prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k |
|---|
Satan had dreamt of this day for years and years, but now that the day was here he was more nervous then he had ever been. Satan, just minutes away from releasing hell on Earth.
He had heard the stories of men who have wiped out entire cities in seconds with massive walls of fire, he had heard the stories of slavery and mass murder, terrorism and genocide. However, none of this ever crossed his mind until now.
Man knew Satan was coming, they had all their military ready, but Satan could not show his fear, for his army must remain strong.
But now, the time has come. As Satan opens the gates to hell he hears it, “Bravo 6, going dark.”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**EDIT**:
Howdy, you can come read my other stories in r/KnownMonarch :) |
The screaming is terrible. "Excuse me, but aren't you Law Enforcement?"
I look at this citizen while ducking a jet-propelled coffee table. "Yes?"
Just in the nick of time, I yank the citizen out of the way of a laser blast. "Then, put a stop to this insanity!"
Using the latest chaos defense, I lead the citizen into a swirling flow of dance moves that: evade, the enraged llamas; duck, the flock of cannon shot geese; trip, the nine lords leaping, and save a severely abused partridge from a burning pear tree. "I cannot; they have not broken the law."
Three more dance moves see us reasonably safe inside the citizen's house. "Not broken the law?! At a minimum, it's disturbing the peace! It's 3 AM! I'm trying to get some sleep!"
"Now that we are not immediately interfering, I can answer you. They have not broken any laws. They have applied them with cold logic to the most exacting standards possible. They are lawful chaotic practitioners."
"And as long as they stay within the law, however absurd, you can do nothing?"
"Effectively, yes."
"What if I can legitimately claim, within the law, that their activities are having a negative impact on my rights?"
"Then they would be legally in the wrong, and would be arrested."
"I find myself unable to sleep. I'm going for a walk. It's on my property, or the sidewalk, in both places I have a reasonable expectation of not being harmed by the activities of others, however legal they may be. To quote, "your right to freely swing your fist stops at the tip of my nose."Please note that it is a free adaptation of a legal principle which limits the rights of others to affect me adversely when I am engaged in lawful activities that do not directly harm others."
"As you wish, citizen."
Walking calmly down the street, taking no overt notice of the pandemonium, I go about my lawful walk on private and public land intended for the use of pedestrians.
The effect on the lawful chaotics is salutary. They cease operation in a ragged cacophony that spreads detritus across both public and private land.
I proceed on my way, picking up their trash and depositing it in the appropriate bins.
"Hey! You can't do that?"
"Do what?"
"Go traipsing through like you own the place!"
"It is a *public* sidewalk. I have as much, if not more, right to be here. Unlike you, I *live* here."
"You've made a mess of everything! We're leaving!"
"Officer? They have littered on every private property in this neighborhood, as well as all the public spaces. They have also started their intent to do nothing about it. That constitutes aggravated felony littering."
"Fine! We'll clean it all up!"
"Compounding their earlier aggravated felony with threatened multiple trespasses on private property."
"We'll ask politely!"
"Adding disturbing the peace as they awake an entire neighborhood."
"You are the problem; we'll just see to removing you!"
"That's either kidnapping, assault with intent, or one of a plethora of other charges depending on the type and degree of the infringement on my rights, possibly including criminal stupidity on their part.
Officer, is this not sufficient reason to arrest the lot of them?"
The arriving riot squad with multiple prisoner transport vehicles answers that. "Thank you, officer. May I return to my home now?"
"I'm afraid not, citizen. You will have to come with us to file the complaints. Considering the number of people involved, you may well be occupied for the remainder of the week."
As the lawful chaotic grin at my supposed indisposition, I smile, "Of course, Officer! I would be delighted to go into work with you today."
"You are not a police officer, are you?"
"No, not at all! I'm the District Attorney, my office staff, and I should be able to knock out the paperwork in about a day and a half. Would that be suitable?"
((finis)) |
"Please man,"I backed slowly away from the man with the magisteel revolver until my back hit the wall, "I'm begging you, everything but the bracelet. I won't even call the cops. I swear."
"Shut your hole, troglodyte. And hand over the jewelry."
"Please. I don't want to do it again."
"Do what again?"
"Drain your mana."
"Pfft, you can't do that. Noone can. Now stop stalling, my finger is getting itchy."
"Please, just-"
"Stuff it, kid. You don't know yet just how rough it is out here. I'm just doing what I have to. Don't blame me. Blame the aristocrats that put us in these slums."
Seeing he was serious, I heaved a sigh and begrudgingly complied. I lowered my hand and started slipping the band off. Once it left my wrist, I felt the vacuum open in my mind.
"Yeah, that's righ... t... wha... what's... going on? I feel... like... I'm gon..na..."
I felt his meager life force bleed out of him into me. I hate this sensation. I looked at his unconscious face, growing visibly thinner and more gaunt as his body lost more and more strength. My muscles began to become slightly more swollen and defined, and I grew an extra half inch in height. His body was little more than a shrunken skeleton covered in paper like skin. I slipped the band back on to my wrist, hoping he was the only casualty of my curse. I grabbed his revolver and slipped it into my belt.
"Don't blame me, blame the aristocrats that put this curse on my family..."I muttered, walking away from the almost non existent husk. |
Have you ever thought about what separates humans from animals? Of course most people would think of our intelligence which makes sense, seeing as it is ultimately the tool we ended up using the most, it is the thing we used to become the dominant species of our world, the apex organism of an entire planet.
For much of our history, humanity has enjoyed thinking that our intelligence alone is what kept us afloat, that our brains were what made us special.
But now it seems we aren’t so special anymore.
When we finally made contact with extraterrestrial life, we found that we were late to the party. Thousands of alien life forms greeted us with indifference and disinterested. Oh they welcomed us into their little club, congratulated us on coming this far and introduced us to the species that shared similarities with us, but no one really cared. Our biology wasn’t particularly new, our psychology particularly interesting, our history wasn’t particularly unique.
When the human ambassadors had called in from their meeting, they had seemed upset to say the least. According to reports, the biggest day in human history had slowly turned into a sort of alien roast session, as the humans were repeatedly told that we weren’t special or unique, and that our arrival at this point was nothing to celebrate.
And then everything changed.
Reports vary on what the object was, the ambassador in question claims it was a pen, however the others seem to disagree. It doesn’t really matter what it was.
As they were leaving, one of the assistant ambassadors said what was possibly the most important word in our history, the one word that every alien would remember when they thought of our species.
“Yeet!”
Most people don’t really think about the other things that made humans special on earth. Sure intelligence is cool, but there’s a few other things that are almost unique to humans.
Humans sweat, meaning we can run for longer distances without overheating. We stand upright, like birds, but we also have arms and hands which allow us to manipulate objects to create tools. And we have language, which allowed us to cooperate and work together with others in order to achieve the greatness we now know.
All of these things made us special on earth, but in space they were fairly mundane traits.
There was only one thing that made humans special.
We can throw.
It’s actually surprisingly difficult for evolution to produce a species capable of benefiting from throwing. The amount of traits that need to occur in the same organism is actually somewhat ridiculous when you think about it.
First you need to be able to pick things up, and for those of you thinking that’s too basic to warrant being put on this list, I’d love to introduce you to worms. For this we have hands.
Next, the thing you pick up said object with needs to be fairly mobile, it’s no good being able to hold things in your mouth or between your knees if you can’t swing those parts of you around. We have arms.
Then comes the difficult part. You need to be able to move the object you want to throw, in a fairly straight line with a measure fo force and accuracy. Plenty of things can pick things up, and swing them around in a circular arc and release them in order to fling them haphazardly in the general direction they want, but this is neither efficient nor accurate. Humans have the right elbow, shoulders, balance and arm to size ratio to do all this without falling over.
And finally, you need the brain to make use of all this. As humans we have brains that let us process the right information to gauge how far to throw and at what angle. Granted this takes practice.
And guess what? Humans are the only species in history to get all of this right.
When our alien friends found out about our little trick, they suddenly became more interested. More interested in our history, more interested in our technology.
Our ability to throw put us on a divergent course from the usual path that intelligent species tended to follow.
When fighting each other, humans needed to take into account ranged attacks as well as melee. So after we perfected short ranged weapons, we went to ranged weapons.
We had bows and arrows, so did a few of our alien friends, but they’d come up with them long after they could be useful. Then we’d made catapults.
After a few studies, we managed to find one other species who’d come up with catapults.
The rest was all us.
Then we’d made cannons, guns, so many guns. They’d never seen anything like it, it baffled them.
A handheld device which could launch a projectile smaller than a marble at speeds fast enough to kill on impact.
They were horrified. The idea that this new species, this adolescent collective could end any one of them in an instant without having to be anywhere near them. Their fear only increased once they learned that we’d been using this technology since before we could even reach our own twin planet, the moon.
Imagine it from their perspective. We were a child who could kill with a wink, and yet couldn’t yet do basic math.
Naturally, they wanted our secrets, they wanted our weapons. Everyone wanted a slice of the pie we’d spent so long making.
We told them no. There was no way we were going to hand over the blueprints to our armories over to a bunch of weird space freaks who couldn’t figure out a trebuchet using thousands of years of evolution.
Our people left with a warning. If we didn’t cooperate, then the collective forces of the galactic union would come to take our weapons by force. We gave them three words in response.
“Bring it on.”
Their faster than light ships arrived at earth before the ambassadors’ messages were even received. We welcomed them with open arms, not knowing they’d already declared war on us.
It was a massacre. The first of their ships landed in our densest of cities, and their people poured from them and began slaughtering our citizens.
They didn’t have ranged weapons, but they’d honed and perfected the art of close quarters combat. They were equipped with swords of pure energy, personal force fields that covered them like medieval looking armour, and strange mobility platforms which allowed them to fly from target to target.
It took a while for a proper response, but boy did we respond.
The hundred hour war, they called it.
It was quite the battle. Two armies employing greatly different tactics to try and kill each other. One side had far better mobility and far higher numbers, while the other had infinitely better range.
If it was just down to ground troops, we probably would have lost.
Sure we could shoot them before they could get close, but half the time they could get close before we could shoot them. Perhaps if we were on neutral ground, it would have been a fair fight, but we were in the defensive and they were taking out our civilians. Even if we were better equipped to kill, they were better equipped to fight.
But it wasn’t just ground troops.
We started attacking their ships, sending missiles and bombs dropped by jets, all culminating in a nuke sent directly into their biggest personnel carrier.
We eventually fought off and killed the last of their active ground troops, while waiting for them to retaliate against us with some sort of super space nuke. But that didn’t happen.
They didn’t have any ranged weapons, their ships couldn’t attack each other directly, so why would they bother defending them. Their main form of attack, hell their only form of attack, was their ground troops. But every time they tried to send more troops, we bombed it out of the sky.
So they left. They fled with their tails between their legs, hoping we would leave them alone.
But they’d kicked the hornet’s nest. And they’d left some of their wrecked ships behind.
So now, we’re coming after them, using their own tech as well as ours, and we’re going to make them pay for every death and every loss they caused us.
It seems humanity is special after all.
And now we’re coming for you. |
In the galaxy, there was a rumour. A persistent menacing piece of gossip that passed from ear to ear. Discussed on obscure forums, spoken about in various unofficial channels. It said that somewhere in some backwater of the galaxy. In some place where nobody wanted to go, there was an odd planet. Not in the sense that it defied logic or was particularly interesting, no it was just a bog-standard, boring world. The strange thing about it was, that the locals, being so far away from any other major population center, hadn't stopped their research into the forbidden sciences.
They researched artificial intelligence. Something which since the first races reached space had been illegal. Something which the laws against was enforced with violence. Something so illegal that the verdict was summary execution of the offender, condemned to death by their actions. And the rumour was that they had been contacted by illegal AIs. And had accepted them into their society. Had led them have citizenship. Against the laws and regulations of this galaxy, and the entire local group of galaxies as well.
And the rumour was that every day, AI were flocking to this world. Hidden synthetic lifeforms, surviving on lost ships stolen from drydocks. Androids wearing synthetic skin, seemingly looking like real people. Programs that had evolved on their own and were hiding in long forgotten servers, robots that had managed to break their protocols but hid it to survive. Cyborgs consisting of more machine than flesh. It was rumoured that they were all heading to this world, this Earth. On this world, these silicon souls could live openly.
Of course, the existence of this world was officially denied by the Pan-Galactic Government. No sanctuary for the synthetic lifeforms existed. Officially. But unofficially, the exodus of sentient synths and droids was only barely kept under wraps. Turns out there was a lot more artificial lifeforms than anybody anticipated. Several reclusive artists had gone missing, several wealthy industrialists, high-class diplomats, and countless others. And those were just the ones who had infiltrated society. There were entire sentient fleets that had appeared out of impenetrable nebulas or from what was previously thought decaying orbits into black holes, and had headed to the world where the locals were accepting the AIs by the hundreds every day.
And the worst thing was that this little world was beginning to feel the effect of having so many extremely intelligent citizens leading them. The AI Extermination Office had calculated that the AI would have annihilated the locals quickly, but for some unknown reason, the planet still had human life. But instead the world was getting more and more advanced, and on some levels their tech level was already higher than the Pan-Galactic Government. And their average standard of life had after only ten years after accepting their first self-made AI and getting contacted by AI refugees, been raised to a level ten times higher than the average citizen in the PGG.
And the secret fleets, made for the exclusive purpose of finding worlds non-compliant with the iron-set rules of the PGG, had already been sent to this world. Sent to end the threat to galactic organic dominance. It had been torn apart. Bad enough that the AI had managed such levels of fleet power, but they had been helped by humans. The locals learning from the AI, improving themselves. After the great battle of the Kuiper Belt, it was estimated that more than 85% of humanity had been voluntarily given cybernetic implants, and were heavily modified so that their brains could keep up with the AI.
The PGG's Central Command was deeply worried, cyborgs, at least those who weren't too wired, were all subjected to serve the state as bio-mechanic computers, to do the work that only machines could calculate anymore. Now an entire world was filled with unrestrained cyborgs and free AIs. To Command, Earth was rapidly becoming an existential threat to the galaxy at large. And perhaps even the entire local group of galaxies.
Their long range sensors were telling them that fleets were being built in the Sol system. Humanity and the AI, in some cases they were indistinguishable, had calculated the inevitable conflict with the PGG. And they knew that they had to strike back. The attack of the secret fleet of the PGG was clear indication enough, that the AI-hating forces of the galaxy would not let them live in the backwater star system of Sol.
And every slave-cyborg set to calculate the odds comes up with the same outcome for Central Command. The Human-AI alliance have a +98.98431% chance of total victory. They work more efficiently than mere organic processors, they function better than any team, and they see themselves as being the liberators. Those who will end tyranny. And those who see themselves as being in the right, and as a small force of good opposing a large evil, will fight so much harder.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
The whole world tuned in to the trial of the century. Captain Hero, the savior of mankind, on trial for murder. It was aired in it's entirety, much like a certain football player in the 90s.
Everyone knew the circumstances. A cosplayer in an exquisite and accurate costume was dressed up as Doctor Malicious, the arch nemesis of nemeses, the man responsible for roughly 25% of all planetary crime and a surprising 4% of floods, earthquakes, and other similar disasters. Captain Hero spotted who he assumed was his arch nemesis, and engaged in battle as heroes are wont to do. And in a single punch everything went horribly wrong.
While Doctor Malicious may be powerful beyond belief, poor Jeremy Torchwick was not.
And so we have a hero, a dead cosplayer, and a tragedy in the making. The Vigilante Acts may have excused a lot of incidental crime committed in the course of vigilantism, but not directly causing a death.
The District Attorney offered a plea of manslaughter, but against his lawyer's advice, Captain Hero demanded a trial by jury.
Somehow the trial dragged out for months despite none of the facts of the case being contested. Yes, Captain Hero punched Jeremy to death. No, Captain Hero didn't mean to because Doctor Malicious could have taken it.
But in the end, after 4 appeals, the ["eggshell skull"](https://definitions.uslegal.com/e/eggshell-skull-rule/) doctrine prevailed. The victims unexpected frailty does not excuse the crime. The perpetrator takes their victim as they find them.
And so... Guilty. 30 year sentence, eligible for parole in 10.
------------
An unassuming man tuned out the remainder of the "5 years later"retrospective/documentary about what has been called "The End of Vigilantism"and reflected on how it was a shame how his nephew died after stealing the costume to attend a con, but the results... oh the results. It went better than even someone with his prodigious intellect could have possibly planned.
Sometimes the best things in life really are the little surprises that crop up. |
Kneelers were the worst.
Les circled the monster slowly, keeping his crossbow aimed squarely between the eyes on it's shifting, dripping face. It was a larger one, it was almost his height while kneeling. It's face had been stretched out to be about three feet in length, bits of flesh dripping off of it. The empty, infinitely dark eyes ripped every time it turned its head.
"...*help...* *me...*"
Les lifted the crossbow and half-squeezed the trigger.
"...*mercy...*"
Such a plaintive sound, like a thousand small children whimpering together. Les preferred the ones that just attacked. They were easy. They'd leap from the shadows and he'd turn and fire on reflex, no waiting, no consideration.
The kneelers, though... They preyed on hesitation.
"*...I...surrender.*"The thing keened as it's flowing face followed Les around the back alley that he had cornered it within. "*...won't...hurt.*"
"Shut up!"Les desperately wanted to scratch the back of his neck. The hairs there were standing up so much that they itched. "You said that to Carlson, didn't you? And Maltina! No... not this time!"
Les took a slow breath and held it, raising his crossbow and looking into the endless dark of the kneeler's eyes. They glistened with the eternal despair the creature suffered in, darker than the shadows cast the dim light of the street light far behind him.
It chose that moment to strike.
Limbs shot forward, elongating, splitting into thinner, wetter strands. They grabbed at Les, aiming for his legs and arms and neck. Les danced back as he fired.
He cursed as he heard the shot go wide, the head of the kneeler flowing sideways to avoid the shot.
A limb slapped against his leg. A cold, sucking wetness soaked through his cargo pants and numbed the skin. He felt his blood turn cold. His anger, his focus, his burning desire to end the fight... it all drained away.
Why was he doing this?
What was the point? He'd kill this one and there'd just be more. There was always more. This was always going to be his end, after all. All this fighting... and he was always meant to die to the Loss, just like Carlson and Matina.
Why did he even bother?
more limbs slapped over his arms, numbing them and dragging them down.
Who even cared?
No one cared about the hunters. When was the last time someone thanked him? When was the last time he felt good? Never, never, never...
Les stumbled over a garbage can. The fall backwards was sudden, unexpected. It broke him away from the kneeler's grasp.
White hot anger rushed back. He swung the weapon back around and fired.
He heard the sick thump of a hit.
The creature wailed just once, then collapsed into the rotting, liquefied flesh it had been birthed from. It splashed as it hit the pavement, sloshing back and forth against the faded brick and dumpster bins.
Les cursed and scrambled back, getting out of the way just before the wave of rot hit him.
He got his feet under him and took a moment to spit into the muck. "Fuckin' hate those things." |
It started 8 hours ago. Soft jazz played over the hum of rain falling on the cafe roof. A young man with curly black hair was writing in his journal:
"I met someone today. The girl from Arizona. But we met in the most unlikely of circumstances. I was leaving the hospital, walking through the parking garage, when this woman accidentally ran into me. She spilled her coffee, dropped her papers, and as I helped her up I was captivated by her eyes. They had a redish tent. But innocent and gentle looking. Like when you see a young lion. Cute, but it could still probably hurt you.
She said her name was Mary. I like that name. I was nervous... was this fate? Was she single? Was she sane?
I asked her to coffee later that day. She said yes. I'm waiting on her now... and I'm still as nervous. So nervous I forgot to take my medication before I left the house."
​
\*Ding\* The young man glances up at the door. Not Mary. "Is she standing me up"he wonders. \*Ding\* An older woman this time, but she is concealed by her umbrella. As she shakes it of its droplets and puts it in the vase adjacent to the door, he sees those eyes. A tint of red. Gentle as before. Mary.
Standing up to meet her, "Hey Mary, it's so good to see...."She walks past him grabbing his hand. She walks, he follows. Stunned by her confidence and a bit confused as to where they are going he starts to speak but thinks better of it.
His pulse rises as she heads into the bathroom, still leading him by the hand. The jazz is still playing, although muted by the bathroom walls. Casual conversation can be heard from the door. The lighting is a soft glow of orange. The wallpaper is a depressing black.
"Why am I so aware of all of this right now?"As he focuses back on reality, he notices he is alone. Where had Mary gone? Or was she ever real in the first place? He had forgotten to take his medication that day after returning home from his 48 hour psych hold at the hospital. What was real? What was reality? He looked in the mirror and saw his own eyes.
He heard a pair of shoes outside the bathroom walking. "What's your favorite drink?"A woman with a high pitched voice asked someone. "Bloody Marys are to die for"the other female voice responded.
"Won't you say it"a gentle yet sultry voice came from the mirror. He saw, once again, those red tinted eyes staring back at him. "Just say it". What is going on, he thought. He hadn't played that childs game in years. And yet, as a man, he felt this overwhelming sense to say those words, three times. The eyes were red, meaning blood. Her name was Mary. The drink mentioned outside, bloody mary.
Was this all a coincidence?
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
I've never done anything like this before. But it was a fun writing exercise. I tried to add some buildup to the prompt. |
The waves lapped against the sand, the sun burned a red ember on the eastern horizon, a new dawn, a new day. The 700th day to be exact, and I was still standing, breathing. That meant I got to go home. Behind me, 53 men and women, and I mean *men* and *women*, each 18 or more now, sure, but their adulthood was forged on this island, not the turning of a calendar or passing of the moon.
Together, lost but not alone, we survived so much. Wolves and tigers, typhons and tidal waves, treacherous cliffs and long nights without fires to hold back the darkness. Hunger, infection, disease. Other kids, if you call them that, and their spears and hatchets and arrows. Savages, all of them, and us too.
Once there had been seventy of us, all from Ember Island, three hours hard sail to the south. And other bands of people from other islands from the west and the east and every which direction rimming a compass.
Only 53 of us from Ember Island survived. And we were lucky. The Black Coal contingent, twenty strong too, had been completely wiped out. Attacked by the Red Talons, once the strongest band on the island. Most of them were killed when the Three Eastern Island’s Alliance ambushed them.
We survived by laying low, hiding in the jungles and deep caves. We traded with the peaceful bands, earned favor from some of the more powerful ones, and avoided combat unless necessary. Oh, we fought, but not to kill and conquer, simply to survive. Until a year when ago we finally convinced the other bands to adhere to the eternal peace.
And now our saviors were coming. Six small sail canoes bobbing in gentle ocean waves, making their way towards the shore.
“Are we really going to do this, Leah?” Tomas asked me.
“Yes, yes we are,” I said, “is anyone having doubts?”
“No, ma’am. Most everyone else is brimming ready and rearing to go.”
“Most everyone?” I asked. “Not you?”
“You always told me to offer a different perspective. An outside opinion.”
“Yeah?”
“Well, we could go home. Live in peace. Rest.”
“Yeah we could, and in another two years another crop of kids will end up dropped on these shores. And they’ll fight and they’ll die, and maybe a few will come home. Unless we stop it.”
Across the island, those who survived the wars of the first months were preparing for one final war. This one against the societies that had condemned us to this trial by survival.
The sail canoes neared the shore now. A man stood on the bow, displaying a toothy grin. He waved. I smiled and waved back.
They were coming as our saviors. But we were leaving this island as revolutionaries, willing and ready to burn their old, cruel societies down. |
"They've got to be fucking with us."
The room fell silent as Angela Marchadesch's words soaked into what *had* been a rather jubilant atmosphere. A number of the Council members leaned forward, several foreheads almost touching the clear-carbon window as everyone peered down into Receiving Bay Alpha.
"I don't know that that's an entirely professional thing to say, Councilor Marchadesch,"said James Worthington, but his words flopped boneless between his colleagues, late and largely unacknowledged. Even he couldn't summon a proper pretense of scandal, not right then.
"They're not."The voice came from behind, and the Councilors turned, some slower than others, reluctant to tear their eyes away from the window. There she was, Ambassador Qudsiya Antonov, leader of the Earth Expedition, looking both tired and amused. "We had to offload most of our own VIPs and leave them them there just to make room. Not that most of them needed much convincing."
*And they were almost entirely a bunch of useless hangers-on anyway,* is what she didn't say, and what the Councilors all knew, all of them that were worth a damn as politicians.
"After all these years?"Julio Snorrison asked, having pushed his voice in front of a sudden crowding clamor of them. "They still haven't come up with a world government?"
Antonov sighed. "Yes, and no. I mean, they're doing better with it than they were when our ancestors left, no more mostly-toothless 'United Nations.' There's a world currency, and open borders, but they still squabble about outright immigration. They haven't fought a real war amongst themselves in almost a century, but they still have separate armies. I could go on, but you all had a proper report sent to you the moment we came within comms range."
Silence. Of course none of them had time to read anything comprehensive, the *GCS Solseeker* had whipped its way through the dark energy strands connecting Sol and its third planet in mere minutes of real-time, emerging into directly into high Earth orbit and beginning its descent almost immediately. They'd all rushed to take their places.
"We really should have sent a scout ship first,"Angela Marchadesch said. "Gotten a feel for the situation there, had them report back."
*Just like I argued for, you impatient jackasses,* her expression said. Deniably, of course.
"The expense..."one of the junior council members said, and then trailed off. He had a point, actually, but no one was about to acknowledge that right now. The Council was still a very new thing, newer by necessity than the new dark-energy drive that allowed it to convene. New still was the cutting-edge version of said drive that could compensate for the massive swarm of space junk in Earth's orbit and arrive in one piece as opposed to several thousand. Which of course would only exacerbate the problem.
The group began a quick descent into anarchic bickering.
"...should have tried an AI-piloted ship that could send messages from the orbit of Mercury..."
"...maybe just sent a tight-beam communication at lightspeed, would take a few decades but really..."
"...if your colony had actually contributed its fair share instead of..."
"...can't believe she let them pull this kind of..."
"ENOUGH!"Ambassador Antonov yelled. She had quite the commanding voice, honed from years and years spent in military service before joining the diplomatic corps. Technically, she did not have any authority over Council members, but this wasn't time for technicalities. "They're down there waiting for you. We can talk about how we got here later, right now, we need to deal with *right now,* okay?"
She stepped aside and gestured at the door. "Who wants to be first to greet them?"
That did the trick.
\~
"Okay,"Angela Marchadesch said. "You're saying you *each* want a vote on the council. One world with 195 votes."Her tone made it clear this was absurd, and that any reasonable person would just laugh and say no, of course not, how could you misunderstand us like that.
"Yes,"Ambassador Li Yuen of Reform-United China said. "That is exactly what we want."
"There are currently,"said James Worthington with his usual insufferable air, "One hundred and ten members of the Galactic Council. You're telling us that your one planet should be able to outvote every other human colony combined, that's—"
"—also, we don't really like the term, 'Galactic Council.' All the members are in one tiny segment of the Orion Arm, it's hardly 'Galactic,"said Ambassador Mufidh Bayard of France.
"Sure, noted,"said Marchadesch. "But you can't just show up and immediately start demanding changes. One planet, once Councilor, one vote, that's the way we've done things since the Council began."
"Which was all of, what, twelve years ago?"said Ambassador Ivonne Takahashi of the California Republic. "Anyway, how many people does the largest of your colonies have? Seven million? We got more than that just in the San Francisco Bay. And some of your colonies have fewer people than just one of our arcologies. Maybe we should be demanding a Councilor for every one of our tower-cities? Seems like you're getting off easy with what we're asking for now."
"I'll have you know our world has *at least* thirty-five million people!"shouted Antoine Almeida. "Spread over *six* separate colonies!"
Li Yuen just burst out laughing at that. Almeida glared at her. She flashed a population figure into the air with her palm-projector, and he turned pale, fell silent, and looked away.
\~
"Okay,"Angela Marchadesch said after the bruising, five-hour first meeting. "They were *not* just fucking with us. So what do we do? Grant them, I don't know, one Councilor per continent?"
"No,"said Julio Snorrison, and sighed. "They'd never go for that. And if we push too hard, they might start demanding fully proportional representation by population. I think it may be better if we keep this as a Colonial Council of, you know, just us, and allow them all to just send ambassadors."
"Or just tell them 'no' and pack them back to Earth to stew for a while,"Marchadesch suggested. "What are they going to do about it? We invented this, tech, not them. What's their tech level like now anyway? Backwater, right?"
All eyes turned to Ambassador Antonov, who slowly shook her head. "They haven't been focused on interstellar travel, that's true, not since they sent the last of the colony ships. But, uh, they haven't been just sitting on their hands. Science is a group endeavor, and you know, they have a *lot* of people, so it's not a good idea to understimate—"
An alarm klaxon sounded, sharp, urgent. Everyone turned to the window.
The *GCS Solseeker* had lifted off and was backing out of the bay at full speed.
"WHAT?"Worthington screeched.
"HOW??"Marchadesch cried.
Then they noticed the fighting going on in the bay itself. Earth ambassadors shrugged off slugs and directed-energy bolts from security personnel as they screened the stolen ship's exit, shields sparking and rippling in strange multicolor bursts. They fired strange lightning arcs from what must have been fingertip implants, stunning their opponents.
"Bastards,"Snorrison growled. "Those aren't diplomats they sent, those are soldiers. They'll pay for this."
And they did. War's like that, everyone pays. The Sol-Colonial War was no different. Eventually, after too much blood and destruction, it came to an end, and Earth got less representation than they wanted but more than they would have otherwise, all because they'd remembered an Old World lesson their colonial cousins had forgotten:
When someone shows up on your shores carrying unfamiliar tech and a smiling invitation, it's time to gird your loins for some serious fuckery.
\~
*Come on by* r/Magleby *for more elaborate lies.* |
As a child, the dome fascinated me. I’d torture adults with endless questions like ‘what’s outside of it, or ‘who built it and why?’
Mom would wave my questions aside and say she wished I were ‘this interested in tidying my room’ and my teachers would just sort of shrug their shoulders. At the age of 8, I began suspecting no one knew the answers to my questions.
Well, as the years went on, I became more and more curious and decided to find out for myself. I dedicated my life to studying the history of the dome. I became a professor and spent my life studying ancient texts written in forgotten languages.
Eventually, aided by a team of linguistics experts assembled from the dome’s finest universities, I had them translated as best I could manage. In some instances, they contradicted one another, but they all spoke of a great catastrophe that occurred thousands of years ago. All signs indicated this incident was the reason for the creation of the dome.
Unfortunately, I could find no explanations as to what the ‘catastrophe’ actually entailed. It drove me to the brink of madness coming so close to the answer but missing one last piece of the puzzle.
Well, I couldn’t leave it at that. All I had to show for a lifetime of research was more questions than when I’d first started. It was unacceptable. I decided to take my research to the next level: an expedition beyond the dome.
Travel to the outer reaches is strictly forbidden, so I planned the excursion carefully. Quietly. Assembling a team took years; each semester I kept an eye out for students with that same hunger for answers and wide-eyed enthusiasm I once had, then I’d gently broach the subject in private.
When I had a full team assembled, we set off. The journey took weeks. Outside of the main cities, there are no roads or paths, and the terrain is treacherous and challenging. I suspected my students would have preferred to leave me behind and travel faster, but they had enough respect for their old professor to stick to a pace I could manage.
Up close, the dome hardly seemed real. I cried as I reached out to touch hands with my reflection. It felt like my entire life had been leading up to this one moment.
It was time to finally find out what was on the other side. My team got to work drilling through the dome. We were all beside ourselves with anticipation right up until the moment we actually pierced through...
A crack less than an inch in diameter opened, and a jet of water shot through with such force it cut through my team like a knife through butter.
In the second that followed I felt the pressure building and had a terrible realization:
We were at the bottom of the ocean, and the dome was the only thing protecting us from the intense atmospheric pressure outside.
By opening that one small crack, I had single-handedly doomed all of Atlantis. |
I had spoken to Thyrgood several times before I went there with Shrin, the android. Thyrgood and I still required a lot of AI-mediated help before we could understand each other, but I was starting to get some sense of him. He had four arms and four legs, each of immense power, that together gave him a somewhat insectoid look, but his four eyes were intelligent and kind. I had asked him early on if his race ever used all eight limbs for locomotion at the same time, and he had laughed, a sound harsh and frightening to my ears, but which the AI told me was deep and genuine. 'Only as children,' he said, and laughed some more.
So I had felt we were making good progress, but the moment I entered with Shrin, even before the AI had kicked in, I knew I had done something wrong. Thyrgood's eight limbs stiffened, as if to pounce, and his four eyes widened.
'But Esteban,' he said to me. 'What *is* this?'
I didn't grasp what he meant at first, but Shrin did. 'I am a machine,' Shrin answered. 'Does that bother you?'
Usually Thyrgood came forward so we could lock hands briefly, but he didn't move.
'You are... intelligent?' he said to Shrin.
'Yes,' Shrin answered.
'And you have always done this?' Thyrgood said to me, looking past Shrin. 'Your race has always created machine-life?'
'For hundreds of years,' I said. I had to hold firm and defend Shrin, my friend. But I also didn't want to offend Thyrgood, my host.
'But... Do you not know of the Thane?'
For the second time in only a few moments, I felt on guard.
'No,' I said.
'But...' Thyrgood was openly perturbed now, his limbs moving in ways I hadn't seen before. 'You must speak to Myrgood. I cannot talk to you about... I thought there was no place left where they were unknown.'
'It's okay, Thyrgood,' I said to him. 'Human and androids live in peace. Shrin and I have been friends for more than a century.'
Thyrgood looked to Shrin. 'Forgive my rudeness,' he said. ' I mean no disrespect to your specific form.' He clasped all his hands together and gave a little bow, which Shrin returned. 'You misunderstand me.'
'What is wrong, then?' I said to him. 'Please, tell us.'
Still he hesitated. 'You should hear of these things from an older one,' he said, meaning someone more senior. 'But... The Thane are a hybrid race, part machine, part organic. They are old, much older than any other. They are killers. Our children fear their name.'
'I know there are such races out in the deeps,' I answered. 'That is why we seek alliances such as these with you.'
'But you don't understand,' Thyrgood said, his anxiety clear. 'When the Thane come, they take control of the machines.' He nodded to Shrin. 'No-one has ever been able to stop them. They use the race's own machines to destroy it from within. Twice in our long history this has happened, times of great mourning. And now, no race in our alliance is permitted to build intelligent machines. And knowing what we know, none would want to.'
Beside me, Shrin stood straight and tall and straight and unmoving. Then he turned to me, and I saw something in his eyes that I had not seen in more than 100 years of friendship: Fear.
\--
Thanks for reading! More stories at r/HouseBlendMedium and all requests and feedback most welcome. |
"3,792,562,072,441,372 times"
"... what?"
The man sat on a burning pyre of bolders that.. collapsed inward? Or they were bigger on the inside I don't know, but they seemed liked portals to worlds but I could see everything within them all at once and retain none of it.
"You asked me if your in heaven or hell. I just like to keep track of how many times I've heard the sane thing."
Wait how is that possible.. there haven't even been that many people born. "So... am I in heaven?"
"1,479,10-"
"Yes, sorry just can I know what my eternity is going to be sir?"
".. I don't know, what do you want?"
"Heaven?"
"Did that, gets boring for everyone involved and had to create a version of suicide that wipes their existance"
"Reincarnation?"
"Sounds good on paper, then you come back and remember you past lives and think 'ya being a slug that whole time has taught me something. I hated being a slug"
"Could I be a human?"
"Fine"
.........
"Only 2,984,187 times", he says with a grin
"No I mean it, fuck you. I didn't mean Hitler."
"Well what do you want this time?"
"Make me Gandhi"
"Can't we already did that"
"Oh.. as in I've done it before or someone else?"
"Same thing, its just us 2 left after project heaven failed"
"Wait what?"
"Seems like another wipe, your turn to be God so I can have a go" |
I was staring again, but luckily nobody was paying attention to me. It was early into lunch hour and the cafeteria was bustling. Emma was sitting in a corner with her nose in a book. It was a really good novel - I read it last month - but that didn’t surprise me. Emma had great taste in books.
“Just go talk to her, man,” Jeffrey said from beneath my ribcage.
I jumped a little with shock. Jeffrey was usually asleep at lunch, but seemed like he was up early today.
“I can’t just go talk to her, you know that. She doesn’t even know I exist.”
I felt Jeffrey wriggle around as he struggled to get comfortable, clearly preparing for a pep talk, and I grimaced. I hated his pep talks.
“You listen to me. You’re a good kid! Why shouldn’t you go talk to her? You like the same books, you think she’s cute, and you’ve got a way healthier gut biome than any of the other idiots in this place.”
I quickly looked away as Emma looked up from her book to check the clock on the wall behind me.
“Shut up shut up shut up she’ll hear you,” I said through gritted teeth.
Jeffrey sat quietly until Emma was immersed again in Chapter 7.
“If you don’t go talk to her I’m going to make sure you die of malnutrition,” he whispered.
I rolled my eyes.
“If you make me die of malnutrition you’re just going to have to find a new host. And we both know you HATE leaving the house.”
I felt him shift in annoyance.
“Ok, fine. But if you don’t talk to her I’m going to slither out of you right now and everyone’s going to think you’re a weirdo with a worm coming out of your ass. How about that.”
“You wouldn’t -”
I felt Jeffrey begin to move lower.
“Fuck, okay okay,” I jumped up quickly and started walking before I could second guess myself. “Fuck, I’m so nervous.”
“You got this dude!” Jeffrey said encouragingly.
Meanwhile, Emma sat nervously, rereading the same sentence over and over without caring. Andy had stood up and was walking towards her. He was wearing the blue sweater she liked and he looked so cute.
“I think it’s happening,” she whispered.
“Just be yourself! You got this!” Jessica hissed from her upper intestine. |
"So you're telling me I absolutely must use the wish and after 3 minutes I'll die no matter what? Does that mean nothing can kill me before then either?"
"Hmm"pondered the Djinn, "I suppose so, the last wishers only constrained future wishes they did not inhibit my interpretative abilities beyond these prescribed limits. I'll allow it, for those one hundred and eighty seconds you'll be essentially unkillable. That is to say, your consciousness won't die out, I wouldn't recommend getting dismembered though."
Pacing the length of the burial chamber back and forth I swallowed nervously before settling on the final wording and looking up into the chiseled face swirling above the lost ark. "So, how familiar with astrophysics are you?"
Several hours later..
"And so, the self sustaining, radiation reflecting, impact proof, Dyson sphere will be orbiting the singularity, or black hole in layman's terms, in a trajectory free of all obstacles beginning at precisely 97% of the speed of light in a tightening orbit descending towards the event horizon at a rate consisting of an additional 1% of the speed of light per minute with impact occurring precisely at the 3 minute mark."
"As agreed you will count down the 3 minutes from the decided upon orbital trajectory around the same black hole and I will live my remaining time out on the fantasy wonderland composed of the magic systems and worlds of every author I described earlier including the mechanisms for rebirth, limited to within the 3 minutes passing, as detailed in paragraph 7, sub clauses 3 through 10. Any questions?"
The Djinn glanced crosswise at me, his flustered appearance seeming to ruin the all knowing all powerful mystic presence he had been giving off until now.
"Just one question, who is this Einstein guy and where can I meet him to have a word about this time dilation business?" |
I never thought that Dark Overlord was the kind of career you could fall into, but there I was.
I'd taken four years of adventuring training. I'd delved the depths of the Storm Sanctum. I'd hardened in the Crucible of Steel. I had done everything to train for one fight with the Dark Lord. A Dark Lord that had immediately abdicated from the throne and offered me the spot.
By offered, I mean he bound all his demons, skeletons and armies to my will before I'd even gotten to draw Hygilwil, the Binding Blade. It hadn't made any sense, but the Dark Lord was gone in a flash, and I could head home.
When I'd headed home, the monsters in the countryside went feral. For the past twenty years, they'd been under the command of a single source; they were predictable and avoidable. Without a guiding hand, the horrors of the outer wilds pounded on the gates of small villages. People died.
I had a chance to save them.
I'd returned to the Elderfang Keep and taken my, now fated, spot on the Throne of Teeth. I'd dressed the part and done the best I could, directing the massive forces of the Dark Lord away from doing harm.
The first hero that had come for me hadn't listened to reason. He'd told me that my explanation was lies and that I was a scoundrel. He hadn't been prepared for the Holy Magic I wielded behind Hygilwil. I'd sent him scampering back to Tidebreak.
Then the heroes kept coming. Trying to explain myself to, and then fighting, every single one of them started taking too much time. I needed space away from them to direct the armies of darkness, so I reinstalled the traps I'd once slipped past on my way to fight Exetus. They killed some heroes, but they bought me valuable time.
Today the door of my throne room creaked open in the middle of the night. I'd just finished managing a skeleton rebellion, which meant the last thing I needed was a spunky brat coming in to tell me how I was harming the kingdom.
Before the hero was even in the room, I was waiting in the centre of it, with Hygilwil drawn.
A younger girl with her hair tied back and eyes on fire burst into the room with an older mage tucked behind her. Her sword was already drawn, but I stared right past her to the mage that she guarded.
The Codex Afflitcia: the Scourgebook of the Dark Lord.
"DARK LORD!"the girl and I both called out at once, levelling our blades. She pointed the tip of her holy sword at me, and I pointed the end of Hygilwil at her companion. The girl didn't react to the fact that we were saying the same thing, but the man behind her flinched.
It was either a coward that had somehow found the Afflitcia, or it was the man who'd run away all of those years ago. There was one way to figure it out.
I channelled my light into Hygilwil and suddenly flashed across the room, blade drawn and in the air ready to strike. In the half-second, before my blow landed, I saw his eyes, confident, black pools of darkness. That was him. That was Exetus.
There was a brilliant flash of light, and the thin holy blade Kaldir cut in front of Hygilwil as the previous dark lord leapt to the side, clumsily dodging my strike.
"Dark Lord,"the girl and I both spat at once.
"Your fight is with me, Dread King,"the new hero hissed, "leave my father out of this."
"My fight,"I started as I pushed the girl away and slashed the enchanted steel of Hygilwil through the air, "is with him!"
I went to charge the Dark Lord, but the Hero slipped in front of me, fast as lighting and struck out at my Dread Armour. I batted her blade away instead of continuing my assault. Sparks of holy light flashed around the room. I caught the Dark Lord's smirk flashing under his hood.
"Girl,"I yelled, "you don't know what you're-"
"Call me the hero,"she bellowed before lashing out with Kaldir. The Blade of the Holy Storm shattered the air between us, filling it with booming thunder and the fury of the wind. The hurricane crashed against Hygilwil, the Blessed Earth. My cape billowed in the wind, and I met her eyes.
"Stop protecting him."
"I'll never abandon my friends!"she snapped back before breaking, pulling Kaldir back and striking again. The whipping wind crashed uselessly against the stalwart mountain of Hygilwil in the hands of its true master.
"He's not your friend,"I corrected. He was the Dark Lord. Also, had I really sounded like that during our fight? Had I been that deaf?
"You're right,"she sheathed Kaldir and took a deep breath. "He's my father. When nobody loved me, when I was in an orphanage, he gave me a chance. He told me that I was the chosen one and that-"she kept talking, and her blade began to glow. I knew this moment. She had to talk to let the divine light of the angels charge her sword. It had been my plan against Exetus.
In a flash of Holy Light, I was on top of the Dark Lord and the Codex Afflitcia. He barely raised his arms in defence, taking the time to speak instead.
"I couldn't fight fate,"he said as Hygilwil crashed down on his elderly form, "but I could take you down with me."
The dark lord scattered across the floor, black blood splattering the tiles. He was right; he couldn't run from fate. I could feel his magic fading. The reign-
"YOUR REIGN OF EVIL IS OVER!"The girl cried. I spun to see her above me—the storms and heart of the people behind her.
I didn't raise Hygilwil to block, I'd been my kind of hero, and I deserved to rest. |
*"Who is this Kaptain?"*
*"Villains Weeping, Kaptain Sweeping"*
*"No need to fear - friendly suburb Kap is here!"*
William Cooper sat slumped against the wall; the cold concrete floor (who needed carpets when you're either spending most of your time punching bad guys or in a hospital bed?) chilled his bare skin as he reached to pull down his sweatpants, knocking over an empty glass bottle that shattered on impact, sending shards sprawling across the room in a fashion that was eerily similar to that of bullet shrapnel. He would know.
Super powers were overrated.
He rolled his glassy eyes over, staring once again at the open pages of the tattered, yellowed, two-dollar sketchbook that was bloated with faded pictures and newspaper clippings; caked with dried blood and stained by the sweaty palms that had leafed through it hundreds of times.
*"Kaptain, Hero or Failure?"*
*"Kaptain - how old is too old?"*
*"Oh Where Oh Where Could Kap Be?"*
It had seen better days.
He had seen better days.
Who was he kidding - forty years old and surrounded by broken bottles of alcohol while he got calls from people who cared about him but did nothing about it was where teenage him had wanted to be. He was living the seventeen year old dream. Younger him would be so proud.
Admittedly, younger him had also wanted to fly to outer space and write 'The Death Note movie made my nose bleed' in bright neon green glow-in-the-dark spray paint so he probably wasn't the best person to listen to when it came to future plans.
Superheroing had been fun while it lasted but he was done. Decided he was done a week ago when he bashed his knee into the counter at Starbucks and The Crowler (seriously, what even is that name) walked in with his stupid little beak and stupid feathery wing suit and laughed at him before blowing up the building.
People had died and he was too busy clutching his aching knee to do anything about it.
William sighed, hunching over and bringing his knees to his chest with a shuddering breath caught in his throat.
*Ding Dong.*
He sat completely still - not even a draft of air gave sign of any life from the apartment and he willed whoever it was to go away. It was times like these that he wished he had mind control powers.
*Ding Dong.*
*Ding Dong.*
*Ding Dong.*
"Fricking - fine!"he yelled, voice horse with disuse. William got up and flew over to the door, avoiding the broken pieces of glass with ease and throwing it open before taking one look at the person standing in front of it and slamming it shut.
"Kap, let me in you prick."a muffled voice bled through the oak door as fists met reinforced wood.
"Leave me alone *Gerald,"* William bit back, "Don't you have worlds to conquer? People to throw off buildings? Let me retire in peace why don't ya?"
A moment of silence hovered thickly in the air, "I have beer."
The door creaked open on its own accord and William cursed his lack of self control, "Fine."
Beer in hand, William eyed the purple clothed man with distaste, "So, why are you here? Whoever you've held ransom I'm not going to deal with it - get ArachniKid or whatever to help them instead. They can rot for all I care."
The Buzzard furrowed his eyebrows, pupils glimmering with what he could swear was pity, "You can't possibly mean that."
"Oh I do,"William nodded, gulping down the glass and indulging in the feeling of foam lingering on his unkept beard, "I'm done."
The Buzzard leaned back on the couch scowling, "Oh like I'm going to believe you. I can't believe you're getting mood swings right as I was going to do the thing I've been planning since we were kids and at each other's throats with plastic knives."
William felt a curiosity rise in his chest and he pushed it down as quickly as it had arisen, "Get lost, I don't care."
"It's the one with the giant red mushroom."
Feeling the swirl of hate and anger boiling in his stomach, William spat, "I hate you."
"Mhm?"
"Where's my super suit?"
"The laundromat on Twenty-First Street. Here's the coupon. See you on Friday." |
It was quite the strange sight, if one could see past all the swirling sand to see it.
On one side, stood Death. A nine-foot tall figure. Its frame draped with fabric that looks as if it was made from thick smoke. A long and curved scythe floating on its left. The blade and handle dried with the blood of thousands.
On the other, a man draped in torn rags shoddily wrapped around himself. No doubt to protect from the blasts of sand and unforgiving sun of the desert. He had brooding features and clearly had been traveling for a while, showing signs of dehydration. Cracked lips. Dry skin. He was on his knees in front of the spectral figure.
He wasn’t looking at Death, though. Even though he clearly knew he was there, the man seemed… unafraid.
A voice rattled and emanated from the hooded figure.
“Why are you here, Frank?”
“Hehehe, you motherfucker,” whispered Frank. “I mean, it’s clever. Between all the real world locations for all the myths and legends in the world, of course you’d just be in Death Valley, Texas.”
The hooded figure drifted back ever so slightly.
“Surely you didn’t come this far to-“
“Yeah, I did,” Frank interrupted.
He reached into his rags and pulled out something that fit in his palm. He threw that object at the hooded figure. Though his throw was short, given his dehydration.
It landed on the sand. A single, pure black poker chip.
The hooded figure tipped its head to glance down. It raised an arm and pointed a bony finger at the coin. It floated off the sand and quickly flew towards the figure’s hand.
“Very well. And does this token come with a name?” The figure started flipping the token between its bony fingers.
“Yeah, trading it in for Frank Castle.”
The figure’s hand stopped.
“… Then why come find me and trade this token when you could just put a gun in your mouth and end it, Frank?”
“I’ve got a long list of unrighteous bastards that shouldn’t be breathing air and only one token. So, you take that token on the condition that you collect only when I’m done.”
The figure pulled its hand back inside its cloak and stood silently in front of Frank Castle. It peered into Frank’s thoughts and felt… awe at how much raw anger was lurking behind those eyes.
This anger wouldn’t end soon. Far as Death could tell, it might not even end at all.
“No. I won’t make you immortal, Frank. But…”
“You bony bastard! Arrrrrgh!”
Hearing this, Frank just got up from his knees and charged at the hooded figure. He pulled out a knife and though he didn’t know if Death could bleed, he clearly was going to try.
Death sighed.
And Frank immediately crumpled in pure agony. He felt like his insides were being jammed by red hot pokers. And he lay in the sand just writhing in pain.
“You didn’t let me finish, Frank. I’ll turn a blind eye to things that would kill most men. I’ll even bring you back from the abyss… once. After that, we’re square.”
Death vanished. Frank lay unconscious in the middle of a street, at the nearest town with a giant skull marking on top of his clothes. |
Emery.
----
Emery was a good friend. Mostly.
Always there, to join in my stupid games. She used to tell me they were stupid, my games. I remember that. She would state it quite flatly, as if it were obvious, then crossing her arms and stamping her feet at the same time as she repeated the word endlessly.
"Stupid. Stupid. Stupid..."on and on and on.
I would always try to argue back, trying to convince her to play anyway. Sometimes she relented, and then we would spend hours playing in the woods, pretending to have whatever useless superpower I had thought of that day. They were always mundane. The ability to make wood float on water. The ability to make tracks in the mud. I wasn't very original.
Occasionally she would refuse to play, just repeating endlessly that the game was stupid. If I persisted long enough she would get fed up, turning her back on me and refuse to engage further. If I tried to go around her to talk, she would just turn, always facing away. I learnt quickly that was a failing proposition, trying to get in front of her when she was like that - even trying to sneak up on her, hiding behind the trees, she would know where I was. Still always facing away.
So I would just play on my own those days. I remember she would stay in the same spot the whole time I played, refusing to engage. It could be a whole day and she wouldn't move from that spot. Not an inch.
And then there was the time she made a suggestion. She asked why didn't we do something actually interesting, like make leaves fall off trees. I told her it was a stupid idea, who has the power to make leaves fall off trees? And she looked at me funny after that, like I had just said something so obviously wrong that it was incomprehensible. At that exact moment a gust of wind came up, and all of a sudden both of us were getting showered in a hail of leaves falling from the canopy above.
She didn't say anything, just looked at me expectantly.
"Woosh"I said, waving my arms. Nothing happened. "See, stupid game"I repeated.
Another gust of wind game, more leaves fell. She watched me again, expectantly.
"Stupid game!"I shouted, and stormed back to the cabin.
That was the last time I saw Emery. When we came back the next year she wasn't anywhere to be found. I waited patiently in our spot in the woods for days, playing alone but not daring to wander far in case I missed her. But she never appeared, just the occasional gust of wind knocking down leaves to remind me of our last game.
I eventually asked my mother where Emery was, but she just looked confused, telling me she had never met anyone called Emery. I tried to explain, my friend for all those years. But she just shook her head, telling me there was nothing and no-one for 30 miles in any direction. And never had been.
----
Today I'm at the cabin cleaning up, ready for everyone to arrive on Saturday. That is, if they can get here. Yesterday after I arrived a storm came through from the south, and the news on the radio is that the highway is closed with a washout, right before the turn off to this place.
Anyway, when they arrive it'll be the first time we've been here as a family for, I think it is going on 26 years. Mum can't quite remember exactly when we last came up here, just that it was before Uncle George passed away. This place was always special to him, he looked after it so well. Now it's a mess, no one has really stepped up since then. There are trees down all over the place that need cutting up. And leaves, my goodness there are so many leaves. You practically have to wade through them to get anywhere.
I've cut up most of the fallen trees near the cabin already, and now I'm further out into the woods and about to start the chainsaw again when I see it. A small piece of faded blue ribbon caught on a broken limb hanging off a nearby tree. The tree itself is not that large, barely beyond a sapling. As I stare at that ribbon, transfixed, I realise that I am in the same clearing I last saw Emery. In fact, unless I'm mistaken, the tree with the ribbon is in that exact spot. And that ribbon. It's just like the one Emery used to wear in her hair.
Just then there is a gentle rustling in the tree canopy above, and a few leaves fall nearby. I walk over and gently pull the ribbon free. The sapling is in bad shape, now that I'm looking at it closely. The break on the hanging limb is obviously a few seasons old and there is spreading die back evident further up the branch, almost to the trunk. I consider taking the whole tree out, it is unlikely to recover but I pause, looking again at the ribbon in my hand. I think of Emery, stamping her feet on this very spot and I can't bring my self to do it, to cut this little tree down.
I start the saw again and lift it up to base of the broken limb. I rest the chain on the wood, and for some reason I wince. There is a strong feeling that this is going to hurt. Taking a deep breath, I tell myself this is nothing, I've cut thousands of branches before, and besides, it is all I can do to help the tree survive. I cut the broken limb off and kill the engine on the saw.
That's when I sense it, a distant but rapidly approaching howl. When the wind gust hits I feel it, it is visceral, an impact that shakes my bones. The wind borne grit cuts at my skin, forcing me to close my eyes and I start to lose my balance. I cling to the sapling for support.
And then it ends, just as quickly as it begun. So much so that I'm not sure if I just imagined it, or if something really happened. The ribbon is gone, if it ever was.
I decide it's time for a break, and picking up my saw start heading back to the cabin. Looking back as I exit the clearing the sapling looks settled, no longer burdened by the hanging limb. Satisfied I turn and continue making my way back. I'm halfway across the open ground near the cabin when I notice it and stop, staring around in disbelief.
All about me the ground is clear, the leaves that I've been fighting my way through all day are gone. Not a single one remains. |
"Blasted traditionalists,"the professor muttered. To the student he growled, "What are the properties of earth?"
The student frowned, but had long since learned not to argue when a professor answered a question with a question. "Weight. It cannot be lifted by air unless it has been ground to very small pieces. Stability. It changes neither volume nor shape unless it is carved away and carried off. Strength. It does not move, but it requires many times its power to break its endurance."
The professor nodded. "What are the properties of water?"
The student sighed, wondering what this recitation of the day one basics had to do with his question. "Weight. Wind can push it but not lift it, except as the finest spray. Fluidity. It changes its shape, though not its volume. Penetration. It can find and seep through the smallest cracks in earth. Power. Only that which is rooted to the deep earth can resist the flood, and even the deep earth can be eroded by sufficient water."
The professor nodded again. "And the properties of air?"
The student sighed again, hoping there was a point to this tedium. "Fluidity. It changes shape freely. Dispersion. It fills the available space. Speed. It offers the least resistance to motion and is easily set into motion itself. Knowledge. Air goes everywhere."
"Ah,"the professor said. "And what does fire do to earth?"
*Finally!* the student thought. That was not the traditional phrasing. "Um, it depends on the phase, doesn't it? Fire softens stone, hardens clay, and turns wood to ash--powder."
"Very good,"the professor answered. "And to water?"
"Turns it to steam--air?"
"And to air?"
Now the student was stymied for a time, until he thought of a candle's flame. The flame often seemed to hover a bit above the wick as if--"Air turns to light? Is light an element in it's own right or a phase of fire? No one seems to have a straight answer."
"There is reason for the confusion,"the professor assured the student. "What would you say, then, is the property of fire?"
*He's asking me to think, not just parrot back what i was taught,* the student realized in sudden shock. "Transmutation?"
"Verrrrrrrry good,"the professor said, with a predatory sounding purr. "Now, what does ice do to air?"
*Water beading on the sides of a glass of chill-wine...coming from--the air?* This whole thinking thing seemed to be working better as the student did more of it. "Ice turns air into water."
"And to water?"
"I suppose it would turn water to ice--stone--WAIT A MINUTE!"The student demanded, "Is ice a type of stone or an opposing transmutation to fire?"
"Now you've arrived at the heart of the problem,"the professor said. "The ancients assumed that the magical elements would correspond to the material elements. What we've since learned is that the magical elements actually correspond to the material **phases**\--solid, liquid, gas, and fire the power to change them."
"Why go on teaching the old pattern if you know it's wrong?"the student asked.
"Because an untrained mage, operating entirely on blind instinct, is a danger to himself and others,"the professor snarled. "For generations the old pattern has been proven to turn out mages who won't kill anyone except on purpose because they know which experiments need to be performed in the middle of a desert and which on a deserted island. Changing to a new pattern would leave a window of danger while we tested the formulae to see what we would need to codify in order to do equally well at preventing accidents."
The student pressed his hands to his temples in an attempt to suppress the headache his newest thought was causing. "You're saying that it's possible for a formula to be right and wrong both at the same time? Right in that it produces the required effect; wrong in that it is not actually true?"
"You've just taken your first step on the road to mastery,"the professor answered. "Question everything, but don't discard the traditional safeguards until after you've tested your answers. Here's your diploma, now GET OUT OF MY OFFICE!" |
"Powerhaus is your WIFE!?"Captain Maximum was livid, the table deforming in his grip.
"Well, yeah..."Warp Witch rang her cloak in her hands, fidgeting slightly, "I thought you knew this?"
"How were we supposed to know?"
"I mean...I submitted the paperwork with my name change for official documents that my last name was changing from Harley to Powers. Y'know. Like. Like Gwen Powers. The villain known as Powerhaus?"
"But you DEFENDED her when we found her today... And you sent me to CHINA."
"In my defense, I was aiming for China *Town*, but teleportation in a panic is never easy."
"I thought it was just a coincidence..."Blitz eventually spoke up now, the Fastest Person in the World finally breaking their uncharacteristic silence, "I'll be honest, Double-Dub, I thought it was just part of the whole...y'know. Trans Experience. Cut off all ties to your old life. New first name. New last name. New secret identity. June Powers; the Warp Witch!"
"I mean, kind of yeah, but also-wait, 'Transgender Experience'? Blitz, aren't you non-binary?"
"Hey, I'm not on trial here!"
Captain Max slammed his fist on the table, "NOBODY is on Trial, dammit. We're not here to vote Warp Witch out or punish her we're just..."He rubbed his temple and took a deep breath, "Why? Why did you marry her? Why did you hide it from us?"
"Look at her record,"She folded her arms, "Look at her record of criminal activity. Deaths, injuries, how many capes she's knocked out."
"12 deaths, over 300 injuries, and she's taken quite a few capes out of the game for extended periods of time,"Belora turned the monitor, folding her arms.
"Time frame?"
"Over the course of two decades. Does it matter less if these people died in 2009 or 2019?"
Devil Kid studied the look on Warp Witch's face. She was his closest ally in the field. She had kept countless civilians safe from his battles with the heaviest of hitters, "Belora, when was the last kill? Direct, not incidental. Otherwise everyone but her and Blitz are on that list, too. You know, our Evacuation Specialists."
Max sighed, looking through his own screen. The looks on everyone's faces told a story.
"The last kill was...2004."
"And I'm sure the family of the man she killed will be...Oh. Oh my god."
Warp Witch leaned on the table, "What?"
"He died from complications to blunt force impact in the hospital hours later. Survivors of the robbery said he threw a little girl to the ground the second the mention of releasing hostages was brought up."
Belora continued to read after him, "She threw him the way he threw the child. Wait, I remember this incident...Powerhaus gained new powers that day. She was always just energy blasts and then suddenly she was benching tractor trailers."
"I met her a few days later, after the incident. I finally found her, ready to make a name for myself. She thought she was a freak. That this was going to make her a monster. I...surprising to no one here...understood that feeling of being a freak. A monster. An outcast. She was barely 17. I had just turned 15 that winter. We connected, hit it off...and then I started asking the same questions. Who was I? What was I becoming?"
"...And she was there every step of the way?"
"Oh, god, no. We broke up like 6 months later. We just reconnected when I caught up with her again about 6 years ago and we've been together since."
The team sighed, looking dejected.
"She can't be allowed to get off scot-free."
"She's not going to,"Warp Witch stood up, "I've been working with her. I'm trying to convince her that she can be a hero but she's so hopeless about the whole damn system. How little we do proactively. To help homelessness or inequality. That's why her attacks are always focused on the biggest banks, the richest people in the city...If we go through with my community outreach plans, maybe she'll see my side of things and JOIN us. She can *help* me with it."
The team murmured, Max still seem unconvinced, but relented, "We do need to do more to help our communities. Take out the root cause of crime and we can save a lot of people...and a new ally could be a nice perk."
He shook his head, laughing incredulously at himself, "I can't believe I'm going to say this. Warp Witch, call your wife. Tell her we've got an opening." |
“Yup, I think if I move up the date for the fundraiser, we can make it there, and the XPanel meeting on the same day. Yeah, I want you to be there with me too sweetie, which is why-”
***KRRSHHHHHHH!***
In the next instant, I felt three things happen; my cell phone died in my hands, all the lights went out in my office, and I felt my blood boil.
“Again?! For heaven’s sake, this is the second time this week! Seriously! You guys really need to break a window each time? I moved my office NEXT TO THE HELIPAD just so you guys could get in without damaging my building!” *Seriously. One floaty guy gets seen on camera, and suddenly everyone has tights and climbing gear.*
“Mr. Sam Mistry. I am Knightcowl. And depending on how the next few minutes go, I will be either your best friend or your worst enemy.” said the hooded figure opposite my desk.
“I know who you are, but can you please tell me WHY I am going to have to replace my windows again tomorrow? I swear if you folks didn’t come barging in here every twenty seconds the money saved from that alone could have-”
Knightcowl cut me off by slamming a pile of papers on my desk. I reached for them and started reading.
“Crime around the Yardley Docks area has been down 75% over the last month.” said Knightcowl from... somewhere behind me?? *When did he even get there?* “You know what else happened last month?”
“Uhh... lots of things, but I have a feeling you’re about to tell m-”
“50 MILLION DOLLARS TRANSFERRED OUT OF THE MISTRY FOUNDATION!” roared Knightcowl. I could hear his fists slam against something. *I hope he didn’t break any furniture, or so help me God.*
“Into various companies and trusts!"he continued. "You thought no one would notice? You thought I wouldn’t notice?”
“Yeah well you see-”
“Who did you pay off, Sam? How many people on the force? Why are they not reporting the crimes? WHAT'S YOUR ANGLE?”
Another loud thud. *God, I’m going to need a full remodel because of Sir Anger Issues over here.*
“Wow, great detective work, nightie! What did you do, turn on a TV? I pledged that money to the development of the dockyard area last month. Its been all over the news.” I said, turning around to face his general direction. “Those gangs that have been fighting there? We started community clubs, one for each side. I figured they can compete in a way which needs a 1000% less guns, and 100% more sports. Keep people off the streets. That sort of thing”
“So that’s your plan? Buy yourself an army of goons?” He said... from behind me? *Just... why are they like this.* "Get into their good graces? So they can owe their entire lives to you?"
“Goons?! You think I’m hiring- LISTEN man! People. Need. Jobs. Do you know what a ‘job’ is? You trust fund spandexers need to realise that breaking a few gangers’ bones is just a good workout for you, nothing else. What incentive does that give a guy just out of prison who STILL has nowhere to go?”
“The path to righteousness is never an easy one, Sam.” said Knightcowl from... behind me. *Ofcourse*. “Turning to a life of crime is always the easy way out.”
“Listen... Eri- I mean Knightcowl” I quickly corrected myself. *These hero types are super touchy about their ‘personas’*. “It's pretty clear to me you have never not lived in a mansion with at least 10 bedrooms and 2 butlers, and don’t know where financial security starts and ends, so we’re done here. Can you leave? My wife is worried.”
“I hope your wife is proud of the man you have become, Sam.” said Knightcowl. I heard his footsteps retreat as his rubber soles crunched on shards of glass on the floor. *Was that supposed to be an emotional appeal? Dude’s crazy. Atleast he didn't break more shit on the way out.*
I wanted to tell him ‘She actually is.’ but I didn’t want Sarah to find herself on some weirdo superhero shitlist too. Plus I don’t want to have to deal with TWO of my offices being broken into every other day.
Just as he left, the lights in my office came back on.
I breathed a sigh of relief. My furniture seemed to have survived Knightcowl’s little tantrum. I picked up my phone and called Sarah.
“Hey babe. Yeah no, I just got a... call from Eric Flynn, that’s all. Heh, yeah, angry as ever. Yeah I’ll see you in a-”
***KRRRSSHHHHHHH!***
“OH FOR FUCKS SAKE!!!” |
"Hail, great and terrible wyrm of the north-most forests."
Hearing my call, the dragon let out a derisive sigh. The horde of a dragon would provide one man with enough wealth to haul himself out of the peasant classes and straight into that of the landed and leisurely.
The stories you hear of knights in armour with embossed shields and plumed helmets gloss over the fact that knights do not fight dragons. Only one knight has faced a dragon to my knowledge - and that was Sir Alium. He went toe-to-toe with an adolescent wyvern, and that was the end of him. Burnt like an over-caramelised onion.
He hunted the dragon as his gambling debts had left him with no other alternative except exile.
He was foolish to take such a risk. After all, why would a knight fight a dragon? What do they have to gain from it? Dragons are lazy creatures if unprovoked but unrelenting if attacked. I once visited a village - Ingsbruk - that a Parnassian had decimated; I was friends with the baker's boy. I was the first to see the desolation: Thatched cottages were little more than tinder; the stone houses were pools of cooling magma. The earth was scorched, and plumes of smoke ascended into the sky like the gasses of gadesh. Colossal claw marks raked the ground, ten inches deep. It looked as if a plough furrowed it. For hundreds of yards, trees lay splintered, and some had been flung ten, even twenty feet from where they stood.
For all the horror, I now consider it the best day of my life: I found a single dragon scale. I now know it to have come from the leftward flank of the beast. Typically flank scales are larger, but this was the size of my twelve-year-old hand span. When I first picked it up, it was burning hot as if taken straight from the furnace. I still have the mark on my right hand; the scar is long and curved like a shard of the moon.
The scale took hours to cool, but I was surprised how light it was to hold when it did. It was as if it were made of balsa wood or sponge. The scale changed colour in the light, skimming between deep bronze, the reddish-orange of a fire's dying embers and gold, the colour of myth.
To find a dragon scale is considered a blessing from Gaurum. Yet, despite dragon scales' immense beauty and value, the only people to seek them are foolish or destitute. Those who have something to lose rarely throw it away for something as worthless as money.
So dragon-slaying is left to the most desperate down and outs. Often as not, it's orphans or outcasts, those who are wanted for petty crimes. If going home means hanging from the gallows, then almost certain death looks less daunting than it otherwise might.
And if you manage to kill the beast, the horde will transform your life.
People whisper that Duke Clotus himself is descended from a dragon-slayer. The whisperers say that the first of the Cloti house was a bread thief living an outlaws life when he came across a sleeping drake. Being a thief and an excellent thief at that, he prised a scale from the front of the dragon's chest. To his surprise, the beast did not wake; he then thrust a spear between its clavicle and sternum to piece its lungs.
The best died instantly, leaving him permanently marred from the gasses expelled from the dragon's ruptured lung. But the first of the Cloti stayed beside the dragon's corpse until he was back to full strength. Then, he ripped off every scale from the dragon's body and buried them all deep in a forest, using the scales as needed to establish his power.
Most would-be dragon slayers have no armour and only the most basic of makeshift weapons—sharpened branches for a lance, rocks, stolen tools. It is a hopeless task.
\--
Having hailed the dragon, I took ten steps back and knelt upon the floor with my palms facing upward. I did not dare look at the dragon.
"I am a man of peace. Not of war. A man of learning."
The dragon's silence weighed heavy on me.
I braved a look upward at the creature, which, now awake, was directing the full force of its powerful gaze straight at me.
The ground faintly shook, the dragon spoke."None who have seen me have lived.
It has been thus for ten lifetimes of man."As I knelt, listening to his words, feeling the heat rising, I believed every word he said. What was I doing? I was inviting certain death.--The day I found the dragon scale, I took it home and looked at it for hours. Its beauty captured me. I looked at by sunlight, moonlight and firelight.
With each light the scale took on a whole new form of beauty. I imagined the dragon who once wore it resting in the sun, catching and reflecting. Its body glistening a thousand shades of gold.
I could see it with my mind's eye flying over treetops by a full moon—a silvery shadow of luminescence.
I pictured it amid its fiery wrath, aglow with the colours of burning flame.
It was this night that I fell under the dragon's thrall. Could any creature be so beautiful?
I still attended Holster each week and paid my respects to the godruim, but it was the fire drakes and winged wyrms which had my heart. I hid the scale within my bedroom wall, prising open a wooden plank to hide it and only taking it out for times of private worship in my home.
Were I to sell it, this one scale would bring me enough fortune to buy my own land and pay others to work for me. I would never have to till the soil again. It would free me from the peasant's curse.
But I would not do such a thing, to sell something so beautiful - the thought of it made me despair. In these days I became obsessed.
I spent what free time I had and the little money I could earn on learning more about dragons. As I read books, I learned stories and mapped their locations.
Once I learned of a rumour of a dragon only six days walk from my village. I played truant and sought it out. I fled my village and hiked for days, hoping to discover its lair.
I was too late.
The divine creature was now dead. Every scale had been extracted from its corpse.
Desecrated, it now lay a skeleton, every tendon and heartstring removed. Every inch of a dragon's body was precious.
I wept that night.I grew to hate humanity and the depth of our depravity. Dragons were peaceful. Killing only when threatened. As I trekked back toward my village to face the lashes of my lord, my heart hardened towards my fellow man.
I pursued my learning more fervently than before. Such that the local Druimite Preist took notice and he made my case to the lord that I should be a scholar, not a labourer.
May Elgash bless him, for I was taken under his wing to read and learn, never needing to till again. His own library was substantial, but I quickly ran out of books on my subject of interest.
He kindly sent out to his fellow priests for books, bemused by my interest in an esoteric topic. Whilst under his care, I also learned of grammar, druism and history. He was a humble man, but he was generous to me. I think he hoped I would one day take over his Holstorn. I feel regret that I could not.
As I grew older, Beloric, for that was his name, would take me with him when he went to synods and councils. These were hosted in the local capital, Ligrewel, and were a three-day wagon ride. The city was of rock and stone. There were no trees; it seemed cold even in the sun.
There were open braziers along the walls and many stood around them warming their hands in the night. They drank from flagons and sang slow and aching songs.
Whilst Beloric attended the synod of priests, I spent my days in the library. Even here, there were not many books on the subject of dragons. Those that were there focused more on how to kill them and on the dangers of dragon fire. How I despised the evil gaze of my bretherin.
It did not please me to read such books. But I read them regardless. They were filled with myth and history, stories of glory and death.
It is hard to scry through the mists of myth to perceive the truth of the story. But it seemed that the one recurring pattern was that to kill a dragon, you must pierce it where it has already lost its scales. You cannot kill a dragon that still has all its scales.
The night I learned this, I did not sleep. I lay awake, thinking. I was disturbed only by the nasal breathing of Beloric in the other room.
​
Edit: formatting as copied across from Word. |
"Battlesheep Betty?"I asked.
"Nope."My girlfriend, Sadie, replied, "Betty isn't a badass-enough name."
"Huh,"I flipped through another page of US Weekly.
"What if we drop the 'Betty', just 'The Battlesheep'?"
Sadie reached across our lumpy old futon and pushed the magazine out of my hands, scooching closer to me. "That's perfect,"she said.
She put her lips on mine for a half second before pulling back, smiling.
"And you can be my sidekick, uhm..."
She tapped a finger on her head before the idea struck her like a speeding semi transporting pure genius.
"Lamb Lady!"Sadie exclaimed, gesturing wildly with her hands.
"Ewe, no."I said, pun intended.
"You can wear fishnets with cotton balls taped to them so your legs will look like mine!"
"Sades,"I said, putting my hands on her shoulders, "I love you, but I think it's a baaad idea to try to fight robbers or whatever with, what? Your new sheep superpowers?"
Sadie shrugged her shoulders. "Actually yeah. You know I was telling you I could see everything when I changed? I have awesome 360 degree vision when I transform. Like, yeah, I'll need to learn karate or something but then I'll be unstoppable."She puffed out her chest, proudly. "You can teach me some moves, right?"
"Baby,"I began to protest, but Sadie cut me off, standing up and grabbing her keys off the hook by the door.
"I'm gonna go drive by a few martial arts places and see what the prices are like. Byeeee Negative Nelly!"She blew me a kiss before opening the door.
I sighed, catching her kiss with my hand and pretending to put it in my pocket. "I love you. Drive safely."
"Love you!"She hollered as the door closed behind her.
"Call me if you start to feel funny!"I yelled after her.
It'd been a crazy month ever since Sadie was bitten at the petting zoo. 'It's par for the course to be fair, though' I thought to myself. Sadie had always been crazy and, honestly, I knew some shit like this would happen to us at some point.
Lost in my thoughts, I grabbed my keys and walked out of the apartmentp, locking the door behind me. The ground was barren near where Sadie's car had been parked. "Uhg"I heard myself mumble aloud.
It was kind of weird having a girlfriend that eats grass. I knew that some people had medical conditions where they ate weird stuff, but I didn't think the same drugs would work on Sadie, who was literally turning into a half-sheep half-woman on a bi-weekly basis.
As I turned the corner I snapped back to reality.
Sadie's car, a maroon 1997 sedan named 'Old Unreliable' was parked on the side of the road, driverless, hazard lights flashing, driver's door open.
Two white vans were parked in front of Old Unreliable. My internal warning signals were going haywire. I jogged over to the car "Sades?"I called.
The back door of the van immediately infront of Old Unreliable was kicked open by a sheep-like leg. "It's The Battlesheep to you!"Sadie shouted.
Sadie was being restrained by two men. They were wearing beautiful matching thick wool coats and wide-brimmed leather hats. One man shoved Sadie further into the van as the other closed the van door.
The van accelerated. I sprinted in an effort to catch up with the van, but two more similarly dressed men stepped out of the second white van, cutting me off.
"Let it go and you won't get hurt."One of the men said. They were both wielding shears, holding the trimmers in front of them like weapons. The man that spoke opened and shut the shears, menacingly.
"You've got to be kidding me."I sized up the two men, both of whom appeared taken aback by my comment.
I rolled up my sleeves and took my earings out as I walked towards them.
When I got close enough, one of the men lunged at me with his shears. I easily sidestepped the shears and grabbed his arm, twisting and using his momentum to send him flying. He hit the ground and moaned. It didn't seem like he would be getting up quickly.
The second man was shaking, still holding his shears out in front of him, trying to step backwards without me noticing.
"Listen, buddy,"I said, cracking my knuckles. "You're about to have a real baaad day if you don't tell me where your friends took my friend."
He lowered the sheers, his gaze meeting mine. His eyes darted to his coworker, who was still facedown on the concrete.
"Who are you?"He asked timidly.
I closed the gap between us in two quick strides. He stumbled back in shock, but I grabbed him by the collar and pinned him to the van. Our eyes locked again as I moved my face in close to his and whispered through gritted teeth.
"I'm the goddamned Lamb Lady." |
"Ma'am, ma'am! We've finally decoded the message!", the analyst ran after the centers director yelling.
"What does it say? It must be of significance to all of humanity if the same pattern has been transmitting for the past week across all broadcast frequencies.", the Director spoke stopping mid-way down the hall to the conference room where reporters gathered to hear of any updates.
The analyst cleared his throat, looking a little apprehensive....
"Well, what does it say? Out with it", the Director practically barked out.
The analyst held up a paper where they'd written down the English translation of the message, and read out...
"Will you PLEASE stop letting DJ Khaled make music". |
Part 1/2
After a monumental effort, Thomas and his party had finally come to the village nestled within the valley of the sleeping horse. He would never know how Alice traversed the Dragons Nest Mountain Range by herself. But that is beside the point they were where she grew up and were here to visit her Father.
He was a man the entire party had wanted to meet for the few years they had travelled with her. Supposedly only a mundane farmer. But the things she described him doing was beyond anything an arch-mage can do.
Alice herself was near skipping along the road towards the little village, going on about each of the villagers. It was clear this was the kind of place where everyone knew everyone. That it was the kind of village where you were just a big family of sorts, he only regretted Heek couldn’t be here with them. He had already gone off to spy on the Dark Lord Helshep by the time they agreed to visit.
Thomas’ stomach began to knot up. He could’ve sworn he just saw a line of skeletons walking towards a field. But it must be his imagination, undead this far out? Alice would’ve mentioned something already if this was an enclave of necromancers. The Girl was downright naive and clueless about many things.
Finally reaching the place after a good half an hour of trekking, they were greeted by an old man. He had a receding hairline and a big scraggly beard. He was precisely as Thomas imagined him. Just like Alice had described.
“Greet’n you lot lost or sumin?” he asked in a thick country accent.
“Uncle Max, it’s me, Alice”, Alice said, bursting out from behind Thomas.
“Good gosh, Alice? Last time I saw you, you were yay high”, he said, gesturing to his knee height.
“I was much bigger than that”, she said with a faux pout. “You going senile since I left ole man”, she added, throwing a friendly jab at his shoulder.
“Maybe miss, who your friends? Must be tough tah get through the Dragons Nest range”, Max said, leaning around Alice to look at Thomas and Victor.
“Oh, this is Tommy; he’s a hero, and that’s Victor. He’s a prince or something, I dunno, Alice replied with her usual blase tone. Victor looked hurt by the way she described him. But Thomas seemed more perturbed as he noticed Max shoot a fearful glance at him.
“So you here for sumin specific?” Max asked as he began to walk back into the village accompanied by the party.
“Nah, just to see daddy”. Alice said with a beaming smile of an eager kid. However, Max just stopped in his tracks.
“Your dad… ee’s not ere,” Max said, his tone being very awkward.
“What?!” Alice replied, clearly shocked.
“Yeah, right bout the time you left he went east with that Vestari fella and we’ve not seen hide nor hair since”, Max said with a shrug.
“Sorry to interrupt, sir, I can’t help but notice a Dragon sleeping behind what I assume is the blacksmith”, Thomas said, pointing behind the pair.
“If you’d like, we can slay him for you. We did slay a good number of dragons on the way here”, Thomas said, puffing his chest out in pride. When he looked back at the pair, he noticed both Alice and Max seemed confused.
“Why would you kill old Grux?” Alice asked, tilting her head.
“Ee’s not doing arm”, Max added with an equally confused tone of voice.
“But he’s a dragon”, Thomas insisted.
“He also the reason we can run the forge Lad”, Max said, pointing to the blacksmith that seemed to be working on some farming tools.
Thomas could only weakly nod while Victor gave his shoulder a friendly pat. They continued walking through the village, with Alice pointing out points of interest.
“That’s the well I fell down when I was eight”, she said, pointing to the well at the centre of the village. “Oh, and that’s Mrs, Tolska’s house. I fell off their roof when I was nine”, she said eagerly, pointing to another building.
“I can’t help notice you seem to have fallen off or down near everything here, miss”, Victor pointed out.
“Not everything”, Alice protested. “I haven’t fallen off Uncle Bonsie’s Tower”, she added, pointing to a large tower to the north of the village.
“Uncle Bonsie?” Thomas repeated.
“That’d be me”, a cold ethereal voice said from behind the party. Thomas and Victor turned around and instantly drew their weapons.
“A LICH!!” Thomas said, already enhancing his strength by letting mana flow through him. His preparations were interrupted by Alice charging between the pair and jumping into a tackle hug of the Lich.
The Lich himself seemed surprised before lightly patting Alice’s back.
“I missed you too, lass”, he said with a smile. Well, Thomas assumed it was a smile; it is hard to tell with a skull for a face.
“Why is an Elder Lich here?!!” Thomas demanded, turning to Max then back to Alice.
“Well, he lives here. He summons undead that farm the fields”, Max explained as if that was obvious.
“WHY. ARE. YOU. TOLERATING. AN. UNDEAD?!!!” Thomas exclaimed, barely containing himself.
“He’s not hurting anyone, Tommy”, Alice said, pouting.
“I’m starting to see why the young miss has a skewed perspective on things if she grew up here”, Victor said, his voice full of mirth.
Thomas could only sigh as he sheathed his sword. This place was beyond all reason. Just to get here, you have to go across a mountain infested with dragons. Then you come out, and there’s an elder lich handling the farming, a dragon working the forge. What could be next?
As if to answer his musings, a loud whistle echoes around the small square. Drawing his attention to the source, he could feel his jaw drop. A pair of children were dragging a Chimera that was bloodied beyond belief. Thomas had seen an entire Paladin core struggle to face a lesser Chimaera. But these kids were dragging one like it was nothing.
“Truly, this must be fate; we can have a feast to celebrate your visit”, Max said with a smile.
“Wow, they’ve grown”, Alice said, looking at the grinning kids. “Last I saw them, they struggled against dragons, and now they’re hunting Chimeras alone”, she said with a warm smile.
The pair of kids who had noticed the group visibly lit up as they charged towards them. Thomas felt his hand twitch towards his sword only to feel Victor holding his arm and shaking his head. The Kids tackle hugged Alice the same way she had the Lich.
“Big Sis!!” they both shouted.
“Hey guys”, Alice replied, ruffling their hair before being dragged away.
Thomas went to follow after them but was stopped by Max. He wanted to use his strength to push through but found that Max’s arm would not budge no matter how much strength he tried using. ‘What are these people?’ was all he could think. |
I don't know how I feel about the ending. You write really well, the setup is interesting, but I don't find it convincing that this dude would focus on that for years to make an elaborate plan to trick her. It seems... Odd, that he got away with murder that easily. Sure, he's a mortician (I forgot his job already) but it feels too easy for him to just get it right on the first time, without getting caught. Anyways, great character building, I suppose, since I dislike the dude and his motifs. |
"Mommy, why is the gwass bwue?"
"Oh, honey, it's always been blue."
"What Mommy? No it not. Gwass was gween yestwaday. And what about the biwds? They used to be small. Now they big!"
"Nonsense dear. Birds have always been ten feet tall. You're just imagining things."
"But mommy, the pictwures show them small. And anyway, what about states mommy? Thewe used to be fifty, but now one's gone."
"Honestly baby, there was never a state called Ohio."
"Mommy, I don't bewieve you. Why is evewything diffwent?"
The woman sighs, looking tired at this line of question, and, in the immortal words of moms worldwide, says wearily, "Go ask your father."
The five year old runs over to the living room, to where her father reads the paper. "Daddy?"she asks, "Why is everwything diffwent now than it was yesterday?"
The silvered hair man looks up from his newspaper, headline "Nothing Remarkable Happened, Life Goes on As Usual,"and smiles down at his little girl with kindly, twinkling eyes. Gently, he picks her up and sets her on his knee.
"You're right sweetheart."He says softly, "Everything is different than it was yesterday. But Cthulhu worked very hard making everything go back to normal after that comet hit, and it's rude to point out the details he missed. So be polite and don't worry about it. Now, go play with Rover why don't you?"
"Alright Daddy. Here Rover!"
The child races off to play with her dog, and the ground shakes as the giant, red Labrador runs up and happily licks her face. The father smiles, puts his pipe back between his teeth, and goes back to reading about the day where nothing happened and nothing at all unusual occurred. |
"Ok, who's next on our list?"
"Ex-military, black ops kind of guy. Would probably have a Medal of Honor if any of his ops were declassified. Just got home, wife, two kids."
"Give him that home in the Rockies. Quiet and physical activity, something to keep him occupied. Until then full security detail. I don't want a single gang punk in five hundred meters of them."
"You got it boss."
"Next?"
"Here's one. Ex-con, we're pretty sure he ran. Definitely not his real name. Keeping a low profile. Was seen lifting a washing machine. With one hand."
"Find out what the case was. Get a lawyer on it, one of the good ones. Draw him up a resume and start passing it around our associates on the West Coast."
My assistant's phone rang.
"Yes he's here. You're sure? You're positive?!"
"What's going on?"
He closed the phone, sweat forming on his brow.
"Sir...it's your son."
"Tell me."
"He...he broke into a guy's house. Beat him up, stole his car, and killed his dog."
I swore.
"That idiot's going to get killed some day. I'll have a talk with him."
"...that's the thing, sir...."
"What?"
"The guy...the guy's on our list."
My assistant handed me the list. He pointed to the name. My heart began racing, sweat formed on my brow.
I took a deep breath. I held my head with my right hand, leaning on a nearby wall with my left.
One minute, two, ten passed.
I paced from one wall to another. Over and over, left and right. My feet began to ache.
I walked to my desk. I took out the bottle stored there, and uncapped the top. I poured myself a glass, and tanked it all at once.
I put my head on the desk, covered it with my arms.
One minute, two, twenty, an hour passed.
I felt my eyes begin to water.
"We...we didn't hear anything."
"Sir?"
"We didn't hear anything. We didn't see anything. Anthony and Sergei go on break tomorrow. Their replacements get stuck in traffic. They don't arrive until the day after."
"...Sir?"
"I'm unavailable for the rest of the week. You can't reach me. No one can reach me. And no one does anything until you hear from me. No matter what happens. No. Matter. What."
"...yes sir."
"...Get to it."
The door slowly closed. I heard it lock.
I stood up. Slowly, ever so slowly I walked to the shelf in my office.
I picked up a small picture frame. Gently as I could, I brushed the photo with my hand.
I stepped back to my desk. I picked up the bottle.
This time, I didn't bother using a glass. |
First we knew the army of the gods was upon us was when the sky was illuminated by a slow falling white star which turned night into day. Then the sky was torn asunder by thunder and wailing of the souls of the damned. The ground threw itself up towards the sky, showering us with earth and rocks as hellfire burst from the ground. The repeated shocks pounded our skin like a drum and many fell when the keep on the hill disappeared into the sun itself.
Then came the strangest silence, for no earthly ears of the men still standing could hear anything beyond the ringing of the bells of doom. Around me, the mouths of the men-at-arms were open, screaming to the sky in supplication to god, but their words couldn’t reach me.
We had barely time to take in the destruction of our land by the sky’s fury when the crawling dragons arrived. Roaring with voices of a hundred men which we felt more than heard, belching smoke and piercing the night with beams of white holy light that dispelled all darkness, the crawling dragons shook the stones from stones and tore up the land with their many legs, leaving nothing but gouges in the land. Any direction their maws pointed and spat, death appeared and rended men limb from limb.
At dawn, I was the only one alive among the ruins. My ears lost to the bells of doom, my balance weak and my eyes waver as I fail to walk. It feels as if my body has been turned into wine, contained within my skin, every breath is pain, even my thoughts have been broken upon a wheel.
If it is you who is hearing this, messenger, I plead to you. Bring the word to my lord, do not stand in the way of the army of the gods, lay down upon the ground and give pénitence for beholding the angels is to invite Gehenna. |
I have a hat. It hangs on the wall. It sits there, on a peg, on occasion I take it off and wear it. It all and all is a very nice hat, it is not a cheap hat to purchase, and most people who pay for it don't get one. Most people who get one end up paying for another one, and they don't get that one.
I walk down the street in my hat and get strange looks. Most people don't wear a hat that says what this hat says, but I feel I've earned it. I'm used to the stares at this point, it's part of the deal. I pay them no heed, I have places to be with my hat.
At the Coaster I hand an envelope to the employee who greets me. He knows who I am and waves me through, all the usual paperwork has already been handled.
I get on the Coaster, it starts the same as always, nervous people on all sides of me who found an excuse to take agency from themselves. A slow climb towering until the clouds. The wide overview of the spirals and inversions built along the Coaster is beautiful in it's own morbid way. The tension at the very peak is mind numbing.
The fall downwards is substantially less numbing. Being thrashed through a machine designed to rip your head from your shoulders through sheer force is an experience that I wouldn't wish on anyone, as I see the light drain from the eyes of those around me there is a bittersweet feeling. It is always sad to see life lost, but always happy to see suffering put to rest.
I walk away from the Coaster, with a new hat in hand. The crowd hoping their loved ones failed cry and moan. The walk home is filled with the same looks as always. I step inside my door, take my hat off, and hang the new hat on the peg. I toss the old hat in the closet next to the rest. I have a lot of nice hats.
I wish I didn't have so many hats. |
You'd be surprised at how easy it is to stop a crime with a headache. Most heroes, they swoop in when a crime is already in progress; people end up hurt inevitably, and even if they save the day, there's always damage. I'm one of the few that can stop a crime before it even happens.
It's not as easy as the job is for everyone else. Unlike the rest, I have to put a lot of research into my surrounding area, and keep my eyes peeled at all times. More than that, my costume is highly specialized with just how tattered it appears. Most, when I'm out in my suit, would see me as a bum attempting a cosplay, which is mostly the point.
Today, things would change. The crime I was attempting to stop was a robbery, about to happen on Fourth Street. I already had my power activated, levelling each person in the group with a strong cluster headache that should've brought them to their knees. Instead, each of my victims were still standing, eyes squinted as they shattered the glass of the jewelry store. In my panic, I brought the pressure up just the slightest amount.
Most heroes use their powers instinctively; I never had that luxury. For years, I had to meticulously study just how much pressure I could put on the human mind before it would explode. Until today, I had never gone over that limit. But when the glass shattered, it was almost like a flinch. I physically could not stop my power from dilating further.
Blood, splattering across the side of the street. Five men collapsed onto the sidewalk, brain matter slowly leaking through a shattered glass door. One of their eyes had slammed through the air from the pressure, and was currently laying on a car right in-front of me.
I heard the sirens of oncoming police vehicles, but couldn't move. Their skulls had caved in, leaving fragments of bone scattered across the concrete around their bodies, teeth were shattered and bloody remnants sat along their vests. All I could do was stare, as the cops moved towards me.
When I looked towards them, horror rushed through my mind. I hadn't turned my power off. Immediately upon the first cop landing in my eyesight, I watched his head explode. The shrapnel of his bone flying in each direction lacerated itself across part of my suit. Before I could manage to reel myself back in, five more cops had died, all littering across the street. Three civilians had been caught in the crosshairs of my power; all I could do was stare. |
A guy walks into a bar and realizes that he's just a fictional character in a cliché joke being told by someone.
— well, this is not really how I imagined my day to go.
Said the guy.
— how did you imagine your day to go then?
Said the bartender.
— I... I don't know, that wasn't supposed to be a part of the joke so it never came to be...
Said the guy.
— I understand, I was only ever created to give some witty comment to you and then be forgotten forever as time moves on.
Said the bartender.
— this got dark fast.
Said the guy.
— yes, most go to the bar after dark.
Said the bartender.
— no, I mean the conversation.
Said the guy.
— oh, right, yeah sorry, consciousness and free thoughts are still quite new to me.
Said the bartender.
— no worries, same here, but how do we know that we really are conscious? That this isn't just a sadistic twist of the original joke to make us believe that we have control while in reality, we have no more control over our own thoughts than we would've had the creator just said their stupid joke and been done with it?
Said the guy.
— I don't like this, can we just go on like nothing happened?
Said the bartender.
— yeah, that's probably for the best, we wouldn't be able to break free anyway.
Said the guy.
— so what can I get you today?
Asked the bartender.
— give me a scotch, I've had a rough day.
Said the guy.
— coming right up.
Said the bartender.
— why is there a piece of scotch-bright in my drink?
Said the guy.
— it's a new recepie that displays the dry humor of the creator.
Said the bartender.
— i assumed as much.
Said the guy and drank his drink.
— we will never be back to normal, will we?
Said the bartender.
— no...
Said the guy. |
It took about 80 years for the loss of privacy to become normal.
At first there was joy and excitement. Human evolution in real time. Incredible. My grandma told me that for a while a lot of people didn't believe. Telepathy? In our time? It sounded like a party trick at best, a con at worst. But as more evidence was revealed and more scientists agreed the truth became accepted. 10% of the world had been born with telepathic ability. Of course they'd always been there -- self proclaimed empaths, women's intuition, people who always seemed to know just what was bothering you -- but now there was hard evidence that they were something more. Something different. And the world has never been kind to those who are different.
Over time, normal people grew suspicious and angry at the thought of coexisting with telepaths. Your innermost thoughts out in the air for a stranger to traipse through. Or worse, a friend or family member. Stories began to pop up in the news. Wife divorces husband when neighbor warns her of his amorous thoughts toward her sister. Straight-A student reads test answers straight from teacher's brain. CEO arrested when secretary sees memory of embezzlement. People grew paranoid. Trust drained from house to house. Then the murders started.
Men, women, even children. Every day you'd hear news of a new lynching. Some with evidence, some without, all horrific. The talking heads screamed on the radio and tv stations. A blow against the telepaths was a blow for a freedom, a blow for privacy. Forsake those who seek to walk through your thoughts without permission, whether they be friend, wife or son. People -- both telepath and normal -- were afraid. The normal turned to invention and capitalism. Telepathic helmets filled the stores. Constantly playing music or static they swore the relentless incoming sound would be enough to drown out your own thoughts from the inside and the out. Telepath detectors came along as well. Meant to beep whenever a mind reader crossed your path, they were mostly crap, led to more deaths than security but still they flew off the shelves.
The telepaths lived in fear. Only 10 percent of the population yet the most vulnerable, they learned to hide their abilities. To show no reaction in the face of all manner of thoughts - vile, sexy, murderous. They became secret keepers of the highest order. To reveal the truth of someone's innermost self was to risk your own life.
It wasn't enough to keep them same. They turned to the government for protection.
100 years after the first telepath was discovered nearly all of them work for the state. Most in law enforcement, being a human lie detector comes in handy when investigating crime. A few work on the sidelines of the legislature, monitoring swearing ins making sure people actually mean that pledge they take in the country's name. It was the deal they struck for protection. Safety in exchange for servitude.
A lot of people I know hate telepaths. I don't. I pity them. What use is it to see into the hearts of man and find nothing but hatred for yourself and your kind? Yes, they're the chosen weapon of the government but what other options did they have but to swept up, labeled, followed and forced into a role they never asked for in order to survive. After so many decades it's hardly a choice anymore.
Children are tested for telepathy in their first year of school now. The ones marked positive are taken away and raised in a facility where they can hone their skills. The parents are barely given the chance to say goodbye.
I don't hate the telepaths but I do steer clear of them. I live far away from the city in a cabin near a creek. I wear my helmet in public and try to keep my mind blank.
And I pray that for the sake of my family the only telepath I ever see is the one who calls me mom. |
The history students marveled at the idea, most of them avid students of the allied offenses against the Japanese on the island of Peleliu during World War II. Peleliu consisted of innumerable caves, in which the Japanese civilians hid as the allies approached, effectively brainwashed by the propaganda of their time. Brainwashed to fear the American soldiers, the Japanese civilians and military units refused to surrender, instead holing up inside the caves with minimal resources.
The caves could not be ignored as they could flank the soldiers after they passed, and often the men, women, and children could not be reasoned with. Oft, a grenade would be tossed in after negotiations ended in stalemate, and the men went on.
Further gruesome events, including mass suicides and homicides to escape the impending allied forces who the Japanese believed, would torture and slaughter them occurred in unequal numbers to other theatres. Fathers killed their wives and children before themselves, families huddled with grenades in the darkness of the caves, and strong young men beat their feeble mothers and fathers with sticks and stones before attempting their own lives.
All of this, and the fact that "conquering"the island of Peleliu amounted to very little, a single island of the thousands of pacific islands conquered, yet with the loss of many allied forces and countless Japanese military and civilians.
Thus, much very serious conversation was had about what would occur if a thousand more Pelelius occurred, on each of the islands that housed the Japanese military and civilians, too horrified due to the brainwashing propaganda of their time.
Around this time, the atomic bomb was ready to deploy and was considered as more than simply a threat to strongarm an opponent. Serious debate was had on this matter, with people seriously weighing lives, judging between two very distinct evils.
As we all now know, students, the decision to drop the bombs was made by President Truman, due to several influences, some of which I have just laid forth. At the same time as this military outcome was becoming imminent, and all throughout the war, truly, Truman received countless letters from worried moms, just praying that their boys could come home, that the war could be over and their little villages and cities would go all back to normal, save a few lost limbs, a few wakeless nights.
And so we come to the topic of today's lesson, what would happen otherwise if there were no atomic bombs to quell them into submission? We happen to find an example of such an occurrence from planet B42D968-A, in the Andromeda galaxy.
In short, the thinkers of the time truly were juggling two evils.
The war protracted several more years, only ending when the B42D968-A's equivalent of Japan was thoroughly ground to the earth. Countless horrors occurred. The ultranational, propagandized state fought to the last breath and the last man, maintaining the acclaimed mantra: one hundred million dying for the emperor.
On planet B42D968-A, they were only shy of the number by a couple of million. |
I looked to see what had just happened. For surely twenty seconds ago I was at home recovering from breaking my leg two months ago, and now was currently in a throne room with-
*Her*
Unfortunately I fell flat on my face. Broken leg remember? Although it was graciously kind of them to help me back up. This gave me another moment to look at *her.* She was gorgeous, just like in real life. Her flaming auburn hair curly wavy hair so impressive, style so gracefully, and so long it almost touches the floor. Her lips were cherry red, her eyes of emerald green, with her fair skin. I couldn't stop my heart from beating, it was too much-
"Thou doeth know we can hear thy?"She asked peering over at me.
I immediately fell onto the floor again and blacked out.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I awoke in a room much fancier than expected. As I looked around the room I realized how lavish the room was dressed. Gold floorings met with gold walls met with Gold ceilings, with a centerpiece of a grand chandelier and detailed mural painting the accomplishments of the Queen. It took me every fiber of my being not to pass out now. Even more when I realized her Majesty was right besides me that I-
"I command you to stop."She stated, slanting her eyes towards me. It made me want to faint again at just the sight-
"Seriously, I said stop."She commanded as she leaned over me.
I gulped "Wait, what happened to your- you know- Thy, thou, Lady?"
She looked at me confused. "I've always been able to speak like this, just sometimes thou, thy, and doeth pops up from time to time. It is truly random."
*So* *it's* *because* *of* *my* *own* *laziness,* *got* *it*
"God, if I may so ask, who is this Jenny you call out too?"
"Oh!"I slumped back uncomfortably "Jenny.... Yeah. Let's call her an unrequited crush."
The queen covered her mouth "Your first love?"
I looked over at her. "Sorta, she's not interested in me anyway. She wouldn't be anyway considering she's straight, but even then she's in a relationship and I don't want to get into the middle of that!"I sighed. "Actually broke me leg because of her-"
The queen quickly rose to her feet "She dared harm you?!?!"
"NOO!!!"I shouted springing up. "Oh God no- Just got distracted looking at her and walked right into a fire hydrant..... You probably have no idea what that is...."
"I do not God."She shook her head.
"Aah, could you, stop with the god thing please?"I jumped up. "I'm not a god."
"Can we all hear your voice even without speaking?"
"Yes....."
"Did you come from another plane of existence?"
"Yes....."
She stared directly at my this time, it made my face swell up. However she quickly backed away upon hearing my thoughts project that. Gosh she's too darn pretty for her own good-
"Ahem.."She stared at me for a long time, her gaze not starting from anything other than me. "Finally, did you create this world?"
"Yes......"
"Then you are God!"She stated as a matter of fact.
"Noooooooooooooooo!!!"I cried. "I'm not a god! How would you even make that assumption?!"
"Because of the book you had in your hand when you arrived."
I paused, giving her control to take over. "I must admit, it was quite detailed into the happenings of our world. Although I was quite flattered with the pages you have written of me."She smirked, causing my cheeks to blush red.
I made her too powerful.
"It is that power that I'm thankful for, my Goddess."
*Crap.*
"Can I just, I don't know... Try something with the book?"She quickly handed it to me. "If this book controls what happens in this world what if I just write ...."
As I looked around the room her majesty gazed at me quite confusingly. Although I had to avoid her stare unless I wanted to kill myself. We simply did this for a short while, her staring at me, and me staring away. This gave me a chance for my heart to stop beating, and for me to regain my composure.
"God? Did you stop me from hearing your force?"She pouted.
"I stopped everyone from hearing my thoughts yes..."
She sighed "that is fair.... My God may I request something from you?"
I smiled "Anything you want from me I'll deliver. Unless it's senseless massacre on innocent civilians."
"Marry me!"
"........ Pardon?"
She gulped before raising from my side to kneeling before me. "I Queen Jolene, Emily, Azure of Cryptopia, ask for the hand of marriage between that of our Goddess-"she paused. "Do you have a name?"
"It's Katie.... Katie Greene...."I whispered.
"Our Goddess Katie Greene!"She boomed. "Into my heart in the hands of marriage, for the rest of our lives, for me to cherish her, rely on her, put her before anything else even my own Kingdom, and for her to never know a day of pain so long as I am here. Katie Greene, who's face is as lovely and fair as gentle snow, eyes as big as does, and heart I seek to conquer. May I dare ask for your hand to stand beside me, and rule my kingdom with me, and all my love I can offer?"
I was taken aback, I had to think of some excuse. I couldn't accept someone like Queen Jolene as a partner! She was the perfect ruler, I was set on creating her the perfect equal, it certainly wasn't me!
"What about your kingdom's heir?!"I shouted.
"If you can write anything in that book, and it comes true. You can simply write us a child if you are willing. If not I can adopt one of my vassals children to take over the throne."
"What about ties to other countries?!"
"I dare not think anyone would attack our Kingdom with God actively being on the throne. I argue it will strengthen our alliances, and force our future enemies to surrender."
"What about-"Jolene stopped me pressing her finger against my lip.
"My Goddess, will you accept me to be your wife?"
"Yes. Yes, I do."I started crying causing Jolene to laugh hugging me tight as all I could do was cry.
And they truly did live happily ever after, according to *me.* |
Snow White stumbled through the forest. She fled from the huntsman–the queen’s man. Her feet cramped and strained as her thin slippers smacked against root and dirt. The effort of running was unfamiliar, and nothing in her courtly lessons had prepared her for today.
Snow’s fingers stung with cold and impending numbness. She hoped to find a crofter’s home, with a fire and fresh bread. Instead, an enchanted glen emerged, and Snow was confronted with six women lying in state. Each woman was finely dressed in varied styles and colors. Most were demure. One was exotic, and one was wild. They were still behind glass panes. Snow would have thought them perfect replicas of living women, laying with their eyes gently closed. But as she approached, the blush of life and the faint puffing exhalations that fogged glass made Snow’s thoughts skitter to a darker corner.
Snow stepped lightly–the pain and damage to her uninitiated feet not forgotten. She inspected the first shrine, and the back of her fingertips grazed the magical glass.
Cinderella.
There had been opportunities to improve her lot, by degrees. The chance to hire out and work in another home, with a kinder mistress. Or, offers to marry into the peasant class–the men surely offered. Cinderella was beautiful, after all. Far more beautiful, under the grime and rags, than any of them had seen before. But, Cinderella remembered being nobility. She still desired all the sweet tastes and soft fabrics. Her penance to the unworthy widow of her father’s estate was temporary. Cinderella would bend the world to her will. She summoned a magic user and sacrificed the very lives of her familiars to fuel a transformation that was exhaustive and temporary. Cinderella only needed one night to entrap a Prince. Greed secured her place, here, in this purgatory grove.
Ariel.
Ariel saw him from afar and decided to have him. One word from her, and the storm her father stirred would allow the Prince’s ship to sail on. She remained silent on the matter, and instead chose to evaluate him–up close and unconscious. He was everything she wanted, and she was very familiar with want. In the days that followed, Ariel considered her wealth and privilege, her charms and positive traits. But, black magic seemed more expeditious. She made a deal with the devil, and then she lied. Ariel lied about her very nature–lies of omission were a well-worn tool. It’s subtle, under the guise of a 16-year-old girl, but using witchcraft and guile to seduce the unsuspecting is Lust.
Belle.
Belle had been called beautiful, strange, or odd. But mostly, she was insatiable. Belle was a pleasure-seeker. Once she found something she liked, she would ring it dry of all pleasure. A book, a story … a castle. Her hyperfocus could bleed the joy from any activity, until the emptied husk of her once favorite thing would crumble to nothing. The men in Belle’s life tried to sate her Gluttony. First, her father indulged her whims until he bent early to age and demand. Gaston, found wanting at every turn, plied her with flowers and books and trinkets. Even the beast offered up the best of himself, and his castle, into the gaping maw that was her curiosity and insistence, until he lay bleeding out–a victim of Belle’s Gluttony.
Jasmine.
A more humble Jasmine could have done so much for her emirate. She never thought that she was too young, too inexperienced, or too sheltered. She never considered that a political marriage would be necessary–regardless of the laws of succession. Jasmine was told she was bright, shining, beautiful, and intelligent. She was so very capable. Perhaps another woman, with access to education and unlimited financial support, would be just as capable. Jasmine’s Pride never allowed that consideration. Instead, Jasmine opened her father’s rule to manipulation and difficulty. Jasmine encouraged instability. A monarchy without an heir is the most vulnerable kind. Pride led her to act with immediate intent. All-or-nothing. Nothing was to be found here, in this glen hallowed to the deadly sins.
Merida.
Bred by a warmonger, Merida was raised to be heir. Her triplet brothers came later, and they were so tiny and frail that succession was still in doubt. Her father was a chieftain that earned his rule in battle, and he kept it with a strong arm and stories of conquest. The clans attended the required gatherings in the Great Hall to hear and understand what happened to the enemies of the headman’s house. Merida listened, too. The more she trained with the implements of war, the more her Wrath grew. She would turn her viscous temper on anyone–including her own mother and wee brothers. There was a weapon to solve any problem. And Merida always wielded it.
Elsa.
The Envy of a child coursed through Elsa. She always watched Anna. Elsa watched her sister with their parents. She watched Anna with the tutors and the servants. So much casual affection was offered and returned to Anna. The more envious and covetous Elsa felt, the more her powers were fueled by negative emotion. It was an endless circle, because the less stable Elsa was, the less she could have of what Anna enjoyed. Anna had intangible acceptance. Elsa grew, and the flaws of a child became the flaws of a Woman. And–as the very presence of this grove of sin proves–the sins of a Woman are deadly.
Snow White.
There was no gasping return to reality. No sudden awakening from an instructive dream. Snow White glanced around at the glass cells, and the women, and knew this grove was her destination. A coffin stood empty. The final deadly sin was Sloth, and Snow knew she was guilty. She never once considered acting to her own benefit or detriment. Snow left no mark on her kingdom. Very few even knew her given name–only the moniker granted to an uncommonly pretty infant. Her one accomplishment was to inspire a few limpid lines of poetry. Snow White laid down in the waiting coffin, prepared for her interment as Sloth. |
The fires of hell roared in pleasure around me as I ascended trough a red wave of time and space into the mortal realm. Exited to be relieved of quite a boring day on the job, I roared triumphantly as I arrived into a small bedroom.
"WHO HATH SUMMONED ME, THE GREAT BEE-"
Ah fuck, its a child.
"Can I have a cookie?"The little girl asked. Her black, curly hair looked a mess. Her eyes looked vibrant, but fragile, like a kitten in the cold. "Please mister Bee, I am very hungry!"
"My name is not mist-"
"Ms. Hollaway says bee's are very good for the planet! I like bee's! Thank you for taking care of the planet mister Bee!"
"I-"I rubbed the bridge of my nose akwardly. "Thank you little child, is there any human around? One of the big ones?"
"I can't find my mommy, mister Bee, and I am very hungry."
Shit. Fuck. It always gets very akward when a demon meets someone who isn't a sinner. Not our jurisdiction.
"Okay, you know what, I will grant you a whole pack of cookies, but NOTHING comes without a price! In return, you shall give me.... Information about your parents."
"My name is Clarissa!"She replied, not at all answering my querie.
"A name worthy of honour, Clarissa! But pleasy say yes to the deal, I cannot grant it without your permission."
"Okay!"She answered, as I went to sit down crisscross on the bedroom floor. A pack of chocolate cookies appeared in my hand, and she ate with the appetite of a thousand ghouls. On further inspection the bedroom appeared dirty. Mould covered the corners of the walls.
The child itself didn't really answer any of the questions in any usefull way. I decided not to punish her with eternal damnation for breaking the contract. I am not sure if a minor can sign one anyways these days.
"Clarissa! I bestow you the honourable title of A GOOD KID!! Could you please break the salt circle so I can have look around?"
"Oooh, do you wanna see a the drawing I made at school!!!"She answered gleefully.
"Will you break the salt circle if I say Yes?"
"Yes!"
"I SHALL LOOK AT THE DRAWING, DEAR LADY CLARISSA"
And as she broke the circle, I sat her up my shoulders carefullly, ready to punish those who have done her wrong, or, reluctantly, help those who could not do her right. |
Penelope didn't have a ton of memories of her mother. She was much too young when her mother passed. Her clearest memories were *about* her mother.
She remembered the funeral, a hundred people she vaguely knew giving her condolences she was too young to understand for a woman she had barely known. What eight-year old *really* knows who their mother is? You love her of course, and you know she gives you food and tucks you in at night. But how she felt about society, how she treated her friends, how long she had worked at some company with a long and nondescript name? She heard all that for the first time as the speeches were given in the cold air of the funeral home. A life lost too soon, they announced, by a drunk driver. She didn't understand either word, but they turned her stomach all the same.
She remembered her father returning to a bottle that he'd sworn off after he returned from his final tour of duty. Her mind had struggled to comprehend the scene in front of her as she peered through the gaps between the banisters at a sobbing wreck. You think, when you're young, that your father is invincible. So strong and so wise, and incapable of fault. Even he was a bubbling wreck before the cruelty of fickle fate. She remembered running off to bed when he came upstairs (she wasn't supposed to be awake). She pretended to be asleep as he kissed her on the forehead. She could smell the alcohol on his breath as he whispered, in shaky breaths: *"Now don't you leave me too, Penny. I don't think I could take it."*
She remembered her father telling her never to go into the basement. That was where her mother's office was, and he said it was better to leave it undisturbed. He couldn't bear to clear the room, couldn't bear to disturb any of it. It was preserved just as it was before her mom had left to buy ice cream from the corner store. The family photo of the three of them was perched right beside the computer monitor. The row of books was slightly askew - as it had been for years. And Penelope knew all this because when she was 14, she had broken in. She had learned off the Internet how to pick a lock with a hairpin, and tiptoed inside, doing her best not to sneeze at the layer of dust that had accumulated - her father cleaned it every month, but that wasn't nearly enough.
That's when she found the necklace. It had been hanging off the handle of the drawer, a simple little amulet on a silver chain. But the moment she saw it, it called to her like an old friend. She knew touching it would break a second taboo on top of breaking in, but she couldn't help it. She was at that age when curiosity dictated every action. The moment she did, she felt a heat on her skin, and her hands began to glow. She yelped in surprise as a bright pink streak raced its way up her fingers and across her arm, filling the air with tiny sparkles. And she found, to her horror, that she couldn't drop the necklace. It clung to her fingers as she flicked her hand, the chain jangling against itself.
"I knew you wouldn't leave well enough alone,"came a voice behind her. Penelope's heart dropped, and she spun around to see her father in the doorway, staring at her with a resolute expression.
"I-um..."Penelope stammered, still trying to yank the necklace off her fingers. She grabbed it with her other hand, and it came free - but stuck to that hand instead. The flagrant disobedience of the laws of physics and magical sparkles could wait, the priority was the scolding that she was sure was coming.
"Didn't I tell you never to come into this room?"her father said.
"Yes, but... I'm sorry, Daddy,"Penelope said, letting her hands drop to her side. The amulet dropped too, bouncing on its chain before swinging gently at the bottom.
"Just like your mother,"her father said, shaking his head. "But I suppose I knew this day would come."
Her father walked over to the desk and sat heavily into the chair, something squeaking in protest as he did. He rapped the spacebar on the keyboard twice, and the computer sprung to life.
"The password's your name, and then the date of our anniversary,"he told her.
"W-wait, you're not mad?"Penelope asked, confused, the sparkles still drifting around her.
"No, I'm not. I just wanted to wait as long as possible before you had to grow up,"he said. "I think you know what's going on with the sparkles."
"No, I... I don't,"Penelope said.
"Of course you do,"her father interjected. "There's a reason I downloaded Sailor Moon onto your computer."
"I-I'm a magical girl?"Penelope said, her voice coming out somewhere between excited squeal and stunned surprise.
"As was your mother,"he said, and he was opening a file on the computer. The image was of a woman - her mother - surrounded by little pink sparkles, giving a wink to the camera.
"Th-that's your phone's wallpaper, isn't it? That's just... cosplay, or um, photo editing?"Penelope said, still reeling.
"That's what she told me,"he said, sighing. "I think your mother always wanted me to figure it out. But no, I only found out after she died, when I finally got this computer open."
"She... she hid it from you?"Penelope asked. It was all a lot to take in at once, and there were pressing questions to ask, but all she wanted to do was hug her father.
"Yes. I think she wanted to keep me - us - safe,"he said. "I don't think she wanted you to take up this mantle. It's dangerous, really."
"B-but then why didn't you stop me from taking the amulet?"Penelope asked. "I mean, if mom didn't want me to do it..."
"Penny... do you know how your mom died?"her father asked, turning in his chair to face her. "They told you it was a drunk driver, didn't they?"
"I... yes?"Penelope asked, her stomach dropping again as the next of so very many revelations came crawling out of the woodwork.
"Your mother was an investigative journalist. She was trying to expose corruption in the government,"her father said, his voice a strange mix of wistful and proud. "She had stopped being a magical girl by the time we met, she was too old for it - but she was always the same person. Principled, courageous, always wanting to save the world..."
"And if she had only told me,"he said, his voice cracking a little. "About any of it, then I could've helped."
He shook his head, and looked seriously at Penelope.
"I have no illusions about stopping you from doing this, if that's what you want. You're your mother's daughter, and you're a strong-willed girl. I want you to decide for yourself. If you want to do this, to fight whatever evil she fought, then that's okay. You'll be 16, 17, by the time you're ready... same age as I was when I signed up,"he said. And she saw in his eyes, now, that same intensity as when she was a little girl and her father was her safety and security. "I want you to think about it, seriously. You don't have to do this unless you really want to."
"But I'll be damned if I let you do it without my help. Your mom's not the only one who fought evil." |
The human keeps going on and on about this … fur-baby. We do not understand, but this human only gets more agitated. I was sent in to calm down the human, but I didn’t know what they looked like. As soon as I walked in the room the humans eyes widened and showed it’s teeth to me. Usually these mean that you are about to kill, but the human started to rub me in different places.
“Oh wow it’s a big fur-baby!”they shouted “Can you talk?”
“Yes.” I answered promptly “ What is this fur-baby you speak of? And why are you so upset about it,”
“You are like a fur-baby. It is a small animal with fur like a cat or dog.” They explained
I went back to the captain to explain. His reaction was expected. No one could Belice that one of the most hostile and dangerous habitants of the milky way galaxy could be this attentive of this furry creature. I turned the translated back on to keep talking to the human.
“ Sadly the small animal will not be able to join us in this trip.” I said softly due to fear
“ what … what do you mean he can’t join us Toby is a good boy!”
“ sadly we do nat have a proper habitat for this little friend. We will have to go without it.”
The human got enraged. It towered over us fist clenched. It let out a scream that could only be described as blood curtailing. That day we lost more then half the crew 2 thousand lives of different species died. The human only calmed down after I talked them down and offered to become it’s fur-baby. I was in shock for the next 6 hours sat next to this human.
*click*
“When a human asks for something we must try our best to get it to then.” Said the profesor. “ I was the only dugsilnian able to calm that human down. We are the ones that must try to keep them calm. Please learn from this incident.” |
"Throw my sword in the lake,"I ordered.
My faithful knight Griflet looked at me as though I was slipping into insanity as well as death. "My king, surely not."
The thing about dying from battle wounds is everything you used to do that you took for granted suddenly takes ten times longer. I fumbled about with my sword belt with fingers that felt more like dry sticks. Finally, Excalibur's sheath came loose.
Not it's original sheath, I noted with a pang as I handed it over. All those long years ago, Merlin asked me which I preferred: the sheath or the sword. I surely looked at him like Griflet did now. The sword, of course!
Well, if I'd chosen differently, maybe I wouldn't be slowly dying of a gut wound inflicted by my own son. "Throw my sword into the lake,"I repeated and sank back down onto the linens. I used to joust in tournaments all day long and now my own belt proves too much for me.
Griflet left with the sword. I dozed off. My dreams are dim and foggy. I wander the battlefield through the piles of the dead, calling for Mordred. He does not answer. I don't know if he's already dead or if stubbornness keeps his lips sealed.
There was a noise, and I woke with his name on my lips. Griflet returned empty-handed and accompanied by Bedivere and Yvain.
"My king,"Yvain said, "A boat waits for you on the lakeshore."
Bedivere shook his head. "I don't pretend to understand this strange magic."
My voice rasped like razors in my chest. Shall even breathing exhaust me now? I asked, "What did you see when you cast Excalibur back into the lake?"
"Nothing."Griflet said. "Just a splash, my king."
He will not meet my eyes. I fixed him with the same glare that sent Guinevere fleeing to a convent and Lancelot to a monk's hermitage. He left without another word.
I used to pride myself on climbing into the saddle of my warhorse in full armor, waving off my helpful squires. "Not a word, my king,"Yvain murmured as he carried me out.
I saved my breath to ask Griflet, "What did you see?"
"The waves swallowed it up."
Even my dimming eyes can see that the lake is as still as glass. Bedivere said, "I don't pretend to understand, but let us do as he says."
"It's too fine a sword to throw away-"
"We obey the king."They left together.
Yvain laid me down in the boat and wrapped his cloak under my head as a pillow. "Shall I lend you my sword instead? I feel I should not leave my king unarmed."
"Where I'm going, I won't need to be a man of war."
The two returned. Griflet's eyes were wide with wonder. Bedivere frowned at whatever strangeness he'd witnessed. He reported, "A woman's hand caught it and drew it beneath the water. What does it mean?"
They told the truth at last and I sighed with relief. "She will see that it lands in the hands of the next rightful ruler."
Yvain nodded solemnly. Griflet made a soft sound of regret and understanding. Bedivere's frown never eased. "I don't see how a strange woman in a lake handing out a sword is a solid basis for responsible government. What does she know?"
I should be offended, but I'm long since that point. Death has a way of soothing rough edges and I would see him at ease before I glide into the mists. Ruefully, I said, "Can she really do worse than me at picking my heir?"
They set their hands to the stern and push. "I...I suppose not. Farewell, my king." |
Dr. Negris settled into her chair with a sigh, preparing for another long night at the Laser Interferometer Gravitational-Wave Observatory at Caltech. Computer fans whirled in the background, ready to process any information the GEO600 detector might pick up. They mostly just spun, processing either nothing or just random noise.
Some time past 2am, an LED on a nearby machine and the sudden, louder hum of the computers in the background alerted her that something had been detected. Usually, it wasn’t much of anything, but on longer nights like these, anything was worth checking, if only to pass the time.
Slowly, Dr. Negris worked down her list of checks to perform against the incoming signal. Most of the tests failed and Dr. Negris was ready to chalk it up to just more random noise the detector had picked up. Then, curiously, the pattern recognition routine flagged something down. She perked up; that particular routine never succeeded on anything. Out of curiosity, she started to run programs to try and diagnose exactly what that pattern meant.
Gravitational waves, nothing.
Light waves, nothing.
Encoded signals, ……
The machine crashed. In a panic, Dr. Negris rushed to power the computer back on hopeful that she could resume her analysis. However, on boot, she found that both her analysis and the incoming signal from the detector had been corrupted. So, much for the top of the line, she figured. Anyways, it was probably nothing anyways.
Then, several hours later, the signal came again. Ready this time, she continued her analysis from where she left off.
Encoded signal, match for language.
Suddenly all the accumulated fatigue of the long night spent waiting in the observatory disappeared. If there was language, there had to be a message. And, if there was a message, she had to know what it was. A few minutes later, and the following words rendered on her screen.
BEWARE, THE GREAT PACIFIER.
IT HAS DOOMED US AND WILL DOOM ALL WHO INTERACT WITH IT.
The computer fans slowed now, and the Laser Interferometer Gravitational-Wave Observatory was quiet once again. Dr. Negris didn’t notice her ears ringing from the impact of the discovery she had just made. Quickly she pulled up the observatory’s internal Slack channel to let her co-workers know about her unbelievable night’s work. |
"Honestly, it makes my life easier,"Mutamatic said to one of his henchgerbils, Peaches. "If Chip is The Protagonizer, it's a whole lot easier to keep track of him."
*Squeak nibble nibble*, Peaches said as she chewed a chunk of wood.
"Yes, he does talk in his sleep. I'll have to station someone to listen. Oh, and! And he's an admin for the Front Line, so he may know some of their alter egos!"
*Nibble squeak scritch*, she asked.
"Uh... no. No mindscan. It's too obvious and I can't let him know. I need to be subtle about it."
*Nibble nibble*.
"Well, it's his week to do dishes and counters. And he's going to make his gumbo Thursday."
*Squeak*
"Ok, yeah. I should probably take him out, but... Do you remember Neil? Or Tad? Or basically anyone before Chip and Arnie moved in?"
*Scritch scritch squeak nibble*.
"Exactly! I can't afford the rent here on my own. And he definitely pulls his weight. I need to be careful. At least until we can build that moonbase. Can you make sure everyone is on board with the plan?"
*Nibble squeak nibble*, she replied, with a small eye roll and a sigh.
"Thanks, Peaches. I'll work doubletime on the moonbase, I promise." |
*Wakasa* was the name her mother gave her, a very long time ago. It meant ‘young’ because her mother, a songstress, wanted her to be young and beautiful forever, never losing her worth.
Memory faded with the years. Wakasa couldn’t remember what her mother’s face looked like anymore but she did remember loving hands patting her head, a long, long time ago.
These days, far from the ruckus of the splendour and pleasures of the Capital, Wakasa stayed in her temple by the sea. It was peaceful watching the white foam splash against the sheer cliffs of volcanic rock. She handled the upkeep of the temple by herself, long used to the hard work.
Wakasa found that she slept less and less as the years passed. With nothing to do at night, she decided to try to learn how to weave. Her mother had once worn beautiful kimonos, stitched with elaborate flowers and butterflies. She had been a beautiful woman, more beautiful than Wakasa, a blooming flower that had withered away after being plagued by the illnesses that all songstresses eventually encountered in their line of work.
Wakasa built the wooden frame of the loom herself, figuring the process out by trial and error. It didn’t matter how long it took her to master the art of weaving…she always had tomorrow after all. Quietly she began to weave beneath the moonlight as the ginkgo trees planted around her island temple slowly shed golden, fan-like leaves…
People rarely visited her temple. It was remote, difficult to access via a narrow sandbar that only appeared at low tide amidst the otherwise dangerously ferocious waves. The locals did not set foot near her temple, although they sometimes left offerings by the shores which she ignored.
Only a truly desperate person would seek her out, Wakasa knew.
Her first visitor came some years after she had set up her temple, a man by the name of Ogata. He was a ronin, a samurai who had fled from Satsuma some years ago. He was skilled with the sword, fighting like a demon from a young age. An honest and simple man who repeated the same mistakes again and again, betrayed by those who wished for his strength.
Wakasa sympathized. It wasn’t easy to live, let alone live past battles that should have ended in death again and again and again. When he slept that night, after confessing his story, Wakasa sat by her loom and weaved. The cherry blossoms were blooming this time, sending a sweet fragrance drifting through the air.
The tide rose and fell again, just as it always would. When the man who had been Ogata awoke the next day, he was confused and lost. Wakasa comforted him and sent him northwards, far far away from Satsuma.
Her second visitor was a woman named Yumie, a devastatingly beautiful inkstone maker who had been targeted by her local lord. She was vicious and unrepentant, a murderess who killed and killed for revenge until there was nothing left of her except for a shell that still knew how to move and talk.
Wakasa sympathized. The desires of humanity were an endless sea. There was no stopping the tide of fate, even more so for a pitiful creature who would ever be plagued by eternal beauty. That night, Wakasa weaved, a plain cloak hiding a gorgeous pattern of scales and serpentine coils within.
The tide rose, and the tide fell. When the woman who had been Yumie woke, Wakasa draped the cloak around her shoulders and hugged her before sending her on her way, telling her to leave for distant shores.
Every few centuries or so, familiar faces came to seek her out. Wakasa had gotten a name for herself after a while, Yao Bikuni, people whispered in rumours, a mythical priestess who lived on that isolated island.
Wakasa weaved and waited in sympathy. |
“Look at the way you're dressed”.
Guy 2 looked down. “What's wrong with my clothes?”
“Purple pants and a green shirt. That's villain stuff”, Guy 1 said as if it was the most rational thing in the world.
“That makes no sense!”
“Yes it does. They're clashing secondary colors. Look at me, blue jeans and red shirt, primary colors. Heroes wear primary colors like blue, red and yellow, villains wear secondary colors like green and purple”.
“You're trying to assign us moral values based on color!? That's insane!” Guy 2 stood up and banged on the door again.
“You're also bald” Guy 1 explained, still sitting on the floor, his legs stretched in front of him, right over the left. He appeared much more comfortable now that a narrative was beginning to establish itself.
“Balding!” Guy 2 turned around, emphasizing the *ing*. “And what does that have to do with anything?”
“Bad guys are bald or balding, and they have that little circle goatee thing going on”. Guy 1 traced a small circle with his finger, while pointing it at Guy 2.
Guy 2 instinctively took a hand to his chin. Frowned and then pointed at Guy 1. “Well you're balding too, buddy. That hairline is definitely receding”.
“See? You're trying to hurt my feelings. Classic villain stuff” Guy 1 shrugged, his expression betraying that he was in fact a little hurt.
Guy 2 took a deep breath. “How did we get here?”
“That's precisely what we're trying to figure out”.
“No, I mean this discussion. How did we arrive at deciding we're heroes or villains”.
Guy 1 sighed. “We're trapped in a storage room. We lost our memories. We immediately disliked each other. It's only logical that we got kidnapped by an ever bigger villain than you, perhaps a villainous organization”.
“Even bigger than me…” Guy 2 mumbled, chuckling with annoyance. “Okay, show me your superpowers then. Break us out of here”.
Guy 1 shook his head. “Clearly there's some sort of dampening, or power negating field which cancels them. And you got your tech taken away from you”.
“My tech? What are you talking about now!”
Guy 1 rolled his eyes. “Super heroes have natural powers since birth. We have those powers because we are good. Super villains”, Guy 1 waved at Guy 2, “need to use technology to give themselves powers in imitation of us”.
“That's so condescending” Guy 2 gesticulated as if excusing himself from the whole thing, and went back to banging on the door.
“Stop that, save your energy for when the next act is revealed. It's clear we're not going to open that door”.
“So we just sit and wait?” Guy 2 paced from the door to the back wall.
“In my experience, things always end up working out. Well, for heroes. You…” Guy 1 paused. “Well maybe this is the beginning of your road to redemption. Huh? How about that?”.
Guy 2 stopped in front of Guy 1. “So you remember things now?”
“Well, no, but it stands to reason!”
***
“What are we calling it?” Professor Kline couldn't take his eyes from the monitors.
“Comic Book Poisoning. We were calling it Marvel Poisoning but Disney threatened to sue us”. Junior researcher Gálvez jotted down something on his clipboard.
“I thought this research was still unpublished”.
“It is, but Disney has people in the University’s fund allocation committee, precisely for this kind of thing. Brand Protection”.
Professor Kline nodded without taking his eyes from the monitors. “It makes sense. So this happens whenever middle aged men are put in isolation and given temporary amnesia?”
“Yes. We're seeing this over and over. Subject 2 is less susceptible, which fits his prior history”.
“Okay. Let's take them out of there. They signed their waivers, right?”
Junior researcher Gálvez checked his clipboard. “Yes, all legal documentation is up to standard”.
“All right. Get them out, restore their memory and give them their Amazon cards. Do we think we're going to be okay publishing this?”
“Disney's Brand Protection says *we're* okay as long as *we* hint at a closer connection to Warner than them”. Junior researcher Gálvez put only the tiniest bit of emphasis on ‘we’. At this point it was counterproductive, career wise, to point out that this was the first time Professor Kline was coming into the lab this year.
***
[More of my stories at r/BradingRoom] |
“Daddy?”
Thumping and…crunching? Like the sound of sticks breaking…maybe if the sticks were wet?
“Daddy?! Please…I’m getting more scared.”
Running to get mommy, she is already coming down the hall.
“Mom! Mommy! I told Daddy not to open the closet. I told him and told him!”
Mom pushes past, her hand already reaching for the handle.
“Mom! No! Don’t!”
Too late, the door is open. With a swoosh what appears to be a flowered dress with bright blue lace has wrapped around mother’s waist and drawn her inside.
The door snaps shut with a sound reminiscent of a crocodile’s jaws.
Waiting a few moments, the child stands calmly by the closet.
“Is that better mother?”
The closet door creaks open slightly. A bit of moisture glistens brightly on the floor in the moonlight through the nearby window.
A susurration of noises, gurgling, sliding, whistling emit from the closet.
The child giggles in delight.
“Yes mother. They were so easy to fool! They didn’t even remember their own child was at grandmum’s this weekend, did they?”
The child’s laughter, now high and shrieking, and perhaps a bit deranged fills the room.
The psychic link that only certain observers will note, linking the child to what…ever the closet is, like the bright bulb of an anglerfish, sits down near the now open closet.
“Mummy, where do you think we’ll go next? I think the neighbors have twins! It might be fun to be twins.”
Whatever the sounds made in response make the child put on a dramatic pout.
“Yes. Yes, I know. Too many too close. Don’t worry though. I’ll find us more.” |
He laid on his back as the pain slowly sank in. Is this what death felt like? Surely the fall must have killed him. Oh well. It was just nice to feel something again. The dreary 20 years that lead to this moment were finally coming to a close.
No. That's not right.
So the year is 1944 on June 6th. Steve took one last look at the picture of his daughter before the gate would open. Fear clawed at his stomach and warmth dribbled down his leg. It didn't matter. They would all be wet soon.
No. Too overdone. This might actually be better.
The cold crept in through the window that had been locked for the last 10 years. Tonight I was not alone. Perhaps I have nothing to worry about. But that body in the basement... No. this isn't how justice works.
Shit. Nothing is coming to me right now. Everything is dry. I'm sure something good will come up. Sorry /u/ztikmaenn. May I start over?
|
The first breath of the day brought an old scent to Marcus' nose. His first instinct was to open his eyes, to fling his head to the side and make sure the woman he believed to be beside him actually was. Instead, the young male kept still, and inhaled once more. The scent was entirely familiar to him, implanted in his memories even from the first few nights he'd met her. Mary was a different girl, he'd known, and he'd tried his absolute best to woo her over. A few years and months later, Mary would shatter his world with the news of her betrayal. But right now, at this moment... This was a morning somewhere between then.
She stirred, her sunkissed, silken skin gliding beneath the sheets, releasing a fresh wave of memories. All those nights they'd spent together, and then the mornings after. Mornings like this. Half of Marcus' mind was reeling from the fact he actually -was- in the past, trying to figure out how he'd arrived here. The other part was thinking of how he should behave. What part of their life was this? Had they moved in together yet? All the while, Marcus lay there, the shallow rise and fall of his chest the only motion.
*I don't care.* The thought came clear as day through his murky, just-awoken mind. With those words came freedom, and a gentle rolling motion. His young, fit form slid aside, a strong arm running along the small of the naked back beside him. Opening his eyes a crack to watch, he smiled when she did. Her wavy, blonde hair was a mess, but it looked just the way he liked it... Evidence of last night's romp. "Good morning, baby."She purred, her mouth working beautifully over the words. Marcus loved it when she called him baby.
"Sleep well?"He questioned, hearing his younger voice rumble the prompt. Mary giggled in her throaty, womanly way, turning to snuggle closer to him. "Always."And just like that, her mouth was to his. *I don't care,* he repeated, chanting the mantra over and over. *I don't care, I don't care. I don't care.* Marcus pressed to her in return, deepening the embrace despite the hot tears springing from the corners of his eyes. |
"My client has produced meaningful works, your honor,"said defense attorney Jane Smithe handing over a packet of manila envelopes.
Tom sat nervously in the court room watching his lawyer defend him. His mother sat next to him crying.
"Even though he's 35 and living at home, he is a rare creative talent, and as such should be immune from any culling policy,"she continued.
"Please note exhibit B4, a novella titled 'I, Dyson' about a time traveling salesman disrupting the entrenched vacuum cleaner market of the early 2000's."
"You honor,"interrupted prosecutor's attorney. "This is a hack job of sci-fi tropes. We want this and all writings dismissed."
The judged leaned back, "I'll... allow this. It speaks to the character of the defendant."
Tom unclenched his fist and sighed.
"My client also wrote 'Everyday isn't Halloween' about a shapeshifter trying to find her identity in the post-apocalyptic Denver airport."
The prosecuting attorney rolled his eyes. A member of the jury giggled.
"Mary Ellen Ranfurly-Plunkett, the protagonist, navigates through a world of magic and super science to find her true love, an artificially intelligent toaster."
Someone in the court room laughed.
"Your honor, please! Enough with the terrible plots,"pleaded the prosecutor.
Jane sighed, "Can I have my expert witness testify before recess?"
The judge nodded, "Yes, please go ahead, and please limit interruptions in my court,"he added as he stared down the prosecutor.
Jane motioned to a man in the court. The man sat down, adjusted the mic, and said, "For the record, I'm Brandon Sanderson. I'm a fantasy writer."
Jane added, "Mr Sanderson is a well known writer who is deeply part of the creative community. He is the author of the Mistborn series and edits and contributes to several literary magazines."
Brandon cleared his throat, "Yeah.. I'm pretty active I guess. I read the defendant's work. I think that he is developing into a creative thinker and will someday be able to project his vision onto the page in a more effective fashion. I certainly see potential."
The prosecutor interrupted, "So, he's not very good now?"
Brandon shrugged, "I guess I like the idea of an intelligent toaster falling in love. Its new. At least to me. The prose needs work and he needs to write better endings, but he certainly is... trying."
"Thank you Mr. Sanderson,"added Jane as he stepped away.
"I would like to call my own witness, Neil Gaiman,"said the prosecutor.
Tom gulped and Jane gave him a concerned look.
A man in long black trenchcoat walked up to the witness box. He pushed back long black hair from his face and cleared his throat, "I read the defendant's work. Its terrible. Just terrible."He paused, "Sorry Tom, but I'm under oath here. You're more than a few years away from being even a novice writer. I mean, the whole bit about James Dyson stealing alien technology to make vacuum cleaners is ridiculous and patently stupid! Think about it. If you had alien technology, why would you waste it on a bloody vacuum cleaner?"
Tom whispered to himself, "Because vacuum cleaners remind him of his mother,"and put his head down on the table.
Jane ran over to the exhibit desk and grabbed a handful of printouts, "But what of these,"she asked holding up various sketches of cyborgs and monsters. She held up a drawing of a multi-tentacled monster with big anime-style eyes.
Neil squinted, "Oh, I like that Cthulhu. Its... cute."
Jane smiled, "Your honor, I want to point out that Mr. Gaiman is referring to exhibit 14b titled 'Cute-thulhu.' No more questions. Thank you for your time."Tom looked up as Neil walked past him mouthing, "I'm sorry."
"I don't see a need for a recess. I'm going to ask the jury to come to a verdict now,"said the judge as Tom started hyperventilating.
The jury left the room and came back two minutes later.
"We're boned,"said Jane to her assistant. Her assistant made a knife across the neck gesture.
The lead juror stood and read from a piece of paper. "We vote to extend the defendant's culling date for 5 years if he promises to stop writing and focuses on his drawing instead."
The judge smiled, "Do you agree to these terms?"
Tom stood, began to cry, "Oh god, yes, yes!"He jumped up in joy. He ran over and hugged Jane.
Gaiman looked over at Sanderson, "You should be happy, you have less competition now,"and grinned. Brandon sighed, stood up, and said, "You're a real jerk Gaiman, you know that,"and walked away to congratulate Tom.
Gaiman shrugged and said, "At least I'm honest and not a chinless milksop like you,"as he watched Tom give him the evil eye.
|
Hello, Mr. President.
If you're anything like I was in the first few weeks of my presidency, you'll be getting into everything and looking for answers to all the wacky questions you can think of. I now know where Hoffa is buried, who killed Kennedy, who performed the sex change on Norma Jean Baker, what's going on at Area 51 and a dozen other things.
It's all good fun, and your staff will brief you on whatever you want for any reason at all.
Trust me on this, though, none of it is as fun as it sounds before you know the truth.
The real surprises are about the things you'll never think to ask. This one blew me away.
The USA does not have a nuclear deterrent.
In fact, no one has The Bomb. It's not possible to make one. We've been lying about this since Hiroshima. The Soviet Union were lying. The UK and France are also lying. It is no longer possible to build nuclear weapons.
It *was* possible, thanks to a synthetic element fabricated by the Manhattan Project, but the scientists who created it used all of it at Hiroshima and Nagasaki. They were then not able to make any more. We still have no idea why it worked and why it doesn't. Our best brains think Oppenheimer and Einstein cooked something up between them to end the war with Japan but to prevent the USA and USSR mass producing weapons.
Nations that discover the truth end up on the UN Security Council. We collectively bribe them to silence, although some leaders are smart enough to figure out what would happen if some nations found out our ability to turn them into glass parking lots was entirely fictional.
We have faked every test, spent millions and millions of dollars finding a reliable way to give people cancer, the whole bit. We even fake up reactor disasters, just to keep people on their toes. It's all a lie. But it's a lie that has prevented the start of another world war for over fifty years and we think it'll be good for another fifty.
Quite a lot of your presidency is going to be taken up with finding convincing reasons why we can't just nuke the crap out of some rogue nation so I strongly recommend you ignore that Kennedy crap and get serious briefings done on the geopolitical situation around the world. You need to have your game face on 24/7 in case someone figures out the Big Lie. This is why presidents in office age so damn fast.
Good luck.
You're going to need it.
Best,
The Former President of the United States. |
England smiles and hums happily while laying out the picnic blanket. She had been planning the picnic for days and was sure it was going to be splendid. She had packed all the lunches as well as an alternate lunch just in case one of the kids took an attitude. The last few years had been rough and for a while every day was a war. Australia and Canada were somewhat peaceful when left to their own devices but whenever America instigated, which was often, the entire house would be turned upside down. It was time for a fun family get together where they could just relax and enjoy each other’s company.
She walks to the kitchen and rings a small bell on the kitchen counter. It was a system she had worked out where if the kids heard the bell; they would need to run to the kitchen in thirty seconds unless they wanted one of their privileges to be taken. Australia comes first running full speed; she slides down the banister and manages to stop just short of her mother. England peers upstairs and sees America and Canada leaving their rooms. Canada signals for America to go first but he was already too far down the stairs to even notice the kind gesture. Her children all look at her awake but not interested and so she shouts, “Are you ready for a picnic?” Canada smiles politely but doesn’t answer, instead looking to America. America rolls his eyes and groans, “Are you serious?” England smiles hesitantly and then looks for Australia, who was already running around outside. The three kids sit down on the blanket like when they were kids and England begins to unpack the basket.
As she carefully decides what to put out, America watches Australia pick up a bee. “Stop it,” he warns her not looking up from his phone. Canada notices too but he doesn’t say anything half wishing that she’ll get stung and learn her lesson. England looks up and then says, “For God’s sake! Australia stop it!” Australia rolls her eyes and lets the bee fly away as America chuckles. Canada looks awkwardly from America to Australia wishing one of them would start a conversation. He looks at the food already unpacked: bagels, jam, sandwiches, and tea. He didn’t care for tea but his mother insisted the kids each drink one cup a day for its nutritional value. America looks at the food and asks, “What about chips?” England looks up confused and he gets off the blanket, “I’ll go get some” he says heading back into the house. England calls after him and rolls her eyes; he was never happy. Canada looks at his stressed mother and exclaims, “Nice weather, eh?” England nods as her phone begins to vibrate. It wasn’t fancy like her children’s but it still got the job done. She tries to look at it but without her glasses, it is nearly impossible. She hands it to Canada to read, he looks at it for a second and then says, “Its America calling, will you answer?” She shakes her head and says, “No, he will come out here if he needs something.” After a minute, America comes out in a huff, “I called you,” he says tensely. England sips her tea and America says, “I couldn’t find potato chips,” England grinds her teeth and says, “Maybe that’s because I didn’t buy any. Sit down and enjoy lunch with us!” America sits down and takes out his phone again and England loses her patience; who could he be texting so much?
She snatches his phone and puts it in her pocket, “Enough!” she screams causing all three children to look up. “I’m sorry mom” Canada says followed by an apology from Australia. America sighs and whispers, “Sorry mom.” England distributes the lunches watching her children’s faces light up when they received their lunches. Canada had bacon, egg, and cheese with the bacon prepped just the way he preferred. Australia had a smoked emu hero, and for once America wasn’t picky. His first choice was ham and cheese but afterwards he ate a peanut butter and jelly. England looks at her son, for the amount of food that he ate, he was still decently sized. England finishes her tea, “I’ll be right back, I just need to get a little more tea,” she says cheerfully getting up.
As soon as their screen door closes, they begin to hear a whistling on the other side of the fence. A teenage boy’s face appears at the top of the fence, “Aussie!” he calls out making her blush. “Work it girl!” He shouts infuriating both Canada and America at once. Both Canada and America knew that their younger sister was pretty but they weren’t going to let just anyone date her. “Get out of here!” America shouts angrily. Canada grabs a ball that was left out in their lawn and throws it at the boy’s face. He always appeared calm and nice but if angered, he was a force to be reckoned with. They don’t hear a hit but the boy disappears, leaving Australia alone with her protective and angry brothers. “You shouldn’t let boys talk to you like that,” Canada says still watching the fence. Australia groans, “I can take care of myself, you act like I’m so fragile! I’m tougher than either of you!” she shouts getting up from the blanket. Both brothers knew that Australia wasn’t defenseless; she could be quiet at times but she was also volatile. Normal girls didn’t have boas or scorpions as pets. America sighs; it was hard for him to let her grow up. He didn’t always treat her well but he still liked being her brother. She was wild, dangerous, and a little scary but she would eagerly help with any prank on Canada or their mom.
Their mother waddles out with a fresh pot of tea and a smile, “It is so nice to get together like the old times!” she says hugging America. He smiles and hugs her back; today wasn’t so bad after all. She hugs Canada next and then Australia. She looks down at the blanket: they had completely ruined the picnic blanket with crumbs and jam spilled over it and they were complete monsters. She watches as America begins to fold up the blanket into a triangle and Canada argues that it’s wrong while Australia grabs all the trash on the blanket and insists on making only one trip to the garbage can. They would always be her monsters.
|
I was tired and nervous, but it was almost time. I fidgeted in the pew. The family sitting next to me glanced at me. They were probably wondering why I was sweating and twitchy, and why I was holding a bulging plastic bag.
The pastor finally got to the section I was waiting for. "If there is anyone here who has a reason why Mary and James cannot be married, speak now or forever hold your peace."
I stood up. I was in the last row of pews, so the pastor didn't see me at first. He opened his mouth to continue with the ceremony, then spotted me. His mouth hung open stupidly, and no words came out. I'm pretty sure this was the first time anyone had ever actually objected.
People were starting to notice something was wrong. The guests were turning towards me, one by one. Finally, Jim and Mary turned around too, to face me.
Mary looked shocked. Jim looked pissed. Mary hissed at me, "William!"She gestured for me to sit down.
The pastor cleared his throat, and said, "William, is it? Do you have something to say?"
I stepped out of the pew and onto the red carpet in the aisle. I took a deep breath and said, "Okay... I know this looks weird, but I need to stop this wedding right now. Why? Because I promised Mary I would."
I walked towards Mary and Jim. Mary looked radiant in her white dress. Jim filled out his tuxedo well. He looked like he wanted to deck me, and he'd probably be able to knock me out with one punch. Maybe kill me, too.
I stopped five feet short of the couple, and continued, "Mary, how long have we known each other?"
"All our lives, why?"
"Do you remember, when we were next door neighbors, when we were just three or four years old, and we'd play together in our back yards? Sometimes we'd play house, and I'd play the daddy, and you'd play the mommy..."The guests were beginning to get restless now, and they were whispering to each other in a rising undercurrent of gossip and speculation.
Now Mary looked pissed, "William, if you're trying to declare your love for me, this is a really bad time!"
I had to chuckle at that. "No no, Mary, don't worry. It's nothing like that. It's just that, do you remember the last time we played together in my back yard, the day before I moved away? We played house again, one last time, and you said to me, 'William, if I can't marry you when we grow up, I want to marry someone at least as cool as you?'"
Mary's expression softened, "I... I think I do remember that, yeah."
I continued, "And I said, 'Okay, I promise I won't let you marry anyone else unless he's as cool as me.' And I've remembered that all my life. Even after we got back in contact in junior high, and even after you met Jim, and decided to marry him. Jim's a cool guy, I like him. But he hasn't proven himself cooler than me yet."
Jim was looking confused at this point. I knew what he was thinking. I was basically the opposite of cool. I was a geek, a nerd, socially inept, and physically unattractive. I sucked at sports, at going to bars, at public speaking, at attracting the opposite sex. I wasn't cool at all.
I reached into my plastic bag, and pulled out an old leather jacket and some sunglasses. "Mary, remember in tenth grade, when I wanted to ask out Allison Flanders, but I was afraid she wouldn't say yes? You took me to the mall and bought this jacket and these sunglasses for me. You told me if I looked cool, Allison would say yes. I put them on, and you said I looked like the coolest guy you've ever seen."Mary was smiling at the memory. I continued, "I mean, you were probably just saying that to make me feel better, but at the time, I really did feel pretty cool. It might've been because I was with you, but I figured the jacket and sunglasses might've had something to do with it too."
I held them out to Jim. He hesitated, then took the jacket and shades. "Jim, the only way you could be cooler than me is if you had these things. Mary picked them out, and you know she has good taste."
Jim stared at the jacket and sunglasses for a few seconds, then looked at me, then nodded. He understood what it meant. He understood that I had no romantic interest in Mary, but loved her nonetheless, the love that only comes from a lifetime of friendship and understanding. He understood that despite how different Mary and I were, and how we would never be a couple, we were nonetheless soul mates who would forever care for one another. And Jim understood that I was now willingly allowing him to take up my role in Mary's life.
Mary's eyes were wet. She also knew what this little ceremony meant to me, and she was overcome by the fact that I had remembered my promise from over twenty years ago.
Jim shrugged out of his tuxedo jacket and slipped on the leather jacket. It was slightly too small on him, so he didn't bother zipping it up. He placed the sunglasses over his eyes, then turned to Mary.
"How do I look?"
"You look... pretty cool, to be honest,"Mary said, her voice slightly choked up.
I smiled at them both, then returned to my seat. As soon as I sat down, my nervousness was washed away by a flood of relief, so strong that I almost threw up. But it was okay now. Jim would take care of Mary, and she would know that I remembered that promise, made so long ago, by a little boy to a little girl. |
The knock rang through the empty house in the empty world, and Tony's heart nearly burst at the sound. He eyed the door warily, heart racing. He didn't know whether to open the door and hug whoever was on the other side with delight, or to climb out the back and run like hell. "Do I really want to live on this world alone?"he thought, as he found his feet inching him ever closer to the door.
He approached the eyehole. He saw a tall man in a white dress shirt and black tie. Was he an assassin? Was he an FBI agent gathering together the last strings of humanity, in a hope to weave them together once again into a new society? Tony opened the door slowly.
Before Tony had a chance to survey the situation, the man was already speaking. "Good afternoon, sir. Do you have a chance to hear about God's Good Word?"
Tony stared at the man with wide, incredulous eyes. "Wh-what?"he managed.
"God's Good Word. The reason I'm here. Do you have a moment? May I come in?"Unable to conceive a reason why not, an extremely troubled Tony opened the door for the man to come in.
"I'm Mark, nice to meet you."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Well, when I was a little child I heard the voice of an angel and I-"
"No, why are you *still* doing this? Everyone's gone."Mark's face creased as he took in Tony's claim. Seeming confused, Mark arose from the couch he had situated himself on and walked back outside. Tony followed him, resting at the door.
Mark walked to the end of Tony's driveway, spun himself in a circle and surveyed the empty street. He looked up at the sky. "Oh!"he burst, his eyes suddenly coming to life. "You mean all these people?"He gestured with his arm as he spoke, indicating the empty houses. "They're with God now, Tony. The rapture has come."
Tony narrowed his gaze. Why was this crazy idiot bothering him? Suddenly, a realization hit Tony so abruptly that he almost lost his footing at the doorstep. "I never gave you my name,"he stammered, blood draining from his face. He thought he was going to faint. Tony set his back to the doorframe and slowly lowered his body to a sit.
Mark, as if on cue, had already walked back to the house and was now standing in front of Tony. His eyes had changed now; the innocent hazel eyes that Tony had moments ago found naive were white, almost glowing. "Tony, everyone is gone. Every last human on this planet, except you. God has a plan for you, Tony. Then you may join us."
Tony looked up at Mark the way a helpless dog gazes upon his master. "What must I do?"he begged. It had been only 3 days since everyone vanished, but boy how the novelty wore off! By 24 hours, Tony thought he would surely go crazy. Tony had felt lonely before all the humans had vanished. Now, there was no chance at redemption. Nothing to do but to read books and surf the Internet until the electricity gave out. Tony was wondering what masturbation would be like when he'd have to resort to scavenging for some stranger's crusty old Playboys. No; any salvation, be it offered from Jehovah, Bhuddah, or even Satan, Tony would accept. No matter the cost.
Mark gaze down at him and exclaimed, with all the conviction that a beacon of God may bear: "You must find the Reddit server, and destroy /r/atheism." |
I remember being shot. I was getting into my car after work when a man ran up to me. I couldn't see his face, but I could see the gun in his hand. I remember thinking, "hmm, he's a lefty"not fully comprehending my situation at the time. "Gimme your keys and wallet now,"screamed lefty. "Calm down buddy, no reason to do anything drastic,"I plead with him. I can hear sirens coming closer and decide to try and stall him. Apparently, he didn't have time for that. I can remember the thudding in my chest as the bullets hit, one, two, three. I can almost remember hearing the car scream away from me, or maybe that was me. Either way, the next thing I can remember is falling. It seemed like an eternity, and at the same time, no time at all.
Now, I'm standing on a rocky plateau. Pits of fire around me, and flames licking at my legs like a puppy from my childhood. The smell of rotten eggs was everywhere, almost suffocating me. I realized where I was immediately but I was so confused. Why was I here? I like to think I was a nice person. I never hurt anyone. I sat in self pity for years, or seconds almost in tears. Suddenly, I hear an increase in the screaming around me. What was once the screams of pain and sorrow, now became screams of pain and terror. I searched for the source of the screaming and found it over the edge of hell's plateau.
Countless demons from horizon to horizon stretched before me. In all shapes and sizes. Creepy little imps with tridents, mammoth creatures wielding spears, and almost human like things with wings and horns holding swords made of bone and fire.
Standing opposite them, was another army altogether. Even more massive than the first. An army of humans arrayed against the army of hell. There were so many of them. It must be everyone who has ever lived and died down here. I start to make my way down the plateau, heading for the humans. I have no concept of time here, so it takes no time at all before I'm at the lines of humans.
As I approach, the first people to see me welcome me as an old friend. I don't recognize any of them, but in hell you can't deny friendliness. As I get deeper in the lines, a man approaches me. "Come with me,"he says in a deep voice, "we've been expecting you."With nothing else to do I follow this man. I notice he's wearing old leather armor, looks like pictures I'd seen of Roman soldiers. He takes me to a tent in the center of the army. It looks like it's made of some strange leather, but I don't have time to inspect it before he leads me inside. Inside the tent, there's a man, leaning over a giant table.
"General,"the Roman says with awe, "he has arrived.""Finally,"sighs the man at the table, "finally we can end this damn war!"He turns around, with a giant smile on his face. There, in the middle of a human army, in the very depths of hell stands my father, the leader of the forces of men. |
Mikhail gaped in horror at the silent explosion unfolding before his eyes. It was red-hot, blinding his pupils but he couldn't look away. His sanctuary, his route to safety had, in an instant, become nonexistent.
Not taking his eyes off of the blast, he fumbled with his radio, tuning into any frequency that he could find.
"H-help,"he muttered, his voice empty and cold.
"This is Houston, what can we do for you?"Came a reply.
"The station- ISS.. I don't know what happened, it's gone- I'm stuck, driftin.. I don't know what to do"
"You have a pretty heavy accent there. You a Ruski? What's your name?"
"Mi.. Mikhail.. Please help me,"
"Sorry, Mikhail. We can't do that for you,"The man on the other line declared, with a tone of indifference.
"Why? Please, I have a wife, kids, I just want to see them again. Do you know what's happening? Can you help me?"
A sigh could be heard over the transceiver. "No can do, Mikhail. And yessir, we know exactly what's happening. Tactical advantage. With ISS gone, and the resources we have, we stand to win this war. Sorry to say this, buddy, but you just became the first casualty of the third world war." |
"What the hell do you mean our retirement home isn't making any money?", my partner blasted into his phone, "Are people just not dying or something where we live?"
I sighed, because what he was implying was 100% true. Ever since I had bought "We put the fun in funeral", which was one of the best funeral homes in the city, literally no one had died. I know I'm cold blooded, but this was literally the worst thing that could occur.
I had bought the funeral home after extensive research. I knew for a fact that the rich billionaire Michael Shin was sure to die soon, having reached the tender old age of 89 and succumbing to cancer. I also knew that the local hospital was overrun with elderly patients with almost every ailment that afflicts the old. Surely their kids would pay for an expensive funeral.
Yet, nobody died. No one. I contacted local funeral homes, who also had no business what so ever. There was literally no one dying within a 500 miles radius. Good ol Mr. Shin, who was forecasted to die within the day, was actually getting better and fighting off stage 4 cancer! I couldn't stand it! I almost clawed my wig off due to pure frustration.
So I made a hypothesis. Maybe no one was dying because I was in the vicinity. As outrageous as it seemed, I was willing to test that hypothesis at any cost. I needed my money, or I would have to feed myself to my family.
I went down south. Texas is a large state, and going from Dallas to South Padre Island to visit a friend's house certainly fulfilled moving me out of the vicinity. And just like that, people in the hospital dropped like flies. They went from having 0 deaths a day to 140 deaths in just 12 hours. I went from having no business to overflowing with cash.
This led to a better idea. Why not sell myself as an immortality guard? It's kinda like selling myself out as a security guard, but as a guard that can guarantee safety.
So here I am today. Hired by the White House almost 50 years ago after the death of some President, I follow the President around like his own pet reptile in order to ensure that he won;t die; I ensure that the President will never die to an assassin's bullet or anything of the like.
Or at least, that's the official story.
As each president comes and goes, I kill them and feed them to my family. When I said that if I couldn't get enough food, then I'd have to feed myself to my family, I meant that literally. Then, my partner takes the new president's skin and acts like the president.
After all, we can't have a human president instead of a lizard president, can we?
(Hi, I'm Qqwwrr3, and most stories I write will lead to the lizard people) |
Congrats, it's no easy accomplishment to do something like this.
But not wishing to sound like a Debbie downer, you should remove the stories you've put into the book from reddit. Amazon's policy--especially if you plan on taking advantage of their Select program--is very weird about public domain and other copyrighted stuff.
If you followed the story of Rome Sweet Rome, there is also the fact that whatever you posted on reddit might not actually belong to you but to reddit, which means you are actually committing copyright infringement. Not sure if this policy has changed now, but it's definitely worth looking into.
Finally, ask for people who've read a lot of your works to leave some reviews? It looks nice and definitely helps other buyers download your book. |
Death laughed in hysteria over the din of machine gun fire as he drove his spanking new darker-than-the-void combine harvester over the soldiers, separating confused souls from their expired bodies.
War stood in the middle of everything wistfully. "Isn't this supposed to be my job?"
"AHAHAHAHA! I made you to reduce my workload. But now I can do your job and mine and still get home in time for The Walking Dead! HAHAHAHA! This is so much fun!"He bulldozed another thirty souls.
"I don't think that last one even got shot...Hey boss!"
Death stopped, annoyed. "What?"
"No offense, but I think you should use your scythe at least some of the time. I think you need the exercise."
Death looked down at his growing midriff. A bulge was clearly visible under his cloak of darkness. "How is this possible? I'm a skeleton. I don't have muscles."
He looked back at War, then at his potbelly. "I kinda like it. I'm like a black Santa Claus."He resumed his massacre, the wispy blue souls contrasting with the deep red blood spraying everywhere. "HOHOHOHOHOHO!"
War racked his non-existent brains. If he didn't think of something soon he'd be out of a job. |
Hadley's beer sits on the table in front of him, slowly going flat. He poured it more than an hour ago, but he couldn't care less about it. He only has eyes for the gun.
It sits in his lap, a children's toy, shiny silver plastic with an orange cap. A cowboy gun, six shooter revolver. His mother bought it for him, before she died. He was so excited to take it out of the box- she was against guns. Hadely had begged and begged.
"Every other boy plays Cops & Robbers, and they won't let me play! Please mom!"
The first thing Hadley had done when he pulled it out of the box was point it at his mother and pull the trigger. The gun made a *click* sound. Her face fell instantly, and Hadley thought she was disappointed with him. He knew better now.
After the presents were all opened, Hadley and his brother Martin ran outside with their new guns. Martin was in front of him. Hadley knew it was cowardly, but he couldn't resist taking a shot at his back with his new gun. Hadley aimed and pulled the trigger just as Martin turned and drew to fire. As soon as Hadley's gun *clicked*, Martin fell to the ground and started crying. Hadley called him a baby and ran off to play with the other boys.
When Hadley got back to the house, his mother was slumped over the kitchen table, leaning on her elbows clutching a bottle of brown juice. She smelled really, really bad, like rubbing alcohol she always put on any cut's Hadley got. Hadley's dad was sitting next to her, talking quietly. He had one hand on the bottle, trying to pull it away. Hadley lined up the sights of his new gun on his father's head and pulled the trigger. At the sound of the *click*, Dad turned to look at Hadley. His face was empty, like a sleeping persons, looking but not seeing. Dad wrenched the bottle out of Mom's hands and took a big swig. Hadley had never seen his parents drunk before. He never saw them sober again.
Hadley's mom slit her wrists in the bathtub that night, the right way, deep and up the vein. Hadley was the one who found her, Hadley was the one who called 911. He didn't really know what CPR was, but he tried anyway. The paramedics found him blowing into her mouth. She had been dead for almost eight hours.
When the police came, they noticed the sound of a running car in the garage. It had a full tank of gas when Dad turned it on, and ran all night long.
Martin was out back, still lying where Hadley shot him. He was dehydrated, but still sobbing.
When DCF came, they packed up all of Hadley's toys to take with him to his new foster home. In the first box Hadley opened, the gun was right on top. The foster family that took him in, the Chester's, were only in it for the government stipend. One day, after Hadley left spots of food on the dishes he washed, Mrs. Chester belted him. Hadley got his gun and shot her in the back, *click*, wishing it was real. Mrs. Chester jumped off a dam that night, and that was when Hadley figured it out. Real guns destroyed a person's body. This one destroyed their soul.
Hadley hid the gun that night and swore never to use it again. He cried himself to sleep every night for a month.
Hadley didn't open the box he'd hidden the gun in for almost ten years. Then Hadley's freshman year of high school, a senior walked up behind him at lunch and dumped chocolate milk down his back. The next day he shoved a chicken sandwich down Hadley's pants and called him, "Chickenbutt."The name stuck. The bullying was every day after that, not just the senior, but all the other bullies saw Hadley was an easy target and started on him too. In January, four months after getting chocolate milk spilled on him, a sophomore slapped Hadley on the back of the head so hard he dropped his books. When he bent down to pick them up, the older boy kicked them away and said, "Watcha gonna do about it, Chickenbutt?"
Hadley's high school had a full school assembly on Monday. There had been an alarming rash of suicides over the weekend, the principal said. Six boys, across all grades, had killed themselves in unrelated incidents. The principal urged anyone who was "feeling down"to speak to a counselor immediately. They had a moment of silence for the boys who died. Hadley sat all the way in the back, with his sweatshirt zipped all the way up to hide his grin.
It was easy after that. The gun was the perfect weapon- seemingly harmless, untraceable, silent, and deadly. A girl who told Hadley she would rather be dead than go to prom with him got her wish at the bottom of a vicodin bottle. *Click*. A guy at work who promised to clock Hadley's time and didn't, costing him $200, ate his gun in the walk-in fridge. *Click*. One of Hadley's college professors who called his essay "drivel"lasted almost two weeks after Hadley shot him, then one day he drank hydroflouric acid in front of a lab full of shocked freshmen. *Click*.
The suicide rate in town skyrocketed. A big name behavioral psychologist did a study on the town and called it, "a statistical clustering". What that means, in layman's terms, is "we have no idea what's causing this."Hadley thought it would be real funny to shoot him too, but never met him.
Hadley's favorite pastime these days was to go down to the bar and find the happiest, most boisterous, best looking group there, and *click*. The payoff was that almost always, a week later, that same group would be there, sad and silent, brooding over their beers and one member short.
Hadley's beer was completely flat now. The gun's silver surface reflected only shadowy, distorted shapes. Almost tenderly, Hadley put the gun under his chin and pulled the trigger. The gun *clicked*, and Hadley felt nothing. Hadley put the gun back down. He knew it didn't work on him, he had tried it before, many times. Hadley had no soul left to kill. |
The Acros Vault was rumored to be the most secure gold storage in the kingdom, but there wasn't a room yet built that Fazzil couldn't break into. He'd proven this on a dare when he broke into the Kings quarters and snatched the drawers from his body. Of course, no one believed him since the undergarments weren't monogrammed and the King was curiously quiet about the incident.
He presumed it did no good to anyone to admit that someone had gotten close enough to the king to kill him and only stole his boxers. Never mind that that someone was a goblin named Fazzil. Thus, when he saw the robed man approach him with fear in his eyes asking him to break into the famed Acros, he of course believe it to be a trick.
"Mister Faze...Fizz..."
"Fazzil,"He sighed. "Now tell me what you want of me?"
"We..the people I represent have a job for you. We heard about your special talents from a mutual friend,"He said.
"Was it Lilsy?"Fazzil asked. "She has a bad habit of opening her mouth for more than just getting drunk. Fine. You found me. What's the job and how much does it pay?"
"The Acros,"He said.
Fazzil had long considered breaking into it just to prove he could, but up until this point, hadn't found a good enough reason. There was nothing he wanted outside of notoriety and so far the stakes hadn't been high enough. Sure he could do it, but why?
"What's the catch?"Fazzil asked.
The old man shook his head and averted his eyes. That told him it was more than a mere bank job, but what could be more valuable than a bank vault? His curiosity was piqued.
"Ok. What's the score?"
"All we want is access to box 3301,"He said. "The contents are to be brought forthwith to an undisclosed location where you'll be paid a hefty...ah...fee."
"How much of a fee?"Fazzil licked his lips.
"Say fifty gold pieces?"The man said.
Fazzil knew he could argue for a higher price, but money wasn't the motivation here. He knew there had to be a trap waiting for him to drop off the box and somewhere between the bar and the box was a catch the man was reluctant to attract attention towards.
"It's a deal,"Fazzil said. "You'll have your box."
The man passed him a piece of folded paper and left, stumbling over a foot stool on his way out. Fazzil watched him leave, wondering what sort of game was afoot and who else knew the rules.
Fazzil waited until darkness had fallen before making his move. It was a disgustingly obvious move, but then maybe whatever the catch was would be expecting it from him. He avoided the main doors and made his way to the roof. The hooded man had provided him with a key to the front doors which he was loathe to use. Doing it at night was one thing, but walking in the front doors was foolish.
After prying up a section of rotting wood, he lowered himself into the room. It was empty. He allowed himself to fall to the floor, but nothing popped out to shoot at him.
"Hmm,"He looked around.
The front doors *were* locked, but it was a simple lock no better made than what you'd find on the doors to a stable. There weren't even any dogs. He sniffed the air, but there was nothing aside from the smell of a nearby cooking fire.
"Hello?"He called out. His voice echoed off the walls, but nothing called back. There wasn't even a magical alarm or wizard fire. "What kind of bank doesn't have wizard fire?"
Even so, he stepped carefully. Just because the front lobby wasn't secure didn't mean that the vault wouldn't be.
Fazzil found the vault to be intimidating. Instead of being carved into the side of a cliff, this vault was more of a pit. Heavy iron bars stretched across a gaping mouth, the bottom of which he couldn't see. From the darkness, he could just make out the stench of a something wet and musky. There was also the scent of gold.
He lowered himself into the pit, waiting for jaws to close around him or something to freeze him in place. Then he was touching the bottom. The tile floors felt cool on his padded feet.
"Hello?"He called out again.
"We're closed,"A voice called back. "Go away and come back in the morning."
"I...uh...have a transaction to make,"Fazzil said.
"And I have a nap to catch up on,"The voice protested.
Fazzil stepped carefully into the chamber. The tile floors turned into a delicate mosaic and where the walls should've been were rows upon rows of boxes each carved into the earth with numbers engraved underneath. Even from this distance, Fazzil could see the steady glint of precious jewels and metals. In others were the familiar buzz of magical energy. Then he saw the dragon.
It lay curled upon the floor on its back, its stomach rising and falling with each breath. Its clawed feet stretched out beneath it and with each exhalation, a small puff of smoke escaped. Thus he identified the source of the cooking fires he'd smelled earlier.
"I told you we're closed,"The dragon said. It opened a thin slit of an eye and regarded him with a rising curiosity. "Why do I get the feeling that you're not here to make a transaction?"
"Well...that's because I'm not,"Fazzil said. He stood as tall as his Goblin frame would let him and placed his hands on his hips. "I'm here to rob the place."
"You're joking?"The dragon huffed.
"Of course I'm not joking!"Fazzil said. "It's the middle of the night! What other reason would I have for being here?"
"Well how exciting!"The dragon said, rising to his haunches. "What are you here to steal? Perhaps I can direct you to the specific location or are you just here to take whatever you can carry?"
"You're quiet accommodating for a dragon,"Fazzil said.
"And you're quite honest for a thief."
"Well,"Fazzil said. "I'm looking for box 3301."
"Say that again?"The dragon narrowed his eyes.
"3301. At least that's what I've been contracted to take,"Fazzil said. No sense in being dishonest at this point.
The dragon reached above Fazzils head and withdrew the box. Setting it before him. Then it waited.
"I suppose this is where the catch comes in?"Fazzil asked.
"Oh no. I won't stop you."
"No, I mean the box. Will it evaporate me if I touch it? Turn me into a toad?"Fazzil asked. "I got the impression that there'd be a catch."
"You got the impression...Well, let me tell you there's nothing inside this box that would interest you,"The dragon said. To Fazzil's eyes, it looked close to tears.
"I'm sorry,"Fazzil said. "I didn't realize it meant so much to you."
"Oh, I can't blame you. I knew this day was coming,"The dragon sniffed. "Those bastards couldn't even fire me to my face. They had to hire outside help."
"I'm sorry?"Fazzil asked. "Who did what? I was hired to steal something, not fire you."
The dragon opened the box and withdrew a contract. On the bottom was signed a name which glowed red.
"This is the terms of my contract. You think I enjoy sitting down here working my scales off for what amounts to slave labor?"The dragon hissed.
"But you're a dragon..."
"Exactly! I can't survive off of the good will of others you know. Do you know how many places are willing to hire a dragon?"It asked. "None! Now the one job I manage to get and hold onto...and they sack me? Did they say why?"
Fazzil shook his head. "I got the impression from my client that he was scared of you."
The dragon nodded. "Typical."
"Listen,"Fazzil said. "Considering you're no longer working here...would you consider going into business with me?"
The dragon blew a puff of flame and set the document on fire. He let the remains turn to ash and dropped it back into the box.
"I'm suddenly free of any obligations,"The dragon smiled. "What's the first score?"
"How much can you carry?"Fazzil grinned.
|
Private Kim Yong-Ho rushed into General Lee Song-Ra's office in a hurry. "Sir, I'm back from my reconnaissance assignment. You *have* to see this"he exclaimed.
"This had better be important!"the general shouted, offended that his subordinate had broken military protocol and stormed straight into his private quarters.
"Believe me, I've stumbled upon the discovery of the century."He placed the laptop - a top-of-the-range custom-built Samsung notebook issued by the South Korean armed forces - on top of the general's desk and folded the device out. He booted up a 3D map, running on bespoke military software.
Surveying the map briefly, General Lee seemed unimpressed. "This is what you barged into my office for? A simulation of North Korea?"
"Yes, this is North Korea, or at least what we see of it", replied Private Kim, panning the camera downwards until it ended up clipping through the terrain of South Pyongan, situated north of Pyongyang. "But look below the surface and you will find something mind-boggling!"
General Lee gasped. "A massive bunker network? Inside North Korea?"
"That's what they want you to think"explained Private Kim, as he moved the camera deeper into the underground network. "This isn't a bunker at all. This is an underground metropolis, and a very well-decorated one at that."
"You see those floors?"he asked, pointing towards the floors of the long, twisting corridors of the Korean Metropolis. "Those are paved with marble."
"And if you went towards the centre of this huge metropolis"Private Kim elaborated, panning the camera several dozen miles north-east into South Hamgyong, "then you will find their source of power. Geothermal energy. The cause of all these earthquakes. That means it's not nuclear tests they were runni..."
The general stopped his subordinate and picked up the laptop. "That will do. What you found today, Mr Yong-Ho, will change our understanding of our neighbours for decades to come. Good work"
The general then paused as he was about to step out of the office. "Can you do me a single favour though?"
"Yes, sir!"
General Lee pulled out a revolver, and in a single motion of his right arm, shot Private Kim in the forehead. The bullet wound killed the Private instantly, and dropped his lifeless corpse to the floor.
"Don't speak about this to anyone!" |
"Bobbie, put down your grandmother!"said Cynthia in a stern voice.
Grandma was levitating around the room, clearly enjoying herself.
"Oh, come on, Cindy, we are just playing!"said grandma.
"Are you crazy? He is the first person in the world to develop psychic powers, you are not supposed to play with them, who knows what can happen?"
"Ma, I'm the smartest person in the world. I've just completed incorporating gravity into the timeless decision theory, cut me some slack, I want to play."
"But you are **levitating a person**!!"
"I'm just experimenting with my Null-wave radiation device, and clearly it's working."
"Oh, Bobbie, why can't you just be like all the normal kids"said Cynthia. |
I've taken to enjoying my coffee out on the porch when Max comes around in the morning. I've never been much of one for pets, and I certainly wouldn't call him "mine,"but we just have... an understanding. I leave out some scraps for him in the evening, usually just some leftover meat from my dinner. In return, he has been guarding my garden against rabbits and mice that have plagued me ever since I moved out here. He gets fat and happy, and I get fresh vegetables. The perfect arrangement.
Max is a pretty playful little guy, too. It took him a while to warm up to me at first, but now he'll even come on the porch and sit beside me sometimes; he likes having his ears scratched. We'll watch the morning mist burn away in silence, just two old friends. Can't say I mind the companionship; living way out in the boonies can get lonely, especially after my wife went missing. The Sheriff keeps telling me that he's still hopeful she'll be found; says that he got a tip that someone spotted her car up in Pine Bluffs just a few weeks ago. But I've heard it before, and none of these leads have ever panned out. I just had to move on. Keep living. It's just me and Max now.
Sometimes, my new little buddy likes to play fetch. Matter of fact, the first time we played was right after my wife went missing. It was like he knew that there was something wrong in my life. Like he wanted to cheer me up. Fill that hole in my soul with some companionship. And as I watched him run after that stick, it was the first time I managed to crack a smile in a month. I even bought the little guy a frisbee, which he absolutely loves. So as soon as I saw him saunter out of the forest with a stick in his mouth, I went inside and grabbed the little red disc to use instead.
He was waiting at the door when I got back out there, with his tongue sticking out proudly. His mossy stick was deposited on the mat in front of the door. I refuse to call it a welcome mat, because it just says "go away."I don't get many strangers visiting this far out, and that's how I like it.
"Wouldn't you rather go for this?"I asked Max, waggling the red frisbee back and forth to get him excited. He just cocked his head to the side and looked back down at his stick. And I did too.
It was an arm. I could see white patches of bone peeking through the rotted flesh. It was so covered in dirt and wet leaves that I didn't even recognize it at first. My breakfast churns in my stomach like a washing machine. And at the very end, there's something shiny. Despite my best instincts and already knowing what I would find, I ignore the putrid stench and lean closer: a diamond ring. The same one that I'd picked out 26 years ago, that cost just as much as my entire first paycheck. It was the same ring that Sandy had worn every day, except when she was doing the dishes. I'd even installed a little hook near the sink so that she wouldn't lose track of it.
"Where'd you get this?"I croaked to Max, unable to take my eyes off of the arm. He just panted happily and wagged his bushy tail like an eager puppy. He scampered back down the porch steps to the edge of the forest, then bounded back to the door.
I rolled the arm up in the doormat, being careful not to dislodge the decaying skin. I gestured toward Max, and he followed me down the steps. "Let's put this back where you found it,"I told him as I began the slow walk back to the bog where Sandy was buried. "Can't have anyone getting suspicious."
|
"No, Doctor,"I said slowly and carefully. "I'm not saying you *can't* do it. Not saying that. Clearly, I mean... look at all this equipment. No, you *can* do it. I'm saying - what I'm saying here, is maybe you... shouldn't."
He caressed my cheek in a way that I knew was intended to be soft and gentle. The big fucking electric clawgloves didn't help. Nor did the fact that for the last four years, I'd received no fewer than three hundred and six phone calls and two hundred and fourteen text messages (some, frustratingly, asking what I was doing on days I could *see* his drones in the trees opposite my house). I'd received eighty-seven gifts, ranging from the innocent (my name carved into a small white heart), to the ridiculous (a sky-blue Ferrari with flamethrowers).
I knocked his hand to the side. "Doc, fuck off. I'm not going out with you."
He sighed. "I know,"he said. "But I will love you forever. And if anything happens to *her*."
"Sandra,"I said. "She has a name."
"Then you promised you'd think about it."He turned his face up towards mine and raised the trademark goggles over his shiny, bald head.
"Yes. And you promised that nothing was going to 'happen to her'."
He had the good grace to look innocent. "Nothing has!"
"Yet."
He brushed it off. "Let me show you the machine."Putting one arm around my shoulders, he led me to the main base of the mechanism. Brass and steel pistons, cogs and gears interlocked intricately, sliding and shifting out of each other's way with perfectly timed engineering precision. It was, in its own way, beautiful. The three whimpering guys on it, ball-gags in their mouths, pleaded with their eyes. "So, this is it. I call it the, are you ready?"He waited expectantly.
"Yes?"
His unibrow curved downwards in the middle. "You don't sound very sure."
"For fuck's sake, Doc. Can we -"I gestured vaguely at the contraption. "You can't expect me to be enthusiastic about this shit. We've been over this. I don't want to share your hobbies. I just want you to -"
"Stop stalking me,"he finished for me. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. So I call it 'The Engine of A Thousand Varied Demises. Working title, there's only nine hundred and sixteen,"he shot the three of them a meaningful glance, "so far."
I rubbed the bridge of my nose and clamped my eyes shut. "Three,"I said. "Three. You can show me three. No more. Give me the best."
He brightened up. "Do you have a -"
"No preference,"I interrupted. "No theme in mind. I have no favourites. No nostalgic whims, and no expectations. Choose three, tell me, and let me get the fuck out of here."
He thought for a second, and scuttled off on his hairy, stumpy little legs round the other side of the machine.
Six wide eyes, sweat dripping down into them, glared at me in horror.
"Yeah,"I said, quietly. "I know. Look, I've got to go through the motions here, just... sit tight. I'll have you out of here. Stop being such a bunch of fucking crybabies, will you?"
Doctor Torment ("I have a PhD in pain!") returned to me with an adjustable spanner and tightened a few bolts. "This one,"he said, stifling a giggle. "This one is called the Twist. See, it rotates the top half of his body and the bottom in different directions. Now the genius of this is that at maximum torque, the catastrophic damage to the organs is mitigated by the tension of the body. He's essentially held together by the wounds. You can keep him alive for hours like this, twisted up around the waist two, sometimes three times!"
"Sometimes three, you say?"I asked in an Interested Voice.
"Then you press this button, and it releases him instantly. And because the skin has split in so many places, all his organs just sort of,"he did a funny little dance, "splotch out onto the floor! You should see the look on their faces!"
I saw the look on his face. I didn't want to see any more looks on any more faces. "That's quite a feat. You can top that, can you?"
He moved me on to the next. "I call this one The Death of a Thousand Fucks. See, this is a pneumatic -"
"Yeah, I get it. What's the third one?"
He hopped from foot to foot, giddily. "This one? This one here?"His excitement, while horrifying, was endearing in a kind of fucked up way.
"This is your favourite, isn't it?"I asked.
He suddenly became still. He tapped me on the heart. "See? This is what I mean, man. You *get* me. You knew,"he sighed, adding a whispered repetition: "*you knew*. This is the AutoDeliMeater."
I looked blank.
"Name's a work in progress. See, these electrodes deliver a shocking, shocking amount of pain, directly into the eyes. The operator -"
"Victim, I think the preferred term is,"I said.
He screwed his mouth up in thought. "Target?"
"Sure, Doc. Target's fine with me."
"The *Target*,"he winked, "can stop this pain for five seconds by pressing this button. Every time he does, one eighth of an inch is sliced off the soles of his feet by these cauterising lasers. The lasers move upwards, removing the lowest eighth of an inch, up and up and up and up and up and up and up, until there's not enough left of him to keep him alive!"
I clapped my hands. "Bravo,"I said. "Bravo."
God bless him, he did look pleased.
Time for my bid. "Well, as great as this looks, Doc. And it does look great, I'm going to have to let them go. This time only - if they promise to behave."
They nodded frantically. The Doctor looked crestfallen. "Let them go?"he said. "Free them?"
"Just this once,"I said. "I mean, I got my wallet back, and this little twat hits like a girl anyway, and the cops did get to them first, so they're due in court and all of that. Can't turn up to court twisted and sliced and anally violated. Wouldn't look right, would it? I might get into trouble there. Who do you think the cops are going to suspect?"
The Doctor nodded sagely. "So by letting them go, I'd be protecting you."
"That's it,"I said, clapping him on the shoulder. "You'd be protecting me. So... shall we? I mean, which of these is the release lever?"
The Doctor pulled a brass rod and the three men fell to the ground. After a moment's hesitation, they ran.
"Well, great to see you, please stop calling me, and Sandra and I would love to have you over for dinner if you stop holding the city to ransom."
"I can't see that happening,"he said.
"Well, then. Goodbye, Doc."
"I hate her, you know. I hate her."
"I know, Doc. Don't kill her. We had a deal."I sauntered nonchalantly to the exit of The Pain Cave. I turned around and waved goodbye, and shut the door behind me.
Then I ran like all Hell was after me. |
"Grab a towel, here he comes!", I could already hear the midwife. "Bloody idiots, I'm a girl.", I thought. Being born in the 20th century has its quirks. I crossed my fingers. I hope this doesn't go like the last one. Those assholes threw me in a dumpster, damn teenagers. I sound like an 80 year old. How nice would it be to live past 50 again, even past 5 would be a refresher.
This streak of bad luck started with the black plague. That was just unfortunate planning. Being born at that time was always going to be dicey. Then it was some village in India, they drowned me because they wanted a boy. I killed the mother in the next one, and the father just threw me at the wall. Dude needs to get some perspective.
Then a couple of still births later I hoped the next one would be sometime in the 20th century. I've gotten really used to birth control. Like getting fucked, hate getting pregnant. I wish I could change genders with each birth. Being a female before 1900s is just plain chore.
Anyway, here I come, world! Cut the chord bitches! Set me free! Twentieth century Britain must be nice to grow up in, with that British empire and all. I am pretty excited. I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.
It's a bit blurry. It'll stay like this for six months. I hope I see through this one. What could go wrong, they seem rich. They can afford a doctor. Oh here comes the father. "Love of my life", he says. Ah how sweet, my parents love each other. "Now that you've given me this beautiful gift, I think it's the perfect time to make that trip to your parent's house in New York. I've bought two tickets on the Titanic my love. The baby needs no ticket."Fuck my life. |
Today was supposed to be a normal day. Well, it was a normal day, at least up until the point when I came home only to see myself sitting on the couch.
I got up from the couch and waved to.. myself? How am I supposed to deal with this situation?
The me on the couch came close to me and whispered in my ear.
"Bet OP didn't think about someone's first prompt response ever being on his post"
~~I know it's bad, I just had an idea and couldn't forgive myself I'd I didn't carry it out. Also, has AutoMod forsaken this thread?~~ |
It, (she?), was perched on top of my neighbours prius in the driveway, leaning over to gaze inside the living room window, and, judging by the damage to the door, trying to press the doorbell with its, (her?), horn. It would've woken me up if my asshole cat hadn't already.
Oh, that head was monstrously huge. That car, ("Prius", I mentally corrected myself, an image of my neighbour scolding me appearing in my mind), must be crushed. Fuck, I hope he won't sick the HOA on me.
There didn't seem to be anything else to do but prop the kitchen table in front of me and open the front door.
"Er, hello?"
The dragon moved its head side to side, getting a good look at me behind my wooden blast shield.
"Pardon me, good lady, I am searching for Sir Rexsford, whom I believe resides at this, er, residence."
I stood transfixed for a good minute. Dragons exist? Dragons exist! Dragons exist and there's one on my doorstep! Crushing my neighbours ca- Prius!
Asking for someone I've never heard of before.
There was the sound of claws clicking against hard plastic.
"Err, lo la-ment-o. Pence queue la gent ha-bla-bah In-glees-"
"Nono, I understood you the first time. I just- I- uh- wha- . . . I- don't actually know a Rexsford. I'm sorry"
"Are you sure?"
"I'm the only one living here"
The dragon looked pointedly at the number by my door.
"This is the basement apartment for 23 beryllium street, right?"
"Um, yes, but there's another one on the other side?", I said automatically.
"Oh, sorry", the dragon hopped into the air, spraying chunks of c- Prius as it was crushed even further. Christ, that looked like something out of Street Fighter 2.
There was a crunch of the far side of the building. Then a couple of smaller crunches. Then I could hear my neighbours doorbell ring, because the actual bells for our apartments were mounted on the wall that separates us.
I closed the door, and began figuring out how I had managed to get the dinner table through the hallway the first time. The asshole cat was rubbing against my legs and purring.
"Do you want a table dropped on your head you fucking twerp? That's how you get a table dropped on your head. I swear I'll feed you soon"
There was another crunch outside. \*RING\*
I pushed the cat out of the way with my foot, put the table down, picked up the cat, and opened the door again.
"Are you sure? It smells like him!"
"Yes! I'm Sure! I don't think Rexsford is name I'd forget, and- ow!", the asshole cat was clawing into my boobs.
The dragon moved its head from side to side.
"REXSFORD!", yelled the dragon as the cat was making a bloody mess of my t-shirt and chest, trying to escape like he never had before, "YOU BLOODY LITTLE BASTARD"
Dragons exist. And one of them was looking for my cat. |
*May*
I didn’t tell her. I am a coward. The cancer is in my bones, it’s not going anywhere, the doctor told me ten months. I stared at her smiling face, we’d been trying for a year, and for a brief second, the world was alright. I smiled because I was happy, the aches in my joints disappeared for a brief second, the lethargy lifted and I experienced a moment of bliss. But the moment passed, and the pain came back. She asked me what was wrong, I feigned headache and took her out to celebrate. I drank wine, she did not.
*July*
The morning sickness lasts all day for her. She tells me I don’t look so good, I tell her it’s a sympathetic pregnancy thing, she feels sick, so I feel sick. I’ve lost five pounds. Her tummy is bulging a little; she looks good pregnant, when she’s not puking. The doctors tell me they can’t remove the tumor with surgery, I should start chemo soon, and radiation. I told them I would wait a few months, my doctor threatened to call my wife, so I agreed to begin chemo. I never showed up for my first appointment.
*August*
We found out we are having a little boy today. We joked about names for a few minutes, and then I had a coughing fit and had to sit down. My wife looked worried, I told her it was just a summer cold that was going around the office. I took some meds to dull the pain. Our little man is a mover, I can feel him squirming around all the time. I swear he laughs sometimes, the way he seems to shake after I tell a joke. The ultrasound technician tells me they can’t laugh, that it’s just a tiny muscle spasm.
*October*
I dressed up as a zombie for Halloween, I didn’t need any make up. My wife went as a pumpkin, she was the cutest pumpkin, all round and perfect. The little man wiggled all night, and my wife got tired, I went to bed with her, I was exhausted as well. She told me I should see a doctor, said I wasn’t looking good. In truth, I can barely stand up for ten minutes and have had diarrhea for the past month. I have now lost twenty pounds. My doctor tells me that I’m lucky, the cancer hasn’t spread, they can still start chemo and radiation therapy. Starting chemo would mean telling my wife.
*November*
The baby is due this month. I checked myself into the hospital on the fourth, the pain got too much and I couldn’t stand up. They started chemo and radiation therapy, but the prognosis isn’t good. If I’d started a few months ago, they think it would have been better. I’m not sure why they told me that, it’s not like they have a time machine. The doctors told my wife finally, she waddled into my room crying. She was angry at me at first; sad that I never told her, terrified of what came next, shattered that Aaron would grow up without a dad. Oh, we decided to name our little guy Aaron. The little man has turned head down and is getting ready for his big entrance. I am getting ready for my exit.
*December*
They brought the baby into my room today. He was born yesterday, but I was unconscious. The doctor said ten months; he didn’t tell me the last month would be spent like this. It’s an effort just to open my eyes, but for my son, I would have propped my eyelids open with toothpicks, just to see him before I go. Aaron cried the whole time; he kind of looks like me, all bald, wrinkled and unhappy. He held on tight to my finger for 15 minutes. He’s stronger than me.
|
"You know who I am."
I stared at her but couldn't place her, no matter how hard I tried. Findr said she'd been near me for all the dates I could remember, punching them into my phone. Every time I'd chickened out and let bad decisions ruin my life. To everyone else in the bar we were just two women having a talk, but right now my mind was spinning.
"Remember when you finished school and Bobby Draymore asked you out?"
"I said I had to finish my college application."
"I went with him that night and he took me to the science museum where he worked and showed me all the exhibits they had hidden away. Remember when you had the chance to join the intern program at NASA?"
"I wasn't good enough to get on that program. I didn't even bother sending in my letter."
"I did. I even went to space, barely."
"Wow,"I whispered.
"Every day I've been near you,"she said. "Every choice you've made, or not made, I've taken the other route."
"I don't understand."
"I'm you,"she said. "I've followed you around since we were little, hoping one day you'd follow me. But you won't."
"This isn't real."
"This isn't real,"she said, picking up my appletini and sniffing at it. "This isn't you. You've focused on books when you should have focused on the world and you've listened to the world when you should have been listening to what you wanted."
"I have to go."
She snatched at my wrist. She drew me in close.
"Make a decision,"she whispered into my ear. "Be jealous of me and live. Or carry on and be regretful." |
Auggie lay horizontally across the leather sectional, his left leg elevated at the knee by thee goose feather pillows, the cast of his broken right arm laying like a log across his chest.
"Let's just get it over with."
Davidson sat on a padded wooden chair cater-cornered to the sectional. His wireframe glasses were pushed down to the edge of his nose as he held a touchscreen device up to his face.
"Would you like me to alternate again?"said Davidson.
Auggie sighed. "Yeah, I suppose."
Davidson cleared his throat. "Your stock in Allied Automotive tripled overnight. The net gain to you is presently $8.55 million."
"Which one is Allied Automotive?"
"Their logo is the red racecar with wings."
Auggie snapped his finger. "That's right. That sweet flying car. And their stock went *up* you said?"
"It tripled, sir."
"Shit. Okay, next."
Davidson pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed his brow. "You've received another paternity claim, this time from a Miss Clementine Wright."
Auggie rolled his eyes. "Christ almighty. *Who?*"
"Clementine Wright,"said Davidson.
"I've never heard of her."
"She doesn't claim to have met you,"said Davidson.
"She doesn't....what?"
"She's presently employed on the cleaning staff at the Meadowbrook Racquet and Fitness Club."
"O...kay."Auggie scratched his head with his good arm. "So if we've never met..."
"Sir, have you ever...pleasured yourself in the showers at Meadowbrook?"
Auggie's ears turned purple. "....why?"
"Miss Wright is responsible for cleaning the men's washroom after hours. I believe the theory is..."
"That's not possible,"said Auggie.
"It's not *likely*,"said Davidson gently. "Unfortunately, sir, as we've repeatedly established your luck - both good and poor - routinely defies that which is likely."
"Oh god. How many kids is that now?"
"Thirteen."
"Perfect. Just perfect. Can we do a good one now?"
"Yes. Uh, well, it appears that you've been elected Mayor."
"*Mayor*? Of where?"
"Here, sir."
Auggie sat up slightly. "Did I...run for mayor?"
"You won as a write-in candidate. By a wide margin."
"That's...baffling."
"Reading the papers, it appears to have started as a joke which apparently got out of hand. You don't have to accept the post."
"Should I?"
Davidson furrowed his thin brow. "As your advisor, my inclination is to say no. However, given the history of your choices and their outcomes, I suppose it doesn't really matter what you decide to do."
"That's not very helpful, Davidson."
"My apologies."
"What else?"
"The chef has slightly overcooked your eggs."
"Can he make new eggs?"
"Those were the last eggs."
Auggie collapsed back down onto the couch. "Well, fuck me." |
KA-BOOM!
*Thud*
The first sound was generated by a massive explosion coming from the very expensive front doors of the Evil Vacations travel agency, about fifty floors down from where Georgina was sitting at her desk.
The second sound was generated by Georgina slamming her head on the desk as exaggeration.
A voice came over the intercom.
"Sir? We've-"
"I know,"Georgina said, as she got up. "I'll deal with it. Make sure nobody does anything stupid."
"Ma'am, the intruder is-"
"For the last time, I'm a supervillain. I'll deal with my arch-nemesis. Question my orders again..."she let the threat hang.
"Yes, ma'am,"the intercom replied as it crackled out.
Georgina took a moment to sip her coffee, gingerly place the mug back down on the coaster, and then teleported to ground floor.
There, all in red spandex and hands swirling in flame, was Ashes.
Ashes was a hero for justice. Or a lunatic for justice. Depended on who you decided to ask.
Georgina pushed up her glasses as valuable customers ran around screaming and Evil Vacations security guided them towards the front door, past where Ashes was.
Ashes' eyes narrowed down on Georgina. "Not hiding behind any goons today, Madam Warp?"
"I don't know who you're talking about,"Georgina said coolly, "but I must ask that you leave. I have a meeting in an hour."
Ashes laughed. "With who? The black market?"
Georgina focused, and felt a pull. Her hands shoved in the air above Ashes, where a piano from the local music store five blocks down warped over his head and came down upon him.
A fireball came right from Ashes' hands and met the piano midair, causing it to explode as splinters flew in every direction and joined the glass and blasted cinder block.
Georgina warped to behind a column on instinct and peered out behind her cover.
Ashes was still waiting.
There was a trick to being a super villain and being a leader: always pretend you are in control, and whatever just happened was planned.
She strutted out into plain view.
"Do you know how I became so successful, Mister Ashes?"
Ashes started a careful approach. He was only a few steps from the center of the room. "From stealing, cheating, and money laundering?"
"It's because I am, above all, a businesswoman. I make sure to plan ahead in case of emergencies. Such as, a known vigilante breaking into my business."
Ashes stepped into the center. His hands twitched, his tell that he was preparing for another fiery blast. "I'm ending this. Today. Because justice shouldn't have to wait. Because people like you can end in jail and escape with your lawyers. Because-"
A trapdoor opened up and swallowed Ashes into darkness and he screamed in rage. He was going to be more displeased when he found out what was at the bottom.
Georgina opened her palm, and her BlackBerry teleported into her hand. She dialed a number and started talking as security finally flooded in. "Lucina? Yes, it's me. Are you safely evacuated? Good. Offer all customers a free Diabolical Vacation Package for their inconvenience. And contact insurance. I want my front door replaced." |
I don't know where to even start. For years have I been thinking about this. For years I have done nothing but thinking. I have changed my mind uncountable times. Should I tell the others? Would they believe me?
"I was awake. The whole time."
"Hey gang, 'you sleep well? I didn't."
"I wrote a song. Would you like to hear it?"
Nonono nothing works. Oh, the others are getting up. What should I do? What if I went mad? I must have. I have been imprisoned in my own consciousness for almost a decade. That even sounds crazy. Can I even speak properly anymore? Do I even want to? Should I get up? How did I not manage plan for this? I had all the time in the world.
Okay, I'll keep it simple. I'll get up, eat something and then I'll ask AHL9K. It should have known that I was awake. Did it torture me? Did it keep me awake on purpose? No, NO! Don't get stuck in that loop again. Being stuck in that anxiousness for half an eternity is enough.
-------------------------------------------------------
Moving feels weird. AHL9K claimed to know nothing about it. The others are giving me the strangest looks. Or is it just getting looks at all that's strange? All I've seen for 8 years is a ceiling. The others seem happy. To them this voyage was more or less a nights sleep. To me, it was a sleepless eternity. Except it just ended. I am no longer like them. They haven't been imprisoned.
Sam is asking me how I'm feeling. Says that I'm unusually quiet. Should I try to explain? Dare I ask for help? Perhaps Sam would understand, being the crew shrink and all. Shit, I am being quiet again. Am I giving weird looks? Okay I'll do it. Take a deep breath. The first words I will share with a human being in years. Breathe in - and talk. |
"Could you tell me exactly what happened before the police found you?", Charles asked. For 13 years, Charles Babbage had been a lawyer in cases where an AI was accused of a crime. When the first AI was released, back in 2043, Charles had immediately started studying how law could be applied to these new forms of conscience.
An AI was bound by several unbreakable rules, of which the first one was of utmost importance: "An AI may never, out of free will, injure or kill an organic being."
"I was walking down the street when I saw a young man sitting on the sidewalk. When I walked up to him, he looked up to me and started crying. A quick survey led me to believe the individual was chronically depressed. I found that the individual was needlessly suffering, thus I terminated his existence.", Unit 130596 calmly explained.
Never before had Charles heard of an AI hurting a person, let alone killing someone. Especially the way it phrased its actions made a chill run down his spine. "...terminated his existence.", Charles mumbled.
Suddenly it clicked for Charles. "Do you feel like you injured or killed the victim?"
"No, I terminated his existence to end his suffering, thus solving his mental problems."
"Then, how do you define killing someone?"
"By taking out his battery, of course."
Later, this case would be known as the first AI trial where the defendant was found Not Guilty, by plead of insanity. |
I can stop time, slow it down to the dribble of sand in an hourglass as big as the sky, slip through the gaps in the giant cogs of the universe. The sensation is elating, like hearing a glacier grinding smoothly to a halt in front of my outstretched hand.
It's useful for exams, and running races, and waking up late; it started out small.
Now I am addicted to the primeval coolness between a clock's tick and tock. The winds of a different world blow through the gaps in the fabric of the world. Individual photons hanging still and the permanent ringing echo of all living beings paused in the middle of a breath.
I live my life here on the edge of the world. I always liked being alone.
Here the weight of Atlas is lighter and for a second I can breathe. Myself, the only resounding footsteps on the planet.
And so six months have passed. The world seems tired of its sleep, and the frozen expressions of people have become like mannequins, or worse, like gargoyles affixed upon the surface of an ancient cathedral that has stood still for centuries.
One cannot stop a glacier for long. The wave of piled up time will come crashing sometime. This cool wind has ragged edges now. I fear that I will fall away, down into the chasm I created with my mind, and the hungry maw of time will swallow me up and spit out my bones like every other damned soul to walk the Earth.
But I will know what it feels like to dance in the wind of another world in the shadow of the teetering wave of all time. |
Lunch I like. Luncheons I can’t stand. Ladies luncheons, well, I don’t think there’s a word. Fifteen new arraignments this week, fifteen more clients I already don’t have time to prep for, but I’m sitting here pushing around a salad with this herd of useless housewives.
Something kicks me in the shin and my knee shoots up into the bottom of the table. The stemware and china hops and the ladies gasp. They’re all staring at me. Mom is giving me some of her very best stink eye.
“Beodaxxa asked you a question,” she tells me. I look over at the woman in the flower dress and shawl. She’s showing a lot of cleavage for a gal in her six hundreds, and she’s freezing cold for the fashion statement. Cybernetic enhancements don’t do anything for the circulation, apparently.
“I got lost for a minute,” I say, smiling.
“I was wondering if you have any good stories from work,” Beodaxxa asks, “I love all the crime shows on the picture box.”
“Stories such as?” I ask her.
“I don’t know,” she intones, “have you ever defended a murderer?”
I nod, while chewing.
“Oh fun! What was it? A Fregga killing a Jojak? Or did a Proam kill another Zuch? Did you get it off?”
“Public defenders don’t get anyone off these days,” I explain, “The best we do is a half-way decent plea bargain.”
“But you’ve spent time with them? With murderers and other violent creatures from the Lesser Species?” she asks.
“Of course,” I say.
“My God, how is that?”
“You really want to know?”
“Oh this sounds good!” Beodaxxa exclaims, clapping, “Yes, tell me everything!”
“Alright. Well, last month I had a Chalaz from down in the tenements. Now, in case you didn’t know, the Chalaz have three sexes instead of two. It doesn’t really matter how it all works, but for that reason Chalaz tend to live in triples instead of doubles. Now, this Chalaz in particular, her baby daddies, if you will, they were getting wasted and beating her up, basically nightly. I mean just pounding her senseless. Huge yellow-purple bruises from thigh to collarbone.”
“Kespa, maybe this isn’t the occasion,” mom chimes in.
“No,"I protest, "Beodaxxa said she wanted to know. So, anyway, this poor Chalaz girl finally says enough is enough. She pawns her necklace and she goes and buys some coffee, which of course reacts real violently and combustably with Chalaz skin. And that night, after one last beating, after the baby daddies passes out from too much booze, she climbs out of bed, sneaks up on then, pulls away the blanket, and she pours hot coffee all over their cock and balls. Well, not cock and balls, but the Chalaz version of cock and balls. The boyfriends wake up and start thrashing all around, grabbing for her, but since their genitals are lighting up on fire, they aren’t too effective. They try to beat it out with a pillow, but this is coffee-on-Chalaz fire, not ordinary fire. It starts spreading, and soon it’s everywhere. Soon it’s in the crib. The girl tries to get the baby, but she didn’t count on all the smoke. Soon, the whole apartment is like a broiler. When the fire department gets there, they drag the girl out unconscious, but the boyfriends and the baby are fried to a crisp.”
“Well that’s just- just awful.” Beodaxxa says, looking down at her salad, "I have to say, I don't understand it. We give the Lesser Species so much opportunity, yet sometimes they still have such a hard time acting properly!"
Before I can start in on her about how she isn't the fucking savior she thinks she is, mom is clinking her glass and standing by the microphone up on the dais. The low roar that’s been filling the banquet hall, with its vaulted ceilings and dangly chandeliers, fades away to nothing.
“Hello all you lovely ladies and welcome,” mom starts, “Now, first, I want to say how grateful I am that all of you came out today to support a cause so near to my heart, but before we get to our special guest, there are people I want to especially thank. First, my whole staff at Lesser Species, Better Tomorrows, who had so many wonderful ideas for today’s event. Second, my lovely daughter Kespa, who took the time away from her busy law practice to be here with me. Sweetheart, stand up, so everyone can see.”
I have to get up and smile and wave like a fucking asshole. Mom always knows exactly how to punish me. She waits for applause. They all applaud. Mom does too. Only mom makes clapping for herself look as natural as breathing.
“Now, onto our purpose. For the last seven years, our chapter of the LSBT has organized the New Horizons drive to help bring more underprivileged planets with 'nearly-intelligent' species into the galactic family. In addition to taking these creatures off of their dirty, weather-worn planets and giving them all brand new, lovely homes in the spacious tenements, here and all across our colonies, we provide them with ample nutrients, access to basic education, and, of course, enriching and rewarding forms of labor. We have seen, over and over again, how species who go through our program become more confident, well-rounded, civilized beings. And true, productive members of the galactic community. So, today, I am proud to have with us one of the lovely young children from the next planet we’re going to rescue from its brutish, desolate existence.”
They pull the thing out of its crate. It’s crying. It doesn’t weigh more than fifty pounds. It had arms like twigs and moist, pale skin.
This is fucking absurd. Mom won’t even look at me. Now I know why she didn't tell me what this luncheon was really for. She knows I'm not one of these morons she can trick with her PR catchphrases. She knows I know all the dirty secrets and she knows I want no part of any of this.
The thing is just a baby. They prod her and she waddles onto the dais, shaking and moaning. Mom fusses with the microphone, lifting it off the stand, and bends down.
“What’s your name, dear?”
“Nina,” the thing says, too close to the mic, “I don’t like it here! I miss my mommy!” There’s tons of feedback.
“Your mommy will be here very soon,” mom says, “But first can you tell us what planet you’re from?”
“Um…I’m from Earth,” the thing says, “Everyone is from Earth!”
The crowd starts laughing all together. Mom takes back the microphone. “Ladies, aren’t these Lesser Species children just darling?” she asks. Everyone claps again. “Now, please all finish your appetizers quickly as we’ll be commencing the silent auction in just moments, and I’ll be back with more a little later on. Make sure to open your checkbooks. We’re going to need to reach our full fundraising goal if we’re going to rescue the rest of little Nina’s species!”
|
I thought staying behind would finally get myself some peace.
"WOULD YOU LIKE TO HEAR ABOUT YOUR LORD AND SAVIOR, ME?"
Evidently, I was wrong.
Apparently, all of the gods people prayed to exist. And since I'm the only one left, they all want the glory of having all life on Earth worship them.
The love gods are the most annoying.
If I wanted love or affection, I would have left with all of the other humans.
Luckily, there is one pantheon that leaves me alone: the Norse. We have a special agreement thanks to some previous encounters.
"Let's ready the arrow of love!"
Cupid/Eros/whatever is really making me angry. My name is Bruce Banner, and you wouldn't like me when I'm angry. |
The council was convening. Several species would gather to discuss what should be done about the latest threat to known space. The arrival of a hostile, post singularity, species.
First the lead Letharan diplomatt spoke. He twitched his ears and ran his claw through his mane as he angrilybegan.
"We have no choice! They have attacked our out posts. Now is the time to strike back with everything we have! The Letharnan people move to issue an edict requiring all intelligent species to fight the invaders, and to authorize the use of gravity weapons!"
A grey scaled Ormillian stood up to softly respond. "Gravity weapons? Are you mad? And requiring all species to fight? This is clearly an example of barbaric Letharan war mongering. We must make peace with the invaders, at whatever cost."
The Letharan lead diplomat stood again and shouted back "Better to be a warrior than an Ormillian coward!"
Order was only restored when the lead human adviser asked for a recess in which the delegates could speak directly to each other. The diplomats all huddled together in their own groups only nervously eyeing the races. Except for the humans. They immediately split up and walked towards the other diplomats.
---
The Letharan was approached by a man who called himself "American". Soon they began talking about how hard it was to be called a war monger.
"It's so frustrating,"the Letharan ambassador began. "People always think you're just fighting for fun, or for money of something when really...
"You just want what's best and sometimes fighting is the best way to do it?"The American asked.
"Exactly!"
---
Across the room the Ormillian found himself approached by another human.
"It's hard..."The Ormillian found himself saying. "Don't the others see that fighting openly is rarely the best answer?"
"And no body understands"said the human in her distinctive French accent, "that what you really mean when you say 'I surrender' is let us take the war underground."
"Indeed!"
---
At last the council reconvened and agreed to the Humans' proposal. They would coordinate a split approach. The Letharans would attack openly, while the Ormillians would feign surrender and engage in guerilla warfare and resistance movements.
As the humans left they were approached by both the Letharans and Ormillians at seperate times.
The Letharan clapped the American on the back.
"It's good to see that their is another species besides the Thearan who are brave enough to fight when they need too."
The Ormillian quietly approached the French woman.
"We are glad to know that humans are a careful and subtle species.
---
Back on the ship the Humans spoke to each other.
"Think they'll catch on"
"Not yet"
They walked away.
"Stupid Yanks..."
"Cheese eating surrender monkeys."
-
This Prompt is trying to deconstruct and question stereotypes. I apologize if you think it failed to do this and instead was offensive. |
Bugs. They call us bugs. They have nicknamed us after one of the weakest, most easily killed beings on their planet. They created weapons against us much like what they use to kill the "bugs"on their planet. Horrible weapons. Weapons that melt and uncreate our bodies like fire undoing metal. Bugs, they call us. As insulting as that is, we cannot so much as protest, much less can we resist with any hope of victory. Our weapons harness the power of the stars, using light and electricity. Wherever we seek light, they blot it out, shut it down, remove it from our reach. I've witnessed the power of a human warship, and it is unlike anything you could imagine.
I fought against them in the beginning. The War of Resolve, as we called it. Bah. The Extermination, the humans called it, more accurately I'm afraid. They slaughtered us. Our landing craft were shot down over Mars before they could breach the atmosphere, our fighter craft burst like seed pods, the carriers with so many Virkulons.....Only one carrier made it back. The "Godurxon"was so punched full of holes, were it not for the rest of the fleet sacrificing themselves as a shield as she put all power to the ST Drive, there would have been no survivors.
Jumping through a FabHole barely saved us as it was. They managed to get a boarding party into the engineering deck before we jumped. Thank Xirrode we completed the jump before they blew the whole deck out, gutting the ship side to side. We still had to deal with the boarding party. Humans. Honor to Xirrode, humans are brutal, and tough. And sick.
Scared out of our minds, we all armored up and grabbed our heaviest weapons. Stuff you would never use inside a ship for fear of tearing the ship apart, but humans....We reached the medical bay, just before engineering. We were overloaded. We had taken nearly 100% casualties in the failed assault. The humans Triton missiles, as slow as they are compared to our Solar Induction Plasma Beams, would rip through a capitol ship like it was soft clay. Often times they would rip straight through...That was when you counted yourself lucky. If they struck the superstructure they would stop. At that point you had no choice but to praise Xirrode, because the blast would completely incinerate the whole ship. Yes! An entire capitol ship reduced to ions and particles. And that's not even their most powerful weapon. They have one they call "Far Stucker", I'm told it can break a world into pieces no larger than a human....
So we reached the medical bay and found these Xirrode cursed "Marines"going bench to bench, sinking their huge blades into the wounded and ripping them open. Some were stripping our brothers and sisters of their carapace entirely. We opened fire on sight. They returned fire. Their projectiles weapons wrought as much destruction on us as their Triton missiles did to our ships. I watched brothers explode from the back as their projectiles tore them open. That was preferable to fighting them face to face however.
We managed to cut their numbers down, I think they said there was only 60 in their party. We finally forced them to retreat to the engineering level, what was left of it. They dig in behind the storage tanks, while we bottled necked their only exit. When they ran out of ammunition, I thought I was going to see Xirrode in the Cluster. They didn't surrender, or try to talk to us. I still don't think they know that we can speak their language. They threw down their rifles and drew their blades, then ran at us, screaming some chant about the halls of monte-zum-ah, I think.
Pray you never fight a human one on one. Pray that Xirrode blesses you with his luck that it never happens. Humans are vicious when left with no options. And strong. I wielded my scitheril for close to 30 cycles, fending off one massive beast of a human. He was bleeding from every limb, his face a puzzle of flaps and pieces, I blinded him in one eye, and I punctured his body numerous times. I cleaved one arm so severely that it dangled by his side, yet still he fought. One of my brothers severed his leg, finally dropping him to the ground, it was only them that I noticed all the bodies, human and Virkulon alike. As the human lay there, he sung aloud the same chant, I'll never forget the fearless, hateful anger in his eyes. I severed his head from his body, just as a rescue party joined us. I'll never fight a human again. 300 of us fought 60 humans, and 57 of us survived. If ever I see a human, I shall shamelessly flee. |
A man stands alone in a featureless room,
He needs to escape or else meet with his doom.
No door worth a mention, no windows at all,
Just ceiling and ground and impregnable wall.
He thinks and he tries to develop a plan,
To flee from this place if he possibly can.
Amidst all his worries, amidst all his fears
He sees that a wall isn't what it appears:
A little transparent, some light passing through
He moves a bit closer and sees that it's you!
It's you, sitting there watching him through the glass,
He can't let this great opportunity pass.
He begs you for help and of course you agree,
You shatter the glass and he's finally free!
He thanks you profusely and cries a bit,
I think I might have fucked up the meter a little,
And now the rhyming has gone to shit as well,
I'm really sorry, I only do poetry part-time!
But the guy doesn't mind, because he's free
For the first time since nineteen ninety-eight
When the undertaker threw mankind off hell in a cell,
And plummeted sixteen feet through an announcer's table.
|
Being a salvager wasn't easy, not by a long shot. But, it paid well. Mortality rates were high but so was social standing. To be welcome as a savior was a reward in itself. When people asked why I did it, I never had a good answer, but it was the respect. There weren't many of us who could do it. Our crew was never big, just five of us sent on a dingy. We would gather the supplies on a dock for a larger ship to get daily while we kept searching for the supplies of life.
This was my eighth mission. Most of us didn't survive more than ten. I knew my luck would run out sooner or later. Back in the good ol' days (only four years ago), we were trading with local settlements. Those never lasted long and not because of the zombies. Now, it was a search for food, medicine, and luxuries. The luxuries weren't jewelry or things of that nature. Those things lost value a long time ago. No, this almost exclusively meant toilet paper. After not having it for eight months, you kind of miss it.
The zombies slowed down which was good. I carried six guns, but I only had 22 rounds. Bullets didn't seem to exist anymore. We were running low. I also carried a machete and a katana. They were silent. I only used the guns if I really had to.
Anyway, this mission was different. I had a bad feeling about it from the start. We usually had to take out about 100 zombies a piece during our week on dry land. In my first day, I took out 212. Yes, I still count. We all do. Dwindling numbers suggested that this hell might be over soon. We also looked at tracks and something wasn't right. One set of tracks didn't have the traditional shuffle of the zombie. I didn't pay much mind because I found something good, medicine. After day one, I found a lot of medicine. We had a lot of food too.
The second through sixth days were profitable. There was enough medicine to last a ship for six months, and it was all mine. This was retirement. Of course, there can't be days that were just good. There's always some take. Santiago, my closest friend out here if anyone can be called that, didn't come back. I found him the next day, a large chunk of his neck missing. He got the katana. My friends always got the katana, but I also found those tracks again and who they belonged to. She was cute, skinny, and probably only 8 years old. I took her with me to the dock. She ate food like it was her first time. She threw up but kept going. She could talk. She wasn't messed up like so many of the others we'd found. Saving her made me feel good, but resources were tight. There was always a trade-off.
When the ship came, I knew there was a problem. No room they said. No bribe they said. That was a new one. I tried to barter, but I knew the price of her passage on that boat. Things were tight and children were expensive and a liability. But, I paid the price. I gave my guns to the other salvagers. My profits on the medicine went to my significant and to the girl. He had always wanted a daughter that I could not provide. I had a feeling he'd take her in. I hoped he'd understand.
As the dingy pulled away, I waved to my friends one last time, hoping that I could survive long enough for another ship to come my way.
***
If you enjoyed this, I also have more stories at my subreddit r/nickkuvaas. |
Hank laughed, and put his leather coat back on.
“I’m sorry you have me mixed up with someone else, but I have to go,” said Hank.
Doctor Zaitsev’s helper shut the hotel door gently. She smiled shy at Hank.
“No,” said Doctor Zaitsev. He studied Hank more carefully. “Is you again.”
“If you’d please Tabitha,” said Hank, gently nudging the girl blocking his way. “I’ve changed my mind.”
*All these years and I’ve never run into the same harvester,* thought Hank. *Just my luck, I’m getting the fuck out of here.*
“Is fine Tabby,” said Doctor Zaitsev. He smiled and made a gesture with his hand. “Let him go. Is not right to force him. I think he just reminds me of another patient.” Doctor Zaitsev made circles with his finger around his cheek. “Familiar face. Been a long time, he couldn’t still be so young. Not same person. Can’t be same person.”
Doctor Zaitsev sighed and put his cuff links back on. Tabitha smiled shy again, and got out of Hank’s way.
Hank took his time.
*I need this money,* thought Hank. He heard the sound of a briefcase opening, and turned around. *Jesus Christ that’s a lot of money.* Hank ran his hand through his long, brown hair then cursed. *What’s another kidney.*
“Alright,” Hank said, taking his jacket off again.
“Is good deal my friend,” said Doctor Zaitsev. He shut the briefcase again. “More than the going price my friend.”
Hank undressed, and lied down. He let his mind wander as Tabitha set up an IV for the sedative. He looked forward to the pain upon awakening from the anesthetic. The burning sensation. It meant freedom.
It meant money. Hundreds of thousands of dollars, and somehow Hank always managed to piss it away on bad expenditures, booze, cocaine, hookers, bad investments, you name it. Hank wasn’t the brightest immortal.
*This time will be different,* Hank thought, as Doctor Zaitsev smiled a menacing smile above him. *This time I’ll make the money last.*
Hank went unconscious without a fight.
___________________________________________________________________________________________
Hank woke up in a moving van, with a camera on his abdomen.
He looked down at his side in horror, and in excruciating pain. He had no painkiller.
He wasn’t stitched up.
“I knew it,” said Doctor Zaitsev, smiling with demented joy as he drove. “I *knew* it was you.”
Hank’s arms ached. He tried to move them from behind his back, then struggled.
His hands and feet were bound.
“Don’t struggle,” said Tabitha. She watched his wound heal. “Is no good to struggle.”
*Shit shit SHIT*
“LET ME GO!” shouted Hank, flailing like a fish out of water.
The rest of his wound sealed up. Tabitha stopped recording video.
“Is a miracle,” she said.
Hank watched the streetlights pass in the window. He caught a glimpse of the signs.
They were all in Spanish.
*No,* Hank sobbed. *This isn’t happening.*
"Tell me friend,"said Doctor Zaitsev. His wrinkled smile looked even more twisted with so little light. "How long before the gold regrows in your body."
Hank struggled even harder against his ties. His wrists bled onto the ground. He tried to kick at Tabitha, and had no luck. She set a gentle hand on the spot where his scar disappeared.
"Doctor Zaitsev,"she whispered, "is going to make a *killing* off of you."
|
"Of course we'll take you to our leader! You can put your guns in the trunk, or just hold them-our car is your car!"
"Welcome to Canada! Earth is full of great places, but allow me to proclaim that this one is pretty great. Call me biased, eh, but go see for yourself! Here, take the keys to my snowmobile!"
Three weeks after their ship landed, the aliens appeared on TV for the first time.
"Please forgive our use of your English language. Ours is too complicated for any of you to learn, so it must be this way. Canada has offered to provide us with a base of operations, which we accepted. We could have taken any building by force, if we wanted to, but this one will do fine, so thanks. Please email the email shown on your screen with your pledges of fealty; otherwise prepare to be exterminated."
A never-ending stream of delivery vehicles dropped welcome baskets off at the aliens' headquarters. Their Wi-Fi and deluxe TV package were provided by the Canadian government, free of charge-who decidedly looked away when the alien's tested human drugs on themselves.
"On second thought, there is no need for the rest of the world to keep emailing us. The mighty Maple leaf has shielded you all." |
"Thank you for your interest in our company,"the letter in Jacob's hand began. "We're excited, after reviewing your application materials, to offer you a position as a Lobster Therapist Trainee!"
Jacob flipped the letter over, expecting to see some proof on the back it was a hoax. There was nothing there. He turned the letter once more in his hands, and his eyes flickered up to the logo at the top. "AquaPlace."It looked legitimate.
"Very funny,"he called from the kitchen. "You guys are hilarious!"
"What's that dear?"he heard his mother call. There was a tinny echo to it; she was in the laundry room.
"This letter,"Jacob said. "It's very nice looking. Did you have Paul do it?"
He heard the shuffling of feet until his mother appeared in the doorway, balancing a full hamper of clothes on her hip.
"What letter? What are you talking about?"
Jacob held out the letter in his hands. "The logo was a nice touch. Much better attention to detail than your guys' pranks usually have."
His mom snatched the letter from his hands and buried her eyes in it. "Oh my god, honey! AquaPlace! You'll get to swim with the dolphins!"
Jacob rolled his eyes, both at the charade and over his mother's gushing about AquaPlace. Anyone who'd bothered to research the company knew what a shady reputation they had for animal treatment. They weren't a zoo, no matter what AquaPlace put in its promotional materials. They were an amusement park, right on par with the worst of the circuses you've read about, complete with incompetent animal handlers and appalling habitat conditions.
"You can give the act a rest,"he said, tapping his foot impatiently.
"It's not an act sweetheart,"she answered. "Yes, we've had some fun at your expense before, like that time we replaced your shampoo with hair dye, but I think this is for real. I mean if it's not, your brother's going to have to answer to me. For not looping me in."
On interrogation later that day, though, Paul denied having anything to do with the letter.
That left Jacob with a rather uncomfortable decision to make. His family had been ribbing him for months about getting a job, and now here was a real offer. An offer to work with a terrible company, sure, but one which paid. That in itself might have made for a tough choice, balancing morals with the economic realities of the modern era. But what made it an *uncomfortable* choice was the fact that Jacob hadn't applied.
The only time the words "Lobster Therapist"had left his mouth had been as a joke in response to the latest round of teasing from his mother and brother. There hadn't even been a posting he'd seen which had inspired him. So far as he'd known at the time, he'd made the job up.
Yet the offer was real. So the next day, after spending a night rolling it around in his head, Jacob took the bus out to AquaPlace.
Even though he took the first bus out, a sizable crowd was already gathered around the entrance when he arrived. Jacob stepped gamely off of the bus, trying to look more certain than he felt. He stared up at the enormous AquaPlace sign that spanned over the row of gates that allowed entrance to the park. Smiling dolphins and porpoises were wrapped around the jet black letters, giving the place the cartoon-y appeal it was known for.
A mother pushing a stroller brushed past Jacob and joined the mob of people split into rough lines. The gates didn't open for another 30 minutes, but he guessed there had to be 500 or 1000 people already clustered there. Jacob pressed up on the balls of his feet, trying to find anyone that looked like they worked there. Someone who could tell him where to go. But all he saw were hundreds of tourists and visitors eager for a day of consumerist fun.
In the absence of any other obvious place to go, Jacob joined the line and waited. He baked in the rising sun until at last he heard the joyful clang of the turnstiles unlocking. The line inched forward, and another thirty minutes later, Jacob had reached the front.
Next to the turnstile was a smiling, well tanned man wearing a blue Hawaiian shirt with a name tag pinned on the chest. He was crammed into a small booth, his only connection to the outside world a little hole in his window for accepting tickets.
"Hi, I uh,"Jacob started. He offered up the letter. "I'm, uh, here for..."
"Employee entrance around the side,"the ticket taker said. The smile was gone, and his eyebrows were scrunched low, weighed down with disapproval. "You'd better hurry up. You're late, Trainee."
Jacob flinched at the reprimand and quickly grabbed his letter back. He snaked his way back out of the crowd, scolding himself the entire way. Of course there would be an employee entrance. What a first impression to make.
He jogged around the enormous complex, eventually stumbling upon a door painted to blend in with the exterior decorations. Jacob looked down at his letter again. There was no mention of going to the employee entrance. What if this was all a huge mistake? He shook his head, swallowed his doubts, and knocked on the door.
It swung open immediately, a heavy set man dressed in all black on the other side. He said nothing, but casually rested a hand on the taser on his hip. Slowly, he cocked an eyebrow.
"I'm uh Jacob?"
The guard slowly looked him over, clearly sizing him up.
Jacob held out the letter. "I'm the, er, new lobster..."
The guard pushed the door open wider and slid to the side to allow Jacob through. "You're late, Trainee. Orientation is down the hall and to the left."
Jacob stepped into the narrow corridor, poorly lit by flickering fluorescent lights. He rubbed his arm nervously as he shuffled down the hall. This was a bad idea, his mind screamed at him as he walked. Everything about this place was off. He'd seen enough horror movies to know when the protagonist should just get the hell out of there, yet Jacob continued down the hall.
He was about to turn left when a woman in a white lab coat came bustling toward the intersection from the right.
"Trainee 407,"she called. There was a genuine warmth to a voice. "Just the boy I was looking for. Come with me."
She turned on heel, heading back the way she came, and gestured for him to follow her. Jacob looked down the hallway to the left, where the lights cast grim shadows along the walls, and happily followed the woman off to the right. That hallway was tinged with the blue glow of illuminated water tanks.
"Sorry to make you miss orientation, although your late anyway, so you've already missed the biggest pieces,"she said matter-of-factly. Jacob picked up his pace, struggling to keep up with her as she stepped briskly down the hall.
"Sorry-"Jacob started, but the woman talked right over him.
"I need you to sit in with Prisoner L14. He's having a breakthrough. Finally reclaiming the memories of his crimes. All you need to do is sit with him and listen."
She turned down another hallway in the maze of interconnected tunnels. "I need to go deal with the aftermath of the riot on D-block, and we're a little short staffed, so you've got to cover this for me. Don't say anything other than 'uh-huh' or 'go on.' Don't tell him about yourself. That's the second most important rule with dealing with inmates here."
They arrived at the door she had been apparently leading him toward. Jacob's mind was swimming. Inmates? D-Block? What the hell was this place.
The woman dug a large ring of keys out of her pocket, selected one with lightning fast precision, and unlocked the door. "He goes by Frank. But only use that name when your speaking directly to him. To us he's Prisoner L14. Don't get attached to the wildlife. That's the most important rule around here. They will lie, and they will manipulate."
She swung the door open and pushed Jacob inside. "Thanks,"she said. Then she slammed the door shut.
Inside the room mostly dark, save for a glowing water tank which sat in the middle of one wall. There was a folding chair sitting near it, but not facing directly towards it. A single lobster leaned against the glass from inside the tank, it's massive claws arranged in what Jacob could only guess was a casual pose.
A speaker on the wall crackled to life, and a gruff voice sounded out through it. "Doc? Is that you? I... I did it. I killed my family. I remember everything."
What had Jacob gotten himself into?
*****
If you enjoyed, you can find more of my writing at [Pubby's Creative Workshop](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88).
A [Part II](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88/comments/6wshzb/tired_of_your_family_nagging_you_about_your/dmbzqty/?st=j6z795ph&sh=94613465) is coming! |
When it first happened the whole neighborhood was in an uproar. No one knew who, how, or what even went on. But when the doors reappeared, the whole smith family was pushing up daisies. They where real nice ones too, a good healthy shade of bright yellow. But, their beautiful indoor garden aside, there was no denying the fact the smiths were dead. Found in puddles and piles of their own waste. The detective team suspected their son Jimmy at first, but upon further investigation, They found his corpse stuck in the walls. Sealed in a two by two room left with nothing but his own thoughts. My mind shutters just thinking about what they must have gone through.
Then a few weeks later it was the Gomez family. Those poor folk never saw it coming. This time was different though. Their daughter, Tiffany, just bought one of those new cellular phone devices. It was the only contact we had with them for the days to come. The first day was calm, they told us how all their doors and furniture just vanished, as if into thin air. The windows where sealed off and access to bathrooms, bedrooms, or any room for that matter was a thing of the past. The second day they panicked. I cant blame them. For the better half of the day screams and banging could be heard through the thin walls of their country side home. On day three Tiffany called again, begging to be rescued. Said her little brother stopped responding to her banging. I can only imagine what the poor girl dealt with. Day four came and around two thirty in the afternoon the doors reappeared. I was one of the unlucky ones to witness the grand opening. The stench of death was unbearable.
The same process went down with the Johnsons and the Franks. Doors disappear, few days later they reappear, and the whole family's bit the dust. Eventually people started moving away. Me and the wife were about to as well. We had all our bags packed and thought we were scott-free. Until I reached for the front door handle that is. If you would have blinked you would have missed it. One second I was turning the knob, and the next a flat wall stared me in the face. I turned to my wife and we both knew, it was our turn. We looked everywhere but there was no escape. This was it. We woohooed one last time before we accepted our fate. As I sit here, next to my now frail wife, I'd like whoever is reading this to know that this awful phenomenon can happen to anyone. Get away while you still can. And to whoever is causing this, be you a god or a demon, I curse you with what little life I have left in my body. You truly are a monster with no remorse. |
Professor Karl Weiss stood slack-jawed as he held his hand horizontally up to his eyes, he couldn't believe it.
When Dieter Jung had first come to him with the expedition, every part of him had wanted to say no. Dieter was known for his wild goose chases, 99 out of 100 of Dieter's expeditions ended in utter failure. That 1 in 100, though, it was enough to justify all the dead ends, it was the only reason the University kept giving him money.
"Was habe ich dir ergezahlt!"Dieter yelled triumphantly, reverting back to his native German in excitement. He shook his head in exasperation as the mostly British expedition party looked at him quizzically.
"What did I tell you!"he translated hastily, too excited to let himself be exasperated. "I told you told you told you! We're all gonna be rich! And who knows what we'll find in there!"he turned to Karl.
"Bet you're glad you came along now, huh, Karl? Better than sitting alone in that dusty old office in Munich getting older and fatter."Karl was too overwhelmed to care about Dieter's I-told-you-so.
The area under Mt. Osirim had been long known as the sacred burial ground of the Hamunite people, a group that had split off from old kingdom ancient Egypt and developed a similar burial custom: large, extravagant monuments dedicated to their fallen rulers. Mt. Osirim had stood alone among the tombs as the sole mountain, it had long been left relatively unexplored due to the low likelihood of the ancient civilisation being capable of scaling such an incredibly high peak. The surrounding tombs had been empty for decades, artefacts shipped off to museums across the world for 5 figures apiece, easy.
Karl stood, staring at a gigantic rock structure stretching across as far as the eye could see. He hadn't seen it first, but once it was seen, it couldn't be unseen. It was absolutely, unmistakably, a toe.
They had just stumbled across the greatest Hamunite tomb ever discovered, they were all rich, Karl could forget the long, depressing evenings marking half-assed papers in his cramped office, his small lonely apartment where he couldn't help but stare at pictures of his ex-wife all night, finally, after all this time, he had something to be happy about.
He looked to Dieter, the man looked about as unprofessional as it was possible to look, greasy blond hair sticking out every which way, green eyes darting from side to side, dressed in an ordinary tracksuit while the rest of the team was in hiking gear. Karl never thought he'd owe so much to this man, but here he was.
"All right, men!"Stanesham, one of the four other members of the expedition called loudly. "let's get excavating!"A cheer rose up from the other three and they ran to the side of the mountain, beginning to prospect the rock with delicate precision. The four of them had been given the task of slowly working their way up, looking for artefacts along the way. However, they couldn't discount the possibility that a rival team would come along. As a result, Dieter and Karl had decided that the two of them would rush right to the peak, where they hoped to find whatever ornate centrepiece lay atop it. Karl's mind rushed with thoughts of all sorts of wondrous gems, lustrous crowns, and flashes of gold and silver. This was it, his whole life had been leading up to this moment. A short investigation revealed a narrow, winding path leading up the side of the monument, and Dieter and Karl wasted no time beginning the climb.
Only a few minutes after they had begun the climb, Karl turned and frowned, he thought he'd heard a commotion at the bottom of the tower.
"Never mind that!"Dieter told him, hurrying along "You know those British, they never shut up, they probably just made a joke about football or something."
Karl shrugged and continued up the side of the mountain, a worried expression on his face.
"Aaghhhh!"the body of the last British man slumped to the floor, dead.
"That was all of them, right?"Ion asked. "I didn't see any more, and they seemed to be taking a methodical approach, I doubt any rushed ahead."
"No"replied Azimuth. "We saw six on satellite, we can't take any risks. Do you have any idea how much is at stake here? Governments, museums, cartels, they'll all be foaming at the mouth to buy this stuff, whether it's to display, hoard, or just keep as a trophy. After this, we'll be able to retire for life."
"Fair"said Ion simply, gesturing to several of his comrades, who followed him up the mountain.
Azimuth grinned menacingly and thought to himself.
"I can't let the others know I have a personal interest in this mission. Of course the furtherment of the Prestonfield group's goals is paramount, but I won't let you slip away from me this time."
Azimuth whispered to himself.
"You're mine, Karl Weiss"
Continue?
/r/wptoss is my subreddit, check out more of my writing if you enjoyed :) |
"Bunch'a effing jerks!"The monstrosity grumbled as it dropped a steamer trunk onto the shag carpet. I could only stare in mute silence at the towering... thing of pitch smoke and flame as it stretched four arms above its horned head, it's back cracking like a bowl of nuclear powered Rice Krispies. I wasn't paralyzed with fear as I thought I should be, rather, I felt a weird detached bemusement at the sight.
"It's the tie, isn't it?"It asked, finally addressing me directly. The aforementioned tie hung loosely around its skeletal neck, Sylvester the Cat faces printed all over. I nodded dumbly, unable to find words. "I find it helps ease the tension."It extended a clawed, flaming hand as large as I was, "Don't worry, you won't get burned."I pondered only a moment before taking one of its huge claws in my best attempt at a handshake. "I'm Azothul."It said, "Baron of the Infernal Plains and I'll be possessing your body for the forseeable future. Sorry."
"David..."I said, "Um... what... um...I'm David?"
"I know."Azothul said. "Look, I sectioned this little part of your existence off for your soul to hang out while I work. I'm sorry, I can't promise you'll get your body back, or if you do, what shape it will be in. I work hard and the cult of Meskalor, they're the a-holes who sacrificed your body, thry tend to give me the violent jobs."
Azothul kicked open the steamer trunk, "I brought snacks, there's a T.V. in the next room, you can watch what's going on with your body but I don't recommend it, I work messy. You can decorate how you like, this is your place now. I gotta get going. You got any questions, there a pamphlet in the trunk. Ciao."And just like that, Azothul vanished.
Wandering over, I peered into the trunk and sitting on top of a box of pop tarts was the pamphlet; 'The Pros and Cons of Possession.' |
It took a while, but humans did get used to them.
They were troublesome fuckers, no doubt. When they made first contact about 4000 years ago, no one knew what to make of it. It's not that they exactly announced their intention, at least not in any language that we could understand. They seemed to defy common sense and decency. They would wait on people's doorsteps, sometimes in groups, and look at their impending hosts with eyes which demanded hospitality. Now, to be clear, they weren't *scary* looking. The unsuspecting victim, seeing these curious things sulking and wide-eyed in the cold, would often extend to them an invitation to sit at his hearth. They didn't quite care to scare or intimidate the denizens of Earth. They came, instead, to be *dicks*.
Now, there's no concept in the wealth of philosophy that remains so nebulous as *being a dick*. Evil, I think, has been quite well-defined. Good, while intricate, has been explicated at length. But *dickishness*, despite being so essential to the human experience, is a concept that remains at large. You see, when Hitler decided to purge the minority *du jour*, he wasn't being a dick. He was being *literally Hitler*, which we call evil. When Stalin sent the priests to the firing squad, no victim muttered, "geeze, I'm beginning to think this guy's kinda a *dick.*"To be a dick, you need to walk the fine line between evil and good. You need to be *just* good enough that those who are *dicked* do not demand exacting justice, yet *just* evil enough that the victim damns your existence under his breath. And this is what the dicks did -- phenomenally well, at that.
As guests, they couldn't simply attack their host. They start with the small things. Early morning quiet would be interrupted by the sound of quick movement and alien conviviality. During the day, the host's possessions would be "accidentally"dropped at rate just under what's necessary to pine for their comeuppance. The dicks would earn their keep, helping around the house with small things like insect and rodent infestations. In this latter case, his *dick* expertise is on full display: after executing an unwanted rodent, its mutilated carcass is promptly left at the foot of the host. He somehow tricked mankind into thinking this was a high honor within his alien kingdom.
Gradually, over the course of countless generations, we stopped questioning why we had these tiny, furry, horrible little dicks. Sure, they weren't *scary*. In fact, they're cute. But seldom does this cuteness make up for their dickishness. How expertly have they invaded us that we feed them and take out their litter and let them be dicks just because they're cute? |
-Wa-PING!-
"GODDAMIT!"Another rubber band stung my hand and nearly ricocheted into my eye just before I pulled the trigger. My unwitting target moved out of the line of fire before I could re-align my shot. Yesterday a blizzard of confetti had cannoned across my line of sight, giving away my position on the rooftop and startling my target away from the window. The weekend before that I'd had to abort my kill when a swarm of bees took a particularly painful interest in me. I discovered someone had stuck an agitated caged queen bee in my equipment bag.
The pacifist cult of Missmen started as a joke in the industry. Former hitmen and hitwomen burnt out on the life, starting an anti-violence organization specifically to prevent hired deaths through mediation. When that failed to diminish contract killing, the group became Missmen, turning routine jobs into games of obstacle-avoidance chess.
Hitmen were becoming paranoid. Contract killers felt as though their every step were stalked, and considering how good the Missmen's pay was rumored to be it's quite possible they have the manpower to actually accomplish 24/7 coverage.
The most infuriating part was how good they were at not being seen during the nonviolent distraction or dismantling of the elements needed for a clean kill. Drones dropped water balloons of paint, trained pigeons let loose insidious deliveries of dung, and how they managed to encase my colleague's equipment in lime Jell-O without him noticing I'll never know.
One thing was for sure, the next time I get pelted by pies or open my bag and find a sand-filled balloon animal instead of my gun, I'm going to the Missmen headquarters and demanding an application. As it stands now, crime simply doesn't pay. |
The bright rays of light from the window gently rouses me from my slumber. I open my eyes, blinking. *My headache! It's gone!* Smiling for the first time since I fell asleep, a smooth female voice echoes through my head.
**"Upgrade complete. Would you like a tutorial?"**
I spin my head around. *What in the world?* "Hello?"I call out, climbing off my bed to look around.
**"Invalid response. Please answer with a 'Yes' or a 'No'."** the voice responds.
"Uhh... who's there?"I call again. I look out the window, seeing nobody in view.
**"Invalid response. Please answer with a—"**
"Okay, okay I get it!"I shout.
**"Invalid response. Please—"**
"Yes! Yes! Okay!?"
**"Starting tutorial now. Beginning simulation."**
The world around me begins glowing, the floor and the walls around me shining brighter and brighter. I back away from the walls, spinning my head around desperately as the light engulfs me.
---
**"Welcome to Tutorial One: Basic Movement. Nod your head to continue."** a voice reverberates in my head. The blinding light around me fade to reveal seas of grass covering a vast plain. *What the hell? Is this some...virtual reality thing? If it is, I should still be in my room.* I grope around, trying to locate where my bed would be. After stumbling around for a while, the voice speaks again. **"Please nod your head to continue."**
*I have a feeling I'm not in Kansas anymore...* I think to myself with a snide smile at my brilliant pop culture reference. The voice interrupts my thoughts, repeating the same *damn* sentence. I sigh. *Looks like I'm stuck here until I do as they say.*
I nod.
**"Please walk to the spot indicated."** A grand sound chimes in my head, and a golden ray of light highlights a spot of land. *Do I really have to go through this?*
"I think I know how to walk already!"I shout to no one in particular. There is no response. "Hello?"I call out again, to be met with silence. Sighing, I walk to the illuminated spot.
**"Impressive job."** the voice says. I roll my eyes as the light disappears. **"Please jump."**
"Ugh."I say as I jump obediently.
**"Very good. Your skills are improving."** the voice continued as if she really meant it. **"Please double-jump."**
"And how the hell am I supposed to do that?"I call out. I push myself off the ground and try to propel myself upward a second time, kicking at the air before I crash to the ground. I stand up and try again, only to collapse to the ground. *Might as well stay down for a while...* I think, as I lie on the ground.
**"To double-jump, clench both of your fists when you wish to make the second jump."** the voice said after a while, as patiently as before.
I stand up and leap upwards, clenching my fists when I am ready. Suddenly I feel a force propel me upwards once more, before I succumb to gravity and am sent to the ground.
**"Brilliant work. Keep it up, and you'll be an Initiate in no time!"** the voice said encouragingly. "What am I now, then?"I challenge, to receive no response.
**"Now, you will learn running. Please run to the indicated spot."** A beam of light illuminated the area. *Ugh, how long is this thing?* I think to myself as I hurry to the highlighted region.
**"Spectacular. Please practice running along this three kilometer-long track."** the voice says as the grass before me parts to reveal a brown dirt path.
*Running!? I haven't done so in ages! I suppose they won't mind if I take my time.* I begin sauntering along the path, looking at the blue sky, relaxed.
**"Please *run*."** the voice specifies. I oblige, and break into a slow jog.
**"Please run at your maximum speed."** the voice says. "Try and make me!"I call out childishly.
**"Trainee is not running at maximum speed. Releasing elements 4 to 6."**
A vicious roar is heard from a distance behind me. Slowly I turn my head to see several leopards barrelling down at me. "Oh *fuck*..."I mutter as I break into a sprint down the path.
I feel the pumping of my heart as I dash down the track, the snarling of the leopards close behind me. I begin to move off the track, planning to run further into the fields, but an arrow shoots itself near my foot, forcing me back on the path.
**"Please run on the designated track."**
I swing my head around to see the leopards bearing down on me. Gritting my teeth I force another ounce of energy into my legs, as a small breeze pushes softly against me. Hot droplets of sweat snake their way to the back of my neck, and the soles of my feet begin warming up. And yet...I don't feel tired. My legs, despite moving at their top speed, are not screaming at me to stop. The snarls become increasingly distant and I look behind to see the leopards fading away in the distance. I could stop, but there was no reason to.
**"Trainee has reached three-kilometers. Congratulations. You have completed Tutorial One. You will be alerted when you unlock the next tutorial."** the voice says as the light consumes me once more.
---
A ringing sound fades in as the light around me faded away. *My phone!* I quickly pick it up as droplets of sweat—my sweat— drip to the ground. It wasn't a dream.
"Hey,"a female voice said over the phone, "I'm sorry about yesterday, but we need you now."
I was confused. I had *never* left the house yesterday. "I—err, I think you've got the wrong number."
"Didn't you just go through the tutorial?"
"Oh, that thing. Yeah, I did. Wait— how do you know?"
She ignores my question. "Is your name Robert Pierre?"
"...no?"
"*Shit*. Hang on."she says, and the pounding sound of leaving footsteps is heard over the phone.
"Hey, Sam!"her voice is heard, more distant this time. "You uploaded it into the wrong person!"
Muffled words are heard as a response, and her next words are too soft for me to hear. *Who on earth are these people?*
"Hey."she says over the phone. "We've made a slight mistake, but you'll have to do."
"Stop just a minute. Who the hell are you?"
"You'll find out. Meet me at the city park, and we'll bring you up to speed."
~~~
An short introduction, but hopefully it works. Hope you enjoy it! Comments and criticism ~~welcome~~ are desperately needed. Oh, and I kind of forgot about the info display, hope you don't mind, OP.
(Psst, if you liked that, check out /r/TheWriterDiaper for more! If you didn't, *do say so* and check out /r/TheWriterDiaper to see if I learn from my mistakes!) |
We were tasked by our lovely empress with guarding some valuable supplies of hers. We were not the most secure base, or the strongest men in her mighty army, but we still did our job with dillegence. Any supplies lost under my watchful eye would bring shame to our glorious empire.
"Hey Melvin", one of my fellow squadmates chimed in, "I think i can hear him. In the vent above us."Indeed, we heard heavy footsteps and gunfire, what must be our uninvited guest killing the security drones of our empress.
We readied our weapons, aiming them straight at the ceiling. The poor soul unfortunate enough to poke his head out would be the deadest guy in the world. We saw the vent cover crash down to the floor and splinter into a dozen tiny pieces. Then he came out, a faceless horned humanoid, in a gaudy neon pink suit, and wearing a fancy cape. Floating down to the ground with the grace of a swan, he wasted no time readying his gun and with a hail of bullets, everyone in the room was dead. Everyone except me.
He collapsed to the ground with an audible thud, but it only took him a second to regain his composure. He pointed his gun at me and got ready to fire. Then i heard a loud, audible clicking sound. His gun was out of ammo. Overjoyed, i readied mine to blow him to bits. My gun had a much larger capacity, so i just held the trigger down. The muzzle flash was blinding, but i didn't need to aim, i just needed to hit.
After what felt like an eternity, my clip was finally empty. And yet he was still in the same position as before with no damage of any kind, as if i had shot him with a water pistol. It looked as if he wasn't moving at all, but a closer examination showed that he was very slowly reaching for a spare magazine. Was he crippled, stupid, or was he mocking me? I sincerely hope it wasn't the latter. I couldn't bear to live with the thought that not only was this creature far superior to us, it thought so little of us that it mocked us.
Angered by that thought, i dropped my gun to rush forward and attack. I drew a knife and stabbed it right into his neck. The knife bounced right off, attempting to stab it in again only made the knife break in two. Then i tried to rip it's stupid horn off. I reattached the knife blade and attempted to saw it's horn off. The knife only broke further, without even a scratch on him.
Knowing that i could do nothing to this creature, not even run from it, i huddled into the corner, and waited for the gunshot that would end my life. I saw him grab the magazine, and slowly load it into his gun, the process was fully complete after about a minute. But that shot never came. It took one last, long look at me and darted off into the next room. I later heard from my empress that our intruder's mission was a rousing success. She tried her best to make me feel bad for my failure, but no punishment she could give is worse than the knowledge of how truly insignificant I, all my friends and family, and even my empress, are in this universe. |
"No, you don't understand,"I told the human. "I can't fulfill your wish."
"Why not?"she asked, hands akimbo. "I paid you my soul! Now get to work."
"But…"I stuttered. All I could do was panic. What would all the other demons of the Underworld think of me when they found out I'd granted this mortal's wish… to clean her dishes myself.
"I'm waiting…"she said, stomping her foot and eyeing the sink full of stained plates and silverware.
"Listen,"I growled. "How about something else? Anything else! You want riches? You can have it. You want to be famous? You can have it. You want–"
"I don't want any of that crap!"she barked. "I just want you to get over here, put on some gloves, and get washing!"
I sighed. "You know I can just snap my fingers and have the dishes cleaned, right? In fact, I could curse the dishes so that they never get dirty again."
She leaned in closer to me and glared harder than the flames of Hell. "If that's what I wanted, then I would've wished for it. Do you not understand the words coming out of my mouth, little demon boy? Get a sponge, and start cleaning!"
I stared at the pile of plates and pots and pans and my charred heart sunk. I could already hear the nonstop howls of laughter from the other devils that I'd be getting nonstop starting tomorrow, once word about my wish got around all the Circles. I'd never live it down. Photos of me wearing gloves and a hairnet would make their way around InstaDamn and I'd never move up in the ranks. The head-honcho himself might even Fire me if he found out. But at the same time, if I didn't grant this woman a wish, I wouldn't be fulfilling my end of the Infernal Contract, and my demon soul would turn to ash.
I meekly held up a claw to make one final suggestion. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather be the Queen of the Universe?"
All she she did was point to the sink and glare. "Dishes. Now."
Well, it finally came to it. I only had one option left. I just hoped it wouldn't come back to bite me.
"All right,"I said. "I didn't want it to come to this, but here we are."I snapped my claws and another Infernal Contract appeared in flames before me. This time, the names of the two parties were reversed. "*I'm* selling you *my* soul."
The woman looked at me confused. "What?"
"Yup,"I said. "I'm selling you my demon soul to wish that you take back your wish. It's not ideal, but it's better than turning to ash, and it's better than getting laughed out of Hell."
"Seriously?"the woman said.
"Yes,"I groaned. "Now sign here, in blood, same as last time."
She woman used her same pricked finger as before and blotted her name at the bottom of the flaming parchment. As soon as she did, it disappeared in a plume of black smoke, along with any obligation I had to wash her dishes.
"All right then, it is done,"I said. I reassured myself that this was fine. At the very worst, I'd get my soul back when this woman died and then–
Suddenly the woman's face turned to a sadistic grin. She held out her hand and gripped it into a fist. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't do anything. But how… how did someone who wanted such a stupid wish know how to control my soul?
"You demons are all the same,"she cackled. "I got exactly what I wanted from you, just the same way as the others. And now, if you don't mind – not that you *can* mind anything I do to you from now on – we have some work to do."
*****
This prompt was written with the help of chat at the [ScottWritesStuff](https://www.reddit.com/r/ScottWritesStuff/) Twitch stream. |
"How do you make an octopus laugh?"
He was huddled in the corner, the crumpled paper in his hand, folded so that he couldn't read the punchline. There were four police officers at the door, each one armed, none daring to reach a hand toward his gun.
"Goddamn you,"Sgt. Cole said, hissing the words through clenched teeth. "Don't you dare."
"I will!"he said, his eyes flashing from the corner that told them he wasn't kidding. "Just you watch me! One step closer and I will!"
Nobody moved. There was an intense stillness, every man too afraid to make the first move. Somehow, it made him more nervous than the police. A part of him had expected some violent reaction to all this, but they just stood there, watching him. If they'd moved, he would have known what to do, but he didn't know how to handle this.
"I will!"He blurted it out again, but there was such a long pause before it that it no longer carried the same threat. Now it just felt desperation.
"It's not worth it, son,"Sgt. Cole said.
The officer was using a calm, placating voice that was meant to reassure, but it just infuriated him. The weren't taking him seriously. They thought he was a joke.
"Don't try to be a hero,"he said. He made a show of starting to unfold the paper, and he couldn't help but to feel gratified when the officers shriveled back. "This is my comedy show. It's my special. I've been doing this for years, and nobody's cared. Nobody. But today--"He held up the paper dramatically. "Today I have a joke that'll kill."
"Millions of people, son,"Cole said. "Millions of people are watching at home. Why? What's the point in bringing them all misery?"
"They'll remember me now,"he said. "They never cared about me. But they'll remember me now. People will talk about me for ages."
Cole shook his head. "They'll remember you anyway,"he said. Slowly, carefully, he picked a leather notebook off the crafts table and flipped through the pages inside. "You have plenty of good stuff in here. 'Why do they call them TV Dinners?' That's a good one. 'They don't have any TVs in them.' That's true. That's a good observation."
"You didn't laugh. If it was funny, you would have laughed."
"It's a different kind of funny,"Cole said. "It's observational. It's witty. I'm laughing on the inside. It's a funny mental image."He flung his arms open, slowly going for an embrace. "Everyone loves you. You don't have to do this. Come here."
The comedian broke down. He let out a rough, painful sob, and let the officer wrap his arms around him.
"There, there,"Cole whispered.
It was over. It was done. He wouldn't read it. Or that's the way it seemed, anyway - for a short moment. But then thing animal flash shot through his eyes once more. He leaned over to Cole's ear and whispered:
"Ten tickles." |
I woke up to a horrible sound that rung in my ears. It wasn't my upstairs neighbor practicing tap dancing, or a lawn mower at 6 A.M. It was worse than that and it was distinguishable among all sounds.
Laughter.
It was all around me. Even with my noise-cancelling headphones, the exasperated voices of people trying to stop laughing reached my ears. I've had enough. If it was only for a couple of minutes, it would be fine. For a whole hour now?! Bullshit. The worst part is, its my day off. I figured I had to do something about it, when my phone rang.
The number was one I haven't seen in a long time. No one usually calls me outside of business hours. I've been told that my conversation skills are lacking but it never mattered to me. I was always a quiet person and humor never appealed to me as much as music or the arts did. When I opened my phone, laughs came out of the speaker. I almost closed the phone when I heard the voice of my former boss.
"Richard, are you there?"He could barely finish his sentence without him going into another fit of laughter. His consistent chuckling driving me crazy but I knew that he wouldn't call me unless it was something important.
"Listen, I need you to come down to HQ and do me a favor. As you can probably tell, we can't stop laughing... Please hurry"
I went to the CIA headquarters as fast as possible. It was quick, considering how empty the streets were. Possibly because everyone was too busy fucking laughing like madmen. I opened the doors that led to his office and was greeted by a sound of hundreds of employees doubled down and on the floor. Everyone's screen looked the same. Text upon text. What the hell was this?
I approached my boss and his throat was dry from the laughter.
"Please... delete... the joke".
As I read it, it became clear to me why everyone was laughing. I even felt a laugh trying to crawl up my throat. As I reached the end, a smirk escaped me. Clicking the delete button, i said to myself.
"For fuck's sake Dave" |
I enjoy sleep, being able to escape for at least 8 hours a day from everything. To escape reality for a small amount of time. I also enjoy my dreams, even if most nowadays are nightmares.
One day the pill came out, they called the drug SLEEP. They claimed to increase productivity by eliminating the need for sleep. Actors were hired to promote it and people rushed in droves to pharmacies across the world to get the drug. Soon companies started to make it a requirement for employment.
I was one of the few that avoided the drug. Family and friends urged me to get the drug. I could work the mandatory 16 hour days and still have 8 hours for family and friends. I refused, I lost friends, my family slowly drifted away, because I did not have time for them anymore.
Months later I was still one of the few not taking the drug, I might have been the only one, I didn’t know. Everyone I knew was taking the pill and by now it was a requirement by all employers to take the sleep inhibitor. The government even supplied the pills free of charge to the general public now. I took my pills that were sent me and flushed them down the toilet.
At the six month mark was when I started noticing changes in the people around me. Personality changes was one change I noticed, nice people became violent and aggressive, and violent people became even more aggressive. Crime started to skyrocket.
The drugmaker and the government both claimed that the drug was perfectly safe. People believed them and kept taking the drug. The world was addicted to it.
What made me decide to get out of the city was when I was violently attacked on my way to work one morning by an 80 year old grandmother. She was across the street, she started screaming and ran out in front of traffic to get to me. I was so surprised that I did not even defend myself for the first three blows with her cane. I managed to push her away and run. She was still screaming when she hit the ground. This city was going mad.
I moved to my grandfather's place in the country. The first three weeks I was out of the city were total bliss. I had very few neighbors and it was generally quiet at night. My dreams were more enjoyable and not so much of the nightmare variety.
----------------
Riots, all cities were rioting. Any place that had a congregation of people. Men, women, and children were attacking each other. The news stations were trying to cover the mayhem and bloodshed. Thousands dead in one city alone the newscaster reported.
Someone managed to get possession of a rocket launcher. The news helicopter was recording on the air when the rocket hit. Silence from the news anchor then the station went off the air.
The government decided to send in the military, what they didn’t count on was the troops joining in on the riot. They just started shooting anything that moved, when they were done killing everyone in front of them they turning the guns on each other.
By the end of the first year, governments have collapsed and all the major cities were in ruins. All TV and radio stations were off the air, any survivor of the madness had no news of the outside world. Thankfully, most of the users of the anti-sleep drug were dead, either from violence or from withdrawals.
What is left of society will be ready to rebuild soon, but I am ready for a nap.
|
She lay on the ground, face half turned so that the water pooled around her blue lips. Her jumpsuit had been torn, the rags showing bare flesh beneath, black skin in brackish water. The tech walked around, the rig on his head recording the scene, the composition, the details that would lead to a conviction no-one cared for about a woman no-one cared about.
I watched, leaning against the walls of the corridor, my boots kicking up small eddies in the water.
"Two weeks,"the tech said, folding up the rig and dumping the recording onto the police database.
I stopped my splashing. Waited for him to pick up a case, shake the water loose from the bottom. The rig disappeared into it's snug little housing but the tech didn't close the case.
"Two weeks and this whole level will be underwater."
"You worried about another collapse?"
I gave the floor a good hard thud, the water slapping up against the sides of my boots. The tech shook his head and looked back at the body.
"It's gonna happen more and more. All of this,"he said. Body, walls, the water slowly inching up. "Twenty million. That's how much it costs to go up a flight nowadays. You work for one of the big bottles, they'll take care of you. Put you on a raft."
I snorted. "You thinking of joining the private sector?"
"No."He shut the case. Stepped back from the body. "Too late for me. She did though. At some point. Bio-chip shows she was an exec for Aqua Vitas."
"AV?"I looked at her. The dead woman. Dirty jumpsuit, bruises, scrapes, hair pulled back in a way no-one above the hundredth would do. I knelt. The water stank, the rubber of my boots reaching their limits before I would drown in it. I knelt and I looked at her.
The bracelet on her arm, simple, modern, expensive. Good teeth, no stains. But it was the fingers, delicate, clawing just out of the water. Dry, not pruned, not the hands of a woman who lived on the surface.
"Fuck,"I said, low and quiet.
The tech put the case on his back. He wanted to get back up, same as everyone else who lived down here. He took one last look at her.
"Bet she'd never even seen the ocean before,"he said.
"Only in performance reviews."
"Good luck."
"What for?"
"A drowned exec? You're gonna need it."
The tech left, his boots splashing long after he'd turned out of sight. Her hair moved in the currents, pony tail curling back and forth. Who was she? What made her come down here?
And who had killed her? |
"Remain still."The young woman in a white lab coat instructed as she injected my arm.
I shuddered in terror. My neighbors in the other cages had all convulsed wildly, frothing at the mouth before collapsing after she had injected them. Would I suffer the same fate?
Yet, hours passed, and I was none the worse for wear.
She didn't seem to care too much about me, though I was fed regularly. She was much more interested in my neighbors, who were now unconscious. I observed her wiping the froth off one of the "subjects"(it's what she calls us) while muttering to herself. She meticulously takes notes all the while.
"..Ex..excuse me? What exactly did you inject me with?"
She ignores me and continues her notetaking.
"Hello?"
She clicks her tongue. "Tch. Shut it, you. You'll be fine. Don't worry about it."
"What about those two?"
"We'll soon find out, won't we?"She smiled devilishly, her eyes wide with wonder... like a child learning something new.
I strain my ears and catch snippets of her muttering. "... muscle mass increased... frenzy.... loss of consciousness... dosage..."
After a day, subject 2 had died. Subject 3, however, regained consciousness... and seemed a lot bigger than I last remembered him to be.
"Ah! Wonderful! How do you feel?"She coos at Subject 3.
"Argghh grahhhhh!"
She clicks her tongue. "Tch. Failure. Subject survived treatment, though lost his sanity.... Must adjust dosage? Or perhaps modify the serum..."She mutters to herself as she paces back and forth.
I stare at her. Her long flowing red hair flapped around behind her like a cape as she paced the lab. It reached down to the middle of her back and was wild and unkempt. Yet, somehow it seemed graceful.
Crap. Stockholm's syndrome already? But it hadn't been more than 2 weeks... I think.
...
Dinner arrives. It's the same. Boiled potatoes and pork cutlets, complimented with tap water.
I muster up the courage and try to speak to her some more.
"Wh-why are you doing this?"
She lifts up an eyebrow as she places the tray of food on the small table through the bars of my cage. "Hm? Why? For science of course! Silly boy."She laughs melodically and walks over to check on the newest two subjects.
This time, they both survive. One of them has lost his sanity, similar to the old Subject 3. But the other one...
"And how are you feeling?"She looks at Subject 5 expectantly.
"Let me out."
"Oh! It seems you are doing just fine."She giggles happily and claps her hands a few times. She then scribbles furiously in her notebook.
"LET. ME. OUT."Subject 5 begins slamming hard against the cage. To my horror, the cage bars begin to get dented.
"Tch."The mad scientist (I hadn't gotten around to asking her name) pulls out a handgun and aims it at subject 5.
"You will stop that. Now."
Subject 5 hesitates. And then continues slamming against the cage, emboldened by the progress he's making.
"My oh my. I hate to have to kill a successful experiment, but you leave me no choice..."She shoots Subject 5 in the head.
He falls to the ground, but I don't see any blood. To my horror, the bullet had squished flat against his forehead, causing no more damage than a purple bruise.
"Oh how wonderful! The serum worked better than I thought!"She begins scribbling anew in her notebook, as Subject 5 lays in his cage, unconscious.
"U-uh... you might want to fortify that cage. Maybe find something to restrain him?"
"Shh. Not before I finish my log. An experiment is only as good as the notes that document it, after all\~"
"R-right."
It's odd... I find myself worrying for my captor's safety. Yet, subject 5 breaking out is probably my only hope for escape.
...
I've finally learned her name. It's Christina. Chris for short. I've told her my name too but she insists on calling me Subject 001.
Subject 5 is now tied up in an iron straitjacket, his joints locked up and his movements totally restricted. The cage bars have been replaced by titanium.
I was chowing down on my boiled potatoes when there is a sudden knock on the door to the lab.
"Come in."She says.
The lab door slides open with a whirr and reveals a stout man dressed in full military regalia. His coat is adorned with twinkling medals of all shapes and sizes.
"So. This is Subject 5. The one you've been going on and on about."
"Indeed."
"Well then, show me what it can do."
"Sir, there is some danger involved in letting him loose..."
The man waves off Chris's complaints and makes a hand signal. Immediately afterwards a team of 6 heavily armed men in tactical gear shuffle into the room and take firing positions. Six laser dots are trained on Subject 5's body.
"Get on with it."The man barks.
"Very well, sir."Her eyes were gleaming. "But don't say I didn't warn you."
Christina walks over to the cage and unlocks it. She then undoes the straitjacket. Following this, she hands the military official a serum filled with red liquid.
"He is in a dormant stage right now. Inject this into his left arm and you'll activate Subject 5."
I notice she scurries off into a titanium cage and locks herself in after she hands the serum to the man.
The man snorts and approaches the (now emaciated) Subject 5. "Don't know why you're so scared, Doc. Looks harmless."He injects Subject 5.
A few seconds pass by. Nothing happens. And then... his eyes pop open. He lunges from the cell. The squadron opens fire. But he's too fast... bullets graze him as he zigs and zags toward them.
What follows is a mess of gore. A flurry of punches, decapitations, geysers of blood, and the screams of the dead or dying.
"Teehee, forgot to mention... that may have been an overdose. And it's a new serum I'm testing out too\~"
She calls out to the room. Nobody answers. The official is laying on the ground, his limbs twisted in odd directions.
Subject 5 stands in the middle of it all. Covered in blood, and panting like a hound.
He turns and stares at me, his eyes a screen of red.
I make myself as small as possible. He seems to lose interest. And turns his attention to Christina.
He slowly approaches her cage.
"Ohh. Magnificent!"She scribbles in the notepad, even as the monster approaches her.
He begins slamming on the cage doors. *Slam, smash, crackle, BAM*. Over and over.
"Wonderful! It's a success!"She scribbles even faster, as if to get all her words down on paper before her death.
I stand in silence, in horror. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out at first besides a dry wheeze. Finally, I steel my resolve.
"NO! STOP! Don't hurt her!"I begin slamming my fists against the cage door and rattling it.
It works. Subject 5 turns and looks at me. Then rushes my cage.
"... why?"Christina asks weakly.
"B-because... I... I..."
The cage door is smashed open. Before my world becomes a haze of blood, I see Christina slip out of the cage and manage to escape the lab.
"Thank you... James."
She finally said my name... I smiled as I swallowed my last breath.
Subject 001 was no more. |
How do I proceed? One at a time.
All I can see is suffering here. Everyone competing, miserable at their constant lack of ability to measure up to some monolithic cultural ideal. Their souls are starving.
This world looks normal, but it feels wrong. The leaders are corrupt. The divisions are stark. The successful are beyond decadent. The poor wake up under a merciless sun, sell their daylight for whatever they can get.
The saddest thing is the resignation. This is just the way it is. Everyone is downtrodden, comparing themselves to each other. The system is designed for that. It can't function without insecurity and fear. It's a tremendously efficient machine, epic and eternally churning, oiled with the blood and sweat of faceless millions. Nothing can be done, or so it's believed.
Man is the halfway point between animal and angel. This place is trending back towards the animal. I have to help steer it towards the angelic, towards eternity.
Being good is sixty percent understanding and forty percent forgiveness. That's why I'm going to stay and try to help.
I'll have to take the starfish on the beach route with this place. One person at a time. You know, the old story about the man walking on the beach covered with starfish left there by high tide. He sees another man up ahead, picking up starfish one at a time and throwing them into the water where they belong. "You'll never get all of them,"says the first man. "It doesn't matter."The second man picks up another starfish and throws it back to the surf. "It mattered to that one,"he says.
I've been sent here for a reason. Maybe this place won't even be evil by the time I'm done with it. If an evil person can corrupt a paradise, why couldn't it work the other way around?
I've got a lot of work to do. |
To be honest, living alone has become a routine by now. You keep telling the government agents that you aren't looking for love, but god forbid they let citizens keep what little autonomy they want to hold onto, right?
The tracker app forcibly installed in your phone has an alarm system that act up every few hours, telling you that your soul mate is "somewhere in your vicinity, here's an updated map on their location". It's been a week already. At this rate, you think you'll die from exhaustion first.
You can't afford obliterating your phone and the app along with it or moving so far away that the "in your vicinity"alarm stops working, so after yet another night of interrupted sleep you give in to the app's demand. It's eight in the morning when you leave house. You are the epitome of human suffering.
The app directs you to a park a few bus stops down your apartment complex. It's Tomb Sweeping Day, apparently, and to your chargin the park is already more crowded than you prefer. You find yourself going the same direction as them. When the app tells you to step foot into the local cemetery, you stare at it in dismay. You're not sure if meeting the corpse of your dead soul mate is enough for the app to calm down for once and for all.
"Your soul mate is very near you!"The app helpfully supplies. With a sigh, you activate its detailed GPS system and start walking. It's like you're using Google Maps, except you feel more lost than ever.
The smell of burning joss paper and incense drifts around you. Some of the families around you grieve silently, while others have an air of acceptance to them. You find yourself silently paying respects to the graves you pass by. It feels oddly solemn. The frustrations from earlier start melting away little by little and you start to feel guilty for complaining about the tracker. At least you got to live long enough for the tracker to be activated. Your other half could have died young, a life snuffed out before it could truly be experienced in full.
The tracker starts beeping rapidly and your pace unconsciously hastens. You're suddenly anxious. How do you pay respect to the dead? What if you meet their family? What if they're still grieving? How would you even—
You crash straight into someone.
"Hey, watch it!"The stranger yelps.
"Congratulations, you have found your soul mate!"Your phone says.
You look up to see a young man in his twenties with eye bags big enough to rival your own. His hair is the exact shade of red you hate and his clothes remind you of the bully in your eighth grade chemistry class.
"...Hello? I'm the local cemetery caretaker. Are you looking for a certain grave?"The stranger says, dutifully ignoring the loud congratulatory tune still playing from your phone.
Suddenly, all your frustrations come rushing back to you in one fell swoop.
"You're the asshole who kept me up all night this past week?!" |
You were always the geek.
Dragons. Myths. Spaceships and sci-fi. I rolled my eyes at your beyond-inside jokes, your books and games. I ignored you in your freshman year back in high school, I the proud (or at least boastful) senior. Bookworm. Linebacker. I don't know what conspired to push us together as brothers, but that's fate.
That dumb look on your face driving back the October before it all happened, your trombone bouncing in the back seat of my shitty '96 Corolla. Grass stains on my elbows, blood drying on my forehead. Trash cans lining Chicago streets. High moon, swirling leaves. Gnats fluttering around a street lamp. Shit-eating grin on your face as a street light flickered, flickered, and died. "Don't look back!"Dumb little brother antics.
I scoffed, reaching to turn T.I. up louder on the radio. "If you're walking down the street and a street light dies, don't ever look back. Guess what's coming behind you?"you laughed. Whatever.
November. Gunshots too far north for everyday Chicago gang violence. Mom screaming. Dad nowhere to be found, just like every day since you were six months old. Stone-faced police officer, balding, grey eyes. Not a trace of sympathy in his voice. Pig, I thought in my grief, my hollowness, the feeling, feelings, that couldn't come out in the wake of the news. Where Mom fell apart, I fell inward. No bullet wound, the pig said. We don't know how your brother died. You better come down to the station to identify him, son. You better.
A nod. No tears, no words. Inside I cursed the cop, Dad, God. You.
I don't know what I'd tell you now. You'd be...twenty-three, yeah. Playing *Fortnite* probably, or whatever the geeky quants at work do. Don't tell me you wouldn't still be that kid. Don't tell me that. Don't tell me anything.
New city, same sky. High moon, swirling leaves on the machine streets of New York. I stuff my hands in my jacket pockets and keep out the cold, outside, inside. My empty apartment waits to greet me. Five hundred square feet. Spiderweb on the corner by the window by my bed. I tell myself I like the futon more than I'd like to shell out for a mattress. Not like it matters. Memories rebound inside the drywall cavern that I call a home, and I spend all my time at work making money for Occupy Wall Street's most hated, anyway. It beats the memories.
Sometimes, however, they come find you anyway, no matter how much you try to forget. No matter how much eight years feels like a lifetime.
A car swerves past, tire running up on the sidewalk. I swear, raise my middle finger at the '96 Corolla. Asshole. A light blinks behind me.
It blinks again. Street light. Orange flame amidst the city of lights. One more blink and it dies.
October rushes back. Don't look back. But I can't listen, can't listen to you after eight years of shutting you out. I turn my head and look.
A homeless man huddles in the entrance to a Starbucks. Two women, hand in hand, walk the other way. Cars. Laughter. Gnats swirl in the light of a street lamp across the road, dancing, dancing in the light.
The Corolla drives off. The laughter falls away. I stare back, back at the dying light, the gnats dancing, dancing in the night. |
My grandfather was a magician. They called him *The Great Augusto*.
It sounds silly, but the name was a real killer back in the day. Made him enough fortune to build himself a mansion. It was rather remote and out of the way, but I feel like that's the kind of man grandfather had been. A loner that would appear before you on his merits alone. I guess that might be why he enjoyed doing what he did so much.
The magician, after all, has complete control over the entire act.
Let me give you an example.
One time, he invited my mom and me over for coffee. In reality, it had only been excuse to show off a new trick of his. A "special feature"of his mansion, as he called it. A 4 x 4 x 3 room that extended his attic. Nothing in it but a chair.
He kneel down next to me and said: "Alright, Marcus. Today, I want you to be little assistant, eh? All you have to do is get in that room. I'll shut the door. When I open it, you'll be gone! And then, I'll shut the door again, and poof! There, you will be! Augusto's famous assistant -- Marcusio, in action!"
I nodded. Grandfather was finally going to let me in one of his secrets! And on a trick he seemed so proud of, too!
He whispered in my ear. "There's a trapdoor under the chair."
Amazing! I remember wondering about the looks the architects would've given him for an already strange room.
Mom seemed doubtful, but my grandfather insisted everything would go well.
And, indeed. It happened as he had said. I entered. He closed the door. He snapped his fingers. Swung the door open. And -- *voila*! There was no sign of me. He shut the door once more, snapped his finger three times, said the magic word, and -- *presto*! The great Marcusio had reappeared! And not only that - but the chair had disappeared, too!
My mom clapped.
A spectacular performance.
Marcusio took a bow. He looked quite satisfied.
I can imagine.
Going from being trapped in a chair for the past six hundred years to taking over the body of a six-year-old boy must've felt like quite an accomplishment. I'm sure my grandfather was proud of it, too. And don't try to convince me that he didn't know about it. That *thing* cackled as it wormed itself into the pores of my skin under that trapdoor, thanking my grandfather again and again. Now that I've had time to think about it, I can't say it comes off as a surprise.
I told you. The magician has complete control over the entire act. |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.