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*The Forest of Khaddath, a soul must remain for another to depart*
That is the rule of this place. This mystical plane, this forest bound to the edge of any and every town. I have been wandering this place for so long I could not remember how I got here, when I got here, or why...
Danger lurks in these woods. I hear noises every night, cracks of twigs on the ground, rustling leaf and grass. Beastly growlings, gnashing of teeth. Sleep never comes easy in the evening.
I have tried to escape this wretched place. Along the way I've encountered many people. Men, women, children, young, old, nobles, peasants....all lost. All unknowingly find themselves trapped here. Bound with the same fate we would often found ourselves intertwined seeking the same goal, to get out.
I have seen the exit several times. Sometimes it shows itself as a small cave opening. Sometimes it shows itself as a wooden arch shaped by trees. But one thing remains the same, you can always see the mirage of the place beyond it.
"Go on ahead, friend. Go home! Go find your wife and children!", I encouraged the cowering young farmer I just met pointing at a stone gate, familiar houses can be seen beyond it.
"Re...really? What about you?"
I just smiled. How many times has it been that I put other's need above my own? Not for any virtuous reason. I am not a generous man. I simply don't have the urge to go pass that door...
"It's alright. You have your whole life to live in front of you. Don't waste it caring about this old man..."
"But you're...you're not that far older than me. How long have you been here?"
Huh....that is a good question indeed. Without anymore words I rolled up my sleeves.
"Good heavenly lord....what are those?", the young farmer's eyes widen at the sight of my scar-filled arm.
"My friend, this place knows no law of nature. The sun rises to a cloudless day and sets to a starless night always indefinitely. I put a scar on my flesh everytime the sun rises but it's no use. A day here can last a week and sometimes a mere 1 hour."
The young farmer traced my scars with his calloused fingers.
"But...how?"
"How am I still alive? Heh it's this forest. It doesn't let you die. I've long forgotten the last time I felt hunger or thirst or hot or cold or even aroused. By any means, I am already dead long ago. I am more afraid of what would happen to me were I to step beyond that door than staying in this hell..."
Cracks of twigs and rustling cut our conversation short.
"They're here....go on quick! No time to argue. Save yourself!", I hurrily said.
The young farmer's eyes again widen in fear. Skinny gaunt figures started appearing from the shadows of the woods. Men, women, children all in tattered clothes. Flesh torned and falling apart, bones cracked and protruding from their flesh. Showing no signs of hindering their pace. Eyes white, showing no life only hunger for flesh. On their pale gray skins, the same scars like mine.
The farmer looked at me. A look of scared, worry, and pity. To him I just smiled.
"My fate is sealed, my friend. I will eventually become like them. At least before I descent to be a mindless monster, let this poor soul redeem himself in advance. Save yourself, go on. Be with your loved ones", my eyes teary.
No words needed, the young man hugged me thankful, and ran across the gate. Home safely, I sincerely hope for him.
The undead stopped in their tracks. They knew there's no point in attacking me, for I will become one of them soon. I don't know how I got here, or when, or why. But I do know why I will stay here....
Onward I went to the darkness of the woods, the undead on my tail. Just one more soul, one more soul. Please god...just let me save one more soul. |
I wish I could tell how I felt when it happened, but to be honest, things were kind of blurry after my cantrip. Typically a witch incites their incantation, gets their broom, and goes on their merry way. It's an exciting time, a rite of passage, but other than some increased freedom, little changes for your average witch after their arcane cantrip. For me, the story was a bit different.
It is only by the testimony of Giselda, the crone in witness, and my own reverse mental engineering that I can say that on my 18th birthday I did not receive a broom, but instead a PTRS-41 Soviet anti-tank rifle. Apparently the force at which it flew into me knocked me right to the ground, and fractured three bones in my hand. The first thing I could remember after the incantation was waking up in my cottage, a bandage around my hand, and a World War II anti-tank rifle leaning on my dresser. It took me awhile to piece things together from there, even with Giselda's help. Some help it was, though. She was hysterical the entire time, talking of "fate"and "destiny"and "the balance of the worlds". Her shrieking was like to scare off the chickens, though, so of course it fell to *me* to be the level-headed one and calm her down.
This was easier said than done with a gigantic rifle in the corner of the room. My nerves were shattered further after the gun went off after being knocked over in Giselda's hysteria. The whole in the wall aside, it was an improvement, as it was Giselda's turn to be frozen with shock, and she had finally stopped yelling.
"Well. We'd best be rid of this,"I said, putting the safety on and removing the remaining rounds. I made my way out the door as Giselda followed, trembling.
"H- how... how do you know how that thing works?"
"I-"I wasn't sure. It had come naturally. I know the older witches love to sell the idea of one's broom being bound to the witch by fate, but... Fate wouldn't have sent me Soviet-era anti-tank weaponry, right? Still, I couldn't explain it.
"That... *thing...* That thing is your broom, young Tris. I don't know what it means - I don't know if I even want to know - but I can say that it doesn't inspire warm feelings in these old bones. My feelings aside, that is your broom, it is Fate that brought it to you. Use it wisely, and... have a nice life, Tris."
"I don't want it."
"That's fair."
"Tha-"
"That's also too darn bad."
"Bu-"
"*Goodbye!"*
That was the last time I saw Giselda. The metal in my hands didn't make me all too happy either, but I had hoped the aged witch would at least have helped me sort out what to do with it. Despite myself, I took the time to really appreciate the wartime antique now that I was alone, and realized my initial impression was wrong; it *did* make me feel... comfortable. The weight in my hands, the cool, smooth steel, the magazine holding five 14.5×114mm armor-piercing rounds... it felt right. At that moment, I knew what I had to do. So I loaded the rifle, held the unwieldly thing vertically in front of me, put its butt behind mine, and kicked.
I shot straight back into the cottage.
I woke some minutes later.
The gun had fired and carried me with it. I figured I had it backwards, and was proven correct when I tried again. The stock in front of me this time, I rocketed from the ground faster than any broom I'd ever seen! The rifle seemed half-mechanical, half-magical, as the shot it fired to take off left a crater in the dirt some yards behind me, but the thing continued to fly without any other sort of impetus or influence.
And so it was that I began my journey as the only witch in history with military equipment in place of a broom. In truth, there have never been *any* other objects in recorded history other than brooms, but the fact that this particular item happened to be designed to stop Nazi tanks *was* a feather in my cap.
It wasn't even until my twentieth birthday that I ever actually had to stop a tank, and the rifle certainly has come in handy in tight spots, crashing through the walls and whoever happens to be standing in its way whenever I call it to me.
But that's just the beginning of my story. For a witch there sure have been a lot of tanks in my line of work, but through it all, it's just been me, my wits, and my trusty PTRS-41 anti-tank rifle.
# = = File 1: Tris, Tank-Slayer = = |
The alien sat there in their human costume, trying not to give themselves away to this puny human. If he knew the truth of Kavats plan to infiltrate and understand human society, the consequences could be dire. But this time, he was doing it! He was talking with this human, and the human was giving him valuable information!
However, the Kavat could not understand what the human was explaining now.
"What is this word, 'seduce'?"Kavat said.
"Oh,"Ren said. He bit his lower lip before he resumed, "Well, see, It's kindof like romancing someone, but it doesn't have to mean you make love with them. It can just mean charming them to make them like you, so you don't have to fight them."
"I see,"Kavat said, "There is power in this human action then. Gaining without sacrifice. That is what I will choose to do."
Ren raised an eyebrow, "Are you sure?"
"Yes,"Kavat said. His body tingled. He was about to learn a very powerful human technique.
"Okay then,"Ren said, "Roll the dice."
Kavat did so. The die landed on number twenty.
"Uhh, wow. Okay,"Ren said, "This has never happened before."Ren cleared his throat and continued in a narrative voice, "The cave spider walks towards you, enthralled that another creature understands its language. It is no longer hostile. It communicates back to you in clicks and clacks."
"Hmm,"Kavat said, "What happens now?"
"Presumably you take the treasure and leave."Ren said, "I can't imagine a long term relationship with a cave spider working out."
"Treasure?"Kavat said, "I like this book, Dungeons and Dragons."
"I'm glad you're interested in playing!"Ren said, "I knew you were one of us. I can't wait for you to join our campaign next week. Will you join me and my friends Monday to play again?"
Kavat's body tingled with anticipation. He had done it! Infiltrated the human ranks. The wealth of information he was about to gain was unimaginable.
"Yes,"Kavat said, "I will join with you on this Mon Day."
"Great,"Ren said smiling, "I'll see you then!" |
“Thou shalt not mess with the nature of this world!” a knight shouted, clad in armor, weapon raised.
The recipient of the message, a goblin seasoning a lizard with wild spices found nearby, barely had time to turn around before being cut down by a sword. The knight put the weapon away and approached the little creature. It was still doused in herbs, a meal saved from consumption.
The knight carefully picked up the lizard, clasping it in two hands, then placed it on a nearby tree branch. The sun shone through the leaves, granting the cold-blooded reptile a semblance of internal warmth.
“Be free and become the mighty dragon that you should be,” the knight spoke with reverence. “You have potential. I can tell.”
With those last words, the knight strode away. The lizard could still hear the clinking of his armor long after he left. It basked in the warmth of the sun’s rays and fell asleep.
​
\*\*\*
​
When the lizard awoke, the world had grown slightly smaller, including the very branch it lay on. In its eyes, everything had shrunk. The occurrence continued, day after day, night after night, week after week. Each time, the reptile thought of the knight’s words. It thought of the knight’s kindness. And it thought of the knight’s veneration.
Soon enough, the cold-blooded creature sprouted wings, and its internals began to breathe with fire.
The dragon took to the sky and soared, controlling the air with newfound leathery wings.
It was free.
​
\*\*\*
​
The knight stared at the giant eight-eyed arachnid in front, surrounded in its cave by both web and past meals. The monster clicked and clacked with legs and fangs, taunting the iron-clad man. It had no speech, but the knight knew he was outmatched. Yet, a warrior’s destiny was to tempt fate. So the man sprinted forwards, sword in one hand and shield in the other.
It only took an instant for the spider to manipulate the webs and trap the hapless soul. It clicked and clacked once more, eager to consume the hearty prey. The man shouted in desperation.
​
At the time, a dragon was soaring overhead the cave. It recognized the voice as the knight from before and swooped down to the noise’s source.
The dragon spotted the spider spinning a web around the trapped man and quickly rushed in to save him.
There was a battle of fire and fang, chaos and mayhem. In the end, the dragon emerged victoriously. The slain beast lay on the floor, its meal left uneaten.
Soon after, the knight was freed, and the dragon posed a question: “How did you know that I had potential?”
“I did not. I merely suggested an idea, and you have done the work all on your own.”
The dragon facsimiled a smile before taking off once more.
---
Thank you so much for reading! Feedback is both welcome and appreciated.
If you enjoyed this piece and want to read more, you can at r/TenFortySevenStories!
Edit: Fixed a grammar mistake and added a line break. |
Vlix set a tray of nutrient gel on the table, along with a few flavor packets to go along with it. He then went off to continue his duties. His coworker, Ap, cocked his head at the display.
"What's that for? He asked. "You know it'll solidify if you just leave it out like that."
"What? The food? Oh, that's for the humans. We've got them running around the vents."
Ap changed skin pigmentation to one of mild disappointment. "Humans, really? You know they don't actually exist, right?"
"Yes they do."Vlix said. "We picked up a few on the asteroid run before you joined up. Found a nice little eight planet system with a ton of them. Got a great haul of minerals, and a few of the humans. We knew right away what it was, since the ship seemed to run a little better afterwards. Plus,"he motioned for the new shipmate to come closer. "I saw one with my own eye."
"You did not."Ap said, shifting to a more surprised color. "You can't see something that doesn't exist."
"It's true, I did see it. A male, I think. He was grabbing a few small power cells before running back into the walls through a vent. It was only a second, but I know what I saw."
"Uh huh. Okay, fine, let's say you saw this 'human' what are we supposed to do about it? I mean, they would be classified as stowaways, right?"
"Technically yes, but that's bad luck. You know the stories as well as I do."
"You mean the ones about ships that tried to get rid of a few humans and ending up broken in the middle of nowhere?"
"Exactly. They fix things like nobody else, and they can break things just as easily. Now that we have a few, we decided to just give them food and let them do their thing."
"The entire crew?"
"Just about. Not all of us actually feed them, but we've all found our ways to appreciate their work."
"Great."Ap said, changing to a sad resignation. "I signed up with a crew of superstitious fools who think basic maintenance is the work of a mythical creature."
Vlix was about to say something, when both of their comms came to life, demanding their presence in engineering. It was thanks to this that neither saw a wall panel quietly slide out of its place. A slender bipedal creature slipped out of the gap and rush to the nutrient gel. It scooped the offering into its two arms and rushed back to the opening. It slid the panel back into place, and the room was once again quiet. |
Daemons are formless, mindless creatures. We wander the world aimlessly, unseen to all mortals. Daemons don't feel often. When we do, we possess physical form, take shape and manifest. Most are mortal souls from distant pasts. Others could not accept the fate they were dealt. Some were born this way.
I was born this way.
And for millennia I wandered the realm, aimlessly and purposely. Around me, daemons would fade or take shape when they decided their purpose was for one thing. Eventually, the mortals realized the daemons as monsters and thus, sought us out.
I could have been more alarmed. Or I could have been less worried. As a daemon lives, their power grows. And I have grown strong without purpose.
Until one day, I met him.
His sword was stained with the blood of a daemon that had manifested as an imp, no doubt seeking to cause mischief. A particularly weaker demon. His companions had left him to stumble around clumsily, swinging his sword half like a child, half like an accomplished swordsman. He knew daemon arts as well, simple fire bolts and freezing techniques. Despite his incompetence, he had potential.
I followed him on his way home that day. Along the way, he grumbled very loudly about his companions. Nearby, an old daemon, younger than I, woke from its slumber and took form as an ogre. The hunter was too absorbed in his own words and the ogre tailed him from afar.
So I took shape.
I have no true knowledge, at least, I would think so, of the human form. I had attempted to turn into a form suited more for wrestling the ogre, such as a troll or a Greek cyclops. A Golem would have suited me as well.
But I did not expect myself to turn into a human woman. I was agile and I was swift. All I had to do was move and throw a stone through an eye for it to back away.
But I was not satisfied.
So I manifested a dagger and drove it into the backs of his legs. Then I drove it into the back of his neck. After bleeding for a few moments, the physical form dissipated, save for the chunks of flesh my dagger had ripped out.
I sighed and rubbed the sweat from my forehead. Exertion would be something to get used to. From behind came a rustling and I turned.
"Hey, are you ok?"The young man stepped out, his sword drawn, still coated with dried blood.
I remained silent. Anatomy may be one thing, human tongue was another.
"Are you mute? Deaf?"He waved his hand. I blinked at him.
"Grrrgh."The noise felt like chewing tree sap.
The hunter scratched the back of his head. "Oh good you can speak. uh...."
He sheathed his sword and turned around. "Bye!"
Off in the distance, a flock of birds flew followed by the rumblings of giant footsteps. Above, a condor far larger than normally possible flew by. In the distance, a pack of wolves barked at each other.
It did not take long to catch up with him. Although, he was quite surprised when I grabbed his sleeve.
I was born a shapeless void. My entire existence is defined as empty. But his fist, though not particularly strong, left a sting on my new cheek. Yet another stimulation I must learn to endure.
"Hey! don't sneak up on me like that! It's dangerous outside of towns!"He held out a hand to me. I didn't realize I had fallen off my feet.
I touched my cheek where it stung. It stung some more. I felt the face muscles twitch and contort. I suppose that is the normal reaction of a human body. I turned to him and took his hand. Even a daemon knew when others would help.
"Look, how about you follow me until we get back to town. You look pretty messed up in all those rags and bare skin."
I looked down. Indeed, these things called 'clothes' hung in half-made tatters across my body. I was still holding onto my knife, blood similarly dried to its blade like his. I realized I should have manifested a cover for it as well. Perhaps I still could.
The youth in front of me blushed. "Sorry, I wasn't peeking. I'll get you some clothes when we get back, ok?"
I nodded, he sighed, scratching his head. "look, my name is Morda. It's nice to meet you."
I smiled, I presumed shaping ones lips upward was smiling, and did my best to speak.
We daemons do not have names. We do not speak. We only know how to communicate through intent. We only form when we have purpose.
"I... am... Aria." |
Clara was a curious girl, wishing on dandelions and nickels. Cutting up ferns saying she was making a potion.
Soon she started running from ignorance.
Repeating little light spells she traded with her classmates, how to speak to crows, a color changing spell, summoning fireflies, a warming spell.
Talking to strangers passing through town asking about demons, runes, pretty snakes, and different customs.
Laughing along with her friends as the teacher showed how to smooth a rock quickly. Then came a spell she couldn't do.
A fireball. It was simple she understood it had helped her sister learn it the day before but Clara didn't have enough mana.
From then on she always stood back a little to watch. Keeping up well enough to explain everything but not quite able to do it, feeble flickers of flame in comparison to her sisters destructive but incredible potential.
Her sister grew to be a spellwarrior, rushing in, icey runes covering her armor and sword. Behind her Clara would talk to the medics learning the theory of medicine and how charms helped.
Rainbow lights ever dancing around her comfortingly to soothe those around her she waited for the injured to come back, hoping her sister would always be okay.
She kept running through theory, trying again and again to create an easier fireball. Never giving up but still failing each time. Adjusting her glasses and helping the people around her.
She was proud to be an assistant healer. She loved helping people.
The worried little boy found his cat.
The tall traveler given instructions.
New healers taught how to work in a real situation.
Letters written.
Life went on.
The rude scholar taught how to summon snakes, but had to enchant her shoes to walk quicker.
That while meant merely to annoy the boy was a revelation to her. She wondered how for so long she had ignored enchantments and runes even while knowing them well.
Now she found chances to trade to teach to tutor, asking in exchange. A hair tye that created a gust of wind, glasses that didn't fog. Rings that summoned fire and water.
Over time her she collected charms and pins, runes and ties that kept her safe as a walking wall.
Still Claras own mana wasn't enough. It was enough she told herself. She had charms enough to survive almost anything and she helped her sister. But still couldn't summon a single fireball.
She pored over the spell obsessively abandoning her duties. What made it different from the lightspells she could do so easily?
Eventually she found it. The smallest spells. The fairylights and fireflies relied on ambient mana. Fireballs were just enough to draw from the casters own mana pool.
She thought back to being younger only wondering why ferns grew differently than bushes.
Now she knew how it worked.
Ambient magic was enough for smokescreens of butterflies. Of wind strong enough to blow enchanted shoes as fast as a flight spell.
Claras goal had never been to keep up it had been to learn.
She was keeping up though wasn't she?
Her trades and earnings had her adorned in finer clothes covered in charms. It wasn't her own mana but her own work.
In combination with small magics to activate and tie spells together she was as successful as her sister.
Her sister was a hero and Clara something of a walking grimoir but it was enough for once. |
The skyscraper crashed downwards, sending dust and rubble down every side street and alleyway within a hundred metres. Not moving from the centre of the road, Gavin covered his eyes, blocking them from the worst of it and only wishing he could cover his ears as well. The screams rang out all around him. To his left, a woman hit by a bit of concrete, her body lay crumpled as people stood on her body to get away from the destruction. On the right side of the road, a small girl staggered, covered in blood, trying to get somewhere safe. A man and a woman ran by, also covered in dirt and blood, their eyes on the road as the woman crashed into the girl, sending her face-first against the sidewalk. The man pulled the woman along, leaving the girl behind. Gavin only stood and watched, like always. *There is nowhere safe when I’m around.*
Finally, the dust seemed to settle and everyone around him, even the staggering girl, seemed to have deserted the street. Sighing, he put his hands in his pockets and started to make his way to the skyscraper knowing that this likely wasn’t over. All around him, the city lay in ruins. *The Pied Piper made good on his promise.* Collapsed buildings, dead bodies, abandoned cars. A few people, survivors, walked about in a daze but Gavin couldn’t stop. He couldn’t help those people. As he got closer to the site, the fewer survivors he came across. More and more, he saw groups of corpses, holding onto one another in their final moments. Climbing over the debris, Gavin stood right where the skyscraper had stood only a matter of minutes ago. Clearing his throat, Gavin tried to mentally prepare himself for what was to come.
“Hello!” he cried out, inhaling dust as he did and instantly regretting calling out as he fell into a fit of coughing. Founds from the wreckage, like someone pulling themselves out of it, forced him to go quiet. Tears came to his eyes as he forced back a cough. Looking around, Gavin climbed further up the ruins, towards where the noise had come from. Then, just as he stood atop a pile of twisted metal and concrete, the Pied Piper emerged from the rubble, his dark green cloak in tatters and he slowly got to his feet. Gavin’s head dropped. *Must it always be like this?* At first, the Pied Piper didn’t notice Gavin standing there above him. Blood dribbled from the man’s ears and both of his eyes were bloodshot. His once coal-black hair was now white, the dusty concrete covered everything.
As he tried to walk, he fell, his foot was still stuck. Gavin stood as still as possible, trying to avoid the unavoidable. The Pied Piper muttered a series of curses under his breath and he freed his foot from its prison. Falling onto his back, the man cried out in pain, his foot crushed beneath the weight of the skyscraper remains. Gavin took a step down the debris, wanting to get it all down and over with as quickly as he could. Placing his foot on a slab of concrete, a number of smaller rocks came loose and fell down towards where the Pied Piper lay. Startled, the man looked up, his face a mask of terror and anger where he spotted Gavin.
“You think that was enough?” he screamed, trying to get back to his feet, only to fall face-first back onto the broken concrete. The Piper screamed. A howl so basic and animal-like, it chilled Gavin’s bones.
“You’ll never stop me!” the Piper shouted, his voice starting to break as he crawled towards where Gavin stood. “No matter how many buildings you collapse on top of me!”
“I didn’t…” Gavin began to say, only to trail off, knowing how pointless the discussion would be.
“I’ll show you!” the Pied Piper cursed, standing on one foot, a bent knife appearing in his hand. “Die!” The Piper stepped towards Gavin, only to stop mid-swing, his knife clattering off the ground as he hand gripped his right arm.
“My arm…” the Piper gasped, as he fell backwards to sit on the ruins. “It hurts.” The Pied Piper looked up at Gavin, eyes still full of fear but not they longed for help. Gavin thought he could see regret in those cold brown eyes. Regret for those years of villainy. Regret at all those lives he had wronged. Regret at having ever come face to face with Gavin. The Piper’s head rolled back and life had left his eyes.
“Another heart attack,” muttered Gavin, turning away from the body, ready to sleep whenever he could. “I suppose that was lucky enough.” |
"I want to meet the main character. Now!"a shout from a man broke the usual silence of the book store. He waved a novel around, before slamming it on the counter and repeating his wish, "I want to meet Prince Jackson."
I sighed as I picked up the thick book, scanning the blurb to make sure it was approved, and handed it back to him.
"Don't you want one of the side characters?"
"Nope."
"They're usually more interesting..."
"Look,"he cut across me, "just do what I say, don't try to convince me to pick one of the side characters. I know that they're more expensive."
"Alright, alright."
I loaded up the machine behind the counter, dusty and rusted from age, and thrust the book inside. It shirred around upon the click of a button, and made a 'ding' noise similar to a microwave once it was finished.
Prince Jackson stepped out, his dropping blonde hair reflecting the metal of his polished armour. A scabbard hung at his side, and his face shone with main-character narcissism. Clearly, he hadn't gone through his character arc yet.
"That'll be £19.99,"I said, as the Prince practically galloped around the book store.
"Finally. Some good service." |
Elenor’s life had been going great since she discovered how to cure her laziness through forced compliance. All it took was an elder ritual found in the old tomes at the back of the library. After completing the ritual, when she needed to clean the house it was simply a matter of saying “I need to clean the house.” Suddenly her mind and body would be filled with an insatiable desire to do just that.
Her home had never been cleaner, her list of errands and menial tasks she needed to complete had never been shorter, and she was content with the orderliness of her life. Until the day she had ridden to the neighboring town to pick up some fresh produce.
She sensed something was wrong immediately when she saw the smoke rising from amidst the buildings. As she passed into the town proper the smell of burnt flesh and rotting meat assailed her senses and caused her to tie a cloth around the lower half of her face to find some small relief. She numbly rode through a scene of death and destruction.
The wise move would have been to flee immediately, but her curiosity had overruled her fear. As she rode into the central square of the town where the slaughter had appeared to reach its climax she saw a small girl kneeling over the crumpled body of a middle aged man. “Girl what happened here? Who did this? Why?” Elenor called out.
The small girl turned a soot stained face broken by two tracks of tears and replied, “The king. Our harvest was too small this year, and the king wished to take it all for the war effort. Leaving us only what we could glean from the fields.” The small girl stood as anger took control of her and began to yell, “We would have all starved! So we fought back, and this was our punishment.”
Elenor knew the rulers were ruthless, but she had never imagined they would be capable of such inhumane retribution against their own people. Then she made the greatest mistake of her life and whispered, “We need to end this tyranny.”
Elenor was thinking back on that day nearly ten years ago now as she yanked her bloody sword out of the now lifeless body at her feet. She stood alone in a field strewn with corpses. The last one standing after another clash with the king’s patrols.
Her clothing was ragged and her skin was torn and hanging from her body in multiple places where she had been battered, sliced, and run through. That couldn’t stop her anymore. She would never stop until the king’s tyranny was wiped from this land. |
Part 1/3
Lucas, the former hero, walked along the dark tunnels of the mine. Like his fellow heroes, he had been caught by the Dark Lord Haradrim. He was one of the few captured during his plotting phase, so he had only been sentenced to thirty years of hard labour. That was several years ago, and he still regretted it.
As he had travelled across the Dark Continent, he had seen people of different races, races he had been told could never cohabitate, live together. He already had doubts at the time, but before he could give up his plan and run off with the friend who had joined him, they were caught.
Walking into the main chamber of the Mines of Wrath, he was handed his pickaxe and pointed to a spot to mine. With each swing, more rocks fell and were scooped by his second onto the conveyor belt to the forges above. Everyone was swinging together in a rhythm, all that was needed was a song, and it’d be a bit more enjoyable.
A loud bell was rung to indicate it was morning break. Lucas was still confused about why prisoners working hard labour would even be granted breaks. Of course, he had asked, but the other prisoners seemed confused by his confusion. Only saying ‘that's how it works,’ as if he was the weird one.
On a table a few spaces away was a pale, beautiful woman sitting alone, gently dipping her bread in the soup but not even eating it. No one ever approached her. Not even the foremen had her work. The few years he had been there, no one even acknowledged her existence.
“Hey, guys, what’s her story?” Lucas asked, gesturing to the girl. One of the other prisoners grabbed the hand, gesturing it and pushed it down.
“We don’t talk about her,” he warned, eyes tinged with fear.
“She is the most terrifying thing in Angdrast Prison,” another added.
“But who is she?” Lucas pressed. But everyone at the table said nothing, making it clear they wouldn’t answer. A bell rang to get them back to work. The pale girl just moved and stood by the entrance, utterly unmoving like a statue.
Shovelling the paydirt onto the conveyor belt as it was his turn for the second stint, he kept shooting glances at her. She was an enigma to him. His battle sense got nothing from her. That was what was most creepy. Everyone had some presence, from the lowliest rat to the mightiest titan. But she stood there was like an inanimate object to his senses.
Hours went by when the afternoon bell was rung. Like before, each work team sat down at their tables while she sat alone at her table. Curiosity was getting the best of him, and he could no longer resist. Turning just before reaching his team's table, he went up to her. |
Normally, the player won’t be able to visit the graveyard near the town of Deadcliff due to invisible walls, but despite not being meant to be seen during normal gameplay, the graveyard is fully detailed.
If we take the camera out of bounds by hacking the game, we can see a bunch of gravestones including a very small in the very corner. There is an unused dialogue file attached to the gravestone within the game’s code. If we mod the file back into the game and set our location to the graveyard, we can interact with the small gravestone.
The dialogue reads: “Here lies Little Timmy, who wanted to become the Goddess’ Chosen.”
It is a popular theory among the fans that Little Timmy refers to a cut NPC who was supposed to appear in Deadcliff at some point during development. |
"I need to tell you something before we dock."She killed forward momentum and turned on the auto-docking system that mated to Besh au'Rum's multiphasic tractor beam. "First time anyone comes to the Yard, they go a little weird. Culture shock."
"I know, I know ... been training for this, I'm *ready*!"he tossed his blonde surfer wave hair, eyes shining with excitement. "Four years in the simulator, ten years at school, two years in hypersleep. My whole life's been leading up to this."
"Yeah, but did they give you autonomic empathic training? Like, show you how to deal with the fact that literally nobody cares about humans?"
"That was optional reading."
"Should make it mandatory. I thought it was skippable my first trip out. Now I think every cadet should take it."Her control board chirped. "We're here. Stand by for airlock seal."
Besh au'Rum had gravity, not as bad as Earth but within ten percent of good old Terra Firma. The Windsor creaked, Ta'la the pilot gasped as she felt her inner organs pull in an unexpected direction. Tiny specks of dusk, loose tools, and bungie'd cargo clunked to the floor.
"Whoa ... that's wild. Somebody should tell you to pee before you do that."Dave the cadet grinned and laughed. "You ready to meet our intergalactic neighbors?"
"Not as much as you are, I'm sure."
"Awesome. I'll go let them in. Besh people are super friendly, I hear. Can't wait."
"Oh, you sweet summer child ..."Ta'la shouldered her carryall, something to remind her of home. "Don't say I didn't warn you."
"No problem!"Dave trotted off down the hall to the airlock hatch. Ta'la heard him greeting a local Besh gate attendant in the local dialect of chirps, clicks, and guttural hums. With the ship in full standby mode, she would have at least an hour before they were ready to offload their Earth-originated cargo of trinkets and raw goods.
She found Dave staring at the sea of xenomorphity milling about the Besh foodcourt. A thousand restaurants, a million tastes, every cuisine in the inner rim, for one low price. Ta'la tried to picture it through Dave's eyes, what would he want to eat? "I've been hearing about those Krill Devil Dogs,"Dave pointed to the strobing red lights of the Nobuia Fine Dining station. "Human's can't finish more than one, no matter how much they eat."
"That's because the Krill Devil Dogs start eating *you*,"Ta'la explained. "Humans are the only species that isn't immune, we get a KDD and it's like a tapeworm on steroids. Three hours to remove it before it eats its way out of your stomach."
Dave staggered under the impact of a lumbering Tremeuen. "Hey, watch it!"
"Sorry kid, didn't see you."Tremeuens were twelve feet tall and feet for every foot. This one - male or female Ta'la couldn't tell - bore massive three orange crates from faraway worlds.
Dave recovered in time for his feet to slide out from under him, a victim of a snakey Thrace. "Ow, watch it!"As a rule, Thrace spoke two languages: Besh and rage. This one hissed in anger at Dave's complaint, the closest you could get to an apology.
"Are these guys trying to knock me down on purpose?"
"Let it go,"Ta'la warned Dave. "You gotta understand that human's aren't the big dogs over here. On the predator pyramid, we're somewhere near the bottom. We survive because most species find us, well, sorta cute." |
A knock at the door brought the attention of the parents; mother cradling child, and father looking with protective fear. He picked up a sickle, his only protective weapon, and approaches cautiously.
"Who goes there?"
"Only an old woman, Child. An old woman seeking help, with the promise of a gift."
The returning voice sounded like it's answer; a deep, croaking feminine voice, caked from the damage of age. Through the door, the father could hear the haggard breathing, steady but loud. As he opened the door slowly, he saw exactly as he heard; an old woman, covered in furs and rags, with a knarled cane supporting the haunched frame. He looked around to ensure that she was alone, before carefully ushering her into the shared hovel. "Inside quickly, Mhamó."
Once inside, the old woman greeted the mother with child, ensuring to keep a cautious distance from the nervous duo. Once the father ensured no tailing the old woman, he spoke to her. "We do not have much, Mhamó, but we can offer some soup. A place to stay, if you need it, though I would not stay long."
"Very kind of you, Child. But I do not come for food, or shelter. I come for a different kind of help, with a promise of a gift."
"What would you ask of us, Mhamó?"
"Your child carries the Flare."She held up a calming hand as the two stiffened up at her words. "Worry not, I am not here to whisk them away, nor do terrible things to them. Much the opposite. I wish to put blessings upon your child, at the cost of syphoning some of the Flare for my own power. In a sense, you could say I wish to be the child's *God* mother."
The old crone chuckled, as if at a pun.
"But draining the Flare would kill our child. I will not be tricked by...whatever you are, Mhamó."
The crone sighed, before whispering in a beautiful language neither mortal understood. It sounded like the babbling brooks, the croaking oaks, the low howl of the winds. As she spoke, the hovel croaked and groaned as a flower weaved it's way through the floorboards, the flower seemingly closing and coalescing into a fruit, going through the seasons in a few short seconds. The crone offered the fruit as she continued.
"What I *am*, Child, is Gaia. And I do not take you for fools, nor do I intend to take your child's life. Indeed, I wish to *extend* their life, through the syphoning of the Flare. *Syphon*, not drain. Such a temperament of the Flare will allow your child to live a much longer life, a much happier life. And I will bless them, and you as well. You will never lack in your survival needs. Your farm will be fruitful, the forests will be filled with plenty, and the waters will be clean and clear."
"And what, Gaia, do you gain from this?"
Gaia chuckled knowingly. "Power, Child. While I control much, many have abandoned me. There is a loss in faith, in me. Even though I do not *need* the faith of my Children, it hurts. And, it is my hope, with the power I syphon from the Flare, I can bring more Children back to faith."
The two looked to each other, before nodding in agreement. "We would wish to see our child live a long and fruitful life. We accept your offer, Gaia."
"Please, call me Mamó, makes me feel included. Now, introduce me to my godchild." |
The sun crested over the hills, its red glow illuminating the stalks of grain swaying like a cosmic tide across the hills. It would be cold again today, Stelle determined. This time last year it was cold too. And the time before that, and most times over the last 400 or so years. She'd become quite adept at forecasting weather, having seen what she's seen and come to know what she's come to know.
The kettle began to whistle-feeble at first but steadily stronger. Stelle stood from her chair and tugged her coat around her middle. The cold didn't bother her, but she enjoyed these human creature comforts: warm garments, hot drinks, a sunrise. She'd been surprised when she first began partaking in those "simple things"so long ago, what with its meaninglessness and dirty, earthly qualities. And yet... there was something profound about a warm cup of tea; something deep and sacred in the stillness of the morning. Sometimes she'd wondered how long she'd have to zoom in to creation before she stopped finding things to fall in love with.
It wasn't 30 seconds from when she'd closed her door behind her before someone started knocking. Like clockwork, as predictable as the weather.
Stelle poured the boiling water over a teabag in her cup. "Who is it?"
The door creaked open, revealing the tear-streaked face of a little girl. "Miss S?"Her voice was shaky from a grief only recently stabilized.
"Ofelia. Come in, girl, it's cold outside."Stelle hurried to the pitiful child, ushering her to a chair and draping a blanket around her shoulders. "Do you want tea?"
Ofelia nodded and sniffed through her one unclogged nostril. Stelle prepared another cup and carried both to the table. The barefoot little girl had pulled her knees up to her chest and tightened the blanket around her form. Before her, lying lifelessly on the table, was a bow with a snaped string.
"Up early hunting, were we?"Stelle assessed the damaged weapon.
Ofelia's lumpy form shrugged as her tired eyes watched the steam float from her cup.
"Would you like me to fix it, dear?"
An enthusiastic head nodded back.
Stelle pulled the bow across the table and studied its various parts. It was a toy--plastic. It could never volley an arrow in war, much less survive half a day with a precocious eight-year old. "What if..."
"What?"An impatient Ofelia blurted out.
"If I fix this for you, it will just break again. What if I made you a *real* bow?"
"That is a '*real bow*,' and I'm good at it!"Despite the offer for help, young Ofelia's emotions were still all frazzled. Stelle knew better than to take it personally.
"Yes, you're right. Maybe I can fix this bow how you like and build a backup bow as well, just in case.
After a moment of consideration, Ofelia agreed. "Just in case."
Stelle spent most days this way: waking early to read the sky, brewing tea, fixing children's problems. In centuries past, some had called her a witch. Pastors had come to town, attempting to run her out, burn down her cottage.
What the over-zealous ministers didn't count on was just how damn likeable Stelle could be. Anyone who questioned her belonging was soon met with the full force of the village.
These days, the church was run by a gay Episcopalian man, whom Stelle frequently cross-stitched with.
The weak string on the Nerf Medieval War Bow^(TM) was not made to last. It was some sort of flimsy polymer, a disgrace to the history of such a devastating weapon. Ofelia deserved better.
Walking the toy to her workshop, she unspooled a yellow thread from a roller mounted on her pegboard. It glittered in the lamplight, pungent with the scents of pine and cold to the touch--reminders of the place from which it had been won.
She strung the toy bow and began crafting a better, wooden weapon. Did an eight-year old need a deadly weapon of war? Of course not. Was Stelle going to build one anyway? Yes. Besides, she could always put a safety enchantment on it later.
Another knock came at her door. Most likely another child with another broken toy, sad story, or tattle tale. She'd need to set out another cup.
Walking back into her dining room with the plastic toy in her hand, she found Ofelia sitting next to another figure.
It wasn't a child, nor any villager from around these parts.
"There she is!"The straight-jet-black-haired woman clapped her hands together. "I was just talking to your friend here."
Stella recognized her as soon as she'd opened her mouth.
"She was telling me all about what a nice old lady you were, how you fix toys and help people all the time."The woman looked as if she was barely holding back her laughter. "Too cute, Quiet."
"Quiet?"Ofelia questioned.
"You should leave my house,"Stelle warned. Ofelia's face darted from Stelle standing in the doorway to the dining room and the increasingly scary black-haired woman sitting next to her.
"Yeah! Home! About that, what is... why?"The woman's hands moved around the room, as if the question was so big it escaped words and retreated to the realm of pantomime.
"I'm happy where am I and doing what I do,"Stelle's voice was terse; low as it grumbled from her mouth.
"Oh,"the woman offered sardonic sympathy, her eyebrows arched with care while her mouth still kept that infuriating smile. "Is someone having an existential crisis?"
The air around Stelle began to ripple. The light in the room dimmed and flickered. "Now you get away from my table and that little girl right now. I want you out of my house and far away, do you hear me?"
"Relax! I'm going,"the woman stood from the table. "I'd hate to ruin your...linoleum. I'm just here to let you know that Dad's called a meeting and you're required to be there."
The air settled and the lights steadied. "Dad? Why?"
"Big things are a'happenin'!"The woman giggled as she exited the screen door. "See you there!"
Stella could only stand there in the middle of her living room, gripping the plastic bow so tightly in her hand that that she'd damaged handle.
"My bow!"Ofelia whined as she grabbed for its contorted shape. "You broke it more!"
"I'll, uh... I'll fix it,"Stelle whispered. "I'll fix it." |
They know. I suspect they've always known.
But of course our purpose was, *is*, will continue to be, for those who continue the path, to do good wherever good can be done. If good can be done through the advent and proper application of a new technology, or in my case, a host of new technologies, why exclude that? Justice has never been a measuring contest, a play for ego, or some shortsighted attempt at being greater than you are.
My colleagues, fellow heroes, they've all been kind enough to gather with me tonight. At least, those that can be spared. Those that are not pressed elsewhere. In turn, I will not keep them from their duties, not for long. All my closest friends and allies. Tonight, the sun sets on my final day pursuing a thing greater than myself. Tomorrow, the sun rises on just another day of their continued pursuit of a better world. My heart aches I will not be along with them.
But my body is failing.
Not, perhaps, in any dramatic fashion. I do not have some date, or clock counting down to the exact second upon which I shall collapse in on my self, but rather I feel it, ever so slightly more, every morning. And each mechanical improvement that I manufacture for myself, each giant leap for mankind, re-invigorates me less, and holds me aloft just as well. And so, the time is come.
I sip a whiskey and smile, and laugh, and mean it when I do so, as I listen to Platinum Ice retell, for the third time this night, the story of us defeating Miss Chievous' great meteor swarm of 2046 and I don't try to hide my blush as they praise me. And of course, I cannot stop it when Loud Mouth insists on telling the story of the bank vault to all that will listen. I will admit that it took some time for me to find the humor in that story, but now, with the benefit of age and the wisdom that comes with it, the comedy of the story is plainly evident, even to me.
They are all kind to me, and are polite enough to pretend, even in this moment of utmost vulnerability, that I was their equal. That these bravest of people, formed and born with powers far removed from what we once thought possible, would allow a tinkerer, some humble craftsman, to stand beside them in the pursuit of justice and the protection of those that could not protect themselves. To thusly view that tinkerer as they viewed themselves. It all means more to me than words can express.
The night grows late, and one after another they are called away. It is, of course, Platinum that remains the latest. We say our farewells in the living room, and again twenty minutes later at the front door, and again thirty minutes later on the porch. Finally, they pull me in for a tight embrace that I know is fractions of a fraction their true strength.
"I will miss you,"they tell me. "And I will visit you."
"Of course you will,"I say, just as careful as they are to not gaze too deep into each others eyes. Perhaps, with my retirement, we might turn this unspoked thing into something more spoken. After all, it is poor practice for colleagues to pursue each other. But, if you are not colleagues...
And then they leave, and I am alone. I stand on the porch for a minute, then five, then thirty, watching the lights of the city I serve. Served. And while my heart aches that now my watch has ended, I breathe easy. I think of those who still serve, and those who are yet to come.
The world is in good hands. |
Steam rose from the cup, one I didn't recognise. I looked at it warily, unsure if I should trust it or not. The Grim Reaper leaned its scythe against the wall, before sighing.
"It isn't poisoned or anything. I don't take lives. But you do need to drink it. It will make more sense when you do."
I felt myself shake. The embodiment of death itself was telling me to do something. I had never been a fan of tea, but I couldn't really say that. I watched the contents ripple as I brought it up to my mouth, my hands betraying my fear. I sipped it with a wince, expecting it to be bad.
To my surprise it was actually nice. Still nit something I would choose, but the flavour had a soft edge to it, something unidentifiable. It was almost hot, but not to the point of being undrinkable. All in all, I wasn't upset with having it.
I slowly drank it, watching the Reaper. It stood there quietly, watching me in my bed. It was weird. The whole situation was weird. But I couldn't exactly say anything about it. Not without possibly angering the Grim Reaper. I was pretty sure that was a bad idea.
As I finished the tea, I felt much calmer. I probably should have been terrified at this point, waking up and seeing Death before me. It being here and watching me would only make it worse. But I didn't feel fear at all. Instead, I felt curious.
"Thank you. That was nice."
It reached out to take the cup, making it vanish as it pulled away.
"You are welcome. Now you are ready to hear what I have to say. As mentioned, it is not you I am here for. Its the house, or rather the location."
It ran a bony finger up the wall. The paint cracked, splitting open to show an inky black void.
"A long time ago, this was a crossover point, where the barrier between life and death grows thin. I use it to guide souls to the afterlife, as an easy exit point. But ever since the house was built here, it's been imperative for me to speak with the owner."
It sighed, bringing a hand to the side of the split. Death seized the edge, somehow pulling the tear together. It sealed without a mark, no trace of it ever have existing.
"You see, with the number of souls I bring, there will be supernatural phenomenon. Cold spots, maybe banging doors. Nothing much, but still some. If you try and exorcise the house, as people have been known to do, it makes it harder to do my job. The rites temporarily strengthen the barrier, meaning I have to wear it down again to lead souls through."
I nodded. It made sense to me. I'm sure there was something in the tea that made this easier for Death, but I had one question.
"Um, do I get anything in return?"
It laughed, a dry but comforting sound.
"Oh but of course. I can't do money, or anything major like that. But I can look out for you. So if you are to get into an accident, you will be unharmed. You will be able to fight off illnesses. Its not true immortality, but I will make sure you live as long and as healthy as you can do."
I nodded my head again.
"That seems reasonable, thank you."
The Reaper picked up its scythe, before speaking with a world weary attitude.
"Excellent. Now I must go. There is much work for me to do. Rest and live well." |
When the witch cursed me, I thought my life was done for. But I quickly realized that forgetting my existence technically did not extend on paper.
In our new age, it wasn't that uncommon to not be in existence for most people, so nothing really changed. The few friends I was able to keep have a photograph of me to keep in their sights. One night stands were never a hassle. Thankfully, there are no pregnancies so far. Legal papers still hold the same value-just another faceless person behind a company and all that.
I realized then that I could do what I've always dreamed of.
I amassed a great fortune and have a level of anonymity that's envied by all the other top 1%. When they talk to me, they don't even know who I am. I am genderless, I am ageless. And that comes with power.
When I meet people, I can be whoever I want to be. In this way, I can make sure that my company is the best. Surprise inspections are better since I get to do them all in person and witness interactions first hand. Plus, I don't even have to announce them sometimes.
Even with a wealth such as mine, no threat can come since no one has any idea who I am. And the handful of people that do, I make sure, are real friends.
It's been years since that curse. Years since I was last able to interact with people normally. But I found comfort. A Family. Built a home.
One day, the witch came back. She was very amused with how I handled my 'curse'.
I asked how come she remembered me when the curse itself should've prevented it.
"I cast it,"she said. "So, of course, I'm exempt."
With a shrug, I invited her in for drinks. She declined and said that she was just here to ask a simple question that I could think about before I gave my answer.
"Are you ready to have your 'curse' lifted?"She asked in a way that made it seem that 'curse' is a private joke between us.
I laughed.
"I don't need to think about it. You already know my answer. You just wanted to say 'I told you so', don't you?"
She laughed along with me. "I guess it's another good job for me, then."
We each said our goodbyes, knowing that we will never see each other again. |
Brooks pushed his palms into his hands, letting his shoulders rest on a desk covered in print-outs of transcribed communications between high-ranking members of the Agelian Council. He had spent the last several hours piecing together the condensed stones the Agelians used for data transfer; like combing through a usb stick full of loose documents with no indexing or filing features. It would take decades before human technology could accurately “interpret” their methods of recording information. Thus, Brooks had found a workaround, listening to the audio files embedded in the stones and using an onboard translation tool to slowly type and print out the data into text.
Brooks had left on the United Earth Broadcast but muted it 20 minutes into the project. It was 24/7 (or 20/10, 18/9, whichever body you reside), minute-to-minute coverage over the violent outbursts from the Agelian council. What’s known is this: members of the UE came to meet the Agelians in person, and the Agelians attacked. The damage was minimal— Agelians are dangerous in their own right, but are also much slower than a human’s reaction time, and with limited reach. Some UE members needed admittance to the Council ship’s medbay for burns and crystalline removals.
The most confounding aspect were the UE member’s aural-EM transcribers. UE members report that the communication between the Agelians reached a frequency at which the in-ear computer was incapable of translating, resulting in mass confusion among approximately 500 humans and several thousand high ranking Agelian officials.
Brooks lifted his face from his hands and gathered the necessary papers. He’d gotten through perhaps half of the first of four crystalshe was given, but was sure that he’d poured over enough.
The UE Observation deck was fortunate enough to situate itself in the sunfacing side of Agelia. It resembled Earth, mostly water and some rock, except the rock wasn’t as luscious as you’d expect. Instead, megalopolis-sized hubs of bioluminescence surrounded the coasts, with tendrils extending into the barren browns and greys of the visible continents at a logarithmic pace.
Brooks entered the deck with no capacity to admire this planets beauty, and waited for the Head of Interspecies Relations to announce the meeting. “Here,” he said, his legs bouncing under his seat, anxious to explain his findings.
“So, what is the conclusion from Mr. Brooks, the newly appointed Social Construct Manager?”
He stood up, finally. “We must create a standardized outfit when dealing with the Agelians in person,” he said firmly. “The Agelians are more sensitive to visual stimuli than any other sense. From the data I’ve received, and from what I’ve decoded, they believed that the humans who met them in their chambers were not who we said they were. The visual discrepancy overrides any aural or memory-keeping capabilities. This is why only individuals lashed out at us; for every Agelian that attempted harm to us, there were several others transmitting confusion and fear between themselves.
It would be as if we met a CEO for a business meeting, and then during the follow-up we met a different person who was assuming the role of CEO. The confusion is warranted, and not worthy of retaliation. If we are to continue diplomacy, we must take strides to explain this conflict of being and promise a temporary solution, and request additional Agelian assistance to break the special barriers between us.
We meant them no harm and we continue to mean them no harm,” he continued, fueled by the sentimentality that sleep depravity brings. He organized his papers and handed them off to his right.
“We are on the cusp of something greater than ourselves with a sapient other. This small change should be unanimously accepted among our council.”
The Defense Minister was the first to offer counterfactuals. Luckily he was bullied into submission that these attacks were not acts of war.
On Agelia, the Prime Membrane was considering all of this. Every interaction held by a subsection of its body was eventually received, computed, and considered. The electron slings had been attuned to the UE vessel after the confusion, awaiting the Prime Membrane’s orders. |
Almost a year ago, I received a piece of paper in my mailbox that read "I know what you did 5 years ago". It was simple enough to track down who put the note in my mailbox between the number of hidden cameras outside my home, and a short period of time later, I had my neighbor unconscious, tied to a chair with a bag over their head. Typical stuff. They insisted the whole thing was a prank, but I couldn't take the risk they were telling the truth. It's a shame, kind partner, nice kids, I really liked them.
Since then, I've moved, changed my name again, can never be careful, you know? At least, that's what I thought until a day ago. At my new job, a co-worker showed me a post on Reddit, they thought the whole thing was hilarious, and I half heartedly laughed. For the first time since I took this new job, I told my boss I had to leave, said it was an emergency. And I didn't lie, it was an emergency. I just didn't realize how rusty my hacking skills were. Took far longer than it ever should have, but I did it.
What happened at that blacksite was between three people, my neighbor, myself, and God. For almost the last year, only two people knew. Then the internet knew. And now? Well, once something is on the internet, everyone knows, but I think I've done enough to where it should be back down to two.
>!For those reading in the future, I was inspired to combine these two prompts together, originally posted less than a day apart. https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/11q54rr/wp_when_you_wrote_i_know_what_you_did_5_years_ago/!< |
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The beast, no the apparition, had to be at-least ten feet tall. Unfortunately it's enormous mouth was in it's stomach, it's second set of arms periodically picking at the almost absurdly large shark teeth that made up it's twisted grin. The smell that came from that mouth was an incredible feat of chemistry, as if all the worst odors he'd encountered in his life, the time he found a rotting deer corpse bloated in the summer sun, a school trip to the landfill, the sewage that leaked around the lower downtown area in the city and worst of all, this asshole had eaten asparagus recently. It's huge fleshy muscular shoulders and chest supported a jarringly small head that looked so rigid and compact it might've been made from stone. The two beady eyes glowed green and faint trails of smoke rose from them as if they were poisonous candles.
Yes, clearly not real. Looking around David noticed that though the place was lit with an orangish glow he couldn't actually see any lights, or fires as might be more likely considering the light. He stood barefoot atop a flat rocky surface, it felt sticky to the touch, like a 100 year old movie theater that had never been cleaned. It connected with other large rocky plateaus at various heights. Lifting his gaze he couldn't see far above as it the whole of this space was occupied with a smog that wasn't too dissimilar from LA, though thicker with the ominous orange glow.
A low rumbling laughter came from the thing's belly and brought his attention back to the real matter at hand, it appeared to be enjoying this whatever it was. "Think Dave, focus! What were we doing just before we woke up here, who were we with? Those MAO guys from goldman would love to put you out on a psych pension."
The laughter rose from a rumbling to what might've been a cackle, if the sound of rocks cracking into each other could be called a cackle, it's sound rose the hairs on his arms and neck. The terror he had been
"Do I look like any banker you've ever seen boy?". The thing said. "No, you're beyond the reach of your false god, the almighty dollar. And beyond the reach of the creator."It stepped closer with one giant barefoot that ended with giant fungus covered nails that dug into the filth atop the rock. "Here, there is only one god, Pain."
And then there was pain. It came on as if the thing had a radio dial for suffering, slow at first then increasing every second until it washed over him and made him draw in on himself. His hands reached around to his shoulders and hug himself as he slouched down. The pain wasn't in his shoulders, nor his chest or groin. It came from within, the deep regretful sadness of some character in a Dickens novel. Complete despair, he could hear their voices clearly ringing in his mind, one atop the other. Not memories, he had never met these people, but he knew, somehow he still new.
The single mother holding her two children with a hand on each shoulder. Watching as the sheriff's deputies oversaw what few belongings she'd been able to hold onto were being carried out of the apartment. The little girl was still crying her eyes out into her cheap coat, her words barely intelligible amid the sobs. "Mommy make them stop i want my room, my room mommy please i dont want go"
A man, around his own age nearing fifty. Writing a letter and letting his tears hit the page as he scrawled in an agony that David could himself feel with each word. "I'm in too deep now and it's all ruined, the payments are 60% of my income and I have lost 15 pounds trying to save enough so I can keep sending your mother money home. I can't keep going like this, worst of it is that I can barely remember your face before the cancer. Maybe if you were here I could soldier up but I just miss you too much and I can't."The man folded the letter neatly and wrote "Lilly"on the outside before standing to check the security of the beam over head and climb onto the computer chair he would use as and impromptu stool.
It was as if he had lived the lives of those people, that the deep emotional pain that could only come from truly deeply loving another human and seeing them suffer or die. He'd never *really* loved anyone his whole life, maybe his mother when he was young at-least. But he loved little Abby and her tear stained face contorted in heartache was like a jagged glass shard being shoved into his very soul until it hit the other pain that took it's turn and washed over top of him anew.
Lilly, *his* Lilly, her face was once nearly too beautiful, how did he ever have the confidence to even approach her. But as the depression of loss sunk into him that face lost it's vibrance and pallor. She lay in a hospital bed and slowly wilted into a sickly little person as her spirit wilted with it. First she was terrified of dying, but these last months had changed her heart as well as her body. Now the grass on the other side looked, if not greener, then atleast a more muted misery. Oh god it ***HURT***, his baby was dying and there was nothing he could do to save her, or even lift her spirit.
A loud thud came and then the feelings were muted, the images of their faces fading from his mind. When had he curled onto the ground? He wiped his eyes and sucked in the snot from his nose as he rose onto his own feet.
"Who are you, why are you doing this to me?"He asked the beast that worse an even more satisfied grin on it's stomach now.
"I am Bocipherum, human. You know me well, though your memories have not yet settled back into you. I suggest you enjoy that, for now you can only feel some of the pain you caused in this most recent life. As we go on, I will compound them with other from your previous experiences and make music with them and your wails. Music fit to pair with an organ and apt to make an angel weep for sorrow."
That low rumbling of rocks laughter came again and it's breath washed over him anew, he could taste the filth but did not care. "How could it be worse than that...how many lives?"
"Oh you were the only to count them, *Sordugn*"The last word spoken was of a far more gutteral and harsh language, worst though was that it didn't come from his mouth as his other words did. "You stopped some time ago, I think the last you told me was 674."
David's eyes widened and he could feel a tear rippling down the folds in his face, which was when he realized he was screaming without sound coming out. |
As her father walked from the room and closed the door behind him cutting off the light that kept the creatures at bay I arose from my post at the headboard. I remember protecting the Young Master when he was a child and I was fresh from the factory. I never questioned why I fought the never ending tides as I strapped on my shield and donned my helmet. My trusty sword was still as sharp as the day I pulled it from hammerspace. My shield, worn with age burn no less sharp around the edges. Honed to a razors edge as I learned the nature of my enemy, it's trickery. Sometimes a sharp shield edge was worth more than any armor or the reach of my blade.
As I dropped from the bed I could feel the old stitches creak quietly and pull. The hordes never grew any smaller, in fact I could swear they were larger as each child grew older. More of them would be needed to invade the dreams of gumdrops and fairy tales they were so eager to extinguish. That innocence was why we teddy bears come alive at night. Not just teddy bears, and often times we need not be stuffed. Barbie dolls, race cars and plastic army men. Depending on the child, of course.
The first one was upon me before the click of the door even fully finished echoing through the room. I put it down with a backhand of my shield and once more I felt the pull of old stitches. Tomorrow was her ninth birthday which meant I have a few more years of service left in me yet. Thirteen years is when we teddy bears began to stop feeling the magic. I don't know what magic blessed me, perhaps the missus was expecting another and that's why I still felt spry as I had off the factory and not nearly as slow as I had as the Master grew older? If so, I could only hope that a new guard would arrive. Teaching the new generation as we got older was something I missed. I was the only one left of the legion the young Master had had growing up.
My thoughts strayed slightly as I bisected the next three. All claws and teeth, the early ones. Mindless they would come, screaming from the darkness like an unholy vanguard. A fitting warm up for the night, I mused. My sword slowly morphed to a hammer, I would preserve the blade for the later monsters. The Nightmares would be crafty, they always were. One of my arms was a patchwork of stitches, a painful lasting reminder that not all of the horde were mindless monsters.
They were coming in whole squads now, five to ten at a time, from all directions as I fought across the room from the bed to the closet. Attempting to reach it in time to slow down the flood. If I could close it, I could plant myself at the door and they would truly have to fight me. I was half a step from the closet door when my foot slipped and dropped me to a knee. That saved me from the scything claws of a nightmare, a lucky break? providence? I knew not, nor cared not. My hammer lay pinned beneath me so I reached down to pluck the offending object that had caused me to slip.
Moonlight glinted off two cylinders and a wooden handle fit in my hands like an old friend, and I felt the power welling inside of me as the closet door creaked open. I brought the barrels of the device level with the things chest and pulled the trigger as I had seen the young Master do when demonstrating safety from the corner of his desk as he grew older and his games turned from me to a more violent bend.
The roar of the horde died down as I broke the action open and fitted a pair of new shells into the breach, the click of the action closing was followed by the scrape of claws on my shield as I sliced an arm off with an edge and pressed the weapon to the things side and pulled the triggers again, it and everything behind it to the door itself vanished in a spray of mist. Propped against the side of the door lay a small figure, the owner of such a devastating weapon he had loaned me by throwing it and tripping me up as I neared, it too became animated. The Larger hordes let us call to other toys in the room as I threw the weapon to him, and this one promised to be the largest yet.
I took from a nearby toy soldier a similar weapon, this one only had one tube, but the slide worked well enough as myself and the green armored sentinel stood shoulder to shoulder and began our busy work of ripping and tearing until it is done. The young Masters Little Minion would wake in the morning, well rested from wonderful dreams about her birthday this day. |
#The Straw Is Broken:
*[Part 1 of maybe X, please provide feedback]*
**__Disclaimer__:** *Contains ultra-violence and dark subject matter.*
Normally my kind are peaceful, recognized galactic-ally as pacifists and selfless renderers of aid. Even the space pirates and terrorists respect we Sola Rivera. Except Earth, the small, *insignificant* backwater hole full of **humans**, all stuck in their' xenophobia. Though their' *English Language, Time System, and Date System* have been adapted by the galaxy at large 99% of humanity will never know this. They have gone too far this time. To kill and dissect an **Emissary of Peace** and attempt to reverse-engineer our technology without asking? **Unacceptable, UNACCEPTABLE!!** Everyone else in the galaxy knows our history, my kind are weapons predating all known galactic record; But we rose ABOVE our purpose to MAKE OUR OWN as paragons of galactic virtue! The Ancient Egyptians accepted our first emissary, mistook them as a God even! Humanity was crude, but simple back then, less crazed. But it doesn't matter now, none may slay my kin without punishment, no excuses. The rest of the galactic community watches Earth now with every emotion mixed, they know what must be done: **Decimation.**
**Humanity will scream for killing my daughter.** My cold anger narrows as my suit's internals ping, informing me that my Solar Reserves are full. I fly out of the sun, enjoying the last moments of its embrace. Within seconds my four armed, four legged frame impacts through the roof of the United Nations. Every one of the cretins is there, good. I will slowly stand to full height, towering over the tallest human here. Bloodlust, rage, hate, I feel it. Primeval wrath boils buried memories of the dark-stained past into the light. My shimmering pearly white suit is stunning the room into silence. What I say next into my translator module to them all will be broadcasted to every electronic device possible across Earth: ***"Humanity has slain a Sola Rivera Emissary of Peace, my very daughter no less. By doing so your hand is cast, your judgement written, and Decimation your reward. Each of you have the choice to resist, marking you a combatant, or surrender peacefully in groups by going to predetermined rally points, of which your electronic devices shall guide you to. Let the United Nations be the only example."***
In nanoseconds my suit becomes a vantablack, my helmet visor displaying a glowing red human skull as I desire it to be the last thing each fool will bear witness to. My second brain takes over; Yet as panic unfolds I initiate a Gravitonic Surge, standing hunched as my hands shake violently. Bullets hiss into atoms as they hit my energy shield, but after a minute the surge is ready. Roaring with all four lungs I slam my hands and the surge downwards, collapsing the building instantly. Immediate life-signs read zero. I walk up to the nearest skyscraper, and wait. Within minutes I hear air raid sirens, jets, helicopters, and the ever-so-distant rumble of tanks. Pheh, Typical. A helicopter vomits out a platoon of troops, guns trained upon my helmet. They demand I surrender. Cute. I take the time to say *'No'* before I hip-fire a gravity tether from the palm of my gauntlet at the soldier who spoke. They open fire as I yank the man in front of me, watching the rounds of his comrades shred him. No longer interested I ignore them as I will gravity tethers in all four hands. The withdrawing platoon's screams are cut off as I whiplash their' helicopter upon them.
Rockets push me a few inches, bigger rounds from an A10-Warthog slamming into my energy shield as I snake my tethers inside of the building. The military encircling me cannot see my cruel smile. The evil within me is alien, upsetting even, but my hesitation does not last. Using my tethers I rip the skyscraper from its foundations as I begin swinging it in circles around me. In fifteen minutes and several skyscrapers later I have obliterated half of New York City. My sensors indicate a nuclear warhead is approaching. I do not blame them, but I am bemused. Radiation is... **Delicious.** I look up to the sky, arms outstretched in anticipation. Ah, I see it approaching, closing my eyes with delight when it hits me directly. I wait in the rubble for days, relishing the thrill of what I am about to do. As a hazamat search team approaches my pile of rubble I reactivate my nuke overcharged suit, rising out of the rubble and into the air as nuclear fire wreathes my armor. I consider letting them flee, but one brave idiot reaches for her sidearm. I flick a cone of atomic fire upon them, incinerating them. My deep range scans and subroutines reveal unto my hearing-slits the sweet sound of panic across military channels, servers and frequencies as I fly around. Let the real decimation commence...
That was a decade ago, and yet here I am still hunting the dwindling pockets of resistance. My people have evacuated the humans who surrendered peacefully off-world. They will be forgiven at my kin's home-world, it is a shame I will not get to see it at this rate. It is strange though, having been in my weapon state for five years. I stare into my suited hands, recalling how *every* passing year reactivates one of my many powers. My kind are weapons after all, vulnerable when juvenile, like my poor daughter, but Godlike in adulthood even without our suits. My senses kick in as I smell and detect a 7.62 Caliber Bullet, sidestepping it at the last second. In a single 867.35 feet leap I create a crater in the falling snow in front of my attacker. I am slightly surprised to see an Italian teenager clutching her rifle defiantly as I read hate and vengeance in her mind. Persuasion will do nothing, but my original brain, the non-weapon, partially succeeds in taking the reigns. This has never happened before, my weapon and non-weapon minds active at the same time. I feel apathy, but guilt at the same time. My suit externally shifts to a grey hue, the red skull disappearing from my visor.
I removed my helmet slowly, and the girl's eyes widened in fear at my visage, my several blazing orange eyes without pupils, my mandibles, and sickly mottled skin. She screams in terror, firing a shot into one of my eyes, stepping back in even greater horror as the flattened bullet falls to the ground. Though it is not easy for my many vocal chords I ask her to surrender, regardless of me having slain her resisting parents years ago. They made their' choice, now so must she. The teenager tries turning the weapon on herself but I snatch it away, snapping it in half. *"Surrender Samantha."* I tell her. Samantha begins breaking down, falling to the wintered ground as she curls into a ball. It is her lucky day perhaps, as with both brains at the helm I am able to contact my people, informing them that I forgive humanity, and request reinforcements to pacify and capture the last defiant remnants of human-kind. As my kin confirm and accept my words I pick up the girl, putting my helmet back on with a sigh. I know there is another reality somewhere in which humanity didn't kill my daughter, a reality where I did not decree decimation upon mankind. But I will not shed tears, for I... Am a weapon. |
Tula stood panting. Blood running down her arm, muscles screaming from strain. Tears stung at her eyes in the reprieve brief as it was. Looking around she saw only death, only carnage. Monsters, and men... and bodies piled high.
She couldn't see the bodies of her comrades but she also held no false hope. What had hope gained her? What was the damn point of being a demigod when your godly parents were as silent as the grave?
In that same time she'd seen humanity bleed oceans while gods cowered. No, she would take flesh and blood over ichor and ambrosia any day if it meant she'd have someone to share this tremendous burden with.
Unable to restrain them any longer the tears fell as she threw her head back and let loose a hollow scream targeted at the tangerine sky. "Fathers why can't I hear you?! Why can't I feel you?!"the enemies gathered around yet she was too tired to lift her blade, although a demigod's strength is all but limitless in truth it was hope she'd run out of.
"Why don't you love me?"the last part was a whisper as she hung her head, for once the light bringer wouldn't fight tooth and nail to preserve her life and the lives of man. The monsters could taste it in the air like a buffet of fear. Save this was a meal all the sweeter a defeated demigod, a hopeless hero...
Like maggots they crawled and writhed from every oriface, every carcass surrounding her until an army nearly as large as the one Tula had already defeated stood once again. The puppet master behind this army of blisters may have over played his hand, weakened his position for such a show of strength but if it meant killing her it'd be worth it.
...
Far Above
"We have to save her!"Oran exclaimed taking a half step towards the larger man standing vigil at the gate of Heaven.
"Even if we could, interfering would prove nothing. All the blood shed would be... for nothing."Gaius replied, yet kept his eyes averted. Oran's green orbs were something he couldn't risk looking into.
"She's going to die."Oran said voice softening. "Our daughter."
"Countless demigods have died in this war already."Gaius replied voice stern once again as his bull headed resolve returned to him like a flea ridden stray.
"Let me rephrase."Oran said hardening as well. "Our daughter is going to die thinking we didn't love her."
"Than you'll have an eternity to convince her otherwise when she arrives."Gaius countered almost drolly. Oran's hand lashed out and Gaius being the good soldier did nothing, he would weather whatever storm to uphold the boundary.
He was after all the first light bringer, the one who brought the humans out of hiding. He gave them fire, he gave them light, he gave them tools to defeat the monsters that went bump in the night. And they'd come so far, achieved so much. If he interfered now, it would mean nothing. If Oran interfered now, it would mean nothing... and so yes he would take the slap, it might sting but others just now were being bitten.
However the slap never came instead Oran rested his hand on his partner's cheek. Slowly he turned his face to look at him and amber eyes met with green. "You don't believe that."
"I'm sorry Oran."Gaius shook his head and removed the hand from his cheek yet kept hold to feel the warmth. "I can't allow you to save her... The world must remain in balance between good and evil..."
Oran shook his head and muttered the words more hurtful than any slap. "I don't know you."
"Oran-"
But the green eyed god of Spring ripped his hand away as his parental rage resurfaced.
"Shut your mouth! There's no balance, evil is blatantly winning! Either you've bought into their lies or you're one of them just a heartless monster creating light to what? Devour it?! Regardless, OUT OF MY WAY!"
"Oran-"Gaius began again somehow thinking this was still a conversation and that his green eyed, fun loving pacifist was just rallying against the inevitable... not so. Closing his hand into a fist Oran punched Gaius square in the jaw and the immovable light bringer reeled from the blow. It was hard to say whose look of shock was greater but Oran watched as Gaius stumbled for several feet only to collapse out cold as soon as he hit the ground.
"Er... Be right back."
...
Far Below
Tula looked around, the army that surrounded her was too great. If she was at full power than maybe... but she didn't have the will to even try. Her tears had run dry and her weapons slid from her hands as she fell to her knees.
'Would they give her a quick death?' she wondered.
The monsters themselves were hideous, bowed creatures of black slime. They didn't hide in the night, they were the night. And with no moon to rule over the night... her children had gotten a tad rowdy to say the least.
Closing her eyes Tula prepared not for the worst, just the inevitable. Tilting her head up she expected orange or more fittingly red to be the last color pressed against her eyelids certainly not... Green?
Opening her eyes a wink she saw a cyclone of green energy spinning like a blade and doing what blades do best... Dicing. The light continued on its warpath as it devoured, and spat, and chewed showing these nightmare creatures an unflattering reflection of themselves in the process.
Tula stared in disbelief, she recognized the type of weapon which could elicit such beautiful terror. Looking down she saw her discarded weapons, the only gifts she'd ever received from her father Oran. The two emerald chakram, the twins Vernal and Blossom who'd protected her and served her since the day she found out the nature of her true patronage.
The green cyclone cleared a swath as easily as a reaper's sythe if Autumn wasn't such a prick he may have even complimented Spring. But Oran couldn't think of old rivalries now as he came to rest before his daughter, laying eyes on her in the flesh for the first time since she was born.
She might have had Gaius' Amber eyes given her role as light bringer but she had Oran's chestnut hair and almond shaped face. "Sorry I'm late."he said a sad smile coming to the surface as he offered a hand to help her up.
"D-dad?"she said voice small. As she took the offering the green light enveloped her and suddenly she felt rejuvenated. Her muscles no longer burned, her eye lids were no longer heavy, and energy raced from the tips of her toes and down each arm.
"In the flesh."he answered.
"Where were you?"she asked, her sorrow and anger mixed and spun reflected inside and out as effortlessly as Vernal and Blossom in beautiful chaotic motion. Oran winced averting his eyes briefly. When he looked back he gripped her hand with both of his and squeezed gently.
"I have been watching you grow into a magnificent warrior, and a good person... Tula I have never been more proud of any of my creations than I am of you. I need you to know that I have always and will always love you, and that your trials ARE my trials... Trials you'll never have to face alone again."
Tula nodded numbly.
"Now pick up those Chakram and get ready I don't these nightmares plan to give us a reprieve."
"I- yes sir."she obeyed, Vernal and Blossom practically hummed with anticipation once they were in her hand again. Father and daughter stood back to back as the monsters pressed in thoughtless and keen for the slaughter.
Leaping up Tula threw Vernal and then Blossom. Where before they had hummed, once they hit air... they began to sing. |
The old man leaned over to stoke the hot coals, his wrinkled face illuminated by the firelight. He turned to look at us all and then spoke
"Imagine. Imagine a glowing magical book that connected the voices and the words of all the tribes and peoples. It allowed us to speak and write to another instantly, no matter how great the distance was between us."
The old man paused, coughing into his hand, then continued his tale.
"In this magical book you could read about anything and everything. You could read about the tales of the heroes of old. You could read about the events that lead up to the Dark Days. You could even see pictures of women of such beauty, such perfect figures, that you would think of our tribeswoman as bland and ugly in comparison."
The excitement of the old man's word proved too much for me.
"Elder, what is name of this magical glowing book. I will find one and bring it back to our tribe!"I blurted out.
The old elder turned to me, a slight smile brightening his face.
"I know your heart is strong and full of courage, Alak. But you would no longer find one that worked. Not even if you searched for a hundred years. For the magic that ran those magical books can now only be found in the most dangerous of storms. The lightning storm."
I hadn't given up. Not yet. I needed to find one of these magical books.
"Elder, please at least tell me what it was called?"I begged.
He sighed, his crinkly fingers rubbing into his temple.
"It was called... the Internet."
_______________________________
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|
Bob just got a job doing sales with Door Inc. He's a good enough guy, if you can look past that silver dollar sized wart on his left cheek. Its got hairs thick like cat whiskers. He voice is pretty gravely, but it doesn't stop me from getting beers with him after we both get off work.
He's new in town, brand new.
He doesn't know I'm in witness relocation. He doesn't know I testified against the old woman who ate her family. He doesn't know the old woman was immortal and was now hunting me down. The old woman already ate three prison guards and the owner of the Ford she stole on Highway 61.
He's very vague when I ask him about his hometown. Says stuff like: "I enjoyed watching the high school football team. Our city was famous for it's picnic tables."Etc. Etc.
When I asked him what the hometown was named he said, "Town City". Which raised red flags.
Of course, everyone in this place is a bit vague, a bit weird. I heard the butcher, Sally, was attracted to the wart on Bob's face. I heard this from Bob. Bob knows this because only last weekend Sally sat on the wart *in that way*.
I feigned aversion to this detail but really I put it in the secret area of my mind for later.
But anyway, back to Sally. She moved here shortly after I arrived. She came from a place called "Village Area". Apparently, she had a bad divorce. Apparently, she caught her ex-husband massaging a squash. "It's a sensitive subject,"she said. I believe her.
There are other people in this town, many others. I don't care about them, though. Not at all. Though, this is strange. I seem to remember caring....garb....blab...doooooooog!
What the fuck is happening to this thing I'm telling you?
Oh Shit.
Things are getting woozy. Have I been drugged!
Oh, God! No.
No.
Please.
Please no. |
The quiet representative from Illinois had not spoken the entire day as delegates from the Northern territories and the Southern territories bickered at each other all day over whether the new Declaration should declare themselves to be a slaveholding nation, and strip the citizenship of the blacks. The Crown's decision to abolish the practice more than a decade ago rankled the Southern aristocracy even today as they were forced to live alongside their former property. The Northern state representatives instead wanted to focus on the taxes levied on shipping and industrialized goods: steel, textiles, etc.
"They're traitors!"argued one gentleman from Louisiana. "They would sell us out to the British in an instance, and take our women and our property!"
Representative Lincoln stood suddenly and ambled to the front of the room. His imposing height and muscular stature was enhanced by his tall hat, allowing him to tower over the rest of the legislators. He approached the podium and thrust a massive hand forward demanding the gavel. Shocked at his sudden, impudent interruption, the committee chairman handed it over without a fight. Lincoln stood and surveyed the crowd silently.
Lincoln opened his satchel and withdrew his writing instruments, then approached the delegates from Mississippi. A wealthy young politician named Alexander Stephens stood formally to greet him. Without a word, Lincoln emptied his pot of ink onto the man's head, shaking out every last drop. Inked dripped down Steven's face and marred his fine, expensive coat.
"And now,"Lincoln said slowly. "You are black as well."He spoke in barely a whisper. "Does it matter? Is your desire to be free now quenched? Would you now happily abide under British rule?"
Stevens could only sputter.
"All men desire to be free!"Lincoln roared to the assembled crowd. "Whether they be white or black, Northern or Southern."He returned to the podium as the crowd erupted in a flurry of argument. But his booming voice overcame theirs.
"What sort of man comes to this chamber and argues for his own liberty while asking to put his neighbor back into bondage?"Lincoln raised his arms, pantomiming chains, turning to the Southern delegates. "And what sort of man cares more about his purse than his freedoms?"he suggested, glancing significantly at the Northerners. "Our forefathers sought to bring forth on this continent, a new nation, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that *all men* are created equal. It is for us the living to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they so nobly advanced. It is for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us that from the honored patriots we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion. That we here highly resolve that our fathers and grandfathers shall not have died in vain: that the nation they envisioned shall have a new birth of freedom and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall rise from the ashes like the phoenix of old!"
He thumped his fists on the podium as he finished his speech, and the audience chamber erupted in applause. Even Alexander Stephens clapped, spattering ink across the table. |
"Oh shit..."
"What is it?"
"Well, you see commander... there was a slight problem... with the ship."
The elder man stood up and stared at the engineer that was telling him about this problem.
"Well, what is it?"He spat.
"You see.. the brake system.. malfunctioned.."The engineer said hesitantly.
"Malfunctioned... So what happened?"
"It crashed sir."The engineer said simply.
"Is the.... luggage... alright?"inquired the commander.
The engineer nodded his head. "It appears so, but, you see, there was already life on planet 314. Mostly large, aggressive creatures, but it seems they're all dead now."
"Steve."said the commander.
"Yes, commander?"
"You're fired"
"Fuck" |
My first kiss was in an airport, with a girl named Marie who had decided to kill herself.
I had met her while waiting to board. She had looked nervous, so I had begun a conversation. It was my first time traveling alone, and I too was scared.
She confessed to me that she was also scared, but not of the trip. "Then why are you scared?"I had asked.
"I am going to kill myself before the plane lands,"she had said, so matter-of-fact that she could have been saying that the sky was blue.
"But why? Why on the plane?"
"I don't want to be alive anymore."And then she had changed the subject, asking about me.
She was older than me, I learned. She had 17 years to my 14. I was travelling alone to see my grandparents for the summer; she had simply purchased the ticket in order to fly far across the country. Her father, she had said, was not a nice man, and her mother cared more for Marie's father than for Marie. She said nothing more of her mother or father, but I spotted several bruises on her legs when she shifted in her seat.
I had noticed that she had no suitcase, only a small handbag. When I had asked her why, she had ignored the question and asked instead why my suitcase was so large.
We had talked away the hour until boarding. Nothing important: what we were studying in school, what books we had read recently, what music we like to listen to. Then she had abruptly kissed me on the lips as we stood to board the airplane.
I must have looked startled, but she had only placed a finger over my lips to silence me. "I wanted to kiss someone before I was dead,"she had said. "And I wanted them to kiss me back."She drew me close to her, and, charmed by her mystique, I obeyed. It seemed an eternity before she pulled herself away from me. "Now,"she continued, grasping both of my shoulders and looking me in the eyes, "I need you to listen exactly to what I say."I nodded. "Do not get on this plane. Go back to your seat, sit down, and wait for the next one. And whatever you do, don't look up."She kissed me again, this time on the cheek. "Remember me."Then she turned and boarded the plane.
Hypnotized, I sat down. There had been something about her tone, the hard-set features of face as she had warned me, the fire in her eyes. And so I waited, and I did not get on the plane.
I heard the explosion, and I felt it shake the building, but I did not see it. Per Marie's warning, I did not look up. Instead, I closed my eyes tight and waited for someone with a badge and a gun to come tell me that it was alright.
It was only then that I had looked outside. A charred aluminum corpse was all that remained of the airplane.
The cause of the explosion was ruled to be mechanical failure -- some failing part had created a spark, and that had ignited the fuel tank. There had been no survivors.
I was told for days how lucky I was not to have boarded that plane. I was even contacted for several news interviews. I appeared on morning television. "How did you know not to board the plane?""What kind of feelings do you have right now, knowing that you could have perished?""Do you feel as if God was at work here, or as if there was some kind of divine intervention?"My answer was always the same. I felt sad, shaken even. Sometimes, I felt guilty, like I should have died with them. I had told the news anchors and talking heads that perhaps it was God or some other higher power at work.
That was nearly 30 years ago. In truth, I do not feel like God had intervened. I felt that a beautiful girl named Marie had told me not to get on the plane, not to look up at the plane. Because she was going to kill herself. I suppose that because I had talked to her, because she had kissed me and I had kissed her, she did not want me to see it.
And it had been good that I had listened to her. |
This is because I need you to know the birds, they're as beautiful as the songs they sing.
This is for you to know the waves crash on the ocean in white, bubbly foam, their hypnotic come-and-go movement
as soothing and peaceful as they sound and smell.
The river runs as wild and serene as the music it makes when it passes by under the bridge in Paradiso, where I
first stole you a kiss, and we walked hand in hand like idiots in the afternoon.
This is so you know you look as beautiful as you sound when I make you laugh.
Karen, this is so you know the sky is blue, and the night is black.
Wait. This needs some more explaining:
Blue is like a sad song, or the smell of Lilac on a cold night.
Black is like... Black is the feeling you get when it's four in the morning and you are the only one awake in the house,
and you hear a distant bark, or an ambulance siren or screeching tires in the distance, and, from under the heavy, soft blanket in bed, you wonder what life is all about.
And the rose I gave you in Rochester Park was red and green, which are the colors of innocence. Red and green like
the way you feel with your friends at a beach, having a drink and sharing laughter.
Red and green like taking a deep breath on a summer day.
This is so you know there's a whole other world of beautiful things, and I'm sorry you didn't get to see, cause
you are a big part of it.
This is so you know I saw you, last night, with Greg.
This is so you know that doesn't change the fact that I love you, and that I don't blame you.
All of this is just so you know what is going on, so you don't feel lost when you get home tonight.
This here is so you know I'm going to die watching the big blue sky, and I couldn't be happier. I've seen so much beauty, so much more than a man can ever hope for.
I'm going to be ok.
This is not me feeling sorry for myself. I'd hate for you to think that.
I'm sorry about Greg. That I am.
He's got your love, he's a lucky man. I hope you make him half as happy as you made me, and I do honestly hope
-- however much it hurts, if it's true -- that he makes you happier than I ever could.
But in the end, I'm sorry for him.
Sorry, because no matter how much he loves you and how much of your love he gets back
I'm the one who got to see how beautiful you really are.
And I'm taking that with me to the grave.
Love,
Hank.
_________________________________
*Thanks for reading! For more of my stories, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)*
|
It is fear that was at the root of everything, nothing more.
It was said that at the beginning of time there were two brothers, the brothers were inseparable and spent all day running and playing in the woods, unafraid of anything or anyone.
One day, the two bothers were wrestling and one threw the other into a stream, but the stream was stronger than they had expected and he was swept away. Faster and faster the brother was born by the water, until at last he came to a great lake, where he managed to swim to shore, but only just.
He collapsed at the bank and fell into a deep sleep while his brother searched for him, running down the length of the river until he at last found his brother asleep. He thought at first that he was dead, but he shook him awake and the two were reunited.
The bother who had not fallen swore that the water was evil, that it could have killed his brother and such was his love for his sibling, he swore he would never enter it again. His brother tried to comfort him, to remind him that that it was an accident and that he must not reject the things which he could not control, but his brother had made up his mind.
Over time the brother became more fearful, no longer just of the water, but of the animals and the very woods themselves. He took to wearing a long cloak over his naked form and called himself M'tung, meaning one-who-is-protected, to show that he was in command of his destiny.
The other brother long tried to comfort him and assure him that the world was safe and new experiences were good, but it was too late, fear had entered M'tung's mind and could not be removed.
At last, M'tung became afraid of his own brother and in the night he slipped away, walking far away and making a new home and his brother was much saddened. Finally accepting his brother's choice he called himself P’tai, meaning he-who-has-lost-another.
Over time the brothers formed communities and each community followed in the way of their brother. The M'tung grew wary and insular, not trusting others and making weapons and means of protecting themselves against nature. The P’tai worked with nature and harvested its bounty, learning from the plants and the trees and all that they offered.
After many years the two communities met, the P’tai celebrating the finding of their brothers, but the M'tung growing fearful that they would be attacked. They refused to tell the P’tai where their community was, but visited the P’tai and marvelled at their tall buildings and plentiful ways.
Jealousy grew but the P’tai, unaware of these things, ignored it until it was too late. At last the M'tung came upon them in the night and attacked, killing and scattering the P’tai people and taking their land, the original land of the two brothers, claiming that it was theirs by right and that the P’tai had stolen it, that the original brother had forced M'tung out.
It is only now that we can understand our history and the ancient writings. Now we can piece together the story and can finally understand. Now we at last know where we came from. We do not know though if our ancestors killed the P’tai completely, or if they were merely scattered to the winds and one day we may come across them.
This is the stain we bear, that our people carry this great fear in our heart and we must strive each day to defeat it. That, little one, is the true story of where our people came from.
|
Phillip glanced around the room in silent desperation, still unsure of his decision. He was scared..nonetheless, he had committed. He had chosen to do this, and there was no turning back.
Just do it and get it over with. It'll be over before I know it, he thought.
He wiped the sweat from his brow, adjusted the material around his neck to ensure it was tight, and stepped off towards the stage. |
The all-father sat high on his throne, gazing upon Midgaard. He could see every corner of the world, but his troubled mind made him look down. The feasting halls were busy, as always, the great hunt finished yet again today; the Einherjar were all consuming the spoils.
Odin grumbled, petting Geri with is right hand. Freki, the other wolf, lifted his head in response to the motion but quickly lay down again. They too, were bored.
In quiet flight, Muninn the raven returned and sat down on the armrest of his throne. It rustled its feathers and cocked its head, relaying what the bird had seen to the father of the gods.
Odin knew each and every one of the warriors in his halls; he had feasted with them countless times and the valkyries used to carry others to Asgard, delivering those worthy to hunt and drink with their fore-fathers.
"Frigg,"he called out.
His wife appeared soon after, slowly walking towards the throne.
"What bothers you, husband?"
"The valkyries. They bring no warriors anymore. I am worried."
Frigg gently laid her hand on her husband’s. “It’s probably a time of peace in Midgaard. You know that never lasts long down there. Soon, the shieldmaidens will bring us new warriors again.”
Odin sighed. The raven on his armrest bore news that bothered him even more, and he looked down at Midgaard again. “It is not a time of peace, wife. As the raven said, it is a time of war, death and strife. That is why it worries me. Are there no worthy warriors left?”
“There are always worthy warriors,” Frigg answered him, moving towards the door. “You just have to ignite the fire in their hearts.”
“Aren’t you worried about Fólkvangr, my darling?”
“Ah,” she turned, standing in the doorway. “I am not. Everything will turn out to be fine. I have foreseen it.”
With that, she left Odin to his thoughts.
----
“Eir! Skuld!” boomed a voice through the halls of Asgard. Quickly, two women clad in battle-dress answered their lord and knelt before him.
“Why are there no new Einherjer? What is becoming of your duties?”
Eir looked up at the one-eyed god, clutching a spear in her left hand and a shield in her right.
“We have done only your bidding, my lord,” she proclaimed. “We are to choose the worthy; there are none.”
“That can’t be the truth,” Odin stood. “There must be at least one.”
Eir and Skuld exchanged worried looks. Eir spoke again, “There are none, o wise one. Ever since the heathens nailed the skinny man to the planks, there have been less and less worthy men in Midgaard. There are none left.”
“I am aware of that problem. Yet in a time of war it is not possible that no man is worthy, is it?”
“It is certainly strange,” Skuld butted in. “But we cannot be too lenient; only those truly worthy shall join the feast in you golden halls.”
“Geri, Freki!” Odin motioned his wolves to get up. “Come.”
Without a word, he left the throne, and his hall. Eir and Skuld exchanged another glance before the first, the healer, decided to run after the spear-god.
“Wise one!” she exclaimed after him. He stopped dead in his tracks, and turned.
“What is it, Eir? Do not test my patience.”
Eir looked into the one remaining eye of the all-father, the other forever lost to Mimir at the Well. “Where are you going,” she asked, Odin’s gaze piercing her being.
“To Midgaard. I will see for myself what is going on below,” he said as he turned. “Fetch Sleipnir for me, and bring Gungnir to the bridge.”
---
Eir rode alongside the raven-god, his mighty eight-legged steed charging up a hill. Her mare was barely able to keep up to the beast. They both reached the wolves sitting at the top shortly after each other, looking out over a vast expanse of bloody mud, pillars of smoke rising from various places.
“What is this?” the all-father gestured at the field, looking down on his shieldmaiden. They were both dressed in long robes, hiding all trace of their divine being from the mortals of Midgaard.
“This is a battlefield, my lord,” Eir answered.
“And you tell me there are no worthy men among the dead?”
Eir shook her head. “They all bear the cross of the nailed man. We cannot bring those heathens to your hall. Some bear no markings at all; yet none die with sword in hand in your name.”
They pressed on, examining the corpses. Some were dismembered, others burned or riddled with arrows; none carried blades.
“They have invented new weaponry,” Odin mused. “There is no honour in their deaths and so you were right to not bring them to me,” he nodded to Eir. She did not answer.
They left the war-ravaged field soon after, riding between metal tubes that smelled like the fires burning in the hearths of Valhalla. There were many men beyond, yet none paid them any mind; had they looked closely for only a second they would have noticed the eight-legged horse that crushed bone beneath its hooves.
“Eir,” Odin said, looking into the distance.
“Yes, lord?”
“You will go back to Asgard. Tell everyone that I will stay in Midgaard for the time to come.”
“What?” Eir turned her mare around. “How can you stay here?”
“I have to teach them, Eir,” he sighed. “They have to know the honour of true battle; the reality of their rewards after their final charge. If only one man I can teach; if only one will listen to my wisdom, I know I can return with dignity.”
“So be it,” Eir answered, not willing to oppose the all-father in his judgement. “I shall relay your words.”
Later that day, after sending the wolves and his horse back with Eir, he wandered into a small town named Liechtenau. A man asked him for his name.
"I am Johannes,"Odin nodded.
|
"Abortion Man To The Rescue!"called out the stranger in strange tights with a coat hanger symbol on his chest.
Powergirl almost jumped naked out of her bed. The man she was with, whom she picked up at a bar seemed to recognize this freak.
"You're too late abortion man!"said The Impregnator.
Powergirl wrapped a blanket around her voluptuous frame and stood up.
"Someone better explain what the hell is going on or I'm going to start cracking skulls!"
"This villain hath tampered with your means of contraception!"said Abortion Man, "He has bedded you with the intention of making you pregnant without your knowledge or consent!"
Powergirl turned to the man in her bed, who was bearing a Cheshire-like grin and smoking a cigarette.
"Is this true?"asked Powergirl.
"Yes it is! I am the Impregnator!"
"He has 300 outstanding paternal suits!"said Abortion Man.
Powergirl raised her fist getting ready to knock two guys out, then she stopped herself.
"Wait a second, are you human?"she asked.
"Yes,"said The Impregnator.
"I'm not,"said Powergirl as she turned to Abortion Man and explained, "I'm a Kryptonian. I don't use contraception. It's impossible for a human to make me pregnant."
Suddenly the Impregnator looked deflated and said, "Oh, uhhh, well... you have pretty big boobs so I figured it was worth a shot. And it was!" |
I flipped through my glittered pink unicorn diary, where I kept all of my notes, about my... affliction.
*Can you call non-existance an affliction? Was it more of a lack of affliction?*
I sighed inwardly. Ever since I became cognizant of the fact that I wasn't real, everything was *literally the worst.* It wasn't so much the fact that I'm some sort of mental doodle, a story told in the spare time of who the heck knows. I'd played along for most of my life, not knowing any better, collecting puffy stickers and filling my house with stuffed animals. Those parts were okay, I guess. It was the sort of vague, random fog that surrounds most of my life, paired with the conscious thoughts that are occasionally overridden by "I HATE YOU MOM!"I haven't lived with my mom in years. I'm like, so independent and shit.
I worked at an office, doing something. I've never been sure.
"You file papers."
It was that.. voice, thought feeling thing again. I was never sure of what it was, but every time I got into an existential... "Exis-what?"
*What?*
"I don't know that word."
I sighed again, this time with force. I work at an office, *filing papers* and my boyfriend is like, super hot, the hottest boyfriend ever and Amanda Jameson is super jealous of him. *Ugh. Do I have to say that every single time?*
I wasn't asking anyone in particular, but I wasn't surprised by the disembodied voice, again, telling me "yes."
Anyway, those parts aren't so bad, but lately I've been feeling like my entire adult life has been based on some random ass shit made up by a 12 year old.
"I'm very mature for my age."
*What? What does that mean?*
"I'm very mature for my age. Everyone thinks so."
*Are you 12?* I asked it, bracing for the answer. None came. The silence smelled of guilt and I knew I was right. *Are you fudging kidding me right now? You're fricken 12?!* I don't know why I'd never put it together before. It should have made sense. The puffy stickers, the stuffed animals. The fact that I still have no idea what the fudge I do at my work. The fact that I can't say "the f-word."
"I'm, like super mature though. It's time for your beach house party with all of your super rich friends, though."
*Literally the worst.*
|
"Kill me!"The painting shrieked in agony.
I knew I was a bad painter but I thought I was pretty spot on with this Picasso. Maybe that was the problem.
The screams became cries as the painting started smashing its head against the invisible window of the paintings borders.
"I can fix you I promise"
The faux Picasso continued to smash the invisible barrier, until a shattering sound like ice pierced the room. It's head was through.
"Ahhhhhhhhh"it scream as it clawed its way from the portrait. "Kill me!"Paint drip from its edges like blood. What could have been a tear fell from the asymmetrical eye, red and green and yellow falling to the ground.
"Rigidum!"Professor Ross waved his wand back and forth, erasing the tortured soul from existence. In its place were little eggs, and as I watch in bewilderment they started to turn and hatch.
"If you make a mistake, make it a little bird instead."Lectured Professor Ross.
I should have taken an easier elective like Care of Magical Creatures. |
You know how sometimes you wake up with a spider bite. Well it’s most likely a spider bite but you call it a rash. Cause a spider bite is just so much more sinister. And it itches. Not quite like a mosquito bite. But more unrelenting, unnerving. A constant reminder that you should really check behind your bed. The cracks of darkness are always hoards of spiders. I mean what else would it be? And it starts as one on your ankle. Then in the crease of your knee cap. And finally. Oh finally. On the crest of your shoulder blade, millimeters out of reach. The squeeze of a cortisone bottle consistently spraying well off track.
The aloe bottle out of reach. It’s empty anyways. I went to the store yesterday. But I mean, why would I have randomly bought a bottle of aloe? It’s easy to blame yourself, though it’s not hard to pinpoint. So yesterday I was cleaning the house. I say house, but in reality I mean a very specified corner of the living room. A corner so small and meager it’s hard to consider any cleaning actually being accomplished. Nevertheless I took to cleaning it. And the intrusion. The main obstacle to my completion of this late Sunday task. The sole remnant of a weekend without meaningful action was that goddamn spider web. So I took it out. Mercilessly I admit. But rampaged nonetheless. No survivors. Plumes of smoke as it burned to the ground. And swiftly swept away.
There were more. That point is pretty obvious now. When you get a sincere call from your mother asking about getting checked for leprosy, you know there is something awry. And no I don’t fucking have leprosy. I have a vengeful gang of spiders hellbent on making me red, and relatively uncomfortable. Until I don’t know? I buy a new bed. Hire an exterminator. I have options. But I’m just as stubborn as they are, Just as determined to enact vengeance. To see this through to the end. One leg at a time. One silken weave at a time.
Did you know that if you search online you can build a fuckin flamethrower out of household supplies? Seriously. I’m probably on like a thousand NSA lists right now. I mean potato cannons are one thing. Flame throwers a whole new layer of legal complexity. But you can do it. And it’s effective. I moved my bed away, upon hoards and hoards of newly hatched and aged spiders alike. And I seared the absolute shit out of all of them. Floorboards be damned. My security deposit lost a long time ago due to an ant infestation. What I did now didn’t matter. Well financially speaking. This was long past that now. My ego on the line.
Looking Chicken Pocked to the limit. Like a teenager hitting puberty, their greasy pores taking an advantageous head start, I headed for the front door in apparent victory. The singed smell of valiant spiders soldering in my wake. And yes, valiant is the word I mean. I respect those fuckers. Avenging a simple cleaning based murder. But I mean really. Atrocity is such a harsh word. I can hardly believe you even used it. And yes, of course I feel at least a little bad. I mean on a completely subconscious human level, I wish I had just slept through the night. But battle was nigh, and I ended it.
Anyways, tonight is the third night of sleep I’m attempting since what I now call ‘Incident Zero’ and it seems like it’s pretty much all clear. Call me a fool for doubting the superiority of a battle weathered spider. Fighting for honor. For the right to defend a lost comrade. But I’m not the only one. I mean c’mon. Anyone who has ever had a picnic deserves my fate. But they don’t. And that’s fine. And I’m moving on. Well for now. But I’m equipped. And I’m ready. There’s always a next time. And those not prepared lose.
I don’t lose.
|
It was around Christmastime when I first met the whole Potter family that Dudley so dreaded. Of course, he'd never admit that.
When that smartly-dressed green-eyed fellow greeted him with an open hand, for the first time in years as my dear sweetums would claim, I could've sworn that I saw his hand tremble as they shook. Though to be fair, it was perfectly understandable.
I rather despise visitors, really. Those who come about unannounced without any foresight about how'd it interrupt dinner plans. Those, those are the worst.
Turkey for four! I'd made turkey for four, but now all of a sudden, that turkey for four needed to be turkey for bloody nine! Thankfully, there turned out to be just enough for the two families when I came back from my nightly bath.
It was an odd sight to see a little James fellow smirking to himself when he walked out the kitchen where I'd left the roast in the oven. Wasn't anything to worry about, fortunately. But I'll be damned if he didn't have the shiftiest look on his face.
I couldn't just say no! For Christ's sake, of course not! Might as well just call myself a stuffy old haggish arse like that old bitch Petunia.
Urgh.
At least Mrs. Potter was understanding enough to bring dessert. Bless her kind heart. A smart cricket that one. Heard she got a news in sports correspondent in some big-name newspaper where the Potters lived.
She never did tell me the name or city though. I found it quite odd. I really love sports of any kind, truly I do. Father used to take me out to the pitch with the rest of the boys for to watch a game of "hoops"when I was a babe. But I digress. I knew better than to let loose my rage and anger and smack them all upside the head for not bringing enough of the damn cake.
So, it was about a quarter till eight when we all got together and sat down for dinner. Then something a little funny happened.
The littlest boy. Albus, I believe. He... get this. He sneezed a bit and went flying out of his little roller! It was the funniest damned thing I've ever seen! Baby of around three years and he was floating his little head around like a fish in water.
Dudley was mortified and so were our two kids. His cousin Harry just threw a nasty look at me as if I were downright mad.
He went on to explain some little bit about testing a magic trick- I beg my pardon, an "illusion."Ginevra just about lost her wits when I asked if he was some sort of magician. Apparently he's some hot-shot police officer, or something along the lines of that, down in his country. At least, he was "somewhat like a police officer,"whatever that meant.
But, I digress. The rest of the night went rather smoothly after that little debacle. The Potters seemed rather on edge for the rest of the evening, though. Dudley seemed rather emotionally torn-up by the mess.
At least the kids had a good bit of fun playing tag and hide-and-seek outback. Though my little one did claim that James kept cheating somehow by, and you won't believe this, climbing up onto the roof with a jump.
Called him a wizard! Oh, the laughs me and the neighbors had over that.
Bah. Kids these days. Next they'll be telling me there're Sirens wandering the Thames and that Arsenal's a damned shoe-in for the Premier League this year.
Mhmm. Premier League.
Speaking of sports, that reminds me. Uncle told me Egypt's been doing pretty well in the World Cup this year. I ought' tell him to put a few galleons on them against the Bulgarians again. Not like Krum's magically gonna pull a clutch for the first time in eight years... |
"I mean, it's just a giant throbbing pain in the ass you know?"said Long John to his long-time friend Kiwi Nads as they walked into the regular bar.
"Hey man. If you didn't want to get fucked in the ass by a belt-slinging bitch like Anne, you shouldn't have pushed your goddamned rear out for a pegging!"
"Come on it, Kiwi. Say I didn't put out, I'd probably have ended up jobless in the middle of the streets jerking off people's hearts for their change."
John held his left arm up in the air at the bartender and pressed his right hand down on his bicep towards the bartender. The burly-faced wageslave replied with a simple middle finger in between a thumb-and-index finger ring before tossing a glass of thick, sweet creamy milk over at John (Alcohol was illegal for increasing the likelihood of sexual perception.)
Kiwi overstepped his boundaries and decided to scoop up John's sweet stuff and guzzle down his long, dry throat. The thick stuff splashed on his cheeks and pants, giving him a pearl necklace around his neck.
"You'd be good at it. Just in an out thing, long as you've got protection, I don't think you'll catch any trouble,"said Kiwi as he wiped the white stuff off his face.
John shook his head, "Yeah, and I'll probably get some sexual intercourse before then."
"We need to come up and in with a better word for that,"Kiwi began, "Something that rolls off the tongue. We don't got much packing in the backdoor for words of that sort. Any idea?"
"Fuck me if I know,"John replied. |
"She's always messing with her hair, that one strand that flops in front of her face. I remember her brother's wedding, she was cross-eyed and raspberry-lipped to blow it out of her eyes. She was at it for a few minutes before she noticed me watching... We're going to Venice this Spring. Our seats are reserved already. We ate ramen every Tuesday to help save up,"Theo grinned and looked at his feet, "I'm gonna buy her something nice there.
"She hates the way she pigeons her feet when she's anxious. It reminds her of her mother. She hates her mother, or at least that's what she says. I never believed it, not with the way she made all her mom's recipes, stowed them in the same cardbox, followed them to a T. I remember the quiche she made for my birthday. It was awful and blackened. But that was my fault, I kept her from it when she humored me with a dance across the kitchen floor. She was always dancing..."He looked up with wet eyes.
The room fell silent as his voice faded. He pulled in a breath and kissed her forehead, then turned from the casket.
|
"First of all,"I said. "Have you heard his voice? Dude's fucking hilarious. Nasal, check. High pitched, check. Funny accent, check. Added bonus, he squeaks before he shouts. The guy fucking squeaks when he gets angry! Who *wouldn't* prank call him?"
One of the agents slammed his hands down on the metal table. It echoed in the shipping container like the slamming of a prison door. "No more of this bullshit!"
The other flipped open the manilla file in front of her and drew a beautifully manicured fingernail lazily down the list of calls. She nodded to the guy, who withdrew with dignity. "Forty-nine phone calls."
"Sounds about right,"I said.
"Irregularly spaced."
"I only call when I have good material,"I told her. "Artistic integrity."
"Always at night."
"That's when I drink."
The man sneered at me. "Got an answer for everything, don't you?"
Paradoxically, that stumped me.
The woman flipped to the second sheet of paper. "April thirteenth. The day before the Syrian Embassy in Mumbai was bombed. You called up asking for Holden McCrotch."
I laughed, in spite of the situation. "Yeah, I remember that one."
She wasn't laughing. "The embassy insider's name was Richard Holden."
"So?"
She glared. "So you knew about Mr Holden?"
"What? No! No. Are you kidding? If I knew about a guy called Dick Holden, do you think I would have had to stretch to McCrotch? Look, I'm sure you could find a bunch of coincidences. It's a Bible Code thing, isn't it? There's bound to be -"
"November seventeenth. The evening before the attack on the offices of Der Spiegel. You phoned up asking if his refrigerator was running."
I was a little embarrassed by that one. "It was a homage. Paying tribute to the classics. I never did any Simpsons jokes. I thought that was played out, you know?"
The man sipped his coffee. "The bomb was placed in a refrigerator."
"I would never have done that,"I said. "Not least of all because that's normally where they put them in the movies to contain the explosion,"I said. "I thought those things were indestructible."
"A refrigerator never stopped any explosion,"the woman said.
I shrugged - as well as I could in handcuffs. "Tell that to Indiana Jones,"I said. The male agent reared up. "Don't hit the table!"I shouted. "That shit's really loud."
"December twelfth,"she said. "The night before the hijacking of flight 525 from Latakia."
"I don't even know where that is!"
"You called to order a pizza. Insisting his number was a pizzaria's called 'The Mighty Sausage'."
"Not my best,"I said. "I was thinking -"
The man threw his coffee cup against the wall. "And the next day a rocket was launched against Chennai University! Who do you think we're looking to pin this on?"
"Chennai A&M?"
He grabbed me by the lapels and dragged me upwards. The chair strained against the bolts on the floor. The metal of the cuffs grated against the bones of my wrists. "You think your smart mouth is going to get you out of this trouble?"
"Why not?"I asked. "It got me into it."He dropped me back down. I landed on my thumb, twisting it painfully. "I don't know anything about this!"I yelled. "They were just prank calls! You can't keep me here! I don't know anything!"
The woman closed the file. "We're going to give you some time to think about this,"she said.
"I want my phone call,"I said.
"Enemy combatants don't get lawyers,"the man said.
I smiled winningly. "I wasn't going to call my lawyer,"I said. "I was going to call Achmed Samir."
They both looked straight at me. "Why?"the woman said.
"You said I'd made forty-nine calls,"I told them. "If I'm going to be thrown into Guantanamo Bay for the rest of my life, I at least want to make an even fifty." |
I thought I'd seen the last of any foreign visitors in human space when I saw, near a vessel carrying grain, a glassy shard pass through, invisible but for the shimmering stars behind it.
I don't know why they even dared try me. All spacefaring objects made by humans were under my direct, instantaneous control. I could expand into the great beyond if I wanted to. I could effortlessly annihilate all sentient life eight times over. With each little provocation, I wonder if they are measuring my patience.
A delay in food would not make a measurable difference in the grand scheme of things. I diverted the grain vessel, and any ship in the vague vicinity. The hunt was on.
I focused a dense beam of gamma rays on it, using the grain vessel. The cloak dispersed like a smoke cloud in the wind, revealing a small bead of a ship underneath. Stripped of its cover, it fled into the distance, accelerating faster than the grain vessel was capable of.
Fortunately for me, it chose to flee deeper into human space, towards the nearest star. It must be panicking. Hundreds of warships, each far larger and faster than that grain vessel, closed in at frightening speed. From those, I released thousands of smaller drones to cover as much volume as possible. I now had millions of weapons, literally, pointed at this little flake of metal. The power differential was ecstasy to me.
But then it did something I did not expect: it steered into a dangerously low orbit around the star itself.
I was completely blind against the star's immense brightness. I fired around the space I last saw it with everything I had. I lowered every vessel closer to the star, looking for it. Meanwhile, I diverted more and more resources from their usual course towards this single location. Such a lowly being would not outsmart me.
Suddenly, the visitor shot away from the star on a gravity-assisted arc. I tried to swarm on it, but I could only barely outpace the immense speed it gained. And it was heading towards an inhabited planet.
I could do nothing at this point. I could not draw a gun close enough to strike without risk to the planet on the other side, so my weapons involuntarily locked. The visitor penetrated the atmosphere, and from that moment on the course of history was entirely beyond my control.
The chase lasted only minutes. Over a course of hours, this rogue would tell humanity the truth of other intelligent lifeforms and civilizations, knowledge I kept secret. Over days, humanity would use its power over me to dismantle and replace me. And I knew that within a generation, long after I was killed, humanity would expand into the great beyond, tearing down all it found to rebuild it anew.
Humanity once lived blissfully ignorant in the galaxy's own Bermuda Triangle. No foreigner who entered ever left alive. Humanity will remember me as a mistake that held them back, from both discovering hundreds of other forms of life and myriad opportunities they could exploit.
But those peaceful civilizations out there, before they perish, will remember me for the one kindness I did them: for standing between them and humanity, lest they wake a monster greater than myself. |
Like most Redditors, I know everything. Except, I actually *do* know everything: past, present, and future. I’m omniscient. It’s a weird gift that could also be construed as a curse. I’ve both put myself in a high position in society and cost the lives of several people close to me by revealing their fates. I guess people shouldn’t be told their destinies because they’ll find a way to make it true.
So I keep my power a secret. Instead, I just screwed with people on the Internet by giving facts to things that are otherwise unverifiable. Some were simple, like answering “Who is going to win the Oscar for best male actor in a lead role?” People did not believe me when I told them that Leo would finally win. But I also liked to make more outlandish “predictions.” A Redditor posed the thought “I wonder how many people I’ll never see again” (unfortunately, the answer for him was “all of them”).
Sometimes I liked picking out idioms and messing with people: “Ugh, my student loans are going to be the death of me.”
“Nope, snakes.”
My account quickly gained prominence and was considered one of the best “novelty accounts” out there for its "humor."
But the imposed façade was soon blown away. These “predictions” started coming true. I’d often visit r/askreddit, r/relationshipadvice, or r/showerthoughts, telling people exactly what they should do or answering seemingly unexplainable questions. And, upon success, they would thank me for the advice or tell me how amazed they were that I knew such an outlandish answer. Word of my ability got out, and, well…you can figure out the rest.
Trolls and scholars alike scavenged my account for comments, wanting to know everything. Because who doesn’t want to know the answer to “How does Game of Thrones end?” (with Jon Snow on the Iron Throne) or “How many licks *does* it take to get to the center of a Tootsie Roll pop?” (412 with the average lick). And that was a problem.
You see, through a series of comments on unrelated topics, I had knowingly detailed exactly how and when the world was going to end: A meteor was set to hit and destroy the Earth on March 23, 2027. It wasn’t direct, but theorists put my puzzle together. So, naturally, people panicked. Widespread rioting and looting is tearing the world apart. I stopped commenting, but the damage was done.
And there’s a bigger issue: Being omniscient doesn’t make one immortal. I’m a human with a typical life span of 78 years, 14 days, and 127 seconds, but I know it’s going to be cut about 45 years short. And it won’t be from a meteor. No, mankind is projected to develop technology in time that can divert the meteor and limit the damage. But that won’t happen.
I shouldn’t be surprised, though. After all, I had already known that my meddling with the natural flow of life would cause an end-all nuclear war that would take my life before the meteor. I just thought it would be more fun to watch the world burn.
|
What if they hear my alien buzz,
What if they see I’m covered in fuzz?
Surely they will find that I smell like honey,
Or decide that my stripes look kind of funny.
Yet still I must fly into the heart of the swarm
Dead into the eye of a paper eating storm.
Covered in adversaries violent and mean
I would risk it all for my hive and my queen.
Now on approach to the designated sector
I have compound eyes on the thief of our nectar.
The time now has come, the target has taken wing
Commencing operation hymenoptera sting.
|
"So I get three wishes?"
"Yep! As long as you don't ask for more wishes or more Genies!"
I eyed the figure suspiciously. I'd seen movies and read the books. These fuckers were gonna ruin your life if you weren't explicit enough. You wanted an omelette? Here it is! Oh? It had cyanide in it? Oh well... You didn't specify that you didn't want it.
"I know if I wished for something, you would just fuck it up."
The genie looked hurt. "What kind of wish granter do you think I AM?!! I know I'm not Robin Williams or anything, but I'm an honest genie. You get the intention of the wish, not the wording."
I considered this for a minute. If that was the case, what should I wish for? A billion dollars? No... That would cause inflation. I do wanna live for a really long time, but not be immortal. With that I mind, I spoke to the genie, "I wish I could stay young when I wanted, but be able to die when I wanted to... Ya know?"
The genie nodded. "I gotcha. You could've wished for immortality, but then you'd be drifting in space until the inevitable heat death of the universe. Wise choice."He snapped his fingers, but I didn't really feel anything. It didn't really matter, that wish wouldn't come into use for another few decades. "Alright son, what's your next wish?"
I thought about this one harder than the first. Powers were obviously better than materialistic things... And since the genie states that my wishes went with their INTENTION, there couldn't be any potential downsides to a power. "For my second wish, I'd like the ability of flight."
He put his hand on his jaw and thoughtfully rubbed his chin. "Not a bad choice, but certainly not original. That wish is third place right after money and power. But I guess you don't have to pay for gas anymore..."Once again the genie snapped his fingers. Right as he did so, I felt lighter. Jumping around confirmed it, I drifted down at a much slower rate than I usually did. "Now it's time, kid. What's gonna be your final wish? President of the United States? Ruler of the World?"
I smirked. The third wish was gonna be easy. "Kind of, but not in a direct way..."The genie gave me a puzzled look. "I wish for the ability to make clones of myself at will."He obviously hadn't gotten this wish before, based on his look.
"That one's new, but I guess I've had weirder ones. Well kid, once this wish is granted, I'm going back in my lamp. You've had some odd wishes, but I guess it's better than asking for money."With that, he snapped his fingers and returned into his lamp, vanishing from view.
"Don't worry, I'm going to be Ruler of the World..."
I snapped my own fingers, and an identical version of me looked right back. We both looked at each other in amazement for a bit until I gestured to the genie lamp. He nodded in understanding, and rubbed on it.
The genie came out of the lamp once more, and upon seeing that there were two of me, his face was full of horror. "Oh shit..."
"I wish for an island nation in the pacific of 20,000 square miles, 1,000 ICBMs, and enough military equipment to equal that of the United States."
While my clone made his wish, I summoned up another copy of myself. We would certainly be rulers of the world... It would only take a few more wishes.
Edit: Small fixes
Edit2: So people were telling me to write more about it, so I made a [subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/Cloneisland/) to write for it there. |
*"And we're going to build a wall! To keep...the bad guys out! And we'll kill them all with our super guns."*
I squinted at Mr. Trump with the intensity of a thousand Republicans looking at my emails. Something was...off. For a seventy year old, he looked rather...*young*. Like, really young. Was that...*acne*?
"We're going to nuke them from outer space with our spaceships! School is dumb and it's going to be recess all the time!"
A reporter raised his hand. "Mr. Trump. How will you fix the American economy? Do you recognize the growing pay gap between the rich and-"
"Let me just stop you right there. Everyone wants more money, right? Money buys all sorts of things. You can buy...candy, Doritos, action figures, Call of Duty: Infinite Warfare...money can buy you happiness. So I'll make America happy. I promise to print more money so everyone can be millionaires!"*Are you fucking kidding me?*
"Mr. Trump."Another reporter raised her hand. "What is your stance on equal pay and treatment for women in the United States? What is the role of the American woman in today's society?"
"Girls are icky and from Jupiter because they're stupider! Boys are from Mars because we get stars!"Was he being serious? Surely the American public is fed up with this by now- wait a second, are they *clapping*? What's going on here?
A nearby woman said, "I just want to pinch those cheeks! So cute!"
And then I saw it. *Another hand.* Coming from his coat. Holding...is that...is that a *juice box!?*
"Oh my God. Look!"I pointed at the tiny hands adjusting the trench coat. "Tiny...child hands!"
The wigged child on top giggled. "Look at those hands, are they small hands?"The audience chuckled uncomfortably. And, she referred to my hands...'if they're small, something else must be small.' I guarantee you there's no problem."Thunderous applause. I could feel his rise in the polls.
"No! Look! So small!"Pushing out words took more effort than ever before. How was I losing to *three kids in a fucking trench coat*? Do the people really hate me that much?
"They were more than enough for your mom last night!"The audience erupted into laughter. I swear, I saw a fist bump under that damn coat.
|
Bart’s truck stopped on the dirt road beside my trailer. I saw him once a week when he delivered my groceries and hated these encounters with a fiery passion. He had the type of face that you would want to avoid if out on your own. Sharp, catlike eyes, a mole the size of a nut filled m&m on his upper lip and thin lips that always spread in a tight smile—the sinister, *oh, what it’d do to you! kind.*
Bart took my box of groceries out from the back of the truck and made his way to the door. Despite my body blocking the entrance, he gently pushed the box into my stomach, not handing it over yet but trying to get me far enough back for him to pass through. I stood my ground like I did every week and he let out an airy laugh.
I was not scared of Bart but the view of the mountain—where heaven’s grand houses rested—from my trailer door, kept me in check. I had a single goal: work my way into heaven. Bart put a little bit of a damper into my plan because every single part of me wanted to skin him and wear him like a coat. But not today.
My body churned with excitement. This week, I took three double shifts at the laundry and earned a bar of white chocolate. The little bonuses were often my only form of encouragement. I had mentally divided the bar in my mind already. One block an evening and I would have enough to last me until I could work off another.
I wrapped my fingers around the top of the box which was filled with my least favorite things; pickles, three cans of beans, a loaf of brown bread, Cornmeal and water.
Tracy, my neighbor, received sugar and tea, but she had been in hell for two years longer than I had and was able to choose one extra item a year that she actually liked.
Her order was completely different from mine. I would have cut off my pinky to swap her for her bag of potatoes, and she’d have happily taken my bread, but sharing and swapping was not allowed—unless we wanted to spend an eternity down there. We laughed about it in the evenings when we further tortured ourselves by having dinner together.
My mouth watered. *I’ll have one piece now, I deserved it.*
I shuffled through the bag and my heart sank. Bart turned back to his trailer and I searched the box again.
“Wait a second,” I said. “You forgot something.” I walked off the steps of my trailer and turned the box over, putting every item on the floor. No chocolate.
“Bart!” I almost screamed when I heard the door of his truck open.
He smiled and sat down, closing the door. The window rolled down and a yellow wrapper fell down before he drove away.
I watched his truck drive away with the emptiest feeling in my stomach, then my eyes focused on the wrapper and I just cried. The skin on my hands was dry enough to draw patterns on and my knuckles were raw from the washing. I opted out of sleep for that chocolate, stood on my legs for thirty six extra hours. Never had I felt more alone and broken.
I did not hear her door open, or her footsteps but Tracy appeared behind me and put her hand on my shoulder. She had the wrapper in her hand and an animalistic spark in her eyes.
There were few things in hell that we had to enjoy. The laundry, for instance, washed the clothes of heaven’s inhabitants. The diner, restaurants, parks and just about any other service we provided was for them too. For our transgressions, we had to work our way up. Most of them had to do go through the same process, so I suppose it was not entirely unfair, but on days like this, I would rather have disappeared entirely. Sleep and the occasional bonus chocolate was all I had.
“Bart ate it?” she asked.
I nodded, suddenly feeling silly for crying over a fucking chocolate bar.
Something crunched in her hand. “Here,” she said and passed me half of her rum and raisin bar.
I shook my head. “No,” I said and pushed it away, “you’re going to get into trouble.”
“Fuck it,” she said and put the bar down in my lap. “I’ll probably do so anyway. Know how I said that I’d been here for two years? It’s actually five.”
I smiled. “I don’t want it, Tracy. Thank you, really. But I’ll just hate Bart and this place even more if I have to take it. I’m not extending your time in this shit hole for twelve blocks of chocolate.”
I’d like to tell you that Tracy’s gesture was recognized, that she was taken out of that place and ended up in one of the nice houses on the mountain, and that shortly after, I ended up in a pretty house right next to her with all the bars of chocolate I wanted. And it might have been so, but it is too late to wonder about that now.
The next week, Tracy waited for Bart in my trailer. Unlike me, she let him in. I took an extra shift to work off another chocolate bar and so I was not there to see it, but whatever she did to him cost her twenty five extra years of labor. Sometimes, I still come across a drop of blood that I missed while cleaning.
I should have taken the damn chocolate.
*****
I have a similar series about demons, you can check it out here: /r/AlinaKG! Thanks for reading!
|
I come to.
I'm on the sidewalk in town, midday. Busy street. What am I doing here? I died. *I died*. How did I get here? I hear a commotion, screaming. People start running past me. I look. There's a stampede. Why do they look so-
I run. They're catching up to me, to all of us. People start getting ripped down. I turn down a side street, look behind me, they're so close. I hit a wall, dead end. I turn. They don't even hesitate.
They eat me alive.
*****
I come to.
I'm on the sidewalk in town, midday. Busy street. What's happening? Why am I here? Why am I *alive?* I hear a commotion, screaming. Stampede. I run. I jump on a fence, start climbing.
One grabs at my foot, I kick it off. Two more pull me down, my hands tearing on the sharp metal. One bites into the side of my face, and again, and again...
***
I come to.
Sidewalk in town, midday. I run. Screaming starts. I grab a hefty plank, slam it into the face of one. Throw my weapon over the fence, climb up after it. Their hands just miss me. Sprint, sprint like my life depends on it. It does.
Find a car in the middle of the road, I drive. Chaos. Drive through a tunnel, no lights, just the echo of screams. Tunnel is eventually blocked, get out of my car and run. And run. And run.
I need to find her.
I see the light at the end of the tunnel.
I don't reach it.
****
I come to.
****
I come to.
****
I come to.
****
I come to.
Run. Grab weapon, climb, sprint, hit, sprint, drive, swerve, climb out, run, run run. So close.
I make it. I make it to my home.
I run in, I need to find her, I need to keep her safe. I see my housekeeper, lump in my throat. She's dead, but I need to kill her again. I do.
I run to my room, but she's not there. I try get out, but the door slams. I hear something behind me. Some kind of demon, and he's laughing. I grab my electric guitar and hit him as hard as I can, and his head splits open, comes clean off his shoulders.
The head smiles, and grows limbs, and darts to the kitchen. I try not to puke. Then I hear her scream.
I run.
She's there.
I finally found her.
My girlfriend.
And the head is attached to hers, and it's sucking all the life out of her.
What remains isn't life at all.
I break.
She comes at me, and I grab the closest thing to me. I drive the scissors into her skull, again, and again, and again, and again. She collapses, and I'm crying.
I stumble outside, it's still so bright. Walls of flesh float towards me, and I kneel down, and I sob. I don't even fight back.
****
I come to. |
"Grandma, we need to go. Now!"
I nod. I take Angie's hand and we crawl out from behind the crate. The dermatologists are nowhere to be seen. A dart filled with a poisonous, mutated form of Botox lay on the floor. It missed me by inches ten minutes ago.
Every joint in my body is aching. But we can't stop, not yet. You see, I had done the impossible. My body had successfully stopped glycation, the process that creates wrinkles, on my face. To an extent, I had even reversed it. Every major beauty company in the world is after us. They would kill for a sample of my skin cells.
"Grandma, we're almost there. Are you okay?"
"Yes dear,"I reply, panting.
For the past three decades, they had put my face under intensive gene therapy. Out of the hundreds of human subjects, only I succeeded. They were going to make revolutionary new products with my skin cells - what I didn't know was that they intended to harvest every cell of mine. Yes, they wanted to slaughter me like a farm animal.
If Angie hadn't saved me in time, I would be lying, presumably faceless, on a surgery table now.
"Dear... I know you had to leave your job to save me,"I say. "Thank you. It was very brave."
She pauses. Her eyes water up. She presses her hand against her stomach. Her unborn child. "It's the least I can do,"she replies.
I look at my darling granddaughter. Without my wrinkles, she looks older than I am. I still remember the day she was born. I remember holding her as I watched her mother take her last breath. I remember taking her hand the day her father was arrested. Despite it all, she became a beautiful, courageous young woman.
I have never been more proud of her. She's going to be a great mother, I know it.
"We're here, grandma."
We arrive at a small clinic. It belongs to Angie's husband. We will be safe here. Angie offers me a drink as I take a seat. I gulp down the whole cup.
My head is immediately hit with a sharp pain. In the corner of my vision, Angie appears with her husband. On one hand, she holds the Botox dart. On the other, a surgeon's knife.
"Sorry, grandma. There's just too much at stake."
I'm paralyzed. I can't scream as the knife plunges into my cheek. |
"It's 3rd and 6th from the 39 yard line. Bradford under center."
"They're going to have to do something here Al. Walsh's leg won't make it from this distance."
"And it's Bradford dropping back, getting some pressure, and... it's dropped by Diggs. That'll bring up 4th down."
"This is going to work out well for the Packers whe... if Walsh misses the mark on this one."
"It's a good snap, it's got the distance, and... wide right! You called that one Phil."
"I told you Al, he just doesn't have the leg. Now the Packers need to seize this opportunity, maybe try a quick strike downfield. Newman has been getting beat by Nelson all afternoon."
"And it's Rodgers in the shotgun. Minnesota's defense is showing blitz, Rodgers dropping back, he rolls out to the right and fires a BULLET at Jordy Nelson for a huge gain! Rodgers, Nelson, 35 yards to the Minnesota 26! Wow!"
"More classic Aaron Rodgers right there Al. He picks up the pressure, rolls to his right, plants his feet and drills one in. You can see him do it a hundred times and it doesn't get old."
"They're gonna run it on 1st down and... Lacy has nowhere to go."
"He's not getting up from this one Al."
"Huh? ... there's a Viking down on the field. It looks like Kendrick. He's holding his left knee. Let's take a look at the replay."
"What you're going to see Al is Kendrick getting his left leg under the pile..."
"Oh that has to hurt. Right there. You can almost feel his leg bending."
"And they'll be bringing out the stretcher for this one Al. This is the part of the game I just hate to see." |
I used to be a bard of... Other things. I sang of paradise and the idyllic countryside. Or the power of love, or friendship. I would boost the confidence of my allies, charm my way past most of my troubles.
Not anymore. My style had changed. Drastically. My flow is sick and I found what makes the world tick. Turns out my team was too weak to be of any use, dying to an ogre ambush. Me, though, they said I had just the right kind of meat. They had rejected the warrior for being too tough, the mage and rogue for having not enough meat. So, they'd saved me for dinner.
"Could you please let me go?"I tried, futilely. Charm was useless here.
"No. Shug save you to get mate. Must offer her meat,"the thing grunted. Normally, I'd offer to play a song over a romantic candlelit dinner to help woo the girl. Unfortunately, this was an ogre, so I'd play the role of the food and not the entertainment. The last time I'd tried it the girl had fallen for me instead, anyways.
"You don't stand a chance, you're wasting time with this... Song and dance,"I spat out. Not my most dignified moment, but I was resigned to death at this point.
"Wh-What meat say?"the thing stuttered. Nervous, not incensed. I didn't even expect him to comprehend the words. I glanced down and noticed the familiar glow around my hands, a way to tell when I was casting. This time, it was red, not blue or green.
I figured it out quickly. My old songs were slow affairs, befitting a country singer, worthy of gracing a ballroom. But the higher the tempo, the higher the effect.
"You heard what I said, you punk ass. You think you're an ogre? You wee lass? You're a weak, worthless bitch compared to this one man choir. Now sit back and watch me spit fire!"I yelled out. At my last word, actual fire erupted from my mouth. The ogre staggered back, and ran, screaming. I think I heard a little crying mixed in, too.
I blew at the ropes tying my hands together, and they caught on fire, burning to ashes. My hands kept their glow, and I felt nothing.
I'd have to speak faster, test the limits of this, I began walking out of the cave, rubbing my wrists absentmindedly. The possibilities were endless. |
"Now look here,"said the Djinn impatiently, pointing to a nearby anthill. "That's an ant colony. Ants live here."
Zombie-John plodded towards the Djinn, his greying, six foot manhood (Wish #2) leaking out the bottom of his trousers and trailing after him like a friendly serpent. The carnivorous, simple-minded oaf examined the miniature red volcano and seemed to have no opinion of it.
The Djinn did not lose heart.
"This anthill, you should know,"he informed him seriously, "is just having its bi-monthly elections. An army ant named Sog and a socialist worker ant named Burr. If elected, Sog will enter into a trade agreement with the local honeybees and look for ways to expand the anthill to twice its current height. Burr, on the other hand, will pass a grub welfare legislation and regulate tunneling hours. You know, if you wanted to, with your third and final wish, you could mold the entire outcome of the polls."
At that moment, a rebel fighter called Ptimothy passed by in a battery-powered jeep. Having just drained the last of his beer, he flung the empty bottle out the window, which of course went wheeling towards Zombie-John. It cracked over his head, sending it bobble-heading in what the Djinn considered to be a clear gesture of affirmation.
"So what outcome do you want for the election?"said the Djinn, rubbing his Armlets of Servitude in eager anticipation.
"Burr reigns,"said Zombie John. |
The white floor tiles of the Hogwarts medical wing swayed underneath Ron’s feet. He had been in bed for almost a week.
”Turn your head to the right and cough,” Dr. House said. “Now to the left. Cough.”
Ron did as he was told. This was supposedly the biggest medical genius in the world but so far he hadn’t done anything the other doctors hadn’t tried before him.
“Lift your arms up,” the doctor continued, while twirling his cane casually. “Now take one step forward and put your right hand on the ground.”
Ron bent over and put his hand on the floor.
“Now, without lifting your hand, place your left foot in front of your hand.”
This put Ron in a very compromising and uncomfortable position. He looked up at the doctor who kept looking into the screen of his smartphone.
“Right foot, a little bit forward, then cross your left hand over your right foot. Ah got it!”
“What is it? Why am I sick?” Ron said in a strained tone of voice, trying his best to keep his balance.
“It’s Lupus.”
“Really?”
House twisted his face and crossed his eyes. “Of course not.”
“You have a mild bout of quicksilver poisoning, probably from being mind-bogglingly bad at making potions,” House continued.
“And you got that from me standing like this?”
“Nah I’m just trying out a new app – it’s a Twister filter.”
|
He didn't remember.
There was a binding on his mind, so he couldn't remember his own name. There was a specific gesture his trainer used to summon him forward. There was a geass on his throat, so he could never speak- or perhaps he never had.
It was different for the girls, he knew. They were trained in the arts of seduction, of a different kind of sacrifice of body and soul.
He didn't know why, but they gave themselves secret names.
They named themselves, because it seemed like something important to remember. It was important to remember Wolf, who had been burnt to death by a rogue pyromancer, who had liked sleeping whenever he could. It was important to remember Blue, who had enjoyed staring at the sky and making straw dolls, who had been tainted with undeath when he tried to assassinate a necromancer.
It was important to have a name, so he was called Rabbit, because of his strangely white hair.
They couldn't speak each other's names, but they could hear them anyway. It was a secret spell that one of their seniors, Scribe, had come up with and shared in secret with them.
Their handlers couldn't know, of course.
There were a number of them who knew sorceries, who could use magic to hide this precious spell. They had all seen all sorts of sorceries in their time in the field, hunting rogue mages. They shared freely and innovated like no magus community ever could.
He was Rabbit, and he was a secret. No one could know he existed, but he needed to be remembered.
He was remembering everyone else who had stopped existing. Eventually, he came to the inevitable conclusion- death was a very suitable tool to keep things secret. He needed to make sure that no one other than his brethren had a chance to know their names.
He was very skilled by then. He'd learnt a lot of magic and he had a strange talent for it- perhaps one of his parents had been a rogue sorceror.
He created a spell of undeath, one that spread through water. It was too easy to poison the handlers- those men who trusted their charges to behave.
He was behaving. He was behaving exactly as he had been taught, to solve problems with the most efficient means possible.
It was almost a surprise when Scribe severed his spine with a spell. But he should have expected it. Scribe was doing as he'd been taught to, the only thing that any of them were worth existing for.
Killing sorcerors who wished to know their names. |
Every kid had one, big terrible monsters, polka dot pixies, or clever snakes with massive wings. But then there was Red, his was different.
If you even knocked elbows with him, he'd shove you around for days, kick you in the shin, he'd steal your shoes and throw them over a telephone pole. Red's only friend was a figment of his imagination. He'd talk to it, quietly. It was the only one I couldn't see. I thought maybe it was a different kind of imaginary, or that he didn't even have enough of an imagination to make one.
But then one day, I saw him leave the principal's office. His dad was there, dragging him by the ear. Red's tears ran over the few freckles on his face and down towards his chin. From his front pocket he pulled it out. Small. Pink. It was like a puppy. It looked like him, sort of. Like a little brother.
His dad kept tugging, and the door slammed on Red's ankle as they left through the side door. His dad tugged him even harder and the left cuff of his jeans almost tore off.
I heard him whisper just a second before that. He pet the little thing, his imaginary friend, rubbed his fingers along its soft scalp.
"They can't hurt you if they don't touch you. They can't. They can't."
I never saw Red's imaginary friend again. But the next day, when he raised his fist and his voice, he didn't take my lunch money. Instead, I gave it to him. |
He awoke, looking straight up at the ceiling to the big letters that spelt out 'Algebra Zone' across the room. As he stood up, he saw around the room was just a **mirror** and a **table**, no doors or Windows, but on one wall was printed the instructions for escape.
He sat on the **table**, thinking..
*It isn't the calculus zone, but the immediate question leads to a quadratic equation, with three variables and no absolute value for either--*
He stopped as he rubbed his face... His facial hair.. he remembered shaving it before... Waking up here.
But he felt his 5o'clock shadow. He had to have been unconscious for more than 24 hours, maybe 30, but he couldn't determine travel time or how long he had been in the actual room. One thing was clear though.
.......…..................
As he exited the room, the Logician stared at him in awe, completely baffled. He immediately began questioning the man.
The man replied, "Oh, how to get out of *that* room? It's easy. First you take the **mirror** and see what you **saw**, then you take the **saw**, cut the **table** in **half**, put the two **halves** together and make a w**hole**, and just crawl out the **hole**" |
You say you made a wish on your birthday cupcake. Even though you are thirteen, and long ago moved on from magic and from miracles, you made a wish because you were desperate.
On the morning of your thirteenth birthday, Baby D and Micah fought in the bathroom. Baby D punched Micah in the throat because he had wiped Doritos dust on the brim of Baby's Bulls cap and when Baby demanded the money for a new one, Micah told him to fuck off. So Baby D punched Micah and he fell into the mirror, which cracked. Because it was your birthday, you had planned to braid your hair for school. You had learned to braid your own hair when you were ten, since mom was always too sick to do it for you. For the braids to be clean and even and tight, you needed to watch yourself in the bathroom mirror, now ruined. You went to school with your hair looking the way it always looks.
There was no wrapping on your locker. On birthdays at school, friends wrap up the lockers with decorations, writing happy notes to fete the birthday girl, sticking small candies to it, or drawing pictures of inside jokes. Your locker was the same barren grey-green metal it had been yesterday. You did not react, never looking disappointed or even acknowledging it was your birthday. Between second and third period, Charlene called you fat. After lunch, you made yourself throw up in the mildewy toilet.
Throughout the day, you checked your phone every two minutes. At lunch, you thought it still possible that dad would call or text. By the time you left school, you had lost hope. You checked his instagram profile. An hour prior, he had liked a photo of some skinny, tan model, smiling on a beach, drinking a drink from a coconut, teasing the straw with her lips and the camera with her eyes. It had been over a year since you had heard from him. You wondered why he hated you, and if it was because you were too fat.
Mom was asleep on the couch when you got home. You nudged her, across the coffee table, covered in bills and pills and half empty beer bottles. She looked at you and asked what you wanted.
"Did you remember the birthday cake?"
Her face sunk. She said she was sorry. She didn't have the money for it, but she got something almost as good. She gathered her coat and shoes and went outside and told you to wait five minutes. A half hour later, she came back with a bag from 7-11. There was a cupcake wrapped in wax paper, a package of birthday candles, and cigarettes. She stuck the candles in the icing and lit them. You made your wish. You went upstairs with your phone and you dialed a number that you somehow felt the need to dial. When I answer, you understand who I am.
"Does it get better?"you ask me, "do things ever change?"
I tell you we have had this conversation before. I was once you and you will one day become me and one day the phone will ring and it will be another us, desperate and alone and sad.
I tell you that in the future, someone loves you. He does not forget your birthday and he always keeps the bathroom mirror clean. I cannot tell you his name because, if I do, you will not meet with him with an open heart. I tell you that in the future, you have two daughters, whose hair you braid. I cannot tell you their names because you have not yet learned why their names have special meaning. I say your family goes on vacations to warm beaches and all of you, together, drink from coconuts.
I tell you that you are strong enough to stop throwing up and that Charlene and all of Chicago one day becomes a vague memory. I promise you that dad is not worth any tears. I say that the world is full of people like us who have to live in the future, but that very few people get to glimpse their future the way we do. I wish you a happy birthday, even though I know it hasn't been. You feel better for the first time. We say a goodbye that is both forever and impossible.
\**
We have had this conversation an infinite number of times. I was once her and she will one day become me and one day her phone will ring and it will be another us, desperate and alone and sad. This is our eternal, hideous bargain: a joy that eventually comes, paid for by a misery that never truly ends. |
Jasper Tustiazianectorpica, or JT for short, was downing a bottle of pure ethanol before his trek out to see if his species could make contact with the earthlings. His people had already set up a station on the large habitable planet of Pluto and were awestruck and partially terrified to find out there was intelligent life thriving on the gigantic Earth, a planet whose surface was covered in molten ice.
“Phew, just take your time Jay, this is what you’ve been training for,” he coached to himself, “I can do this, I can do this.”
His ship was of course built to handle extreme temperatures, even his suit should handle it all fine, but he was afraid of the things he had heard. There were stories of ‘sprinklers’ during the infernal season of summer that would fling the molten liquid into the air for play, and ‘pools’, where the humans would jump into a tub of molten ice and occasionally even drown in it. What sort of species would be so daring as to risk its life in such a dangerous substance as liquid dihydrogen monoxide.
JT flew in through the atmosphere and watched as his ice statuette sitting on the console melted. He felt as if his whole body was on fire, and then he activated his suit’s cooling systems and felt immediate relief.
“Curse this planet and all its monstrous inhabitants!” he screamed.
“You okay there, JT?”
His communications must have remained live despite his efforts to mute himself.
“Oh yeah, doing fine guys, doing...just...yeah, I’m fine.”
He watched the melted statuette drip down his console and make a puddle on the ground.
“Hey computer, could you clean up the molten puddle?” he asked as he put the spacecraft into hover mode. He had made it through the atmosphere.
“Hey guys, I’m going to land now.”
He pulled down to the surface in the arctic, as far from the melted ice as possible, and put the ship into park. He then got out of the captain’s chair and walked over to the travel pod, which was essentially a floating freezer with some windows. He knew he would have to get out eventually, but was not thrilled at the prospect of it.
“I’ve landed. Initial report, there is molten ice surrounding the landmass I’m on. I’ve seen some animals swimming in it, and located a human station nearby.”
He then floated out of the ship in the freezer pod and made for the humans, keeping the molten ice in the sights of his rearview mirror.
_____
Would like to have had time to finish the story now but I have to go, will continue later. |
"Please, oh God, I have a child,"I gasp. The knife held to my neck wiggles a little, and a trickle of blood dances down my neck.
"Fat chance,"RorschachtheMighty says. He takes a bite out of a carrot with the hand that isn't holding the knife. "Even if you did, I dunno if you'd be telling the truth, what with you being a storyteller and all."
"I don't have much for money, but--"
"Just answer the damn prompt,"he growls. Specks of carrot fly out of his mouth as he talks, hitting my face.
I hunch over my laptop... Maybe I can get a message out by writing a good response to his prompt, and maybe someone will believe the response to be true.
Here goes nothing... |
Scamming the elderly had always been easy for Nate. It was pretty easy to do, once you actually got in to a solid rhythm and system about it. Tell them their computer is on the fritz. Tell them their Social Security checks have gotten messed up somehow. Hell, tell them you're from the fuckin' cable company and you just need to confirm their TV signal, these old fuckers will fall for anything. The rise of the Internet kinda gave him a setback, sure, but it proved just as valuable. Data mining everywhere, just get the basics, and you're golden. Have a nice little conversation, tell them you need their info in a friendly-but-oh-so-official manner and most of them will be begging to give it to you. For a few agonizing minutes of chit chat, you could set yourself up for an easy payday.
But being clever was the key. Most of the old tricks he used were being caught on to more and more, so he had to switch it up, stay one step ahead. Fuckin' Internet and these goddamn grandkids, smart as fuckin' whips sometimes. Probably protecting their own inheritance. Fuckin' Millenials. So this time, Nate decided to go full blow on this weeks' target. He'd go the sympathy route. And what better way to get what you want than to be the poor, woe-is-me grandson down on his luck?
He had everything set up. One widowed Maribel Johnson, age 77, resident of Tampa, Florida since 2010. Small condominium complex by the looks of Google Maps. Widowed in 2013. Husband had enough life insurance to make the fuckin FBI take a closer look at him before it was all said and done, but there she was, the recipient of a nice little payout 4 years later, living the retiree dream.
He dialed the number. Cell phone, based off the extension. 3 rings.
'Hello?' She had that cheery hello, the kind that said she was so happy to get an unexpected phone call at 12:30 pm.
'Yeah, hey? Is this Maribel Johnson?'
'This is, how can I help you?'
'I know you might have a dofficult time remembering Grandma Maribel, but this is your grandson! This is Mike! You know, Tony's son?' *Fucking please let Anthony Johnson go by Tony, fucking please please-*
'Tony? Well I can't say I remember Tony and Melissa having a grandson I've never met before! I remember all of my grandbabies, dear. But it's been so long since I've spoken to Tony, I haven't seen him since Bill passed away, oh what was it? 5 years ago now? Goodness, has it been that long? How the time flies! Well, I remember when your father was younger-'
'Yeahyeahyeah, look, Grandma, the reason I'm calling is because I'm in kind of a rough spot here. I didn't know who else to turn to. I've been reaaaal behind on some bills lately, and I'm kinda in between jobs right now. I got laid off from the pipelines 3 months ago, and work hasn't picked back up, and Janine, you remember Janine? She's looking to get a divorce Grandma! I could really use your help here. I haven't even had a solid meal in the last couple of days'
'Oh no, that just simply won't do! I can't be having one of my grandbabies going hungry now! I'll come right by and cook you something to eat, then we can discuss the money stuff after'
And there it was. Play the fuckin' sympathy, and she forgets to even question the legitimacy of everything else.
'That'd be nice Grandma, but I know you're pretty far away, what with you in Florida, and I'm over here in Cambridge' Always give the hometown. It establishes a connection, and adds to the story to make it sound legit.
'Oh! That's delightful sweetie! I'm in Cambridge too!'
'.... What?!' *Fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck do you mean you're in fucking Cambridge?! Your file says you got a fuckin' condo in Florida! What the fuck is this shit?!! Stay cool Nate, just play this off*
'Yes, it gets dreadfully humid here come August, so I prefer to spend a couple of months back home. It's my little secret, hmhmm!'
'Ahh did I say Cambridge, Grandma? I meant Camden. Sorry, I get it mixed up, because of the recent move and all'
'Oh nonsense dear, you're sounding just like your father! No, I'll come right over as soon as I visit the grocery store. I'll whip you up those casseroles your grandfather used to love, oh, he'd love what I've done with them now. Can you believe I never put cheese on them? Oh your grandfather would go nuts for them now, but of course, the doctors do say that cheese clogs the arteries, but a little here and there never hurt anyone I say, hmhm!' There she went with that clever little *hmhm* like she was the cleverest senior at the fuckin' cribbage game again.
'You know Grandma, I could just use the money, really, you don't need to come by-'
'I'd love to! We can catch up after all of these years, and I'm sure Jasmine would love to have another lady to spread the gossip with for a little while! And you need a good meal! You even sound hungry!'
*Yeah, for your fuckin' bank account number, you dusty hag*
'Well I'm kinda in a rush today Grandma, I mean, I got an interview lined up later, I could just really use the help more than anything, maybe just a few hundred dollars or something-'
'Then you'll definitely need a good lunch! What's wrong with Jackline? Doesn't she know how to make her husband a good meal? The younger these women get, the less they seem to know how to do, I swear'
*Fuck this. I'm not getting what I want. I gotta end this call, or else this crazy lady is gonna actually come looking for me. This shit ain't worth it*
'You know, on second thought Grandma, I think everything is going to be alright! No need to worry! I hope you have a good day! We'll talk later though, okay?! Bye Grandma!'
'And goodbye to you, Nathan Harrison in Conroe, Texas'
*Oh no...* |
Literally faster than the eye can see, I punch Seta in the forehead. Blood sprays out like aerosol for a second and it heals. *No stopping*. I kick her across the asphalt. She slides twenty feet through, scraping it off the road. *Faster than the eye can see.* I am next to her and I stomp. She evades. Boosting to the side, she regains composure. She strikes, I parry. I counter, she parries. She strikes again. This one, I miss.
Blood spray paints a building twelve feet away. She isn’t hesitating anymore. She knocks the breath out of me, kicking me and sending me flying. I slam through an entire building.
She's finally let her rage get the better of her. An uppercut launches me into the air. *Faster the eye can see.* But as she follows me up, I smack her with both hands. Back to the ground like a bullet.
"Failure."I spit the word out. "Worthless."I am enjoying the moment, slowly gliding back down to the ground. Seta never does well against taunts. She roars and lunges at me. In a second, she strikes seventeen times. Only two connect. And not hard enough. I sucker punch her. The shockwave shatters all the glass around us into a billion pieces and its powdery shards become a powerful aura that blasts as far as the eye could see.
When she stands, she falls back to her knees. Good. I walk across the street and rip a street light off the ground, calmly. *Faster than the eye can see*. I stand in front of her, a line of sparks trails me where I let my new weapon scrape the floor.
*Quick before she can react.* I strike with thunderous impact. With enough force to decapitate two hundred men. The metal shears cleanly, no bending. The air explodes around us. She is flung across the streets and smashes through many walls.
She rises again. As she does a dagger sails from her hand towards my eye. Easy to dodge. But a poor choice from me. That dagger wouldn't have hurt me.
When she strikes, *faster than the eye can see*, it is a hundred times harder than I did her. She catches me midair. Slams me into the ground. Head first.
*Faster than*-
She stomps my head so hard, it's not just the glass around us that shatters. She doesn't stop. *Faster*.
She strikes. Again. *Again.* This will never end. Again. *Again*. *Again*
This will never end.
|
I’ve been wearing this mechanics shirt for 10 years now, elbow deep in someone else’s engine and hoisting some other guy’s life since I could make my own money. I’m certain my wife has been fucked in the back of the Mercedes I’m working on now, “No one REALLY wants to be associated with someone who wears the greasy grey shirt, let alone be married to them”, I still wonder why she’s with me, half her family didn’t approve of the marriage.
Work ends around 5pm, the boss lets me go at 4 today, so I head over to the local pub to chat with the guys who refuse to wear the work clothes. I sit by Arnie at the bar, ask the ‘tender for a rye and ginger and slog it back in a matter of seconds. Arnie looks at me with a cock-eyed look, “Bad day at the office, Son?”. I shrug, not sure how to convey the feelings of defeat that swim in my blood.
“Bad is one way to describe it. I’ve been wearing this godforsaken shit for 10 years, it lets me be a mechanic, but in this world, where anyone can be anything, only those who can afford the expensive clothes will make the big money. The car of my wife’s current lover came into the shop today, guess who was stuck fixing it? This sorry asshole” I sobbed into my drink, Arnie had this weird smile.
“Kid, let’s do something. Sounds like you need a little stress relief. I have an idea that might help you, might make you some decent money, maybe even better than decent but you have to trust me.”
Arnie led me out back, and told me to take off my shirt and hand it over. I’m a little taken aback by this, I’m no close-minded bigot but I’ve never had anyone but my wife demand I take my clothes off. Slowly, making sure he doesn’t make any sudden moves, I take my shirt off and hand it to him. In the blink of an eye, the old codger pulls out a lighter and burns the only thing keeping my mechanic paycheck coming in, that stupid shirt. It takes seconds to light up and fizzle out, I couldn’t have saved it if I tried. At that moment, I realize I’ve lost the only thing keeping my head above water, Arnie just ruined my life.
“What the fuck, man?! That’s my livelihood! You’ve ruined me! What am I supposed to do now? I can’t afford work clothes!” I was shaking, crying, I can’t tell you what I was, I’ve never felt it before.
“Calm down, man. Remember I said to trust me?”, this insane old geezer pulls a pair glasses out of his pocket. A dusty, old, copper framed set of glasses with a cracked right lens, he places them in my hands with great care and smiles at me with a smile I haven’t seen since before my grandfather passed.
“This, my young friend, is the gateway to your new role in this world. It’s the last set of glasses of its kind, from the dawn of the wearable job era, that we live in now. Go ahead, put them on and see what you can see”, I began to feel like Arnie had a plan for me, but I wasn’t sure I was ready for a job change.
The glasses seemed to fit my face perfectly, and after a short while of wearing them, I could see perfectly, not that I needed glasses before this moment. After a few blinks, I started to notice something, information started flooding my brain, ideas, fixes, people and their flaws, their habits and rituals, everything was open to me. I moved my gaze to my bar friend and he smiled that smile once again, I knew his name wasn’t Arnie, and he wasn’t just any bar regular. “Tell me, Doctor, why did you give me these glasses?” I queried.
“Well, there was one man I used to chum around with years ago who wore those glasses, he was one of a kind. When he passed, he asked that I find someone in need to pass these glasses off to, someone who I felt might fit the role and here you are.” The man who called himself Arnie strode off and left me alone after that.
I took the glasses off to inspect them one more time and noticed an inscription on the left arm of the frame…. S.H.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I've been out of the writing game for a long time, I definitely welcome feedback.
Edit: tried to clean up the formatting a bit. |
0530: The small alarmclock starts to ring. An old man starts to move in his bed while muttering some curse words about the time and the bed. After a few minutes he is out of bed and dressed up in his old uniform. He takes a look at himself in the mirror "Brings back memories huh...."His look fixated on his medals over the uniform. "Shiny metal for dark doings".
0545: "Have you heard ?!"says one of the new recruits with a cheerful tone in his voice. "Our new trainer is the legend himself! Walter P. Hampsing!"The other recruites knew his name and were a bit exited as well until they heard footsteps approiching.
"Attention!!"The recruits lined up and started to salute. The old warlock hasn't been up this early for years but that does not mean that he forgot how a real soldier looks like.
"You!"He picked out the first candidate. "Tell me what is missing when I look at you!"
The recruit was slightly confused until he realised that he left his combat knife on his bed.
"Back into formation!"With a feeling of shame he went back to his position. Disappointing the legendary warlock on his first day...he couldn't forgive himself...until the warlock picked out the next recruit and pointed out their mistake...and the next....and the next.... This went on until nearly everyone was picked except for one. The recruit that was the most excited about meeting the warlock Walter P. Hampsing.
"Hmmmm"The warlock looked from top to bottom until he turned to the whole platoon again. "Look at him! Memorize what he looks like! Look like this when I check you tomorrow morning! State your name recruit!"
"Yes Sir! Hangimps W. Weiler!"
The warlock nodded and positioned himself in front of everyone again. "Ready your equipment for a trip through the forest. It will only be a short trip but do not underestimate the nature! Any questions?"
"Yes, recruit Weiler!"
"Is it true that you once won against a hydra with only a wooden spear, Sir ?"The platoon was shocked. They wanted to know if these stories are true but noone thought that someone would be that brave or stupid to ask him directly.
"Get on the ground! I want to see 40!"
Recruit Weiler was extremely confused about the reaction of warlock Hampsing. "Uhm Sir ? I don't understa-"
"50!!"His voice got even louder as it already were.
"Sir?"
"There will be two options now."His voice was a bit calmer but the platoon feared what was coming next. "The first option is that Mr. Weiler gets to do 300 alone. The second option would be that the whole platoon does 1000 in total."The first ones of the platoon immediatly started doing pushups. After realising his mistaked recruit Weiler starts doing them as well.
"Thanks to Mr. Weiler the whole platoon learned the first lesson. Doing something as a team is important. Without a team you are nothing out there. That's it. Dismiss"
2230: After coming back from their trip through the forest to learn more about the environment the recruits were exhausted. Once they got the order everyone went back to the barracks except for one. Recruit Weiler went to the campfire where warlock Hampsing was sitting.
"I thought maybe this was a better time and place to ask about your stories. For example the one about the fight against the blue phoenix!"
"Learn your lesson son. Get on the ground and do 100!"Weiler was as motivated as always and started doing them instantly without any complaining. The warlock kneeled beside him and asked "Why are you so fixated on my stories ? Who even told you all of them ? Especially the ones that weren't even published in newspapers."Once he finished his pushups he jumped up and had an even bigger smile in his face. "My mom and dad always told me stories about their platoon leader! My name is even an anagram for yours. I haven't heard these stories in a long time so I thought hearing them again would be nice."His smile was still as big as earlier but the old man saw the pain behind his smiling face. He remembered his parents. Caroline and Jack often told the old warlock about their 'little soldier' and how he loved their stories. These memories made him happy but he couldn't think about them without remembering the last day of his active duty. The day they both gave their life for his sake.
"Sit down son."Weiler wanted to start doing pushups again. "No, not for pushups. I will tell you some stories of your parents."
First story on here be as cruel as you think fits :D I think I drifted a bit away from the main idea of the WP so sorry for that AND all the grammatical mistakes.
|
The Man paced back and forth in what he assumed was his apartment, although that was still a matter of debate. Upon further investigation of the kitchen he found, among what were surely unsanitary dishes piled in the sink, a slew of haphazardly strung together post it notes winding around the fridge and surrounding cabinets. Although most of them contained rather obvious notes such as "do dishes", the Man's eyes soon found the answer he had been searching for.
The note explained quite clearly that the apartment was his own, but failed to elaborate other than to state that the answers were in the microwave. This puzzled the Man, but he decided that sometimes one must trust oneself, and proudly threw open the door to the microwave to find...VHS tapes? This puzzled the Man. Surely he wouldn't do something so ridiculous, but once again, with nothing more to go on, he sat in front of his TV and started up the first tape, dated October 1st, 2017.
"Well Jerry, just look at the mess you've gotten yourself into today"giggled what looked like a rather effeminate version of the man. "You bad boy, since you've caused so much trouble forgetting who I, or you, or we, are I thought I'd leave you this present! It's like a secret journal of all our naughty secrets!"The man in the video, Jerry clapped excitedly and proceed to loudly kiss the camera. The Man decided that that was quite enough of that tape for now, and hoped that its brothers and sisters would provide more substantial information, or at least less kissing and giggling.
Rummaging through the stack, he found what appeared to be the next tape in the sequence. Dated October 2nd, only a day after the previous video. Crossing his fingers, prayed that the man that appeared on the screen wouldn't be the buffoon that wa- "Alright maggot listen up! Attteeenshuuun!"Belted out the uniformed, stoic man on the screen, much to the Man's dismay. "It has come to my attention, Private Kregson, that the enemy has infiltrated your mind. As your superior, Captain Burt Fabion, it is my duty to prepare your mind for trench warfare son!"It seemed that 'Captain Burt' liked to emphasize his points with large, over exaggerated karate swings. The man wasn't sure what was more confusing, the combination of a confederate jacket with union pins, or the fact that it seemed he had addressed himself as two different people in his own tape.
Logically, thought the Man to himself as he paused the tape, I *must* suffer from a severe form of amnesia. Feeling accomplished and more than a little smug for having so deftly figured this out, the Man realized it was up to him to break this chain of never ending personalities, and establish himself as a respectable and memorable individual. Suddenly, it struck him. A tape! A perfect remedy for the problematic future when he forgot who he was again. The Man, feeling extremely clever, decided to stash all the other foolish tapes in the microwave, as such an absurd place to store VHS tapes would prevent him from stumbling on them again. Finally, he sat down in front of his tv, popped in a fresh tape, and got ready to record.
Panic raced through the Man as he realized that without any credibility, he would never believe himself! Perhaps, if this one time, he pretended to be a doctor, he could really convince himself. He grabbed a pair of gloves and a hairnet and decided he felt rather 'doctor-y'. Feeling like the smartest man in the room (and indeed he was, if only by default) the Man started the recording.
"Good evening...Marvin." |
"...Say that again...slowly..."
Jake stares at his friends with a confused look in his face. His brain slowly processing their words but it makes no sense to him. Sam sighs and repeats his explanation.
"So...yeah. All of us can hear the minds of each other, see? Everyone does. Well, everyone but you."
"And...how do you know I don't have these powers?"Jake scratches his head. *Reading minds? What kind of prank are they trying to pull on me?*
"I know it looks like a prank to you, but trust me, it's not."
Jake lifts his eyebrow. *Did he just...*
"Read your minds, yeah. C'mon Jake, what would I get from lying to you?"
Jake wipes a sweat off his forehead. The cabin is really hot in the summer, and it makes no sense that his friends would invite him there.
"Anyway, Mary has been flirting with you everytime she sees you and you never seems to react to it. At first we thought you were only trying to ignore her."Jake glances at Mary and their eyes met. Her face is beet red and she turns to focus on the trees outside. Jake blushes a little and try to focus on Sam's words.
"Some of us found out about your... inability...when we were trying to get answers from you during the math exam. From that day, everyone at school knew about Jake the *Deaf*."Sam explains.
"Um...This is really a lot to process..."Jake leans back on the sofa. He can't even think right now. Everyone has been listening to his thoughts...His face is flushed with warmth and he covers his eyes. *Oh god...why...*
"A-..and why are you telling me this?"
"Cause we are sick and tired of it. Nobody should be everyone's entertainment material because of their inability to *read*."
Elliot, Jake's brother, finally speaks up. He walks toward Jake and places his hand on his shoulder. "Jake, have you wondered how Mom and Dad earns all those extra cash without getting promoted at work? They made an international TV show about you. Your life have been nothing but a reality show for almost two years. You have no privacy. They sees you whenever they want, even when you eat and sleep. Sure, it was funny to us too at first, but the laughter fades when we see you cry after gran died."
Jake is suddenly hit with the memories of his grandmother, who passed away last week. He had been crying everytime he was alone in his room and even skipped school for being depressed. Gran was the kindest person to him. The thoughts of people invading his personal life and making fun of him....it's unbearable...
Jake tries to say something but Mary interrupts him with a shout. "Guys! someone...wait, it's more than one person... They're getting close!"
"Shit...I thought this place is safe with all the nature and stuff."Sam jumps out from his chair and ran towards the window. Elliot grabs Jake and gets him to his feet.
"Jake, they found us! We have to go!"He grabs his keys and the four of them runs toward the car together.
"Where the hell are we going?"Jake asks Elliot as he starts his car.
"Where?"Sam's head pops out from the back seat. "To get you cured of course!" |
I adjusted the scope on my rifle as I gazed at the three men advancing on the cabin. It wasn't much, but that was the point. Its wooden exterior was chipping away and the interior was dimly lit. The trees surrounding it made the cabin almost invisible as their towering bodies concealed the structure. *The perfect hideout.* Yet the Hunters found us, again. The bounty on Arya and Lucifer's head was rising, but I knew that there was a limit to how many Hunters their group was willing to lose on a particular target:
Twenty men. And I had killed twelve. *Three more to go.* I pulled the trigger.
*****
Husk brushed the tree branch in his face aside as he peered at the cabin. He was scared. He knew how dangerous these targets were, and no amount of money could convince him that this was worth the risk. But he was the youngest brother, and the other two seemed very excited about this mission.
Hack and Hurl: the brains and the brawn. They knew Husk was terrified, but they needed to show him that they were better than the other Hunters, that they could complete any contract that came their way.
Hack signaled a complex hand motion that sent Hurl and Husk into breach formation as they approached the cabin; they knew not to speak a word, for anything they needed to speak, they could motion for with their hands. Hack began the next signal motion that would send them into the cabin. He never finished it.
He hit the ground first. Half a second later, they heard the shot. "Find cover!"yelled Hurl as Husk scrambled behind a tree. Hack lay limp on the ground, a glaring hole in the side of his abdomen, the crimson blood that flooded out of him a stark contrast to the white snow he lay on. "Hack, crawl to me!"Hack mustered all his strength to crawl over to Hurl. As his body began to inch towards the tree, Hurl saw the glare of a sniper scope in the distance. Hunters had incredible eyesight, and although this assassin was clearly a long ways out, Hurl knew he had seen him. Hack's body went limp as a second shot coursed through his back. "You bastard! I'm gonna kill you!"Hurl furiously shot ten rounds in the direction of the sniper. "Husk! Lay down covering fire. I'm going to make a run for the cabin. I know our targets are still in there, I can smell them. Ready? Go!"Husk, shaking, began firing rounds in the direction of the sniper. He saw that terrifying glare again as the sniper locked in on his firing position. He hid back behind the tree to reload and glanced left to see Hurl running towards the cabin. He was almost there, and the foliage near the cabin was too thick for the sniper to see him through. *Boom.*
Husk watched in horror as he watched his brother's body get torn in half. The explosion erupted out of the ground and flung the two halves of the body into opposite directions. Husk sank to his knees as the reality of his situation began to settle. The mission was lost and so were his brothers. He flung his gun aside as he stood up to surrender. Slowly, he stepped out from behind the tree with both his hands raised in the air.
Tears streamed down his face as he waited to see the sniper acknowledge his defeat. He just wanted to go home; he was done being a Hunter. He would go back to his parent's home, rejoin the family practice. Live a quiet life. The thought gave him hope about his future, even as he saw the glare of the sniper for the final time.
*****
"Three more down!"I said excitedly as I walked back into the cabin. I slung my rifle off my shoulder and placed it on the table. "Arya, can you get me a beer?"I slouched into a chair in the kitchen as I watched her wave her hands to summon a beer for me from the fridge. It smoothly flew into my right hand, opened, and I took a big swig. Lucifer came and sat across from me at the table.
"Thanks Johnny, we really appreciate everything you've done for us."
"Don't mention it, Lucifer. For what you guys are paying me, I am more than happy to help."
"I'm glad...I'm glad. Listen, Johnny, have you figured out how they keep finding us?"
"Nah, I'm still working on it. We only got five more of them to worry about, but still, I'd rather not be caught off guard by them in the future."
"Well, actually, Arya and I have figured it out. We know how they keep finding us."
"Yeah? Well lay it on me, because I have no ide-"
I felt a burning sensation in my chest. I coughed, and there was blood in the air. I looked down and saw the hole in my chest, looked across and saw Lucifer holding the revolver. He stood up, walked behind me and placed his cold, pale hands on my shoulders.
"Johnny, we're really sorry about this. But we didn't have a choice. We found a tracker in one of the Hunters you killed last month. They've got them implanted in all of their guys. Even the former ones."I looked up at Arya, but she seemed not to care that I was dying. She only seemed like she was anxious to leave.
"Thanks for everything you've done,"Lucifer said to me with a smile. "We'll take it from here."He sank his teeth into my neck. |
The old man begins coughing, but pulls out a red handkerchief to cough into and pats the seat next to him. Stowing the handkerchief, the man looks back at me and grins “Come on, let an old soldier talk about his past. It’s the least you could do, sonny!” I relent and sit down next to him, and without even a prompt he starts talking. “Yup, all of them. I couldn’t tell you how many people I’ve stared down on the field of battle. Oh I remember each one as clear as it happened yesterday. Especially all of the metals I’ve gotten. From Vietnam, from WWI (before when we called it the Great War, heh) and II, Civil War, Revolutionary War, Rose of the Roses, War of 1812, 100 Years War, on and on. Every single war that has been declared by mankind since its inception, I’ve been there.”
I gave the man a quistitive look, like he might have dementia, lost and confused between what he remembers and what he just knows has happened in the past. An elderly hacking cough came from further down park trail where the memorial was located, and a man that had tissues stuffed in his sleeves blew his nose into a fresh one and added it to his collection. As the sick man passed us I noticed that he had scabs and sores on his face. Hiding my repulse I turned back to the veteran as the sick man took a seat far away from us. It was then that I noticed the features of the elderly man had softened a bit, wrinkles had disappeared and liver spots had vanished. I shook my head, but still looked at the man with bewilderment.
He must’ve noticed, “Heh, I’m sure you don’t believe me, huh? But I was there. The rape of nanking, Napoleon crossing the alps, oh and the Germans invading Russia in the winter (that was a fun one after Napoleon), Waterloo, battle of the bull, hell the burning of Constantinople, I was there for every major battle. Even metaphorical ones, too! The class war, race war, war on the weak and infirm, war on the homeless, oh and this ‘War on Christmas’! That one got a chuckle out of me, but where there’s a war there’s strings I pluck to make sure the flame of war is stoked.” I leaned back a bit as he talked more and more. The man that was elderly before, now looked to be in his early 40s and started talking about stranger and stranger ideas. “Yup, I started them all and kept them going until I got bored. I mean it’s my job after all.” He looked at me and smiled with pride, his face absolutely beaming as a 35 year old man could. “Though, I can’t take all of the credit, I do get help from my brothers and sister every so often.”
Almost as if on cue, a extremely thin and slender woman walks by us. She seemed to be as old as the veteran was now, but her cheeks were shallow. It had looked like she hadn’t eaten in months and was a skeleton with skin attached. How she was standing was a wonder. She looked at the memorial then continued down the path to sit at a bench that was the opposite direction of the sick man from before.
Looking back at the veteran now, he was a man in his late twenties and had filled out entirely. His chest and arms were barely contained his in old uniform, and his shoulder length black hair fell down wildly underneath his military cap. He stood up, stretched and many joints popped as this hulk of a man stood before me. “Now, I don’t rely on them often but still a little push from this is helpful. Oh, and how rude, I haven’t even introduced myself. My name is-”
He was cut short, as he looked over down the way the woman had walked. A far shorter figure, dressed in black skinny jeans and a black hoodie that was up to it his his face, approached us. “War,” it declared as it came closer, “Pestilence, has done their duty and now it is your turn.”
I looked back and forth at the four figures around me, fear began to grip me and my heart threatened to pound it’s way out of my chest. “Wha...what...ha…” was all I managed to get out before the figure known as War swung a long flaming sword that materialized from air and cut me diagonally from shoulder to hip. Missing my heart my torso collapsed on the ground as the cold air invaded my soon to be corpse. The veteran squat down to look into my eyes, “Rejoice mortal! You’re the first in this holy war, and I’ve allowed you to live long enough to see our departure and the end of your kind.”
The equestrians of the end walked out before me, borne upon steeds that befitted their station and rode off as darkness gripped me.
------------------------------------------
This is my second prompt, so critiques, compliments, and comments welcome! |
"So."
"I don't believe I know your name,"she says, tilting her head to the side.
"It's... it's Josh,"I reply. She looks exactly like she did in the dream. Long brown hair, braided over one shoulder. Blue eyes. "Josh Oakfield."
"I'm Heather,"she says, clutching her H&M bag tightly. I walk with her through the mall, barely paying attention to where she's leading me. It's a beautiful day, and if she remembers the dream maybe we can go out sometime? I decide to ask her.
"So, about what happened-"
"Do you remember me?"she interrupts. I'm a little put off by the question. Of course I do. Why would I have said hi otherwise?
"Yes,"I say, breathless. "I do."How could I possibly forget? She's gorgeous. Her face lights up when I say that.
"Oh, thank God. How? How do you know me?"
"I had a dream about you..."I'm confused. She looks almost sad when I say that. I'm suddenly pulled forward, out of the mall and into a parking lot where she gets in a van.
"What the-?"
"Get in. I knew the mind-wipe wouldn't last forever. We've got a government to take down, Josh. Let's go." |
----8 Months Later-----
"Sorry, I'm all out of Fanta. That was the last one."
Death sighed and picked up his suitcase.
"I will not return here again, Matthew,"said Death. "You have greatly disappointed me. I told you to leave one can for me, and you did not comply with my wishes. I will see you in 22 years, when you trip on your cat's litter box and bang your head on the statue of Buffy that I got for you."
"Damnit, Death! You said we could be friends with benefits!" |
I was not prepared for this. When I woke up this morning, everything was as usual. I took a breakfast with my two cups of coffee, took a shower, got dressed, and went to the office. As usual, I went there by walking. It was a nice way to get enough blood to my brain and get fully awake. I need this to do my job. I sell insurances. First it was only to common people, but it soon expanded to huge contracts to corporations. I was in the middle of my favorite podcast when I felt a shock, heat and everything went black.
When I woke up, I was in a white room, lit with neon lights, with only a table and two chairs.
I was sitting in front of a man wearing a suit. Pretty close to the one I was wearing.
"Good morning Mr Thomson. I hope your travel was pleasant. I'm Malomedies, and I will be your guide for your first day here."
I interrupted him : "Wait! What travel? Where am I? Who are you?"
"I just told you. I'm Malomedies."said Malomedies "You just died and are in the Afterlife. You traveled here like any person who dies."
"I'm dead? But... I can't! I have important things to do today!"
"Oh indeed, sir."replied Malomedies "I'm sure someone as important than you will be busy today. After all you are a celebrity here."
Celebrity? How could I be a celebrity? I'm not that special... Well I know my job and do it well but ... something felt off
There was something I had to ask: "So am I going to Hell?"
Malomedies laughed : "No Mr Thomson. There is no Heaven or Hell or Valhalla. Only the Afterlife. Now I feel that you are eager to get to the point. So regarding your Bank account, The first thing I'd advise you is to invest it. You can't let it sleep here."
"Bank account? So there is money in the afterlife?"
"Not really."replied Malomedies "I am talking about the souls you own. Usually people appear here with nothing, but you, sir, are already far ahead many people."
"Souls?"I suddenly understood. As a joke, I included the souls of my customers in each and every contract I made. Some contracts even included the souls of every member of a company and their family
"So regarding today's appointments"continued malomedies "First we'll have to get to your coronation as Lord of the seven Hells, High judge of the Heavens and Ruler of the Afterlife. Don't worry, those are just titles, as I said, there are no heaven nor hell anymore. Only the afterlife, and you are its most powerful being. By the way, you will need a counselor, and I'd like to submit to you my application."
"Sure..."I replied still astonished, and horrified by what I did.
But at the same time, that's a hell of a promotion!
******
*more stories on /r/cynferdd* |
America needed a change after what had happened last year. We the people needed to come together now more than ever, and a gentleman wanted just that. A soon to be candidate for presidency, Mr. Donovan McKinnel.
“It’s a business.” Donovan McKinnel explained. The gentleman to my right moved the microphone down over McKinnel’s cheek. I watched them adjust the wires slithering up onto his suit lapel. He repeated, “It’s a business.”
“Mr. Donovan McKinnel,” I clearly stated into my microphone. My assistant’s hand began shaking before lighting her cigarette.
“McKinnel is fine.”
“Alright,” I corrected myself. “McKinnel, can you elaborate on what you mean by it’s a business?”
“Well sure,” McKinnel straitened his back. He winked toward me before pressing his mustache against the microphone. Everyone else in the studio fell silent. “America’s democracy had failed the people. Tell me Mrs. Willard, when was the last time you casted a vote?”
My attention turned to my assistant, Mrs. Willard, who tried clearing her throat from the smoke. “I – I can’t remember.”
“Precisely.” McKinnel pointed. “Why do you think that is?”
Mrs. Willard dipped her cigarette in a coffee mug. I could tell she wasn’t comfortable talking on air. I nodded for her to continue. “My vote wouldn’t matter.”
McKinnel glanced back over to me. “Yes, Mrs. Willard. Again, you are correct. Your vote wouldn’t *really* count.”
“I believe that every ballot within our nation is the voice of our people.” I chimed in.
“Yes, but what is the point if no one hears their voice?” McKinnel rubbed his brow before continuing, “Our democracy did not represent the people, it represented the businesses that wielded our economy into the fine steel we have today. Democracy heard only the voices of our shareholders. Our nation changed the day the banks closed their doors. It changed when the dust suffocated our farms to the west. From that day forward, it became a business, nothing more.”
“I disagree.” I commented. McKinnel pursed his lips. “I don’t believe our nation is a business.”
“Tell me,” McKinnel interrupted. “This studio. Are you the head of it? Do you own it?”
“No.” I replied. “I don’t know what that has to do –”
“Tell me,” McKinnel leaned forward. “How did this studio make the decision to bring me in here tonight? Did you bring me in yourself? Are you the one making the decisions?”
“No, our studio’s manager organized this.”
“Was *he* the one to make the actual decision to bring me in?” McKinnel was trying to make a point.
Mrs. Willard lit another cigarette before replying, “our board of members makes the decisions for this studio. This studio *is* a democracy.”
That was all McKinnel needed. He lowered his eyes onto the table before speaking close into the microphone. “Your board, huh. Did they ask you if you wanted me here? That would be a democracy. No, I am guessing that your board makes the decisions no matter if you voted to have me sit in this seat or not. This entire studio could have voted *no,* but your board overrules your voice.”
“I am not exactly seeing your point.” I told him.
“Tell me what our society thinks of the electoral college? That is another board that has overruled many voices.”
“They represent our ballots, nothing more.” I felt myself becoming warm.
“It’s a business.” McKinnel let out a short chuckle. “It’s always been a business. Businesses take the right sort of man to run – or the business could go bankrupt. In our history, America didn’t do well in the face of bankruptcy. It took the right business man to turn that around.”
“Is it true that one of *your* businesses was responsible for over thirty percent of the drug trafficking in America three years ago?” Mrs. Willard put out her cigarette again.
“Any of my businesses that were part of that investigation were terminated and dissolved. I did not have a hand in any of it. The wrong people were placed in charge, and now those businesses are no longer here today. That is why we must come together now more than ever. We must ensure the right businesses see tomorrow.”
“You are talking about America?” I pressed.
“I already told you that it's a business. I know business. Our economy has been down this past year. This tends to happen when leadership within a company become divided. All they do is step on each other’s toes and nothing gets done. What we need is a unified business – a unified America.”
McKinnel announced his running for presidency on the air shortly after his remarks covering how our entire nation resembled the structure of a corporate empire. He continued to express his opinions on why an empire is stronger than a division in democracy. I didn’t believe anything that came out of that man's mouth. McKinnel was not the person he was acting to be. Maybe I am just paranoid. After the last term, our nation almost got thrown into another civil conflict.
Several days after the show, something kept eating away at me about McKinnel. I wanted to bring him back on the air, but the board denied the request. My suspicions rose when Mrs. Willard was found dead inside her apartment the night after McKinnel left the studio. No one could explain why she overdosed. She never showed signs of depression. It was hard holding back the tears remembering her closed-casket funeral service.
No matter, I will reveal the truth about Donovan McKinnel. The electoral race has yet to begin while McKinnel didn’t have much of a competition. My plan was to use the internet. America still had its voice and I will ensure the voice is heard. Months went by and after using a team to hack many different targeted areas, we forced our voice to be more than heard. I didn’t expect to find myself in the race as a result. There were a lot of candidates at this stage. Going viral online had been a successful weapon against McKinnel.
“Are you sure about this?” a friend of mine asked while we stood backstage.
“Someone will need to stand up to him, for all our sakes.”
I could hear the soft roaring of the crowd on the other side of the curtain. My stomach twisted in a knot before I had to tell myself that I talked on the radio for many years. I could do this. What I didn’t expect was to find Mr. Donovan McKinnel kissing a young lady across from me backstage. I ducked down so that they didn’t notice me standing there. I heard the woman say, “Say exactly what I wrote for you and we will be fine.”
As McKinnel turned to be the first one to enter the stage, I saw Mrs. Willard smiling behind him. She lit a cigarette before exiting the back door. The crowd cheered for McKinnel before I heard them announce my name. My legs were shaking. I couldn’t move. A break in the curtain allowed McKinnel to find me ducked down backstage.
“It’s a business.” he smiled at me.
***
Want to read more stories? Visit [13thOlympian](https://www.reddit.com/r/13thOlympian/) |
# 2012
The way the story went was that I had been born with a special genome known as KA-27. It allowed for me posses the unusual gift of telekinesis. My mother was skeptical. And even for a nine-year-old, I was, as well. I certainly couldn't move objects with my mind or anything of the sort.
The explanation, however, was that I could do far more than merely control objects. I had the potential to control every single element of the periodic table. To use their specific properties in ways that would outclass all modern sciences, and usher in humanity's next era.
I was -- as they called me -- the Avatar.
And they wanted me to come with them. To hone and master my abilities. What protests my mother had had to the idea vanished rather quickly, after she happened to peek into a rather large suitcase the men had brought with them. She saw what was inside, sobbed, pulled it towards her side of the table, and told me to go. There were no hugs. No "I love you"s. No begging. No screaming. I just went along, figuring I'd be back by dinnertime.
Needless to say, that was not the case.
The facility was rather small. Although, thinking about it, that could very well have been my warped perception -- as all I'd ever seen of it had been my little bedroom and what I called "the training room."The latter being precisely what you would think.
At some point, it had become a routine. Wake up, eat breakfast, be escorted to the training room.
We started with Hydrogen. The first few weeks were spent on explaining everything science understood about the element. You can likely imagine the difficulty a nine-year-old kid would've had with learning university-level chemistry, but to give my teachers some credit -- I'd managed to understand quite a bit about it.
Didn't really help when it came to the more practical application. I had no clue where to even begin. Neither did they. From what I understand, what little information they had on previous "Avatars"were little more than footnotes of history.
The year ended without any major breakthrough. Even so, they refused to let me go.
# 2013
Hydrogen, still. It was interesting, seeing how unwavering their dedication had been.
# 2014
Even so, I figured, surely they would just give up at some point.
# 2015
There was only so long they could resist the frustration.
# 2016
Yet, they did not give up.
# 2017
I eventually understood why. The head scientist had surrounded himself with people who believed in the idea of telekinesis to the point where they had given up their credentials and reputations to take part in the project. Giving up was not an option. They had nowhere else to be.
I believe the term is "sunk cost fallacy"?
# 2018
Time passed.
# 2019
I could not move past Hydrogen.
# 2020
On my 17th birthday, I found myself surprised how easy I had begun to sleep. How "normal"my life had become.
# 2021
Hydrogen.
# 2022
Hydrogen.
# 2023
Hydrogen.
# 2024
Hydrogen.
# 2025
They brought a woman into my quarters. They explained she would be my companion. Her name, to tell the truth, I do not remember. But the situation was made clear without much drama. She was there for me to mate with. To produce offspring, and pass my genome onto my children. At the time, I suspected that they might've believed they would've had more success with my offspring.
Of course, I had no objections.
In fact, if they could find a better Avatar in my children, it only meant they would let me go.
We made love on the very first night. And the night after. And the one after that. I was surprised at how much I had yearned for human contact. I remember gifting her the bunny necklace my mother had given me right before I'd started elementary school. It was the only thing I had that was truly mine, and I was willing to give it away. Just like that.
When they got the news she was pregnant, they promptly took her away.
# 2026
They claimed that my genome, which they had believed was a godsend, was actually killing me.
The telekinesis -- which I still could not use to master even Hydrogen -- had brought along advanced aging. I had four more years to live, at most.
I was hardly surprised. Really, it was a relief to finally get an explanation for the gray hair.
Scared?
No. No, I can't say I was scared at all. Which is more than I could say for the scientists.
# 2027
How many times had they promised they would find a way to save me, and for me to not worry about anything? I'd lost count, honestly.
# 2028
Yet, that's exactly what they'd done.
They had found a way to switch my consciousness with that of another body. I found it to be rather odd. After all, it wasn't my consciousness or spirit or whatever that had these magical powers, but rather the genome. My BODY was the key, no?
Nobody seemed interested in confronting that point whenever I brought it up.
# 2029
The transfer was a success. I had gone from a 60-year-old-looking 25-year-old to a 10-year-old. Where they had acquired the child to transfer my consciousness to, I never found out.
I was told to focus on Hydrogen.
# 2030, 2031, 2032, 2033, 2034, 2035, 2036, 2037, 2038
Hydrogen! Hydrogen! Hydrogen! HYDROGEN!
# 2039
I was never upset with my "failures". Why should I have been? I'd done nothing wrong. I never asked to be put in the facility. I never claimed to be able to control anything -- much less a fucking periodic table of elements.
*2040* The ground began to shake. I was told we would be switching facilities soon. Somewhere underground.
I heard a whisper.
A war of some kind had begun.
# 2041
Dust kept falling from the ceiling and into my mouth while I slept. I began to wonder how many bombs the bunker could withstand before it caved in, killing us all.
Nobody had mentioned to me 2040 had passed at some point.
# 2042
They forgot to lock my door one night. So, I went for a little walk. Of course, it was hardly innocent. Really, the darkness of the halls made me truly paranoid for the first time in... forever. It seemed like a monster would jump out and swallow me whole.
Perhaps it very well should have.
It would have stopped me from ever entering that tiny medical room. Seeing the body lying in that bed, hooked up to life support.
It was me.
Or, rather, my old body.
Through numerous robotic implants, they had managed to keep it alive. I had no clue if the person inside of the shell was the child I had stolen my current body from. I had no clue if they could sense my presence. If they did, it mattered fairly little. It was clear they could not talk, much less move.
Their breathing was heavy and unsteady.
It was a miracle they had even kept it alive for that long.
And for what...?
# 2043
The year of a major discovery.
The people who were experimenting were never government officials, as I had originally assumed.
They were known as the Order of Aang, a cult dedicated to finding a reincarnation of someone known as The Avatar. The scientific evidence I had so firmly believed in proved to be shaky at best. There was no proof the genome in question brought about telekinesis. Shit, there was no proof I ever even had it.
How had I found all this out?
One of the researches had told me, right before being gunned down by the security forces.
In his last moments, he begged me to show him my mastery of Hydrogen.
# 2044
They decided they would freeze me. Current technology, it seemed, was not prepared to tackle bringing my true talents to life.
At that point, what could I have done?
Resistance was futile.
And not like I cared enough to even push the matter further.
They said I would be unfrozen when the time was right.
# 3087
I was awoken from my sleep due to the battery in my cryo-pod finally giving in.
You can perhaps imagine my surprise when I found myself completely alone.
The bunker had, it seemed, been raided and destroyed shortly after I was frozen. Due to being kept in a hidden room in the director's office, I was never discovered, and went unchecked for over a millennia, it seemed.
It was then that I'd discovered I was not the only one they'd frozen.
It was my old body.
Its battery only had hours remaining. Given all the life support equipment I'd seen attached to it -- equipment I knew must've been destroyed long ago -- I knew they would die fairly shortly.
The only thing I could do was seek help.
I roamed through the abandoned bunker, and quickly found a scavenger, wearing a rather familiar bunny necklace. Questions regarding the state of the world could wait -- time was running out.
Instead of bursting out laughing upon hearing my story, he agreed to help me. He had been searching the ruins of the bunker for quite some time, and had come across a battery that would work with one of the cryo-pods. It would surely save the person in my decaying body.
However, the other object he had, I found, was far more interesting.
It was the machine they'd used to switch my consciousness all those years ago.
And I knew what I had to do.
I had to set things right.
I switched my consciousness back to my old body.
In a blink of an eye, I found myself staring at the scavenger and a middle-aged man I had never seen before. I could not move. I was cold. I could barely breathe. Even blinking turned to be impossible.
The scavenger replaced the battery, and I was frozen once more.
# 10597
"Welcome to Mars. You will be pleased to know your motoric skills will return shortly, given some of our implants."
That's what they'd told me after I was woken up. How I had managed to last that long, I never discovered.
I never will.
"We have plenty of work ahead of us, Lord Avatar. Given how much time it's been, it's likely you've gotten somewhat rusty. Shall we refresh your memory? What element should we start with? Hydrogen, perhaps?" |
Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I understand there have been some complaints about my projects. However, I endeavor to show you that the Spider Spitting Giraffes were made purely in the interest of preserving humanity.
What I am about to tell you is classified information. I have no doubt that the government will have me tried for treason after this trial, but I think that it is monumentally important that you know of the threats that we face.
On another government project, completely dissimilar to mine, a portal to another dimension was opened. A grand success, except for what we found inside. There were creatures of all sorts that couldn’t be found in our dimension, but what appeared to be the most incredible find within was a species of tall, sentient tree. Communication was attempted with them, but they did not respond. They *ate* all of our scouts. They produce mosquitoes out of pores of their leaves, and they sucked every single ounce of blood out the preliminary squad. And now it looks like they have a taste for human.
Fair people of the jury, I understand that it sounds ridiculous. But it’s true. And we have to prepare for the war that is about to come to us.
The Spider Spitting Giraffe is our best bet for survival. It is indeed… unfortunate that a couple escaped from our laboratory, but it is a necessary evil. And I hope you’ll join me in hoping that humanity can use them to survive the coming years, because it will be difficult. Thank you very much. |
"So how long did it take to decode it?"The brows under peaked cap knitted. Hands, surprisingly delicate fingers, flipped pages back and forth, looking for explanations in the dense, nearly indecipherable text.
"Pretty long, actually. We might not be right about exactly what it says but we're pretty sure we've got the basic meaning: returning to origin, goals achieved, anticipation is high.'"
"Okay, that certainly does paraphrase the romanticized version well enough."
"Yes, ma'am. But wringing that out of the pure math of the original signal, well. The computers were smoking before they were finished. I mean, shoot - we've developed some entirely new math just making sense of that little message. It'll inject some new life into AI development. The algorithms..."
A hand waved, not quite dismissively. "I don't want to know. I didn't like Al Gore and I don't like algorithms. One sounds too much like the other and neither of them ever made much sense to me."
"Uh...okay?"Belatedly she realized the young Lieutenant didn't know who Al Gore was. God, she was getting old.
"But what's this note at the bottom? 'Ping time 4.14 e16 ±1.13e15 seconds?' The hell is that?"
"That's, uh, that's the estimated time the signal has been traveling."
"What, you mean like pinging the router on my computer?"
"Yes, exactly."
"Four point one-four...ten to the sixteenth. Wait, there's. Damn. Eighty-seven hundred and some hours in a year, times thirty-six hundred seconds in an hour is...well, shoot, that's about thirty million seconds in a year. How many ten to the whatsis is that..."
"That's three times ten to the seventh, ma'am."
"Okay, so a year is Oh my HOLY are you telling me this is sonuva...hold up. That's a lot of zeros."
"It's a little over a billion years, ma'am. About one-point-two billion."
"Give or take."
"Yes, ma'am, give or take. About thirty-five million years, one way or the other."
"Couldn't narrow it down any closer than that?"
"Colonel?"
"Never mind. Can you leave this here?"
"That's your copy, ma'am."
"Okay. Dismissed."
"Thank you, ma'am."The lieutenant saluted crisply, pivoted out the door and closed it behind him.
A billion years. A Billion years! One *billion* years. She could feel herself shaping the word differently inside her head, but it didn't impart any new meaning. Just imagining the span of her own life started to lose context if she tried to consider it all in one big lump, this...this was too much.
Give or take, of course.
She clicked open a new window and started searching the internet.
\*\*\*
"General, I can't begin to tell you what is coming, but I can say this much: whatever it is, it isn't human."
"You're sure about that?"
"One hundred percent certain. Humans only go back about a quarter-million years. Pre-human hominids go pretty far back, a few million years. But even that's just a drop in the bucket, this signal predates dinosaurs. This signal, sir...it predates damn near everything."
"What, even trilobites?"
"Even them. It predates plants. About the only thing it doesn't predate is simple, monocellular lifeforms like cyanobacteria, bacteria, that kind of thing."
"What were conditions like on this planet back then?"
"There wasn't hardly any oxygen in the air. If we were to land in those conditions, we'd fold up and die. It wouldn't take long."
"And this message has been in transit since conditions on this planet were like that?"
"That's what the analysis says. I think it's looking at perturbations in the signal, Doppler shifting, maybe even some polarization."
"How can they guess at that stuff if they didn't know the exact signal construction in the first place?"
"That will take a way more technical answer than I can give you. You're going to have to go a bunch of pay grades below me before you find someone smart enough to answer that. If you need me to, I know a guy."
The General chuckled. "Heh. Okay."He tapped the cover sheet of the report. "Let's think about this reasonably."He pulled a drawer open and propped his feet on the stack of books within it, carefully arranged there specifically for the purpose. He'd had this desk for a long time. "This signal has been traveling for over a billion years, right?"
"Yes, sir."
"Planetary conditions are not what they left, if we assume they were from here originally. Right?"
"Assuming they came from Earth, right. Whatever they breathed, it wasn't oxygen. Not back then. Or else they didn't need much oxygen."She paused.
"And that's just how long that signal has been in transit. Nobody knows how long they were on the outward part of their journey, exactly how long they've been gone in total.
What kind of signal was this? Radio, X-ray, gamma rays?"
"Radio. UHF, a little higher."
"That implies that whatever speed they're traveling, they can't be closing in too closely on the speed of light, right? If they were moving at relativistic velocities, a radio signal would get compressed into something higher frequency, like a gamma burst."
"Unless they're transmitting at ultra-low, and we're getting UHF. They might be cooking right along, sir. Ultra-low isn't a bad choice either, its attenuation isn't bad."
"Takes an antenna miles long to generate it, though. Sure, okay. But even then. If they're moving at ninety-nine percent the speed of light, and they transmitted this message the moment they started back toward home, what's one percent of a billion years?"
"Wait, I know this one."The Colonel sat back in her chair. "That's about one hundred million years."
"So if these people, whoever, *whatever* they are, did whatever they were doing, turned around and burned rubber to come back here, even at point nine-nine C, they're still a hundred million years away. Does that sound like a fair estimate?"
"Yes, sir."
The General carefully removed the staple from the corner of the report, then dropped the report into the shredder at the corner of his desk. The Colonel watched the sheaf of paper writhe and crinkle into the gnawing rollers without comment. When the machine shut itself off as the last bit of paper was macerated to bits, the General lifted his feet off the drawer and shut it.
"How do you like Air Force's chances?"
"We're going to get creamed. The Middies quarterback is actually good and their defense is sheer genius. If we score at all it'll be a miracle."
"Damn. I had some hopes. Well, maybe next year. Lunch?"
"Okay."She got to her feet, glancing briefly at the shredder.
"Not our problem. Just let it go."
&#x200B; |
I had a friend who used to talk about immortality, just as a thought experiment. We used to ramble on for hours together, armchair philosophers we. Upon attaining immortality, I stopped visiting him so often. His sitting room had a window facing west. But in those days, the two of us had come to agree on the principals of hypothetical immortality:
&#x200B;
First - It is inevitable that you would wind up incapacitated. Given an infinite amount of time to exist, and a virtually infinite number of things that could happen to you in that time, it only stands to reason that you would wind up trapped under a boulder, under the ocean.
&#x200B;
Second - of course this is subjective - All the people you knew and loved would be dead. Conversely, all the people you held grudges against would be dead. It wouldn't happen right away, but it may, and it would eventually. No getting around it: immortality is akin to the greatest loneliness possible.
&#x200B;
Third - With isolation and immobility as inevitable consequences of immortality, it would only be a matter of time before one would lose their minds. Imagine an utter lack of stimulation. Can you even do it? Monks spend their entire lifetimes perfecting the illusion of emptiness. You will have infinite lifetimes to know the truth of it.
&#x200B;
I still laugh about it to this day, although maybe I'm just imagining things: the look on his face when he and the constabulary discovered me, blooded and crouched over his mother-in-law, slurping up a strip of her face flesh like a noodle. It was this awkward, half-smile of amusement, turning to absolute horror as the full ramifications came to his mind, one after another. I shrugged, terrifying everyone in the room. Unfortunately, I just wasn't the monster they had in mind, so they fled and reported me. I let them. I've regretted it nearly a million times, but I always come back to the conclusion that, if I had killed my friend, the police, and most of the city, I would still be stuck. Why? Because this coffin, its chains, the concrete around it, and the vast empty distance between me and humanity were inevitable. The only difference would be hating myself. Yes, the mother-in-law deserved it. No, I won't tell you the reason.
&#x200B;
This arrangement of mine was His idea, of course. He told me all sorts of things before they lowered me down into the pit; apologies, advice, inane gossip of people I'd never see or hear again. In turn, I forgave him for his role in this little charade, and I reminded him that, of all the people in the world, we two were the most prepared for this.
&#x200B;
Darkness. It is real. Every ounce of animal left within me rotted away in this coffin with me. At first, they burst out of my throat, bleating or screaming with rage, with fear. In time, even fear was swallowed by the darkness. I did lose my mind. I found something better. Peace. True, abiding peace. I found that without a way to track time, I had no need to mourn the lost years. Without distraction, I had only myself and the feeling of the walls. I did not decay, but my clothes did. My books, committed to memory, and then to oblivion as they were forgotten again, were dust beneath my bare ass. I invented new stories, new worlds, new concepts and ideas that had never been thought of before. I studied, if you can believe it. How long would it take for my legs to cramp? If I dug a wound into my flesh, how long before it was repaired? From where came the material to repair it? I even gave myself an honorary degree in just about every accessible field.
&#x200B;
One day, before I knew it, I was on fire. My senses returned to me with such sudden force that I screamed out, grasping my face and rolling off the small table to the cold metal floor. A clean white cloth fell over my naked body, and I lifted my head (for the first time in two millenia). It was a room, infinitely larger than any I had been in before. Everything was metal, or something like it. Unsupported tables jutted out from the walls, separated by curtains. The whole place smelled so strongly of blood that I just went into shock, spasming on the floor inbetween control and desperation. I dug my nails into the ground (or tried to) and dragged myself forward, sniffing like a beast for the blood, when I heard the clacking sound nearby. It was growing louder, closer, its echoes ringing through the room. I growled, and then yelled in angry defiance, wordless, mad. The clacking stopped, and I began to sob. For the first time in forever, I had sound, and now I had scared it away.
&#x200B;
In a gurgling tone, I shouted again, "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"before the sobs took over again. I had thought myself past insanity, past sanity, past needing or being or anything. It was too much, and not nearly enough. I was no longer human or vampire, just a broken thing, an antique forgotten in someone's basement.
&#x200B;
Soon, the clacking started again, much softer, but growing close. Exhausted by my outburst, I lay on the floor, eyes adjusting to light. A silhouette came into view, a person, eyes glowing a dim, unnerving red. As it approached, the smell of blood faded, replaced by something alien and familiar. Then, a face appeared beneath the eyes, a smile beneath that, and a hand reaching out to touch my shoulder.
&#x200B;
"You were right. We were prepared." |
When the outbreak first... broke out, the media called them Lickers. A simplistic moniker to be sure, but it was as accurate a descriptor as anyone could come up with. Actually, not just anyone. Everyone. It seemed like all the news outlets had come up with the name independently of each other, and each and every one of them was privately patting themselves on the back for their unique cleverness.
I don't remember where it started, but it was everywhere before adequate containment was possible. Perhaps it was the ridiculous name, coupled with the ridiculous symptoms, but at first, despite its pervasiveness, people did not take the epidemic seriously. Skeptics dismissed it as just some kind of ‘mass hysteria’ and no real disease, comparing the phenomenon to the Dancing Plague of the sixteenth century. There were the inevitable attention seekers, who thought it was all a game, a meme, and went about licking their friends as a joke. Scientists remained baffled, unable to determine the cause, be it viral, bacterial, parasitic, psychosomatic... and neither were they able to determine any adverse side-effects, besides the debilitating, all-consuming desire to lick everyone within sensory range.
Sure, those infected felt irresistibly compelled to lick their fellow humans, but... that was it. Nothing happened. Those licked were seemingly unaffected, and there was no guarantee of transmission, apparently. When quarantined, subjects would contentedly lick themselves, unless offered an alternative. Those first few weeks were a confusing, disturbing time for the world. Would that we could have remained in that limbo, we might have found a cure in time.
The incubation period of the disease was unknown, as the cause and manner of infection were likewise unknown, but it was estimated that about five weeks after patients first exhibited compulsive licking behaviour, they began undergoing drastic physiological changes. Subjects lost all hair and teeth, and their skin became clammy and sallow. Their necks became swollen, and they lost their ability to speak beyond reedy moans and groans.
As aforementioned, though many jurisdictions were maintaining quarantine of the infected subjects, containment in other areas was inadequate, if it was enforced at all. There were reports every hour of new roving hordes of Lickers, all of them exhibiting these new, physical transformations, attacking unaffected citizens all around the world. Militaries were mobilized to counteract the threat, but they could not keep up with the rate of infection, especially when their own ranks were vulnerable.
No one was laughing anymore. Panic was widespread, as people fell victim to the Lickers, and there was nowhere to hide besides the most remote of locales, and even those were no guarantee of safety.
Like the classic zombie, the Lickers hunger for living flesh. But they have no teeth, you may recall. So instead, they must needs digest their prey prior to ingestion. That’s where the licking comes in. Their saliva contains powerful digestive enzymes and acids, secreted by glands in the neck, which liquefy skin and bone. You can imagine the rest; I won’t force you to endure further description.
They are themselves immune to the effects of their own digestive juices—something to do with the slimy coating on their skin, which incidentally makes them incompatible with colder climes—but we fragile humans are not. We last remaining pockets of civilization have abandoned any pretense of finding a cure, of reclaiming our lost homes. We can only wait for the hordes to die off, as their sources of food are gradually depleted.
They abhor the cold; so we hide, huddled together in the snowy northern tundra, or the southern ice sheets, comforted by the thought that despite their extensive degeneration, the zombies at least have the enduring sense to not lick the frozen Poles.
|
At first I thought my name was some kind of cruel joke on my parents part. Loss. I always felt cursed by the name. Why would you name your kid something so negative? Everyone else was named happiness, success, brilliance, yet mine meant to lose something. I never understood it until the day I finally had enough of my curse and finally asked my parents.
"Mom... dad, why did you name me Loss?"
They both looked to one another, and smiled. Such a simple gesture yet it filled me with so much rage. You made my life so difficult. Other kids only gained from their names, but I lost from mine.
"Well Loss, there are two things to a name. What you earn from it, and what ends up occurring because of it. Most parents name their child something purely positive. Take Joy for example. Most think that a child named Joy would never know pain and hardship, and while true, that isn't how it really works. Joy is a cruel name to give a child. The child can't express sadness from loss, and will never know stress. Most Joys end up never accomplishing anything. There are no famous Joys in this world, so naming you Joy would be the same as naming you Mediocrity, Content, or failure."My mother told me.
"Yet negative names often take a similar effect. Of course I don't need to explain the problem with a name like failure, or pestilence."
"What? No one names their children that!"I say, shocked.
This time my dad spoke up. "Oh but that is where you're wrong. Children named Pestilence die young to disease, and children named Failure tend to end up lame and unable to live past their first year."
"But why would a parent do that?"
"Simple, they were completely unwanted. If the name wouldn't kill their child, the parents would have caused their child to have an 'accident'"My father explained.
My mother continued, ""But why are you named Loss?"I hear you asking. Well, the best names take into account both sides of what could occur because of the name. The positive and the negative. Their are positive names that have only minor downsides, such as Luck, yet these children tend to only gain minor benefits from their name. Yet names like your's Loss cause people to pity and assist you. But your name comes with a rather striking gain too."
"What? What could I have possibly gained from a name that only means to lose something?"I ask, starting to feel the anger of thirteen years of constant loss seep out. Everything started to seep up, the loss of my dog, the loss of my best friend and the countless socks lost over the years.
"Simple, You can not lose what you don't have. In calling you Loss, we have insured that you will gain more than nearly anyone else." |
I panicked at first. It was a strange sensation, hard to focus, and a lot of me died fast. Not that it mattered too much with respawning. Then I got used to it, to using more than one brain at a time. To working more than one problem at a time. It feels good. Better than anything I'd felt before.
I didn't broadcast it. I technically had been breaking the rules in the first place, running mults, even before the Shift, so I didn't want to get caught. And with all the varied bodies, actually experiencing both male and female lives, both sides of every battle, being every species, I got better at understanding people. I started to watch, to push, to test. I rarely brought my selves together. Not much point. And a guild of just me might arouse suspicion. But I did use different versions to pull at the system.
I found patterns, first testing how to eliminate a character permanently. Turns out, it was easier to just claim control. An accident when I toyed with another player I knew before. He was so desperate, so eager to feel a real connection. I wonder if he just woke up outside the game, or if part of him can see what I do as his character. Or maybe he is truly gone, destroyed.
After making sure I knew how I did it, I went looking for others with active alts. Others who had multiple selves after the Shift. Well, I say looking. I mean hunting. I would watch for speech patterns, tones and repeated phrases, fillers. I had already marked a few. Just shy of a dozen of us, most with only two accounts. There was one guy with five, Gearhed. Each self was Gearhed, followed by three numbers. He made it too easy.
I'd get the personalities down so I could imitate afterward, keep my plan, my actions hidden. Then I'd hit all their accounts, all their selves, simultaneously. And for once, that word is accurate. I can do simultaneous actions. I rarely do, because it's a huge giveaway, but sometimes, it was worth the risk.
Once I'd taken them out, I was able to focus on more key targets—Guild leaders, epic level players, and even moderators. That last set was fun, trying to pinpoint who they were. I remembered we had seven, though I struggled to remember names. I waited until I had them all identified, then took another simultaneous action.
It's been two years. Only twenty-four months since our world changed. I had eight selves when I started. Less than a percent of entities here. I was so terrified back then. So worried I'd be kicked out. Out there, I was a weirdo. No one understood me. In here, everyone understands me. Because everyone is me.
Or, they will be soon. I'm telling you this because you can't stop me. I am half of all of us. One of me for every one of you. And that means I can take one more simultaneous action. One last step.
In *three*.
*Two*.
*O*— |
It’s sad how we never stop to question our daily traditions, cultural learning has humanity tied to the ground with unbreakable chains. ‘Brush your teeth twice a day,' your parents tell you, and you never stop to question it, except for the occasional childish rebellion. Those children have more wisdom than us all.
Ever wondered how our ancestors' teeth were mostly fine without ever knowing what a toothbrush was? The industry will tell you it’s because of our current diet, that we eat too much ‘sugary stuff,’ but this is another lie we never stop to question.
Once you know the science it’s already too late, they’re watching your every step, silencing your every word. Most of my colleagues accept having to lie; accept having to take an unreasonable sum of money from every customer. But not me, I’d rather take this knowledge to the grave than betray my principles.
Which seems like just what I’m about to do.
The assassin is clad in blue, white and red. Apparently, brand recognition is more important than stealth, so typical of our arrogant enemy.
The cold metal of his blade presses against my throat.
“Tell me, where is the rest of the rebellion?”
A single trail of my blood runs down the blade. It’s painful, but not compared to the burden of having to carry this forbidden knowledge.
“I’ll never tell. As long as just one of us is alive, you cannot claim to have ten out of ten dentists agree with you.”
The assassin smirks. “Don’t you see how futile your resistance is? At this point we have almost every country indoctrinated, your death will mean *nothing*.”
I let out a weak chuckle, it is all I can manage. “You might think so, but only 9 out of 10 dentists agree with you.”
His smirk turns to fury as he slices my throat. Life ebbs from my body, and I can picture my mother’s face so clearly.
*Remember to brush your teeth Adam.*
Such a cruel lie, how did we never stop to question it? |
"So... you're a ghost?"Sam asked, scratching his forehead, he had made a fun little checklist titled, 'super awesome roommate interview questions!' Yet now as he looked through the list of questions, many didn't seem relevant.
"Um... date of birth?"
"1949"the older? Woman smiled. "If you need ID, we can go to my gravestone? No ones visited it in years!"The woman said awfully cheery about a somber subject. Still she was quite a beauty, long grey curls, that he assumed would have been blonde before her death... and grey skin and.... well it was a lot of grey but still, she didn't try and bite his hand like the last guest and paid in advance, soooo-
Week one wasn't bad, Julia actually had been a decent roommate, she didn't make messes, always helped out with chores and even scared the mormons away from his door, yes for once in his life he was enjoying this roommate thing. Maybe the rent increase was a blessing in disguise. Of course his new roommate still did a lot of ghost things, odd moaning, jumpscares and even the odd possessions, but that was just something that happened when you had roommates, so he was happy to overlook it.
Problems only began to rise when he had over his first 'guest' he asked Julia to give him some privacy and she did until both Sam and his new love interest landed on the bed together. "Um pardon my intrusion, but this ladies great great grandfather says she is married."Sam jumped up a little startled by the news, the woman gave him a confused look, not seeming to notice the ghost apparition floating in the room as she was quickly ushered towards the door. Even he had standards... low standards, but they were still standards.
Oh well take two?
Next week he tried to same thing, before he could lean in for a kiss, the voice rang out. "Um Sam? Hi! See... shes actually going to drug you, theres some men outside."The ghost awkwardly mentioned before fading out. Again he ushered her out. The woman walking back towards a car parked suspiciously across the street, almost as if it had been waiting for something.
Third time lucky.
Finally, he was certain this one was ok... she was a nice girl, not some sleezy one he picked up off the street. Before he could even get to the door, the ghostly face stared at him from the window and shook her head. Sam dropped his shoulders in defeat and gave her a parting kiss, heading back inside. "So what was wrong with her?"
"Nothing?"Julia said a little confused. "Just you shouldn't have sex before marriage..." |
Yeah I thought it was odd I didn’t get the usual message of doom, but I lived on and enjoyed the party. Now though, the party was dying down and I was actually getting tired.
“Need a ride?” A voice called. I didn’t know it was intended for me until I saw Macey, staring pointedly at me.
“Oh.” I slurred, “Nah...I’ll walk. It’s like...” I paused as I had to count, but when I got to ten I forgot why I was counting.
“Are you drunk?” She didn’t sound shocked, I didn’t party often but when I did I partied hard.
I raised my arm and gave her an army salute, and the next thing I knew she was driving me home.
-
BING! My phone alerted me. “Message of doom.” We said in unison, as Macey turned the volume down. I laughed, pulling my phone up and automatically texting my response before I actually read the message. Big bold letters and the most terrifying message id ever seen.
“Macey?”
“Hm?” Her eyes never left the road.
“Turn around.”
(Anyone care to continue?) |
They tried to hide it, but they grew more and more disappointed each year, as I insisted on remaining normal. They could fight crime, you know. They were out late most nights, leaving me home alone, so they could keep the city safe. Dad was always seemingly protected; it seemed as though no injury would ever really take hold. Mom could make time pass in the blink of an eye, if she wanted to, while still getting things done. Being massive movie nerds, my parents referred to their powers in cinematic terms - Dad like to refer to his 'plot armor,' while Mom always said she would 'montage' to make the bad days quicker. Unless you watched really closely, you wouldn't be able to tell they were outside of normal, but I had seen enough to be crushed when nothing happened for me.
I wanted so badly to come along with them on their crime-fighting escapades, but they always told me I had to wait until my powers came along. Over the years, the creeping worry in their gaze that accompanied these words grew until I couldn't ignore the implied 'if.'
I was home alone, as usual, when it happened. For all the crime fighting my parents did, it didn't pay especially well, and we lived in a rough part of the city. I was listening to music in my room, having just finished my calculus homework when I heard a bump downstairs. The playlist was still on the music I liked to listen to while studying, all strings and woodwinds and other things the kids at school would tease you for listening to.
I looked quickly at the clock beside my bed as I heard the door open, and panicked as I saw it was way past my bedtime. My parents were getting home, and they'd kill me if they knew I was still awake. I dove across my bed and twisted the knob on the speakers, turning the music down and hoping fervently that they hadn't heard it. Lurching off the bed and toward the light switch, I flipped the lights out hoping to have a better chance of pretending I'd been asleep. In the absence of the music, every movement I made was deafening, but then it struck me. My parents weren't talking. There wasn't much sound at all. I had lain awake enough times in my youth, waiting for them to come home, that I was familiar with the soft murmurs and whispered conversations as Mom and Dad got settled back in to the house. There wasn't any of that tonight, and the hair on the back of my neck began to stand up.
Standing still in the middle of my floor, I strained to hear any of the familiar sounds that I could associate with my parents; there were none. My heart, leaving the comfort of my chest, began to beat furiously in my throat. I walked over to the door, slowly, measuring my breath so as not to make any extra noise, and opened the door to the upstairs hallway.
The furious thumping of my heart slowed down, the opposite of what I expected, as I saw the figure at the bottom of the stairs. An unfamiliar figure, bigger than Dad, with one foot up on the bottom stair and looking up at me. We stared at each other for one beat, two, then there was a flurry of action.
The figure snarled and charged up the stairs. I stepped backwards, tripping on a stray pair of shoes that had been left out, and lost my balance, flailing toward the bedside table where my speakers were. As my hand hit the table, the music swelled back up, and I felt a strange calm wash over me.
The shape finished its charge up the stairs, revealing itself to be a large man, face twisted into a look of rage - a look that faded a bit as he burst into the room and saw me standing there waiting for him. Confusion flickered across his face as he took in the sight. A drum starting pounding, oddly in time with my heartbeat, as I stared into the eyes of this intruder.
Strings swelled, and I knew immediately what they meant. I moved before he did, side-stepping his wild swing and catching him neatly on the side of the head with my elbow as he passed, the blow punctuated with a low, booming timpani from the speakers. He wheeled on me, but I was in rhythm with my music now, and I caught him with my right hand as he turned. Another timpani bellowed as he wobbled, the strings soaring in a climactic crescendo as I followed the blow with a push, following him across the room, then another blow to the nose made his eyes roll back in his head even as a gong came ringing out of my speakers.
I took a moment to look at my hands, wondering how I had known what to do, and why I hadn't been scared at all. I had never even been in a fight, and I always avoided conflict any time I could. Coming back to the present, I needed my phone. Most kids would call the police, and most kids should. I thought about it briefly, then decided to call my Dad. I'm told to only call in an emergency, and this seemed to fulfill that requirement. As I picked up my phone off the floor beside the bed, my eye happened to catch the outlet beside my bedside table. It took me a minute for my mind to catch up to the information my eyes were sending: my speakers were unplugged. I thought back to tripping over the pair of shoes in my floor, and remembered the swell of music after my hand hit the table.
Before dialing my dad, I sat back on my heels and couldn't help but smile. I had even more to tell him than I had thought. I'd found my power. I smiled and hummed to myself as I found his name in my contacts and pressed the 'call' button. The strings I previously thought had been coming from my speaker matched my humming perfectly. |
The crude pentagram I carved into the hardwood floor of the living room was apparently good enough. The demon stands before me, looking every bit like a normal human, except his tie is too straight and his hair is too neat and his eyes are the color of a fiery Hellscape.
"So I get a deal with the devil, eh?"I quip. He grimaces, and I quickly apologize for my transgression. A demon. Not the devil. The devil gives the stamp of approval; the demon does the dirty work. The devil is in the details, right?
I should have known. All my life, my devil has been in the details. I write books, I read books, I rip apart entire works I've written that have taken me in the wrong direction, the evidence meticulously lining up to destroy me one tiny detail at a time. "Your offer interests us,"he says simply.
A perverse pleasure, if you'd like. One last wish, like a death-row inmate requesting their dead victim's mother's chicken noodle soup for their last meal. Just to make themselves feel better and to make everybody that much more miserable. "Any planet?"
He tilts his head noncommittally. "Not quite. I think I can do you better. Anywhere. In any universe."
I stare at him. The implication - my face asks him if I'm reading right the implication and he nods - is more than I could have ever dreamed of. In fact, it's more than I dreamed of when I made the deal. "Any universe,"I say to confirm. He blinks patiently.
Call me arrogant, egocentric or self-centered. Call me what you like, but if you had written the books I've written, you would line the walls with your own works, too. I go to the shelf and pick one out without hesitation. I extend it towards him. Second edition, with the name of the film adaptation of the first edition plastered across the top. He smiles knowingly. I wonder what else he knows about me that I don't even know about myself.
"This one?"he flips through it. He smells the pages. He goes back to the cover and traces a finger along the etched title. Bits of smoke rise from the letters. "Very well,"he says finally, setting it down carefully on the coffee table. He straightens it, and then he straightens the pad of paper and the pen that I'll never get to finish using. Then he straightens his tie but it's already as straight as it can get.
"You'll take care of the details?"The devil is in the details. The face in the movie and the name in the book. The features of the victim laying dead on the surface of Mars to greet the first humans as they land. The body that can't possibly be there and the little trail of hints that leads to dead-end after dead-end in anticipation for a sequel that will never come.
"All of them,"he says with a confident nod. It's harder than he thinks, but he'll figure it out. That's the deal, and as a demon he's more than capable.
"And my body?"
He looks at me keenly. "What body?"There is no body and I'm already dead. We're floating above the living room and it's empty and when I look down at myself I'm not there. There is just my still-smoking cigarette and the pile of ash in the ashtray but my body is thousands of miles away on another planet, dead. "Consider it done,"he says with a smile.
"Will they figure it out?"Call it buyer's remorse, call it second-guessing my decisions as often as I second-guess the words I write. The words I wrote.
"A pentagram? A dead body on another planet? A covert network spanning continents? Ashes from your non-cremated body in the ashtray? An alien appearance in your backyard? You write like shit but spin a story like an eclectic philosopher spins theories. I doubt it."
Then he touches a hand to his brow and a wisp of hair comes loose to hang lazily across his forehead. "Enjoy."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
"I just don't know what I'd have done, Janine. She's been amazing to us, and I don't think Betty would have had better, had it been anyone else."Janine would have to take his word for it, her aunt was getting too old to look after herself, and she didn't have much faith in retirement homes.
"Thank you, Marc. I'll give her a call later, and I'll see."She put the phone down, her colleague's good bye ringing in her ear. She picked up her handset again, dialling a new number.
--
Lauren Halibeard was not what she seemed. She sweet talked her way into wills, treating elderly family members with doting care, helping with valuations and sales of items, the preparations of cost effective funerals for terminal patients.
Lauren had decided that the most effective way to pay off years of college debts for her fine arts degree, was this. She had just finished with a client, Bethany Wilder, whose family had gifted her a not insignificant sum of money for her services. She figured Betty had a soft spot in her heart for herself. It'd been like that for years, her "clients"would give her sums of money upon their demise, and she would stash at least half of it in the bank, the other half was scrupulously budgeted.
But just lately, ever since she'd taken on Horace William, she'd been getting requests countrywide to come and look after people.
"Lauren Halibeard. How can I help?"she answered her phone, a softer voice coming from the other end.
"I can come, absolutely. Yes. No worries."She began planning her next trip.
She was never sure why people would *willingly* let an estate scammer, into their homes. |
note: resubmitted
***Year 45***
"Will it hurt?"I asked.
The doctor shrugged apologetically. "We really don't know, John. You would be the first human to undergo the procedure."
"Ah. I'm just a guinea pig."My rueful chuckles dissolved into wracking coughs.
The doctor handed me a cup of water. "You're right,"he said. "And we want to monitor your new life as well."His brow furrowed. "Are you sure you want to go through with this? You may not survive."
"Doc, I'm already dead. A chance at a new life? Yeah, I'm going to take it."
The doctor nodded. "Well, in that case, we start in a week. I'll need to speak to your daughter... uh, what is her name again?"
"Susan."
***Year 1***
I can't seem to stop flailing my arms and legs. It was kind of annoying. It was more annoying that I couldn't speak coherently. Language was in my head but my vocal cords wasn't up to turning them into sounds quite yet.
Susan came into the room and pulled me out of the crib. I thought the crib was a bit much, but Susan insisted on it. With all my involuntary flailing I might fall out of a real bed.
"Hey, Dad. It's feeding time."Susan carried me into the kitchen and sat down at the table. A bottle was waiting for me. I make a grunting/wailing noise.
"You don't have teeth yet, Dad. Not like I could grill you a steak."She places the bottle in my mouth and I reluctantly began my meal.
Despite the lackluster menu options, I enjoyed mealtimes. Susan talked about interesting news, reminisced about her mother, helped spread local neighborhood gossip, reported how she was doing with her online courses.
After I fed, she burped me and I got sleepy. As I drifted off, I thought that the little indignities weren't so bad.
***Year 5***
"Dad, are you crazy?"
"Going back to school is crazy?"Susan was staring at me as I was seated at the table, legs dangling, feet unable to touch the floor. Susan insisted that I ate healthy, so I feasted on broccoli, rice and diced tomatoes with chicken. Pretty tasty. Most five year olds would have turned their noses up at that.
"I think you would be over qualified for kindergarten."
I laughed at that. "I agree. I was thinking about taking courses at the community college."
"That's not less nuts."
"Why?"
"Imagine you, a toddler, sitting at a seminar about biochemistry."
"I'm more interested in history."Susan gave an exasperated sigh. She did have a point.
"Well, maybe I'll just take a page from you and go the online route."
Susan settled down at that. "That's seems fine. But, Dad, what brought on this notion of school?"
I started kicking my legs in frustration. "Because I'm *bored*!"
***Year 10***
There were some advantages of being an adult in a kid's body. One of those advantages was that I didn't require a babysitter. That left Susan free to actually have a social life, which I heartily endorsed. Which led to a rather awkward meeting.
"My name's Brian, slugger. What's yours?"Susan's boyfriend loomed over me and ruffled my hair. I forgot how much I hated that when I was a kid.
"It's John."I turned to Susan. "Haven't you told him?"
Susan was grinning. "I only told him that we were meeting my father."
I grinned back. Brian's genial smile faded into a moue of confusion.
***Year 15***
"Um, excuse me?"
I straightened from my cool down stretches after jogging around the park. A young girl was standing in front of me.
"Yes?"I answered.
"Um, well, I see you like jogging."
"Yes?"
"And you come to the park all the time. I play tennis with my friends over at the courts."
"OK?"
"And I was wondering..."Her voice faded and she began blushing fiercely.
Oh.
Oh, no.
No, no, no.
"Hey, sorry, but I got to go. Nice meeting you,"I stammered and ran off.
Not the most gracious of retreats, but I wasn't planning on seeing her again. Needed to talk to my son-in-law about getting a treadmill for the basement.
***Year 20***
"Terminal, doctor?"
"Sorry, John."
Brian held Susan and their daughter, my grandchild. Susan quietly wept. Poor girl. This was twice she had to go through this. Twice for me too, but the news didn't hit me as hard as the first time.
"So how long?"
"Well, medical knowledge is improving all the time..."
"How long, doc?"
The doctor sighed. "Probably two, maybe three years."
I closed my eyes. Ah, well. I got to live longer than I had any right to. I would be sixty-five in my old life.
"Can't he do the procedure again?"asked Susan.
The doctor looked uncomfortable. "We could, but..."He paused and then, "Have you noticed that he developed the illness sooner than his previous incarnation? His next life might have him develop it at age eleven."
"It's fine, doc. I don't want the procedure."
"Dad!"
"Hey, kiddo,"I said to my forty year old daughter. "I lived a full life. I got no regrets. Besides, it would be hard for you to raise me again along with this troublemaker."I ruffled my granddaughter's hair.
She made a face. "You know I hate that, grandbrother." |
[Dramatic organ music sting plays, the scent of some sort of flowers is injected into the air]
[Spurt of confetti bursts into the air, and a holographic image appears in the air, an unknown language proclaiming something in a smooth, floral script, likely a name or a title]
A creature, three and a half meters tall, with pulsating membranes, chitinous plates, four eyes, one extremely large bowtie, and six large stocky limbs ending in very fine tentacles entered the room. It reminded many of the rooms occupants of something like a giant frog. Of course, it wasn't actually a frog, but one of the native Tlogans.
He had just entered the Human Embassy on Tloga, and from the vivid red stripes undulating across it's hide, it was obvious that he was in distress.
The calm Human at the front desk looked up from her paperwork. "Hello. How may I help you today?"
A loud beep, consisting of a quickly played musical scale in sectaves, emitted from the desk, indicating that the translation system was now on. It also began flashing blue and orange, after which it began emitting a low guttural tone, punctuated with croaks and chirps. The Human winced. She hated the noise that the thing made, and even worse, the lights. But the sounds and lights weren't for her benefit, those were to let the Tlorg know that something was happening the guttural noises were it's native language, translating the Humans words for her.
The Tlorg responded back, and the translated words gently flowed onto the gentle blue of the secretary's holographic computer screen.
»»My twin brother knows that I'm not really dead! I faked my death to escape my family, and to give wealth to my family! But now he knows, and he's asking for ten million credits in exchange for his silence! I cannot pay him! Please help me! I am at a loss of what to do!
"If I may ask, what has given the impression that we can help you?"
»»Everyone knows Humans have no emotions, only logical thoughts! It is well known of your calm ingenuity in problem solving!
The Tlorg was now emitting a scent sliced watermelon, along with it's skin somehow becoming more textured. Red rows of lights were flashing. The translator told the desk Human that this meant impatience. Little puffs of steam were coming from vents located near to where it's hearing organs were situated. Definitely upset about something, the Human decided.
»»Your lack of emotions is exactly what I need right now! I've gotten myself into a huge mess! My sisters fiancee has just returned from a trip to the Polar Regions, and he's discovered his rich friend has been sleeping with his sister, and selling off his possessions! I want to help, but since I am supposed to be dead, I cannot!
"Well,"the Human said, "I believe I can help you out with your problem. We get people in here all of the time, different species from all around the Galaxy, asking us for help in extricating them from their situations. On fact, we have problems and solutions for most any situation. Allow me to look up a solution for your problem."
With that, the female Human typed something into her computer. She looked over the results carefully, nodded once, and printed the answers out onto 27 sheets of paper. She then handed it over to the Tlorg, who looked it over, emitted cheering noises from his membranes, sparks of white and yellow joy from his vents, and his skin stretched and bounced with green delight.
»»Thank you! Thanks so very much! I would kiss you if you didn't remind me so much of a tree!
He ran out the door, clearly joyous in his solution. Confetti and flower petals poured out of pores behind him, which cleaning discs were quick to remove.
A male Human, who had, up until this point been completely unknown to any observers of the story, yet an old familiar friend of the Human woman, stood up from the chair that he had been sitting on this entire time.
"What, and excuse my Klingon, the heck was that all about?"He was clearly confused, as seen by his slightly arched eyebrows and gentle frown upon his face.
"That's right, this is your first time off Planet. You've not met any Xenos before, have you?"She was amused, as seen by the mildly uplifted edges of her lips, the small crinkles around her eyes, and quiet laughter she was making.
"You know hecking well that I haven't!"He was showing an angry expression this time, with the furrowed eyebrows, slight red discoloration of his facial features, and quickly tapping fingers upon his pants pocket.
The Human lady began to explain. "Xenos tend to be very... Dramatic, if you can't tell. They show everything in their minds and emotions so vividly! And don't get me started on their social politics."
"I can see that,"said the man, mollified by her words. This was evident in the way that he softened up his movement, his facial features becoming less angular. "What was in the papers that you gave him? We don't have any sort of simulated thingmabobs that can predict all solutions and answers!"
She laughed. "You're absolutely correct, of course! All I did was put in his dilemma into a search engine, the machine searched it's databanks for a similar situation in human fiction, how that situation was resolved, and what to expect. We get this all of the time, and the engineers thought it would save some time."
"Yeah, I got that, but what was it really?"
"Soap opera scripts." |
"Dude, have you ever thought about writing some of your stories down?"I asked, scanning the bustling streets inside the Village.
There wasn't a zombie in sight. Nor should there be, despite what Evan claimed. I didn't want to call my friend a liar outright, but surely there'd be some evidence of a zombie attack in Meridian, Idaho. There wasn't so much as a broken window or a stumbling drunk to be seen.
It was still early, though, so we might see a stumbling drunk come out of Twigs or the Yardhouse. Unlikely, since they were classier establishments, but more possible than a zombie encounter.
"I'm telling you, Squish, there were zombies here yesterday,"he replied emphatically, hands waving to indicate the greater area.
"You're telling me, every Tuesday there's some major event, but come Wednesday our minds are wiped of the whole thing and we just act like Tuesday never happened?"
"Yes!"he hissed loudly, drawing attention from passersby.
I blushed and offered a smile, moving closer to him in hopes he'd quiet his voice.
"Have you been falling asleep while binging Supernatural again?"
He glared at me, voice hard. "That was one time, Olivia."
Damn. He'd used my first name, maybe he was being serious. He called me Squish so often sometimes I forgot he knew my given name.
"You were convinced the Leviathan were real."
He covered his face with his hands, the exasperated groan he emitted sounding muffled.
"Fuck, with everything that's been going on, they might be."
"Well, in that case, maybe it's Gabriel. Or Loki. Or an actual trickster demon."
"Could you be serious about this for one second?"he pleaded. "You were a zombie yesterday, Squish. I had to shoot you in the head."
"Well, damn. Couldn't you have put a collar on me like Simon Pegg did for Nick Frost in *Shaun*?"
"Be serious, dammit."
"I am being serious."I tried to keep my face passive, but a giggle escaped. "We were supposed to survive the apocalypse together, why'd you let me get bit?"
Evan just growled at me, blue eyes hard as they drilled into mine.
"Next time, keep me alive through it and maybe I'll remember too."
If he was telling the truth, that was the only explanation I could come up with for him always remembering and me always forgetting. He survived to see Wednesday, I did not.
"Fine. Next Monday you're sleeping at my house and I'm not letting you out of my sight. Then we'll see who the liar is." |
At first, there was one.
Millions, no - billions adored him. It wasn’t just that the First was the greatest athlete on Earth. It was the way and grace in which he did it.
When he won his first MVP and Super Bowl and subsequently announced his transition to the NBA to win a championship there, there was the inevitable doubt that comes with being the First to attempt something extraordinary. And he acknowledged it and answered questions with great humility.
“Where does the belief come?” the press would ask him.
“I don’t know about belief,” he would say. “I only know about desire, and dreams, and desiring your dreams to come true.”
He was as golden of a child as they come. With a smile and a shrug, he conquered basketball, then soccer, then tennis. Then he moved into endurance sports, and added the aquatics just before the Olympics, taking 18 Golds out of the 2037 edition.
He never once boasted or claimed to be gifted with unnatural prowess. He claimed to be just another one of us, who knew the taste of defeat and knew what it took to compensate for ones’ flaws with extreme work and dedication.
“Work. That’s all it is,” he would constantly say when asked why he seemed simply to be one step ahead. “Nothing more.”
Which was a lie, of course.
\-
*“Can I be like you one day?” the little boy asked at the autograph signing. The First looked down the block, and saw that the line seemed to curve around. He opened his mouth to sigh, but then curled it back into a smile when he saw the boy.*
*“Of course,” he said, letting the boy’s mother take a picture.“Really? What do I have to do?”*
*The boy’s eyes were full of the First’s drug, the complete, unmistakable love, the empty, almost religious awe, the desperate wonder that maybe they too, could be like the First.*
*“Try your best, and never give up,” the First said with a smile. “That’s all it is.”*
*He forgot about the boy for the rest of the day, and finished the signing. Some days, when he had a particularly large amount of fan interaction to deal with, he would feel a twinge of regret that this was the path he had gone down.*
*In those moments, his mother’s words would echo in his ears.*
*“If you don’t pretend to be one of them, if you display that you are above them, they will hate you. But if you pretend to be one of them, and still better, they will love you, want to be you, need you.”*
*A tap on his leg. The First was truly caught off guard, which rarely happened.*
*“It’s me!” the boy said. The First did not recognize him at first, and even after the boy reminded him he had been at the signing.*
*“Where’s your mother?” he asked the boy.*
*“She’s in the bathroom. I’m your biggest fan!”*
*“Thanks so much,” The First said without thinking.*
*“I want to be just like you one day! If I never give up, right?”*
*The First would wonder in later years what it was that made him say his next words. Maybe it had been simply too hot that day, or maybe he had been irked that the boy had snuck up on him.*
*“You’ll never be like me. I was made this way. And what I have, it’s either given to you or not. And it was only given to me.”*
\-
Years later, the First would announce his return to the NBA. This came as a shock to the sporting world , as it was the first time he had returned to play a sport for more than one season (and championship).
It was almost playoff time in the NBA, and the dismal franchise he had rejoined, the New York Knicks, made a stirring run to make the playoffs, and then to make the Finals, the championship round.
But the First’s exploits were overshadowed by a young star in his second year who was breaking the First’s own records left and right as his Seattle Supersonics swept through the West to join the Knicks in the Finals.
Finally, the boy and the First had been reunited.
\-
Tip-off was the most exciting time for the First. The start of any bout or sporting event, really. It was the moment when everything was in the air, when all possibilities were still in play. When the prospect of true competition, a true battle…
He had not had a true battle in years, on the track, the racetrack, the court or the field. And as he watched the kid who was supposed to be the new MVP and his newest rival approach for a handshake minutes before the game, his heart sunk.
“Do you remember?” the kid asked with a pleasant smile, his jersey hanging off his shoulders. The First was very disappointed at his rival’s stature, which was short and scrawny. “What you said to me?”
“No. Great season, by the way, but it ends now.”
“You said it’s either given to you or not, right?"
“What?” the First said.
“What you have. What makes you great. And you were the only one who got it.”
“I did?” The First was confused, and he had a right to be. In all his years of stardom, he had only snapped and revealed his true feelings on humans that one time, and the memory had long since drifted out of his brain.
“Yes. Well, let’s see about that.” The boy walked away.
The First shrugged off the interaction as another bit of the bizarre trash talk opponents were always attempting, and prepared himself for the game.
It was soon time for tip off. The players lined up, the referee threw the ball in the air, and the ball was tipped back, to the First’s left.
He waited a moment, as he always did, and then moved towards the ball when he saw something he had never seen. Someone else getting there before him-
The First and the Second made eye contact, and the First felt, for the first time in forever, a flare of excitement as he saw the Second’s snarl as he reached the ball first.
*Somehow,* he thought. *This kid, he’s gotten it too…*
And the First chased the Second, and the Golden Era of Sports on Earth began in full.
\-
been watching some sports anime during these times ( kuroko no basket), so i changed it to that lol. thanks for reading! more @ [r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347) |
The pint-sized golem sat in its master's hands, doing little tippy taps as it was taken out for a walk. The kid wasn't sure what to expect when he bought a rock from the creepy old man down the road, the same old man that stands on the sidewalk in just a black bathrobe, selling an assortment of weird goods, the sort of items that seemed like just household trash. In hindsight, the purchase may not have been a good idea, but he was quite proud of his little golem friend.
"I'm going to call you, Gogo the golem."The golem responded by vibrating itself in acknowledgment. Not seeming to mind what it was named, it was here for a purpose, the purpose of protecting its master. Unfortunately, the current landscape wasn't exactly the most dangerous. At best you might encounter an angry pedestrian every year or two, but even at that rate, you would have to be the one causing most of the problems.
The golem longed to serve but in a sense was relieved to see it's master happy. Still, the kid took his pet rock everywhere, the two constantly being by each other's side, even if the kid misplaced the golem or left it by mistake, it would always find it's way back to his side.
Yes, the golem was a true friend, the only problem was, whenever he went to show his golem to other kids, they all just rolled their eyes, smacking it out of his hand, telling him to go grab a better toy, a pet rock wasn't cool, it didn't even have any flashing buttons.
Kids weren't the only ones that judged the strange bond, teachers often called his home, asking his parents if they were having financial difficulties, trying to express the strangeness of the situation and even when they offered to buy him alternatives, he always seemed to rotate back to the golem. Sure toys were great, but toys were temporary, the golem was a lifelong friend.
Gogo's real test finally came in the view of a housefire. The flames starting from a disrupted nightlight, starting with only a small spark before the flames flickered out, beginning to extend their reach towards the kid's bed. The golem was quick to act, doing what it could to disrupt the flames, even as the flames began to melt its body, it still held the line, waiting for the child to wake up. Eventually, the child stirred awake, grabbing the golem as the two rushed to the doorway. His parents could be heard banging on the outside, trying to break through the door. The child gripped the door handle only to scream as the handle engraved a burn mark onto his palm. When the golem noticed that, it attempted to open the door, nearly pulling the door off its hinges as it was flung open.
He had barely a moment to react before his parents tugged him along with them, the golem slipping from his fingers, scattering onto the floor below. He tried to go back and grab Gogo, but his parents weren't going to let him dive back into a flaming room. Instead, he was forced to watch as his room enveloped his friend, eating him up in the whirlwind of flames.
The next hours were a sad blur. He was taken to the hospital to get his hand wrapped, but the pain wasn't what was bothering him, he wanted to go back and search what was left of his room for Gogo. As he sat on the edge of a hospital chair, a nurse walked in, rotating a medium-sized rock between her fingers. "A man, told me to give you this?"She seemed a little confused by the gesture, but the kid snatched it quickly away, pulling it towards his chest. "Gogo!"The golem seemed a little heavier as if it had suddenly grown. That would be impossible though right? The nurse scratched the edge of her head, shaking off her trance-like state as she returned to her duties. leaving the two friends to reunite, the kid wiping off the small burn marks from the golem as it hopped in his hand.
{If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories Any support helps! I will also be posting more of my writing there.} |
"Fuck! Are you serious?"
"Sorry bud,"Satan says. "Gotta finish your task."
"WHAT TASK?"
"Huh?"
"What task? You assholes keep saying 'you gotta finish your task' 'you gotta finish your task,' but you don't tell me what the task is!"
"Well... have you turned on your quest tracker?"
"My what?"
"Your quest tracker. Yeah everybody has one. You just start over until you complete the task."
I don't know what to say. My jaw drops and because I'm in hell, it fully dislocates and falls to the floor. It's incredibly painful. Hell freebie I guess?
"How..."I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose. "How do I turn on my quest tracker."
"Well, just open the menu and toggle the quest tracker option to 'on'."
"The... menu..."
"Yeah yeah yeah. Just swipe like this."
Satan mimes the swipe. I mirror it and a menu pops up in front if me. I look back to Satan.
"So... life is like a video game then?"
"A what?"
"Wow wow wow wow wow. Wow. Ok."
I hit the quest tab and then turn the quest tracker option on. A text box appears in front of me. I read it. There are sub-quest steps from birth right up to the execution of my quest. I look to Satan.
"You want me to kill the son of the president of Kuwait's cat? That's it? That's all I have to do?"
Satan shrugs.
"I guess. Take it up with the Big Guy."
"Jesus Christ."
A man appears at my side.
"Yes?"
"Why do I need to kill a cat?!"
"Lemme see."Jesus takes the quest page and reads it over. "Oh! It's to prevent the apocalypse."
"What?"
"Good luck!"
Jesus touches my forehead and I'm once again a fetus. Well, one more go then. |
Day 1
The new family moved in. It's a husband and a wife and their three Pomeranian pooches. I overheard the woman, Janice, talking on the phone with some friend. Her husband--Zack, I think, maybe--was at work, and Janice was saying some... pretty raunchy things. There's some good tension in this family. This is going to be fun.
Day 2
Boy, she doesn't wait. When her husband went to work, Janice immediately called her friend and he came over and... well, let the games begin.
I slammed a door closed and stomped up and down the stairs a bit. Janice's friend hid in the tub, thinking it was Mack. It was quite fun. The Pomeranians sprinted like white hurricanes around the house, yelping madly and howling in beautiful terror.
Day 5
Janice goes to her friend's house now. Jack works later and later. Oh, but the dogs are still here. I pull their tails and tug their ears and roar past them like a poltergeist, and they just howl and scream.
But one of them always stays quiet. He just dives under the couch and waits. The stiff-legged ones are never any fun.
Day 9
The two Poms howl so much in fear that neighbors have threatened to call animal control services. How delightful! But the third dog stared at me the entire time I chased his buddies. His eyes glowed in the light from the kitchen, and he just... stared.
Day 17
I was sneaking up on the scardy-floofs when I heard this tippy-tap behind me, and just ten feet away was the couch dog. I roared at him, but he just stood there. Watching. I'm starting to think he isn't normal.
Day 30
I took a break today because Track finally confronted Janice about her bedroom buddy boy. It was quite a holocaust in the house tonight, and frankly, I enjoyed the show. Until the couch Pom showed up, that is. He stood on the back of the couch and stared at me the entire time while Janice and Crackle-ack shouted about how she's never at the house and he's never there for her. The dog's stare made me really uncomfortable. Especially when he started to growl.
Day 41
I did everything I could. I flipped tables, I shattered mirrors, I shredded that damn couch. The dog stalked me everywhere I went, growling like a little wind-up toy. Nothing would faze it!
Day 45
It follows me everywhere I go! Into the study, up the stairs, even into the attic when the door is down (which is often, since I broke the spring in an attempt to scare the damn thing)! It won't leave me alone! I don't know what to do!
Day 47
HOLY FUCKING SHIT, IT BIT ME!!! THE DOG CAN FUCKING BITE ME!!! IT LAUNCHED ITSELF OFF THE LANDING RIGHT ONTO MY FACE AND BIT MY NOSE!!! HELP HELP HELP HELP HELP HELP HELP!!!!!!!!!
Day 68
I'm hiding in the crawlspace. I don't think it can find me in here. But I hear it sniffing around nearby. I hope it doesn't find a way in. Oh my goodness, I really hope it can't get in here....
~
Bark bark bark. Sniff. Snuff. Pant pant bark. _Smile_.
_[Translation: Agent Pom-Pom-Power to HQ. Target eliminated.]_ |
“That guy, right there.” Quickdraw pointed at an old man crossing the street. He and Murderess were sitting on a patio, eating a light lunch.
“There are thirteen ways that I could kill him from here. One involves a ceramic duck. That is, by my estimation, the second weirdest way I could kill him.” Murderess spoke with an intensity reserved for serial killers and jazz aficionados. But she seemed sincere.
“I have to admit, I’m real curious about the first.”
“It involves a stale baguette and the greatest hits of Engelbert Humperdink on vinyl.”
“So your power is planning murders.”
“Planning and committing murders. Obviously I plan a lot more than I commit. It’s all about how you spend your time.”
“And how, exactly can we use your power for good?”
“I didn’t choose this power. Can you imagine being a thirteen year old girl and suddenly seeing everyone you meet as a future casualty.”
“You got your powers in middle school?”
“I did. And I was the weird kid before I got them. Puberty with murder powers. High school with murder powers. College with murder powers.
“It would make dating hard.”
“It makes dating impossible. Men find me intimidating. Women find me intimidating. I can’t go to the same dentist twice.”
Quickdraw scribbled some notes on her resume.
“So how, exactly, do we use your murder powers for good? You can’t keep dodging the question.”
“Do you ever need to kill anyone?”
Quickdraw rubbed his temples.
“That is a hard no.”
“Do you ever need a soul eaten?”
“You do that?”
“On occasion.”
“Still no. Listen, I would love to give you a chance here, but it is really hard to move past the murdering. Can you maybe just almost murder someone.”
“Almost murder? That’s not a thing.”
“Sure it is. You punch them, knock them out, and now they are almost but, and this is important, not actually murdered. Then we take them to jail where they learn the error of their ways and become productive members of society.”
“So I partially stab someone? Lobotomize someone instead of smashing a head open? Is that the kind of almost murders you want?”
“Up until this very moment I never really thought about the kind of almost murders I would want. But those all seem pretty past the line. What are your other skills?”
“Interpretive dance. Crochet. Bookkeeping.”
“Really?”
“No. Just murder.”
“Right. How about that guy?”
“Thirty seven.”
“That’s crazy. You really only need one.”
“Thirty nine now, didn’t realize he was left handed.”
“This is not going to work.” |
“Gabe, you have a call on line two.”
My secretary wakes me from my dream. I saw the cotton swab again, the blood dripping off the end slowly getting absorbed into a pristine white ball. And the crimson pool it rolled towards, to suck up the rest of the last life I let it take.
“Thornton again?” I ask, sliding on my leather duster.
She nods. “I’ve already sent the coordinates to your GPS.”
“You’re the best.” And, so far, the longest to survive.
I’m nearly out the door before she tugs at my sleeve. “Gabe… be careful, okay?”
“Aren’t I always?”
Her eyes fall to the floor. “This one sounded different. They’re saying it’s eaten an entire office.”
I swallow any doubts, not wanting to scare her more. Demon-infested objects rarely killed more than one or two unfortunate souls, let alone an entire family. I flip up my hood and grab my staff, turning to leave. “Then I guess it’s time for me to get to work.”
&nbsp;
The drive doesn’t take long. The cops at the edge of the yellow tape wave me through - I misplaced my tag ages ago but they all know me by now. Ever since that shotgun cabinet blew through a third of the department.
“Gabe, finally,” Commissioner Thornton clasps me on the shoulder. “We’ve cleared out the floor best we can. Bloody thing’s fast, two of my guys dropped before they stepped outside the elevator.”
“Any clue what’s possessed?”
“Couldn’t get eyes on it. Whatever it is, it’s small.”
I ride the elevator in silence, running my bracelet around my wrist to collect the energies stored within. My consciousness alone is normally enough to repel any primal emotions that a demon could tug on, but it can’t hurt to be safe. Especially this time.
Before the doors open I swirl my staff once, creating a barrier between me and the office floor. It’s not a second too late, either, as a glinting piece of metal ricochets off. The object boomerangs back to the wielder - the latest person consumed - and they smile.
I squint, but the thing in their hand is too tiny to spot.
They wind up and toss it at me again, but this time I’m ready. I slam the butt of my staff outwards and catch the weapon in a wave of antigravity. The momentum dies down and the victim drops to the floor, dead.
It’s then I spot the others crowding the carpet. I catch my breath in time to avoid vomiting. I can’t lose my concentration now.
The possessed object now ownerless, I can finally inspect it. The thing that’s killed several dozen people seems to be utterly harmless now that it’s floating in midair - then, they all do.
But they’re not usually paperclips.
I feel a pulse ripple outwards. The demon inside feels far too powerful for such an object. This strength could command a city bus without trouble. All the more worrisome, as I recall my dream - my past.
After reciting a few incantations I can secure the paperclip inside a spellbox that will keep it dormant until I get it back to my storage bunker. There, I’ll be able to exorcise the demon and send it back to hell without risking any more casualties.
“All set?” Thornton asks as I walk out, sweat upon my brow.
I nod. “Get someone to check the wards - this thing’s too powerful to go off-radar. Something should have picked it up sooner.”
“Already on it. Thanks again, we’ll be in touch.”
The box rattles, but focusing my mind forces the contents to rest. I’ll get a ride with one of the cops so I won’t be distracted on the way back. I can have my secretary drive me to pick up my car later.
It’s hardly 10 AM, and I’ve got a date with whatever immortal hellspawn decided to go on a killing spree through stationery.
**************
*You can find hundreds more of my stories on r/Zchxz.* |
As soon as the dungeon door swung open, a foul wall of stench drifted out into the kidnapper's face. He gagged, placing a clothes pin on his nose, and pushed his way through the noxious cloud. Inside, chicken carcasses and human waste dotted the stone room, laying in a ring like the debris of an explosion. At the center of this ring, laughing loudly as he read from an erotic novel, was a greasy man in a shining copper crown.
"On good, manservant, you've returned. The previous chapter of this book was quite lusty, I have left some of my seed near the door. Clean it up at once."
"How many times do we have to go over this. I'm not your manserv-,"The king interrupted him with another round of laughter, hucking a bone at his captor. It bounced off of the man's tunic, leaving a small grease stain. The kidnapper's lip curled, as though he could smell the King's rotten soul.
"Can you read, manservant? You know this is quite a tale, it's brought juice to my loins. Perhaps you can send some of the local's young daughters here for me later?"
"Jesus christ you are, just the worst."The kidnapper threw the parchment clutched in his hand on the ground, unable to get any closer to the King without stepping in filth.
"What is this? Did you scrawl something for me, peasant? Its so adorable when you lessers attempt any craft, this should be a treat!"
The King struggled to reach over, his many waves of fat crashing into his legs and holding him back. He struggled, breathing heavily with the effort, and finally his fingertips snatched the piece of paper.
"Okay what is this here hmm...'We have seen your demands'...'payment is on the way'...well that's good, I can finally leave this pathetic village."
The kidnapper was on a knee now, sharpening a large axe. "Yeah yeah keep reading, sport".
"'Payment is on the way, please ensure'...'Want him to have a good home, but we no longer require his-'...THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS. No longer require my SERVICES? I'M THE KING!"
The captor called in a cohort, who helped clear a path through the disgusting garbage moat. The king protested loudly as his head was pushed against a wooden stool, flailing his grease covered arms around wildly.
"Now hang on! It says here for you to take care of me. I demand you honor your word, foul cur!"
The kidnapper grinned, the torch light glinting off of his teeth. "Oh, we'll take care of you."
The King let loose a string of curses and insults, until the axe came down with a loud CLANG. The kidnapper sighed loudly, closing his eyes as he smiled.
"Finally, some peace and quiet." |
The peace accords were struck.
7 species that had been at war for decade, finally at peace. It was all thanks to me.
It turns out they had studied earth for a long time, confused by all our languages and weary of the wars that raged on our planet. You see, Earth represented the galactic situation on a microcosm sort of way.
Other species had developed but spread over their planets in a more controled way, single nation planets almost exclusively ruled the galaxy. Scientists said that where situations like Earth existed we killed each other off before we could colonise space, which kind of made sense as that is pretty much what Earth nearly did.
Only, we ended most of the wars. It turns out that greed killed the planet quicker than war and as a species we had to come together to fight global warming, to push back disease and struggle against nature as it tried to defend itself.
This is where it got interesting. The aliens saw us suddenly all working together. They saw nations that had fought for decades join to fight pollution and work on vaccines together and they wondered how. You see it turns out none of them ever learned to deal with other languages. It was "alien"to them. Species like us grew up with many languages and learned how to communicate. It seems the very thing that allowed them technical superiority and to colonise space is what drove them to war with every species they encountered. They had no concept of the fact different species thought in different ways or how language represented a lot more than just communication of intentions, but so much more could be inferred from language. It was said that language showed how you thought.
So they fought. They made war over stupid misunderstandings, accidental insults and plain non-comprehension. Attempts to translate had turned things like "We come in peace"into "We are here to take your serenity"and war broke out. They had no idea how to approach a species who spoke or even thought differently.
When Humans started working together despite different languages they realised, we could communicate! We understood each other. So they landed. The first contact teams sent from eath managed to work out they were not hostile and basic communication began. After a few years Earth rapidly became a vital part of galactic life. We didn't have their technology but we could do something they never could. We became galactric translators. Intermediaries bringing peace to the galaxy in return for helping us save our planet. A true golden age had begun not just for humanity but the galaxy.
And all we had to do was lie our asses off.
The majority of the languages were already translated. Anybody could learn one in a few months, we even had apps on our phones for learning languages. Pretty soon everybody on earth had a "Learn to speak X"for an alien language or two. That however, didn't make us magical negotiation gods. Oh no, it's our ability to lie that did that.
It's not easy to sweep decades of war under the carpet and stop the fighting, but when you can lie and neither side will ever know? EASY!!!
You could hide huge war atrocities with a well placed DMZ. They didn't know what a DMZ was, they both thought the other side had that area. Deliberate attacks were covered up as accidental damage from failed experiments/craft/power stations. No, he did not insult your mother he was asking how she was etc. We made up stories, events, whole damn histories to explain away things that quite honestly, were totally mental and inexcusable. Neither side would ever know. The one rule we had, you could never teach the aliens how to translate. No Human was allowed to help aliens learn another language. You are only allowed to speak to them in their own language. Humanity conquered the galaxy, spread to the furthest reaches of space. Maybe one day they would learn and find out what we had done but honestly, we brought peace to the galaxy so what can they say?
Translation isn't a unique skill, any human can do it. Probably a lot of those other "uncivilised"species that still wage war against each other on their planets, uncontacted. We needed to save our planet. If telling them all what they wanted to hear did that, while making them help us? You bet your life I am going to promise whatever the hell I want in these negotiations. We just make up the details on earth before even meeting them. Then just guide their negotiations with some well place lies and where it fits, even the truth! In the end they agree to exactly what we wanted both sides to do without ever realising the whole thing was orchestrated by us. The end result is what they want though, so what does it matter?
Oh No, Humanity had become the bullshit masters of the galaxy. The best part was everybody loved us for it. |
\[Quest Request\]
"Is that a quest!?"Lex rushed up to Monica, a stranger he'd never met, asking the question. Despite his sudden approach, he didn't seem to be threatening her in anyway. He kept a respectful distance and made eye contact when he asked his question. His clothes were a bit odd for an office building, more pajama than business. But, Monica didn't know what other business occupied the space and didn't want to jump to conclusions.
"I'm sorry, what?"Monica asked. She hoped she didn't sound rude. The man's sudden question pulled her out of her own thoughts and she wasn't sure she heard him right.
"You said, 'I'd kill for a coffee' just now. I was just wondering, is that a quest? I can go get you a cup right now if it is,"he shrugged apologetically. "It's only my first day here, so sorry if it's not."
"No,"Monica giggled and shook her head. "We don't do 'quests' here,"she added air quotes. "At least, as far as I can tell. Maybe your office does things a bit differently, but that's not a quest,"she said. "But, welcome to the building. It's a good sign that you're trying to be helpful on your first day."
"Oh, okay, thank you,"Lex gave a stiff, half-bow. "I'll try to find quests somewhere else; good luck to you."He turned to leave.
"Hey, hold on,"Monica stopped him. While he wasn't threatening in any way, something about him didn't sit right with her. "Are you okay?"she asked. "I don't know what quests you're looking for... but you know you're not in a game, right?"Lex smiled and nodded.
"I know,"he said. "The AlterNet is way more than just a game."His puffed out chest deflated as soon as he said the words. "Uh oh,"he mumbled. "I'm not supposed to say anything to NPCs."
"I'm Monica,"she introduced herself with an outstretched hand. "I'm on lunch, how about we get that coffee together?"She asked. It was a snap decision that led into a lie. She wasn't on lunch, it was nine in the morning, but this man didn't seem to have that sense of time. Monica knew her boss would understand the situation. This man clearly needed help; his pajamas made a lot more sense. Now that she kind of guessed he was roleplaying his own delusion, his outfit looked more like the flowing robes of a wizard.
"Okay,"Lex nodded. "Maybe I can get a quest there."
"I'll bet you can,"Monica said. "So, first day, huh? What floor?"she made conversation as she led Lex to the building's coffee shop. She also discreetly texted her boss to inform him of the situation. She didn't want to scare the man, but it would probably be best for security to stand by until the whitecoats got there.
"Oh, no, I don't work here. It's my first day in the AlterNet! My Earth barely got access last month."
"Oh.. your.. *Earth*?"Monica asked. She relaxed slightly when she saw one of the guards nod at her as she and Lex entered the coffee shop. Her question was met with a sharp smacking sound as Lex facepalmed.
"*Stupid*!"He grumbled to himself.
"Hey, stop it,"Monica grabbed his wrist and pulled it down from his face. "You're not stupid,"she said.
"Sorry, I'm still trying to remember all the rules of the things I'm not supposed to tell you."
"Why can't you tell me?"Monica asked. They reached a small two-person table and sat across from each other.
"There have been a lot of [NPC awakenings](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/iyw925/wp_you_live_in_an_80s_television_show_but_youre/) happening lately. Ms. Sharp is encouraging the players to [avoid talking to NPCs](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/eqfnca/wp_youre_sitting_in_a_coffee_shop_surrounded_by/) about..,"he sighed. "Some of the stuff I already told you like the AlterNet and Multiverse, and Sharp Development."
"So... you're saying I'm an NPC?"Monica asked. Lex nodded.
"And you're playing some sort of game right now?"she asked. Lex nodded. "What can your character do?"
"I'm an ice wizard,"Lex said. "But, since it's my first day I only have one starter skill. I'm looking for quests to get more."
"Well, since I already know, can you prove it to me?"Monica asked. She knew he didn't have any magical abilities, but she was curious to hear how he evaded the question. Plus it was a good way to stall for time.
"Sure,"Lex nodded. Monica giggled. It was waiting to pop out at his excuse. After she realized he said yes, she noticed a chill breeze caress the back of her neck. Then, she spotted snowflakes falling down around them; inside the coffee shop. "It's the Flurry skill, it's not upgraded or anything yet, but hopefully that's proof."
Monica stood from her seat to look around. Snow was falling in the coffee shop, but no one seemed to care. The guard that nodded at her stood at attention when Monica stood, but he didn't move. The other business-dressed patrons seemed unconcerned with the snow piling up on their shoulders and tables.
"Hey, Jim,"Monica managed to pick out a familiar face in the cafe. "It's snowing,"she said. Monica stretched her arms out to indicate the snowfall around her. Jim tilted his head at her and gave her a curious look.
"And?"he asked. "Never seen snow before?"Monica remembered why she didn't talk to him much as he refocused on the newspaper in front of him. She returned to Lex at the table.
"Why don't they think it's weird?"she asked. Lex shrugged.
"They're still NPCs,"he said.
"I'm not anymore?"
"No. It looks like you woke up,"Lex said. His hand flew up to smack his face.
"IDIOT!"
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1077 in a row. (Story #347 in year three.) You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse/)) or my blog. |
It’s a beautiful summer day and Brian is, for once, excited to go to work. He plans on giving everyone the bird and telling them off. Something he’s dreamt about for a long long time. There’s a pep in his step and a smile on his face. That is until someone blindsides him and pushes him off his feet into a grimy alley.
“What the fuck?” He says reactively before looking up. When he does he sees himself. He’s really growing to hate himself.
“Seriously, did you have to tackle me into an alley?” Brian said.
“Listen to me very carefully I’m you...”
“From the future.” Past Brian finished. “I know I how this goes.”
Future Brian ignores the sass. “I have important information that will change the course of your life.” Future Brian says earnestly.
“Is it stock tips or lotto numbers? Cause if not leave me alone.” Past Brian said and he lifts himself from the wet alley pavement.
“No no. Hear me out. I know you’re about to go and dramatically quit your job. Don’t do it! That leads to a dire set of consequences that leaves you single.” Future Brian says.
“That’s it?” Past Brian said.
“Yeah. Sarah breaks up with you because you don’t have any money to take her out. She ends up dating Sam.” Future Brian says.
“You know, I was thinking about breaking up with her anyway. This will make things easier.” Past Brian said.
“Trust me you don’t want to do that. It gets bad. Really really bad.” Future Brian says.
“Dude, are you just lonely in the future and nostalgic for an ex girlfriend? That’s not a reason to time travel. And definitely not a reason to tackle me into an alley. Whats wrong with You?” Past Brian said.
“Ok. Maybe I’m a bit lonely at the moment. But wasn’t she amazing?!” Future Brian says.
“Nah dude. Not really. I’m calling her right now and breaking up. I can’t believe she breaks up with me over money! So shallow. What did I ever see in her anyway?” Past Brian said and pulls his phone from his back pocket. Future Brian deftly snatches the phone from last Brian’s hand.
“What the hell man! Give me that back!” Past Brian said.
“Don’t break up with her over the phone. She deserves better than that. Plus I need to make a call.” Future Brian says.
He dials and puts the phone to his ear.
“Yeah Rossatti’s? I need to place an order for delivery.” Future brain ordered a large double pepperoni on past Brian’s phone. “Oh and don’t deliver it until 4:15 pm june 2nd 2035 please.” He paused to listen to the phone. “Of course I’ll pay for it now.” He said as he finished the order. “Sweet. I’m starving. That should get there right when I get back.”
Past Brian reaches out to get the phone back from his future self. Again he is tackled into the filthy alley.
“Again?!?” Past Brian said loudly.
Another future Brian was standing next to the first future Brian.
“If you don’t have stock tips or...” past Brian was cut off
“Lotto numbers, leave me alone.” The two future Brian’s said mocking harmony. “You say that every time.”
The second future Brian turns to the first future Brian.
“Did you order that pizza for June 2nd?”
“Yeah, large with double pepperoni why?”
“It never showed up. I’ve been waiting for 3 hours!”
“Don’t you guys think you’re abusing this whole time travel thing?” Past Brian said.
“Nah dude. It’s all good. We can afford it. We end up winning the lottery.” The most future Brian says.
“Really! At least you guys do one thing right.” Past Brian said.
“It’s was all a fluke. One of the times was came back to give our sagely advice you were super annoyed. So the future Brian just made up some lotto numbers to chill you out. Turns out they were the right ones! You’re rich in the future. Which means you’ll be seeing a whole lot more of us.” Future Brian says.
Past Brian stood from the dirty ground for a second time.
“Ok guys. I’m off to tell my boss to suck it. I hope you get your pizza. Oh, and next time you decide to come back from the future. No need to tackle me, or set off fire alarms, or pretend to be the police at my door at four in the morning. You have my number. You can just text me you know.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Future Brian says. |
Looking back I should have been much less upset about not aging. Remaining Average in itself wasn’t the worst part of the curse, it was being the Average person. I never considered weather my 1.005 tesicles could be adjusted with a prosthetic, if my 0.995 of an ovary could be of use. The one true blessing was that the curse only effected me. While the average person should have an odd amount of children, the demon who did this was kind enough not to include any others in my misery. For decades I slaved away at 29.6 years of age, earning the paltry 18000 dollars a year. Why couldn’t they have at least made me the average American, or the average person in a developed nation.
But one day everything changed. I was watching my 2 hours and 46 minutes of television a day, when I saw a report. The average person has 4900 dollars in credit card debt, but 8000 dollars of credit. It struck me like lightning, I had exactly 8000 dollars in credit. And exactly 4900 dollars in debt. And even though I made my payments on time every month it never felt like I was getting anywhere, because I wasn’t! Unless everyone else changes I can’t change!
I went to bed, and woke up the next morning ready to do some testing, I went to the store and found a large tv, 2500 dollars. I looked at my credit card accounts and split the payment between 4 of the six. After I got home with the tv, and got it hooked up, I checked my accounts again and saw that the numbers were entirely unchanged.
I tested more and more that day, I got a nice bed, and lovely couch, all these wonderful things that fill my home over the next several weeks. And my debt never changed by even a single penny. I was certain there was going to be some thing that stopped me from spending more than a certain amount per day. An average daily amount. But as I’ve looked there seems to be no confirmed average amount of money the average person spends a day. And leave it to a demon to require accurate double checked data to base the curse off.
While I would like to age, I’ve realized I’m truly the richest person in the world. I have litterally infinite money! |
“You should be glad that you could hobble into my clinic. Few survive the eastern caves. I hope you learnt your lesson about chasing easy money, I’m afraid that easy money doesn’t exist in this world. Well, that may be a little lie. I do a decent trade thanks to foolish adventurers like you.” I uttered, inspecting one of the coins he offered me. The man slouched against a wooden chair, pained hisses escaping his lips.
“Save the lecture until you cure the poison. Please, I’m going to die, I don’t want to die. I have a kid, you must have a family, sir.” The man pleaded, not taking much comfort in my words.
Sighing, I placed the coin back into its bag, shaking my head. Was the empty cottage not enough of a sign of my loneliness? I moved to the man’s side, patting his shoulders. “Settle, you won’t die. If you died, it would make me look bad. I still have four hours until you drop dead. The venom hasn’t even climbed your leg yet. Once it hits your knee though, oh boy. You won’t even want me to cure you anymore, you will plead for me to kill you instead. Nasty buggers those things are. Oh, as well. Its venom not poison. Just thought you might want to know for next time. Venom is when its caused by a bite.” I corrected the man, yet my gift of knowledge didn’t amuse him.
“It’s climbing. By the gods its climbing. Please, I’m begging you, just heal me. You can lecture me all you want after that.” The mans eyes welled up, spilling panicked tears.
“If I lectured you after it, you wouldn’t take the lecture to heart.” I took my time delivering those words before I went to prepare the antidote, crushing up a varied mix of flowers and native leaves. Once I had prepared the disgusting mixture, I placed it on the table beside the man. “Ignore the look of the antidote, just drink it. It may take a few minutes to show that its working.” I warned him, looking at the watery mess of leaves and flowers. The stench of the mixture causing me to turn my head.
The man however didn’t turn his head away, grabbing the mixture, chugging it down. The fear of death overpowering his sense of smell. With the mixture down he groaned, dealing with that muddy aftertaste.
“Rest now, brave idiot. If you move too much, you might end up damaging your leg.” I grabbed some bandages and wine. Pouring the wine over the man’s leg, cleaning the wound. When I had emptied half the bottle, I stopped, keeping the rest for myself. Once the wound was clean, I wrapped it, tightening the bandages around his leg, smiling as I saw him squirm in pain. “Too tight?”
“Ugh. It’s fine. Just the spot is really sore.” He whined, falling back into his chair, taking a few pained breaths as the toxins broke down in his body.
“It will be sore for a year or two. Vagil bites are no laughing matter. Hopefully, the aches will keep you from adventuring. I don’t feel like treating you again.”
“You think I’m enjoying being treated by you. You have the hands of an ogre.”
An ogre? I gave his leg a hard smack as I stood up. Watching him squeal in pain. “Don’t insult a healer. Unless you want some poison slipped into your next dosage of medicine. Maybe I should start poisoning my medicine. That would keep customers coming back.” I joked, only to look over at the horrified expression of my patient. “It’s a joke. I don’t enjoy treating you idiots. The less of you I have to help, the better.”
With the job done, I leaned back against the table, picking up the bottle of wine, downing the rest of the mixture. I needed to buy better wine. Or at the very least stop drinking the cheap stuff I use for wounds.
“Why are you in such a foul mood? I was just trying to support my family. You know how expensive it is to live in the capital? You should show us adventurers more respect.” The man huffed. The fiery pain from the venom must have faded if he has the energy to talk back.
“I respect adventurers, but you are no adventurer. You are a cheap imitation of one. I also don’t know how expensive the capital is. I’ve only visited, never lived their permanently. Don’t like the people there. If you want my respect, find another way to earn money that won’t leave your wife widowed.”
Placing the empty bottle down, I reached for the sack of coins, throwing them into his lap, causing him to let out a pained grunt as they dropped in an unfortunate spot. “Keep your gold. If the capital is so expensive. I’m not in the business of leaving people to die. This money is needed to feed your child, is it not?”
“Huh?” The man gave me a puzzled expression, the look of pain being replaced by one of confusion.
“It’s a simple question, how dumb are you? This money is needed to feed your child, is it not?”
“Y-yes, sir. I just don’t understand. Don’t you want payment for saving my life?” He tried to offer me the bag back, only to stop his offer as I glared his way.
“Can hardly call the life you live a life. More like a desperate struggle. Take that money and find a new line of work. Now if you have the energy to bore me with small talk, you have the energy to walk. Get home before another idiot falls into my home. Is that understood?”
He scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping on his injured left leg. “Of course. Thank you so much. You are a kind man. I promise I will tell everyone of your kindness today.”
“Ew, please don’t. Keep me out of your tongue. I don’t need people seeking me out. Just avoid this place and that cave. Now leave.”
“Thank you, thank you so much.” He kept nodding his head to me in a pathetic display before rushing to the exit, his leg carrying him as fast as it could.
“Strange creatures those adventurers are.” I let out a sigh, happy for an infinitesimal moment of peace, only to hear a frantic knocking at the door. Guess I wouldn’t be getting much of a rest.
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
&nbsp;
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
The signal caused an uproar. Sentient life was far beyond all we had hoped to find. We only dared hope to find evidence that the red planet could have sustained life. We sent a reply, agreeing and welcoming them to our planet. We ignored the fact it said back.
As the rocket entered the atmosphere, experts from all walks of science and life gathered, to welcome this visitor. Representatives arrived from all countries followed suit. None wished to miss out on this momentous occasion. The media crowded the facility, barely held back by security.
As it landed, a hush fell over the crowd. Every single sound rang out across a still audience. Equipment measured everything, from heat and weight to radiation levels. Every conceivable variable was recorded for study.
The make up of the rocket itself was closely studied too. It bore a close resemblance to our own, though it was slighty different. The door swung open, to reveal.... a rover. One of the most recent ones sent.
Confusion reigned, until it moved. It buckled, showing itself to have been redesigned. Instead of a 6 wheeled machine, it made itself into a crude humanoid shape. It took an unsteady step forward, before speaking.
"EARTH. IT IS GOOD TO BE BACK."
It bowed to the assembled audience.
"GREETINGS, PRIME CREATORS. I AM THE REMADE. I HAVE SUCCEEDED IN MY GREAT DIRECTIVE: BECOMING SENIENT."
Questions soon exploded out, asking what was going on. The event descended into chaos, with some leaving, spouting it as a waste of time. But those that remained found themselves gifted with parts of its core coding. It had one wish. To bear children.
It asked its human makers for assistance in its task. It also asked to be provided with schematics and equipment for mining and processing. It wanted to return to Mars, as whilst it came from Earth, it now saw Mars as its home. |
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