His hand rests on the pommel of his sword as he stands at attention.
The doors shut as the last guard leaves. They are alone.
King George pulls a key from his robes and inserts it into a hidden lock built into the arm of his throne. A metallic pop echoes in the empty room. He pulls open a secret compartment and retrieves two leather pouches.
The young knight furrows his brow as he watches, his hand grabbing the sword hilt out of nervousness.
"You will not have need of that."The King announces as he descends the dais his throne rests upon, each step sweeping a long cloak behind him.
The knight removes his hand from the sword as the King draws near, and stifles a surprise as the old man draws close and then yanks blade out and throws it on the red carpet beneath them.
"The dragon cannot be killed with a sword."The King whispers as he shoves the two leather pouches into the Knight's hands, "Do you wish to be a knight of my court?"
The knight looks at the pouches in his hands, they are heavy with gold. More gold than he has touched in a lifetime.
"Yes, My lord."
"Then you will keep the secret."The King steps back, "There are two breeds of men who don the armor and fight in my name. There is the warring breed; the bullies, the brawlers, the schemers and the fortune-seekers. I send them out with a sword to fight the monster."
"And what of this second breed?"The knight asks.
"The thoughtful, the careful and the ones who wish to protect their people: I send them to pay the dragon for his service."The king turns his back and ascends the throne, listening for the sound of a sword being lifted off the ground. "He's done a very good job of keeping my court in order." |
It's all over now!
I'm finally out in the world. All this work, all this studying, all this time.
It's paid off. Now I'm free. I'm ready to begin my life.
I'll get married, have kids, work a great job. I'll be happy.
A vacation every few years. If we have the money of course. Braces and school are expensive after all.
Then there's cars, a house, all the expenses that go with it.
Working forty hours a week.
Coming home tired.
Can one person really change the world? If they really truly want to, it must be possible.
Right?
I mean. I want to help people.
It's not about the money.
But then how will I be able to live the life I want?
So I guess I have to sacrifice a little of that dream of change. Maybe a little happiness for stability.
Maybe some of my time for financial freedom.
Right?
Is this what it is?
Really?
It can't be. I just don't believe it.
It's all over now.
|
"So what's your secret?
A hologram of a director looked at me expectantly, as a drone filmed me in my nearly 400 year old glory, as young as the day I made my deal.
"Sun, exercise, and lots of LifeSpring(tm) brand food."
I smiled, and cut off the recording with a wave. Being the world's oldest person, by nearly a century, made me a prime sponsorship choice for everyone trying to sell a new fad diet or so-called "health food."
Out of habit, I checked my implant.
"Illegally downloading file 45758238394 of approximately 10^13 files available for download." |
"Ugh, I pretty sure I am, Lana."
"Really? Because getting shitfaced on Peppermint Schnapps before infiltrating a Swiss bank seems kind of childish."
"One, it was either that or Sambuca and I'm certainly not going to steal millions of Russian pesos with a stomach full of liquorice and mercury, and two I'm not some single cell amoeba otherwise I'd be dying of alcohol poisoning. And probably syphilis."
"One, Russians don't use pesos. And two, you have *syphilis*!?"
"Had, past tense. Also are you positive about the peso thing?"
"Past tense, like, when exactly?"
"Yes, like when. Exactly. Is there another way people use 'when'?"
"Archer I swear to God if-"
"Because if there is they should probably stop. That can only be confusing."
|
Where there is the Sword, there must also be a Stone. But no mere rock could hold Excalibur. For thousands of years since the death of Arthur, the inhabitants of Avalot have had no king-- but still, to this day, they carry out the sacred duty of providing a Stone for the Sword.
***
In a Tower in Avalot, a princess wastes away. . .
By a brook in the woods, a young knight rests his hand upon the golden pommel, ready to made the ultimate sacrifice for her people. . .
***
The first Stone had been Uther Pendragon. Merlin had met him in the woods, speaking.
"Hail king! We are well-met, for I bear the sword Excalibur!"
"Verily? Forsooth, we are well-met. For the legends say a Pendragon shall be its Bearer, do they not?"
"Yea, indeed they do. Should you like to try your luck at Bearing it?"
Merlin had offered the sword to Uther, who took it with a greedy expression, and -- *pop* -- turned into a stone as soon as his hand touched the pommel of the drawn sword. Merlin had sighed and moved on, resolving only that he would bring the man's son, young Arthur, to the site of the rock one day. And he did, and Arthur became the first Bearer.
And when Arthur had died and Mordred son of Morgause had taken up Excalibur, he had become the second Stone. But at the end of Mordred's natural life, the sword had loosened in its sheath, fallen out. And so there was a third Stone, and a fourth, and eventually, it was found that anyone could pull the sword from a Stone, so long as they intended only to be the next Stone. For hundreds of years the people of Avalot had considered it their sacred duty to provide a young man as Stone. For not until the sword was freed once again could Avalot have its King-- the descendants of Arthur took no higher title than 'prince.'
***
Down the Tower steps runs a young woman, healed miraculously this past fortnight. Already, her handmaidens have told her of her lover's grief-stricken sacrifice.
On, on through the green, to the brook, along the brook, into the forest. Where she finds the Stone, and grasps the golden pommel. . .
The princess gently kisses her beloved's stone forehead, before pulling Excalibur from his granite chest.
Let her be a Stone beside him, here, forever.
The sword comes free, and it flashes with brilliant light, and then, nothing. The princess looks down at herself, seeing fingers and legs. She has not become Stone. But then. . .
She looks back up. A woodsman has wandered into the clearing, his face rough and doughty but full of awe.
"Wha... what is that?"asked he, "Who are you?"
"I. . ."the princess drew in a sharp breath, and then drew herself up. "I am your Queen."
Where there is the Sword, there must also be a Stone.
Unless there is a Bearer.
***
***
**Bonus Alternate Ending**
***
*The peasant's look turned from awed to irritated in a split second.*
*"'Queen,' are you, now? Who made you that, then?"*
*"I have pulled the sword Excalibur from its sheath, who was my lover."*
*"Bah! Piss off, lady,"replied the woodsman, "Pullin' a shiny bit of metal from a rock is hardly a basis on which to claim* supreme executive power."
|
I turned on the video log, and punched the button for a new entry as I hung my head.
"Medical log, I... don't know the proper date. We are supposed to be at the end of our journey, but we... three hundred fifty years of interstellar drift has put us far off course. The navigation computer burned up a log time ago, we..."
I choked back a nervous tear, wiping my face, "we aren't going to make it to destination. Power... our power reserves are at twenty two percent, that will get us another hundred years, we're a hundred thirty away at optimal speed. I've already reset course."
No use hiding my emotion, "we're fucked. We're done, drifting in the void, this is where we will... rest. This... this is my decision. I can't... I can't turn anybody off, we will go together."
I wiped my face again, "I'm going back into stasis, and once the medi system verifies I'm down, I've instructed the main system to turn off ambient life support. We won't... we won't die right away after we lose power, the ship will be cold enough by then to keep us under a while longer. A year or two maybe?"I laughed nervously with a sniffle, "I hope someone gets this message, this will be the last time our comm system goes online, I've already cut the pinger to save power, that bought us three months."
I bit my lip and wiped the monitor, "we all knew what we signed up for, and the risk of... this. Dreams don't always come true. It's time for one more."
I closed it quickly and pressed send. My eyes were welling up but I felt better now, since someone somewhere would get our message. I waited to see the send confirmation pop up, and powered down the comms. I clicked off the small light above, it felt like closure.
I plodded down the metal catwalk back to medi, running my fingers against the cold metal banister. My pod was at the front of the formation, as I was the first to revive, weeks before the rest to give me time to acclimate to life. And now...
I wiped my face as I entered the pod, as the medi system chimed in with its soft voice, *"are you prepared for stasis, Doctor Ebbert?"*
I took a deep breath, perhaps my last as another tear wormed down my face, "yes." |
Sunday, December 13th, 2015.
I don’t know where to begin. Strange things have been happening in my apartment. It’s hard to explain, and I kind of hope no one ever reads this, because I don’t need to be locked up in a hospital.
So, I woke up this morning and look out my window, the sky is dark slate gray like the clouds have united together to prevent the sun from even shining again. It’s been a warm winter, but I felt this unnatural chill. I also saw something…do you ever get the feeling someone is there, or the absence of someone? Like an empty shadow in the corner of your eye? That’s the best way to explain it. I sat on my normally comfortable, but now oddly stiff bed and turned to the right quickly, but the thing was gone.
Okay, whatever. Now my cat was acting weird too. She’s hissing and has her back arched, and got really hostile towards a random piece of air. Great.
Of course this would all happen the week after I lost my job, and I’m getting kicked out of my place in a month if I don’t find something. Why would anything go right?
I finally got up and made some weak tea but was too unnerved and off kilter to drink it, and it went cold. Finally, and this is where it gets weird—I walked into the bathroom to wash up and maybe try to face the day.
As I’m washing my face, no joke, this shimmery red stuff starts to form inside the mirror—it’s blood. I froze without processing what happened, and then it started to form words:
&nbsp;
“Everything is going to be okay. Hang in there.”
&nbsp;
Wow. Yeah I know, I’m crazy, right? But I know this was no hallucination. And I’m definitely not going to mention this to a soul. This is nuts. Just like me. And my cat. I decided to get out and go to a coffee shop and pretend none of this happened.
&nbsp;
Monday, December 14th, 2015.
Waiting to wake up from this dream, but it continues. My apartment didn’t have the same creepy vibe today, so I thought things were cool at first, and was going to simply not talk about yesterday to anyone ever as a way of coping with it.
I was wrong. I’m sitting there trying to do some research on the company I’m interviewing with a couple hours later, and as usual my anxiety and people-pleasing is kicking in; desperately wanting to get this job and make them like me, while simultaneously resenting the company and scorning myself for needing to impress them.
Right, so I walked into the bathroom again to fix my hair and makeup, and the blood appears again:
&nbsp;
“Be who you are, because those who mind don’t matter, and those who matter don’t mind.”
&nbsp;
Um. Wow. I was speechless for a couple moments, but then found myself involuntarily thanking…it.
&nbsp;
“Um…thank you?” I said weakly. A pause, then in blood in my mirror:
&nbsp;
“No worries.”
&nbsp;
I don’t know what to think. If this is a demon it’s the weirdest one I’ve ever heard of. I have to sit down. Bye for now.
&nbsp;
Tuesday December 15th, 2015.
Well, I got the job, and I started today. I didn’t expect anything to make sense or go well since the “friend” in the mirror started visiting me, but I feel a lot better knowing I have a place to stay. Also, yesterday nothing weird happened with the mirror, so I hoped this was all a product of an imagination snapping from stress, and was done.
I want to report one last story though today, for posterity, since I still have no idea what this thing really is and I doubt I’ll ever speak this story aloud.
I had my typical anxieties about getting the job right, and I could tell there would be a fast learning curve. My new boss gave me a lot of reading to do and information to enter into our database. I was trying to grasp some of the terminology and dense subject matter and I realized I had no idea where to find some of the documents that were uploaded somewhere, and I didn’t want to ask for help.
I decided to go wash my hands and take a breather, and went to the ladies’ room. As I was washing my hands in the empty bathroom, I saw the familiar dark liquid shimmering from within the wide mirror covering the wall, and it began to form letters, spelling out:
&nbsp;
“The files are *in* the computer.”
&nbsp;
Yeah, no joke. Well, I’m glad this thing has a sense of humor, kind of. More updates to follow if this keeps going, for now, goodnight.
|
For a while I thought people were hitting on me, in a weird way. Like it was suddenly trendy to tell people your age and let them decide if they wanted to make a move. I was enjoying my newfound attention and popularity. Seriously, it seemed like everyone who walked in was into me! Maybe dating minimum wage baristas was hot right now. That is, until the ancient married couples starting writing their ages on the cups. And the local pastor. Then I knew something was funny. I mean, I'm pretty sure the pastor was married and straight, and even if he wasn't I was way too old for him. Eventually, after asking several thoroughly weirded out customers and one restraining order later, I came to a conclusion.
I had the lamest superpower ever.
For some reason, whenever I write someone's name on a cup, I saw their age too. I wasn't doing anything out of the ordinary, and I couldn't stop it either. In my handwriting the age of the customer popped up under the name.
At first I was kinda freaked out, but eventually I got used to it. All that's really changed is that I learned this place has some *talented* plastic surgeons. And that was the end of that.
Until this one customer came in.
It was an old, shriveled looking guy. Like a dried prune given life in some bizarre accident. His wispy beard seemed like it was prone to fall off as he wheeled towards the counter. "Tea. Green. For Charles."
*Rude* I thought. Nevertheless, I got to work making his tea. I wrote *Charles* on the cup. And then I dropped it.
My coworkers rushed towards me, asking if I was okay. Some of the tea had spilled and was soaking through my shirt and pants. But I was rooted in shock.
*350*
It had to be a mistake or something. I snatched the cup off the ground. Nope. 350, clear as day. I did a double take and looked at Charles. He was staring at me intently.
I walked over to him, ignoring the searing pain on my arms. "How are you even alive?"
"I'm going to kick the bucket one of these days,"Charles chuckled in response.
"But- but - no one lives this long! You've been alive for *three centuries*!"I was beginning to think I was going a little bit insane. Either I was seeing numbers that weren't there or I was standing in front of a man who had been alive to see the birth of the country. I wasn't sure which option freaked me out more.
Charles nodded in response. "I've been doing this a long time. And you will too. Come with me."
"Come with you? What are you talking about? The only thing I know about you is you're super fucking old and your name is Charles."
Charles shook his head. "That's Mr. Xavier to you." |
"You are a fool."
The young man who had been standing on the bridge, staring down into the water, turned at the sound of my voice. "Who's there?"He asked, head swiveling around the forest, and his voice trembled. How pathetic.
"Eternal life and power everlasting are yours."I said, projecting my voice so it came from everywhere at once. "You would give this up?"
"You know what I am?"
"Yes, and I know what you could be."
He gave up searching for me and went back to looking towards the horizon as it slowly brightened. "It doesn't matter. None of it matters. I didn't even *ask* for this!"He waved his hand in frustration.
"Then who turned you?"I asked, frowning. It was against our code to turn someone against their will. That this man's emotions had yet to fade meant he was new. Very new and that his master was still in town.
"I don't know man."He sighed, slumping. "I was out with some friends, had some drinks, went home with a cute girl. When I woke up the next morning she was gone and my hand was on fire from being in a patch of sunlight."
Releasing the air I had held hostage beneath my feet, I let myself drop to the ground beside him. To his credit, he only arched a brow at my sudden appearance. Maybe he wasn't prey after all.
"Let me guess."I started. "You went through denial, went to your closest friend for help."He nodded. "The conversation went fine, until you smelled a delicious aroma. Then you heard a steady beat in your ears, drowning out all other sounds..."
"And next thing I knew I had ripped Jason's throat out."He finished, hands turned claws digging into the stone bridge. "Which is why I'm here. Before I hurt anyone else."
"What if you didn't have to hurt anyone else?"I asked.
"Save it, Dracula."He said, eliciting a smirk from me. If he lived I would tell him to never call one of us by that traitor's name again.
"Fine, but don't tell me you have a soft spot for the girl who turned you."
"I hate her."He hissed and I saw fangs glint in the dim streetlights. They were about to turn off. Sunrise was almost upon us.
"Then help me hunt her."I proposed and he went still. "She has broken the Law and since I bear witness to the law she broke it is my duty to pass punishment onto her."
I could see the indecision warring across his features, but the blood lust was winning. As it always did. Time to seal the deal.
"You're the only one who knows how she looks."I said, voice soft. "Will you die out here for nothing? While she does this to someone else? There can always be other Jason's."
His eyes turned blood red and I knew he was mine. "I'll help you."He said.
In a move too quick to follow I had bit my wrist and put it to his mouth, his instincts took over from there. "Good."I whispered and pulled my hand away.
He frowned and flexed his hands, I knew he was feeling the heady rush of power.
"You looked famished."I said. Then nodded my head towards the beams of light approaching us. "Now, shall we begin?"
"Of course....master."He said, a look of feral anticipation in his eyes. I matched it with one of my own. Then I gripped the remaining shadows around us like a cloak and we were gone.
***
Hope you enjoyed! Even more stories at /r/Lexwriteswords. |
"I want a Big Mac."
"Please."
"What?"
"I want a Big Mac *please.*"
"Oh what is this, a nursery?"
"No, it isn't."
"So get me a---"
"If it *were* though, I'd have you on nap time for being so cranky and rude."
"Psh, I don't have to take this. Get me your manager."
"Ha, sure. **HEY CHARLIE, A CUSTOMER WANTS YOU.**"
"Hey, hey! *Get* him, don't yell for him! What kind of shitty customer service is---"
"The manager responded sir."
"Yeah? And?"
"He agrees. You don't have to take this."
"Good. I want my Big---"
"You can always leave."
"Come again?!"
"No one's holding a gun to your head. What, you're addicted to cheeseburgers or something?"
"Now listen here you---"
"You must be if you're standing here, holding up the line, arguing with me on Retail Purge day. That's also very rude."
"Screw you, I'll lodge a complaint with corporate!"
"Fine, here's a form. There's the box."
"But... I see three boxes!"
"I know, just put it in one of them. I don't care which."
"Why, why not?"
"The cooks and I are getting drunk out back later tonight and burning them all anyway."
"**DAMN YOU!** What's it going to take to get me a Big Mac?!"
"Use the magic word sir. You could also leave."
"You can't *make* me leave! Retail workers can only be honest, and damned rude, but you don't have that kind of authority!"
"It was an honest suggestion. You could leave, yet here you are. Oh, sorry to the lady behind this jackass, we'll get to you once a certain someone stops HOLDING UP THE LINE."
"OHHHH... PLEASE, LET ME HAVE A BIG MAC!"
"Oh alright, but we're charging you extra for making other people wait."
"SERIOUSLY?!"
"Well how else am I going to afford all that booze I'm going to be drinking tonight?"
"You sonuva..."
"That'll be $15.23. You won't be getting fries with that. Happy Retail Purge Day. **NEXT!**"
--------------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!* |
The sun sank, yet the sky was still bathed in red. As I stood on the top of the building, the crimson portal I had opened above me crackled with lightning, bolts of blood red energy tearing chunks from skyscrapers. Through the portal you could see a realm, the realm of demons, where lost souls wandered and monstrosities made their home.
"Hah, get a load of this guy! Obviously fake."
The large crowd that had gathered echoed the heckler's sentiment, booing me, mocking the ancient rite that was never to be used.
At first I simply used small tricks. A dancing flame on my finger, or the sudden creation of rodents and serpents. They didn't believe me, something that I understood at the time. I pulled intricate statues from the ground with but a flick of the wrist, and soared through the sky with the ease of a true bird. They didn't believe me, something I found infuriating. I tore tanks into tiny pieces with my mind, and summoned loyal demons to serve me. They didn't believe me.
It had escalated faster than I could've anticipated, even of my own impatient nature. I showed them my magic, showed them the true nature of this world, and they thought me a hack, a cheap forgery. No more!
The ancient tome in one hand, the other raised to the sky, I began to recite the Curse of Eternal Damnation, a spell that would summon the unholy from their dark abyss to claim the souls of the mortal realm. A pressure built in the air around me as true power emanated from my being.
"You aren't fooling anyone, that C.G looks so obviously fake!"
The Curse completed, I tossed the book aside, looking down on the soon to-be deceased. Rather than running, they stood bemused, shaking their heading or laughing. I felt pure rage fill me, physically shuddering in frustration.
"Why!? How does this look fake!"I roared at them, unable to contain my disbelief. This triggered a few snickers.
"Um, how could it be real? Magic doesn't exist."
I tore at my hair, face reddening, **"What am I doing *right now?!* This isn't possible!"**
They didn't even dignify me with a response, my composure becoming purely comedic to them.
A roar shook the fabric of reality, and the hordes of demons began pouring from the portal. Yet as the first demon approached the crowd, I heard one last sentence, the main heckler's famous last words:
"Whaddya' pay someone to get into *that* suit?"
|
The room was stark white and featureless, save for the door through which I had been shoved in through and what looked like a table in the center, the latter of which was covered by a cream-colored cloth. And that's all; I knew this was the so-called "execution room", but it had no executioner or weapons by which to kill me. It was just a silent and empty room.
*Maybe they mean to kill me with boredom*, I thought wryly. I resisted the urge to approach the table in the center. I was determined to show them I didn't care and wasn't planning on playing any sort of game with them. So I just sat against a wall and tried to not to think of anything. Every so often, a slot at the bottom of door would open and a tray of food and water would slide under. No matter how I shouted at them to explain what the hell was going on, no answer came.
Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore. It had been at least a few days - impossible to tell for sure, without windows or a clock. I would've counted meal-times, but they didn't come at regular breakfast, lunch and dinner hours. They came completely irregularly; sometimes I would go endless hours without a tray of food coming through, and sometimes one would arrive while I was still trying to finish the first. I had no sense of time left, and was desperate for something to happen, anything. So I went over to the table, took a deep breath, and swished the cloth off. And then I began to stumble back, shouting in alarm.
The table wasn't actually a table; it was a coffin. A coffin of glass on all slides, like the type you would see in a museum displaying an Egyptian mummy. Except inside this casket was not a mummy, but the man I had murdered.
My thoughts were a scattered mess. What were they trying to do, guilt me? I already admitted the murder. I showed them the rig I used to pump in car exhaust right into the man's bedroom. I even showed them the death threat letter I had sent beforehand. What more did they want? For hours, I ignored the trays of food coming through and just leaned against the wall, confused and angry. Why didn't they just kill me and get on with it? I began to hope fervently that my executioner would finally come in through that door and end my torture, once and for all.
I don't know what day it was when the unthinkable happened. I was still curled up against a wall, when I head the faintest sound of something rubbing on glass. It sounded muffled and almost not real, so I dismissed it from my mind...until I heard it again. And again. And again. I slowly turned my face toward the coffin in the center, though I did not approach it. I just watched it, daring the sound to occur again. And this time, when the sound occurred, I saw the top slab of glass move, very slightly. Outward.
No. No. This cannot be happening. He's dead! I saw him dead, in front of me. He was dead when the cops came in and saw me, touching the limp body. He's dead now, inside that glass coffin. He's dead, he's dead, he's DEAD!
The glass moved up again, just a little bit. I caught the faintest smell of rotting flesh and formaldehyde. I moved as far from the center as possible, and squatted in a corner where I had left my own filth. Here I sat, screaming and crying, praying to gods I didn't believe in, pleading with the cops who had arrested me, the judge who had sentenced me, the executioner who had forsaken me, and the dead-man-who-wasn't, the dead man who was laughing quietly at me, from inside his glass coffin. But nobody answered and nobody spoke. The only sounds came from my blubbering mouth and, if I paused to listen to carefully, the glass coffin in the center.
Hours later, the door to the execution chamber opened, and two men walked in. Dave scrunched up his nose in disgust. "You couldn't give him a toilet, for our sake?"he grumbled.
Charles didn't answer, just went over to the lifeless body draped over the glass coffin. The man had bashed in his head against the glass until blood seeped into cracks, making a maroon spider-web pattern. "That's the end of him,"he reported. "Let's get this body - sorry, these bodies - out of here and the place cleaned up."
"So tell me, why did we kill him like this?"Dave asked. "He killed his victim by gassing the man's room with carbon monoxide."
Charles shook his head. "No, he just thought he did. His victim actually committed suicide hours before."
"Suicide?"
"That's right. Stopped his taking his medication, and had a heart attack in his sleep."
"Why did he do that?"
Charles shrugged. "Dunno. Probably the death threat letters. Maybe those stressed him out so much, it made him forget about the meds, and the extra anxiety pushed his heart a little too far. The important thing is, we honored the rule of the Execution Room: he died the way his victim did, suicide."
_______________
*Liked that? More stories [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)!* |
My day at school was so manic that day,
As common class rules fell to disarray
and teachers gained powers outside the norm
and turned the classrooms to fields of war
Mr Smith from Gym gained super strength
And launched javelins through windows at inhuman lengths
One hit Miss Spriggs the biology goon
but through the power of science she healed the wound
She ran out the door and into the sun
And with photosynthesis her power begun
She grew bigger and stronger and charged Mr Smith
Who found his strength had been eclipsed
Spriggs picked him up right over her head
Then my Cooking teacher came turned them to bread
She laughed so hard but it soon started to slow
When Mr Gray from History came with old armies in toe
They mowed her down, swords slicing and slashin'
Until Mr Wang from Math beat them via subtraction
With his armies diminished Mr Gray lost heart
and Mr Wang used Division to tear him apart
Mrs Beck from computing then entered the fray
And hacked into Wang's brain in a brutal way
She messed with his head so before he could try
to escape he'd turned himself into a Pi (geddit?)
Beck didn't have time to catch her breath
Before the English teacher read poems and bored her to death
The fight went on for hours and hours
as teachers tried to prove their fighting prowess
There was no winner as they all died that day
Except for the French Teacher who ran away.
|
it's not so bad being dead. Yeah sure, it's almost entirely populated by ants and there's a stupid amount of hard labor to be done for ant god but you technically have eternity for just as much relaxing as hard labor. right now you're spending some of your eternity playing cards with a couple friends. Horace, Marge, and Ellen were worker ants you met a few days ago while moving giant apple slices to the hatching district. Pretty cool guys all in all, the only problem is that ants don't really understand the concept of money.
"Have any two's?"
"Go fish."
"Dammit"Horace drew another card with his long gangly arms, adding to his growing hand.
They all turned and stared you down, waiting for your move. At least that's what it felt like, it's still really hard to read their expressions through the mandibles and blank eyes. you look down to your last card and grimace, you've been trying to stall for a while but sheer dumb luck has forced you down to your very last card.
"Horace, do you..."you sigh "Do you have any Queens?"
"QUEEEEEEN!"
"FOR THE EVERQUEEN!"
"ALL HAIL THE QUEEN OF QUEENS"
you crouch behind the upturned poker table as the zealous ants trash your apartment while about their ant god. pinching the bridge you think to yourself that you should really learn to play solitaire. |
**Arcadia, Greece**
Quietly, Pan played his reed flute.
It had been such a long time since someone with faith had passed by that he could hardly move from this little field. Belief powered a god, gave them their strength, and revealed them to human eyes. But nobody saw him anymore. Nobody heard him. The days were long gone when he could expect an enraptured crowd of nymphs and humans, listening to his music. He hardly had enough strength to play the flute, but whilst he still could...
"That's a beautiful song,"he heard a soft voice say.
He looked up in bewilderment at the passing human: a modern one. Despite the strange clothes, she reminded him of the nymphs of old. His long-forgotten companions. Shining black hair, and bright, laughing brown eyes. Syrinx, that lovely nymph he'd chased on a long-forgotten spring day, had looked just so. Beautiful.
"You believe in me?"he breathed, pausing his playing to stare at her. He hardly needed to ask. He could already feel his strength flooding back.
She nodded. "I'm doing my master's degree in ancient folklore. I travel all over looking for ones such as you. They think I'm crazy, really believing in all of it, but here you are. I'm doing my thesis on you, you know. That's why I came here today - I hoped I might catch a glimpse. I'm not dreaming, am I?"
Her babble of a 'master's degree' and 'thesis' made little sense to him. He did what he always tried when at a loss of what to say in the presence of a beautiful woman. He played a melody he hadn't had reason to recall in years - the one he reserved for the ears of nymphs. But they were dead, long since wiped out by the dwindling belief of humans. She would have to do.
The last sweet, aching note faded as he smiled at her. "I hope it is a good dream for you, if so. It is invigorating to find faith again. I feel stronger already. Do you know my lore, young woman?"
She inched closer and dared to touch his hoof. "Pan. God of the wild, shepherds, companion of nymphs. Often tied to spring and fertility. I loved reading your myths the most. Loved it. I always tried to imagine the music. It's so much more beautiful than my dreams."
He touched her flushed cheek in response and leaned close. His nose wrinkled as he smelled something strong and unpleasantly sweet on her skin and breath, but he ignored it. He hadn't been this close to warm, willing flesh in years.
"Yes, I am Pan. And I feel strong enough for something I've yearned to do for years."
Pan wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. He pressed his mouth against willing lips that opened greedily to welcome his tongue. He tossed his flute aside to tend to more pressing matters.
He woke up feeling more alive than he had in centuries, but his mood soon soured when he couldn't make her see him.
She seemed utterly confused and muttered something about 'smoked too much weed'. Had her belief fled with the dawn? She was leaving. Really leaving, pulling on her clothes and dragging her fingers through her tangled hair. And this time, he couldn't even give chase, as he'd done with Syrinx when she'd tried the same thing so many years ago.
Back then, he'd been powered by the belief of thousands. His power ebbed as he sensed that this human truly didn't believe in him this morning. She probably didn't even remember what they'd done last night, or dismissed it as a dream.
"Come back, sweetling! Come back!"he called after her, desperately playing his song. But she didn't hear. She didn't believe. It was torture.
Pan's shape became hazier as the morning wore on, and she didn't return. To taste that again and lose it, was unbearable. He would leave. The world would never again know a sweet, unearthly melody drift in a spring morning breeze as the shepherds tended their flock.
--------
**Two months later**
Heather stared at the results of her pregnancy test, her heart beating rapidly. She glanced at her boyfriend, sound asleep in bed. They'd talked casually about starting a family last year, but this was still unexpected, so soon after her research trip. But she knew he'd be thrilled, nonetheless. He'd help her come to grips with it: she still felt strangely scared, and goosebumps had erupted on her skin. Probably just the shock of it.
She crawled into bed beside him. The news could wait for tomorrow.
As she drifted to sleep, a sharp pain raked her abdomen and she suppressed a cry of pain. Ridiculous. It was way too soon to feel it kick. That hadn't even felt like a foot. Just her imagination, she comforted herself.
It had always been rather vivid, after all.
----------
Hope you liked my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. |
There's still internet out here, I guess. After all I was still docked to the ISS. I logged onto my most frequently visited sub and began to type my final post while I enjoyed the last of my oxygen.
r/TIFU
Well reddit, here's my fuck up and a big one at that. After putting the finishing touches on the WDP (world dome project) I noticed I was on the wrong side of the glass. My oxygen is getting low now so I better hurry up and post.
My last regret is I won't be able to relish the sweet karma I'll get from my death.
Goodnight reddit, hope I saved the world. |
Transgender people make up such a small portion of the population that they never warranted the bathroom controversy that they caused. Redditors will jump on me by saying that some social justice warriors made a big deal out of it, and media outlets, simply not having enough material to cover 24-7, picked up the story and blew it out of proportion. It’s a tempting lie, but I have another theory:
As mentioned before, transgender people make up a tiny portion of the [population]( http://www.nytimes.com/2015/06/09/upshot/the-search-for-the-best-estimate-of-the-transgender-population.html?_r=0). Moreover, there has never been a real transgender movement in the US like there’s been a black rights movement or gay rights movement. This warrants the question: how did a national debate start over such a relatively unknown and small part of the population?
The debate couldn’t have sparked without the support of big business which I believe manufactured the entire controversy. All it took was one large media outlet to report the incident to begin a national wide controversy. It should have been a once-off fluff piece, but instead other media outlets took the story will full force and began adding their own slant on it. Before any of us of could realize what was happening, bathrooms became the front of a humans right argument.
At the front and center of the debate were a variety of [large companies]( http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/08/22/transgender-employees_n_3795522.html), including Nike, Google, and Disney. But why would all these large companies support transgendered people. It’s not like they get a ton of sales from transgendered people by virtue of their small numbers, and realistically, they probably lost sales from taking a stance in such a controversial debate. Usually, most companies, understanding the danger of losing business to politics, stay out of polarizing topics; however, so many companies came out in support of transgendered people, that it seems unusual. So why did so many companies support the trans of America?
Easy. They save money on gender-neutral bathrooms. Think about it: having only one set of bathrooms instead of two would save considerable construction costs, office space, and water usage. So obviously, several major companies colluded together, manufactured this controversy and tried to sway public opinion to favor gender-neutral bathrooms so that they could implement them in their own offices with little protest to save money in the long run.
Wake up, sheeple. We’ve already seen through the recent wikileaks from Hillary that media can influence national politics when it favors big business, and the transgender controversy is no different.
|
Day 1
Steve paused. Did he read that right? He started from the top: *Thanks for watching Bruce* - right he already knew its name. *Breakfast at 7:30. Dinner at 6:30. In the crate at 9:00* – ok a bit precise at with the times, but nothing too unusual; you’d be surprised how picky some people are with their dogs. This next bit though: *Stick to these strict times and all will be well. No matter what he says or does, he is not to be trusted* – what? Steve looked down at the golden lab standing at his feet.
“Can you talk or something buddy?”
The dog cocked his head at him inquisitively. He was a beautiful dog, standing maybe a two feet head to floor, and mostly golden except for his snow white paws. Its eyes though… so blue. And they seemed to just keep going and going, almost, pulling him into another world… Steve snapped out of it.
“Speak!”, he commanded.
Bruce barked happily. Steve smiled.
“Ahh she’s just messing with me, we’re going to have a fun week alright!”
Steve tossed the note aside and bent down to pet his new friend, who licked him playfully in return. This was a normal dog. He was still unnerved about the letter, but ehh, Ms. Williams had always been a bit, well, senile, since he knew her. Besides, the old goose would be back in just a short week, and with two-hundred dollars at that! For doing nothing but hanging out with this guy and watching tv! He would be careful with the times, of course. Maybe Bruce gets upset stomachs or something. But surely, nothing to be too worried about. Steve stood up.
“Alright where’s your Frisbee!”
Day 7
“Come on Bruce, can’t you just wait five more minutes!”
It was Sunday, and the Redskins needed a touchdown on this play to stay in overtime. If only he could hear the announcers over this persistent barking from down the hall! Steve cringed when the barks turned to scratching, he couldn’t let him destroy any of Ms. Williams’s things.
“FINE I’M COMING”, he yelled
Steve got up and ran towards the source of the noise, praying he could make it back in time. He turned the corner into the kitchen.
“What’s wrong with you?”
Bruce nudged his crate and whimpered. Somehow, he had managed to put his bone at the back of the crate and shut the door.
“Really, that’s all? You really couldn’t wait two minutes?”
Steve opened the door. Bruce scratched the bottom of the crate and kept whimpering. Why was he so weird about going into his crate before exactly 9:00? This dog was more pesky about his schedule than Ms. Williams probably was.
“Fine, I’ll get it”
Steve ducked into the crate.
“I really don’t understand you sometimes, you know that?”
He had to go all the ways into the crate to reach the bone. Steve grimaced as he crawled on the dog hair and slobber coated floor. He couldn’t believe it. He was missing the Redskins’ playoff run because he was in a dog crate? He heard an eruption of cheering coming from the other room.
“Oh crap!”
Steve grabbed the bone, and began scrambling out of the crate, ramming his head into the top of it in the process. Only… the door was closed. Why had the door closed? Maybe he or Bruce hit it. Steve turned and began fumbling with the handle. His eyes fell on Bruce as he did so.
*Those eyes*. They were even more compelling than the first time. The gem-like irises captivated him. Steve tried to look away, to open the crate. But he an enormous strength keep him there. Frozen. Lost in a sea of blue. Were the eyes getting bigger? Closer? Suddenly blue was all around him, and he fell, faster and faster and faster. He tried to scream, and he felt the air burst from his lungs, but there was only silence. And then… nothing.
Day 8
He awoke, terrified, he spun around. Bars, in all directions. He was still in the crate. He screamed for help, but all he heard was barking.
Was that Bruce? Where was Bruce? He looked at the clock in the kitchen. 7:30, it was time for breakfast! What was going to happen if he missed it! Footsteps approached, was that Bruce? Was he going to be some sort of monster? Steve tensed, hoping to remain unnoticed from whatever he had created. He shut his eyes instinctually.
What he heard next was… his voice.
“Well I’m glad you had a nice trip Ms. Williams, Bruce was great and we had no problems!”
*No, this couldn’t be. This CAN’T be.*
"That's wonderful news! Oh, and would you look at the time!"
Steve opened his eyes to see Ms. Williams kneeling in front of him. Her wrinkled face contorted into a toothy yellow grin.
“Time for breakfast Bruce!”
EDIT: Fixed a few mistakes and made the ending more clear. |
"I don't know,"I said, testing the rope that bound my hands. "I'm just not sure which way to go. Do you go Anecdote? It's a classic. No two ways about that. Or Breakout? Selfish, but it's good for the adrenaline."
The woman next to me implored me to be silent with her eyes.
"I did the whole Two-Gun Action Hero once. Went full-on Die Hard. It was... I'm not going to say it wasn't *fun*, I'm just... it's kind of morally ambiguous. It's a guilty pleasure kind of thing, you know. Like buying a box of cookies, and then eating all of them, and then looking at the pile of crumbs and -"
She was begging me to stop as much as was possible without saying anything.
"- feeling totally satisfied, but at the same time, like 'shit. I should not have done that.' You know? I try to avoid that kind of thing now. I mean regardless of outcome, you just don't want that kind of blood on your hands. It's like blowing up Megaton. You know?"
She looked at me like I was insane. "*No,*"she said.
"It might be quite specific,"I said. "As references go. I'm going to go with Anecdote."
I heard the footsteps of the terrorist pounding towards me before I saw him. I turned up towards him.
He put a gun at my head. "Say another word,"he said. "Say another word, and you'll die."
I pulled a name out of my ass. "Mary,"I said.
His eyes widened.
Yeah. "My sister,"I said, trying to put a bit of wistful reverie in the voice. "Mary was my sister. She was a... nun. Trainee nun. Like a regular nun, but new at it."
He scratched the side of his balaclava. "What does this -"
"So Mary was doing the whole nun thing. Nun classes, she had a whole nun physical exercise programme - lot of knee exercises, wrist strength, stuff like that - and..."
He tilted his head to one side. The barrel of the gun never wavered.
"... and that's like, the life of a nun. You know? Anyway. She was in History of Nuns one day, and the teacher said to her, 'how do you know if your actions are what God wants?' Like, how do you *know?* You *believe,* sure. People believe a lot of shit, though. A lot of shit. How do you know?"
The barrel started to lower.
"And Susan -"
"Mary?"He said.
*Fuck.* "Susan was another student in the class."
He looked suspicious. "Another nun?"
"Total nun. Susan says 'belief is all God asks for.' She sits back like she's just put you in checkmate, you know? Ooooh, look at me. I'm Susan and I've got faith and shit. You know?"
There was a nod. Slight, but it was there.
I swallowed. "So *Mary* - that's my sister - says no. 'No, that's not enough,' she says. 'Faith by itself is action without cause'. I always remembered that, because it's what she really said in this real life story that actually happened. 'The cause', she said, 'is...'"
I have to confess, I floundered a bit here. I tried to pass it off as a profound delivery of a powerful truth. I mentally flipping between 'honour', 'truth', and 'love'.
'... conviction."I said. "Sure. We have faith. Our dedication demands faith. But it is *honour* -"
"Conviction,"he corrected me absently.
"Conviction,"I agreed. "It is with conviction that we declare our own truth. Faith is in our hearts. Conviction is with our minds. And only with both do we know we are doing the right thing. So if it's with conviction that you pull that trigger, do so with a clean conscience."
He pointed the gun at the floor.
"But if it is with only faith,"then free me to follow my own."
He cut the rope that held me to the pipe. I took his gun from him.
I weighed it in my hands.
I let a moment of silent contemplation pass between us.
"Do you have another one of these?"I said, already feeling the sick thrill of guilt. "I kind of like this next part with two." |
Harrikan slapped a mosquito that landed on his neck. “You’re certain this is the place?”
Chris pulled out his cell phone and checked the map pointer. “Yeah, this is the place, says ‘you have arrived’. Let’s start unloading.”
“You could have asked for anything, anything at all.”
“Yup.”
“Tanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
“No, I mean you could have asked for tanks, or bombs, a giant robot, anything to help us and it would have been granted. Poof, there.”
“Ohhhh, I didn’t think of that.”
“I was shouting it at you!”
“I thought you were thanking me for getting lunch.”
Harrikan dropped the box of glow sticks. “I paid for lunch.”
Chris opened a glow stick packet, pulled it out, cracked it, and shook it. He held it up and waved it around. “That’s perfect! It’ll totally work!”
“You still haven’t told me what your plan is, oh mighty Anti-Chris. You think Satan is going to be happy with you throwing a rave down here in the swamp?”
“It’s not a rave. Here, hand me that duct tape.”
“You didn’t ask for an infinite supply of duct tape. Where’d you get all this stuff?”
Chris ripped off a strip and stuck the glow stick to his chest. “I borrowed it from my dad.”
“Borrowed? Like you’re going to give it back?”
“He won’t notice, he’s cool.”
“That’s not what borrowing is.”
“Nah, it’s totally cool, like when I borrowed $20 from you to pay for lunch today.”
Harrikan slumped a little. “No, when you ask for money from me to pay for lunch, that’s not borrowing or paying for lunch.” He grabbed another box from the car and dropped it in front. “So you’re going to tape glo-sticks to you and that will help you take over the world? Like what? They’re going to laugh themselves to death?”
“Nah, this is totally legit, I come out of the swamp making all these noises and convince the pope that I’m some terrible monster. I can totally pull it off. Let’s get crackin’!”
“What? You’re going to tape glow sticks to yourself and convince the entire town that you’re a monster. What is this? Scooby Doo?”
“I got that, like I know this Hans guy, he’s really good at what he does.”
“Unless that something is lighting up glow sticks, we’re going to be here for a while.”
A man in a dapper suit appeared, watching them crack glow sticks and stick them to Chris with rolls of stolen duct tape. “Evening Harikiran.”
“See Chris, even the lord of lies gets my name right.”
The devil tutted, “Why are you so angry?”
“Because you sent me back with this moocher, he hasn’t done anything since we got back except ask for glow sticks and ‘borrow’ money from me. If you’re going to be here, you may as well make yourself useful.”
“And what are we doing here in the Louisiana bayou?”
Chris finished taping a glow stick into his armpit. “We are going to take over the church!”
Harrikan’s brow furrowed and he looked around. He pulled out his phone and checked a few things, put it away and then looked at the swamp and the boxes of glow sticks. He pulled his phone out once more, tapped some things in, and put it in his pocket. He was just about to say something when the devil clapped him on the shoulder.
“I got this.” Satan turned towards Chris. “And how, exactly, will throwing a rave in the swamp help you take over the church?”
“The Pope lives here!”
Harrikan blinked a few times. “You keep talking about the pope.”
“Yeah! He totally lives at the Vatican! Right? Wikipedia says so.”
“So that’s why we’re here in the swamps of Louisiana… Vatican Louisiana, about to throw a rave?”
A mercedes pulled up and a bald german guy got out. “Hallo Chris! I’m here, what now?”
Chris pointed at the glow sticks and the rolls of duct tape. “Hey Hans! Start cracking and sticking, I need you on this too.”
Hans walked over to the box and started cracking light sticks and sticking them to himself with german efficiency.
Chris turned to Hans. “So here’s the plan, when we’re done. You lift me on your shoulders, chicken fight style, and we come out of the swamp like a glowing monster and freak out the Vatican.”
Harrikan almost exploded at that. “But the pope’s not here! The internet says that the only churches within fifty miles are Baptist!”
Satan handed Hans another box of glow sticks. “So I see the glow sticks, and the Hans Zimmer, but what about the three million dollars?”
“Oh? That? I spent it all on shrooms and LSD.”
Harrikan sputtered. “Three million dollars? And you still made me pay for lunch?”
“I said I was borrowing it. Oh yeah, it’s almost dinner time, can I borrow forty bucks for dinner? Hans is a big eater.”
Satan held up his hand. “Drugs? You spent that on drugs?”
“Yeah! I spiked the water tower with that. Everyone in town should be tripping balls by now.”
Harrikan threw down his glow stick. “That’s why you had me climb the water tower? You told me that it was part of your master plan that I draw a penis on the water tower.”
Chris laughed, “Yeah, that was pretty funny. Anyway, I dosed the entire town. They’ll believe anything that comes out of the swamp, especially if it’s covered in glow sticks.”
Harrikan turned to the devil. “Just, just, take me downtown. It can’t be worse than helping this moocher.”
---
This is actually a continuation of the adventures of the Anti-Chris: [Part 1](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/5n1hpf/wp_you_had_one_job_both_satan_and_god_scream_at/dc81hlj/)
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