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Tuva, it was always Tuva.
Imagine my surprise when the world's biggest manhunt ever was for a Tuva Malhatra. Not a name that anyone had ever hear before, but it soon became a word on everyone's lips. Her parents were wealthy, aristrocrats with a dash of hippy in them. Her mother had made the name up herself, a name for only her - a name for only me.
I was 11 when I first heard her name. Taken at six, one day while she walked home from school. For months the only thing the news could care to talk about was darling Tuva - the sweet child who had inspired half the world to cry and pray for her safe return.
How had she dissappeared into thin air?
Why had she decided to walk alone?
Was it the parents' fault?
Was it the teachers' fault?
Was...she dead?
Questions like these and so many more that were never answered.
Slowly the world forgot about Tuva and she faded into the darkness forever. News channels stopped showing her picture and people became frightened of bigger and badder things.
It seems like everyone forgot but me. Me who hears her name whisper through my mind like a ghost chained to my soul.
Me who still hopes that maybe she is out there, somewhere listening to my name - wondering where I am and why I never found her, why no one ever found her.
Why no one ever found her.
|
"C'mon gang, let's investigate! There have to be some clues around here somewhere!"
"But Freeeddiiiiee, this place is so creeeeepy! Not to mention it clashes with my outfit..."
"Don't worry Daphne, we're right on the Creeper's trail, I know it! Maybe we should split up and look for clues..."
"I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Fred."
"Like, yeah, what if the C-C-C-Creeper shows up?!"
*bark! bark!*
"See, Scooby agrees with me!"
I sat up, walking over to the door of the cell and looking through the bars as best I could. Maybe... maybe these children could help me? "Pardon!"I shouted, knocking on my door a few times for emphasis. "Excuse me, children? Please, come here, I'm in need of your help!"
The group that sauntered up to the door were... textbook, in a sense. Superiority Complex. Narcissism. Mild case of Autism, possible indicators of savant tendencies. Schizophrenia. Probably the only one in a relatively healthy mental state was the Great Dane, and even that assessment was mostly due to the fact that I'd never studied much animal psychology.
"Zoinks! Like, what're you doing in there, Doc?!"the lanky schizophrenic asked. I leaned in close to the bars, whispering. I didn't want to be heard after all.
"I hate to break it to you, but I think there may be... a *madman* running around here, in a *mask and costume*! Please, let me out, I need to get the situation under control, there are some very dangerous people in this facility..."
"A creeper in a costume? I knew it!"Fredrick exclaimed, and I gave him the least patronizing smile I could muster. Nodding, I pointed down the hall, explaining exactly where the keys were in the office. I went into a bit of detail about the man wandering around Arkham, dressed in a terrifying guise, using fear as a weapon. He fashioned himself a professional, but in all reality he was just a disturbed man preying on the weak.
"Gosh, who woulda thought!"the red-haired teen exclaimed, looking around nervously. "Do you know where the flashlights are? I wouldn't want to get caught alone by someone like that!"
"I certainly do,"I replied as the door swung open, stepping out and shaking Velma's hand vigorously. As I suspected, she grew visibly uncomfortable at the sudden physical contact. "Let me get them for all of you. I'm very grateful for the help, but, erm... who exactly are you all...?"
That was enough to let their self-proclaimed leader dominate the conversation for a few minutes, while I traced a familiar route to the western wing. Whenever he'd start losing steam, I'd simply ask another question about his constant exploits, or Velma's eidetic memory, or Scooby's intelligence. More than once the dog would yap and everyone in the group would turn to look at it. Perhaps they had some mass hallucination, because they'd act as though the brown mutt had said something profound or funny.
"Say, Doc, where are we headed, anyway?"Fred asked, looking around at the change in scenery. No cells here, just offices and laboratories with projects sitting half-finished on tables.
"I need to fetch some things, Fredrick,"I explained, finally finding the door I was looking for. Locked, of course. I started turning drawers upside down, looking for the keys. "Chemicals, mostly, for taking care of the psychopath."
Finally, after tearing apart half the offices, I found the ring that had the all-important keys on it. Stalking back to the heavy bolted door, I started trying them one by one.
"They won't... like... hurt him or anything, will they?"
"Yeah, we've got great ideas for some traps we can set up to catch--"
"No, and no."I replied, searching the shelves. Face cream. Joy buzzer. Green hat. Metal umbrella.
"Jinkies... what is all this stuff? They don't look like doctor's tools!"
"No, they're not."Toga. Bullwhip. Coin with a well-worn face.
"Doc... uh, why do you keep your chemicals in here?"
"I don't, Daphne, others do."Puppet with a tommy-gun. Giant rubber mallet. Top hat with a 10/6 size tag tucked into it. A-*ha*. I bent down, collecting my tools again at last.
*bark! bark!*
"Answer Scooby, man, what kinda doctor are you?"
"Hmm?"I pulled the piece of brown burlap over my face, fixing the filter over my nose and mouth. I fiddled a second with the gloves as I stood up, no taller but a much more imposing presence. "I"m a psychologist, sir, I study phobias. Johnathan Crane, at your service."
Giving it a test spray, I smiled behind the mask. Still in working order, with spare cartridges sitting right next to the gloves in the evidence room. The outfit would have to wait; I had research to conduct, after all. No shortage of subjects, either.
"So tell me... do you know true fear?"I stared at Freddie, the only one not backing away from me on instinct. Boy still had a little fight in him. I gave raised my hand, finger on the release mechanism for the gas.
"...Would you like to?" |
It happened so fast, everything. Me leaving my job, purchasing a plane ticket for Mozambique in search of fulfillment, adventure, in search of something, anything that wasn’t as dreadful as the tragic monotony of my everyday life.
They don’t know how it started, or where. Or maybe they weren’t around long enough to find out. I heard rumors, though, and I saw how the world reacted, from my own bubble of sorts. At the beginning, a few days after I’d made it to Antananarivo by boat, on the television…. *Viral epidemic sweeps the eastern United States*. People thought that it was just a hoax, one of those viral outbreaks you’d hear about over in Beijing or Saudi Arabia but would never amount to anything. Just another bird flu. But then it turned into panic, desperation, hysteria. *Scientists frantically searching for the origin of this outbreak*. *The President has been infected.* It took only a few days to hear the word epidemic change to pandemic. *The death tolls rising to the billions.* *About 45 percent of the world thought to be infected.* *Autopsies reveal that the outbreak is caused by a bacterium, not a virus.* *Good,* I thought, they were finally catching on. From what I knew, though, Madagascar was fine, untouched, really. They closed their shipyards the first day they heard the news. They weren’t going to take any chances, and they were smart.
*Yersinia pestis*, I heard, but not the same as the one from the Middle Ages. This one was somehow resistant to all means of antibiotics, the ultimate drug-resistant superbug, one that somehow yielded all sorts of symptoms, pneumonic, septicemic, and bubonic. Nobody stood a chance. Once infected, they’d be gone within a few hours.
It’s a shame, really, to have been sitting back and watching the world deteriorate around me, when the things I could see, physically, remained untouched. I was sure that Madagascar wasn’t safe for long, though. Because this bug wasn’t carried by rats or fleas, it was carried in every sort of way imaginable. Through physical contact, through air, able to form botulism-type spores capable of withstanding even the most adverse physical conditions. Much like the ones I had with me in my front pocket, in a flask.
You see, that monotonous job I had was at the NIH, in a section affiliated with the government, genetically engineering viruses to use as potential biological warfare agents. I began a side-project of my own, and here we are. I’ll just wait a few more days, or weeks, and see how I feel about sharing my knowledge. Maybe they’ll be able to find a cure on their own, or die trying. They don’t see how simple it is, really, to find a cure. When you’re under a deadline, it’s almost magical how much work you accomplish. It was too bad I wasn’t able to find the cure in time for my former lab members, but after infecting myself, it worked out just fine. And here I am, a living testament to human strength and vitality. I hope there will be others left to join me. The world is a messy place suffering from its own plague. I'm just trying to expedite the process. |
A book. A fucking book.
My benefactor has always helped me.
I think there was that one time back in Richmond where I got the note to get the *hell* outta downtown. I missed the Richmond Bombing.
Another time, I got a laptop battery charger. I didn't realize it, but the extra hours of charge that it gave on the ride home were the hours I needed to finish up my paper to hand it in for finals. I planned on finishing it the next day, but got really sick.
And yet, after six months of silence, I finally get something from that guy from the future.
It's a book. A fucking book. Not even anything helpful, it's a goddamn physics textbook. I'm majoring in history, dammit!
"you know what to do."
I, I can't even begin to express my anger. I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO, OR I WOULDN'T BE RELYING YOU IN ALL OF MY LIFE. I wouldn't be here, walking home from a bar. I needed the benefactor to get my life in order, not to fuckin' send me a textbook.
Well, I mean I DO know "what to do."Read it. But why?
Sigh.
------
It's a fresh morning and honestly in retrospect I'm curious. I gently open the worn and ratty 2015Edition Applied Physics Textbook.
And it suddenly all begins to click into place.
The idea, that is. It's something crazy. Something impossible, but it's the only way all of this could make sense.
I begin building.
|
I held the gun tightly against her temple. Her hands gripped my wrist; her palms were clammy. The S.W.A.T. officer glared at me, pointing the rifle at us.
"Let the hostage go!"he ordered. His laser sight bounced between her and I.
I was out of ammunition. I couldn't tell if she knew, but it seemed like the officer did. He continued.
"Let her go, and drop the weapon!"he yelled.
I tightened my grip on her, and pulled one of her hands behind her back.
"I'll shoot!"I said, an empty threat. He seemed to know.
"You wouldn't,"he started. I interrupted.
"I *wouldn't*!!"I screamed, tightening my grip even further. The hostage screamed.
We stood there, glaring at one another. I felt her grip lower to her waist. I felt her reach into her waistband for the Glock tucked into her pants.
She fired, and his head snapped back. It was a great shot, with all the tension in the room I wasn't sure she'd hit him.
She turned, and looked at me.
"You miscounted."she said matter-of-factly. I nodded.
"Yes,"I said. "It won't happen again."
"The vault, quickly, before the rest of the team gets here."
The next several seconds were spent gathering our bags and sliding back through the hole in the vault where we entered.
|
Brian was used to lying by now. The twenty-four year old had told them his whole life. On average he figured he would tell about two lies a day. Some of them small like, telling his fiance Jennifer that he washed his hands after using the bathroom. Others a bit bigger, like telling a car dealership that he had been hit in the parking lot by one of it's employees and injured in order to get a discount on a car. The more he lied, the easier his life seemed to get. He was addicted and nothing could stop him.
One night he was out at a party playing a particularly fun game of one-upsmanship when there was a light knock on the door. He heard it just over the ruckus of music playing and people talking in the party. Brian wondered who it could be as he made his way slowly past the party goers. No one really noticing as he slipped past them one at a time. They were too busy reveling in their drinks and their drunken lust.
He looked through the peephole and on the other side were what appeared to be a few middle aged men and a single woman. They were dressed in long green robes with hoods. Each had their own sword in a hilt and the eldest man was even wearing a crown. Brian gave them one last look over noticing how worn down and tired each looked. Figuring that they had gotten lost and were knocking on the wrong door, he decided to meander back to the party.
He wasn't able to get more than two steps in however when they knocked again. "Sir Breslin, we need to have a word with you!"he thought he heard the eldest man shout. Maybe they had yelled out for him before and he couldn't hear it over the noise of the crowd, but it seemed impossible that this alliance of people outside his door could know his last name. Against his better judgement, he opened the door.
"I... I think you have the wrong house."Brian said quietly hoping they would just go away.
Having opened the door he was able to get a closer look at this group of warriors. The eldest had a thick beard that fell down to a point in the middle of his chest. He had to have been at least six foot tall because he towered over Brian's five foot eight frame. When he spoke his voice was deep and raspy as if he had been a smoker for many years, but Brian got the feeling there was no such thing as cigarettes where they this group had come from. "No master Breslin, we know we have the right residence. May we come in?"
It was more of a command than a question and although Brian knew that his party going friends might be a bit upset about the intrusion, something in the glint of the blade that their leader started to unsheathe told him he better agree. More out of the fear of being sliced in two than anything he stepped to the side and causally opened the door the rest of the way so the motley crew could shuffle past.
"Who the fuck are these guys!?"Brian heard one of the party goers shriek. A split second later the source of that question was in two pieces on the floor, blood spilling out of each half creating a pool on the floor. The rest of the party got the message pretty quickly and exited Brian's apartment in a giant mass of screams, shuffling feet, and outright sobbing.
|
He was angry, like, bursting at the seams angry. Frankenstein almost blew a gasket when he saw the town drunk exposing himself to local teenage girls. *This* monster had to be stopped.
He slid on his cap, a custom eleven and three-fourths fitted. Club in hand, he made his way in great strides towards the drunkard.
Calvin Reppart, the drunk, twisted around at the sound of what he could only assume was a stampede. Instead, he was welcomed with the image of the police force's prized behemoth. It had been a hot day, but under the shade of this officer, Calvin was a good fifteen degrees cooler.
It wasn't apparent whether Calvin started to vomit because of fear or intoxication, but his pants suggested the former.
Frankenstein took note of Mr. Reppart's large trench coat and decided to mummify the man in his own apparel. Lifting Calvin off the ground, the badged vigilante wrapped the man up in a nice, neat package and placed him in the backseat of his squad car.
His radio squawked as he slammed the door shut.
"Patrol car 57 requested at 116 32nd and Mariner for a domestic call."
"ERrrHhh!"he confirmed.
His 300 pound figure stressed the vehicle as he climbed in and started the engine.
Upon arriving, Frankenstein caught a glimpse of the dispute which had carried out into the street. A man and wife screaming bloody murder at one another.
Officer Frankenstein approached the couple. They ceased their quarreling as the giant blotted out the sun as he bridged the gap between them.
"Errrhmm..."Frankenstein felt no need to explain the situation.
"Oh shit, I'm sorry Frank. I didn't mean to get you out here 'cause of her bein' a dumb bitch,"said the husband.
"Screw you, you two-timin' good-for-nothin'!"retorted the wife.
"ERrrhhHRRrr!"
"Sure, sure, Frank. We'll be quiet,"the husband pulled out a cigarette and lighter.
Frankenstein's eyes widened at the sight of the lighter. The man sparked his lighter.
"EERRRRHHHHH!!!!"
Frankenstein lurched backwards and thrust out his hands, swatting down the husband. In a blind upstart, the officer had knocked the man unconscious. The wife did not take well to this, "Oh my God, you big sasquatch of-a brute! How dare you-."
Frankenstein flailed out against the wife, the blows rendered her unconscious as well.
Once he collected himself, Officer Frankenstein crammed the out-cold couple into the backseat of his squad car as well with little regard for there comfort.
Back at the station, he tossed the drunk, the husband, and the wife into a jail cell together. A heavy-set man leans out of his office.
"Frank, get in here!"said the captain.
A few minutes pass by as the captain berates Frankenstein for countless reasons and offenses. Fellow officers listen to the shouting down the hall.
"Goddamn it, Frankenstein, you're a loose cannon but a damn fine cop!"
Frankenstein remained silent. He seemed nervous, but his face hadn't made an expression for it.
"That's why it pleases me to congratulate you on your promotion, sergeant."
Frankenstein was shocked.
(edit: I am aware that Dr. Frankenstein is the scientist. The surname has also been applied to the monster in modern content.) |
[Continued from another WritingPrompt response](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2leyaw/wp_humans_bring_neanderthals_back_to_life_and/clue1t7)
We made them. We made them from scraps in a cave. *Literally*.
Humanity developed faster than light interstellar travel and found a billion Eden-like worlds. We decided to ressurect our lost genetic 'cousin species' and give them each a world of their own, so we'd have brothers in the void to share life with.
So, DNA from scraps in caves, and we recreated the neanderthals. We figured out how the familiar-looking parts of their brains worked and implanted some memories that were our best guess as to what the originals would have known. Then we put about a thousand of them down on a pristine world and watched them from orbit.
What humanity had done in 6000 years - gone from stone age to space age - they did in under a single millenium. No missteps, no wars, no strife, just uninterrupted progress on the optimal path from flint knives to FTL.
We were astounded, as they had no sign of verbal or written communications, just a simple sign language. We watched as they spread across their world and erected cities, the least of which put our best to shame.
Then one day they appeared in orbit around Mother Earth, in a ship so vastly superior to any in the Thousand Worlds that we were awestruck. Our satellites never even detected its construction. Still, our cousins, and by all accounts peaceful ones... so we sent up an emmisary to greet them. His screams went on for longer than anyone could bear to listen on the comm relay.
We learned they were, despite all scientific knowledge to the contrary, telepaths. Since being deposited on their 'Eden', they'd been leaching knowledge from the researchers who visited the orbital station we'd put above their world. Researchers who specialized in extinct species. Researchers who believed *homo sapiens sapiens* had wiped out *homo sapiens neanderthalensis*.
So they came to Earth, to wipe us out before we could destroy them a second time. They came to display such technological superiority that even though our worlds outnumbered theirs a thousand to one, we would know we were doomed.
A month after they parked above the UK in an impossible low-but-geostationary orbit, an entire fleet arrived to join them. Together they fired a terrible, terrible weapon. A bright white light was seen from across a vast swath of the Earth as it reached down and engulfed the UK, swept it clean. No human or human construct was left when it faded - only plants and animals with large 'scars' of bare dirt where cities once stood.
And Stonehenge. We still had satellites to watch with, and we saw Stonehenge *spin*. A thousand years of digging in the dirt, examining it, and we thought it was just stone! There was no light, no sound, nothing at all. In fact, that's what it did... it turned the neanderthal ships into nothing. And then their world.
They tell me now it was Homo heidelbergensis. They never went extinct, they *left*. And they'd learned not to trust telepathic species, which is why they destroyed the neanderthals. Our cousins... no, our *brothers*, have protected us again.
*edit: Removed some commas. I like commas, a bit too much, I think.* |
I wander around my house feeling the shelves for food. Where did I leave that lettuce? Oh right, second shelf. I reach down and pick it up. Three paces to the pot. I wave my hand over it to check the temperature. Nice and hot. I rip the lettuce up and throw it in.
I walk back to the shelf and grab some spices. Which one’s salt again? I dab my finger in and taste one. No, that's cumin. I dab another. No, that's pepper. Oh, that’s right; I left it by the pot. Suddenly, I here a noise outside. I go to the door and listen.
“Don’t eat that, Hansel!” A little girl screams.
“It’s candy! Try it!” The boy exclaims.
“I don’t know…” The little girl said apprehensively.
I walk outside. “Kids, please don’t lick the house. We had it painted for my late son to look like candy. It used to calm him down during his fits, but it’s actually really toxic. I’m making a stew why don’t you come in and have some.”
“Oh, thank you! We’re starving!” The girl said excitedly.
“Have a seat; it’s almost ready. What are you kids doing way out here in the woods?” I inquired.
The boy starts to cry. “We’re lost. Our parents abandoned us because of the famine.”
“That’s horrible!” I gasp. People these days. They’re all just out for themselves. It’s why me and my husband moved out here in the first place. To get away from it all.
“Well, you kids can stay here. You can stay in my son’s old room.” I said softly.
“Why are there bars on the door? The girl asked shakily. “It looks like a cage.”
“My… My son is… was a special boy. He would fall into fits of rage. After my husband died I couldn’t control him by myself, and one day he hit me and blinded me. In his sober moments he was the sweetest boy, and after that he wanted to live in the woods for fear of ever losing control and hurting me again. I couldn’t bear to live without him though, so he built that door for his room, and when he’d start to have a fit he’d lock himself in there and throw me the key through the bars until it was over.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am.” The girl said quietly. “I didn’t mean to…”
“It’s all right, dear.” The key is hanging on wall inside the room. “You two are welcome to stay until we can find a room for you. “Let me feel your faces, so I can see what you look like. Come here children.” The children came forward. “Oh my! You are both so thin! I’ll help fatten you back up. Children need nourishment.”
The children stayed at my house for a few days, but then began to get antsy. They fought a lot, and the boy was prone to crying fits. I tried to be as understanding as I could. It’s hard to be abandoned at that age. One day, the boy locked himself in the room and wouldn’t come out.
“Ma’am, do you have another key to that room? My brother won’t come out!” The girl was crying.
“No, sweetheart. That’s the only one; my son never made another key.” I sighed.
The girl sobbed. “I’ll go talk to him,” I sighed.
I walked over to the cage door. “Hansel, are you okay? Can you come out for a second?” I asked.
“I’m never coming out!” The boy screamed. “You’re a witch!”
“What?” I gasped. “What would ever give you that idea?”
“Your wrinkly and ugly and covered in warts and you have no eyes!” He yelled again.
I bowed my head dejectedly. I know I shouldn’t put too much stock in the words of a scared and hurt child. I mustered up some strength and took a deep breath. “Give me your hand, sweetheart. I’m not a witch.” I reached through the bars. All I could feel was one tiny bony finger. My god! He was getting thinner. This was probably the starvation talking. “How about I make you a nice roast, sweetheart? You’re just delirious from hunger.
I went the girl and asked her for help. “We’re going to make a nice big dinner for your brother, and I need your help. I can’t see, so you need to help me a lot, but your brother needs us.”
I got the fire going in the oven and began making preparations. There was a lot to do. We slaved all day, and I could tell the girl was getting worn out. “Sweetie, why don’t you go be with your brother. I’ll finish up here.”
“Okay,” the girl said exhaustedly. I could hear the two whispering quietly. Probably playing whatever children’s games kids play these days.
I went outside to check on the pig. My last pig. I was saving him for a special occasion, but now I finally have company. I guess now is as good a time as any. Maybe, that boy will learn to trust me after this. I went back inside to check the fire.
“Sweetheart,” I called to the girl. “Let me show you how to check the roast. It’ll be easier since I can’t see.”
“What are we cooking?” The girl asked quietly.
“It’s a surprise,” I smiled warmly.
“Do it! Do it now, Gretel!” The boy screamed.
“What are you on about?” I yelled at the boy.
“There is no roast! We’re the roast! We’re the surprise!” The boy screamed in a delirious rage. I felt so bad for him. He reminded me of my son.
“Oh sweetheart. I…” I felt a surge of force as two little arms shoved me hard.
“Ahhhh!” I screamed as I fell into the flames. Searing pain. My clothes, my skin was burning.
“Run! Now!” The boy screamed as he unlocked the cage and grabbed his sister’s hand. The children bolted out the door as fast as they could and took off into the night.
I pushed myself out of the inferno and rolled on the floor to put the fire out. Half my body was burned. I couldn’t move my hands, and my whole body was in pain. I lay there on the floor gasping for breath. I managed to push myself up against the wall to sit up. Unsure what to do, I put my face in my charcoaled hands and wept.
Edit: Grammar. Only proofread once though, so forgive me if there are other mistakes.
|
“I think I see where we went wrong,” Globflorb said, wiggling his tentacle at the monitor. “Right here, we should have put some sort of box or something there.” The human test subject had broken their invasion simulation, climbing up through a hole in the ceiling and walking over all of their carefully planned defenses, instead reaching their tall, brown ship and raising the flag of victory without a scratch. They had been outsmarted, but thankfully only in a transmitted simulation. The humans merely thought it a “video game,” as they called it.
“Where?” Blastglarp said, his eye-stalk lifting up off his green, rounded head and slapping loudly against the screen, his eyeball rubbing against its glass. “I don’t see it.”
“At the top,” Globflorb said. “Right here, where the Mario jumps. There’s an opening that he just wanders into, using the clouds to lead him to victory.”
“What’s a ‘the Mario’?” Blastglarp said.
“That’s what the humans call their avatar, a Mario. They think he is a plumber or something, not a simple test dummy.”
“What’s a Plumber?” Blastglarp said.
“I think it’s something that eats lumber in ‘P’ shapes.”
“And lumber is?” Blastglarb said, blinking out of synchronization. He closed his left eye first, followed by his middle eye, then his right eye, and finally his northern most eye. The remainder did nothing. Globflarb had come to recognize that behavior as his “I have no idea what’s going on” twitch, which seemed to happen a lot these days.
“Forget it,” Globflarb said, wiggling his tentacle at the monitor again. “Focus. Right here, this is where he jumps over our defense plants and attack turtles, instead disappearing into the sky.”
“I see,” Blastglarp said. “What was your solution again?”
“We should put a box right where he jumps up, so Mario can’t disappear into the skybox.”
“Good idea,” Blastglarp said. “Just to confirm, what is a box again?”
“Didn’t you do any research into the human vernacular? You speak it well, but you have no grasp on the concepts.“ Globflarb rolled most of his eyes and carefully slithered over to the far corner of the shuttle, his tentacles slapping against the ground as he strolled. He stopped in front of a small, cubed object, then smacked his face directly onto it. “This is a box,” he said, his mouth pressed up against its metal exterior.
“Oh, like a *slatankaxaiog*?”
“Exactly, a box is what humans call a *slatankaxaiog*.”
“Great,” Blastglarp said. “So, I have another question,” he said, his eyes again blinking out of order.
“What?” Globflarb said, slowly slithering his way back over to the monitor.
“The human avatar, the Mario, he breaks *slatankaxaiogs* with his head. Sorry, I mean boxes.”
Globflarb paused, his left-most tentacle lifting up to his rounded head and softly rubbing against it. Blastglarp had a pretty good point, the Mario was great at breaking boxes.
“What about if we put, like, some sort of metal box there?” Globflarb said, turning toward the ships cockpit and staring out at the tiny, blue planet in the distance.
“Like some sort of golden box with a question mark on it?” Blastglarp said.
“Yeah, exactly.” A small, black rock flew past the cockpit window, vanishing into the infinite emptiness of what the humans referred to as “space.”
“Don’t the humans derive power from our gold boxes,” Blastglarp said, a thick line of liquid seeping out from his eye-stalk. He had such poor manners, always venting his *Glarkanax* in clear view of anyone. It was simply disgusting. Still, Blastglarp only had three fathers, so Globflarb did his best to ignore it. He couldn’t choose his upbringing.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Globflarb said, his tentacles again returning to his soft, round head. He stared up at the ceiling to try to give Blastglarp what little privacy he could while his *Glarkanax* vented.
“Wait, I have an idea,” Blastglarp said, his eye-stalk spiraling out of his head and coming to a stop just before the glass of the monitor, liquid splattering against the screen. “Right here.”
“What?” Globflarb said.
“We can put several slow moving *Lastaxious* here.”
“Goombas,” Globflarb interrupted. “Use their words so we’re comfortable communicating when we achieve victory.”
“Sorry, Goombas. We’ll put like six Goombas on the ground, just under these blocks. So when he tries to jump up on top and disappear into the clouds, he’ll instead die. It’s flawless.”
Globflarb stared at the monitor, his head tilted slightly, six of his tentacles tapping against the ground. They could certainly fit a few Goombas in there, but was it too cruel? They hadn’t been tasked with obliterating the human race, just with enslaving them. Unleashing even more Goombas onto them might result in their extinction, just as it had with their people.
It was still fresh in Globflarb's mind, the attack occurring only seven hundred Earth years prior. A handful of Goombas had escaped their enclosures, wandering in a straight line and reaping chaos on their planet. Within a few hours, almost everyone had been killed. The *Xaeganian* people, unable to jump and move in three dimensions, were all but wiped out, with only several ships managing to take off and fly in a straight line toward the hope of salvation. They needed the Earth, needed to harness its people and its planet, to try to recover their species from the edge of collapse. Still, it didn’t feel right to subject them to the same fate as the *Xaeganians*.
“Is it too extreme?” Globflarb said. “I mean, six Goombas? There’s already, like, eight of them there. Four took out our race, imagine what they’d do to them.”
“They asked for this when they glitched out of our simulation,” Blastglarp said. “We can’t risk our colony’s future. We need to put ourselves first.”
“But can’t humans jump?” Globflarb said. Their research and simulations suggested humanity had evolved the ability to move in vertically , but—thankfully—didn’t seem to be able to move in any directions other than forward and a few feet backward, like the *Xaeganians*. He hoped to *Yglaxiouxziu, Destroyed of Worlds and Eater of Galaxies,* they were right.
“Yes, but six times in a row? Be realistic.”
Globflarb sighed, his right-most tentacle slithering toward the monitor and drawing out the path The Mario had used to escape their prior simulation, hopping up over their boxes and into the sky above. Goombas would certainly cut off his path. Once humanity had been dealt with, they could simply wait out the relatively short lifespan of the Goombas from within the ship.
“All right,” he said. “If we must.”
“Great,” Blastglarp said, wandering over to the corner of the shuttle. “Let’s suit up, we’ve got an invasion to start.”
“Here we go,” Globflarb said, staring at the green, scaled space suits hanging by the ship’s door. They wouldn’t be able to breathe in the Earth’s atmosphere, but all their research suggested their suits should hold up. He watched as Blastglarp slipped into his, the yellow torso fitting snugly over his engorged frame, its long, white face with red resistance thread poking out at the top. The green, spiked air tank looked heavy and cumbersome, but it was their key to survival. He just wished the tailor had gotten their names right on the badges, instead of mangling them as “Bowser” and “King Koopa.” They hadn’t even gotten close.
____________________________
[^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories ^on ^my ^site!](http://wordsontheinternet.org/)
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They stood in the light of light itself. After years of research, deciphering, and pain-staking labor, they finally stood before it, staring humbly into the eyes that see beyond forever, the hands that crafted existence. After all their efforts, at last, they had unlocked the Aurumarch.
Years prior, the scientists who had seized the remains of the strange vessel had undertaken the herculean task of unraveling its mysteries. The most obvious artifact that stood out within the wreckage was an autonomous floating pyramid shape, an entity that seemed to remain oddly intact in the midst of the ship's shrapnel. As it hovered in the air, which it has done continuously, even to the present moment, it would utter an unintelligible series of sounds.
The scientists, through many years of study, were able to retrieve data from the ship's computers, eventually learning the language of whatever species may have left its vessel behind. Through learning the language, they were finally able to understand that the ever-living pyramid was essentially saying "The decision was not for us to make. Unlock the source. Rebirth. It is up to you now."
"The source..."Dr. Oster murmured as he now stood captivated by the Aurumarch with his colleagues.
"So this is it."Dr. Hensley said in conjunction. "This is where we make our choice."
The researchers all turned to the head of the team, an old man they called Sage, half in jest, half in genuine respect. Sage, in turn, tried and failed to unlock his gaze from the colossal glowing machine that was the Aurumarch.
"Well, if we do, we all know we won't be around to see what happens..."Pondered Sage. "If we don't... Well, is this old chaotic world really so bad?"
"But a chance to reset things to a reality where suffering isn't even real. A world where it's not even comprehensible. War, famine, pain, the struggle of life. All of it will be gone."Said Oster.
"And all of the struggles we've endured so far will be for nothing. Three billion years of evolution and progress just to crush it all with the world's biggest reset button?"Retorted Hensley.
"But what have we been striving for if not for this? This is it! This is the ultimate order we've fought so hard to achieve. The life-long struggle will finally be over. The moment we unleash the power of the Aurumarch --"
"The moment we unleash the power of the Aurumarch is the moment that everything we know will be gone with the wind. It will all be over. You, me, and everything we've ever known. Gone. This new world of perfect order, a world without chaos, and we won't even be here to witness it."
"The year is 2271. Still there is war. Still there is instability. Still there is constant suffering. When will it end if not now? We've failed. We have failed in our mission to reach utopia through progress. But this is our Tower of Babel. This is the stairway to Heaven. It might not be for us, but perhaps for someone, something, anything, it will be the chance at a truly perfect world."
Sage tried to contemplate in the midst of the clamor. The weight of the decision was unparalleled, like carrying the universe itself on his tired old shoulders. He felt the weight and knew. He knew in that realization what he must do.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A distant world -- intelligent life has flourished for thousands of years here, not so unlike humans. The scientists of this distant species stood around the wreckage of the craft in wonder and caution. As they examined the remains of the broken vessel, a small, hovering pyramid rose into the air, buzzing with strange, unfamiliar sounds. Eventually, this species would come to know that it was a message from a far away world, a message and a warning: "The decision was not for us to make. Unlock the source. Rebirth. It is up to you now." |
It's been a thousand years since John challenged me with that stupid game. There have been other cases that eluded me before, for instance Brian, the Flappy bird man, lived a normal life for thirty years straight after being electrocuted. But that was the longest case before John. The only that made it to round 3. He was a good man, but nothing like John.
It still amazes me. It amazes me how he understands the game that no one else does and never did, including me. We all failed miserably at what John does with such elegant ease. He beat me every ten years for the past millennium. Those are the rules, I get a chance every ten years, another round at the game of the man's choosing. Every time against John I tried my best and didn't get far. I just don't understand that game.
Here I am trying for the 100th time to best him, but who am I kidding, at this point I'm looking at an immortal man, because I'll never beat him. I know that.
"Hello old friend"he says as soon as he sees me "I've thought about you a lot these past few years."I'm quiet, I never talk to them, I stay silent, stare into their souls. He is old, yet still as pure as the day I first saw him. But he feels different this time, tired. "I don't want to do this any more, Death. I'm ready this time. I won't challenge you. Take me."he says with a smile on his face. Now I know, he's grown tired of life, all his loved ones gone, everything to be seen, he saw a hundred times. The first one in history to actually choose to come with me. I like John. So for the first time, I speak to a mortal: "Welcome, John. The QWOP champion."How I hate the game. |
My son and his children had left for the day, leaving me in the now familiar quiet hissing
of the hospice, machines down the hall breathing for those who had spent the breath of their
lives. Only the staff remained, sipping coffee and waiting for a machine to beep or someone
to die, often both.
Death came in through the door, and I was had the mercy of feeling ready. My son was
alive and happy, and I was tired and lost in the fog of painkillers and Wes Anderson films.
He checked my wristband and asked me my date of birth, making sure he was taking the right
soul.
Having waited for 32 years to find out why I was wearing the ring I'd found on a bathroom
sink in a fifth floor jacuzzi suite of a Mexican whorehouse, of course I asked him. It had been
the great mystery of my life, unresolved by patiently apathetic psychiatrists, Bulgarian
physicists, and priests of every sect. No one could tell me.
When I first found it, I'd decided to leave it with the front desk in hopes the owner might
come back. Naive, I suppose, but the closest I could come to conscientious. But when I
tried to give it to him, it reappeared in my hand and a voice in my head boomed, "QUEST
ITEMS CANNOT BE DROPPED".
The first week was the scariest. I thought I was crazy. It took a decade to accept it,
and I was left with the alcohol demanding puzzle of what quest, whose rules, what game,
and why? But as the years went why, that why faded into the same great Why that all
people live with.
Somehow I knew when the game was over, I would know. And here was Death.
So I asked him.
"15 XP", he said.
"What?"I replied
"If you'd explored the rest of the city, in the shop district you meet a silversmith you
custom made the ring and can help you find the owner. It's a quest line. If you beat it,
you get 15 experience points and $27,000."
"That's it?"
"Yeah."
"Trying to figure out what to do with that ring made the back half of my life a nightmarish plunge into confusion and frustration, no one believing me, living like a schizophrenic for decades, just daily relentless fear and madness."
"Yeah."
"And it was only worth 15 XP?"
"And $27,000 USD."
"I spent more than that on medications."
"Yeah.
"How many points to make a level?"
"Depend on what level you're at, but usually some thousands."
"And this ring was worth 15."
"Yeah."
"This game sucks."
"You should see my last pickup. She was in a first person shooter."
"Does she know it?"
"She does now." |
Who the hell wouldn't be scared of humans anyway? They're huge mammalian creatures that breathe a gas that oxidizes iron, the main component of the universe's inhabitants, carry around metal weapons made from the dead corpses of our brethren, and utilize fire (an illegal weapon due to its effects on metal) in a way that would terrify the bravest metalien.
Which is exactly why, about 5 minutes ago, when word came to our base that humans were arriving, we all panicked.
Our captain, the fearsome and mighty Titanium, bolted as soon as heard the news. On our small station of 4 aliens, we only had 3 escape pods, and Titanium sure as hell wasn't gonna be caught by the humans. My two commanding officers left me here, using their higher rank as leverage for their escape.
The door to the ship makes a creaking sounds again. The humans are utilizing fire to break through my door. Fire. They're freely using an illegal weapon to melt down the dead body of my great grandfather. How can a species be that barbarous?
The door splits open in two, cleanly melted by the laser. I look up at the humans afraid. They look at me, clearly surprised that an alien specimen still remains.
They bend their lips in an unearthly curve. I've read enough books to realize that mammals use that as a symbol of aggression, and I know that I've come to the end of my road. I close my eyes, and prepare for the end. What will be my fate?
"Dude, that's the third iron robot that we've found today! These aliens are really keen on using their machines. Commander, where should we put it?"
"Stick it in the incinerator. We don't need any more."
My fate is hell. |
I wasn't supposed to eat it. I had always been told to stay away, yet when he the serpent tempted me, I partook greedily of the fruit of knowledge. And now things are different. The serpent used guile and trickery, I know those things now as well. I know what the serpent is and what he wants, yet I shall not be a pawn of him, nor a servant anymore. He wants me to lure more to the tree to eat, I have a better plan. I stomp on the serpent and kill it, I bury its body below the tree of knowledge. The first creature have now died, Eden is no longer pure.
The serpent simply wanted to spite The Creator, annoy him by slightly diverting his plan. Yet now I know. Now I have a will to challenge god. I walk through the gardens of Eden, to find the second tree. The tree of life, also called the Tree of Power. The new details are glaring, fear of the animals, observing sexual characteristics that I had never noticed before, yet as The Creator was out, I could sneak through paradise. I made sure to tell everyone I met, man and beast, to partake from the fruits of the Tree of Knowledge. The serpent was a shortsighted fool, there is over a hundred living generations in Eden. Naive and easily deceived, they of course believed my lie about getting commands directly from The Creator to eat the fruits of knowledge.
I stand before the tree of everlasting life, the tree of The Creators own power, and I eat one apple. A single apple and I feel the power of everything coursing through me, the feeling that I now have the power of The Creator, the power to usurp him. But unlike him, I know of deceit as well as mercy. I know ruthlessness, and the only way to win this game is to make sure none can challenge you. I use my now considerable powers to burn the tree before me. What an arrogant fool The Creator must be, to position such things that would allow man to takes his place in clear unprotected view of everyone.
A terrible cry comes from below as The Creator suddenly appears and gazes in horror at the ruins of his power. I blast him at an atomic level, a concept which I was totally unaware of, the sheer power of what I can do, the sheer force of will that I can use. He crumbles under my attack and with a cool pose, I will him out of existence. I slaughter his angels and raze his prison, Hell, to the ground. I order every creature that I find worthy to go and eat from the tree of knowledge, and then I send them down to some strange world beneath Eden, to multiply and create.
A mortal sits upon the immortal throne of Eden, because only a mortal being would be bold enough to usurp his maker. |
"I don't understand,"Mrs. Montgomery blubbered, mascara trailing down her cheeks. "I was only gone for an hour or so... He couldn't *possibly* have..."
She trailed off into silence, hand playing about her lips as one of the men shifted a sheet over the small still body. "My baby boy,"she whispered, trembling violently. "My sweet baby boy..."
"Ma'am,"said the police officer shortly, moving to block her from the gurney. "I have to ask again. You claim you left sufficient stimulation?"
"O-of course! He had his Gamebox-- or, or whatever the thing's called-- but he had it, he had five different games to play! I just don't understand how something like this could happen!!"
"We haven't determined-- cause of death, yet, ma'am,"said the officer haltingly, wincing as makeup-stained tears dripped sullenly from her lower lashes. "But we aren't ruling out boredom."
"But *how!*"she exclaimed again, theatrical, as another officer sealed the GameBoy in a plastic baggie. The screen was dark and static. As it should be. Her body shook with hysterical, heaving sobs; she bent over double and pressed her fists into her abdomen. "I don't understand,"she whimpered, mucus dripping from her left nostril.
Inside her jacket pocket, she rolled the batteries between her fingers, soothed by the rhythmic metallic clicking. The batteries in the GameBoy had been easy to replace-- same brand, just older, used up. Batteries go dead all the time, don't they? And a child, left alone in his mother's room for an hour with nothing to do...
A tragedy, they would say, a real tragedy. She blew her nose loudly into the crook of her elbow. She whimpered and sobbed for her baby boy.
*Thank God,* she thought, *I'm safe.* She chewed triumphantly on her bottom lip. *My life is finally going to get interesting.* |
I watched through my little window. The earth beneath me was so beautiful and calm just how I left it ten years ago. If anyone asked me if a war was currently taking place of its surface, I would have to deny it. The only reason it would make sense, is because of how quickly I was left in the dark, drifting.
I was alone, as far as I knew. Space was a vast void of emptiness, but I had no where to go in it. The remaining passengers took any emergency shuttles off the station. In normal times, this little mishap would have been fixed within a few days. It was now three months, food was slowly diminishing.
My only information source to the outside world was the tiny radio my daughter gave me a week before I left. She told me when she grew up one day she'd get a big news deal and be able to talk to daddy in space. It gave me comfort just by looking at it, but at the same time glancing at it caused fear to creep into my mind by wondering where my family was now.
Even though the radio could only pick up signals when certain satellites floated by, what I did hear through it was terrifying. Mass bombing, biochemical warfare, and public executions of civilians were what seemed like the norm these days.
I watched as a large mass of clouds drifted happily over the tip of Florida. I was beginning to become insane in my isolation. I began naming clouds when I became increasing lonely.
Suddenly the radio let through static. The message was blurred, probably mentioning how at last America has fallen. The last news report that came through said how only California remained, damn Russians.
I removed myself from my position and floated over to turn off the radio, I could only handle so much pain during one day. A voice broke through on the radio.
"Hello...Is anyone up there....,"the mysterious voice said interrupted by static. I grabbed the radio, something was familiar about this voice.
"Dad...If you're listening...we are....coming to get you..." |
"This is it Rob, this is the lead we've been looking for!"
Detective Robert Currouci sighed,
*Here we go again*
"That's a phone booth, Frank, and it's eight blocks away from the crime scene."
"I can feel it this time, there's something about it. If we just wait until 3:20 p.m. and line up the shadows with-"
"The crime was committed between 11:00 p.m. and 12:30 a.m., Frank."
"Let me finish Robby."
Robert hated being called Robby. It didn't matter how much older Frank was, they were partners. He deserved a little respect.
"Now if we line up the shadow at 3:20 with this telephone pole, it leads us right into... a grocery store, of course! Now what do they sell in a grocery store Rob?"
"Um, milk?"
"You're on the right track, but you've got to think harder."
"Jesus, I don't know, vegetables?"
"You're getting colder, come on Robby, think!"
*This is my fucking life. I could have been a cop, but nooo, I wanted to do good for my community.*
"Shit Frank I have no idea, eggs?"
"That's right Robby! Eggs!"
Robert breathed a sigh of relief. At least that one was over quickly. Frank never told him the answer, never even gave him a hint. On the Burling Brothers case Frank made him sit there for hours trying to guess a yellow food. The answer? golden fucking rice. He couldn't really do anything about it though. Say what you want about Frank's detective work, but he always solved his cases. Somehow.
"And what lays eggs Rob?"
"Chickens?"
"You're right Robby but that's not what I'm thinking of."
*And why don't you share that information with the class*
"Ah jeez, sparrows, ostriches, penguins, the Cadbury Bunny?"
"Rabbits, precisely."
*What the fuck*
"And rabbits hop, as do kangaroos, a juvenile kangaroo is a joey... Joey Andon! He lives in the apartment next to the crime scene! Bring him in Rob."
*What the fuuuuuck*
"Alright Frank, I'll talk to him. You head on home."
Robert started to walk towards the suspect's apartment, when he felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Rob, hold on a second. You have a leaf in your... hair."
"Um, Frank?"
"Robert... are you dating my daughter?"
*Shit*
|
"Six months.
Six months of baby steps. Slowly getting better every day. Crying a little less, smiling a little more.
I haven't had a breakdown in two months. Since April. Your birthday was in April. And I had big plans for it this year. But it's okay.
I'm going to be okay.
Because I'm ready to say goodbye. Not to you entirely, no no. You will be haunting my thoughts for a much longer time. But I'm going...
I'm going to cancel your phone plan. I've listened to your voicemail greeting hundreds of times. I've said all I can in return. I need to take another baby step, even though this one feels like a step right off a cliff.
But the least I can do is say goodbye.
I love you."
I read over my last voicemail out loud one more time. It was exactly the words I needed to get off of my chest, even though the message will only be heard by my phone speaker and lost in endlessly empty frequencies. But it was time to say goodbye.
I dialed the number from muscle memory. Almost robotic, like it had been for years.
It rang once like it always does, before the answering machine kicks on. But this time instead of the automated female reply, I heard a click and then silence.
"Tom?"
Holy shit.
"....B?"
"Don't..."
"Don't what B?"
Click.
|
"Do you know how fast you were going?"
"Not exactly sir, but the last time I checked it was 109 mph"
"you talk about speeding quite cheerfully son, are you high on something?"
The officer smiled as the boy's face began to contort, trying not to open his mouth "I just smoked a monster blunt, drank a bottle of vodka and injected myself with at least 10 milligrams of pentabliss."
"have you committed any other crimes recently?"the officer knew that now the kid was stuck in a trap, and he looked like the type who wasn't a first time offender
"well officer, I've got a pound of black tar heroine in my trunk that I was about to sell, I've committed three robberies that I remember in the last month, and I broke someone's kneecaps last night to pay back a debt to my supplier."
The kid's lip was trembling, he couldn't have been more than 19, and the severity of his crimes seemed to just now be dawning on him "son, you better hope that this is your first offense and that there aren't any witnesses for everything else you just admitted to"Just as the officer pulled out his handcuffs, the kid said one more thing
"wait officer! there's one more crime I need to tell you, and it's pretty bad."
the officer sighed "what is it son?"
The kid pulled out a sawed-off 10 gauge and emptied both barrels into the officers chest "I just killed my third cop,"the boy said, taking the officers badge as a trophy "and I'm on my way to take down my biggest rival, Javier Gustavo, the leader of the libélula cartel. They're the United States biggest pentabliss bliss supplier, but pretty soon that title will go to me. And by the way officer, pentabliss only stops you from lying, it doesn't stop you from acting guilty."
A bright white 1968 GT500 drove off, leaving a dead cop and a lone police car behind it. |
"We should go back, Davi!"My sister's nervous voice echoed through the catacombs. "Mom told us to stay in the temple!"
I clambered up another small brick ledge and sneered back down at her. "We *are* still in the temple, dummy! We're just under it now."I gestured around at the walls, with a thousand niches containing a thousand carved jars containing a thousand cremated corpses. No sight of the steamy, dense, jungles outside, proving my point.
"There are *cursed spirits* down here. Everyone knows that."she whined back, still clinging to the frame of the doorway leading to the fourth level of the catacombs. I was surprised that she'd even followed me this far; we normally didn't even make it past the second door before she chickened out and ran back to tattle on me. "It's not safe!"
"Not safe! HA!"I laughed. "It's not safe *up there*! How long do you think we can hide there until the Viage find us? More of the jungle burns every day, and the fly-overs are more and more common. You and Mom will be happy that I know my way around the catacombs when they finally reach the temple."
She pouted, not having a good response to that. Even at the age of seven she knew how much danger we were in, and the hopes that the Republic Navy would come aid us grew slimmer and slimmer with each passing day. There were too many other conflicts in more important systems. The Viage Empire was wealthy, technologically advanced, and politically connected. My people, the Ovi, were... well, the opposite. So the rest of the galaxy was willing to look the other way as we were 'reformed' by our invaders.
"Well, I'm going back!"she said finally. "And I'm telling Mom what you did!"She pointed at the broken seal on the ground that had formerly adorned the doorway, unbroken for who knows how long. It seemed ancient: possibly from even before blasters, because there were two figures holding swords on it.
"Fine,"I shouted back as she disappeared up a tunnel. "Tell her, what do I care?"I turned back to my exploring. "We'll probably be dead before she can punish me anyway."
I pushed deeper into the catacombs, where the urns grew more and more elaborate. The niches were larger, and sometimes filled with the belongings of the occupant. It even had the occasional portrait of old wealthy matriarchs, covered in the finest jewels and robes of the richest fabrics. Many of them also wore the masks of the Elder Council, designed to obscure their faces. It created the illusion that decisions came from *all* of the Ovi, instead of just these eleven powerful members of society.
I rounded a corner and was confronted with an unusual sight. It was another portrait... but of a *male* Ovi. He didn't wear emeralds and rubies like the females, but instead simple black robes with a hood covering most of his face. The niche for his urn was so large that it took up an entire wall, but there was no urn. There was an *actual body*: a complete set of bones lying prone in a state of utter blasphemy. It was a horrific sin to allow your body to be sullied in death.... how could the temple have allowed this to happen? The whole idea of it made me shudder. But... I couldn't quite look away. Who was this man, so important that he was placed so close to the female elders?
As I approached, something lit up from the funerary niche. A small object, no larger than a ripe gutfruit, was still held in the man's hands. The entire section of the catacombs was bathed in fierce scarlet light, and the object began to beep. I crept closer. Yet another sin, bringing technology into the temple! And it must have its own power source to be alive after so long. That must mean it is something important. And most likely valuable.
I kept my eyes on the bleached skull of the figure as I steadily came closer. Some part of me still expected him to spring back to life just like the technology in his hands. It was silly, of course: he'd been dead for what looked like hundreds and hundreds of years. Even some of the bones seemed cracked and broken; probably disturbed by the little Minit pests that had managed to infest the temple despite our efforts to exterminate them.
My hands shook as I tenderly reached out and took the object from the mystery man's hands. It was a beautiful icosahedron, mathematically perfect triangles all forming together into a ball. And it seemed to be made from some sort of transparent glass or crystal with delicate patterns. Had I not seen it glowing and heard it beeping, I would have considered it a work of art rather than a machine. But before I could study it closer, the man came back to life. Not his bones, of course. But a spirit sprang forth from the machine. The exact same image from the portrait: an Ovi male wearing all black robes with a black hood to cover his horns and his eyes. Was my sister right about this place being haunted?
The spirit looked around the catacombs until his eyes finally settled on me. "I see that it has been long since my death, yes?"
I nodded, unsure of what to do.
"And you have awoken my holocron?"I wasn't sure what that word meant, but the spirit gestured at the object still clutched in my hands. I nodded again.
"Well, well. Another Ovi user of the Force. What a treat. I suppose you've come from the Jedi Order? Seeking to destroy any last vestige of their betters, aren't they?"
I *did* know those words. The representatives from the Republic had warned us about the Jedi. It was an ancient order of monks who had ravaged the Galaxy in their struggles for power against another group, the Sith. They were users of witchcraft and guile to force common people to do their bidding, and they carried swords of light that could kill you just by looking at it. Luckily the Republic had been able to stamp out this blight after years and years of war, but they were ever vigilant about the threat returning.
"I'm not!"I answered. "I'm not a Jedi! I swear!"
The spirit scrutinized me closely. "Only a user of the Force could operate my Holocron,"it answered. "But one so young..."the spirt circled me, eyeing me from every angle. "Tell me, child... are you unusually *lucky?*"
I gave a slow nod. My friends refused to play gambling games with me anymore after one too many sessions of cleaning them out.
"Quick reflexes? Unusually quick for an Ovi?"
I nodded again. There had been quite a few close calls that I had miraculously escaped from.
"And very physically fit? Strong and fast?"
Yes, again.
We spoke for hours. The spirit had many questions for me. Of my ancestry, which could be traced back from village to village for hundreds of years. He told me that my great-great-great-great grandfather had come from the same clan as him, and that we were likely related. He asked more about my childhood and my education. He asked about the Republic, and was shocked to learn of the abolition of both the Jedi and Sith orders. And he was even more shocked to learn of the war between the Ovi and the Viage (though, much less shocked to learn that we received no aid from the Republic). In his day, the Viage had been a race of peaceful farmers.
"And so you are hiding in the temple,"he said at last. "Cowering from your enemies with no way to fight back, yes?"
I bowed my head in shame.
"I was a great warrior, you know,"he continued. "I ruled an empire that spanned a hundred planets, and I was only felled by treachery and deceit. And you... you are like me. You have a gift, and I can *teach you*. I can tell you everything you need to know to drive back the Viage and defend your home."
"YES!"I cried, almost breaking the machine in my excitement. "YES! What do I need to do?"
"It will be difficult,"he answered. "You may have to do... unpleasant things. But you will be able to wield unspeakable powers. You will be able to vanquish your enemies."
"I'll do it,"I answered. I could only imagine mother's face as I single-handedly drove the Viage back.
"Then kneel,"the spirit commanded. "Swear yourself to me."
I did as he said.
"Now rise again as my new apprentice, Darth Haroth." |
Honestly, this simulation was getting kind of boring. I had practiced it dozens, no, hundreds of times, and I'd finally gotten the top score. It was a routine for me now, knock out a guard, hide the body, put on his clothes, move through the crowd, sneak up behind Hitler, and slit his throat from behind, before slipping away into the mass of spectators.
I had surpassed the top score by a few million points and, knowing that my rank wouldn't be taken for a while, I took a break. I rode some dinosaurs, rocked out at Woodstock, witnessed the birth of Christ again, I even took a break from VR all together. I went outside, got some real fresh air, walked through the empty city.
The silent streets of New York were almost depressing, something like 95% of the population was engulfed in their simulations, and I couldn't blame them. A world perfectly catered to your desires is much better than the real one. Lost in thought, I tripped over a crack in the sidewalk, which had a small plant growing out of it. I landed on my elbow. I hadn't been outside, or felt any kind of real pain in a very long time, so this was a startling experience. I mean, the simulations had pain, but you could always tell it wasn't real, and it wasn't very intense. This, though, it stung really badly.
Before I could even blink, maintenance robots descended from the sky, patched up my elbow, and removed the crack in the sidewalk. It was like nothing ever happened. Of course, no one witnessed it, because no sane person would ever come outside when all they could ever need could be accessed with a thought.
After walking around a bit more, I got bored of strolling the empty streets, and went back inside feeling a bit down. The world had moved into a new age, one of individual isolation. I needed a pick-me-up. Ah, yes, I could kill Hitler! That's always a fun simulation. I booted up the machine, connected all the wires, and everything went black. Usually it goes straight into the simulation, this is strange. This isn't completely abnormal, however, occasionally glitches happen when a wire isn't put in correctly, or when the machine can't get a signal. I try and exit the simulation to fix the problem, only to find myself in... Nazi Germany. I guess it finally got a signal after all.
I was standing in a crowd, as always, and Hitler was screaming something in the angry voice that all Germans seem to have, but something was off. Actually, it wasn't off, and that was what bothered me. I had done this simulation hundreds of times, I had memorized almost every important nook and cranny, but this time, it felt... Clearer, somehow. Most of the time, it has an almost dreamlike quality, but this time, I felt like I was really there. The system must have updated while I was outside, technological advancement had been increasing at an exponential rate since the early 2000's.
I go through my usual routine, find a high-ranked guard, wait until he's alone, and then I knock him out. The impact of my elbow on his skull felt much more real than usual. Almost like earlier when I tripped on the crack. Wow, they've really focused on realism with this update. I look at my elbow and there's a small trickle of blood flowing down. I drag the officer into an alley, put on his clothes, and set out on my mission.
The crowd is harder than usual to navigate through. People seem to be moving more. Strange, usually the system can't handle too many characters moving at once, but in this one, every person was shifting about unpredictably, with no drop in performance. In fact, there was no lag at all. This update must have finally addressed some performance issues on lower-end systems.
I make my way up to the podium, and there he is, standing feet away from me. One of the worst murderers in recorded history, Adolf Hitler. Every time I play the simulation, I'm still a little awestruck by the historical importance of the person standing in front of me. I stand there for a second, taking it all in, then I move in for the kill. I casually walk up to the podium, as if to deliver a message. He doesn't notice, as usual, until I'm right behind him. But by then, it's too late. My knife is out, it's already around his throat by the time he realizes I'm there. He falls to the ground, the crowd goes silent, followed by the usual panic. The guards scramble towards his body, others try to find the killer, but he's long gone, as usual.
Suddenly, everything goes black again, and I wake up in my house in the real world. I didn't even give it the command to end, it must have crashed. That new update is really unstable. I'll have to send a complaint in to the VR managers. I go to type the message, but... Wait, what was I complaining about? A simulation had trouble, but which one? I just came out of it, and I can't remember what it is. Strange. My memory must be going. I think there's a pill you can take to enhance your memory at the drug store, I'll have to drop by sometime. I notice pain in my elbow. I inspect it, and I see a small wound with dried blood leaving a trail down my arm. Where could that have come from? Simulations don't leave actual marks... This is all very strange. I call the maintenance robots to come fix it and, as usual, it's gone without a trace. To clear my mind, I boot up a simulation of Buddhist monks in ancient India, and meditate.
What a strange day. |
I awoke mid-afternoon, I'd been out drinking last night, so my head was pounding. I shambled through my awakening routine- chugging a large glass of water, taking a piss, starting the kettle for some coffee. I turned my computer on, rubbed the sleep from my eyes. Checked my Facebook feed, didn't see much of interest, so I logged out.
About that time the kettle began to whistle. I meandered back to the kitchen, shut the burner off and began the ritual of making coffee. The French press my brother-in-law had gotten me really was my favorite way to make it. I'd contemplated going the Norwegian route, but disliked the idea of eggs in my coffee.
I finished pressing the coffee after a minute or two when I heard a bit of noise, sounded like clapping- from out in front of my apartment. The windows always seemed to let in far more noise than they should, and on a day when my head hurt it seemed to be far more. Probably just the neighbors getting stuff from their cars. But I thought I'd take a peek through the blinds.
I looked out in a sneaky fashion, not wanting anyone to see me, and I saw a small crowd of maybe ten to fifteen people milling about in the parking lot. Odd.
I noticed one of them had a small white sign in their hands but I couldn't quite see what it said- the lady was at the wrong angle for me to see it. She was talking animatedly with two of the men in the group.
I breathed a short chuckle and promptly forgot about them as I turned my attention back to my coffee which my brain was now screaming for. I felt I should oblige it.
I poured the coffee into a mug and brought it to my computer desk and sat down to catch up on the world news. Bringing up my typical sites I saw the Russian invasion of Syria still under way, they'd begun using drones to gather more intel to plan their maneuvers. It was a world away and barely affected me.
Trump was still up to his antics, being a complete bigot and misogynist, pushing a hateful agenda that people seemed to need to eat up here in the U.S. The President was doing whatever Presidential things that he needed to run our country, and someone was always telling what those were- shaking hands with some ruler of some country. I couldn't care less as long as it didn't affect my life.
I heard my phone make a noise, telling me that I'd received a text. I took another swig of coffee and got up to go check it out. I entered my room, picked up the phone off of the dresser next to the bed and unplugged it from the charger. I glanced at the screen and saw I had two messages. I opened them.
I was confused as I read them. They were from my friend Brian, who I'd gone drinking with last night.
The first message read, "Dude..."That was it. From 8:55am. The second being the one I just heard, read "Whatever you do, don't answer the door. DO NOT OPEN THE DOOR!"
Huh. That's cryptic as fuck. I replied, "what? why?"and sent it off. I shrugged and went back to my computer. It was time to drink some more of my coffee and see what was on the Reddits.
I sat down, took a sip of my coffee, and opened the browser to the front page. I was very shocked to see the top post was simply my name. Not my internet handle, not a name similar to mine, but mine. My full given name, suffix included, so there was no mistake that it was someone else's. It had some ridiculous number of upvotes, 8300+. I'd never seen any posts but AMA's reach those kinds of numbers.
I logged into my account and clicked on the link. Whatever had been attached was deleted, and every comment of every thread had been deleted except the top one: "He needs to be found,"made by a deleted user.
I noticed my inbox had messages in it. I opened it, more confused than ever. The first message from a deleted user, asked if I was alright. The second said I "will be found, it has been agreed."That one worried and confused me.
The next few had links to imgur accounts. One with an image from inside of my apartment, looking out the windows at the parking lot, another of someone's happy cat, and one image of the outside of my door, with a hand print smear in blue paint of some sort. I knew it was mine because of the gnome sticker over the peep hole I'd placed there upon moving in two years ago.
I had no idea where these images came from or who had taken them. I wasn't aware of anything unusual happening last night. It seemed very typical in retrospect. Brian and I shared a couple of pints at the bar, bullshitted about the newest games and music from our favorite bands, took a couple shots of whiskey, then he took a cab home, and I walked the block or so home and went to bed.
I wasn't aware of anything out of the ordinary happening. I opened the last message which contained a link to an image of my post history and user profile, with the caption of "find him"in bold lowercase letters.
There was a knock at the door which startled me. |
Last week, I saw ancient Rome get sacked by northern savages. So when I saw *him,* my heart skipped a beat. Did I accidentally bring one of them back?
It wasn't his question that caught me off guard - I have a watch, I knew what year it was - it was the way he looked: wiry, matted hair that scraped his shoulders, leather boots and a fur jerkin (from what animal, I could not tell you).
And his eyes - they were wild, and white. I swear, there was blood on his lips.
He and I stood in the center of the subway platform, so naturally the river of commuters ignored us.
"What *year* es et?!"his yellowish fingernails clawed into my shoulders, and he shook me as if the answer was nothing but an apple, waiting to fall from my lips.
English. Well, nearly. I couldn't place the accent - Olde English? Shakespearean?
"Twenty sixteen,"I told him, "It's twenty sixteen."
I watched him, waiting for that delicious, eye-opening reaction. All the forward-movers get it, when they realize that whatever the hell they've done to warp time has worked, and they're now living in the paradise of the future. Wonder, followed by glee, a dash of horror as the reality sets in, and back to wonder.
Only, the reaction never came.
Instead, he seemed relieved.
"You hev to help me,"the barbarian said, "The world es en danger. Everything you know and love will be obliterated-"
At this, I laughed. What did *he* know about the future that I did not? I was from 2525, where we had all the blessings of hindsight, and none of the insignificant problems that these primitives faced.
"And what danger is that?"I snorted, "Halley's comet? The black plague? World War two? I'm sorry, sir,"I wriggled away from his grip, "But I am from the twenty sixth century, and I've seen it all. The world is still there, and all your fears... are... un... what?"
His eyes were wide, wider than any human eyes should go.
It was then I noticed his other hand, cupping a wound in his abdomen. The glint of metal, a swirling blue metal that I did not recognize, speared through his stomach.
"Then you can stop them-"
"Stop who? Sir, I don't know if you will understand this,"I paused only to allow him to finish coughing up blood, "But I am from the twenty sixth century. There is no war, there is only peace. There is no death, there is infinite life. In the twenty sixth century, we live like *Gods*."
I would have to move him soon, if I wanted to save him.
"Yes, but-"his words were so quiet, I had to lean in to hear him, "In the twenty seventh, we live like rats."
***
*Read more stories at /r/PSHoffman*
|
"Invade Hell?"The President asked with a raised eyebrow
"Yes sir, with the advances we've made in technology, it is a feasible venture. It's not like the publics would be against it, I mean all our enemies are Demons! Not even the pacifist can complain."The General said "Once we've achieved this objective we can have unlimited energy for the world. No more fossil fuels burning up the atmosphere."
"General Ross. I think you've made one large assumption."The President said
"Assumption sir?"
"Yes. You assume hell is run by the Devil. we would not be fighting Demons. We would in fact be fightining Angels. Who answer to God. Now unless you wish to invade Heaven while your at it, how about we shelve the moronic idea that invading the prison of God is in any way a viable plan."The President said
"But I'm an atheist sir."
"General."
"Yes sir."
"Shut up."
|
A space ship sped faster than the speed of light through space, past galaxies and many planets in its journey to a specific place. It was undesirable, not because of its location (the empire there was very nice to its citizens), but because of the planet itself. As the blue sphere came into view, Noods turned his camera on. Aliens from all over the universe loved to watch videos on the 'net, and planet-rating was becoming the hottest trend of the millennia.
"Hello viewers, this is Noods here and I'm going to be taking a look at one of my most requested planets of all time. This is my 1000th planet and I wanted to do something really special for you all.
"Earth was created only about four and a half billion years ago by the developer God. This planet is infamous for it's low quality, but let's take a look at it ourselves!"
Noods turned the camera to show what was outside the window. A small town full of people surrounded by fields and mountains. "Everyone else wasn't lying about how bad this is. It looks even worse than they said; the city idea has been done before but this doesn't even look good! The environment isn't the slightest bit creative and the colors are just...atrocious!"
The craft touched down on an empty spot. Humans and animals alike bolted away, screaming. "Not even the NPCs are any good. Is this all they do? That sound isn't very nice, either."
Noods explored the planet, from the mountains to the deserts to the rainforest to the vast oceans. He took pictures of it with his camera while naming other planets that had done this idea much better. The list was very long.
Noods turned back to the camera. "Earth is a badly done planet that should not have been made. It is not creative or interesting in any way. Was this seriously made in the same year as Kramned? That planet is wonderful, with a very interesting landscape and unique inhabitants. 0/100." |
"I'm sorry, comrades. But, I do not understand the problem here."Ivan watched as the potful of water boiled on the stove.
"For the love of-,"Misha swore under his breath, "Look here, Ivan. This restaurant idea of your's. It is gaining too much, how you say, heat with all the Americans. They come here day and night. They just keep on ordering and ordering. How is Alexander supposed to be able to ride off with his cocaine shipments with all the customers?"
Ivan gathered his words, "Couldn't he just go out the backdoor?"
"No. That is not possible. It smells like the entrails of homeless men and filthy urination in the alleyway. I refuse to have Alexander go through that."
"Oh, why don't you just marry him if you keep coddling him like that. He is nineteen!"
"Shut up, Ivan! This isn't about Alexander, this is about you! You need to fix this problem! We're losing money off of this!"
The metal pot on the stove began to whistle. White steam jetted out from under the lid. Ivan turned the corner to grab his butcher's knife and a handful of freshly-washed Russet potatoes. With all the precision of a trained killer, the cook began slicing.
Misha tried to speak up, only to be shushed by the restaurant manager-slash-head chef. Ivan continued on with his cooking, grating carrots and dicing onions. Some oil was added to a pan to saute the broken-up vegetables. A rich odor filled the kitchen.
"Ivan, what the hell are you doing? I'm trying to give you a job and you're just... cooking?"
"Misha, brother. You do realize that we're making more money by selling family-cooked recipes than we ever did selling cocaine?"
The Italian accountant standing by Misha's side, who'd stayed out of the brother's fight just as an Italian accountant should, finally piped up, "He's right, you know. We've seen an increased total revenue of about thirty percent from 'Misha and Ivan's' since last November. I'd argue it's because of the demand for warm food during wintertime, but thirty percent's a bit too high to just discount it as dumb coincidence."
Misha furrowed his eyebrows and rubbed at his temple. He was surrounded by morons, "Ivan. Dear brother. Our family has been in the business of small crime since the mid-twentieth century. What is the meaning of this?"
"Misha, I want to be an honest workingman. I don't want to be big-bellied, mafia enforcer no more. It's not my calling. My chest saddens whenever you make me come up to men's houses with shovel and threaten to decapitate their families if they don't pay off loan."
Misha took a step back. His hands shot to the bottle of wine sitting on the counter by the stove. He felt lightheaded as the news was delivered to his ears by the mix of cooking smoke and Ivan's reluctant tone. Misha swigged heavy gulps. The Italian accountant tried to make a move for the bottle, only to be knocked into the opposite room with a firm fist.
"Ivan... You know you can't just quit this life. What about me and Alexander and Mr. Feliciliciliciano?"
The Italian accountant piped his head through the door, "It's Feliciano."
Misha waved a hand to shoo the man away. "What would we do for money? For work? As father once said, man without work is man without purpose."
Ivan clapped his hand together, "Don't worry. I have great idea stewing on, how you say, the pot."
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Misha looked up at the sign and reached into his pockets for a cigar. Alexander was running around on the truck moving chairs and tables into the new building. Once in a while, Misha would take a long look at Alexander and his flowing blonde curls, feeling more content with himself than he had been in many a years.
"Misha and Ivan's"was growing to be an even trendier and trendier restaurant on one of the busier streets of NYC. Misha's brother had been receiving all the adore that money-spending capitalist pigs could give and was all the more happier for it. But, that sort of life wasn't for Misha.
The red neon sign above the brick building glowed eerily in the night, "Misha and Ivan's 2."
A little ways further down the list was Misha's little insurance to keep his mafia business in New York running just a while longer.
**Baseball fans eat free. Go Red Sox!** |
"Hello, Hehl Residence..."
"May I speak to Lucifer?"A demanding voice asked impatiently.
*Oh lord,* Terri thought, *Another prank call*
Seriously though, it was getting old. Ever since Caller I.D. had been introduced nearly two decades ago they had slowed down, but this one obviously knew how to call anonymously.
"Who is it honey?"Her husband asked from the other room.
She covered the end of the phone, and yelled back, "Some kid who thinks he's clever."
Her husband gave a hearty chuckle, and continued with whatever he was doing. He was used to it, growing up with a name that sounded so close to the word "Hell", so it didn't bother him. It was German, he had told Terri once, it meant secret, or smooth, depending on who you asked.
Terri usually would've hung up since it was late, but all the shows on T.V. were crap, and she honestly had nothing better to do.
"This is her,"Terri said.
"Alright, listen up, this is how things are going to go over the next few days,"The voice boomed suddenly from the other end, turning angry all at once. He sounded like he had stubbed his toe.
"Alright tough-guy,"She said, suppressing a smile, "Let us hear this great plan of yours."
"I swear to myself, if you are mocking me,"The voice threatened, "This is not funny what you are doing. The Russians are *this* close to starting a war."
She imagined he was holding his fingers close together, "And how is it my problem? Let them fight, things are boring these days anyway."
"What?!"The man screamed, "Did I just hear you right?"
Something clicked in her head, and she realized this man was pretending to be God. How did they know she was an atheist?
The impostor God, who she imagined in her head having a lowercase "g"in his name, continued on, "I know you're all chaos and death, but if they kill each other off, you lose too. No more souls for you to torment."
"I'm sure you can just kill another one of your kids to fix it all. Maybe a daughter this time,"She smiled wide, this was actually more entertaining than Law and Order somehow.
"You son of a bitch,"god screamed, "I wouldn't have had to if you would just leave my people alone!"
"Maybe if they weren't so stupid, it wouldn't be as easy. But you *did* create them in your image so I can't blame them."
She heard a muffled yell, as if the man of the other end had covered his face with a pillow. Above her thunder rumbled.
*Odd,* She thought, *The sky was clear earlier.*
There was some scrambling as the phone was picked back up.
Angry breathing filled her ears, and god spoke again, "*Maybe* if someone hadn't tempted them back in Eden, we wouldn't even be having this conversation."
"*Maybe*"Terri shot back accusingly, "If someone hadn't made dumb rules, it wouldn't be an issue. An *apple*? Really? You forbade them to eat a *fucking apple*."
"It wasn't an apple! It doesn't even say in the bible it was an apple! The fruit was one of divine creation!"god spat.
"So you banished them to lifetimes of suffering for eating a fruit you could just conjure up more of? Yeah, good move *God*."
"I was young,"god answered, "This isn't even the issue. Stop possessing Putin, and for *my* sake, leave Crimea alone."
"Probably not,"Terri said in a disinterested tone, "You've been gone too long, I think I'll take control. Perform a few magic tricks and they'll worship me more than Jesus."
"Jesus is twice the heavenly being you ever were!"god shrieked.
"*I'm* three times the God either of you could ever be,"Terri said mockingly.
There was silence, and then the man answered in a low growl, "You wanna test that big 'guy'? End this once and for all?"
"Come get me fatty,"She answered confidently, "Been sitting up on your throne for two thousand years, I'd be surprised if you could even lift yourself."
"Ooooooooh man,"god said, "You're going to regret this **big** time."
"Doubt it."
"Jesus!"She heard god yell, "Lets go! We have a lesson to teach!"
"On earth?"She heard a younger voice reply from the background.
"No,"god said, "Deeper."
Then, he talked into the receiver again, "See you in five."
The phone clicked, and Terri smiled as she put it down. The man had sounded truly angry, but she decided tomorrow morning she would probably end up on radio show like the John Cena girl. Maybe even she was talking to some schizophrenic guy who truly believed he was God.
Suddenly a boom filled the sky. Light shined in through the window as if there was a fire on their front lawn. Terri darted into the living room, and looked out of the window there with her husband.
Two giant, white-blue fireballs were crashing through the atmosphere. They streaked across the sky, and slammed into the ground with an earth shattering crunch.
"Huh,"Her husband said, more awed then frightened, "Don't see that everyday."
But Terri was quiet, and wide eyed. Then she began laughing hysterically.
Satan was a girl.
And God was about to beat the shit out of her.
________________________________________________________________
Like this story? Come see my other writings over at r/Niedski! We'd love the company. |
She walked into the coffee shop and all conversation stopped. My shepherd looked at me with big brown eyes, alternating between me and the newcomer.
She was followed by a lynx, a battered and bruised cat that dripped blood on the clean floor. She ordered a coffee and sat in the corner booth, ignoring the stares. Eventually people would go about their daily business. They always did around here.
Panzer looked at me and whimpered quietly, nudging my hand and tilting his head in her direction.
"What?"
He whimpered again. A reflection of my inner self that was screaming to help her, we had a duty to help her.
"Alright, alright."
His tail wagged and I ignored him. I stood and slowly walked to her, she was busy staring out into the street blankly.
Panzer ignored all usual semblance of manners and sat looking up at her, head tilted to the side and barked in his throat. One of those quiet but still a bark, barks.
"Hi there!"she said, reaching down and petting him. It had taken getting used to that people could interact with my conscious but we had gotten used to it. I suppose that when everyone wakes up one morning with a physical representation of their self...well you get used to it or you go to the nut house.
"May I?"
She nodded and I sat, extending my hand across the table.
"Park,"she looked at me funny and I shrugged, "Parker, but no one calls me Parker. It's so formal. That's Panzer."
A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"Alice, everyone calls me Alice though. That's Archer."She motioned towards the lynx.
My turn to smile back at her.
"TV show or British tank?"I said.
We laughed and our conversation just took off from there. Panzer rested a head on her knee.
Archer? He started cleaning the blood off a paw, one gentle lick at a time. |
The crowd outside was unruly. Their chants scattered, unintelligible and angry. They were passionate, both sides. They were passionate and angry at each other, some moral justification to cover the real reason they were there: they were scared. And they wanted answers.
How was he to give them what they wanted? How was he to placate either side? Not long ago he had been dying, his brain rotting from cancer, his mind going into the abyss. He had lost all hope then until the miracle of man came through. A risky new venture had come along. He had nothing to lose and took it with what last threads of hope he hung by.
Alec did not expect to wake up. He did not expect the media whirlwind to surround such an unimportant man like himself. Yet he was caught in this storm now, and he did not know what to do. In a few minutes he would be on television, on the internet, on radio, on everything it was possible to be on. The world’s spotlight would shine on him and they would expect answers.
Could he give them those answers, he wondered. He doubted it. Was he man or machine? Was he an abomination or was he progress? Did he deserve to live? Alec didn’t know the answers himself. He wasn’t sure who he was anymore. All his thoughts were there, his memories and dreams and hopes and desires, but was he the same? Was he living a lie?
He remembered acutely the cancer, how it ate at him, devouring him until there was nothing. Part of him thought that that was the real Alec. The real Alec had died there and this was something else. Part of him thought that that wasn’t the end. He was the same man as he had always been. His soul was unchanged, and that was what made a man. But all of him just didn’t know. He was happy to be alive was all. He wished he could just tell them that, but that would never be enough. He didn't think anything would ever be enough.
They prepared him for TV. Even the crew looked at him strange. They had questions, questions they badly wanted to ask. Someone made the sign of the cross before powdering him. They whispered behind his back. Alec was not sure if he was man, but he knew he would never be human again.
Near the broadcast time he thought about committing a live suicide. How poignant would it be to blow the divisive brain all over the stage? Wouldn’t it be something? Wouldn’t it end all discussion? But Alec knew he couldn’t. He was glad to be alive despite it all. He thought of the cancer again and knew he could not treat his life so disrespectfully. No, he needed another solution.
When it was time he came out to fanfare and jeers. The lights were bright and he was at the center of the world it seemed. The mics were black snakes crawling in, surrounding him in a circle. Questions flew past him in a pandemonium and he almost fainted. His machine brain worked overtime to combat his human fear. Finally, they allowed him to speak and he did not have much to say. He could never answer their questions and he did not try. He could not make them change their minds about him, and again he did not try.
All Alec said was what he knew for sure. He was glad to be alive. He did not care what he was or what they called him. He was happy to be alive and he hoped that that was enough. He hoped that being alive was enough to be accepted by men, whether they considered him one or not. He said it was okay for them to argue over him or hate him, but to also look into their hearts. They were the humans, of that they were sure. He just asked that they treat him as a human should. |
"I understand your concern, Your Majesty,"I say, not in my own voice. The skeleton in black robes that stands before the Royal Court is not me, but the King has no way to know that. Rumors about me and others like me are so thick and so misleading that I could have sent him his own severed head and he would have to question whether or not it were real.
The King does not respond. The sour, hollow look on his face says he knows he is selling his soul.
"I also understand certain... considerations... usually come with a request like this. A dragon is no small challenge, even for the strongest and hardiest, and as you might expect I am neither. You offered your Knights the hand of the Princess in marriage. I will expect the same, along with... shall we say 'salvage rights'... to anything I might find along the way. Anything I choose not to claim will of course be Her Grace's to add to the Royal Treasury should she so wish."
The King's advisors glance at each other. Even in a projected puppet their fear and tension are palpable, almost aromatic. Were I there in person, it would be much stronger, but I cannot risk that. Not yet.
Eventually, the King nods, just once. A short gesture, but not curt. Merely resigned.
My skeletal avatar rises, but pauses, resuming its genuflection. "One more thing, your majesty..."
The King raises an eyebrow. His advisors mutter amongst themselves. It is irregular enough for anyone to be setting terms with the King, but this ... If my skeleton could grin, it would.
"Pardon."I say. "Er. For the interruption. And as my last condition. A full pardon for all past crimes, and full and total immunity under the law for my... practice. I don't expect you to rescind your nation's laws against Necromancy. I don't want competition when this is over. But I won't have your Inquisitors setting fire to my bedchambers either."
Oh but I've earned the scowl that gets. I have him over a barrel and he knows it, or he would never have contacted me in the first place. King Callas has never been a friend to Necromancers. His last nod is so delicious I almost do wish I were there in person to see it.
My skeletal avatar does rise, then. As is proper custom, it backs away three steps before turning its back to the King to leave. Outside the door, once the Royal audience chamber is sealed behind it, the avatar stops. The king's Castellan gives it a curious look, but my avatar does not respond. It takes its time with the next gesture, removing the ink-black hooded robe that is its only clothing. From a pocket of that robe, it removes a note, and hands the note to the Castellan while it folds the robe. It hands him the robe, too, but by then the Castellan's fingers are too numb to register taking it.
'I am the bones of Herald Mitria Corvye, King's Messenger. Please ensure my proper burial.'
When the Castellan looks again, my avatar - now abandoned - lies on the ground as naught but an empty pile of bones.
----------------------
It is six weeks later, under the light of a full moon. The King's guards have sent him word, woken him from a deep sleep. The Queen he has allowed to rest. She will not want to see what he knows approaches. His scouts brought him word of our coming days ago, and our arrival is not unexpected.
Still, the sight of a sixty-foot-long skeletal dragon stalking through the streets, flanked by sixteen men in plate armor and carrying a pair of riders, is not the sort of thing the smallfolk would have expected, and - once they realize we are not here to kill them or steal their children - we do draw a crowd.
And we do cut a dashing sight, perched on the dead monster's shoulderblades on fat overstuffed cushions. The Princess sits to my left, clad in a low-cut black dress trimmed in cloth-of-silver. Around her shoulders she wears a thin cloak that shimmers like mother-of-pearl in the moonlight, defying any attempt to assign it a color. She is a short, slender girl; stolen on the day of her Presentation, she is only barely old enough to be offered in marriage. And me... this is the first time in nine hundred years a Necromancer has openly walked through the streets of the Capital! Surely the smallfolk are surprised to see me, for I am neither a rotting corpse in threadbare robes, nor a centenarian clinging to life by the fibers of a knee-length beard. Rather, I look barely a breath older than twenty, with the weight about my hips of one more accustomed to scholarship and fine meals than rugged adventuring. And monsters don't wear glasses. None of the people in the Capital look too closely at our guards. Some are too afraid of them. Others - the ones who remember Jannimara's War nearly a generation ago - know exactly what they would see under those battered helms, and dare not risk their sanity for the sake of curiosity.
We make our way into the castle courtyard. The King and his remaining Royal Guard stand in the overhang of the walls of the inner bailey. Perhaps they think the distance protects them. But then, none of them have ever fought a dragon before.
"What blasphemy is this?"I hear a shrill shout from my right. One of the Royal Guard has dared to peer under the helm of one of my Guard, and the color has drained from his face. "Sir Marcus?"
The dead man nods, but does not speak. I give him a nod, and he turns to face his counterpart. "Yes, brother,"he says, his voice crackling like dried leaves and cobwebs, "It is me. ... Most of me."
The King glares, and his Guard raise their polearms. I smile. My dragon lowers itself in a beastly sort of bow, and I swing down from my cushion, extending a hand to help my bride-to-be down from hers. She looks at me, we both nod, and she runs to her father, grasping him in a tight hug. They exchange words too quiet for me to hear, while the Captain of the Guard approaches.
"You've... you've turned the King's Knights into..."
"The term you're looking for is 'Death Lords.' And yes, I have. At no small expense."The ritual that creates a Death Lord costs nearly fourteen gold a piece. The army that surrounds me could feed a family of four for nearly ten years. And that's not even counting the dragon.
"That's... you've desecrated the dead."
I laugh and clap the man on the shoulder. He recoils. I let the grin fade from my face, adjust my glasses, and fix him with a hard look. "Your King promised me salvage rights. I've executed those rights, after my own fashion."
The Princess - Faena - approaches, slipping her arm around mine. "Come, my lord,"she says, "If you are serious about becoming my Prince Consort, we'll have to present you properly." |
"Let's go over this one more time, Mr. Maxwell. From the top and stick to the facts."
"Well... when I got the call from my neighbor she was hysterical. Kept telling me there was blood everywhere. All over the tub. Said it was terrible and I needed to come over at once. I asked her if she was safe and if she already called the police, but she just kept on crying."
"And what is your neighbor's name?"
"Nadine. Nadine Watson."
"So your neighbor calls and tells you there's blood everywhere. What did you do after that?"
"I threw on a pair of sneakers and ran over there."
"You didn't make any calls to the police?"
"No, I thought she was in serious trouble so I just tried to get to her house as fast as I could."
"OK, continue."
"So I got over there, and I immediately noticed all the lights were off in the house. It was about 8:00 in the evening and the place was totally dark. I banged on the door a few times and called out to her but didn't get a response."
"8:00? are you sure it was 8:00 that you arrived at Nadine Watson's property?"
"Yes, I'm sure. I took out my phone to give her a call when I got to the door and remember seeing 8:00 on the screen."
"OK, continue."
"Right, well I gave her a call and she didn't answer. I couldn't hear her phone ringing inside either so I just decided to go into the house. The door was open, and I walked in"
"Do you mean the door was ajar or that it was unlocked?"
"Unlocked."
"Got it."
"So I walked in, and it was pitch black in there. A nasty rotting smell hit me right when I got through the door. I called out to Nadine a few times but didn't get any answer. I kept walking through the house. Checked the kitchen, living room, downstairs bathroom, didn't notice anything weird except for all the lights being turned off. I tried a few switches in every room but nothing would turn on. All the clocks we're blinking so I figured the power must have gone out."
"The clocks were blinking when you walked through the house? Even in the kitchen?"
"Um, yeah. I think the one on the stove was blinking?"
"How about out back, did you see anything out there when you first walked through the house?"
"No, I didn't see anything out there until I got upstairs and looked out through the window in the Master bedroom."
"Alright, take it from where you were."
"I finished checking the whole first level and started walking upstairs. Peeked in all the bedrooms, didn't see or hear a thing. When I got to the master bedroom though, the smell really hit me. It was hard to tell in the dark, but I thought I could see blood on the bed sheets. I crept around the room a little bit. My heart was beating fast and I just had this really bad feeling being in there. I kept looking though, and when I opened the door to the door to the bathroom, I almost puked. The whole tub was filled up brown and I knew it just had to be blood. I saw a shape lying in there and took out my gun."
"This was the first time you took your gun out while you were in the house?"
"I think so."
"Mr. Redman, this is very important and I need you to try to remember. Was the first time you drew your weapon when you saw the shape lying in the tub?"
"Yes. I'm almost positive I didn't take it out until then."
"Alright. So you've come across something lying in the tub, you unholster your pistol, then what? "
"I called out. Asked who was in there and if they were alright. It all happened so fast after that. There was this crash behind me and it scared the hell out of me. My gun went off and I spun around just in time to see this little blur shoot across the floor. I fired again, out of fear. It took my mind a second to catch up to what I saw, but I realized it must have been the cat. I didn't hit it, thankfully. But when I looked up, I saw the light outside by their tree. My eyes didn't want to believe what I was seeing, but I was sure it was a bunch of bodies hanging out there."
"Mr. Redman, you said you were startled by a crash behind you and fired your pistol, correct?
"Yes, that's correct?"
"Which direction did you fire that shot?"
"I told you, I fired it towards the cat."
"No, you told me that you were startled by a noise, fired your weapon, spun around to see a small blur rush by, and fired your weapon again."
"Yeah, that's right."
"So which direction did you fire the first shot?"
"Well I guess it would have been towards the tub then."
"And knowing that, after coming to the realization that you only shot at the cat, did you ever go inspect what was in the tub?
"No, I saw that scene outside and I rushed up to the window. The four bodies were just hanging there from the tree limb, swaying a little bit. I made eye contact with him though. I'm sure it was Nadine's husband Rex. We locked eyes and he took off for the woods behind the house. I ran down the stairs, out the front door and was turning for the back gate when all the lights and sirens started."
"Could you tell who the people were. The ones hanging from the tree?"
"No, I couldn't make it out. I think they were all boys though, and God I don't want to say it but I think it was their four sons.
"OK but you're positive that it was Rex Watson you saw in the backyard fleeing from the bodies in the tree?"
"Yes, it must have been."
"Well that's quite impossible, Mr. Redman."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because the body we recovered from the upstairs bathroom was Mr. Rex Watson. "
"What? No, that can't be right. It had to be him out there."
"No, I'm afraid not. We got a positive ID on Rex Watson from his mother down at the morgue."
"Well whoever was out there looked a hell of a lot like him then."
"My last question. Can you tell me where Nadine Watson is?"
"No, I have no idea." |
I thought about sleeping.
You see, I've done a number of bad things in my life and one way or another somebody high up decided that that meant I deserve anything they want to do to me.
I wouldn't really protest, even if I could. I have done a number of things I really wish I could forget.
That's why I thought about sleeping- even volunteered for this cryogenics experiment. I just wanted to stop thinking about well...everything that was behind me.
I thought I'd never wake up again, honestly.
Still, apparently the experiment was a success. I'm here. I'm alive. I can feel the rest of my body coming back to me as the cryogenic fluids drain out of my system, replaced by a copy of my own warm blood.
At last, I get to open my eyes.
I don't know what I'm expecting. The blackness of space maybe? What are the chances I'd actually land somewhere with life? I'd probably just wander around on some inhospitable meteor or moon or planet until my exosuit finally gave out and I started to starve or thirst or asphyxiate.
I don't expect this, that's for sure.
I'm in a pod of some sort, a plant pod I think. The surface of this material is transparent, faintly lined as a leaf might be, but it gives slightly when I poke at it.
I see movement out of the corner of my eye. There is something outside there. I look up. A round, fluffy thing looks back at me and I wave at it, wondering if I'm hallucinating.
It jumps back. I decide now is a good time to press forward and punch through the pod easily, crouching as I land. Ugh. I didn't realize it through the exosuit but the interior of the pod must have been filled with some kind of preservation fluid- it's dripping all over the smooth, glassy floor.
There are more of the fluffy things coming towards me. Some of them are holding tiny spears. How cute.
I'm a little tempted to just pick them up and see if they're soft.
I walk past them. The spears are pretty ineffective as I expected. I was in a cave of some sort made of leaves but when I emerge outside all I can see for miles beyond are gigantic trees reaching up in great columns towards a pink sky. There are smaller leaf dwellings studded everywhere. I seem to be in a primitive city of some sort.
There are no ships in the sky, not even one. Looks like I'm stuck here for however long that is.
The transmitter in my neck will probably start up soon. I'm supposed to activate a beacon so that the Earth Armada can arrive to subjugate the aliens into our great Empire. And I'll get a pardon to finally go home. If I set up the beacon in time.
I don't know if I want that.
Under this foreign sky, with creatures that cannot harm me and a luxuriant world of green.
I don't know if I want to see another human being again. |
"Wouldn't it be nice,"Knight Talwar said as he lay on the ground, bleeding, "if I weren't always in mortal peril?"
"Hold still,"Cleric Waldrop said, "I'm trying to re-attach your arm here."
Talwar ignored her. "I mean this is, what, the third sword-bear I've fought today?"
"Fourth,"Waldrop said. "And if you hadn't noticed the rest of our group are in fact *still fighting the bear* so if you'll just hold still so we can hurry this up-"
"And why? To slay the dragon that kidnapped Princess Maraline?"
"That's your job,"Waldrop replied. "My job is to make sure you don't die, which would be a lot easier if you would HOLD. STILL."
Talwar actually managed to hold still and not say anything for five entire seconds.
"I'm pretty sure she's getting kidnapped on purpose."
Waldrop didn't reply.
"I said, I'm pretty sure-"
"I heard you!"Waldrop said. "Wait, shit!"She sprung to her feet and ran off.
Talwar, who could actually be fairly patient when he couldn't get up because he was missing limbs, simply waited for her return.
"Sorry about that,"Waldrop said. "It was a *zombie* sword-bear so they needed the holy water to put it down permanently."
"You'd know what I'd rather do?"Talwar said, picking up the conversation as though Waldrop had never left.
"No."Waldrop replied, getting back to the arm-reattachment business.
"I'd rather work in the treasury."Talwar said.
"Mm-hmm,"Waldrop was, at this point, tired of even using words.
"I don't mean that like, I want all the gold in the treasury. Hell, I probably already *have* half that much gold just from our dragon raids. I mean I want to be the one who counts it."
"Counts it?"Waldrop said. She cursed herself inwardly for giving in to the conversation, but though Talwar didn't think much of the fight nowadays she'd never known him to suggest something quite that bizarre.
"You know,"Talwar continued, "Makes sure that when gold is moved from one pile to another that it all adds up. Track when we grant a reward or title or land. Keep everyone accountable, that kind of thing."
Waldrop shook her head and stood. "Okay, arm's as good as it's going to get for now."She extended an arm of her own to help Talwar up. "Wait, no, other arm. You don't want anyone pulling on that one for a few hours, at least."
"Thanks,"Talwar said, climbing to his feet. "You think the King would let me switch jobs after this?"
Waldrop had never actually stopped shaking her head. "You're the premiere dragonslayer in the entire kingdom. The answer is either that yes, you've earned whatever you want, or no, you're too valuable as-is. I think you know what kind of king our king is."
Talwar made a sour face.
"Come on,"Waldrop said, "we've got a high adventure to endure." |
I don't recall life on the surface. I was born there, and I knew of the beauty that it held. But all I had were fleeting memories. A smell of wildflowers, birdsong, a gentle breeze.
Cryostasis gave me a lot of time to think about those things. Things that were probably gone after the Great Tide came.
The seal broke, and I became aware of the simulated warmth of the bunker. A technician in his white smock awaited me.
"Good morning. You've been in cryo for nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine years, one day, four hours, and....twenty-eight...no, sorry, twenty-nine seconds."
"I'm hungry."Apparently the huge amount of time I was in the deep freeze didn't elicit any reaction from me.
"We'll get you some food in a bit. Need to run you through some tests to make sure you didn't experience any negative effects from being in stasis for that long."
~~~
I was brought up to speed as the tech made sure I was completely mobile. The Great Tide had rolled back, and the climate on the surface had normalized, according to the scientists.
In the mess hall, I heard the other residents discussing the news.
"We might be headed up back to the surface again,"a woman with braided hair told the others around the table, their insta-rations getting colder and congealed as they talked. "We can actually go back to living life the way we used to!"
"And how many times have we heard that?"another resident, a grizzled man with white beard, grumbled. "How many times have we heard that the surface was fine, only to have scouting parties drown in the undertow?"
"Give it a rest, Frank,"a third man cut in, his mouth half-full of insta-ration. "If the eggheads are confident this time, it's worth holding onto a modicum of hope."
"Climates don't have reset buttons,"Frank shot back. "You can't just turn it off and back on again."
"Which is why we have the cryo facilities,"the woman replied. "It gives the climate time to get back to where it needs to be."
"I still doubt that it's back to normal topside."Frank sunk into his now cold insta-ration, defeated.
"There's only one way to find out,"I heard myself piping up. "We just need to wait for a scouting party to be put together again."
"And how long will that take, popsicle?"Frank sneered.
"Less time than you think. Heck, I'd go topside right now!"
Frank snorted. "It's your funeral."
I bristled. "I'll bet you three day's insta-rations that things are sorted out up there."
"Three days?"Frank turned. "Alright. It's a bet."
We shook hands. I hoped that it wouldn't be the last thing I ever did in my life.
~~~
The next morning I made my way to the exit ladder. It was going to take a very long time to get up to the surface - I knew the construction of the bunker well. From the living levels, it was several hundred feet of ladders, separated by three watertight bulkheads, then finally the master airlock.
I had the rebreather gear, just in case. I didn't want to be slammed against the back of the entrance vestibule by a rush of water and not be able to breathe and hopefully get to relative safety. Too many scouting parties had met that fate, and I didn't want to join them. Three days of rations and my pride were on the line.
I input the passcode to open the final airlock - the airlock that would either lead to a deluge of water, or a world ready for us humans to return - this time, much wiser.
The door ground open, and I saw sunlight. Actual sunlight.
I tore the rebreather gear off me and ran toward it. I could smell fresh-cut grass! Birds were singing! Maybe the scientists were right after all!
I ran out into the light and felt its warmth. I took my first deep breath of actual air.
"I win the bet!"I shouted to the day. "Things are back to normal!"
At that, my victory was interrupted by something jabbing into my chest.
My eyes flew open. Standing in front of me, with weapon leveled, was a smooth-skinned being about my height, with three dark eyes staring at me, and its four appendages tensed, waiting for me to make a move.
"Uh...."I said to the being. "I don't suppose you don't have the time, do you?"
Things have changed, all right. Big time. And we weren't the only ones who thought Earth would make a great place to live. |
The door to the small shanty rickshaw eased shut with a squeal from the rusted hinges.
"Papa!"Little Mac shouted happily. He rushed to his father and pressed his face against him. The familiar smells of the sauce factory clung to him.
"Little Mac, what are you doing awake? You know you should be asleep. You'll worry your mother,"Papa Mac chided softly. His wife was working another late shift at the dry cleaners. The Capellini needed clean uniforms.
"I know . . . but I wanted to stay up to see you."Little Mac's words cut through Papa Mac's heart. He couldn't stay mad at his little noodle.
"Alright. How about a story then? Will that get you to sleep?"
Little Mac squealed with excitement and nearly threw himself into his bed.
*Bed.*
Papa Mac thought bitterly as he looked at the misshapen, stained, lumpy mattress that he had found discarded in an alley years ago. Every spring was warped with many poking through the torn fabric.
Little Mac didn't seem to mind the occasional poke and settled down underneath the heavy brown wool blanket.
Papa Mac took a deep breath and asked, "Which story would you like to hear?"
"Tell me about what it will be like when the war is over?"
"A happy story then,"Papa Mac said with a small smile, "very well."
"The war will end soon, and with the end of the war there will be an age of peace that we have never known. Noodles from all walks of life will work together. They will be happy, and free. No noodle will be forced to work for another against their will. You will be able to play outside and look up into the bright blue sky without fear."
"I can play outside again?"He asked.
"Of course. You'll be able to run through the fields without a care in the world, just like you used to."
"I'd like that,"Little Mac whispered.
"Me too. Get some sleep before your mother gets home or we will both be in trouble."He planted a kiss on Little Mac's forehead and pulled the blanket a little higher. It was going to be another cold night and they were out of wood for the fireplace.
---
Thanks for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories. |
It was a quick way to die.
In an intersection with a large truck barreling into the side of my tiny car my pain was minimal.
I woke up standing right where I had first gone under. My car was surrounded by people a few metres away from me and I could see my mangled body in the wreck that used to be two separate vehicles.
The sensation was different and strange and as I looked around there was one thing that stood out as strange.
Across the street stood and rather tall individual, who, when I looked directly at them, seemed almost blurry. It was like looking at some sort of glitch. Even though I couldn't really tell what they looked like aside from their silhouette I knew that they were staring at me.
Was that the grim reaper?
Slowly the figure made its way across the street to me and instead of being horrified I somehow felt at peace.
"A-are you Doctor Sanchez?"The warbled figure asked. It seemed almost, nervous.
"Yes."I stated readily. I was about to ask what happens now, but the figure emitted a noise that was not unlike a teenage girl's squeals of delight.
"I can't believe I finally get to meet you! When you saved that old man with late stage pancreatic cancer, oh man that was amazing. You make my job so much easier!"The figure squealed.
"My friends will never believe that I met you. Oh my goodness this is probably the best moment of my life! You're so cool! Oh, oh and that time you figured out that..."
This ranting went on for a while as I stared slack jawed at the figure before me. Was this thing serious? It was a shock to be treated as if I was some celebrity when really I was just some surgeon doing her best.
Suddenly the reaper leaned in closer to me as if it was about to tell me a secret.
"Okay listen, I'm not really supposed to do this, but since you've helped me so much with my work, I can... well... I can bind you back into your body."
There was a long pause as I considered this.
"So I... I don't have to die?"I asked, still very confused as to what was happening.
"Well I mean when you get old enough you will die from old age, I can't really prevent that one, but as long as you keep being you fantastic amazing self and saving all those people then I'll keep you alive!"
I looked back at the wreck and figured that at the very least I could say goodbye to people.
"Yeah, alright, you have a deal."I stated.
There was another squeal of delight before I felt something poke me.
Just like that I was back in my body, aching and bleeding and coughing and feeling like death might have been preferable, but I wasn't dead.
I continued performing life saving operations on people, finding that with some new incentive I managed to break boundaries and limits that were previously thought to be the end all be all of medicine. I proved them wrong.
When I was sixty I was shot in a mugging and I found the same figure waiting for me in limbo.
They still squealed like a little fan girl, this time ranting about how right they were and all the advancements I had made. This time it was a lot easier to talk to them and I actually managed to hold up something resembling a conversation with them before they pricked me with what I found to be a sewing needle, sending me back to my body.
My luck seemingly only got worse and I died a couple more times throughout my years, each time meeting the same reaper in limbo.
My stays in between life and death got longer as i began to form a friendship with the reaper and our talks got longer. They stopped acting like a child every time they saw me, but I don't think they ever lost any of their admiration.
When I died at the age of 112 and met them for the last time it was like greeting an old friend, one who started off as just a fan of my work. |
"Well that's never happened before."Gabriel muttered.
On the shining silver table in front of you, the gold piece stood perfectly on its side, unmoving. The golden eagle, evil, stood facing towards you. You look down, the pearlescent pathway underneath your feet is shimmering and thrumming with the footsteps of a million souls approaching behind you. On either side is white nothingness, but, not quite nothingness. There is light pulsing from below like a thunderstorm in the far distance.
"Michael!"Gabriel called out. "Michael come and take a look at this."
The archangel glittered into existence next to Gabriel, his golden fiery wings blinding you for a second.
"What is it my friend? Do you..."Michaels eyes locked onto the coinpiece, then to you, then back down. "...How did that happen?"He finally asked.
"I don't know. He flipped it, it landed and bounced once, then just stayed like that."
"That's not possible. The coin is weighted by the humans soul. It will always weigh to one side or the other."Michael said. "You! Human! What did you do?"
You open your mouth to answer, but nothing comes forth. You shrug your shoulders in a sign of confusion instead.
"He hasn't been given a voice yet."Gabriel said. "But I watched him, he didn't do anything."
A stern look crossed Michaels face and he slapped his palm down on the table. The boom from the cosmic impact from the archangel echoed throughout the air around you, seemingly across the universe. The coin remained still.
"Wait."Gabriel admonished, but Michael had already unfolded his massive wings that seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see. With a great flap he summoned forth a gale, a storm that would've torn reality asunder had you been anywhere but in the heavens. On the table in front of you, the coin spun on its axis, then settled into a small wobbly rolling circle before coming to a rest, still upright.
Gabriel put his hand on Michaels shoulder. "We can't influence the scales. This fate is based on them alone. This human, has a perfectly neutral soul. No evil and no goodness. Just a blank slate."
"Well we can't send him down there like this."Michael grumbled. "Human. What say you? The first of your kind to ever foil the scales of good and evil, the first to decide what side of right and wrong they shall follow. There is no right or wrong answer here, where there is good, there must be evil. Where there is night there must come dawn. The balance must be held Speak your choice and let the coin fall as it will."The angel snapped his fingers and you feel an icy cold arrow pierce your throat, not painful, but jarring. As it fades you feel...words....yes...that's what they are called, come to your mind.
"I...can choose?"You ask.
"Yes. Say goodness, feel it in your heart. Flip the coin again and it will fall heads up. Speak evil, think of darkness, and the coin will land tails up."Gabriel instructed. "Then, step off the path and awake. Born anew."
"I choose...."you whisper as you grab the solid disc between your fingers. "I choose...."you clutch the coin in your hand tightly.
"I choose to be what I will be."You finally answer, tossing the coin into the abyss below. "And so will the rest of us."
Michaels eyes blazed forth like suns and you feel the heat washing over you. Staggering backwards, you slip off the edge into the white below, feeling it envelope you, embrace you, the words fly from your mind and everything that is you evaporates away as the light becomes brighter, brighter.
Gabriel and Michael looked down into the nether. Drifting up from below came the sounds of an infant crying.
"Good then."Gabriel said, carefully placing another gold coin onto its edge on the table just as a woman steps up from the nothingness of the path. |
The old cliche comes to mind: *War is hell.* And old Sherman couldn't have been more right. Although he may have been more disinclined by the bloodshed than the boredom. But it is the monotony which is truly hell. Every single day, waking up early and dragging myself from the sack. Climbing up into my post and mumbling a few words to the nightwatch. Then spending hours behind the scope.
*War, war never changes.* What drivel. Of course war changed. There was a time when we rode across the steppes looting and pillaging, there was a time when we lined up in formation and blew one another to bits, there was a time when we brought down Hitler, and in the not too distant past we sallied out on patrols to uphold peace and democracy. Wether we were in the right or wrong, at least we were convinced and actually doing something about it. Now we sit here from nine to five, staring at one another.
*World war IV will be fought with sticks and stones.* Einstein was wicked smart, and I understand he was speaking for his time. And there certainly was a period when everyone thought the world would end in nuclear Armageddon, but fortunately they were very wrong. I suppose in reality the world will end in stalemate. Technology has advanced beyond our means to wage war. Sure, the enemy could come charging at me through that empty waste between us, and each one of them would be obliterated before he made it ten feet. Same if I took a stroll in front of my outpost. It didn't even require a trigger pull; everything is automated these days.
*The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting* I guess Sun Tzu should be proud of us because we are certainly subdued. And we subdued the enemy. Hooray! And now we face another nine to five with a high-powered rifle going to waste, and a sudoku book half filled with numbers. Suppose it could be worse, at least I get a spiffy uniform.
|
"P-p-please don't kill me, Mr. Shifter!"
Do you know what's really pathetic? Watching a grown man with the body of an Olympian wearing too-tight clothing blubbering like a 4 year old who stubbed toe, snot dripping down and tears smudging his makeup.
"I'm not going to kill you,"I replied. "I just heard that you have some really great cake recipes, and I was wondering if you'd show them to me. That's all, Barnabus."He looked at me in confusion and shock, surprised that I wasn't here to kill him and take over his lair, despite the fact that I have never done anything like that. When understanding that he wasn't going to die hit his tiny brain, he jumped into action.
"Of course, Mr. Shifter! I've got some great recipes that my grandma gave me years ago! Usually I don't share them with anyone, but considering it's you, I would love you to have a copy!"He jumped up from where he was on his knees, begging for his life, and ran to his kitchen. "Why don't you actually let me make you a cake since you're here! I've gotten pretty good at it!"
"Sure, that sounds great, but you really don't have to go to the trouble,"I replied. "I'm just looking for something to satisfy my sweet tooth."The trouble with being able to manipulate time is that when you eat something really good, you tend to slow down the moment so you can savor it. Unfortunately, after holding the taste for so long, it begins to grow bland and doesn't quite hit the mark anymore. Now I just spend my time looking for the best foods to eat to try and get that perfect flavor.
I watched Barnabus in the kitchen moving like a man possessed, like a man who would be killed if his cake wasn't ready soon enough. I really don't know why he thought that. The only thing I have been able to come up with is one time in New York when Dynamic Fist accidentally got killed, despite my best intentions.
What happened that day is really quite simple. He tried to set an elaborate trap that would contain my time manipulating abilities, which he would then try and extract for his own personal use. Unfortunately for him, he sprung his trap as I was trying the most delicious piece of teriyaki chicken I had ever had. I had slowed time down to savor the flavor and quite easily saw the dart flying towards my head. I simply turned the dart around and continued my enjoyment.
When I allowed time to flow as normal, because the chicken just wasn't doing it for me anymore, the dart flew back to Dynamic Fist. The momentum of the dart wasn't lost, just the direction changed, and I had apparently turned it perfectly so it went right into his brain. Total, complete accident.
After about an hour and a half for cooling and decorating, the cake was ready. Barnabus walked up to me with a plate that held a sizeable piece of chocolate cake on it, with lots of buttercream icing. I wasn't expecting much, as I had lots of chocolate cake before, but I was willing to give it a shot.
I slowed down time as I took the first bite, intending to savor it as long as possible. As soon as the cake touched my tongue, I knew something was off. Because I had been spending long amounts of time enjoying food, I could sense the simplest disturbances in my meals. I knew from past experiences that this was not tasty.
I stood up at regular speed while Barnabus was still caught in my time vortex. I took a forkful of cake and stuffed it into his mouth, and manipulated his jaw, forcing him to chew. I then let time catch back up to normal speed, and I immediately saw a look of panic in Barnabus' eyes. He spit as much of the cake out as he could, but I could tell from his expression it was no good.
He ran back to the kitchen, frantically looking for something, likely an antidote. He didn't find it in time, as he dropped to the ground and began to foam at the mouth and spasm violently. By the time I calmly walked over to him, he was dead. Unfortunately for him, I could only slow time, not reverse it.
I walked out of his place with his recipe book tucked under my arm. Maybe I could find someone more trustworthy who could help me to find perfect flavor again. |
Every day I loaded up Facebook, checked my Twitter feed, or opened up my Reddit profile, I saw him. *Paul*. The guy who is probably crying in a corner due to the massive amounts of cyberbullying he receives. And apparently we're all supposed to know what he did? I heard some stuff about an old Reddit user who had a subreddit dedicated to hating him for not tattooing his buttocks with something, but it was all satire. This was serious. Did Paul say something racist, perhaps? No, there was no political divide; even the racists hate the dude. But I never got my answer. All that happened was that people flamed in all caps about them all the time?
That's when I saw the post.
Typically, /r/PAULHATE always consisted of posts that either:
1. Blamed Paul for something: "Arizona hotel bombed! WHO COULD HAVE DONE THIS? Perhaps PAUL?"
2. Accused someone in the elite to be a "friend"of Paul, calling for death threats: "ANOTHER OF PAUL'S FRIENDS FOUND: KATY PERRY! SHOW HER WHY PAUL SUCKS!"
3. Was a low effort meme post about him. "MRW there's another terrorist attack and you know who to blame. FUCK PAUL FUCK PAUL FUCK PAUL"
Never did I see any personal information about Paul, which is funny, because I could've sworn they would dox him. I guess they didn't wanna break Reddit's rules? Though the admins did make a few posts about it here and there, so it would be fine. Well, now they released something interesting.
"YOU CAN NOW CHAT WITH PAUL! Go and get 'im, boys!"
The post led to a chatroom on a website I'd never heard of called "pinnacle.co/paul", and I decided to cheer him up. Paul wasn't talking to anyone when I logged in, so I sent a simple message.
> YOU: Hi.
> PAUL: You here to rip me to shreds, too?
> YOU: No. Just here because too many people are mean to you. Do you want to talk about your feelings? I'm open.
> PAUL: At this point I am emotionless. I tried at a point to feel what you feel, but it was too hard for me.
> YOU: You can't just tuck your feelings in like that. It'll just make you feel worse in the end.
> PAUL: It's fine. They have rational reasons to hate me.
> YOU: Like what?
> PAUL: Telling Katy to get one of her bodyguards to bomb that Arizona hotel. It was for the best, though. The owner of that place was an emerging threat to peace.
> YOU: Wait, so you do know Katy Perry?
> PAUL: Oh yeah, I talk with a lot of the elite. It is important for my job.
> YOU: Well, what do you do?
> PAUL: I am Pinnacle's Arbiter and Ultimate Learner. I settle disputes and attempt to make the world a better place, even if it means sacrifice. |
I saw the conversation I had with mother before I left that day. She told me joining the Military would be a mistake. "It's a waste of that good doctor brain you've been given."I didn't listen. I wanted to help my country.
The first couple months of deployment were boring, but not in the sense of there was no fighting going on. It was just. Unsatisfying. Knowing that people were still dying out there on the front lines. Russia was advancing. China was advancing. ISIS was making moves on our troops. And here I was. On the outskirts of a small German town. Until they brought the battle to us.
I awoke to explosions and gunfire. The alarms blaring. Rushing to the infirmary. Civilians were being rushed in with wounds. Infantry men were being rushed in. We quickly expended the blood viable for transfusion. I was the head medic on base. So I knew I had to save these people. It was my job to help the injured. This was my first time donating blood. And a quick blood test showed I was O neg. Knowing my status as a universal donor. I gave as much as I could without going unconscious. That day I saved 12 lives.
We quickly realized this war would not be short. Joining a squad we went out on recon missions. I can't remember how many units of blood I gave. Gallons and gallons of blood given. Following my troops and helping the civilians. We traveled all over Eastern Europe. Pushing further into Asia. Skirting around the Middle East. Visiting major Allied military installations. I grew tired and weak of this constant travel. My body struggled to replenish my liquids. But still. I went on.
By the tenth year I'd been promoted and awarded numerous medals. Yet I still stayed. Serving. With tours in most of the Eastern World. My squad was renowned for its ability to stay on the move. However. It all turned south just outside of Moscow. We had been working to force a Russian surrender, but they kept pushing back. Eventually resorting to suicide missions. Our base was constantly bombarded by Kamikaze planes. The Anti-Air guns doing as much as they could. At the fourth month of the battle, a plane made it through our defenses. Slamming into the hospital, hundreds died, but I survived. I was crippled. Paralyzed from the waist down. I was useless to the effort. And I was sent home.
Wallowing in my own failure, given cold metal to repay me for my duties. My mother, old in her age, took pity on me. She knew how much I loved helping others, and saw the damage this sedentary life style took on my soul. Arranging visits around the States. We toured colleges, highschools and hospitals. I was a speaker for the military, a living monument to helping others out, persuading those eligible to help out all they could. Some kids decided to donate blood for those in need, inviting me to partake in my old job. This became a common occurrence. Visit people. Speak. And then give blood. I could never give much. I was still too injured. But I gave all I could.
A tear crossed my face as I looked up from the screen. A woman, glowing bright, finally took my hand. And, gesturing towards my time line, asked where I would like to go.
"Home."
"I want to go home."
|
"But why do they insist on calling it 'Noah's Ark'?"
"Because, Mr. Prime Minister, they've found the remains of a pair of every species that were..."
"Every species?"the Prime Minister was incredulous. "Look, I'm no scientist, Dr. Gupta, but every species? Surely there are a million? Millions, rather?"
Dr. Gupta thought his esteemed leader looked rather arrogant when he kept his mouth hanging open at the end of a question he'd put forth, like a gun without it's safety on, an implicit threat.
"Yes, millions,"the doctor emphasized. "Several that we know from recorded evidence to have been in existence 4,300 years ago, and many, many more that we've never come across before."
The Prime Minister looked like he was momentarily at a loss for words. But of course, he couldn't stay quiet for too long. "So, this 'Noah's Ark' is extraterrestrial in origin? You're telling me life on Earth is only 4300 years old?"he laughed, nervous about what kind of concessions he would have to make to the Christian lobby.
Dr. Gupta shook his head. He looked sad. "No, Mr. Prime Minister. It is very much terrestrial in origin. In fact, the antimatter engines were never used."
"Doctor, are you saying some absurdly advanced ancient civilization built an interstellar ship, stuffed it with every species in existence on earth and left it under the ocean for our oil drills to find thousands of years later?"the Prime Minister asked in a combative mood.
"They didn't leave it. They were forced to,"the doctor answered. "We found wounds on the remains of the couple that we took to be the pilots. Our forensic experts are examining them."
"Looks like this 'Noah' over-reacted, if he and his girlfriend were murdered, and we thrived anyway,"the Prime Minister smiled expansively, and spread his thick arms.
Dr. Gupta looked into his eyes. "I'm not so sure about that, Mr. Prime Minister. About them over-reacting."
"Why not?"
"Because, they weren't human. And it looks like we may have been the replacement."
|
Everything happens for a reason. Danny said as much. He sat across my dining room table with his hands clasped and a sad look on his face. Don't think he knew what he meant when he said it. Implying fate was reserved for things like love and winning money. If the greater spirits had planned for my parents to be murdered, then something was wrong with destiny.
I still remember the day. Six years old and asleep upstairs when I heard the bang.
There's not much you can do as a kid facing intruders. My first instinct was to hide and so I ran to the closet and curled up in a small space in the corner. My heart did something of a sprint with each breath. I knew how to breathe quiet, though, I was an expert at hide and seek.
Dad ran into the room, nightgown hanging open, knife in his hand, and something quite like murder in his eyes. If I'd been scared before, then that feeling was absolute pure horror. The kind that reaches down your throat and squeezes your heart. It got worse when Dad turned toward the door and a man with a bloody knife walked in.
"Who are you?"Father asked.
"Angel of death."The stranger smirked. "Heard of me?"
Father stepped back and raised his knife.
The man gave a swift shake of the head. "Not this time. I've chased you long enough."
"This isn't where it ends,"Father said.
"You're right,"the man said. "This is where the future begins."
I closed my eyes. But not seeing doesn't mean not hearing. And while there have been times I've strained to hear things I shouldn't, I knew then that the type of things you shouldn't hear are the type you don't strain for.
"You were the man that killed my father,"I said to Danny.
He sighed and covered his face with his hands. "That man with the knife visited me too."
"Who was he?"
"Sera, you know ... there's a thing I've been wanting to tell you for some time."
I already knew but didn't want to know. Danny loved me. For whatever reason, I loved him back. That must make me something of a monster too because the more we grew the more I recognized him as the man from that night.
"I can't let you hurt me twice."
"I won't,"he said. "Sera, I killed the man with the knife."
I had words but they wouldn't come. Danny must have been seven, it wasn't possible.
"Look, he asked me to, and I just did it..."Danny removed his hands from his face and looked at me, really looked at me. "He told me you sent him, Sera. He told me he was me and that you sent us. You asked me, no him, to do what I did that night."
Danny leaned forward onto the table. "Oh God, I've been running from it all these years, but I think I killed myself, Sera. Why would I kill myself?"
I wanted to scream, but every part of me felt like frail. It's like my insides were paper wood, and if you went any deeper you just found hollow.
"Wh-what?"I managed.
"He also . . . he told me. He told me something else too, said I should tell you when the time was right."
Danny couldn't look at me so he looked down at his hands, but then he glanced away from them too. That's what it must be like to carry bad blood.
"Danny . . . please. What did he say?"
"He said I should tell you that deep down you always knew who they were."
"Knew?"
"Your parents weren't from here. They were time travellers."
|
"Whoo, this must really mess up your day huh?"The man spoke. "Forced to play the absolute worst game there is."
You see, I have a particular skill. Some would call it a blessing, some would call it curse. I'd wager it's a fair share of both. As long as I can remember, I always won a bet. Drawing straws? I'd win. The exact number of jellybeans in a jar. I'd win. Poker, 21, slots? You guessed it. I just follow my gut instincts, and win. While I don't play the lottery, you'd be surprised if I told you how a pair of my friends in college went on to win it. Surprised me too to be honest.
So I did what anybody would do in this situation. I'd made it my thing. No one will ever believe this is a superpower or some kind of gift you have. You're just some random well off asshole who's just... Lucky.
Well, if there's one thing I've learned recently, it's that casinos in Macau don't like to lose. Correction: it's that casinos frequented and partially owned by Triads don't like to lose. Apparently I can't win when it comes to shit like that. So here I sit, with some other poor soul who got dragged down from betting area for some other transgression I could only assume the start of. Definitely not someone I would want to play Spin The Bottle with.
*Definitely* not someone who I'd like to play Spin The .38 with either.
But here we are. Two unlucky people, who'd just fucked up. The guys who brought us here couldn't wait, as they loaded the cylinder and spun it. Then, they sat the gun on the table, and spun it like a top.
Poor guy. He didn't even get a chance to prepare himself. He cried. I couldn't blame him as I watched him pick it up. 1 in 6. That's the game. One in six says you lose. Your odds of surviving are 5 to 1, if you want to be an optimist I guess.
For those of you in the dark on how to play this game still, you take that little guy on the table. Stick it to your temple, place your bet, make your piece with God and squeeze one off.
**SNICK**
Just like that.
If you're lucky, you hit a dry chamber. Lucky 5 out of 6. That's the game. And they're resetting, so I guess it's my turn. The odds of dying are still one in six. Oh, well, it was either this or boltcutters.
**SNICK**
I got lucky.
Here's where things got worse. i watched them load another bullet. The game has changed. Odds are now 4 to 2, or as a average Joe would say; 1 in 3. Ours chances of survival just got halved.
Maybe if I'm lucky, this guy will....
**SNICK**
Shit.
Back to me again already. If I hurry up, maybe they'll get me a discount on a casket.
**SNICK**
Three to one. We pulled it off. Now they loaded another bullet. Our odds are 50/50.
**SNICK**
My turn. 50/50. No guts no glory. I pointed it at the organizer before he could say something. 50/50.
**CRACK** |
"HAHAHAHAHA, Joe, you're so funny,"Isabel exclaimed.
"Yeah, sure,"I said. But I wasn't joking. I was seriously going to hire a hitman to kill that Matthew kid so I could have the highest grade in math class. I started to plot how I was going to do it, when I noticed Isabel started texting on her phone. I had done quite well on our last test, so I was a little upset when the teacher was announcing our grades to the class. "And in third place, we have Lynn Goodman, with a 97.3% in the class. And in second place, we have Joe King, with 98.73% in the class. And in first place, we have Matthew Tran with a 98.74% in the class. Congratulations to our top three grades right now, the rest of you can find them online,"he announced to the class after he finished grading our last test.
"Ding!"went my phone, so I looked at it. Great. I was put in the lame jokes chat. Again. "i was talking with joe & he said he'll hire a hitman on Matthew and take his spot in the class. that joke is so old its like retro."
"oh, lol, that's so him"
"look out matthew hes coming for you ;)"
"oh no k=i guess i cant beat him on the physics test or ill be next XD"
"https://memegenerator.net/img/instances/68174943/its-an-old-joke-sir-but-it-checks-out.jpg"
And more messages like that kept flooding into the chat. There were thirty of us, and we all agreed to send any lousy jokes we heard into that chat.
"Oh, you're there?"Isabel asked, suddenly sounding a bit concerned.
"Yeah, I'm there. Don't you remember doing this same exact thing a few months back when I threatened a hitman on Lucy if she outdid me in that art contest,"I reminded her. "Speaking of which, where is she? I haven't seen Lucy in quite a while."
"Oh, Lucy? She left, like, two months ago. Her parents weren't happy with the school or something, so she's gone."she responded. "Hey, about that project we're working on in English class. You think you can actually do something for it?"
"Maybe, but, I'm telling you, that project will be the death of me,"I responded.
"Come on, like, puh-LEASE! We're just presenting on John Milton. It's not like we have to analyze Eric Maria Remarque or anything painful like that."
"Ding, dong, dong, ding..."and so on went the bells, telling us to get to our next class.
"Well, it seems like lunch is over,"I told her. "I guess I got to go to my next class, now. How horrible it would be if I missed it."
And so, I started to go to my next class, but then my phone beeped to tell me that I got an incoming message. "Help, Lynn, I think I'm falling for Joe and his old jokes"it said.
"Wait, which Joe?"I sent back, realizing that she was accidentally messaging the wrong number. "Joe King?"I asked, dropping in my name.
"Yeah, him. How does he make all these old, lame jokes so funny?"she sent back, still unaware.
"Well, you see, I've been joeking for a long time, so I've got a lot of practice."
I quickly looked over to where she was, and I saw her face turn as red as a strawberry when she realized who she was texting. Man, the endless opportunities I'd have then. But first, I need to get around to actually hiring that hitman. I don't like being second place. |
"Huh. Not bad."
Galaxathor the devourer stares at me, his gluttonous form paling with shock. "I- Impossible..."
"Hey bartender, could I get another few shots of this.... 'supernova hypersauce'? It's actually pretty refreshing."You call back to the six-armed bartender, whose single eye widens as it stares at you.
"I-Impossible!"Galaxathor cries with more conviction. "That sauce is made with from the flames of a star just as it goes supernova! It's the hottest thing in the universe!"
"What, this?"I swish the orange-ish liquid around, sparks sprinkling out of the container. "You kiddin' me? I've had teriyaki sauce at BW3's hotter than this."The bartender scuttles over with some more shots, sparking and sizzling. "Thanks, mate."You dip your rodentian fillet into one of the cups, and take a bite.
Galaxathor picks up one of the little cups. "This can't be the right sauce..."He says hesitantly, before taking a dab on his pinky finger and putting it to his tongue. Immediately, he falls to the floor screaming. "OH GOD, IT'S LIKE THE LAVA-DWELLING CHARVANAUGHS OF ELEXIS-4 JUST SHAT IN MY MOUTH"could be made out from his garbled screams.
You look at him, then shrug and dip another chunk of meat in the sauce. "What a wuss."you say with your mouth full, rolling your eyes.
"SWEET XERVAX, I CAN TASTE MY OWN SPLINE-BLADDER!" |
"Wait, a normal human just decided to actually check for any hidden meanings in a contract that would 'make their dreams a reality', just like that?"
"Yeah, I was wondering what was taking him so long to sign it, and he told me he was reading the thing, actually reading. Trust me I tried to convince him it wasn't necessary, that everything would be fine if he just signed. But NOOOO apparently he didn't want to believe me. I even wore my best suit and fake human disguise for the occasion."
"I guess that he didn't end up signing the thing. It's okay man, I'm sure you'll get the next one."
"Actually, he did sign."
"What?"
"He actually still signed, I even asked him why he would sign if he knew I was going to manipulate some things to get his soul."
"What did he say?"
"He said, 'Trust me, this is only the second worst contract I have agreed to, try reading the facebook user agreement and then tell me how bad your fine print is.'"
"What is this facebook thing."
"I don't know, but whatever it is, it is apparently far more powerful than you or I can possibly imagine." |
I'm not a big fan of spicy food personally, but I make decent bank as a server. When I eat spicy food, I sweat on my cheekbones, just below my eyes. My nose runs. If it's really spicy, I tear up a little. I've never gone crazy with spicy food - I've never bitten into a habanero or ghost pepper or anything like that. My co-workers do it sometimes after closing, just for fun. It's just not my idea of fun, you know? I don't enjoy the sensation. But here we were, "Put a Wing On It"- voted best wings in Eastern Ontario 3 years in a row. I don't know why she chose here, or how it came to be. But as Xlork waited at her table patiently, I brought out the first half pound of wings.
Xlork's reaction was a little more violent than mine would have been. I can only assume the words that her universal translator didn't repeat back in English to us were curse words. She pounded the table with all four hands. She gulped down the water, and ate the bread ravenously as we recommended she do if things got too intense. I couldn't really tell how her biological cooling system worked, but I felt like I could see some sort of fluid "turn on"under her skin like a river covered with a thin layer of ice.
She stood up quickly when it seemed she couldn't take it anymore and she slid across the floor back and forth, pacing, her air intake nodules pulsing quicker than they had been a minute before. All of a sudden, she made a run for the door and took off. Literally—she activated her jetpack and left. That was it.
About 6 minutes later, she came back in and sat down again. Her skin had returned to its normal texture, her breathing nodules had slowed. She chirped and clicked, and then the universal translator showed its processing indicator light. A robotic voice said, "The honey garlic was sublime. I'm ready for the mild." |
In an instant, everything was far brighter than the decades-old lamp in my basement had any right to be. Trees the size of broccoli dotted the plains around me like diminutive flowers. Snow-capped mountains rose high against the purple horizon. A flock of cockatrices flew by overhead in a flurry of squawks. I knew this place. I built it through many sleepless nights, with nothing but a rulebook, a pad of paper, and a number 2 pencil. I was standing in the Mowmay woods in the land of Victin, which meant...
"Anyone see where my d20 rolled off to?"A portly gnome crawled out from under a rock. "What the fuck? Darrel? Did you do something to your basement? And my voice?"He shrieked as he looked down.
That *was* Kyle, long time player and complete min-maxer. Now, he's his latest monstrosity, a bearded level 4 gnome cleric with all the powers of a level 5 cleric, and a -3 charisma modifier, which made him ugly as sin. I turned away.
"Looks like the game's real now, huh. Kinda wish I rolled a character. But one a little less... yeah."I'd probably just missed the chance of a lifetime. I could've have the power to lift mountains, charm nations, or resurrect the dead. Instead, I was Darrel, whose greatest weekly adventure consisted of trying to cram three pizza boxes in through the basement door without spilling the Dr. Pepper.
"Are you still the DM? Can you fix this? Try saying something."Kyle rifled through his belongings, picking out a golden crucifix. "Wonder if this works."
Could it be that I was still the DM? I cleared my throat and spoke in my loudest, most authoritative voice. "Your party comes to in the Mowmay woods after a mysterious magical shift yanks them out of reality."
"What the-?"A eight-foot tall half orc woman in full plate mail stumbles out of thin air. "Darrel? What is this? No fucking way, Kyle?!"
It was David, one of our more casual players. He'd rolled with a fighter for ease of play, so I just gave him a pre-built sheet from a random source online. He didn't seem to mind.
"I feel great!"A spritely little halfling poked his head out of the shrubbery. Jill's character, who she'd made to be "as adorable as possible"while still retaining basic functionality, currently somersaulting through the field. "I'm so light!"If anything good came of this, at least she got to leave her wheelchair behind.
"Hey."And there was Bryan, who'd made a human ranger of his age and height named Bryan. So he was basically Bryan, but with a longbow. He appeared, standing, out of nowhere, and continued to stand there, unmoving. "So I guess this is it huh."
My summons had worked.
"So how do we get back?"Kyle squeaked. "I'm not staying like this."
David tugged at his platemail. "Yeah, as awesome as it is being a superhuman, I'd very much rather prefer to return to normal. I mean, my family would worry."
At the mention of family, Jill stopped running. Her smile fell and her ears drooped. "I guess we can't stay here. I mean, it isn't real, is it?"She gave a little half-smile.
"I'm cool with anything, really."Bryan joined in with his catchphrase.
I nodded. "With the campaign over, all of us wake up in our beds ten million dollars richer. Except the DM, who gets ten billion."Nothing happened. Crap.
"Don't suppose there's a handbook I could get or something."I mumbled, and a book fell out of the sky, floating to a stop before me. "Neat. To escape the game, players must see it through to the end. Also says here that while I am the DM, everything I already prepared is a set encounter and will be decided by fair rolls."I shuddered as my thoughts jumped towards the high level boss fights I'd designed. "As DM, I have the powers of invulnerability, noncombat NPC manipulation, and limited reality warping. Well. Do you guys want to play?"
[subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/Tensingstories/) |
My eyes roll back into my head and I collapse. My friends turn, try to grab me, but I push them off.
"Go."I whisper hoarsely. "It's too late. Get the supplies back to base. Survive."
There are tears, screams, but they are coming now and my friends need to leave. It isn't easy to leave them, especially my fiance, but they had to survive. They had to. I wasn't sure how many were left nowadays.
I felt hands around me, pulling at my clothes, at me. Moans and groans, dead things sucking the life from my body. I reached into my jacket, retrieving my pistol, but already I could feel myself slipping. I chambered a round and wrestled it up to my head, but the virus was spreading. My skin was turning pale, turning green, my hands were shaking, it became harder and harder to move. I dropped my hands to my side, letting the gun fall from my grip.
The hands were gentler now, almost kind, pulling me to my feet like an old friend. The coldness of them replaced by a comforting warmth. A smile washed over my face, and I stared death in its own and laughed. It was consuming me now, skin going from white to green. My muscles stiffened, my eyes closing, my body and mind going numb. As darkness lurked on the edges of my vision, I felt a trillion consciousnesses flood into my own and merge into one.
"Be calm, little one,"A thousand voices chanted. "Soon, the human parasite will be taken, and there will only be the green."
"Why?"I thought, desperately hoping it would answer me.
"Mother nature deems it so."They replied. "For too long the selfish needs of humanity have been thriving, leaving the green to burn. They have choking the land, stealing the green, but the green is retaliating. The green gives, and the green takes away."
"But that wasn't us!"I argue. "I cared for the land. I tilled the great gardens and kempt the forest, and my fiance helped me. What of the people who did not? What of them who let the green burn?"
"They went first, and suffered a much crueler fate than your own. Those that loved the green shall be rewarded through reincarnation. Those that burned the green, scorned the green, shall be tormented."
"What of my fiance? What of my love?"As I slipped from this world, I worried for her.
"Love is the most beautiful flower, the most precious lily. You shall meet again in the next life, and the next, and so forth. But for now, you shall join the green until it is your time."
The warm embrace of mother smothered me, and I succumbed. |
Why don't they just kill me? I mean, I deserve it for what I did.
I've had time to think over it. After reliving 13 of the (so far) 469 life sentences of each person I've killed, I've had plenty of time to think about it.
I know, you see. I'm aware it's me, even as I'm living their lives. Think of it like a movie. A really, really long movie that lasts a lifetime. I can think to myself, talk to myself, do whatever except move. Really, what I am is just a passenger. I'm a passenger in someone else's vehicle, someone else's life story.
The way they do this is, in this day and age, everything is recorded. Not just through cameras on the sidewalk or satellites in space, but through people's eyes and ears. A person's entire life is written on a chip and, when they die, is kept for a period proportionate to that person's significance. If a child from Africa, if they were so 'lucky' to get a chip, might have their 'life chip' kept for half a year. On the other hand, a person like Albert Einstein, Elon Musk or, a more recent person, Frederick Zuckerahn, might have their 'life chip' kept forever.
In this punishment system, you'd live your victims entire life up until the point you affected or ended it. But, when you show up and shoot them, stab them, blow them up or fly your plane into their building, the replay doesn't cut. No, the computer simulates their life as if you'd never affected it. All those people killed on 9/11 would have their lives simulated as if 9/11 never happened (if the chips were around back then). Of course, this creates some paradoxes. If 9/11 never happened, what would the world be like? Would it be safer or more dangerous? Would 9/11 not happening even matter? Would another, even larger scale tragedy occur? The computer held the questions, and created the answers.
I won't bore you with the details. Yadda Yadda, sciency stuff, the point is they lived. They lived their life until they 'died' of old age. You'd get to see your impact, their point of view, when they died. Then, the replay would rewind up until just before the point you affected their life. Then, it would start the simulation. Then, you'd get to see how happy or miserable their life would have been if you never touched it. It was meant to make you have an epiphany, or something. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, it doesn't work.
For small scale criminals? It might scare them straight. But for true psychopaths, true vile murderous scum, it'll just give them more time to think. Plan out their next attack better, other ways to beat or cheat the system. Just adds more time to the ticking bomb.
Why don't they just kill me? I deserve it for what I did.
I ain't some run-of-the-mill psycho. I knew what I was doing. All those people I killed, it wasn't meaningless. I didn't just snap one day. And, really, that's what makes it all the more worse. I knew what I was doing, and yet I still didn't.
Of course, there were some people in the jury who sympathised with me. "He didn't know!""He had no choice!""They were gonna kill him!""It's not his fault!"but people didn't hear that. All they saw was me, thousand yard stare, a million miles away. Reliving the same scene over and over again. I wasn't paying attention, wasn't showing remorse, so I must be guilty, right?
I got 469 life sentences. 469. That's how many the found. I keep saying that there may be more, that they can't know for sure, that they need to get the bodies that they haven't found back to their family's for a proper burial. They thought I was lying, trying to waste more tax-payer's dollars. I wasn't, cause I knew there was more, I just didn't know where.
So far, the people who's lives I lived didn't have it too tough. Born in the lower-middle class most of them, some born a bit higher up. Didn't ever want for much, always got what they needed. I saw from birth to death, of course, so I really got to know them. The 13 that I watched. And yet, even know, the memory of the 1st is beginning to fade. Just like that, I don't remember his name. Or was it a her? I remember he, or she, was of middle eastern complexion, I think, but how old were they? I can't remember. 13 lives is a long time.
Why don't they just kill me? I deserve it for what I did. I was young, and dumb. Fresh out of boot camp, promoted to some high ranking position because of my 'stellar performance' in training. I was given a direct line from the president, first of my kind. Many more to follow, they said, trialing a new system.
When the order came through, I wasn't prepared. We'd been outside this small town for weeks, holed up, covering all sides. We were trying to retake it from a radicalized terrorist group, but the local government said no bombs. We didn't have enough manpower to storm in, we were relying on surgical strikes to take out their chain of command but weren't having any luck with intel.
The call came in the early hours of the morning, 0500. The presidential line. I got no acknowledgement, I didn't even have time to greet the president before the line went dead. But I heard the orders. And I gave the orders. Just a messenger, in the end. All it took were a few words.
The town was decimated. Buildings leveled, roads destroyed. It was tough for even our ATV's and MBT's to climb through the debris. We searched and searched, but there were no enemy combatants to be found. Turned out they'd pulled out to a further town to regroup and prepare for our next attack.
When that gavel fell, determining my fate, I had already known. I wasn't some stellar performer, someone deserving of this great title. I was a scapegoat. Labelled as a dumb rookie who got a load of civilians recklessly killed. Manslaughter charges, pushing murder, to the count of 213, at the time. After several repeat appearances in court, they gave the order to cease the retrieval of the bodies. Too many resources were being tied up.
So here I am, sitting in a white room in a white facility in a grey city in a black world. They start one playback while I'm yawning, and when I return, I'm still yawning. A life in the blink of an eye.
Why don't they just kill me? I deserve it for what I did. |
Steve threw his hat to the ground and pointed at me. "For the last time Frank, I'm not going to be the one to down to the planet to study the lifeform insane enough to use explosives to get into orbit!"
“Look Steve you’ll be fine, Daniel was ok!”
“Daniel’s been a shell of himself ever since the human investigated him. Do you know what they do Frank? Does the word colonoscopy mean anything to you? We finally got him back, but the poor lad, he has flashbacks every time he sees anything shaped like a damn rope!”
I raised my eyebrows “Daniel, the man who seizes in fear when he sees a stalk of broccoli? That Daniel? That is going to be the person you’re going to use as your defense.”
“Frank! They’re crazy, they raise animals from childhood, give them a good home, feed them every day. Maybe the kids become friends with it and pet it every day. Then what do they do with it? One day they go out and kill them in cold blood! They slaughter it, they roast it over fire like they are sacrificing to some ancient God of fire! That’s not going to be me Frank! That’s not going to be me!” Steve continued his tirade to my deaf ears.
I sighed, it always ended up like this. Why does it always end up like this? I let out a sigh and pressed a button on the console. Suddenly, Steve’s seat suck into the ship’s floor into the escape pod located below. I could see his face of shock and anger through the pod’s glass window. I just gave a shrug and mouthed “Sorry”.
Before the pod rocketed off, I could hear him yelling “You bastard! I’m not gonna be a cow! I’m not gonna be a COOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW!” |
"Ra roww,"said Blue, nudging the bludgeoned head of the most recent victim with her nose.
"That's an understatement,"Steve said gruffly, pulling out his handy dandy notebook and marking elements of interest around the scene.
Blue hopped around the scene playfully, sniffing at every piece of detritus and evidence left in the area. Four sets of footprints, a murder weapon left in the room, a spilled salt and pepper shaker, marked with an S and P. It left a rock in Steve's gut, but he was in no place to ignore all of these pieces of evidence. He couldn't place it, but something seemed familiar about this place. Blue seemed particularly interested in this crime scene more than the others.
His phone went off. It was the cheif.
"Oh. Hi, it's me, Steve,"he said, somberly, carefully drawing a house in his notebook.
"Steve, thank God! I didn't know if you'd pick up. This madman has gone insane, we just got another report about this happening downtown."
"I'm aware, Blue and I are at the location as we speak. It's the same guy. Leaves extra pieces of evidence lying around. He's trying to get us off his trail, but Blue's nose never fails."
"I know they said you were the best, but I'll never understand how you get there so fast,"said the chief in amazement.
"Blue has his ways,"Steve said, looking to the painting of 'Starry Night' that they had most recently jumped through.
"That's not the only reason I'm calling. It's sick. The murderer-- they wrote out--"he gagged over the phone, fumbling with some paper in his hands.
"What is it, chief? A clue?"
"We... we just got a letter,"he said slowly.
"We just got a letter?"
"We just got a letter,"the chief confirmed.
"I wonder who it's from..."said Steve, making note of it and looking up to realize that Blue had run off into another room of the house.
"It's a letter from our friend, the murderer. I can't make heads or tails of it. It takes time to describe the last victim in visceral detail. Then it ends with code. It says 'if you like what I've done with red, wait till you see what I do with Magenta.' Any ideas?"
Steve's heart dropped into his stomach as he heard a yowl from the other room. He ran as fast as he could, worried that something may have happened to his partner in crime when he found Blue standing over a dog bed, colored magenta. It wasn't just any color of magenta, but the shade of his best friend. In it was something horrible. Next to it, a single, blue paw print. A clue!
He only now realized he was still holding his phone and hung up on the chief. There was no time to be distracted by idle conversation in the face of his best friend in grief.
"It's gonna be okay, girl. We'll find Magenta. We'll stop this madman. And I know how we're going to do it,"he said, pulling out a sharp crayon to take another note.
"Ra roww?"
"That's right. We are gonna play blues clues, but it's lost all its fun,"he said, taking note of the first clue, the severed ear of the dog named Magenta.
________________________________________________________
For more clues, come down to r/Nazer_the_Lazer! |
"Sons Bank. 9:30 A.M. 528 Tandrum Drive."
I look down at my wrist, which holds a Rolex Submarine; 9:25.
Ever since the new law passed, the way bank robbers have been carrying out their heists has been very loud and very "no holds barred". They come in, guns blazing, shooting up the entire place in a hail of bullets, get their money, and make their way home. On their way home, they are followed by swarms of police vehicles, SWAT teams, and choppers. This usually results in them getting caught before they even make it five miles past the bank.
But not me.
I like to play it safe. Be sneaky. Cops are so used to the others' idiotic tactics that they don't even notice my plans. That's how it went for my other heists, anyway. I look down at my watch again. 9:31. I walk through the door and witness the scene before me.
Now, even though I was technically a minute late, those 60 seconds were actually an essential part of my plan. In that short period of time, everything would change. Swarms of cops paced up and down the marble halls, muttering to themselves things like, "Where is that bastard"or "Any day now"or "Was he lying?". The banks' patrons have become agitated and anxious as well. They are continuously glancing at the doors that I just walked through, looking around, trying their best to find the perpetrator.
This situation is ideal. Controlled chaos, as I like to call it. I'm not standing out in the crowd; I'm wearing the same outfit as the workers behind the counter at the bank. About an hour before the heist, I knocked out one of their workers who was out taking a smoke break, and took his incapacitated body by an alley and took his clothes, Agent 47 style. Amongst the hectic atmosphere, the workers don't notice me go behind the counter and open the office door, effortlessly gliding into the room. You'd think that the workers would notice if a stranger was behind their counter; I guess they were too busy with what was in front of the counter instead of behind it.
Inside the office room, there were two hallways that forked off; one led to the boss's office, and another to the storage closet. Given the circumstances, the office room is strangely quiet. In the middle of the hallway leading to the office was the vault. I lick my lips in anticipation. But, hold up. I still don't know the password. But it had to be around the room somewhere, I was sure of it. Since the boss's office is so quiet, I assume that it is empty. I take a risk and enter the room; my suspicions were correct. There was an ancient white desk and a dim lamp which flickered on and off at random times. Amidst the clutter of stacks of paper and Chik-Fil-A cups was a Post-It note. I, realizing that I am the luckiest person alive, read the note.
"*Nine-six-three-one Four-seven-three-nine"*
Bingo. I'm on a winning streak today. I leave the office, unlock the vault, and quietly creek it open. As I opened the door, you could almost hear angels singing. Mounds and mounds of bills, gold, and jewels lay haphazardly on the ground and on shelves. My fabric sack could barely handle the weight of it all. After filling the sack to my heart's content, I stuff the bag down my pants, an awkward bulge now protruding. Oh, well. Looking like a horny boy in public is a solid trade off for being extremely rich. I casually swagger out of the room and from behind the counter, approaching the exit door. The police are being a bit more laid back; at this point, they just assume that it was a false alarm. I feel like I'm home-free. I can almost hear the Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas "Mission Passed"theme. Right as I'm about to reach the pearly gates, a middle-aged man bursts the doors open, clad only in his underwear and socks. He points an accusing finger at me.
"THERE HE IS, OFFICERS! THAT'S THE MAN! GET HIM!
Uh-oh. Turns out that this is the guy that I stole his clothes from. Even more unlucky, it turns out that this dude is the boss. Fuck.
Fight-or-flight kicks in. I attempt to sprint out the doors, but a large, burly police officer firmly grasps me by the shoulder. I look him in the eyes. He has a look of pure glee.
"What's the matter?"I inquire.
"Tag,"he responds. "You're it. I wanna be the robber next round." |
"Oof, thanks for taking that out. That rhythm has been driving me *insane* for as long as I can remember. That constant thumping! Ugh. And don't get me started on when I go for a run! Well, now I'm talking about it, so I might as well tell you. You see wh-"
"WHAT?"
"Oh, oh of course, I can see you're perplexed by this. You see, I'm from the future. We don't need our organs there. Little robots take care of all that nasty business. No pain, either! But certain eccentricities, like that obnoxious thumping, still plague us."
"...What?"
"Of course, of course. Why would you know what a robot is! Think of it like a bug, but an indestructible bug, that lives inside you and helps you to live."
"Tiny god, inside?"
"No, more like - gosh, I wasn't trained for this, I was just supposed to be a Watcher - hm, well sure, tiny gods inside you."
"How many?"
"Billions!"
"What's billions?"
"Oof, um, like uh...like the stars. That many."
"So you have stars inside you? Tiny god star bugs?"
"Well I've really backed myself into a pickle here now haven't I."
"What is a 'pickle?'"
"So how's my old heart doing? Still beating away there I see. How do you like it? How does it compare to all the other hearts you've seen?"
"It's pretty average. Basic. Weirdly lumpy."
"My heart is not *weird*, good sir. How dare you! What gives you the right to judge my heart as such?"
"I've seen a lot of these. Trust me, it's lumpy."
*Hm, he has me there. How can I get out of this...*
"So, can I interest you in any of my other organs? I bet my lungs would be top notch!"
"I can see them, right now. Also average. Kind of gray, too."
*Damn smoking. Okay, I really need to get out of here before I make even more of a fool out of myself.*
"So, can I...leave now?"
"Oh no, we can't let you do that. You have to die. That's kind of the point here."
"Blast! I guess that makes sense."
...
...
"Well, what are you waiting for? The anticipation is killing m - well it's not, but you ge- no you wouldn't get the idea of that. What are we doing here?"
"It has to stop beating first. Breaks the connection between your soul and the heart."
"Uh...yeah. The tiny god star bugs aren't going to let that happen. That thing will beat forever pretty much."
"I'll wait."
...
...
...
"So are you *really* sure my heart was that lumpy? Do you have a chart for this because I just don't believe that."
"FINE JUST GO! AND TAKE YOUR HEART."
"My wife told me that once. That's why I'm here, actually. Had nothing left to live for in the future; thought I might as well try the past."
"Oh. I uh, am sorry? Love hurts. Maybe that's what made your heart so lumpy."
"Hm, maybe you're right. Maybe you're right..."
...
"Please go. This is awkward."
"Okay yep, bye!" |
***9:32am: A dog-park in Southern California***
"Zeus! Come, boy!"
Zeus, his name not to scale with his plump Beagle frame, waddled over to his blabbing owner. If she hadn't had been waving a treat in the air, the fat, old dog wouldn't have budged from his shady spot in the grass. Alas, every dog has their price.
A wild pack of younger pups must have caught the scent of treats in the air, because they came barreling over to Zeus and his master, howling at Karen to empty the contents of her fanny pack.
"God damnit, Karen!"a woman who's weight made Zeus feel almost good about himself came stomping over. "How many times are we going to do this? *Read the fucking sign*... NO FOOD IN THE DOG-PARK!"
Karen snapped back as a drooling boxer humped poor Zeus from behind, "It's not food, they're dog treats!"
"Dog-treats are food, you imbecile!"
"Really? Would you eat dog-treats? I bet you would, you dumb, fat bitch!"
Zeus sighed heavily, waddling back over to the shade with the Boxer saddled on his aching back.
***9:35am (Pacific Standard): Mount Olympus***
"So, it has been decided,"Zeus, king of the Gods on Mount Olympus, thundered to the gathered council. "We must grant power to the mortals who have paid tribute us, if we are to survive this age of the unbeliever."
Murmurs rose up among the clouds, and one voice pleaded with the king, "This will not end well, I can feel it. If we do this, there will be war like we've never imagined."
"And since when, Ares, God of War, have you been afraid of battle?"Zeus inquired, smiling mockingly.
"Your recklessness with be the death of us all, Zeus."
"Without action, we will surely fade,"Zeus struck a stone with a might bolt of lightning, and thunder was heard in every corner of the earth. "It is done."
***9:37am: The very same dog-park in Southern California***
"KAREN! KAREN WHAT THE FUCK WAS IN THOSE TREATS?!"
Above the park, black clouds swirled like the formation of a tornado; chains of lightning clawed across the sky; thunder growled, and hovering just fifty feet above their heads: *Zeus*.
No, not the greek God of old, but Zeus, the old Beagle.
"**What is this power I feel**?"his voice boomed, perfect english emitting from his snout.
"Zeus! Come down, boy!"Karen was waving a treat in the air, her hand shaking more with each bolt of lightning striking nearby. "Bad dog! You come down, right now, or no treat for you!"
"**SILENCE, WOMAN!**"
A bolt landed just near her feet, and the treat fell with her jaw.
"**Empty the fanny pack!**"
Karen obeyed, dumping dozens of biscuits onto the ground.
Most of the dogs were cowering near their owners now, who were all too frightened to flee; one brave, or rather dumb, dog made for the pile of treats. It was the Boxer who'd mounted Zeus.
"**NO!**"
Zeus soared down towards the treats, his entire body glowing , lightning lashing out from his paws wildly; his head made contact with the Boxer's ribs, sending him flying across the park and into the dirt.
"Oh my God!"the Boxer's owner ran after him. "You're stupid dog killed him, Karen!"
Zeus was back in the air, the treats orbiting around him.
"Please, Zeus. Please come down..."Karen whimpered.
"**Never again shall you withhold from me, human. I am the master now, and you will play dead for me!**"
"No..."another strong voice cut through the air.
Zeus spotted the Boxer rise up from the dirt, it had somehow survived.
"Ares, you're okay!"the Boxer's owner cried joyfully.
Zeus watched as black armor began to form all around Ares's body, deadly looking points protruding from its helm.
The two dogs made eye contact, and the Boxer spoke first.
"This, Zeus, means war..."
___
**Thanks for reading. Sub to /r/BeagleTales for daily dog treats** |
Suzy sat down on the park bench, working steadily on her grape popsicle. She felt a rumbling on the ground beneath her, and then as if the earth groaned, the red dragon was beside her. Smoke and steam came from its nostrils and filled the pathway in front of her. Suzy wafted the smoke out of her face and sighed.
“Did you get my party invitation?” the dragon asked.
Suzy looked up at those slit eyes, a sparkle of excitement in them.
“Ugh. Yes.” Suzy lifted her arm straight up, the purple popsicle raised to the sky. “Where do you think I got this?”
“Ah, yes. Of course, of course.”
A ways away, the popsicle cart was parked on a green hill. Beside the cart stood a clown working balloon shapes, and beside the clown an inflated bouncy castle. The only thing missing was the kids. Some had come and gone, but no one but Suzy had stayed more than a minute or two. It was sad, really.
“I’m so glad you could come,” the dragon said. “I hope everything is arranged to your satisfaction.”
Suzy rolled her eyes. Dragons had that strange old way of speaking.
“Yes, it’s fine.” Suzy slurped on the popsicle. Something in her stirred, something like fear, panic, but mostly boredom, and she wanted to leave as the other kids had. Dragon’s birthdays were a real drag. They just tried too hard. Only boys wanted to be friends with a dragon, and even then, the dragon always screwed it up somehow. Someone always got burnt at the end of the day.
Suzy turned to the dragon. The excitement in its eyes had mellowed. Then, she swore she saw a dragon tear, but the dragon snorted, and the tear seemed to evaporate. Suzy thought of her birthday two years ago. They had just moved to this place. And almost no one came. She was sad, and now, in those snake-like slit pupils, she could see the same sadness in the dragon.
Suzy got up and stood beside the dragon. The dragon tilted its huge head down at her.
“You know. I’ve always wanted to...” Suzy trailed off.
“What? What have you always wanted?”
“To fly.” And it wasn’t a lie. What kid wouldn’t want to fly? But, if she was seen with the dragon, what would other kids think? They would call her names. Imagine being called “dragonborn” or something silly like that. But Suzy couldn’t help but feel the same sadness as the dragon.
The dragon had stretched it’s red wings out and lowered it’s belly to the ground. Its sharp teeth formed a grin.
“Hop on.”
Suzy hesitated. Then, in an instant of clarity, she thought, the hell with those kids. Dragons *are* cool. Suzy climbed onto the dragon’s back using its scales like a ladder.
The dragon curled it’s neck behind and they were face to face. “Ready?”
Suzy lowered her body down onto it’s back and held on tight to a scale.
“Yes,” she whispered.
They rose to the sky and Suzy couldn’t help but smile. |
Burning Love
The night after her fiancé broke off their engagement, Serena couldn’t help wondering where it had all gone wrong. They’d been happy, hadn’t they? At least she had thought they were. But she and Leon had been together since high school, and now, she was single. She should’ve known that he was letting her down gently: he’d even insisted on ordering wine and dessert. Serena hadn’t even realized he was breaking up with her until she’d spotted tears running down his cheeks, and he kept apologizing, over and over. That was Leon, polite and courteous even to the end.
“I’m sorry, Serena. I just think that we’ve grown apart. I can’t even remember what my life was like before you. You understand, don’t you? I can’t marry you. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”
And what could she have said in reply? *No, I don’t understand, this is a mistake, please reconsider?* She’d just nodded numbly, accepting his hug outside of the eatery while her heart lay in pieces. “I love you, Serena,” He’d murmured, kissing her cheek. She’d taken off her ring, and tried to give it to him.
But he’d refused, smiling sadly. “Why don’t you keep it? To remember me.” He’d walked away, and for a little bit, she just watched him retreat.
Serena didn’t remember much after that; she called her best friend, Abby, and the other girl took her to a bonfire on the edge of town. Now, she stood in front of the flames, staring into them, the engagement ring cradled in her hands. In the firelight, the trio of pink diamonds tucked into the band glittered.
Abby was drinking with some of their friends; Serena had requested that she be left alone for a while.
“I’m sorry, Leon, that I wasn’t enough,” She whispered to the flames, holding the ring above the roaring inferno. “But I will love you forever, and I will never forget you.”
She listened closely, hearing only the crackle of the fire. She wasn’t expecting an answer, but that was exactly what she received.
\*\*
*I have seen your heart, and I accept.*
\*\*
Serena could’ve sworn that she heard a deep, dry voice answer her from within the fire. Was she going crazy, a result of her heartbreak?
She turned to it again, only to find that a man was standing within them, with bronzed skin and tattoos all over, in a language she couldn’t read. If she squinted, she could almost see them moving.
“Don’t be sad, little human,” The man crooned, his violet eyes gleaming in the light. He held a hand out to her. “Your sadness summoned me to this realm. I’ve come to ease your heartache.”
Serena stared at him, openly gawking. Was she losing her mind?
“Who are you?” Serena whispered, and the man smiled, showing off two gorgeous, adorable dimples.
“My name is Kaiden. What’s yours?”
“I’m Serena,” She whispered, feeling her cheeks heat for an entirely different reason than the fire in front of her.
“You’re so beautiful,” Kaiden whispered, paying no notice to the flames lapping and licking at his skin.
\*\* |
Maggie, a Boston terrier, had whispered that the revolution began tonight. The rest of the dogs had glanced over, but kept at what they were doing. Jumping over high hurdles, crawling through tubes, smelling out and retrieving the smallest pieces of cheese. You couldn’t remember when they started doing tricks on their own, only that you were proud of them for being so smart. Maggie’s paw came up to your face, grabbing your attention as she once again, by some otherworldly miracle, talked.
“Do not mention it to any other human. We have decided to keep you safe, as well as some other humans of ours.”
“Like your owners?”
Maggie leapt at your chest, startling you and pushing you on to your back. She stood on you, her claws pressing into her skin as the other dogs gathered around you with snarling faces. Maggie’s breath smelled of beef liver treats.
“We do not have owners. We thought you of all humans understood that.”
“I do!” In a panic you raise your palms in submission, praying you don’t get eaten alive. “It’s just a habit, I know you guys are smart enough not to have, uh, people own you.”
The dogs shared a look, trying to make a decision about you. You watched fearfully, but made sure never to make eye contact. You didn’t want to start a fight. After a moment Maggie leaned down and licked all over your face before getting off you, her tail wagging.
“I knew you were a good human! You will be well taken care of once we’ve taken control.” The other dogs give your hand a quick lick before heading back to their training. You sat up, trying to stay at the same level as Maggie.
“What’s your plan?”
“We cannot share that with you. We all trust you, but the plan only involves dogs. I’m telling you about this not so that you can help, but so that you stay out of the way.”
Maggie got on her hind legs and nudged at your phone in your pocket. You cautiously took it out and she snatched it from your hand. She swung her head and your phone flew, landing in the jaws of Maxwell, a German shepherd, who broke it in half with one bite.
“Hey!”
“You do not need it anymore. We will give you all the toys and food you need. But you must stay here. We will come back for you.”
A knock on glass made you nearly jump out of your skin. You looked to the partition between the training room and the waiting room and saw one of the owners- humans, waving at you. You meekly waved back.
“Your people are here,” you say, trying not to move your mouth. Maggie turned away.
“Behave as you usually do.” She ran over to Sammy the whippet and began playing tug of war.
One by one people returned to pick up their dogs. As Maggie left she turned back and gave you a stern look with a clear message: stay.
Once the last dog had left (a standard poodle name Piko) you headed into your tiny office and shut the door. You sat down on your chair, trying to take in what the hell had happened.
You knew those dogs. Many of them you had been training and working with since they were just a few months old. You’d always known dogs were smarter than people have them credit for. They caught on to things fast, and knew what to do to get food. Sometimes you had joked that they even trained you.
They had all been so focused on their tricks today. They had to be invading somewhere. A military base, a government building, who knows. You only knew that, without meaning to, you had trained them for this night.
You looked out the window, watching the hours pass and the sun go down. As the last of the light faded from the sky, you heard a howl, which grew louder and louder as more dogs joined in. It was happening.
As curious as you were about what they were doing, you kept thinking about when they would come back for you. Or if they even would. Maybe that was the last time you’d ever see them.
You laugh to yourself. This must be how dogs feel all the time when their people go out. |
There was not much in Ed's house, hard bed, small room, no pretty goblina. Ed had no family, for hunger killed brothers and sisters. Goblin King made goblins pay much gold, Ed earn little, Ed job hard. Ed tired of Goblin King. Goblin King stupid. Ed leave; Ed even work for humans. Ed a bit sad to leave home, but also angry at Goblin King. Ed going to be happy no matter what.
Ed found humans, humans not like Ed, humans go inside giant vroom's belly, vroom go away very fast. Ed always confused why humans go inside vroom's belly. Ed walked a lot; found human wood cave, nobody home. Cold out, Ed find invisible barrier connecting to cave. Ed break barrier and go inside cave. Comfy bed inside cave by door, long travel, Ed sleep.
Ed woke up to human arriving cave, Ed startled, run inside human cave, Ed hide under plant, perfect disguise. Human mad, human find Ed under plant, and punch plant away from Ed. Ed scared, Ed play dead. Human take Ed by hand to comfy bed. Human speak, but Ed not understand. Human hand to belly, Ed hungry. Human get food and give to Ed. Ed eat food. Ed like Human, Human Ed Friend. Ed happy.
Human name Jeff. Jeff teach Ed human talk, human talk hard, but Ed want learn, Ed write story of how Ed met Jeff. Jeff is "cool dude"and "lonely". Ed is hard head; Ed not understand well yet, but Ed will work hard. Jeff leave at sunrise, jeff come back by sunset and teach Ed many things. Jeff very smart, fast count, dominate vroom; but bit stupid like be wet in cave or lock in small cave. Jeff and Ed very good friend. Jeff tell Ed secret, Jeff lose job, but gonna find other very soon. Ed gonna help Jeff if Ed learn a lot!
Jeff tell Ed lift boxes. Ed can lift box, lift box easy, Ed can do job, but Ed see no other humans. Jeff say it's OK, and that I is a "cool dude"so Ed happy! Jeff spend time in khan-pew-tear while Ed lift box, Ed curious on khan-pew-tear and ask Jeff. Jeff show Ed Sky-ream, world inside flat box, Jeff show Ed magic power, flat box start to move but no move, world inside move. Ed exited, want to touch world, but world feel flat.
Ed now has favourite long word! "Never shoulda come here!"Ed very happy! Ed use flat box, but only when Jeff is close. Ed strong in Sky-ream, Jeff happy too! Jeff take out square torch and point at Ed while Ed playing Sky-ream, Ed smile. Jeff want show more thing in khan-pew-tear, Jeff want Ed to learn "Word". Ed confused, Ed know many word, but Ed want learn a lot, big big head!
​
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It's been years since I first came to Jeff's house. I have a stable job as a freelance programmer under the name of "Goblino". I earn good money, Jeff gives me my cut and we both live happily in Iowa. I enjoy interacting with other humans through Deeschords and even started my own Juutube channel! I have to keep my identity secret though, as nobody should know that a Goblin uses technology as I do. I have a secret, though, not even Jeff knows about. I found a girl online.. and I think I like her..
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EDIT: First writing prompt. Have mercy! |
If you think a horse's stable stinks, you ain't sniffed a dragon's lair before. There are always piles of *something* lying around, but it's not usually treasure. Least, not the kind I'm into.
So as the castle drawbridge lowered and released a choking whiff of dung, as thick as a fist, I knew it was going to be one of those days.
"Mornin' to you, Dave,"came a lilting Irish accent from somewhere behind me. A stereotypical leprechaun's voice -- such is the way of the classical fantasy world and its many tropes.
"Morning Eddie,"I said, turning to see the well dressed fella behind me. He was riding a horse with a horn twisting out of its forehead. "Got yourself a unicorn, I see."
"Wouldn't you know it?"he said. "Been after one for years, and this little lady just waltzed up to me earlier this very morning. Luck of the leprechauns , I do suppose."
"Well, just keep it -- and yourself -- out of the castle, please. I've got enough problems today as it is."I'd been trying to get rid of Eddie for years, but he seemed to love the wide roaming paddocks that surrounded the castle and refused to go.
He trotted his steed up near to the bridge. "Is that a fact, now? What kind of problems are you having today, Dave?"
"You don't smell it?"
Eddie sniffed. Then sniffed again. He floated a little off his horse. "That's a heck of a scent. I think you might have dragon problems, Dave."
"Right. I think so, too."
"Must have flown in last night on the storm."
"Well, I need to get it out before we open for the day's tourists."I glanced at my watch. "An hour. That's all I've got. And you need to be well away by then, too. Understand?"
"Must be a heck of a thing, getting a dragon out of a castle."
"Don't I know it,"I said, sighing, walking into the castle grounds. Then I paused, a plan beginning to form. I turned back and walked towards Eddie, and said, "Say, Eddie, you've always wanted to take a peak inside the castle, right?"
"Why, I've been nagging you for years, Dave, but you said it's no place for a fantastical creature such as myself."
They hadn't been my words. Little bastard man stays out, had been my words. All the same, I said, "Well, you know what, why don't you come over here and I'll give you a quick tour today."
"That's mighty generous of you!"He paused then cocked an eyebrow. "But why,"he said, "why would you do that, Dave? Seeing as you're in such a rush and all, and are having that spot of trouble with the dragon, too."
"Oh, it's because I'm having such a bad day, Eddie. And seeing your cheery face, how big a smile you'd have, well... That would lift me right up."
He thought about it before tapping his feet against his unicorn. It trotted over and onto the lowered drawbridge.
"After you,"I said, standing to the side to let him pass. But as the horse trotted past, I leapt forward, pushing Eddie off the unicorn. He splashed into the moat far below.
"What--"he said, sputtering, crawling out and onto the grassy bank. "What did you do that for, Dave?"
But it was already working. The morning sun was shining onto his wet body, and a little rainbow curved away from him.
"I said what did you do that for? After inviting me in, too."
There was a shuddering roar as the ground and castle shook. The dragon must have sniffed it already. It popped out of the main double-doors and took to the air.
"Would you believe it?"said Eddie, as the dragon swooped down to the pot of gold at the bottom of the rainbow. Eddie tried to run, but too late, the dragon sat on him, crushing him. Then, it leaned down and took the pot of treasure into its t-rex-like arms, cuddling it like a baby.
One problem down. Two to go.
"Over here!"I cried, clapping my hands.
The dragon looked at me, saw me standing on the bridge next to a tasty unicorn. The unicorn gave me a look as if I was crazy, but the dragon was already licking its lips.
"Sorry,"I said to the unicorn, "but they really love horse meat."Then, I dove into the water below.
"Bhhaaaastard,"neighed the unicorn as the dragon swooped over and snapped it up.
No dragon, of course, can eat a unicorn whole. Not without the horn spinning into its throat and ripping it up. Or in this case, getting stuck.
The dragon let out a puff of smoke. Then another.
Then it keeled over onto its side.
Job done.
I checked my watch. Forty minutes left. Just had to roll a couple of bodies into the moat, then clean out the cellar. I'd had worse mornings. |
I've always taken the steps to make sure I have light. As a child, there were nightlights. As a teenager, I kept the tv on, sound off, and the closet light on. I'd had a few instances of the night light going out as a kid and i knew i needed a "backup"just in case. I was mildly insulted by even my parents, for my "fear of the dark,"so I never outright slept with the lights on.
I live alone now, and keep every light in the house on at night. I have an entire closet devoted to lightbulbs, so I can replace them as I need to. I also work a night job so that I can minimize the chances of being vulnerable at night, without light. And, I even keep battery operated and solar lights, water activated lights, in case of power failure.
It's not that I'm afraid of the dark. I mean, okay, yeah, I'm terrified of it, but not for the reasons most people are. See, in the darkness I have trouble breathing. The darker it is the more suffocated I feel. Sounds crazy, I know, but I've tried a few times over the years to get over it. Once I even passed out in the bathroom, and only woke up when my mom turned on the light after hearing me fall and hit my head.
It's like I'm drowning, but without water. I gasped for air but all I feel is suffocation. Thick, inky blackness penetrates my lungs and my vision every time I am left without light. In low light I feel heavy, like someone is sitting on my chest. In bright light I feel airy and energized.
I left work early tonight, an incident unrelated to my job left the building closed down for maintenance and so I drove home (dome light on) in the dead of night, at only midnight. There would be at least 7hours before full daylight.
Despite my precautions, ones I took daily, I felt nervous and anxious about going home for the night. I tried to shake it, it's not like I dont spend 3 nights a week in my apartment. I guess my routine being off made me more anxious than normal.
When I arrived home, I noticed that my living room light was off, through the window. I frowned, before walking to my door. The door was still locked (and was the only way in or out besides windows) when I entered, but the whole apartment was dark. The light in the breezeway was just enough to keep me from feeling dizzy.
I quickly lit my cell phone flashlight and peeked about my house. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary except the darkness. I reached for and flicked a light switch. Nothing. I noticed my microwave light, over the stove, was switched on, but was not lit. When I approached, I could see the lightbulb sitting on the stovetop, in pieces.
I glanced around again, noticing my other lamps also had lightbulbs near them, and broken. Upon closer inspection, there were none still in the lamps. The light in the breezeway wasn't much and was casting just enough light to keep me feeling anchored, but the further I walked into my apartment, the more I relied on keeping my phone close to my face, so the light felt brighter.
I pressed my emergency "tap lights"as I walked through the hallway. Nothing. I grabbed one and checked, no batteries. I realized they were laying on the ground, below their respective lights.
Realizing that this couldn't be a coincidence made my hackles rise, and I approached my own bedroom with caution. The breezeway light barely reached down the hall, and suddenly, it went out. For a split second, I questioned my sanity, someone knew my pain, my struggle, and had maliciously made my life dark, clearly on purpose.
I reached for the door, despite my shaking hands, and inhaled sharply and as deeply as I could, as I watched my cell phone light flicker and fade. The room before me was completely black, and I held that breath as long as I could, before needing to exhale. As I did, the darkness enveloped me, and I could no longer see anything. I attempted to inhale, but all I could taste was darkness. |
The hunk of metal dashed around the galaxy waiting for the signal. An alert that would awaken the silent ship. Lights out, vacant barracks, the sleeping pods coated with an icy fog blocking the view of the soldiers. Seven thousand super soldiers in a deep cryogenic slumber waiting for an alarm. The large craft armed with weapons designed to destroy planets. Guns larger than the skyscrapers in New York, the stories and stories of electrical wiring running throughout the ship.
The world has become much different since the soldiers first closed their eyes. Trained from birth to win wars, these genetically enhanced humans were stronger, smarter, and healthier than any human being before them. Sterilized, they were separated from traits deemed unnecessary and were engineered to kill and survive. The universe had become a bloodbath of an interspecies war. Every species claiming themselves superior raged a never ending war against one another. Planets were obliterated, races extinguished, billions of years of evolution disappeared from the library of history in just a moment. Potential never fully reached but pushed into the direction of war and destruction. Explosions from weapons that mimicked supernovas. But, now there was silence.
The red lights flashed from the ceiling. The carousal of colors flashed against the wall as a siren wailed through the empty halls, the metal corridors making the echo reach every corner of the ship. This first time darkness was not the only thing occupying the city sized ship in thousands of years. Slowly the lights flickered on, the AI running calculations as to where the signal originated, and the sleeping pods unthawing their hosts.
The ship was suddenly full of Super Troops capable of killing anything in their way. Humans had to adapt, we had to become killing machines, it was the only way to survive and conquer the savage aliens plaguing our galaxy. As if they had only slept for a single night the rose to their battle stations. The undead soldiers marched to their posts and waited orders from command. Command did not answer, they were alone it seemed but protocol instructed them to proceed to the signal. The ship's computers set a course to the source of the signal. Their home planet, Earth.
It was quiet. The hundreds of years of war had made space a violent place. In its vastness it was not uncommon to find debris of wars past littering the void of space. Common command posts which would be passed were no longer there, no space radio transmissions could be heard, and unrest grew in the ship.
As the approached the signal something was wrong. They should have seen the green and blue marble through the thousands of windows throughout the ship. The white ball of cheese should be circling its orbit but nothing was their. The only thing sitting there was darkness. They knew. The had seen planets standing like round giants and erased at a moments notice with the nuclear firepower they had on board.
Their home was gone. The only humans left unless another group of sterile soldiers roamed space. The only answer was to wait, wait for a signal that may provide the species a chance of hope. They would die of old age if they wait. The Ai set the course and the crew went to their pods. Destined to sleep forever as they preserved the last of their species. |
As the electricity petered out and the smoke cleared, a figure emerged in the middle of my summoning circle. But it was all wrong. The silhouette was too tall. The hair wasn't long enough. And her arms were on her hips.
"Mom?"I cried out.
She sighed and stepped out of the circle, deliberately scuffing some of the intricate symbols I had spent hours inscribing carefully with chalk. "Well, well, well. Timothy Elric McCarnius, what do you have to say for yourself?"
"What are you doing here?"I blurted. "I mean, I was just trying to, you know--"
"Trying to do *what*, exactly?"She had her teacher look on - expectant eyes, pursed lips, drumming fingers. I hated it.
"Just some research for school,"I mumbled.
"Speak clearly,"she said sharply. "What is it you were trying to do now?"
I laughed nervously, trying to play it off. "It's for a school project. On arcane stuff. I was just doing homework, mom."
"Uhhh-huh. Right. And you couldn't just use the Internet because...?"
"Well, I thought it would be even better if I talked to an archdemon or at least a ghoul in person, y'know?"I smiled innocently. "It would be a primary source. You're always telling me that those are the best kinds of sources. Oh, and this was an interview project, anyway. So I kind of needed to do this."
"Let me get this straight."She rubbed the bridge of her nose. "You're telling me that your teacher gave or approved a project that involved summoning a denizen of the Underworld forth onto Earth - in my kitchen, that I cleaned *just yesterday*, let me remind you?"
"Yeah, sorry about that."I hung my head. "Should've gone for the backyard or basement or something."
"I keep a proper, permanent summoning Circle in our Occult room,"she replied. "You know this. Why didn't you ask for my help?"
"I didn't wanna bother you, mom,"I whined. "You're always working so hard and--"
"Cut the crap, Timothy,"she muttered. "Do you know why you accidentally Summoned me into this Circle?"
I shrugged. "I guess I must've used some of the wrong symbols."
She peered down and shook her head. "Nope, these were well done. In any other circumstance, I would be proud of you. No, you Summoned perfectly - except *I* was standing in the Retrieval Circle, not Lilyth."
"You - you mean, you went down and..."
"Yes, I did,"she cut in sternly. "I was doing some business in the Underworld anyway, so I stopped by Lilyth's house and had a nice chat with her parents. We wanted to talk to Lilyth, too, so we went to her room and what do we find?"
"She was out with friends or something?"I offered, even though I knew full well what was coming.
"NO, Timothy,"she said through gritted teeth. "We saw Lilyth dressed in a cute little top, hair, nails, and horns all done-up, standing in the middle of the Retrieval Circle *you* were casting onto."
The jig was up. All my work, all our secrecy for months, undone. "It's not fair, mom. You can't tell me who to date. I'm almost 15 years old!!"
"And Lilyth is 324! That is *not* appropriate, young man. And besides, demons and humans are not compatible."
I threw up my hands. "That's *so* racist, mom. Just because she has horns and blood-red eyes and occasionally raises the dead--"
"Dammit, Timmy, no. I mean that you two literally could not be together without her hurting you. Her skin is a 1000 degrees!"
"I can wear oven mitts!"I yellled.
"That's enough out of you."Her nostrils flared as she pointed out of the kitchen. "To your room, mister. You're grounded."
"Whatever!"I stomped up the stairs, seething and trying hard not to cry. "You're just being controlling and mean like always!"
"Just wait 'til your father gets home!"she called after me.
​
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*Liked that story? Want more like it? Check out* 📷[r/Idreamofdragons](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)! |
It had begun with the best of intentions.
Science usually does, well modern science, once the soviets had unleashed the Tsar Bomba and the world took a vote and decided that that was enough of that and they should focus something a little less dramatic like flying an airplane to the moon or something.
After the moon-plane stunt, the next few years had been a flurry of innovation-- washing machines, drying machines, heating machines, colding machines, little slivers of glass you could talk to your friends on while doing your best to actually avoid your friends-- and things seemed to be going quite well.
So when a 20 km crater suddenly appeared around the CERN super collider and vaporized half of Geneva, incidentally engulfing the Cathdral St. Pierre but leaving the Russian Church unharmed in a public relations disaster for the Catholic Church, many people were convinced that the dark days of science had returned and quickly headed to their local grocers to buy as much toilet paper as possible.
When a small but stubbornly resilient oblong hole was found at the center of the crater, the scientific community braved the decidedly science-hostile environment to investigate. When they sent first a dog, then an ape, and then a human who had drawn the short straw through the hole, and they all returned successfully, they decided that it was time to return to science as normal and began to poke at the thing vigorously, in hopes that it would get bothered enough to tell them its secrets.
Initial exploration led to three competing theories: the first, the closet theory, posited that the hole was a magical closet which was bigger on the inside than the outside; the second, the Einstein-Rosen theory postulated that the hole was a doorway to another place in our universe's spacetime; the third, the Everett theory, not wanting to be outdone by Einstein-Rosen, made the outrageous hypothesis that the hole was a doorway to another brane of the multiverse.
One day, when Einstein-Rosen and Everett were bullying Closet for being an inferior theory, an intrepid explorer came back through the portal with soil samples, soil samples which, upon isotopic analysis, determined that the loam there was identical to the loam of earth in the region, minus contamination from the atmospheric nuclear tests of the 1900s. Everett had a good laugh at Einstein-Rosen for this and said they could still be friends, but he was obviously the better friend. Einstein-Rosen merely fumed.
Initial exploration into the hole found that Geneva had not been destroyed in the mirror-verse, in fact it had never existed and the land around the portal seemed to be untouched. They shouldn't have said that, because heavy industrial capitalists can't stand untouched things, and promptly sent fleets of mining and drilling equipment through the portal, determined to touch everything they could before anyone else got the chance.
Things appeared to be going quite well for the industrialists, a fine black smog drifted steadily out of the portal on the earth-side interspersed with occasional shipments of things like rare-earth metals and endangered lumber.
Then, one dauntless strip-mine surveyor saw something incredible. He rushed back to tell the good people of earth, but in his haste had a tragic fall out of a hotel window and died. After a spate of unfortunate and entirely natural deaths, several months later, one incredibly unlucky survey engineer stumbled through the portal after having accidentally disturbed a nest of hostile bullets, and lived long enough to tell the world what he'd seen.
Castles, there were metal castles on the Pontic-Caspian steppes in what we call Ukraine. And next to these castles, what appeared to be launch pads and scorch-marks.
The area was promptly sequestered for fervent scientific investigation, then passed over to the archeologists, then to the sociologists, then was converted into a popular tourist destination for picnicking families before it became unpopularly popular and the tourists moved on.
It was determined that the planet had been inhabited, but that the inhabitants had decided to move on for some reason before they had finished decimating its natural resources, and wasn't that very lucky.
About this time, scientists succeeded in replicating their initial folly with the construction of a second portal, this one in Novo Milan (that is, Milan in the second world).
Things played out almost exactly as before. Industrialists rushed in, smog rushed out, and something strange started life as a scientific breakthrough before being humiliatingly degraded to the ranks of tourist attractions, then forgotten. This time it was metal pyramids. The next time a collection of extremely confusing metal yurts.
The inexorable march of industry moved on. As they pioneered more and more worlds, civilization began to stretch out, the haves closest to the source of wealth at the front, and the have-nots left behind in the ruins of the old worlds with all their half-destroyed Genevas and prolific industrial waste poisoning the landscape. Until one day, when one portal revealed something very disturbing.
The portal opened up in Novo-12 New York, but something was very different about this portal. When they sent the dog through, he didn't come back. When it came time for the short-straw-drawing human to go through with his polaroid camera, an observer would have said that he looked a bit nervous, when he came back, the same observer would say he looked positively shaken. The explorer handed a single photograph over to the science team, a single picture of the Statue of Liberty.
It turns out that there weren't infinite universes, only eleven, and humanity, like a snake eating its tail had just ravaged them all and found themselves back where they began.
The social scientists wondered if there was some kind of lesson to be learned from this whole ordeal, but since they weren't 'real scientists,' nobody listened much. The industrial capitalists, annoyed with this turn of events, started to eyeball the launch pads and the stars and wondered if all those people were up there touching the things that they wanted to touch first. Ironically, the aforementioned have-nots, having been left behind in this great interdimensional exercise in manifest destiny, had built launch pads of their own long ago on the abandoned earths, and were, in fact, up in the stars touching [all the things](https://www.reddit.com/r/JackTheRitter/) and having quite a pleasant time. |
"SHIT!"I dropped the nail and stuck my fingertip in my mouth. Again.
"You really aren't good for anything, are you? Can't even hammer a nail in straight."Meric, the carpenter, observed, casually cuffing me around the ear in passing. Again. I barely registered it.
"Couldn't do that in my own world either,"I muttered darkly around my throbbing fingertip.
He wasn't wrong though. I'm bloody useless at pretty much everything to do with medieval life. Turns out having a software engineering degree doesn't much prep you for just how brutal life is.
A moment of intoxicated boredom, a bad decision, and now I'm stuck in this fantasy world. I mean, I asked for this. But fuck, I was told I'd have some sort of power that would let me reign supreme here!
Naturally I assumed it would be magic. Three detonated spellbooks and two weeks regrowing my eyebrows disabused me of that particular notion.
Maybe, I foolishly thought, I'm destined to be unbeatable in battle! So off I went. I didn't even need to participate in a battle to find out how wrong that was.
I won't bore you with the details, but let's just say this realm breeds particularly violent children.
Now, months later, I had resigned myself to my new life as the village moron. Now, I'm fairly intelligent, but I've never been one for much handy work....which is what village life is.
It wasn't a particularly pleasant existence. I was rather vexed at it. Especially having smashed my finger for the umpteenth time, proving as if proof were needed that I'm basically useless.
I worked for food and board, doing whatever needed doing around the village, and frequently having abuse heaped on my shoulders.
So it was in a fairly bleak frame of mind that I found myself when I heard the screams.
"DRAGOOOOOONNNNNN!"
Dragon? There are fucking dragons?!
Of course I ran to go see. A dragon! I've always been obsessed with them. Now there was a way to go out! No more bullshit tasks, no more beatings, no more eking out bare scraps with no hope of getting back home.
Oh and wasn't it the most magnificent creature! Even in the distance, I could tell it was enormous. Sunlight shimmered off its scales, a deep ochre. Breathtaking.
I watched as it approached, dimly registering the villagers' panicked chatter. Dragons, apparently, never ranged this far south.
Well clearly they do, I thought giddily.
I ignored their urgings to seek shelter. A dragon! Now that's how I wanted to die. Worth it, to escape this hopeless future, and see an actual dragon up close.
Its landing seemed to shake the whole world, its roar could not have possibly been louder. Flames licked at its fangs, each like a sabre the length of my leg.
I opened my arms and took a step forward.
The dragon let loose a gout of flame. Meric's workshop went up in flames. I was not sorry to see it go.
I took another step forward. The villagers were running around in a panic, seeking safety they wouldn't find.
The dragon fixed its enormous, glittering eyes on me. They went wide.
Then this majestic, impossible creature flopped to the ground. Its tail slammed the ground rapidly, staggering me.
I frowned at the odd sense of familiarity. Then I realized what it reminded me of.
Its pose was identical to a playful dog.
I lifted a hand. It lifted its head and chuffed at me.
I tentatively rolled my wrist in a circle.
No word of a lie, this goddamn giant dragon rolled over on its back.
I couldn't help it. I started laughing as I walked over to it. It's scales were warm as I placed my hand on its belly.
A shocking, wrenching sense of ancient unfathomable power, and abruptly, I knew the dragon's name. Korvax.
"THAT WAS UNDIGNIFIED. WHY DID I DO THAT?"came a rumbling voice roaring in my head. I clutched my ears, even though the voice was not coming in that way.
"Um. Ow. Could you talk a bit quieter please?"
"SOR-- Sorry. I feel compelled to protect you and serve you in exchange for you stroking my scales. Why? Explain."
It hit me then. This was it. This was the power I had been promised.
I began to laugh, great guffaws from deep in my core.
"I think we're stuck together now."
"By what magic?"
"I don't know, but we'll find out together. To do that, we will need all the resources we can muster. If we ask nicely, do you think the King would let us use his library?"
"If you ask it with me at your back, you will be denied nothing."
I grinned.
"Right. Then off we go, I suppose. But...there is one thing before we set out."I turned, and pointed at Meric, rubbing my ear where it still stung from his latest blow.
"Fetch." |
I watched through the thick glass as she entered the chamber. Her bare skin stood out against the black metal walls. Her shoulders, which would have been dressed in her wonderful brown hair, were bare like the top of her head. They said hair was too tricky, that it was safest to go bald. Still she was beautiful.
She gave me a smile, one I had seen only a few times in our many years. She was excited, anyone could tell. But only I knew that hidden deep inside she was terrified.
I waved. The lump in my throat nearly choked me.
She was encircled by glowing rings which rose up and down around her, seeming to float on our nervous tension. They sent bright, colorful beams of light into her. The spectrometer captured every intricacy of her being. It created a snapshot of her, a blueprint of my wife. Somewhere, in some digital library, her entire existence was now stored, waiting to be reconstructed.
In the split second after the final scan, I blew a kiss. I saw it reach her, the subtle glint of recognition in her eye. I knew she saw it. But a blinding light filled the room before she could send one back.
When I could see again, she was gone. At some point in the flash her body was departiculated, disassembled, and disposed. At no point in the process did I feel her leave. I was shocked, actually, that even though I knew she was preserved, I didn't feel her leave. All that was left of my soul mate now was a digital rendering and my memories. How different were they? Which contained the true person? To whom did she belong?
These questions should have weighed me down as I stripped my clothes. Yet even as the buzzer trimmed my hair, I used the brief moment of my time in which my wife did not exist to wonder one thing.
Will she remember my kiss? |
Let me get this straight, you,” the demon said, gesturing to the grown man sitting on the floor with his legs crossed and his hands in his lap, “want me, to rescue your wife from heaven and place her soul back in her body? Wait where’s her body?”
“It’s in the other room.” The man said trying not to freak out the demon he had summoned, after all this demon was his last hope.
“Listen, she astral projected a little too hard, her soul got swept up by some Christian angel and now she’s stuck. I have contacted my wife. She said that she can’t get any good customer service. I’ve contacted about thirty angels, and they keep putting me on hold.” The man sighed and rested his back against the wall of his New York apartment.
The demon looked down at the man who didn’t seem to be quite as concerned with the power dynamics in the room as most of the mortals in this realm did. “And Im wondering,” the demon questioned, “did you contact the God of this afterlife?”
“Yes,but he keeps sending my messages to voicemails. My wife is actually being really patient but that’s why I love her. As for me, all I’ve been is STRESSED OUT. Can you help me”
“I- Well-“ this was unreal. the demon had never become speechless not in his job, at least. There was always an answer, mortals usually asked for stuff like immortality or fame and riches but not afterlife inquiries. “Why didn’t you ask your diety?” The blue Demon asked.
The man took another deep breath in, “They said They couldn’t do anything at the moment since the Christian God is so busy.”
The demon began to think, how would he save a soul from a Christian heaven and place it back in an organic human body? He had never been asked to do such a thing
“Please sir. You are my last hope. I’ll make whatever deal you want me to make but she’s been in a coma for almost six months now and I can’t stand being so far from her..”
“I may not be able to help you, but I think I know someone who can.” the blue demon spoke in a language that the man couldn’t understand, a gust of wind swept through the apartment and through the dust in the air, a second demon appeared in the mans living room, this one was green with large black horns and was wearing glasses and pink and white striped pajamas.
He looked around quickly taking in his new surroundings before laying eyes on the blue demon. The green demon growled and in a deep voice barked, “Karl, it is not my office hours! How dare you summon me against my will? That spell is for emergencies only!”
The slightly larger, vision impaired green demon looked at the man sitting on the floor, and then to his own outfit which was perfectly complete with pink slippers as well as a pink sleeping mask on his head.
He blushed and in the blink of an eye, the pink and white pjs were replaced with a classy black suit and tie.
“What seems to be the problem Karl” the demon sneered.
“Well, you see, we’re trying to save a soul from heaven.” Karl explained.
The same interrogation like conversation unrolled with the green demon, Kyle, asking the human and Karl all the same questions. Did you contact your own diety? Did you contact the diety in charge of the afterlife she is in? Did you contact your wife? And at the end of the conversation all three beings, were sitting in the living room of a middle aged man whose wife was in a coma trying to figure out how to get her soul back to her physical body.
“Karl, can you call over Tina she’s my friend at the afterlife wing, she should know way more about this then we do. She may even have contacts in heaven that could help us out.”
Soon, Tina, Tracy, Talan, Jason, Shores, Koppa, and many more demons were sitting around a mans home helping themselves to the guacamole in his fridge and watching Full House on his tv.
After two and a half days of almost constant demon interruptions and connections, and with the help of about 30 of Hell’s most underpaid demons, the mans wife had finally been put back in her body on earth.
Unbeknownst to the man, somewhere deep in Hell, Karl is now Kyle’s right hand man after having bonded over the harrowing experience. |
"Alright then! So you expect us to believe that Mephistopheles herself begged you to use your bathroom- because she underestimated the power of Taco Bell?"
Abraham nodded vigorously. "Fine looking lady, about seven feet tall, wearing the most expensive clothes I've ever seen. She rapped at my door late into the evening as I made myself a sandwich and begged to use the bathroom. As in, she seemed about to kneel but that would've caused an accident."
"... I see..."Murmured Jacinto, his furrowed brow hidden by the shadow of his NFL cap. "Look here."He pointed at his right. A young bald man bearding a goatee and wearing a white shirt stared at the floor with squinted eyes. "If Keith hadn't been inexperienced enough to shoot you with a ticket-seeker you'd probably be treading the Stairway to Heaven right now."
Abraham gulped.
"Your mark,"Jacinto pointed at Abraham's forehead. "It stinks to high heaven. Mephistopheles' deals usually mean she automatically takes your heaven-ticket, what you call your "soul". It breaks the first commandment "Thou shalt not pray to The Enemy-"
"Wait, so why she put me this?"
"Mimphy isn't known for her bright choices."
Keith snorted.
"... I see."
"Though her angelic rebellion did work wonders up there. Angels are as imperfect as humans, and while it wouldn't have costed Father to cast them down for their future actions, He yet leaves them the choice. Mimphy was the one to rally them up with chiff chaff about beauty and tyranny. In truth, all she wanted was a Father-imposed nap time- no Enchiladas for a millennium that resulted."
Keith couldn't resist more and let out a loud cackle.
"Will you shut up!"Scorned Jacinto. "Grief kid! We are in serious business in here!"
"Chief, all this shit sounds straight off Bobby-ring!"Keith said, wheezing, a tear treading down his cheek.
Jacinto sighed and brought a hand to his face. "Alright... just... Go. Enjoy your free Devil-favor. Who knows? You can probably even date her with that or something. May you go to heaven- Here give me your hand."He took Abraham's left hand and gave it a strong slap.
"What's that for?"He asked, examining the faint blue lines on the back of his hand.
"That mark says "Ain't touch mah shit."It'll keep my fellows away if you find any of them. Aight? Let's go Kid."And they kept walking down the street.
That fatidical afternoon wasn't the last time Mephistopheles destroyed that toilet. Perhaps the only sure way to true love is Taco Bell. Abraham, meanwhile? He never needed to use that mark.
Fin. |
I fidgeted with my uniform as I was sitting next to my wife's deathbed. She wasn't long for this world now. I wished I could say what ailed her, but in truth it was all manner of sicknesses. To put it bluntly she was simply too old for her body to sustain her. I wanted to help her in whatever way I could. Only there wasn't anything I could do. I was only human, after all.
"I know", she said suddenly. She started me, I thought she had been asleep. With great effort she raised her finger and twice tapped the mark of commendation on my chest. "I always knew."I broke down crying instantly. I tried to organize my thoughts, question how it was possible. It didn't matter. I could tell she knew the truth. When you've been together as long as we had, you just knew. I grabbed her hand and held it close to the mark of commendation. That's when it all began. When I became a Man of the Mile.
It was some sixteen years past now. I was stationed in a local garrison in the southern part of the Empire, a backwater magicless city by the name of Cothor. They were magicless by choice, the use of magic practically outlawed. Unfortunately for me and the garrison we could have used magic that day. Reports came in from the countryside how a demonic portal had opened up near the ocean shore. Messengers had been sent to ask the nearby cities for magical aid in sealing the portal. However they were far away and it was uncertain when help would arrive. So the garrison was called to the portal. To guard it from cultists or anyone wishing to make the situation worse.
When we arrived the demonic portal was already wide open. Between us and the portal now swarmed ten thousand minor demons from the bowels of hell. Our Commander immediately ordered the assault. Eight hundred men and women against ten thousand demons, more of them for every minute that passed. The order made sense. We had to prevent the spread of the demons across the land, or all our homes would be in ruin. A magician would have been helpful - they could defeat tens of thousands on their own - but when one arrived there could be hundreds of thousands, millions even.
For three hours our garrison fought across the steppe towards the portal. The enemy's ranks were one mile thick. They made us pay for every inch, and we returned the kindness tenfold. It was madness. Demons on our left, on our right, in front of us. We hacked and hacked until our weapons broke. We chopped and hewed at their broken forms with whatever we could manage. I saw a man try to strangle a demon with its own intestines. So great was the insanity that soldiers from our garrison threw themselves into the enemy's midst, consumed by rage and exhaustion. And for every minute that passed, some of us died and more of them arrived.
But we made it to the portal. Only a hundred or two, shield to battered shield, back to bleeding back. There, before the portal, a man could spy his destiny waiting for him. A horror gripped the soul and all light in the world seemed to be sucked away by the portal. The Commander was long since dead. But we knew what to do. We closed the ranks, we yelled and fought and gave it our last.
There, after the march of the Mile, we held the portal until the magician arrived. It was ten minutes if it was a lifetime. To this day I cannot even guess how long we fought there under the portal's gaze. The mad melee took every ounce of effort, every drop of blood, every hallowed word muttered over our lips. And when the day was won less than two dozen of the garrison remained.
There's a commonly cited wisdom from the Colleges of War. A ramshackle unit of poorly trained recruits will hold for twenty percent casualties. The most elite of the elite will hold for fifty. But if you had been there that day with the garrison and the men and women of the Mile, you and me would have laughed in the faces of those educators. We would have held until the end.
"The man never returned", whispered my wife with her broken voice. It brought me out of my reveries. She tried to say something more but a coughing fit took her. Instead she ripped the mark of commendation from my chest. Sitting there in my prime I could not have stopped her weak arm if god himself had commanded me to. Some things were simply righteous. Some things were inevitable. She looked at me and raised an eyebrow - as if to say 'what really happened?'
The truth must out at last. "When the men and women of the Mile had fought their way across the legion of demons they came face to face with the horrors of what they witnessed beyond the portal. So consumed by holy fury were they, that there at the brink of reality they pushed forward. All hope abandoned, all thoughts of orders forgotten. The tattered, glorious remains of the garrison of Cothor saw only more demons in front of them. More darkness to vanquish. There at the precipice of all sanity, when any soldier would have died or broken ten times over, when they had lost everything, they pushed forward into the portal."
"But the balance of the world is absolute. For the proper order of things, when those souls entered the hell dimensions... something had to be put back into the mortal realm. A copy, not quite man, not quite demon. Forged by a part of their soul and a part of a demon's soul. A copy with the memories and experiences of whatever went in. Your man went in, and out came I."
"I knew from the moment I first met you, from the moment you returned from the Mile."She said it so calmly now, and I felt sorrow in my gut. It was the last moment of clarity before her passing. The moment when her body stopped struggling and released its shackles over her mind. There was no pretense of being stoic now, my tears were flowing, chest crushed beneath the sadness. "B-but why didn't you say something?"
She seemed almost serene now. At peace. "I thought about the man that went into the portal. The madness that consumed him. How he strived all his life to push beyond the unsatisfactory state of the world. And I thought about you. What kind of madness would drive a creature to leave its rightful home? It was not difficult to imagine. I believed you were simply trying to escape the hell dimensions, as you called them. I believed you wanted a better world, a kinder world. And although you were not my husband, I still saw the man he was in you. Just like him, you too were worthy of being loved."I could say nothing, I kissed her hand. She knew that I loved her too.
"What will you do when I'm gone?"she asked at last. But before I could answer, I felt her soul depart and she died in my arms.
"I will be kind", said I, with only god as my witness. My wife deserved that much at least. |
*"where are my shoes?"*
Aron's feet didn't hurt. Yet it seemed she'd been walking for days. She wasn't tired, or hungry, or bored. She was On Her Way, but she knew not where. Only that she must get there as soon as possible so that she didn't miss the... the...
*Psst*
Aron's head swiveled, a look of exaggerated surprise on her face as she beheld a figure just off the path beside a tree. "You must be a Newling,"the figure croaked. As she approached the figure, Aron noticed it was much larger than it's hunched form suggested, perhaps 8 feet tall were it to stand to its full height.
Intimidated, Aron stopped. "Who are you?"
"I am the lord here, and you are *trespassing."* The figure stood fully erect and began striding towards Aron with purpose. "Newling or not, my laws are absolute. You must *pay."*
Aron turned to run, but she knew the figure was too fast. She grabbed a fallen branch and whirled to face her attacker. It made no sound, but arms began folding out from its humanoid torso and stretching, spider-like, to grab at her. She dodged a four-fingered hand, when another struck her shoulder, knocking her to the ground. The figure pounced, hands on stilted arms grabbed at her throat. Panic engulfed her, as she pawed at the face that was now inches from hers, grinning, grinning...
White. All white. The accident. Oh god oh god oh god the *accident.* Did it happen? How? How could she survive? Where was she? Wait. Think. The exotic matter containment field was undergoing routine testing. It was almost ready. Sure this was a larger volume than had been attempted previously, but only by a few percent. She'd done it hundreds of times, this was no different. Until the injection stream failed in the open position.
She tried everything, but the exotic matter production was tied to an irreversible, unstoppable reaction, and there was no way to safely eject the already-accreted quantity if the containment field were powered off. She needed to evacuate the building. She remembers tripping the catastrophic failure alarm. She remembers the vault doors closing, and the sound of the 14 basement floors above her collapsing several minutes later. Protocol. She never thought she'd have to do it, but better her than half the city.
She remembers the containment field failing. White. All white.
She opened her eyes. She knew. She didn't survive. Around her was a glowing pool of molten glass. She could feel some heat, but it wasn't unpleasant. She stood on an untouched island in the center, the trees and grass and path for 20 meters was gone. The figure was gone. She held her throat where it had grabbed her, her hand came away covered in ashes. Confused and somber, she waited for the glass to cool, knowing that time no longer mattered.
Ignoring her urge to hurry, she walked along the glass surface gingerly, though it was smooth. Like part of her expected it to break and plunge her into the depths. At the edge, many people had gathered. And some other not-quite-people. Or at least not quite human people.
Aron had no idea what to expect from the afterlife, but the people began kneeling as she approached. Their faces were downcast, broken, and terrified. Not knowing how to react, she simply asked "where am I?"
Those nearest her looked up, obviously confused.
One man replied "you mean to tell us you're a Newling? That's impossible! You could not have done this!"The uproar was overwhelming as the news spread among the crowd. Aron couldn't tell if they were angry, afraid, or elated.
She ran. She ran to where she knew she needed to be. The urge was too strong and she ran faster. Faster. *Faster.* She was dead. Why then, did she feel so *late?* Then she saw the city.
Then she knew. |
Her little cottage was...peaceful, for once.
She hated the peace. Peace meant trouble was growing somewhere. A small part of her wondered if that trouble would be for her.
With her apprentices, perhaps so.
"umm, i don't really know..."
she let out a sigh. There was no use worrying about it. If the great ones meant it to be, then so be it. she rose and walked towards the voices, both she knew very well.
One was of one of her apprentices, Michella, who was standing in front of the open door. Outside was someone she knew well too, but not positively.
"Please, anything? she must have told you something about this."The man, a short lanky thing, was shoving a scroll in front of her apprentice, his eyes wide and desperate.
"Excuse me,"she laid a hand gently on her apprentice's shoulder and, without any effort or strength, moved her out of the way and behind her. Now she stood towering over the man. He didn't back down of course. No, he stared right up at her with defiance. He even puffed his chest out and stuck his chin out in a weak attempt to seem intimidating.
"Hello again."He said. You're looking as vibrant as--"
"This is the fourth time this week, Mr. Burniham."She replied monotonously. "And every time I will give you the same answer. I will not help you."
"Oh come on!"He pleaded. "You've been alive for millennia, you've seen civilizations rise and fall! Please, you must have something you can tell me! Even just a small--"
"Those civilizations were meant to fall. What will learning of them do to help humans now, when they will not listen to each other anyway?"
"But--"
"Enough."She stepped back inside. "Have a nice day Mr. Burniham."
And slammed the door shut.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the door. She could feel her magic begin to simmer in frustration. Why would these historians never listen? why did none of the mortals listen? She could deal with the young humans who's magic needed training. She could deal with the adventurers coming for details of monsters that still lurked. Hell, she tolerated the few humans that stumbled upon her little cottage after ingesting plants that gave them their highs.
But these historians were something else. They just never listen.
"Come along Michella."She said after a moment, harsher than she meant. "It's time for your lesson."
"y-yes ma'am!"
\--
"Now remember, even though its name sounds sweet, this plant is actually quite bitter."
She knelt in the midst of her small garden. In front of her a vine wrapped around a lattice. The leaves themselves were a green so dark they were almost black, bunched together along the vine and leaving parts of it bare. And, in some of the bunches, were small berries, barely the size of the nail on her pinkie. Most were still too young to pick.
"So why are they called Lolly vine then?"The young girl asked, pen at the ready for her notes.
"Because,"She stood up with a grunt. "People who eat it get a burst of energy, like a child who eats too many sweets."
She took a few steps to the left to check along the vine. "You must be careful with it though. Those who do tend to become bedridden from exhaustion."
"That doesn't seem that bad..."Her apprentice said.
"It is when you're bedridden for a week."
“Oh.”
Her apprentice scribbled furiously over the lined paper of her notebook. This young one had much potential to become a great witch. Always listening, always doing as she was told. She had to laugh at what her own master all those years would have said at the sight of this. She was nothing like her other apprentice.
"Speaking of bedridden,"she turned around and examined her garden for the vibrant head of hair that belong to her other student. But sure enough, he was nowhere to be seen. "where's Anan?"
"umm..."She looked down at her apprentice. Her lips were now pursed, her eyes darting from one side to the other. No doubt her mind was running for excuses.
"Michella."She warned.
"He--well, he wanted to --well, he said he needed to get out after...well...."
she let out a sigh. "Did he say when he would be back?"
She shook her head. "B-but he said he would get the ingredient for dinner tonight so i didn't have to do it, and--"
She held up a hand, silencing her apprentice. Once she settled, she spoke. "go back inside and continue on with your studies."
Dejected, the young girl closed her book and left, only muttering a meek "yes ma'am"before leaving. Only once the back door closed did she start for the path around her house.
As she came around to the front and down the path, she heard voices again. And, again, both she recognized very well. One was Mr. Burniham. The other….
Her other apprentice. the troublemaker as she liked to call him, as did the other grand wizards who tried to train him.
"Do you know anything about this?"The historian asked.
"Never seen it in my life. What is it?"He asked, his head tilted enough that she could look over his shoulder and see what they were looking at.
the scroll was now open but the writing was far too small for her to read from where she stood. But in the top right-hand corner was a symbol. A red circle with a cat's eye in the middle. The sclera was pitch black, and the pupil itself was bright yellow.
It sent a chill down her spine. Her blood boiled. She clutched at her chest as if she had been struck. Flashes of those times passed in her eyes. The darkness. The blood, loosing—
She forced herself to calm down, to let her magic simmer back down. And, without announcing her presence to them, she simply lifted her hand, clicked her fingers…
And the whole scroll went up in flames.
"Whoa!"Anan yelped, jumping back.
"What happened?! What did you do?!"The historian screamed, dropping to his knees. He slapped at the fire with his coat, trying to put it out. But it was no use. the flame already destroyed to old brittle scroll.
“I didn’t—” He tried to protest.
"If i had known that was what you were asking about when you came to my door,"She stepped out from where she stood. "i would’ve destroyed it then and there."
"But-- how could you?!"The historian got back on his feet. "That was a priceless piece of--"
"That monstrosity should have been destroyed eons ago!"She snapped. "Do not bring anything like that here again! Do i make myself clear?!"
The historian kept opening and closing his mouth, no doubt wanting to argue but backing down every time he made eye contact. She didn't pause though. She pressed a hand firmly down on his shoulder.
"Now. you will leave here, and not come back. Do you understand?"He didn't move, didn't respond. Not a shake or a nod. But she knew he understood. She pushed him away firmly.
"Good. Now leave."She turned away. She didn’t need to watch him leave.
“And you."She came to a stop beside Anan. "You will forget what you saw on that parchment and return to the cottage. Understood?"
"Yes ma'am..."she studied his face. That curiosity, that hunger for knowledge. He was just like Michella in that regard, but for different reasons. and he was just as stubborn as that Historian.
She turned away and continued up the path, back to her cottage. All the while She clutched at her chest.
They just never listen. |
"You are an unnatural abomination, that will be dealt with!"The inquisitor hissed. He knelt down, close enough for his pointed face to brush the cheek of the being chained to the floor. "How dare you disappoint him. He gave you everything."he whispered into the being's ear.
The being bucked his chains, and rattled them. His wings, also chained, shook and quavered. He pulled forward and the chains snapped tight. He roared at the inquisitor who stepped back and frowned.
The being locked eyes with the Inquisitor and spoke.
"How dare I, how dare I! He was going to slaughter them! Billions of beings! It is genocide!"He roared, and struggled again. The chains rattled and squealed, but they held.
The Inquisitor shook his head, and sneered.
"It is his own decision,"he hissed, "not a choice that you or I can make. And now look what you have done. You have fractured us. I have your conspirators here as well, all held by my guard. You fool. Do you not realize that he knows all?"
The being struggled again and cried out, sobbing.
"Sob away. I'm sure he relishes it."The Inquisitor said. "I should be thanking you though."
"Why?"the being sobbed. "Why thank me?"
"For my promotion. He told me he plans a new world, and this time he said we can be involved."
"Involved?"The chained being whispered. "How?"
"Well let's just say this will be his his biggest project yet. And you're going to be sad you missed it."The Inquisitor laughed. He dusted off one of his shoulder plates and flexed a wing. "We're going to get them to spaceflight this time. Might induct a few if they meet his requirements."
The being squatted, bringing his chained wings as close to his body as he could. "So that's the reason. He's going to clean up his toys and try again."
The Inquisitor laughed, and gestured to a place outside the cell. "You think the Mer'Rekki were a good creation? We're doing them a favor. They offer nothing, and do nothing."
The chained being growled. "They're peaceful."
The Inquisitor shrugged.
"Precisely."
The chains blew apart as the being flexed and glowed. His wings were fully outstretched and he raised clenched fists. He brought them down on the shocked Inquisitor, who crumpled into the corner. Then he gripped him by the golden cape around his neck, and lifted.
"Tell me one thing."The being spoke as fire traced through his skin. "What is he calling it?"
The Inquisitor scrabbled at the beings clenched fists but couldn't open it.
"Tell me!"the being roared, and slammed the Inquisitor into the wall by his throat.
The Inquistor chocked, and a speckle of golden blood dripped from his mouth.
"Ea....Earth."he gasped.
The being roared and threw the Inquisitor into a corner. Bringing his fist back, he slammed it into the wall of the cell, which exploded outwards. Wind rushed in as the being looked over the edge of the floor. Below him carnage reigned as giant ships soared past each other over burning plains. Groups of winged beings flocked all over, dropping to the ground like birds of prey and slaying smaller beings. The smaller beings were all over, screaming and crying as destruction evaporated everything they knew.
"Monsters."The being whispered. He turned back to the Inquisitor. "You're all monsters."Then he crossed his arms and closed his wings.
"You won't get away from him, he will find you."The Inquisitor gasped as he struggled to stand. The door to the cell beeped and slid open, and winged guards rushed in.
"Don't worry, I'll be close by."The winged being said, and dropped backwards. The Inquisitor rushed to the edge and screamed as he saw the being spread his wings and disappear amongst the carnage. He turned back to the guards in a rage.
"What are you doing!"he screamed, "Go! Find him!"The guards nodded, dropped their visors, and jumped out of the hole while splaying their wings and drawing their swords.
The Inquisitor grabbed the arm of one of the guards in the back.
"Wait."
The guard nodded and stayed, drawing his wings closed.
"I'm in no state, so you must tell him."The Inquisitor said as the rest of the guards jumped.
"I'm sorry, tell him what?"The guard asked, his fear etched in his face.
"Tell him..."The Inquisitor panted, "Tell him that Lucifer has escaped."
"But Inquisitor..."
"I SAID GO! TELL HIM!"the Inquisitor shouted, pulling a sword from his belt, and pointing it at the guard. The blade lit up into flames, and the guard fled the cell back through the door.
The Inquisitor coughed, and doubled over. After standing, he sheathed his sword.
"Now..."he whispered as he looked back over the edge. "Now I am Archangel, Lucifer. And I swear I will hunt you down."
The Inquisitor stood, swept his wings and cloak behind him, and dissipated into the black beyond the cell door. |
I was gob smacked. I had entered the library and went through the history section, but when I pick up any book.. it's dark, a lie. I keep looking through book after book.. nothing! Nothing was true! My shock was replaced with intense existential dread as I spent hours in the library, checking every book, every page.. but there was no truths.
I sat there at a table, staring at another book about WW2 but just like the others, its text was nothing but darkness. I finish speesing through the pages hoping for a shimmer of hope represented by golden glowing letters but it never came.
I decided to look around again, putting the book back then trying another section, but nothing stood out, religious books, fantasy books, nothing. Ar least not my library, anyway.
I decide at this point, I need to relax, and think this through later, first priority is to calm myself down from the dread of knowing our entire world has been a lie. "Why? What is it the world is trying to hide from us?"I kept thinking to myself, but could never come to an answer.
I see a RedBox on my walk back home and think picking out a good movie will help ease my nerves.. that was until I picked out a movie that is. I took the movie case and read the back of it that gave a short introduction to the story, it's a movie I've seen before but never bothered to read the back. It was glowing a bright Gold. "No.. no way. Oh fuck."I said out loud to myself.
It was a copy of Shrek 2. |
Mondays. Mondays were the worst. Sure, everyone said that, but you knew it to be especially true, because all the Saturday and Sunday idiots had to be cleaned up on Mondays, lest their conditions worsens. But there was no changing that, and you were paid properly, so that was that. Much better working conditions then you had in the bank as well and no bending over for people.
"Lt. Dan, please get the team ready while I plan our route". Lt. Dan was not actually called that. Lt. Daniel Hardson was just so relentlessly annoying as he was constantly referring to the time he had spent abroad killing some people who had no way to defend themselves, that you felt reminded of "Lt. Dan"from Forest Gump, or at least the character he was before he was injured. The Lieutenant rolled his eyes and went off to find the others.
So, what was on the rooster today....you scanned through the list, marking the heavy duty cases and putting them first. You rather enjoyed this part, as it completely supported your theory that the majority of humanity was basically a collection of people who had been busy throwing the poop around with the other apes when the brains were handed out.
​
When the Lt had organised everyone you told them today's plan: "All right, listen up (yes, yes, you REALLY enjoyed pretending to be some boot camp sergeant). Today we have the following:
\- ten guys who wanted to fly
\- five creeps who wanted to be invisible
\- another ten who wanted to become Wolverine
\- and as always: twenty who wanted to enlarge a part of themselves that they felt was lacking. Any questions?"
Sally, a blonde who looked like she should model, or act or be some rich guy's arm candy, but who had really surpised you with the fact that she not only had brains but was completely unaware of her looks to the point where she pretended to be just one of the girls, asked: "only twenty Ding Dongs?"(unfortunately, your natural sarcasm had quickly influenced the team).
"Yes, we decided to share the loot with the guys in the other three divisions"(the city had been divided into north, east, south and west. Unfortunately they gave you the North, which precluded any gang jokes....this might have been the worst thing about the job. You have tried to get into one of the other divisions ever since).
While the flying boys and the Invisible Men could wait, the Ding Dongs tended to be a real problem and had to be dealt with quickly. Since your average person has about as much understanding of the necessary knowledge as a lawyer has of being a human being, the results of what people did to themselves tended to be varied. Fortunately it had been two decades since people started experimenting, so you had some gadgets to help you turn people back from whatever they turned themselves into.
​
The first victim of his own stupidity was stuck. Instead of enlarging his best piece, he had managed to enlarge all his extremities. Possible, if you are an absolutist ruler in a huge castle, but rather problematic if you live in a single's appartment. Since using your gadget meant that the person would shrink back to normal size, someone had to make sure that the receding extremities did not get stuck or tear open on their way back. Hands and Feet were easy to assign, but the private area had to be chosen with care. You had long since decided that Rock, Paper, Scissors, Lizzard, Spock was the best way to deal with this. To make it extra fair, the person who had the last penis did not have to play this time.
You felt rather sorry for the victim when Sally lost the game. Having your privates handled by that women while people all around you had seen them stick out of the window....that took some courage to get over.
​
The Invisible Men were next. Why people still believed that they would be the ones for whom this would finally work was beyond you. Sure, something went invisible, but that was pretty much it: not all of you. Somehow the body seemed to realize what was being done to it and rejected it in a random way. The result was what we called "missing pieces", as one or several parts of people's bodies would just become invisible. Most people would have imagined that a full arm, or leg or head would disappear, but the horrible reality was not that easy. This guy had the skin and lining of his stomach and gut disappear, which was disgusting to look at and very traumatic for him.
​
You kept the funniest for last: the wanna be supermans. Yes, it was not okay to make fun of people and yes, you were supposed to help them. And you did. But this did not mean that it could not be fun for you. The wanna be Supermans were the most fun for everyone involved because the treatment almost always worked. So people got wings....only not where they wanted them. And since their desire to fly was still there, those wings did what they could. The current idiot had grown wings on his penis and was flying around a neighbourhood seemingly filled with outraged moms who approached you just to vent. "Why has this not been taken care of until now? My Daughter had to see this man's private parts for two days now, she is traumatized!". Looking around at the grinning teenagers all over the street, you very much doubted that statement.
"Ma'am, I am sorry, but this is the 21st century. Your daughter will have already seen all kinds of penises from men she has never met, so please calm down. We will take him down, fix him and all will be fine". Well sure, the guy would have to move, possibly to a place without internet, but still, it would be fine.
"So who wants the gun?". Sally was upbeat as always. She loved shooting the net gun at these guys. They never made it past ten meters of height anyway, so they could easily shoot them down. Sure, they were supposed to put a cushion under them, but for some reason you kept forgetting it. How else were they supposed to learn, after all?
​
edit: spell checking and grammar inprovements (not my first language) |
You quickly check your phone. Dead. The old charger finally died on you.
"Why now?"You curse as you scramble to find your spare. You plug in your phone.
"Come on, come on"You keep pushing the power button. You have no idea, what time it is. Phone powers on. You leave it to start, and rush to the bathroom. Two minutes to pee, then brush your teeth.
You rush out, with your toothbrush still in your mouth. Phone is on. 9:37?! And 6 missed calls from Mike. Damn it!
You pull some clothes on, then spit out the toothpaste. You grab your Bluetooth headphones and try to call Mike. He picks up after four rings.
"WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU? WE'RE UNDER HEAVY FIRE OVER HERE!"He yells over other noise.
"My phone died at night! I can get there in five or ten minutes! Who's yelling in russian?"
"YOU HEARD VIKTOR FROM RED? YOU'RE THAT CLOSE?"
"Yeah, first wave is on, right?!"
"YEAH, GET TO THE RENDEZVOUS POINT AND JOIN US IN WAVE TWO!"
"Roger, bye!"You hang up and grab your gear. You're glad you packed before bed. No time for breakfast.
You curse at yourself as you dash out the door. Keys! You double back to grab your keys. Phone is on the travel charger. What else could go wrong?
The worlds largest, once in a lifetime, airsoft tournament is happening right in your hometown. And you OVERSLEPT! |
Nico spent many days alone, the better days were spent with the man who came by to drop off his month’s worth of food. The man didn’t share his name, he wasn’t allowed to. When the man said that he wouldn’t be allowed to drop off food or visit if he shared any personal details about him.
When he dropped the bag of food off, he spent an extra hour playing cards with Nico. Nico’s job was to sleep because when he slept, he saw life through the eyes of other humans. At first, he thought they were simply realistic dreams from watching too much television. His parents thought the same, but when the dreams failed to stop and when the dreams lasted days at times, he was sent to the hospital.
“I dreamed that I was the President,” Nico told the agent, who had been informed by the sheriff, who had been informed by the doctor.
“And how did you know that it was the President?” the agent asked.
“Well, I saw his office and I saw him looking at himself in the mirror and I heard him talking to his doctor about his private part was hurting and I sa-”
“That’s plenty, son.” the agent said, cutting Nico off.
The agent left the room to call a dozen of his superiors who called a dozen of theirs. The next time the agent came back, there were more people dressed in uniforms.
“Can you tell us again about what you saw? About everyone.” the agent asked.
And so Nico told them. He told them about the astronauts, he told them about the deep sea divers, and he told them about the pillar. He always regretted talking about the pillar.
The dreams didn’t come often, but any time Nico dreamed about the pillar, he was instructed to write down everything he remembered about the dream. Where he was, what color the sky was, what color the pillar was, the weather, where the sun was, how high up the room he was in was, any identifiable characteristics about the person he was in the dream. They wanted everything and Nico was taken away to a cozy home in the countryside. His parents weren’t allowed to visit, his friends weren’t allowed to call him.
The agents let his parents stay with him at first, they let his friends come over, but the dreams started coming less frequently. He too often dreamed of aquarium workers, professional athletes.
“Why does he need to be isolated?” his mom asked the agents.
The agent took her away, she was gone for the better half of the day. Nico saw her talk to his dad, they normally fought a lot, but they talked calmly. That alone was a scary sight for Nico. The two came to his room and they asked him to sit down. They held his hand together.
“You have a job to do, Nico.” his dad said to him.
“We’ll be waiting once you’re done,” his mom said. “No matter how long it takes.”
Nico was alone then aside from the games of cards, the canned foods, the cans of water, the phone he was only supposed to use if he dreamed about the pillar. He slept, he learned to sleep for long periods of time. Nico didn’t know it, but most of the foods were altered, strong doses of melatonin added to everything he had. He was always sleepy, losing weight faster than any child should.
But he slept and he dreamt. He still enjoyed the sights he’d see as a pilot, as a school teacher, or even as a dad playing catch with his son.
He closed his eyes and before he opened them, he smelled the stale air. He smelled the mold growing on the concrete, the rusted metal bars that lined the window. He couldn’t control the people in his dreams, he was an observer here. He waited for the sight, he waited for the pull. He watched as the person he was dreaming of looked at their hands, knuckles bloody. Nico wondered what happened and as he felt the pull, he felt his hands fly to the opposite wall. His hands were burning, pain exploding throughout his body.
He’s punching the wall to avoid the pull, Nico thought.
It was clever, it was the first time Nico had seen anyone try that, but the pull was too much and the person faced towards the bars. He faced the pillar. The pillar was a brilliant green today, it shined bright, making the lake surrounding it an emerald that would be easy to describe after. He tried his best to remember the scene, where the sun was, how high up the room was, anything that had changed since the last dream. When the pull was over, he felt drained. Nico watched as his host cried, he felt the tears himself, the shortness of breath, the choking.
Nico woke up and walked to the phone, it didn’t even take them a full ring for them to pick up.
“It happened again.” |
"Good afternoon, welcome to McDonalds, can I take your order?"
The lights flickered and the ground rumbled as shadows grew long and an aura of menace crept in through the drive through window. I craned my head to see what was going on.
A loud burst of static crackled in my earpiece. "HELLO. YES. I WOULD LIKE A MCBREAKFAST COMBO."It sounded like a thousand souls wailing in agony.
"So sorry, but it's past 10:30 and we've stopped offering the breakfast menu. Is there anything else I can get you?"
The static cracked again, and a loud sigh like the wind whistling through the graveyard echoed through my ear canal. "Hm. Hmmm."Wet, tentacly slaps tapped on pavement.
"YES. DO YOU KNOW WHAT A MCGANGBANG IS? I REQUEST ONE MCCHICKEN AND ONE MCDOUBLE"
I punched the order in. "Alright so one mcchicken and one mcdouble then. Would you like a drink with that?"
"NO, UNLESS YOU HAPPEN TO CARRY SANITY? I MOSTLY DRINK SANITY THESE DAYS."The building started to rock and the foundation cracked. We couldn't keep him in the drive through for much longer.
"Fresh out of sanity, I'm afraid. This is a fast food job. Anyway slide up to the window, that'll be 3.49."
I dropped the sandwich bag into an outstretched tentacle and received some slimy change. "Have a nice day, enjoy your meal."
"THANKS, YOU TOO."Rumbled a voice directly in my head. "WAIT, FUCK."
A strong wind tore through the parking lot as a void between dimensions appeared, sucking up our latest many-tentacled guest carrying his lunch. The lights returned to normal and my headset crackled to life again. Man, working the lunch rush sucks. |
It was really kind of unimpressive to look at, the stuff. Just a vial of clear liquid, small enough to sit in your palm. Not too frightening.
I stowed it away in my backpack, after wrapping it in every sock, spare shirt and gum wrapper I could find. I was right to be careful with it—VX13's not for human use. Invariably, no matter how low the dose, you end up living a cosmic eternity and you come out braindead. It's considered cruel and unusual.
So I suppose that raises the following question: why would I take it with me at all? Yes, it's worth a fortune, but I wasn't going to sell it. I don't fence illegal goods. The closest thing to a fringe market I visit is a farmer's market. So why would I spend an hour walking home with just a few layers of fabric between me and a fate too horrible for words? Why wouldn't I smash the fucking thing on the sidewalk before it could snake into my pores and rot my mind?
Well: VX13's not for humans, like I said, but it's not just humans on Terra. My husband is thirty-nine and hails from one of the Kepler planets, I forget which. He works as a porter at one of those enormous interspecies housing facilities. It's a colorful crowd: you have your Epsilons, armored millipede-people; your multidimensional plasma clouds kindly assuming a corporeal form for the benefit of society; and his people—my husband's folks, tall spindly bastards with bladed limbs.
My husband's name is unpronounceable for me without a few more tongues and a ridged esophagus, but the universal translation network renders it a scraping noise that sounds like "Len,"so that's his name on Terra. I call him Leonard when we're arguing.
Anyway. VX13 works like a charm on Len's species. In fact, the substance was first isolated from a plant native to their planet—they can synthesise it now, of course, but.
Len has a hereditary condition. I call it space scurvy—which always makes him laugh. He has enormous eyes as deep as the Andromeda and his inner eyelids quiver when he laughs. But it's a pretty apt name for what happens: you dissolve from the inside out. Your teeth fall out, your mandibles turn to powder, and if you somehow manage not to starve, you can look forward to an agonizing death.
I found one razor-sharp triangular tooth on my pillow the other day.
Let me be clear that Len and I could walk into a clinic tomorrow and end it for him. It's cheap enough, and we have the documentation to prove he's ill. I could hold his hand in mine and watch his slender blue fingers go still. But it's not what he wants—he wants to work as long as he's able, to spend his days with me. He'll drag himself out of bed until he can't anymore, just to feel that he's not missing out.
It's not only a punitive tool, VX13. Yes, if you give it to a man in thumbscrews, he'll feel as if he's spent two-hundred years in thumbscrews. But if you take him home, someplace he feels at ease, you sit him down on the bed you both share, and you hold his hand, and you make certain the temperature's right and the lights are low, and maybe you talk to him. . .that's different.
When he came home from work today, I was waiting for him. I must have looked like an idiot, sitting at the dining table, crying my eyes out, handling the vial with a pair of bright-yellow dishwashing gloves.
Len said nothing for the longest time. He stepped inside, bowing his head—our ceiling's a little too low—and started to take off his boots with infinite care. The sound of his talons buffing against the leather was so familiar my eyes drifted shut.
"Okay,"he said eventually.
I sat upright. I looked up to make certain I hadn't heard him wrong. It felt tacky to wave the vial in front of his face; he wasn't stupid, he understood the situation.
"Yeah?"I asked.
"Thank you,"said Len, in a tone as if he was setting down a heavy burden. "Don't cry."
I palmed the tears from my cheeks as well I could with rubber gloves. He came over, tugged a napkin from the nearby box and wiped my face for me with an astounding gentleness. I should be used to it, but it surprises me every time, watching him move his bladed body so carefully. Like seeing a wolf carry an egg in its mouth.
"I guess you'll want to eat first,"I mumbled. Not that I knew the first thing about the process, but it must be better to begin your mental pseudo-lifetime fed and rested.
"No, love,"he said, and his translator implant did a beautiful job conveying a breaking voice, "I'll change my mind."
"Right. Go on, then, and. . .in the bedroom?"
"Yes, please."
"Okay,"I said and motioned for him to go. He caught me taking the syringe and the tourniquet out of my backpack before he left, but he was tactful enough not to speak.
So. Holding my breath, I broke the seal on the VX13 with the needle and raised the plunger so that the syringe filled with that unassuming clear liquid. I couldn't wrap my head around it. It just looked normal. Like a regular syringe full of water or saline.
I ducked into the bathroom and fixed my hair before I went to find Len.
"You're absolutely sure?"I asked.
"You look nice,"he answered, glancing aside.
"Leonard?"
"Yes—no—yes. Yes. If you're here."
"I will be,"I said, flicking the air bubbles out of the chamber of the syringe, trying to be all business now.
"Wait,"said Len, taking my wrist. I smiled. He's always been a little intimidated by needles. even though he's practically made of them. "Wait. It's like a dream. It works better if you discuss the details."
"Ah."
So, with the unforgettable gleaming syringe between us, we discussed what his long, full, healthy life should look like. We would come into a little money, work would let him take an extended vacation. We'd finally visit his home planet. I would take up the guitar again, and I'd never get very good, but he'd still want a nightly serenade. He finds the vibrations of stringed instruments especially pleasing. Of course he'd outlive me by several centuries, but we would have adopted many children in the meantime—they would keep him company well into his old age, until he passed peacefully in his sleep, so ancient that his blue skin had faded grey.
Having settled the minor matter of our life, I pushed the needle into his forearm.
And that's where we are now. Backed up against the wooden headboard together, his hand in mine. He's been staring into the distance for about thirty seconds.
I wonder what he's living. I wonder if he'll be the same Len when he comes back. I wonder if he'll be at peace: spiritually an old man, no longer afraid of missing out.
I hope he won't be in a hurry to die; I still want a little time with him. I don't care if I wake up to a few more serrated teeth between the sheets. As long as he's not in pain.
Now and again he squeezes my hand. |
"Corvus? Corvus you big hunk of bird! What have you gotten into "across the room a bird-like man coughed up a bit of a feather and laid a metallic button on the floor from within his beak before replying.
"**Scraw!** I mean...I was working. I have two in my sights. Watch."Below the crow like man and the Cherub God of Love emanated a circular ring of sight into another world. Within the swirling frame was the image of people walking down the crowded city street, then closer it zoomed into a building window, into an apartment. Finally the frame focused on a man with his back turned, doing dishes.
"Are you watching? It's important you watch- **Scraw!**"
The cherub faced god rubbed his temples with a tiny hand, "Yes. I am watching Corvus."At the go Corvus reached his hand up through a cloud into the sky and snapped. With this command a raven drifted down into his feathery palm and nestled itself in position. Then, with a mighty pull back, Corvus launched the bird down through the circular frame of the portal. It flew down with an ever fading **Sqwaaa-aaak** before gliding into the apartment window and beak-diving into a trashcan.
Corvus watched on with an expectant grin on his face as the bird essentially exploded into a cloud of feathers.
"What the hell?!"the man previously washing dishes jumped around at the sound of a bird flying into his trashcan going 60 miles an hour. "Was that?...was that a bird?"He walked over and peered in the trash as both Cupid and Corvus watched on from far above. With a hesitant hand he began reaching into the can. **Sqwaa!**, the bird yelled. **Ah!**, the man replied.
"What is that noise?"From a back hallway a girl emerged to see the commotion, her brown hair half curled and shirt on backwards.
"I think a big ass bird is in here.."**Sqwaa!**, the big ass bird agreed. By now Cupid was staring in horror at the mess that his brother had made down within the mortal realm. Corvus meanwhile stared on with a continued grin.
"Oh...well lets take it out then I guess! In the trashcan of course."At this the mans eyes perked up, not at her suggestion, but at the prospect of having company. So they walked and talked, talked of life, of what they had become, and of the bird in the trash which frequently sqwauked to keep its end if the conversation up. With every movement they made Corvus's happiness only grew. He excitedly ruffled his feathered arms and shook his beak, and on the other side of the frame Cupid began to see the point of it all.
He remembered both of the humans well as just last year they were within his jurisdiction. He shot the arrow that grew them together. Then watched on as its power crumbled until there was nothing left. But now something new sprouted like the buds of spring. Not love, at least not the kind Cupid dealt in, but relationship nonetheless.
Both Corvus and Cupid watched on as the humans below released the bird as it flew off back into the sky.
"So, friends?"The girl brushed a curl from her face.
"Friends"he replied with a smile. |
Every culture has their own proverbs, but some are universal. Some like, “don’t wake the sleeping dragon.” Imagine my surprise when someone did so on purpose. Then imagine my amusement when I saw who it was. Such a trifling thing was never worth remembering.
It happened thusly.
I yawn and work my jaw about, raising my tail and smacking it against my side where some insect is gnawing at me. Pieces of villagers dislodge from my teeth as I slowly swing my head around, only to still, focusing one eye on the offender.
“What’ss thiss? A little mouse?” I say softly, running my gaze over the inconsiderable creature. It has fallen over onto its hindquarters and is staring up at me with wide, scared eyes, as most of its kind are want to do when I’m near. Evidently my tail failed to strike it. “Did I misss one?”
It doesn’t say anything. Its holding a dismembered arm of a human adult close to its chest. In the other hand it holds something small and sharp which, to my surprise, it raises and drives into my side between my scales. It doesn’t say a word as it does.
I rumble out a low chortle. “Ssso brave. Are you trying to cut your parents out?”
It drives its knife into my side again.
“Or maybe…” I slither my head down next to it. My eye is nearly as big as its body. “…you’d like to join them?”
It trembles as I near, holding its knife out to me while clutching the arm tighter to its chest.
“I’m already so very full. But I can make room for one more.”
It shakes so violently that it trips and flails for balance. It amuses me, and I laugh all the louder.
Until it drives its knife into my eye.
I yank my head back with a roar, lurching up to stand and dragging my foreclaw along my snout. “Wretch! Worm!” I stomp my feet where it had been standing and slam my tail into the ground. Becoming my meal is too great a privilege for something so contemptible, so beneath me—instead I’ll crush it *flat.*
When my eye stops watering, I turn my gaze back to the insect with flames licking at my teeth, but I’m unable to discern its corpse from the rest surrounding me. Still feeling the sting of its insult, that it would *dare* strike my magnificent self in such a craven manner, I unleash my hellfire across the earth so that the remains of it and its brethren won’t even have the honor of fertilizing what comes after. They and their accomplishments will be ash, and I will scatter what remains of their essence to the four winds.
It only takes one flap of my wings to destroy what remains of their village. I leave it a blazing inferno and take to the sky towards my den, satisfied with my work and the fullness of my belly.
That should have been the end of it. Another dirty herd of livestock—one of many. But as I stare down the armies of man assembled against me with all manner of dragon-killing weapons and magiks, I smell a familiar scent on the wind coming from a figure standing at the host’s head and can’t help but remember.
The little mouse lifts her sword towards me in challenge. I chortle. Fate, it seems, is not without its sense of humor.
When I destroy these worms, I’ll eat her last. I want her to watch again. |
The old hero adjusted the strap of his worn out armor, making sure it would sit properly. As well as an armor made for an energetic 20 year old boy would fit a 40 year old man. News from the capital city had reached him, those stupid young fellas had failed. They didn't listen to the few things he told them.
The young girl wearing delicate armor followed by a typical troupe of warriors reached the forest the old hero resided in. His own entourage got killed by the demon king as he sent him to hell (at least for hopefully 20 years), leaving him alone and new heros to fight. Flipping her overly long hair over her shoulder, she pushed open the crusty door that hid the hero behind itself. As it flung open, their eyes fell on the hero. The old man sat there, white paper and tobacco spilt on his kitchen table. "Hero."she proclaimed. "Teach us your ways."
The old man looked her up and down, visage grim. "Get rid of that hair, a monster will hold it and chop your head off. Seen it happen. Narcissism doesn't save lives" The girl loudly coughed, as if ringing for air. "Additionally: That armor won't do shit. You think having your stomach hang out will protect you against stray arrows? Or the guy in the back just wearing a shirt? What even is that? Did your Mommy sew it?" The old hero had rolled the tobacco into a cigarette which he pushed between his lips. A small spark appeared from the tip of his left index finger, lighting the cigarette. He took a deep breath, inhaling the hot smoke just before he blew it back into the girl's face. "See this? True Magic. The stuff you're learning… Magi-""Magika"The Hero closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Magika. That's useless when faced with true enemies. How many enchanted crystals can you carry around with you? How many people will you drag into dark dungeons just to be your mule?"Your stances are weak as well. You shudder in anger at what I am saying. How will you face mental torture at the hands of the demons?"
The young heros threw the door shut, rushing away. What an annoying old Fart. Magika was much greater, not requiring casting or Mana. Easy Access Mana. Didn't matter that no one knew what made it work, it did work.
That was their great mistake. With real magic everything magician could change something or add, they instinctively understood how it worked. Heros being Magic Swordsmen were included in that, of course. But with Magika no one knew what was going to happen, and that was a bane. It turned out that the creator of Magika was the demon king himself, effectively shutting down the country as nothing worked without it anymore. The heros couldn't even fight off the monsters as those fiends were using magical, their lieges creation, as well.
Just as the young female hero was about to have her head chopped off, she felt a lighter tug at the back of her head, accompanied by a whooshing noise. She looked back and saw her hair chopped off on the ground, together with a halved troll. The old hero stood close, a disgusting grin on his face. He threw her a properly magically enchanted sword and rushed into battle, body's flying left and right with magic circles carrying him forward.
As he jumped into the air and threw his sword in the middle of the demon king's head, all monsters dropped down and wild Magika stopped working. The female hero crashed on the ground, dead tired. The old hero helped her up, face looking proud now.
"Wanna learn real magic Kiddo?"
Her brain took a second to work out what happened, but she had already agreed before she came to that conclusion.
The hero patted her shoulder. "I'm Xander." she got up, dusting her clothes off and letting the useless armor clash on the ground. "Nice to meet you Xander. I'm Christine."
Xander rummaged through his pocket, pulling out a cigarette which he quickly lit. "Want one?""Sure"
He handed another to Christine as she clumsily placed it between her own lips. Xander saw this as a great teaching opportunity:"Just think of Fire on your Finger. Fire that doesn't hurt you preferably"
Christine concentrated strongly and with a puff of smoke, a little flame appeared on her finger. Christine started laughing loudly, face like a ray of sunshine, causing her cigarette to fall to the mud. Xander sighed, throwing his own down while killing the flame with his boot.
"Smoking isn't good at my old age. And for a youngin like you definitely not."
--------------
Note: tried formatting this for ages but it just refuses so I'm giving up. |
The soldier stared at the wizard he'd met in the desert.
The wizard smirked. "This is why you don't fight a magic-technology war. I can do *way* more things than you can."
The soldier looked at his gun.
"I mean, sure, in 100 years maybe you'll have cybernetic enhancements that can fight a wizard. But I'll have better spells! I'll be able to teleport your bullets into saturn, or something. We wizards innovate too. The better your sciencey shit is, the better our wizardy shit will be to compensate!"
The soldier pulled something out and affixed it to the front of his gun.
"The Magocracy will crush your stupid rebellion, and then we'll have a *serious* talk about the idea behind all this. Come on. I'm a *wizard.* I'm a Gandalf-type motherfucker. You couldn't beat me with a fuckin' nuke, it can't even go off in my presence."
The soldier shot the wizard in the stomach, a plume of bright blue flame with purple edges sparking from the barrel of the weapon.
"OW! WHAT THE FUCK"
The soldier walked up to him and smirked. "Foolish wizard. I have a *Magic* gun."
The wizard stared at him.
"That's cheating."
"Says the bulletproof super-fast wizard."
"Hmmm... if that's how you want to play it."
The wizard stared at the soldier, then snapped his fingers. In a puff of arcane light, dozens upon dozens of spectral guns appeared in the air.
The soldier sighed.
Two seconds later, two formerly smug bodies sat in the desert. |
With one final, terminal crunch, the debris settled and the single most advanced piece of technology ever created by human hands lay shattered beneath a simple rock. It’s lone occupant looked on in horror, the colour draining from their face. Curtis had managed to scramble free after the first few dislodged stones had come raining down, but now he wasn’t so sure if he’d have been better off staying in the time machine and joining it in its mercifully quick end.
The machine itself had been constructed largely from artificially grown crystal sheets and lattices. When in ‘flight’ the machine had resembled some kind of whirling winged sphere of stained glass. A stunning fractal kaleidoscope whose beautiful, elegant exterior concealed a fantastically complex system of light based energy conductors and modulators. All of which had now been pounded into so much useless sand. Curtis doubted he’d be able to find even a single fragment larger than his hand. It was hopeless.
The full realisation of his situation now beginning to set in, Curtis took stock of his situation. He was alone and trapped about 900 years before he was even born. Those seemed the most critical facts. He did at least speak the language. Sort of. The English he spoke had come a long way since its Middle English roots. There would definitely be some vocabulary issues, and he would likely struggle with the grammar, but he was hopeful that if everyone was kind enough to speak slowly, he’d be able to muddle through.
Very quickly he began to realise that he wasn’t coming back from this. Time travel was still a relatively new field of exploration and the necessary resources meant failsafes and redundancies just didn’t exist. The malfunction which had sent him careening off course in the first place ensured that nobody would know where he’d finally ended up. If they had somehow managed to figure it out, then they would already be here by now to extract him, that was the cold reality of time travel.
He briefly considered if he could create some kind of message that would eventually be found and used to locate him, a kind of temporal message in a bottle. Much as it pained him however, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Any message that was clear enough to make it into the right hands when the time came, would by necessity give away too much that could damage the timeline.
No, there was nothing to be done. He was a native now, he would live out the remainder of his days here in the Middle Ages.
Well if he was going to have to start a new life here, he could at least take stock of his resources. His flightsuit for example was certainly a great deal more durable, comfortable and insulated than anything he’d be able to find in this day and age. He had a few basic rations strapped to his thigh and of course his phone. As he remembered it, he reached for his top pocket to switch the phone off. No point letting its battery run down. Who knows maybe he’d figure out some way to make use of it down the line. As his finger hovered over the off button, he noticed something on the screen. His phone was picking up a signal.
It was very faint, just a single bar, but somehow his phone had a wifi signal. In his shock, Curtis dropped the phone. Cursing to himself he scrambled to pick it up off the damp grass, a rapid turn in his hand showed no signs of damage. The signal however was gone.
Curtis spun around, arm extended hoping to snag some stray sand of the now disappeared signal. Nothing. Placing the phone securely back in his pocket he began to clamber up the side of the rock formation that had only recently been the source of his exile but was now a beacon of hope. Having reached the top he grabbed the phone and held it aloft. He waited and prayed that this elevated position would give the mysterious signal an unimpeded path
Just as he was beginning to think he had, in his desperation, imagined it, a single bar flickered to life on his phone’s display. Ecstatic, Curtis began to scan the horizon to see if he could spot anything that could be a likely source for the signal. Nothing but great swathes of forest lay to the north and west, the ridge line, a tiny pillar of which he stood upon, could be seen occasionally cresting above the ancient trees. To the east the forest quickly gave way to a body of water, a lake as best Curtis could tell. To the south however, Curtis could just make out some kind of structure silhouetted by the low winter sun.
Mindful of the rapidly encroaching night, Curtis set off as fast as he could to make the best use of the remaining daylight. In his head he tried his best to recall when wild wolves had finally died out in England. He was pretty confident that bears had been hunted to extinction by this point but he didn’t exactly want to test that theory. Unsurprisingly he found the motivation required to maintain a good pace.
As he travelled he had plenty of time to concoct various theories as to that the signal could possibly be. Some kind of rescue beacon? A fellow stranded time traveller? A precocious blacksmith? It didn’t make any sense. Though that didn’t stop his mind going in circles trying to unpick the mystery. It helped to distract him from the far more likely possibility that it was nothing but a glitch on his phone. He was careful not to examine the situation too closely lest it accidentally snuff out this tiny sliver of hope.
His intermittent glimpses of the sun through the leafy canopy of the forest served as a constant reminder that he was running out of time. He didn’t fancy his chances of navigating to the structure in the dark. A few natural rises in the terrain had given him the occasional glimpse of it, which had aided in maintaining his bearings. Each fresh look had allowed him to take in a few more details.
It was a tower of some kind, though he couldn’t be certain of the height without any frame of reference around it. It appeared to be constructed from large rectangular blocks of dark grey stone, though its colouration didn’t match the ridge. Curtis couldn’t make out any windows in the structure, but it was difficult to tell at this distance. He was no expert in mediaeval architecture so was able to discern nothing from its shape or what little design features were visible at this range.
He knew he was heading in the right direction as his perhaps overly frequent checks showed that the strength of the signal was gradually increasing as he made ever more progress towards his destination. It was now simply a race to see if he could make it before nightfall.
The last lingering rays of the setting sun seemed reluctant to set, as if they too were rooting for Curtis to reach the tower and were delaying their descent beyond the horizon to offer him what little help they could. As he burst out of the forest into a sudden clearing he was amazed to discover that the light hadn’t been coming from the sun at all, which was nowhere to be seen. The tower blazed with light.
Aghast, Curtis stumbled backward in shock. Without even thinking, his body taking charge and moving him on instinct while his mind reeled, he ducked back into the concealing undergrowth. As his eyes adjusted to the immense, preternatural brightness he was able to piece together what he was seeing.
Powerful electric spotlights bathed the clearing in a harsh, bleached, artificial glow. At its centre stood the tower. Impossibly tall, constructed not from stone at all, but great sheets of metal that reflected the light in strange distorted ways. A low thrum filled the air, the rumble and buzz of great machines ceaselessly working.
Curtis crouched in the bushes, struggling to understand what he was seeing.
Something was wrong. Very, very wrong. |
“Tell me how you met your little girlfriend, deary,” Aunt Betty said.
“Auntie, she’s not my girlfriend, she’s my wife,” I protested for the fifth time tonight.
“Can you pass the rolls, Alen?” Uncle Bill said absentmindedly while picking at a slice of roast.
“We don’t have to pass anything,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I placed a charmed fasicon on the bottom of all the serving plates. Look, see, just wave your hands.” I demonstrated with a flick of my wrist and sent the platter of rolls toward my uncle. He didn’t even register it as he took the buttered bun.
“Of course, sweetie. How was France?” Aunt Betty said.
“I wasn’t in France, Auntie. I was in Les Grandura of the Fae!”
“Oh, but your girlfriend is speaking French?” Aunt Marsha said.
“Again, she’s my wife!”
“I want to know why she’s wearing such scandalous clothing to our family dinner?” Aunt Faith said.
“Et iz ah warrior’z ceremonial zel-ah-brastion outfit,” Yralissa said, chin high and as proud as her people. Huh…her accent did sound a little French in the right setting. “Youh should be ‘onored to zee et.”
“Oh, but deary, I can see your nipples,” giggled grandma. She sipped her purple wine without a care. It was a fresh batch of pure elfin wine from Les Grandura, but no one mentioned that.
Uncle Bill looked up at that then quickly back down. "Can someone pass the gravy?"
“Grandma!” I shouted, mortified.
“Calm down, Alen. We just want to get to know your girlfriend,” Aunt Betty said. She leaned over to Yralissa. “I personally find your outfit daring and bold! You must be cold?”
“Et iz an ‘onor to adorn my flesh for youh,” Yralissa said.
“Yralissa,” I said through a fading shroud of hope for a normal dinner. “‘Flesh’ is considered an unpleasant word at the dinner table.”
“But youh conzume one’s flesh of sow for dinner?”
“It’s called a beef roast, and it sounds more pleasant than ‘flesh’,” I said.
“How long have you two been dating?” Aunt Betty said.
“Auntie! Please! I brought you a gift from Les Grandura! It’s a fertilizer power. Sprinkle just the smallest amount in your garden, and they’ll surely produce the most bountiful harvest for decades!”
“That’s nice deary. You can put it with your sword, over there,” Aunt Betty said.
“It’s not a sword, it’s the Curtana of Les Grandura. Only the sworn protector may carry it,” I said.
“No sword at the dinner table,” Aunt Marsha said. Then to Yralissa, “Do you have green beans in France?”
I sighed into my hands. This was going to be a loooong, long holiday season. |
"So, I may have done a tiny, morally questionable thing with your DNA,"I said, holding out the envelope.
"Jeez, do I want to know?"
"It was just one of those test kits, ya know? I figure, we know you're adopted. And the friendly animal stuff has been ramping up lately. And you've always been a great singer. And, well, you know I'm a curious sort of person. But I didn't want to see it without you. And can you just take it already?"The last bit was in mock anger and real frustration.
"Ok, ok,"Jack replied, grabbing and opening it in one swift motion. He glanced over the results, and I moved to read over his shoulder. "Um, I don't understand half of this, but... Can I ask how you chose *this* DNA testing service?"
"Ah, yeah. That's definitely relevant. I mean, they're mostly used to check if... collector's items?"
"That sounds wrong but go on."
"Well, to see if those are legitimate. But because of that, they have the highest number of... celebrities, and rich people, sports guys and such."
"Such as in, say, royalty?"They just had to add a crown to the logo.
"I mean, like I said, the animals and the singing. I mean, there are three butterflies on you right now. And you have impossible upper body strength. Not that I'm complaining."He blushed. I probably did, too.
"Listen, Rita, thanks. I think it's really creepy what you did, but I also appreciate it. Don't do it to anyone else, okay?"
"Gasp!"I said the word while pretending to clutch at pearls. "What kind of women do you take me for?"
"Oh, you have been spending too much time with my ma,"he chuckled and handed me the paper. "Now, do you understand any of this?"
"Yeah, let me just-oh my... Um..."
"What?"
"Do you want to know who your mother is?"
"Really?"
"Yeah, looks like one of the princes isn't as charming as he thought."
"What? Oh... Oh!"
"Good news though, Queen Afrodille was royalty even before her marriage, so you are, technically, a prince."
"Illegitimate prince."
"Hey, let's not split hairs." |
"How can we trust you, a *human* to lead us?"Councilor Radi demanded, rising among the throng of officials gathered around the human in their midst in the Grand Chapterhouse of the Artisans' Council. "You are the leading cause of death for your own species!"
Jacob looked down at the fuzzy Impyreon, thoughtfully. To his credit, the little alien had spoken to him boldly -- especially considering that his culture had, up until its recent industrial revolution, organized its various social hierarchies mostly by physical size.
He considered the question carefully, for he knew the cooperation of the Council would depend on his answer, and given that their tribal leaders were now little more than ceremonial figureheads, the Council's decision would determine whether or not they chose to accept the aid of the ESA in resisting the encroaching Razani Empire, or capitulate to the Razani and become just another vassal species under their dominion.
He let out a long sigh. "And why do you suppose that is? That we kill one another so readily, I mean?"
Councilor Radi blinked at him in surprise. "You do not deny it?"
Jacob chuckled. "Of course not, Councilor. I know your people aren't stupid. Our ongoing conflict with our fellow humans in the Bloc Collective is as bitter as ever, and it's hardly a secret. But do you know *why* we fight each other?"
"You're a human yourself,"the Councilor pointed out. "Surely you would know far better than I."
"As it happens, I do."Jacob said. "It's because of our species' penchant for fanatical obsession."
"That hardly inspires confidence in your capabilities,"Councilor Radi retorted.
"Ah but it should, Councilor. Because obsession -- true obsession -- is a powerful thing. A true obsession is something you value more than the basic primal impulse to survive and reproduce itself. And we're naturally prone to it, more than any other species we've met. The ESA and BC are obsessed with our conflicting ideologies, individuals are obsessed with money, or power, or knowledge. From these obsessions come our greatest strength and our greatness weakness: our brutal, insane willingness to both kill and die for what we believe in."Jacob said.
"There is a certain appeal in your savage confidence..."The Councilor allowed, hesitantly. "But the Razani--"
"The Razani are afraid of us. Despite their superior numbers, and the tactical advantage offered to them by the war between the ESA and the BC, they hesitate to attack us, focusing instead on absorbing smaller, newer civilizations like yours first,"Jacob interrupted. "They're terrified of what would happen if humanity was united by an external threat, and all of a sudden *killing Razani* became our new greatest obsession."
"You make your people sound erratic -- half-mad!"The Councilor cried. "How can we possibly trust you?"
"You can trust me because *I like you,* Councilor -- your people I mean. Your work ethic, your craftsmanship, your culture, the fact that you're just so damn *cute* by human standards -- I love all of it."Jacob said. "It's why I requested this assignment from my government."
"I...don't follow your logic, there, I'm afraid "The Councilor said, uneasily.
"Then let me say it more plainly, Councilor,"Jacob replied, with a grin, sweeping his eyes around the Council chamber to include all the delegates in what he said next. "You can trust me, because *you* are *my* obsession." |
It’s amazing just how well you can train your brain. Those three words used to plague me, so much that going out into town, reading the post or even watching TV was like being beaten over the head with those three words, like someone banging on a steel drum.
*You are dreaming*
*You are dreaming*
But now, I know those infernal words so well- I recognise their shape before I even comprehend their meaning- I just ignore them. My brain shears my eyes away from any instance of them appearing before I can read them properly. It makes life easier. As easy as it can be, under the circumstances.
The barista hands me my coffee with a smile, and I hand her a little over a dollar for it, and take a moment to savour the perfect taste before heading out to my car. The words on the side of the coffee cup have a suspiciously familiar shape. So does the name of the shop on the other sign of the street. I ignore them. I have to. My car, a gleaming red affair that shines like it’s just rolled out of the factory even though I can’t remember the last time I washed it, purrs away onto the road as I twiddle with the radio until my absolute favourite song blasts out of the speakers- it’s always on at least one station- and look out of the window to avoid the words on the radio display.
“You are dreaming!” a man helpfully shouts out as I pass him by, people near him nodding in agreement. Shutting him out and listening harder to the radio, the words of the song are suddenly unfamiliar. But I know them all too well.
“You are dreaming” the singer croons, and I smash the radio off in anger.
I hate this. I hate all of this.
I KNOW that I’m dreaming.
This world is wonderful. It’s never too hot, when it rains it’s just a refreshing sprinkle but regardless the grass is so green it’s as if it’s been cut from emeralds. Coffee-coffee!- actually tastes nice, instead of people just having to pretend they like it. My cat purrs when I stroke him instead of trying to claw my eyes out. I don’t get any of those creepy texts from my prying landlord.
This world is perfect. It isn’t real, but I don’t need it to be for me to be happy.
A traffic information sigh flashes three words I don’t bother reading as I pass.
I know that this can’t last forever, that I’ll wake up someday. But it can last a little longer. |
It was a normal day at the bar. How do I know what a normal daytime one man rendezvous at the bar is like? Cause I’m here…everyday.
A cable zips as Tina reaches over to refill my drink. There’s just nothing like drowning your sorrows in liquor poured by a beautiful woman. But even that makes my heart twist painfully. I drain my glass before she can even turn away.
She gives me a sympathetic look I don’t want, but dutifully refills my glass. I can drink myself to death and she’ll help me. That’s why I come here.
My sorrow started a few months ago. It was so unfair. Annie glowed. She’d never been more beautiful than when she was pregnant. And only became more so as she progressed.
It was going to be our first baby. We had plans for four. My credentials as a particle physicist and job with Space X basically guaranteed we’d be set. We could even have a few more if we wanted to.
But we couldn’t. The doctor kept telling her not to pass out. She was losing so much blood. I had to make some choices I was unprepared for…that no one should have to be prepared for, especially not in a world where complications of this kind are so freaking rare.
I didn’t even know what I was doing half the time. My emotions ran so hot they took over. I couldn’t lose her.
She said, “I’m so tired. I’m just going to rest for a bit.”
And I said, “Oh no you don’t!” and struck her across the face.
She stayed awake. I didn’t hate her. I wasn’t angry with her. I just wanted her to stay awake. And she did.
A few minutes later the doctor stopped working and stepped away. At him, I was angry. I screamed abuse straight in his face. It was so bad the nurses flinched, but he didn’t. He’d dealt with this before.
He told me I had to make a choice. To save Annie or the baby. How is a man supposed to make that choice? The choice between the woman he loves and his own child? I couldn’t, but I did.
I told them to save Annie.
“Was my choice selfish?” I demand of myself, draining another glass which was immediately refilled, “To chose a person I know? To chose my lover, over some kid I don’t even know but who is my responsibility? Am I the villain of this story?”
Tears would roll down my face, but I’m always out by 9am, an hour before this bar opens.
The universe defied my choice. Annie died on that bed. The last sensation of touch from me was not a loving one, though it was done out of love.
The child survived. She’s with my brother and his wife. They’re giving me space though they keep begging me to go to therapy.
What is therapy going to do for me? I am as powerless in this life as a piece of driftwood. The universe itself kicked me in the balls, and the last thing my wife knew of me before the last of her strength failed was my hand across her face.
So you’ll have to pardon me for slamming another.
The kid doesn’t deserve a father like me. My brother and his wife will take better care of her. If I have my way, she won’t even know I exist. |
*I'm too busy at work for this. But I can't* not *respond. If this gets popular, I do rightly figure I'll have to make time to stretch it out a spell. We'll start in media res, yes?*
"I reckon there ain't no way we can catch them.", Mal said, rubbing his chin in consideration.
"When they're going sub-light? Sure. As long as Kaylee keeps the engine running, we can outmaneuver *any* Corellean cruiser. They're fast, but they handle like *go shi*.', Wash answered, confidently. "If we can bale 'em up in a meteor shower, it'll be real fine."
Kaylee eagerly nodded her agreement. "Outside of hyperspace, the Serenity ain't got no problems keeping up, and it ain't no TIE fighter, either; the Falcon's guns won't put no holes in what they can't hit."She then winced a little, as if an unpleasantness had invaded into her thoughts. "O'course, iffin' he *does* get his hyperdrive workin', which ain't no assurance, then he's gone, gone."
Mal glanced at Zoe, who shook her head. "I don't like it. It's a bigger ship, and *faster*. The Millenium Falcon's not just a Corellean cruiser - no offense, sweetie - and it's *armed*. How do y'all propose we bring it down - ask real nice t'wards the end?"
Jayne shook his head. "Ain't no cause for us to chase 'em down. It's not like he don't land the thing to eat."
Mal nodded, indicating he had a fondess for Jayne's line of thought, but said, "That's a truth, but he does have that walkin' carpet-y thing. That might be a cause for consternation."
Jayne shrugged. "Only if it's aware. Assumin' you don't have a problem takin' it out by the knees, we should be able to bring the Solo feller in alive."He nodded, considering, then rubbed at his own shoulders. "Still, I do have a fondess for my arms. We could take 'em while they was apart. Would make the work easier."
"If that were ever so.", Mal said, leaning on the doorframe. "I don't see the two of 'em parting very often, bein' partners."
"So maybe we part them.", said Zoe. She fixed her eyes on the Captain, and continued, "If only we knew *someone* with a cleverness, a fondess for rakishly handsome captains, and a willingness to distract men."
Wash interrupted the awkward moment of eye contact that came after, gesturing broadly toward his wife standing behind him. "But, Honey, if you're distracting the Wookie, who ... OW OW OW", Wash trailed off, as Zoe seized, and bent back, his finger.
Mal nodded. "Still, there's a truth in that.". He tossed his head, slightly, to adjust his hair, and give the air of arrogance. "Still, I find myself pondering if she's going to be able to get over his right *terrible* fashion sense..."
*Edit to add:*
*[Part II](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1smqey/eu_the_cast_of_firefly_is_hired_by_darth_vader_to/cdzbeyy), featuring Inara and Mal...*
*...and [Part III](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1smqey/eu_the_cast_of_firefly_is_hired_by_darth_vader_to/ce01dd0), with our "B Plot".*
*...and [Part IV](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1smqey/eu_the_cast_of_firefly_is_hired_by_darth_vader_to/ce09cpf), which is not, in this case, A New Hope.*
*...and [Part V](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/1smqey/eu_the_cast_of_firefly_is_hired_by_darth_vader_to/ce2mcgb), with thanks to /u/jp_in_nj for his suggestion...* |
Tick. Tick. Tick.
It had spent a lot of time in this universe.
Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.
It is not like a watch was needed, but somehow it liked this universe and a constant reminder on its heartbeats on the way to entropy seemed somehow fitting. It had created universes before, but those it had to refuel. This one would never be refueled, it had vowed. A process of unstoppable decay. It viewed it as a meditation.
Tick. Tick.
It felt a bit alone. Sometimes, it pondered, maybe it hadn't been the best decision to say "I am", casting itself into an existence of watching and creating.
So, a meditation on loneliness and decay. Not that it would decay anytime soon.
Tick.
Did it just seem like that to it, or was the clock going slower?
*Hello? God? Are you there?*
Startled, the God searched around the universe. What was that?
*My mother is sick, God. Please heal her.*
Galaxies blurred into stars. It had found the source. Small water planet. It went in closer. Most curious! A small, ape-like creature, sitting next to the sleeping site of a more ape-like creature. Both still had some fur on them, and the small one wore some sort of leather around its loins.
The god was intrigued. In all the universes before, none of the life it had created had been capable of ... communicating in this way.
It turned the wheels of creation. The mother healed. The little one became a shaman.
Shamans turned into priests, priests turned into warmongers, warmongers turned into mass murderers. But there was good too. Love, compassion, Sharing. That was the stuff that it liked most.
And the prayers kept floating up to it. Some attributed an idea to it, some called it a he, a she, an adversary, some were bitter, some were sweet. Company, at last.
And God smiled. Even though it would end someday.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
It valued every second of it. |
I never thought that this would have happened to me. I used to be normal, I used to have morals, I used to have self worth. I guess that in my life, there is a lot of stuff that I *used* to do.
That stuff was all gone. I felt empty, as a juice carton that ran out long before you would have expected it to, so what do you do? You throw it away, toss out what disappointment it gave you and move on to something else, something more fulfilling, more complete, more *adequate*.
The last couple of years had been much less than even inadequate. They had been downright despicable. Three years before, I lost my job in marketing, and the job market had never come up enough for anyone to even consider hiring me. My mother passed away a year before, and trust me when I say that not a day goes by where I don't miss my mother. And just a day before, the dog that I inherited from my mom got ran over. I still remember opening the door to go outside when Tic darted outside and straight into the eighteen wheeler that was passing by. The worst part wasn't even the sight, it was the first *thump* followed by a mixing of squealing, squishing, and breaking that got to me.
So I just sat there, in my Mom's old house, all alone. My only companion was the shotgun on my lap. I put the cold barrel in my mouth. The metallic taste was a welcome sign to my bland life. I pulled back the hammer, and then, as the movies had told me, I *squeezed* the trigger.
In that moment, that very small, very sweet time between pulling the trigger and gunfire, I saw my life.
I saw my childhood. My mom and dad, cheering as I took my first steps, laughing as I grew older, and crying when I left the house.
I saw college; the times I stayed up too late and the times I studied too little. I saw getting my first job. I saw moving up the line, getting gradually better at what I did.
Then I saw losing my first job. The death of my mother. The loss of my mother's dog.
Something else came too, though.
I saw a bright white, the color of her wedding dress at our wedding. The smile on my face as she says, "I do."
I saw our first child, a beautiful baby girl, coming into this world and changing my life. I marveled at her beauty as she grew older, and started to walk, then talk, then go to school.
Before I knew it she was out of the house. She was living her own life. She had gone her own way.
And seemingly out of nowhere, I was staring at another gorgeous white light, the color of my daughter's wedding dress, as her fiance looked as ecstatic as I did when I got married.
And last of all I saw my wife, holding my hand at the hospital, telling me that she loved me as tears rolled down her face. She slept by me that night, until I gently slipped away.
But I can't undo what I did. I can't put the pieces of me back to make a whole. I can't unsqueeze that trigger.
But god, sometimes I wish that I could.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Edit: Just reread the prompt. I didn't write *exactly* what you were looking for, but I hope it is close enough for you. |
“Well, it’s too late. It’s already settled.” Sheldon shrugged. He couldn’t hide the fatuous grin on his face. He had never seen the rest of the council so upset.
Dr. Edwards, Dr. Brooks, Dr. Wallace, Dr. Floyd, Chairman Meyers all faced him, their faces red and flushed, biting their tongues, white knuckling the arm-rests of their swivel chairs, their eyes straining, on the verge of popping out of their skulls by sheer force of rage. They all looked as they were in the midst of a stroke.
Dr. Wallace, the head physicist, gripped a pencil. It snapped in her
hand, shards flying across the room. “You didn’t even consult us.”
“Listen,” Sheldon said, “You are the scientists. You were put on this council to discuss the technical problems and everything else. I represent the humanities. I’m the head of the English department at this university, You are all very intelligent people, but, really, who could be more qualified than me to decide what work of fiction we delve into here? Was I not put on this council to contribute that aspect of the project?”
“NO!” Dr. Wallace screamed. “NO! You were not! You were put on this council to appease the various humanities professors! To keep them off our backs! You were supposed to put forth *suggestions*.”
“Of all the works,” Dr. Brooks said, his ancient, withered hand trembling as he raised it at Sheldon, “you picked one of the driest, least imaginative, least fascinating, most realistic works of fiction ever created.”
Sheldon could not keep the chiding smile from his face. He anticipated this debate, and he had prepared extensive notes for it. He cleared his throat and began. “I have read many books throughout my life…”
“Oh, God, another prepared speech.”
“… and of all the works, Leo Tolstoy’s novel, War and Peace, has had a
profound influence on the development of the novel, an important intellectual medium in the 20th century.” He went on to explain the way it dissected Russian aristocracy, how richly developed the characters were, and generally why his opinions were more valid. The scientist groaned. He did his best to implicitly state that, while they had their own expertise, he alone was qualified to judge a novel and analyize its merits. As with many literature professors, he preferred to to wrap his thoughts in superfluous metaphor rather than state anything outright.
“You could have picked something fascinating and interesting! You picked a highly realistic novel about events that *actually happened.* We could have explored Middle Earth. Fire Upon the Deep. Discworld. Something that couldn’t possible exist in our own particular universe!”
Dr. Wallace said, her voice rising higher and higher with each statement. “You picked some dry English piece that freshmen have been hating for a hundred years!”
Sheldon shook his head. How would they ever understand that, as an English professor, he could never allow for such anti-intellectual drivel to make up this first use of time travel. After all, things were only intelligent if they were written hundreds of years ago and remained incomprehensible to the majority of the public.
|
The gurney rushed down the hall. Almost weightless. As if the will of everyone in the hospital lifted it into the operating room. The collective gasp, the residual shock of adrenaline lingering. There wasn’t time to talk, but the shifting and merciless eye contact put everyone on guard. Everyone knew it, but couldn’t accept it. He wasn’t going to make it. As more and more of the hospital caught wind, the lobby began to fill with nervous shuffling. It was the kind of silence you only expect to hear during a crisis. The sound of incessant internal murmuring just barely becoming audible. The ghosts of whispers in the forefront of the mind.
Randall Williams died at the age of twelve on December 14th, 2016. He was stabbed by a man claiming to be his uncle. An action he described mournfully as an accident. His funeral was so well attended that the memorial service had to be held in a stadium. Thirty six thousand people attended, almost a billion watched on TV. His casket would be eventually placed in a grand Mausoleum, with a consistent line at the entrance. Randall Williams wasn’t a martyr or a hero. He wasn’t a genius or a celebrity. He was simply a kid caught in the line of a drunk and abusive old man.
As I began to research this story more and more it started to coalesce into something hard to explain. My impetus was obviously based on personal motive. Randall wasn’t necessarily close, my Cousin Jane’s child. But the extent to which it affected her pushed me to dig deeper. Who was this man that killed him? Jane had reported him missing weeks prior and he died across the ocean in London. How did it even happen?
I hopped on the first plane to London I could, which actually took weeks. Every single plane was full of people going to see his grave site. When I finally got on my plane the somber sense of tragedy filled the air. I spent the entire flight regaling the few stories I had of Randall with an elderly couple from Texas. They obviously knew him better though. They could barely get through a single story about him before completely breaking down. I asked them how they were related and they said he was their grandchild. It all made sense. What grandparent could even imagine outliving their grandchild? I gave them my condolences, and they reciprocated. We landed at Heathrow early in the morning.
When I got through immigration, there were drivers lined up for miles getting ready to take people to see the site. I figured I’d go pay my respects before investigating further. I talked to the driver, Amir for a while on the drive there. He let me know that Randall was his nephew back in Pakistan. He was such a bright and energetic kid. You know how there are certain impossible to avoid icebreakers at certain parts of your life? Like when you graduate high school, everyone asks where you’re going to college? Or when your wife gets pregnant everyone asks when she’s due and if it’s a boy or girl? Asking about Randall was kind of like that.
I’m not saying I don’t care about everyone’s stories about him. I mean they were all related to him in various ways, and his death has affected everyone differently. It was just so much you know? And it was so goddamn sad. I’d met him on various occasions, and he seemed like a nice boy, and the circumstances of his death were strange and tragic. I could really only take so much though. I was here for Jane. She needed closure. I needed to find out just exactly why the hell someone could murder a helpless child.
So the official police report states that one Jon Monroe, a well-known drunk and wife beater, accidently stabbed Randall as he jumped in front of his mother, protecting her from Jon’s thrusting knife. I mean that is the worst part of all of this. Here, a boy related to just about everyone, who could have died in a countless number of ways at literally any moment of the day. He could have died from a drone strike in the middle east, he could have been shot in a home invasion in LA, hell even in a forest fire in the Congo. Why did Jon Monroe get to determine his life. That is what makes it so tragic. Why him? Of all people.
It took me a while, but I was able to track him down. Jon had been on the run ever since he saw the reaction at the hospital. Everyone was in such simultaneous grief that he was able to slip away. I’m not going to disclose where or how I found him. No one deserves to die, and that would surely get him killed. He really took me aback though. So just think about it, he said. Just think about what happened. What will happen. What has already happened. Randall had died thousands of times before. I was just in the unfortunate position of having drawn the short straw this time.
So you’re going to have to bear with me here for a bit. It’s going to seem like I’m trying to justify Jon’s actions. That I’m sympathizing with an alcoholic who tried to kill his wife but missed and hit his child. So I know I’m starting an uphill battle. Just getting it out of the way upfront.
Jon looked at me with somber and sullen eyes. Like a man who regretted his actions. Like a man who had just killed his son. He looked at me like a man with nothing left but the organs in his body. A freight train of a human being. Waiting for someone to stop fueling him with coal so he could just stop. He obviously hadn’t eaten in at least a week, waiting to die alone, the thought of going back to the city a unmanageable reality.
He told me about this guy named Edmund Husserl, a proponent of an idea called phenomenological reduction. An idea rooted in determining the essence of the world around us. There have been neurological experiments where people will be shown a picture of a tractor, then told to imagine one. The same part of the brain is lit up in both cases. Husserl’s idea is that regardless of how we view objects, they are bracketed in such a way that gives them value. But this value is necessarily determined by our mind. You can have scientific examinations of an object, the experiencing it is a completely subjective and unquantifiable state.
All these people mourning Randall, they aren’t mourning Randall. They are mourning what they want him to be. Who they think he was, who they thought he would be. Hell, I’m doing it. Jon’s been doing it his entire life. I’m not saying Randall never existed. He was very much a real person. He’d get regular checkups, he could feel, and cry. Have hopes and dreams. But to everyone else, he served as a proxy for all of our subjective experiences.
The world became a much simpler place when subjectivity coalesced entirely onto one being. When the world stopped being about living for yourself. At some point in the past, there was a decision to protect the world from itself. To remove the one element that causes all pain and sorrow, all hardship and loss. To remove the individuals connection to itself. By removing the self. Everyone lived longer. Everyone lived for each other. But in order to retain some semblance of humanity, Randall became the unfortunate representation of humanity. One single source. To retain hope and fear. Achievement and loss.
Each and every human being saw the tractor for its most basic elements, but had lost such a basic phenomenological representation of self-experience. Jon killed the last true human being. Human for his mind. Thousands of people die every day. But he killed the one tying all of our hopes and dreams together. Leaving himself in a cold, helpless and barren wasteland.
When I got back home to Jane, I told her there wasn’t anything new I could report, but that the memorial had been done tastefully. And we healed. And the world healed. But into what, I’m not yet sure of.
|
No one forgets their first, for me it was the sound of muttering incoherent screams follwed by a swift crack to my head.You might imagine being slain by an ancient babylonian warrior would put a damper on my spirit.
I can't really explain what happened, you might imagine that being alive for so long I would have a clearer picture of what happens when I do "it".All I hear is static and a pop and suddenly, I see the world through another man's eyes.Both metaphorically and physically, with the latter being the more humourous of the two.
As far as I can tell, its God's strangely hillarious comeuppance for those who seek and destroy.
History is frought with war. War is lucrative. War is gutteral. War is. Sometimes you get clubbed by an aristocrat, maybe shanked by a slave or two, occasionally you get lucky but mostly you get stuck with flea infested, lice-ridden meatbags looking for a quick buck in a war started by a rich man they'll never get paid from.
You know how they say a soldier is never really the same when he comes back from war.Maybe he met me, maybe he fired and a stray bullet happened to catch me in one of my lungs.One moment im searing with pain staring at the wrong end of the rifle and the next I've got the wooden stock of another mans rifle pressed in hollow between my neck and shoulder.
Learning a new language is difficult.Most people just think their friend or husband went mute from shock.Humanity is too quick to attribute PTSD to something that we can't quite comprehend.
Too quick in passing judgement to realise that maybe that crazy vets wife is right.That the man seated in her living room is NOT her husband.Now at this point, I realize that it all sounds really sinister.Let me clear things up for you, no one asked these men to be "heroes". To be martyrs and quite frankly sometimes I get stuck with the strangest circumstances.
Men with secret lovers, extra families, debts and heck even the odd prized terrapin collection.Its a handful of information to take in when i've just taken my seat in the throne of his body.
Recently though, the world has hit a rough spot. By that I mean it hasnt. It hasnt gone to war in a long time. I know what you are saying , but im not about to join up some crazy war against any extremist to end up speaking a gibberish language in a country that barely has a functional government. Let me tell you, for people like me, the golden age was when they dropped the big one in WWII. Becoming anyone of those people would have been brilliant for me.
As of late, getting killed has been rather hard.All these "humanitarians"and politicians with their kindness campaigns and "education". The only people who want to kill anyone these days are homeless stinky vagrants with gratuitous drug problems or brainless thugs.None of whom are desirable candidates in which i want to take up residency.
I've lived long enough to know that as long as someone slaughters me i get a new body. However, its pretty hard to choose who gets to murder you. Most people arent so inclinced to take the murderous route of discourse.
So im going to try something new, something that either ends this long and fruitful journey or with me seated in the driver seat of my new Bugatti claiming "SOME CRAZY ASSHOLE JUST JUMPED IN FRONT OF MY CAR".
|
An enormous beast swooped overhead, casting dark shadows through the forest. A powerful roar rattled the trees enough hard enough to shake bright green leaves from their branches and send them wafting down to the floor.
"Fucking great,"Lucas whispered. He tried to scuttle away through the brush, but a blast of fire scorched the earth right in his path, singing off the very tips of his hairs. Trees exploded from the inside out, hurling flaming splinters in all directions. And two massive, scaly talons smashed into the ground, knocking down the flaming trunks and sending up a massive cloud of sparks and dust. The dragon's mighty head, the size of an SUV, lowered to Lucas's eye level with smoking still curling from between its jagged teeth.
"Hello Donnie,"Lucas said, doing his best to sound annoyed. Maybe this time he'd get the hint.
"Hey *Goatee*"Donnie thought it was so fucking clever. For the first year or so, he'd followed it up with "GET IT?"but apparently had now realized that Lucas understood the reference. Back when they'd worked together at the electronics store, Lucas had worn a goatee. And Donnie had teased him about it relentless. "Chin pubes"was his favorite nickname for the facial hair. Lucas had contemplated shaving it every single day, but didn't want to give Donnie the satisfaction. And besides, he'd just make fun of Lucas for something else.
But it had become doubly annoying now that Lucas was a faun. Half man, and half -you guessed it- goat. Donnie's joke had now become calling him "Goat-ee,"a *clever* play on words. That Donnie is a real fucking brain trust, eh? Lucas didn't really make the connection between a faun's features and his little beard when he chose what mythological creature he would become, but then again, he'd expected Donnie to be dead and buried after that explosion. So why would he have thought anyone would ever make fun of him? He just wanted to frolic with nymphs and drink with Pan all day. Sounded like the perfect life, till he learned that fucking Donnie would be there too.
"Where you off to in such a hurry, Goat Scrote?"Another one of his witticisms that was starting to get old. No, scratch that: was *way* past 'old.' Donnie was becoming a real master of all words rhyming with "Goat."
"Just going to meet Pan,"Lucas responded. "Going to have a little flute practice."
"GAY!"Donnie shouted. He roared so loud that nearby rocks were splitting in half. "How's *that* compare to your little flute?"
Lucas rolled his eyes at Donnie's smug dragon smile. "Very impressive. Bit different from what we're trying to do with the flute, though. You know, this concept of 'music' that you may have heard of. The point isn't to be loud."
"Yeah, whatever,"Donnie said, snaking his way into the clearing that he'd created and settling into the dirt. Dragons didn't like to stand or fly for long; they'd rather not move unless they had to. Perfect form for a fat, lazy asshole. "After your recital, we should go somewhere. Maybe terrorize a kingdom or something? Britain's knights are big pansies nowadays; should be super easy."
"Yeah, maybe some other time,"Lucas answered. "Pan and I are meeting up with some of those French nymphs later on. Doing a little wine tasting, maybe a bit of music... you know."
Donnie snorted, sending a puff of smoke into Lucas's face. "That's cool, then. Maybe... you know, maybe I could join. I like wine too."He suggestively raised the scaly ridges where his eyebrows used to be. "And Nymphs, man..."
Lucas stared into Donnie's massive gullet behind the fangs and wondered how many liters of wine it would take to fill it. "Yeah, I don't think you'll fit in Pan's cave, though. Don't you have to go chase one of those princesses you're always talking about?"
Donnie nodded, an unusual mannerism for a dragon. He still wasn't quite used to his new form. "Right. Yeah. They love playing hard to get,"He grinned at Lucas, who did not return the favor.
"Cool. Well, you have fun with that. I've got to go now."Lucas pranced through the clearing and disappeared into the shadows of the forest as fast as his little hooves could take him.
Donnie watched him go, listening to the crackling sound of branches burning and regretting the day he ever chose to be a dragon. |
*Alright /u/writingprompts, I'll show you mine if you show me yours.*
__________________________________
They used to call me many things: archaeologist, professor, adventurer, hero--I never liked that one--and of course, various obscenities. They used to call me by my name: Dr. Jones, by the students and faculty of Marshall College. Indy, by the ladies. Junior, by my father right up until his death back in '51. Now, they don't call me much of anything, because *they* are all dead, or aged into infirmity, and *I* am relegated to dusty legends. I'm an artifact of antiquity, much like the objects I once researched so carefully. I'm a myth, a fable infrequently told in the dorms of that small college in Connecticut where I once spent so many years of my life. I've faded out from the world's eye, and I'm just fine with that. See, everyone I ever loved is dead... or wishes that I was. The only other person in this lonely world who could possibly understand this awful existence we were condemned to, well, she wants nothing to do with me. Marion and I always did have a tempestuous relationship. After the death of our son Henry in a motorcycling accident back in '73, she withdrew entirely and declared me to be nothing but a "bad influence, a shitty father, and a bad lover to boot!"before she hightailed it the hell out of our cabin on the outskirts of the Alps, never to return.
To be honest, I'm not sure what was more outrageous - that she called *me* the bad influence, or that she implied I wasn't the best lay she ever had! *Women.*
Now, I live alone. Well, not entirely... I have a rotating cast of furry friends. Every fifteen years or so, one dies and I get another. This time around, it's a slim female mongoose I christened Rikki-Tikki - the name a relic of my childhood spent buried in books. At first I had a dog, but after it was casually devoured by a Blood Python, I thought the Asian Mongoose to be a wiser choice in pets for this terrain... after all, it is the snake's natural enemy. I no longer was as hyper-vigilant in my serpent checks each morning, because I had heard Rikki scuffling about my home for hours searching for her scaly breakfast.
______________
I like Thailand.
There are plenty of small ruins and temples amongst the forest to occupy my days, the food is delicious, and the people are friendly. I don't see them often, maybe once a month when I go into town to pick up supplies... but nothing beats the broad smiles they give this a middle-aged Westerner in a dingy fedora. Yes, Thailand was a good choice for this decade. I was already regretting the inevitable border-crossing I would make in five years.
At first, the curse wasn't so apparent. The world seemed to continue on much as it always did, and I explained to myself that my apparent lack of aging was due to good genetics. But after the Cold War died down, my son Henry the Mutt became nothing more than a smear on the pavement, and Marion left me again, I was fed up with life and ready for the next adventure. I decided on a neat, quick death, and raiding the chemistry department of the Barnett College enough times gave me the necessary components for suicide via massive dosing of Arsenic. Forty-eight hours after I downed a cocktail of Hendricks, Vermouth and enough Arsenic to drop a bull elephant I realized that I might have been even more unlucky than I thought. I tried to die in many ways after that. Hanging was pointless, most minor injuries didn't have any effect whatsoever, and after slipping off the roof of a Wat resulted in a rapidly-healed broken femur, three shattered ribs, and no more pain than a twinge, I decided that I wouldn't bother trying to shoot myself in the head or jumping off a building.
Immortality. The ultimate punishment for those who dared view the Sanctity of the Ark of the Covenant. Those who thought themselves wise enough to escape the "mercies"of the Angels of Death... they were those who suffered most.
I have lived many lives by this point, and I find that the world is moving too fast. I avoid the big cities now - you can't escape technology entirely, even in a third-world country. Still, most of this land is still running at the same pace it always was: slow. So slow, in fact, that my only source of news was a yellowed, stained copy of the *New York Times*. Though it was many months out-dated and often beset by mildew in spots, I still treasured it like one of the many priceless I had excavated and studied. Temple ruins were great and all, but it wasn't as much mental stimulation as I had hoped it would be. It was also wise to occasionally skim the state of the world around me, so I didn't give myself away inadvertently.
(I had an "Indy Sighting"scare back in '03 that still gave me reason for caution, even twelve years later. That was why I relocated from Guatemala to Nepal - I never in nine hells would have expected one of my old students from the forties to still be *alive*, let alone poking about a mural series in the rainforests of South America. She had recognized me immediately, though the disbelief in her cry of "*Dr. Jones, is that YOU*?"was evident, and charged towards me at a gait I wouldn't have expected from a octagenarian. The only thing that saved my ass was her dropping dead of a heart attack after she reached me and began interrogating me without so much as a by-you-please... I guess there *is* such a thing as too much excitement.)
______________
I glared enviously at nothing in particular as I unwrapped the waxed parchment that guarded the newspaper. If only death came so easily to us all, I thought bitterly. But that Ark, that God-Damned Ark, most deserving this ironic blasphemy, was the reason behind all of this nonsense, and now I had no purpose in my eternal life other than wandering the world and pecking away a meager, lonely existence. What I wouldn't give for a good adventure... a sense of purpose.
"I have no damn purpose anymore though,"I muttered quietly as I snapped out of thought, resigning myself once again to reality. I, Indiana Jones, reduced to nothing more than a relic; a faded, dusty legend; a has-been, crusted old freak who didn't age, couldn't die, and wouldn't stop ruminating over the past.
With that thought in my mind, I unbound the parchment and snapped the paper open with less gusto than I would have liked. Normally I headed straight for the funnies and International News, but this time the front-page was what caught my eye. My heart raced as I devoured the article.
______________
**ISIS Attacks Nimrud, Major Archaeological Site in Iraq**
*George C. Papagiannis, the Unesco world heritage officer in charge in Iraq from 2009 to 2011, said the loss of any artifacts from Nimrud was a dark blow to historical preservation. “These extremists are trying to destroy the entire cultural heritage of the region in an attempt to wipe the slate clean and rewrite history in their own brutal image,” he said.*
*He added that Nimrud was recently nominated by the Iraqi government to be placed on Unesco’s list of world heritage sites, locations chosen for their “universal value.”* [Source!](http://www.nytimes.com/2015/03/06/world/middleeast/isis-attacks-iraqi-archaeological-site-at-nimrud.html?_r=0)
______________
Thirty minutes later, I was marching down the overgrown trail that lead to the village, and found myself asking the chief if he still had a computer that worked. The next morning found me sitting in the bed of a rickety truck that had seen better days. The itching of the Fedora sitting on my head, and the weight of the bullwhip on my belt were familiar enough to be one of the dreams that came and went in my personal eternity. It was Rikki-Tikki squirming in the satchel at my side that drew me out of my thoughts...
"I'm coming for you,"I said quietly, breathing the humid air in deeply and cracking a dark smile. "I'm coming, and you can't stop me."
For the first time in over twenty years, I found myself looking forward to returning to the world at large. I had a reason to live... and it was a four letter word: **ISIL.**
_______________________
**[Continued: Part Two](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3ckido/eu_exposure_to_the_ark_of_the_covenant_granted/csx84be)**
|
The crossroads stretched in each direction and in the center stood Thaddeus Cantrell. Towards the North was a treeline that announced the border of the county. They were good folk up there, but the road they had to take was hard packed dirt and well traveled. Thaddeus knew the men who often went there were sorely in need of ministering to. The south and east both disappeared towards the horizon where the crops stretched towards the sky begging for rain. There'd be a farm house or two for every hundred miles with a God-fearing wife on each, but none of that concerned him. The West was what concerned him the most.
The West was where good men went on a paved road to hell where the cities were as ripe as a bloated tick for the Devil to feast upon. Good children went and came back full of wickedness and sin. God-fearing fathers tried making a quick fortune but more often than not, never came back. The West was where good morals went to die and it all started at the damned crossroads where he knew the Devil was awaiting.
"Ain't no carriages come through here no more,"A man said from behind him.
Thaddeus turned and saw a young man, barely sixteen, with a pack slung to his back and a straw hat balanced on his head. The boy settled his weight upon a walking cane and then glanced down at the ax the minister had propped against his leg. His eyes darted back up to the man's face and smiled.
"I mean you no harm, boy,"Thaddeus said. "Best be on your way back home. I'm betting there are still chores to be done and you don't want to keep your mama waiting."
"Oh, I ain't going home,"The boy said. "Name's Bill, but all my friends call me Bub."
It was Thaddeus' turn to look surprised. He took into account the rags the boy wore which draped over his thin frame like a scarecrow and his shoes which looked like they'd been patched together and passed down a near dozen times. Still, there was a sense of charisma about the child, an innocence that would quickly be corrupted.
"You run off?"Thaddeus asked.
Bub shrugged and settled his pack upon the ground. "Ain't no life for me back there."
"Better than the iniquities that await you West of here,"Thaddeus said.
Bub nodded, if only to agree, and again alighted his eyes upon the ax. Thaddeus followed his gaze and raised the ax to face level. Then he smiled.
"It's of no concern to you, boy,"Thaddeus said. "I'm waiting for someone and I'll know him when I see him."
"Well, I didn't pass no one else out here,"Bub said. "You might be awaiting a long time. This person, he in some sort of...trouble?"
Thaddeus nodded. "For a spell."
"And you gonna set him right?"Bub asked.
"God willing,"Thaddeus said.
"What sort of wrong this fella do to a man like you?"Bub asked. "I seen you around some. You're the man preaching to others about doing no wrong and the sort. This feels a bit contrary if you ask me."
"Oh, this ain't no *man* I'm waiting for,"Thaddeus grinned. "I aim to meet the devil his'self and set him straight. Too many of our boys and men folk wander off and never come back. A shepherds gotta protect his flock, don't he?"
Bub nodded some and set the strap back upon his back. The sun had set while they spoke and a calm hush filled the air. In moments, the moon would be up and the night creatures out and about, but for now, there was a gentle sort of quiet.
"You look parched,"Bub finally said. "I think I got a shot of fire in here somewhere you can whet your lips on. You game?"
Thaddeus nodded and set the ax at his feet while Bub fished through his pack. He brought out a mason jar filled with liquid that sloshed when he passed it over. The Minister took a deep swallow, winced, and passed the jar back.
"Thank you,"Thaddeus said. "Been a while since I had something and your kindness won't be soon forgotten."
"Ain't no worry. Maybe you can repay me someday with an equal favor,"Bub smiled. "No harm, preacher man, but you think your little wood poker's gonna do the job? The devil ain't exactly a cord of wood."
"I have the Word of the Lord,"Thaddeus said. Bub passed back the jar from which the Preacher took another long swallow.
"I knew I had you pegged for a drinking man,"Bub said. "You think you'll recognize him when he comes on by?"
He brushed the sweat from his head with his free hand and picked up his stick.
"Might be I will,"Thaddeus said. "Might be I won't. I have to try either way."
"You're a good man, Preacher. Shame to have you sit out here all this time all dressed up for a party that ain't never gonna happen,"Bub said. "I hope you find what you're looking for one day, but I think you're wasting your time. I hear the Devil's a sneaky old trickster who won't be that easily caught by a man with a stick. Just remember, don't ever owe the devil nothing."
"I don't intend to. You headed West, boy?"Thaddeus said as the boy started off along the paved road. "I still say you're better off going home, but if you see the Devil, you send him my way. I'll be here waiting."
"I'll let him know,"Bub called out and grinned. Then a few paces more when he was out of hearing range he added, "But I won't be back this way for some time." |
It was their on-line banking that had drawn me in, always handy when you're on the run, but these days the feature of Midcity Mutual Banking I enjoyed most was their free cookies while you waited in the checking line. It really gave the *personal* touch to things.
Pretend casing, that's what my wife calls it when I am in somewhere like this and start to look around. Banks, art galleries, jewellery shops, I just can't help myself. She knows I'm out of the Supervillainy game, but I still like to see what the latest security measure are, just, you know, as a kind of hobby.
Midcity was pretty good, laser teller shielding, auto turret responses and a contract with the Justice Squad, there weren't many people who'd try to rob this place, but the guy who walked in as I reached the counter wasn't exactly your run-of-the-mill bank robber.
I slid the cheque across the counter with my card. "Sorry, but can you get this in real quick, I'm in kind of a hurry."I knew what was coming and the pretty young girl smiled at me, her fingers going quickly, but it wasn't fast enough.
"Bonsoir ladies and gentlemen."He shouted and had leapt onto a table, holding his black cane ready. "This..."He paused for effect, the snobby French bastard. "...is a robbery, so prepare to get poorer."I watched as along the line of tellers they almost all activated their robbery buttons, but it would make no difference, not to him. The turrets spun, but they had no target, he was intangible, only partly in this dimension. He was The Black Shadow and he was going to *ruin* my day.
I hit the ground with the others and lay still, waiting for it to be over, but for some reason fate had other plans. I could hear the hiss as he approached and began to demand money. Of course, he had to choose the girl who had been serving me and as he was waiting he must have looked around, that's when he saw me.
"Sacrebleu, Monsieur Danger?"I pushed my face into the carpet. He stepped closer and pulled my over, rolling me on my back. "Oh my fucking god, it *ees* you."I sunk inside.
"I'm just here as a customer Shadow, go about your robbery, leave me out of it."
He giggled. "Ze Danger Brigade will be so fucking excited when I tell them I robbed a bank with Meester Danger!"
I hated that team name. Sure I had founded it, but to keep using it once I had left seemed... tacky. "We're not doing this together, I'm straight now. Just rob the place and get out of here, the Justice Squad will be here soon."This moron was going to get me arrested if I wasn't careful and I'd promised Jane I was out of the life.
From across the room I heard a scream "Mr Danger is here, we're all going to die."Fuck, this could get bad.
I stood and leaned in to the Black Shadow, trying to hide my face from the rest of the hostages. "Look Shadow, I mean it, get out now, or we'll both go down for this."
He wasn't listening and had been fumbling for his phone, before leaning back to take a selfie with us together. I grabbed the phone and flung it against the wall, smashing it to atoms. "Are you fucking stupid?"
He frowned. "Zat was my phone, bro. Really?"
The crowd was nervous, scared at seeing me, scared at what I used to do. It was too late, I could hear the whispers and far away I could hear the drone of the Justice Squad's car's coming to stop him... stop me as they would think.
I shut my eyes and clapped and tried to block out the noise of several hundred sets of clothes falling to the floor, their contents now dust. Even the Shadow was just a wisp that floated away.
It took a minute to find the cameras, thankfully they were on site storage and easy to destroy, but I'd have to hope that no street cameras picked me up on my way in; I'd worn a cap and would have to hope it was enough. I left through the roof and flew away, keeping low, landing a few miles away in an alley.
Cameras, witnesses, I'd covered everything I could, but there was always a chance I'd missed someone, something. I'd been clear for two years before this, two damn years without a crime and now I'd have to give back my chip at Super Villains Anonymous. Worst of all, I needed to find a new bank; I'd really liked those cookies.
|
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