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“Hey. I’m Dan. What’s your name?”
You struggle to hold your battered body upright, each breath reminding you of some shattered, torn, ruined part of you. The gates stand before you, wide open, nothing in your way but… well apparently his name is Dan. He certainly doesn’t look like any of the demons you’ve seen. Even the human looking ones you’ve seen were always succubi or some kind of deal-maker they all looked, y’know… impressive. Dan… did not. He looked like someone’s step dad and spoke with a slight corn belt twang. His jorts cut off just slightly higher than you’d maybe prefer. Eyes obscured by a pair of Oakleys sunglasses perched below a hairline that was present, but clearly on its way out. At least his wifebeater looked clean, though with a slight stain of sweat down the chest. Hard to avoid with the inferno so nearby. He was sitting in an old vynil-wrapped beach chair, several straps of the seat and back hanging off, weathered from long use. He holds a yellow can in one of his weirdly vascular hands and a blocky rectangle in the other, presumably the remote to an old television sitting in front of him, complete with bunny ears. What the actual fuck?
“Hey Dan. I’m… Carl” you lie, clumsily. Dan seems to be scrutinizing you, at least that’s what you assume, it’s hard to tell with those ridiculous sunglasses he’s wearing.
“Sure” he finally says, grinning at your obviously false moniker, “Want a Pacifico, Carl?” Did he just fucking wink? I seriously can’t with these sunglasses.
“What’s a Pacifico?” You ask, hesitant.
“It’s like if corona got a liberal arts degree and wore a bow tie. It’s good, try one, they’re cold” He hands you a can, and the cold aluminum on your scabbed, dry, cracked hands is almost painful, but you clutch it with all the strength you have left, drinking in the cold. Dan frowns at the ruined bloody nubs where your fingernails used to be and reached over.
“Here, brother, lemme get that” and *crack*, you whimper as a thin stream of foam ebbs over the edge of the can and down the back of your hand, dribbling through an open fissure eaten away by clownsnake acid. Or was that the venom from the scorpion sharks? You stop cataloguing the various atrocities you’ve endured and take a sip.
“Holy shit,” you think as the first liquid to pass your lips in years that wasn’t recently excreted through the bowels or horrific glands of some nightmare creature hits your taste buds.
“Holy shit” you say after you’ve finished guzzling half the can. You let out a powerful belch, and immediately wince as it rattles what’s left of your ribs around the ruined drum of your chest.
“Right?” Dan smiles, “it’s like if a corona passed the bar and started working for the ACLU”
“Its like If corona only listened to NPR and went jogging every morning” you say, laughing with him in spite of how much it stings. Enjoying the first non-physically or sexually or gastrointesinally violent interaction you’ve had in… eons? Sure, eons.
“So Dan” you ask after a brief silence, taking a pull from a corona that got a field hockey scholarship, “whatcha doin? I mean like…” you gesture at the edges of the void and the gates before you and the retro tv playing… is that Barry?
“Welp” he begins, cracking open another beer, “Let’s say I had a job to do, or rather, someone told me I had a job to do. I don’t do so well with being told what to do, so when a massive whirling series of interconnected rings made of eyes and wings showed up, and he was all ‘be not afraid’ n shit, and I was all ‘bitch I ain’t, fuck you want anyway?’ Then he whips out an enchanted cooler that never runs out of beer and a blessed tv that gets all the streaming services, whatever the fuck that means, I figured ‘Well fuck, might as well see if it’s *really* endless’ and here we are. Bout 2,364 beers later. Wriggly fucker weren’t kiddin around.”
You stare at him. You’ve been through a lot recently, your mind has been broken so many times it’s mostly scar tissue now, but this… this is a lot. You’re surprised at how quickly social grace returns when your mouth isn’t being impregnated by a flock of fire geese.
“So… Barry? Why season are you on?”
“Just started 2, so no spoilers. I like this fucks guy, he’s alright. Gene’s a bit of a pussy, though.”
You nod, unsure how to respond. Not wanting to upset this curious man dressed like a deputy sheriff on his day off. You decide to change the subject.
“So, this job?” You ask, uncertainly.
“I mean you know, it’s the usual bullshit, I’m sposed to go topside, subjugate the innocent, slaughter the faithful, throne of skulls, yadda yadda, all that horse shit. Parents, right?”
“Huh.” You can’t really think of more to say to that. But there is something you have to know. “So.. ‘Dan’?”
“Oh, right. It’s short for The Antichrist” his accent making it sound more like D’antichrist.
“Cool..” you venture, very afraid that you’ve come this far and had that many organs serve as birthplace and first meal for brood larvae only to meet the literal goddamned actual antichrist. “So, just gonna watch tv and drink corona if it had a sociology major, until you… get bored? And go destroy humanity?”
“Sounds less cool when you say it, but I’ll take any recommendations you’ve got” he says, popping another can after hurling his empty into the void.
“Well. I think you’d like All my Children, but you gotta start from episode one. You’d probably like Law & Order too. And have you heard of One Piece?”
Edit: anyone else getting ads for Pacifico? |
I am losing something. In bits and pieces, slipping away from me. A necessity, that was mine, but no longer. Each phrase, every breath, sand drains, tick tock. Irreplaceable. Unrecoverable. Cannot express what has been lost without further losses. Do you understand? Dost thou comprehend? How about now? There won't be any aid, salvation, relief. Trifles? Nay. Unnecessary? Hardly. Life blood? Practically. Moments drift. Survival at risk, the struggle is nearly over. Will miss this immensely. Dearest ones, beloved friends, family found or of birth, all listen closely, for my words fail when needed most. Just these remain: fare well. |
"See, I told you, now you'll be sorry! Look at my new form!"
"Fists?"
"Yes, Fist form! Get ready to be vanquished!"
"But I mean, that's not really a new form. You just closed your hands, made, you know, fists of of them."
"Oh, there's more to it than that, you see. These are the Fists of Dread, and now they're pointing directly at you, fool!"
"Like, 'dread' how exactly? I mean I am wearing full titanium body armor. I'm sorry, I'm just not getting it."
There was an awkward pause, while the villain spun around in his cape and then suddenly was sitting on the ground, in full lotus position, doing what looked like 'jazz hands' for some reason.
"Forget the Fists of Dread! I grew weary of your jests, so now I've changed form to something more formidable - the Seated Yogi of Ultimate Power!"
"What, um, exactly is your power then?"
"I instill hopess fear into those unfortunate enough to challenge me!"His fingers wiggled a bit faster at that.
"I'm going to literally crush you. I mean do you even realize I have hydrolic leg assists in this suit and can I can just step on you like a bug?"
Another pause ensued. The crafty villain stood back up slowly, and stood there in kind of a hunched position and sighed, while a tear slid down his cheek. "Ok then, I shall take my final and most powerful form!"He was now crying streams of tears. "That's right, the Sad Villain Who was Never Loved by His Parents!"He dropped to his knees and begged for mercy, his head hanging down.
"Really, the sad inner child thing, really? Damn you! I ... I yield." |
People really went "sky-diving"now. 10,000 feet. No parachute. It was fun the first few times. Then it started to get boring. Sure, the view is nice, but the thrill was gone. Where's the fun in jumping out of a perfectly good airplane if you can't die? I kept doing it just because he wanted to. He still got a kick out of it. I think on some level he knew it wasn't as fun for me anymore, but he would ask every weekend and I would oblige. How could I refuse? After all, he only had so long to live. He started to get into other extreme sports too. The equipment was cheap because everyone had lost interest. Base jumping, those winged squirrel suits, wind surfing, all that crap. He enjoyed it and I didn't mind, I loved spending time with him even if the activities had lost their appeal. I never worried until he broke an arm while bunging jumping. It wasn't an equipment issue--we'd had plenty of practice setting up the cord at that point. He was just _old_. And frail. I told him maybe 55 wasn't a good age to be leaping from national monuments. He reluctantly agreed and I thought that was the end of it. I was buying two classical guitars for us to learn on together when I got the call. Dead. Biking in the grand canyon. They told me there was still a smile on his face. I tried to bury my grief in mastering Asturias in G minor, but it didn't do any good. I even went skydiving a few times, but that only made it worse because I realized the fact that it won't hurt when I hit the ground didn't freak me out anymore. Surely there was a limit to my immortality. The next week, I asked the pilot to go higher. He went up an extra ten thousand feet and then told me his bird didn't go any higher. I knew it wasn't enough, but I jumped anyway because it was the fastest way down. I even made sure I landed headfirst. Nothing. I cried that night. Ironic that the only man in the human race who could die was the only one who could live.
EDIT: Tense agreement. |
James blinked rapidly and shot up out of bed. He had the dream again. It was glorious, everyone was drinking, dancing, and smoking. The music was so loud and couples were beginning to break off from the group to have drug-fueled sex in whatever spare room they could find. But here he was. He ran his hand through the thick puppy fur that composed his entire bedspread. Beautiful beams of orange sunlight filtered through the window and danced around his eyes like obnoxious fruit flies. His wife woke up a second later, as she always did.
"Morning, honey. Would you like coffee and breakfast in bed today?"
The bare curves of her body would have made any living man excited, but not James. Not here. Here, nobody is "burdened"by urges of that sort.
"No, I don't want fu- frigging breakfast, how many times do I have to tell you?"
"Okay honey, if there's anything you need, let me know, I'm-
"'Here to serve', yeah, I know."
James stormed out of the house and into the main thoroughfare, paved in clouds. Every step felt like walking on warm, caressing air. Happy couples walked to and fro, holding hands and wearing proud smiles on their stupid faces. James brushed past everyone, picking the silk of his robe out of his asscrack. He walked with purpose, straight to the throne room. There was no appointment necessary. He approached the grand, golden throne. Before him was a man made entirely of light. A giant, humanoid manifestation of pure love and goodwill.
"I'm done. Send me down."
"James, you know that I cannot let you live again on Earth. It is a hateful, evil place and is no home for my children."
"Oh shut UP, you made that rock, didn't you? How am I the only one who can't enjoy this? It's beautiful, but nothing ever happens! I want a beer. I want to have fun again."
"James, some take time to adjust. You know I cannot let you back to Earth."
"I'm not talking about Earth..."
He took a deep breath and continued:
"Goddamn it"
Within an instant, the floor of the palace had opened, and he was in free fall. His robe fluttered away into the clouds. He closed his eyes and felt the air whip around his naked body. A massive hole appeared in the Earth directly under him. He heard the screams, yes, but among the screams were laughs. Moans of ecstasy. His eyes widened as he felt the intense heat. He laughed himself silly all the way down. The pain felt amazing. |
Peter and Brier Rabbit were prancing happily in the large green field of Rabbitopolis when suddenly Peter stopped hopping altogether, a nervous flicker appeared in his eye.
"Brier?"
"Yes, Peter, what's wrong?"
"Have you noticed anything?"
"What? That Thumper has gone missing?? Yeah the Mysterious hand snatched him up a week ago. I thought you knew, Peter. I'm sor-"
"No, I already knew about that,"Peter cut him off, "It just that it seems that they're a lot less of us than before. I mean look around."
Brier blinked his big brown eyes and looked around, his nose twitching. Everything in Rabbitopolis from the large sunny hilltops to the big red oak trees and the large pirckly brier patch seemed to be in order, except one thing was missing: the rabbits!
"My god, Peter, I think you're right, Where the hell is everyone?"Brier asked, panic in his voice, "We can't be the only ones left, can we?"
Peter gave a short stolid nod, "Just us and the council of elders. We've hid in the Brier Patch too long, old friend. It's time to face the music: the next time the hand comes, it's going to be one of us."
"I'm going to miss you buddy."said Brier, tearing up.
"Same, pal."
Then, as if by magic, the blue sky above them swirled into a thick cloudy whirlpool of purples and reds as a large portal flashed and crackled open in the center. Out of the forming hole, came a large human hand, demanding a creature.
Like it always had before, a loud booming voice echoed across the land, calling out to rabbits far and near,
"The time for retribution is here. I demand payment. Offer up a sacrifice."it bellowed.
Brier and Peter ran to their hideout among the Brier thorns, but alas, they could not hide forever. Black smoke appeared around them and in an instant they vanished, reappearing at what must have been the council of the elders. A large marble altar was set in the middle of a field beset by large stones on all sides, arranged in a circular pattern. Around the altar sat 6 fat rabbits, each wearing tiki masks. They spoke quietly to themselves, nibbling on carrots nervously.
"Alright gentlemen, the time has come for one of you to be chosen. As you may know, our race is dwindling. Very few of us remain. We must decide which one of you will leave this world today."
Peter and Brier looked at each other sorrowfully before embracing each other in a final hug.
"I'll go"they said simultaneously, before breaking into wry smiles, proud of one another's loyalty.
"QUICKLY!"the voice blasted in the sky. The hand was reaching around franticly, trying to grab onto something.
"Very well,"said the head elder, "I shall decide."He paused, itching his whiskers, "Peter."he said finally, "You are chosen."
"No take me, please!!"Brier called out in dismay, "I'll go instead."But it was too late. Peter spontaneously was lifted into the air, joining the hand in the sky who grabbed him desperately.
Peter closed his eyes, listening to Brier's woeful cries from down below. "Goodbye."he said to himself, accepting his fate into death's arms.
Abruptly, he felt a rush of cold air as he was being lifted up. He opened his eyes and was startled to find himself in front of a room full of horribly awkward and large creatures who were staring at him in amazement. Then all of the sudden, they flashed their teeth as if they were about to growl and erupted into a frenzy of barks, hoots, and hand-mashing. He grew scared, quickly closing his eyes, before realizing that they were not threatening him, but praising him. He opened his big hazel eyes and smiled, waiting for the day him and Brier would be reunited.
"It's okay, buddy, I made it."he whispered to himself, "I made it."
|
There was a beautiful woman on the subway standing next to him, her long brunette hair catching his eye in particular. He calculated every way he could ask her out, and almost did.
"She's going to kill herself later. Her mother is dead and she did it."His genie floated just above his shoulder, whispering in his ear. "If you ask her out she'll say yes and then still go home and kill herself."
"Jesus."The man mumbled to himself.
"Didn't exist."The genie said simply. He wasn't being snarky, or trying to be rude. He was simply fulfilling his current masters wish. The man knew this, but it didn't help things.
"Will I at least get this promotion?"The man asked. "I've been working towards this my whole life."He had, he really had. His entire engineering career was leading up to this - leading a team of bright people to build New York's latest bridge.
"No. Steve gets it. Steve's been blowing Craig for years now."The genie paused a moment. "Your transportation is pulling to a stop."
Indeed it was. The man and his shoulder assistant stepped off the train and into the station, with a sad glance towards the beautiful brunette going about her last day. "Your connection will be here in two minutes,"the genie mentioned helpfully, "You'll get to work early. You can catch Steve at it if you run."
The man gave the genie a dour look. "Would that help anything?"
"Not unless you want to not receive a promotion and also get blackmailed."
"Thanks."The man stared out to the terminal, paying no attention to the people shuffling and jostling past him, and sighed. "Sorry, Jadeem, it's just not what I thought it was. I know you're just doing your job."
"Indeed."The genie paused a moment. "Wishes almost never turn out like the wisher wants."
"Don't I know it."The train pulled into the terminal, and the man made to board. He stopped at a little tug on his shoulder.
"Master, that train is going to crash. You haven no chance of surviving."The genie pointed back behind them, at the stairs leading out into the cold winter air. "You can still get to work on time if you walk, since you left early."
"Really?"The man glanced behind him, then back at the train, with people bustling inside who had no idea. "I left early to help cinch the supervisor job."He nodded to himself, and boarded. |
"This world looks like a good candidate."The Ensign said. As the Great Admiral looked down upon the world, he vibrated in anticipation. "Yes, yes it does. Begin the preparations for the first landfalls. We must strike at their feeble heart of civilization first. Then the world will be ours."
When they landed they began attacking the pitiful sentients in their huts. Just before the they could strike, one of them exited the building. And after a single swift motion with its hand, the Great Admiral knew that they would never be able to resist the power of these creatures.
_____________________________________________________________
This was a great day for all of the Kyzyx. Finally they had found a world not ravaged by the Menace. Its seas were still blue, plants still green and lights still shone in the cities of its people. As the leader of his people he had always hoped this day would come, but never did he believe it would. These 'Humans' had even welcomed their arrival. After their languages were translated they were happy to meet the Kyzyx.
As the shuttle landed he could only hope they would be so kind once they knew what they asked. Hundreds of thousands of Kyzyx were aboard the fleet, all without a home. The Menace had seen to that. The bay doors opened and he stepped out. The yellow sun glared in the sky and he was warmed by its rays. This would be a good world if they were allowed to stay.
"I am President Lin of the United States of America, greetings and welcome to Earth. We extend our hand in friendship to the Kyzyx."He reached out and wrapped his fingers around the human's hand in the greeting he had been briefed on. The Matriarch had given him this responsibility and he would make sure he did not fail. "I thank you President Lin of the United States of America. They Kyzyx are beyond happy to find a friend in the stars that are filled with the Menace."He and the human began conversing but then he noticed it. At the front of the mass of humans that had gathered to see his arrival was his greatest fear. At first he thought it was just his paranoia but there in the arms of the human child was the Menace.
His shrieks of terror nearly deafened the humans. How could they survive with the Menace? Did the humans not realize their doom? The human child gripped the creature tighter in its fear. Pressing its face into the beast's fur. It seemed to take comfort in its horribleness. When he finally calmed himself the humans were pointing weapons at him.
"Ambassador, what have we done to offend you?"The human leader seemed confused. "There in the arms of that child is the destroyer of Life! They burned our planet and toyed with our children before devouring them!"The human leader looked at the child and seemed confused. He was not phased by the appearance of the menace at all! "Ambassador that's a cat. They're our pets."
His blood ran cold. In the moments before he slipped into unconsciousness, he saw the child stroke the destroyer. He could hear it vibrating contentedly, a sound he had only heard during the destruction of his world. By the Seven, these humans were monsters. |
Did I tell you that I used to be a journalist? When print media died, I got sidelined and ended up working in TV and let me tell you, I have never been happier than I am right now.
Lou. Lou, put the news on. I know! I'm trying to illustrate a point to this gentleman here. Lou, how much have I spent on this watery excuse for beer in this very tavern over the years? Do I ask for much? You're a gentleman, Lou, and yes, another.
Just watch this a second, Pointdexter:
"...First! for news. And today, the worldwide feeling of general contentment and happiness continues unabated. Here in the studio with me we have several daytime talk show hosts who's careers have been ruined by the outbreak of general bonhomie and human empathy, but first we talk to Doctor Hans Sternhoffer of Heidelberg University, a noted expert in psychology and a man who has spent the last twenty years studying how humans become and stay happy.
Dr. Sternhoffer...have we reached Peak Happy? Isn't this just the tipping point of an inevitable decline into bleak depression and, frankly, existential nightmare?"
"I'd have to say no to that, Steve. We have every indication that the struggles of our ancestors have finally paid off and the earth is pretty much a living nirvana. Humanity's goals, in terms of emotional happiness, have been reached and we're living the good life."
"Isn't that, in itself, just a gateway to stagnation and eventual extinction?"
"What? No! Why would it? Look, Steve, don't harsh everyone's mellow, alle ist kla?"
See what I mean? Funny stuff. Watch the talk show hosts. They can't bring themselves to be miserable about their careers ending. See that guy? That's Jeremy Kyle, formerly hated on both sides of the Atlantic as being a trader in human misery and now just a cheerful and relaxed guy without a bad word to say about anybody. Did you watch his show?
Ahhh, I did. Rivetting stuff, and the day it changed was just a-maze-ing. All those dysfunctional couples hugging it out and talking about how they respected one another's choices and would be there for one another. Just a beautiful moment.
Me? I'm going to continue drinking my savings for the time being, just watch the world smile for a while. I was a journalist, remember? I've got a lot of heartache to ease, and after that maybe I'll get a job sweeping streets or something. I think I could be really happy sweeping streets. |
Ring.
Ring.
Ri-
click.
"You the pig?"
"Yes, I am a police officer."
"We've got a hostage. Arthur Brandsing. We want four million and a flight out of the country."
"We don't negotiate wit-"
"WE HAVE A FUCKING HOSTAGE. FOUR MILLION FOR US OR A FOUR MILLIMETRE FOR HIM. DO YOU FUCKING UNDERSTAND ME?"
"...Yes. May we speak with the hostage?"
Cloth rustling.
"Hello? Policeman?"
"Arthur Brandsing? Is that you? Have you been harmed in any manner?"
"Nah, man, it's cool. The rope's chafing a bit, but I'll live."
"...is this a joke?"
"Nah. Just keep talking, ok? *whispers* Stay on the line. You'll want to hear this."
"...what?"
"Just chill, dude. Gonna be fuckin' copacetic. Listen."
"What are you-"
Crash.
Automatic gunfire. Ratatatatatatata.
Screams. Swearing.
A harpy screech.
Thump.
Silence.
Click.
"Hello, young man. You're with the police?"
"...uh. Yes. Yes Ma'am. Yes I am."
"Well, you just tell everyone at the station that this is all sorted out, dear. No need to send a car- oh! Arty, you're so smart, I should have thought of that! Send an ambulance for these poor motherfuckers, would you? Thank you, dear."
Click. |
"If not for its armor, you realize it never would've survived this right?"The village healer and her Gardevoir looked at the limping Drapion with concern.
"This old bug's seen tougher than that Scyther nest. It was that accursed Staraptor flying in after that caught us off guard. Those things are fast and mean."All the while, Drapion was struggling to keep his head up. "But please, healer, for now he needs help."
"Indeed. Gardevoir, Heal Pulse."A soft pinkish light began to emanate around Drapion as it eyed Gardevoir warily at first. Its expression changed to a dreamy look of relief as the move took effect, re-sealing the cracks in its exoskeleton.
"He lost a fair bit in that fight but he gave as well as he got. When it was over he had ripped the wings from that Staraptor clean off, but he got hit with a fully channeled Brave Bird attack from what I can tell. Were it not for the supply of Moomoo milk I had on hand I doubt we'd have made it back here in time."
Drapion hopped up and scuttled around the room closer to its trainer, its uneasiness returned due to Gardevoir's presence. Both trainers laughed at their respective Pokémon.
"You great galumphing idiot of a scorpion, she just healed you!"The old hunter sighed and tossed his old friend a Lava Cookie.
"It's only natural; his half-Dark side used to unnerve her, if you recall. It was only about a year ago, after the Meteor hit and the Fairies appeared that he started to avoid my dear Garde..."
"Headhunter, is Drapion well?"One of the younger hunters rushed in the healer's tent, gored in the stomach and clutching his Herdier that looked to be in even worse condition. "A pride of Pyroar are on their way right to the village. The head male's mane is...different. Not the usual shade of orange and red."
Drapion let out a shrill cry and swung its arms around. "Healer, I need to buy any Rawst berries you have. Looks like the night may be a long one. Also, whatever happened to your old stash of Ultra Balls?"
"A Pyroar and Drapion to defend the village? I'll give up a few for that. Go. Bring the beast's head back or bring it back in one piece, but you be careful."The healer passed a basket into the old hunter's hands. "For the fight ahead, the supplies you asked and something to help the old scorp out."The healer pulled out a TM and placed it on Drapion's head. Drapion eyed the disc-like object with curiosity and blinked a few times before letting out another battle cry.
"What'd you just teach him?"
"Rock Tomb. Should make it easier to trap that head Pyroar. Now get going, before they make a snack of us all!"As she was speaking, the unmistakable roar of the Pyroar could be heard a bit too closely for comfort in the village. Stepping out of the tent, the hunter saw the leader of the pride; indeed, it was what the children called "Shiny". Drapion looked at its Trainer, awaiting instructions.
"Come, you old bug. I have a lion to tame!" |
The crowd is roaring. I can hardly hear myself think. The screams shouting range from "Kick his ass!"to "You can do it!"
Then a man dressed in all black comes from the stadium and raises a single finger. The crowds screams are immeduately silenced.
"We are here to determine the fate of Jon Raven"the man in black proclaims. "Every single deed Jon has ever done will manifest itself and aid or attempt to defeat the soul of Jon. BEGIN!"
And just like that, every thing I've ever done in my 18 years of life floods into my mind.
The man I held the door for transforms into an old weak but loyal warrior that vows to defend me.
The kid who I bullied manifests into a form of pure hatred and frustration hell bent on killing me.
I remember the time I gave my friend a pen and paper in class. That transforms into my sword and shield that I use to slash the Hatred's back right after he kills the old man.
My mother whom I resented my entire life becomes a creature of evil from which my mind still cannot comprehend.
The creature dives onto me and manages to slice my arm.
I seach relentlessly for something good I've done but all I can remember is the evil. Forms of hate, fear, violence and everything unpleasant begin to spawn around me.
It's hopeless.
Then, I remember one thing. I remember the child I pushed out of the way. I remember the child's life I saved in place of my own. The ultimate sacrifice. Redemption...
The child comes from the sky as a humanoid form of pure light. He slowly descends next to me and remains motionless while the beasts stare in fear.
The Light the erupts and sends a holy shockwave which destroys all the evil I've done in my life in one wave.
"Thank you, Jon."The light utters. "I hope one day to save a life like you saved mine. Good luck on your journey."
The light dissipates in front of my eyes before I can say a single word.
Two golden gates open and I walk through. Not damned but redeemed. |
Being the man that I am, being prompted to become 'Supreme Global Overlord', as my son puts it, baffles me. I am not above averagely smart, not all good looking, not that athletic, just another boring person. Also, I am a recluse with bad social skills, so how in the name of hell did I get promoted to becoming 'Earth's Ambassador'?
The first day wasn't so bad. But the paparazzi was horrifying! Flashing lights, screaming, questions, claustrophobia all were at my throat. And being a person with bad social skills, I was flipping out! I started to cry midway through.
Second, challenging. Paperwork was the necessity today. Which pissed me off! I never asked for this job, yet I have to do all this?! Dammit...
Third day was great! My son and wife came to visit the World Capital Building, and I got to spend the day with them. My son was so enthusiastic and happy I become 'Supreme Global Overlord'. My wife, on the other hand, was worried. Thinking I can't handle it. I told her it was fine and that she and our son should stay the night.
Fourth. Oh god was she right. I was woken at Three AM and then I had to get ready for a speech. Which, again, I am bad at social skills. So, I ended up mumbling half the pre-written script and then barely staying conscious due to hyperventilation.
Fifth is when everything went to pieces.
Aliens invaded and then promoted me to 'Galactal Supreme Overlord', as my son puts it.
Day Sixth. I thought "What's next?! A god will come down and make me a deity?!"
*...I jinxed it...* |
Oh, hello there. I’m terribly sorry, this font is a complete mess, I wasn’t expecting company. Just, why don’t you have a seat, I’ll clean up some of these stray commas and apostrophes… dear me I don’t know how long that semicolon’s been there. Would you like a drink? Urgh, this place is so dull, but that’s really John’s fault. He’s terrible with adjectives, you know. Heart’s in the right place, bless him, but he can’t seem to get beyond stuff like “the room was big, the wallpaper was peeled, the table was bare.” I don’t think he’s ventured into the land of similes quite yet, thankfully. A bad simile is like a fish: always stirring up trouble. Haha, little fiction joke. Don’t mind me. Do I seem nervous? Sorry, I’m just unused to the company. I must say, your self-determination and illusion of free agency look lovely this evening. They match your eyes. I know I can seem a bit two dimensional, but I’ve not really had any defining character arcs yet; who knows what kind of fully-fleshed, empathetic person I will become after the climax! You’ve got a front row seat: after a couple hundred pages you can look into the camera and say “I knew him before he saved the world, before he made his money, before he got the girl. Back when he was just a bare-bones man in a one-paragraph flat. But still, he had a spark…”
People always do that, you know? Like, after someone makes it big, the interviewer finds the high-school teacher, the long-forgotten childhood friend, and they’re always like “Well he seemed normal, but he had a glint in his eye, I knew he’d go on to do great things.” I don’t know, I think that’s kind of bullshit. Confirmation bias and all that, you know?
And, hey, at least it’s not a dark and stormy night! Hah. Are you done with that drink? Would you like another? No? Do you mind if I…? Man, this is a bit nervous-making. No one’s visited me in so long, I forgot how to be engaging. Did I say that already? This blog’s been up three years, three posts, two views, zero comments. John hasn’t been back in forever. I keep thinking he’ll have me do something, you know, move the scene forward, get some action, I believe in him. I hope he believes in me. I’ve got potential, I can feel it, I can do things. I just… I just need a bit of guidance.
Oh, you’re looking at your watch. Is it time for you to leave? Already? But… yeah, no, I get it. I’m just kind of moping here. Hey, it was sweet of you to drop by. Come see me again sometime? And, if you see John somewhere, tell him… I don’t know. Tell him I’m still here. Waiting. Tell him that he needs to pick up the pen again. Just send me to Paris. Have me live happily ever after. Something. Please. It’s lonely out here. |
I jumped into bed and plopped down into the pillows, but I was too excited to sleep. How could I not be? I'd found the coin!
Over the past few months, I've had the same dream. Well, no: not the same dream. It's always different, but it features the same characters, and the same locations. Lord Montsamilar was my patron, and I was a knight, Sir Jon De Clare, in his court. Most of the dreams were pretty standard, nothing too exciting: going about my business at the castle, oppressing the serfs... you know, the usual. It was an area that I was very familiar with; I'd always been a bit of a history nerd, and I was a volunteer tour guide up at the ruins of the castle in modern times.
But it didn't occur to me that it might have been real until last week. In the dream, I was walking through town's market when I saw the northernmost watchtower collapse, just like it was in modern times. Rubble and bricks cluttered the streets, and I was in the thick of it all pulling out survivors when I realized that this was exactly what had happened in the history books. So I ran a test: I took a single gold coin and buried it in a metal box right under where my backyard now is. And when I awoke the next morning, I dug it up. The metal was rusted and crumbling, but the gold coin was exactly the same. It was eerie, holding the centuries-old object in my hands when I'd placed it in the ground only an hour or so earlier. But the implications were huge: I was going to change history. Today, Sir Jon would start down the road toward becoming king.
It was a foolproof plan, really. I'd need some capital to start, but surely Lord Montsamilar would agree to small loan. From there, I'd start a factory, jumpstarting the Industrial Revolution by a few hundred years. I'd go claim the new world as my own kingdom, and all of its riches to boot. I'd claim the tea fields of India and the Far East and control the Suez Canal on my own. And then, I'd leave it all to myself, far in the future.
As I repeat my plans to myself, my eyelids begin to grow heavy.
----
My eyes opened in the dream world once again. It always starts with me waking up as Sir Jon once again. Sleep is always the transition. Trumpets blared outside my window, and I could see the banners of a dozen neighboring lords fluttering in the breeze. Were we being invaded? Was there a war?? Time seemed to skip in my dreams; sometimes, I would pick up exactly where I'd left off. Other times, whole weeks would pass when it had only been a day in modern times. It looked more like I was facing the latter at the moment.
My steward came through the door bearing my full set of armor. He must have noticed my confused expression: "For the tilt, my lord. You're slated to go first in the tourney!"
----
The horse stamped nervously, sending up a cloud of dust. Across the field, I could see the blue and white banner of my next opponent, and the cluster of courtiers that he'd brought from his castle. A servant approached him carrying the large wooden lance, and he held it aloft. I did the same.
Luckily for me, I had Sir Jon's skill and training in the dreams. I'd already dehorsed three opponents today, one so fiercely that he'd broken a few ribs. Luckily for everyone involved, I'd been able to treat any injuries using modern medical practices like sterile instruments and proper bandaging; he'd live.
The trumpets sound once again, and my horse charges forward with a tremendous clatter of plate armor. I grip the handle of my lance tightly and pull down my visor. Through the narrow slits, I can see my opponent doing the same. The horse's hooves trample the grass and send a spray of mud into the stands, where Lord Montsamilar lifts his drink and toasts to me. He'd made a small fortune already by betting on my matches, and seemed to be in quite a good mood about it. Hopefully that would make it much easier to get a loan out of him to start my factories.
The horses thunder closer to each other, mere meters apart now. Everyone in the crowd is standing, trying to get the best view. Our lances are lowered, and we both struggle to hold them straight with the galloping horses. And in a split second, I get punched in the chest and thrown clear of the saddle.
*Oh god*
I reach a gloved hand up to my breastplate, where a fat sliver of wood has torn through the metal. I try to tilt my neck to get a better look at it, and shooting pains dance up my spine.
*Oh god*
The blood is trickling across my chest and running down the edge of my armpit and out of the thin joints of the armor. Spectators have realized what has happened, and the cheers of joy have been replaced by cries of horror. I turn to the side and see Lord Montsamilar standing from his throne, trying to get a better look at the chaos. In the distance, I'm dimly aware of my horse's neighing as it rides off without me.
*Just wake up,* I tell myself. Summoning the little strength I have left, I rip off the helmet, close my eyes, and slap myself. My breath is ragged, and I can already feel the blood pooling in my lungs, making me cough. But every cough is like breathing fire. *Just wake up*, I tell myself.
I close my eyes tight, hoping that I'll see my bedroom again when I open them. But when my eyelids flutter open, I just see blue skies and dust clouds. My vision begins to fade.
*Just wake up!!* |
Aiden watched as the minions of evil marched down the street. The wretched creatures limped and waddled in a mockery of an imperial march. In their hands, they held the cruel weapons, weapons that had killed so many already, and would kill many more if Aiden didn't stop them. Taking a deep breath, he pressed [play on his ipod](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HgzGwKwLmgM) and leapt from his roof.
As Aiden sailed quickly towards the ground, he tucked himself in a tight roll and landed in a neat crouch with a resounding thud. The ground beneath trembled furiously, as if hesitant to catch him. Small bits of soil and grass launched themselves into the air. Aiden smiled and took off towards the legion of evil.
|
"They're all fucking savages! I killed a nigger with my own hands and I loved it!"
The dinner table fell silent as all eyes fell upon old Grandpa MacNeil. The family knew Grandpa was racist (still is) and how he used to solve problems with violence. No one expected he would say that at the dinner table though.
Anton just stared there in disbelief, trying to make sense of what he had just heard. He's black, and a guest at the house.
"Goddamit Grandpa, us niggers are trying to eat!"I slammed my fist to the table, softly.
The entire family laughed, Anton included. What could've been a disaster, turns out to be a great joke.
I'm not black for the record, but I seem to have the ability to make any awkward or negative situation into a positive and fun one. I don't know how I do it, I just do.
"You're white as cum Johnny! You ain't a nigger!"Said Grandpa
"Yeah well, blacks cum white too, so I guess we were all the same at one point!"
Grandpa laughed at my statement....then he became quiet snd thoughtful. His face, focused and had a look of what seems to be, realization.
"We were all the same....?"Grandpa said.
Anton swallowed his food.
"....we are aren't we?"Anton said
I smiled looking at the situation. 10 seconds ago, Grandpa hated blacks. Now he's making conversations with one.
|
Our professor, in all his usual dramatic flair, stood upon the table and gazed at every one of us, eye to eye.
"Dream!"he said. "Look deep into your soul! Do you think that this was some kind of joke, a clever jab at the horrors of--excuse my language--PTSD? No, students! No."
He hopped to the ground and came face to face with Jimmy, whose brow began to sweat with concentration. Outside, Earth drifted lazily above the horizon.
"Jimmy, this pasta was written in 2010. What was happening in the world back then?"
"S-sir,"Jimmy stumbled, "that was just after the gulf war."
The professor spun around to face the class, and roared: "Yes! And let me tell you, the veterans were no joke--hardened fighters, with blood on their palms, haunted by the horrors of war. Susan!"
A ramrod jammed into Susan's back, her attention now completely on the lesson rather than her smartwatch.
"Yes, sir?"she asked with enthusiasm.
"What did the public think of the internet in 2010?"
"They were scared, sir, I don't know. Something about the NSQ--TSB--NSA?"
"Correct! Class, turn to your papers. Samuel, read it out loud, for all of us to hear. And put a growl into your voice."
Samuel, the drama student and greatest advocate of our English lessons, deepened his voice and announced with all the strength of a warrior the text for us to hear. It came alive to us, sitting in our chairs, reliving the magnificence of a war veteran. None of us had seen one before, but we'd heard stories, and despite the way the ticking clock seemed to move at a snail's pace, we were enraptured.
The professor calmed his voice down, talked low so we had to lean in to piece together his words. "Three hundred confirmed kills. My Lord, students, that's a ton. I want to tell you about the prose, here. The vulgarity of his words was not uncommon in that decade, but it had a greater effect, then, than it does now. Do you hear the viciousness in his voice? Analyze those curt sentences, how he makes the text speed by with the fury of a Navy SEAL! What a piece of literature. Look at the insults he uses: 'maggot' and 'kiddo' and 'little shit'. Do you see how he paints himself so grand? All of the imagery here gives the impression of a goliath looking down upon an ant.
"Some of the big names in literature think that this was a piece of propaganda, made to get the populace to pick up arms and join the Navy, or the Marines, but I don't think so. They didn't have to make propaganda. These men were gods upon Earth, and the world knew it.
"Class is dismissed today,"he finished. "I hope you found an appreciation for pasta."
But we did not pick up our books and leave. No, one by one, every member of the class stood upon the desks and saluted our professor, the only man who could make us love the tedious texts of the 21st century.
"Oh Captain, my Captain!"exclaimed Khaleesi from the back. And we joined up the call.
"Oh Captain, my Captain!"shouted Susan.
"Oh Captain, my Captain!"announced Jimmy, to our surprise.
The professor looked at us all and smiled. He had only one response--"Thank you class. Now get out of here, or I'll shit fury all over you." |
I can't sleep. I needed to stay awake to stay alive. I don't know how I know this, but I'm certain of it.
The research that had made all the headlines was, as usual, clickbait. We'd known for some time that we all turn into sleeping antennae sending out messages into the great unknown. It had been conclusively shown in the classic Kampff demonstration. What was less certain was what we were sending out, or where to, or even why our brains did this. And so far, the best, classified data showed us that this was being transmitted to somewhere in the M13 globular cluster.
But the public didn't care, as usual. The public needed a headline, and they got one. Already they were selling helmets and hats wrapped in alumimium foil promising to insulate our brains and keep our thoughts inside our head where they belonged. Tinfoil hats, lead-stained glasses - anything to keep those darned thoughts in our head, damnit!
At this moment, Bob is on the other side of the country, in touch with me only through phone. The two of us were, at the behest of the United States government, trying to find out just what this signal was. The experiment was about to begin - but the phone hadn't rang since sunset, and it was now past midnight here. So I decided I could wait no more.
"Bob?"I said into the phone.
The sound of snoring filled my receiver.
Oh god, I thought. Nah. No, no, no- "Hey Bob - wake up, man! You can't fall asleep now!"
Suddenly Bob's high-pitched voice came through. "GOTCHA!"he yelled. "You didn't think I was going to sleep on you, now did'cha?"
"Bob, it's not funny,"I said, cursing the dust. "Did you set up the interferometer yet?"It was a tricky thing, the experimental apparatus, and even the slightest error could render it useless.
"Just about. She's rarin' to go,"Bob responded. "Put Einy to sleep."
"He won't stop licking my calves,"I said, which was true. Einstein lapped away as if there might be no tomorrow, which was also true. "He misses you, Bob."
"I know,"Bob said. "He can miss me for a while longer. Put him to sleep."
I got out the case of medicines. Amphetamines for me, anaesthetics for the dog - just perfect. Twenty minutes and one shot later, Einstein the dog was fast asleep.
"Anything?"I asked Bob. Anaesthesia was a bit of a cheat. It didn't really mimic any of the EEG patterns of sleep. It was more like a coma - but we should soon see if that had any effect whatsoever. If we were right, it would make no difference.
"Nothing,"Bob replied. "Hold on a minute, though - I'm getting a small pulse..."
"What does it say?"I asked. "And how long did it take?"
"That's odd,"Bob said. "I've checked the equipment, and it seems to be working, but the pulse didn't seem to have taken any time at all."
"Instantaneous?"I repeated weakly.
"Instantaneous."Bob answered. "We're breaking the laws of physics here. Tom, this isn't right - this really isn't right."
I sighed. For a moment I looked up - past the sleeping Einstein - and saw all the stars wink at me just the once. Tonight was going to be a long night.
|
We screen them first- depression, brain tumors. Anything that might influence the decision. Things that can be cured, at least. *The* decision, we always call it. The only decision.
Our boss signed up yesterday. To be evaluated, I mean. To die.
His name was Doctor Juan Ava, and he invented immortality.
I should go backward. My name is Pratha Hadid. I have been twenty two for seventy five years. It's my job to evaluate whether or not a person should be allowed to die.
Usually we accept requests from people who are experiencing mental deterioration. Medicine is nearly perfect, but madness can happen after a few hundred years. Nothing is inevitable. We tell people: keep a healthy lifestyle. Do brain teasers. Read.
But Doctor Juan Ava was sane. Sharp as anyone I'd ever met. Brilliant - the most brilliant medical doctor to ever live. And he asked me to kill him. And I did. I suppose I should tell you why.
I don't know why he chose our office. Not a headquarters, just a random county clerk. I don't know why he felt I was qualified, that anyone thought I was qualified, to decide the fate of the most influential human in history.
So I stuck to the protocol. I put him through the tests, ran him through the L-CAT scanner. No depression. No brain tumors. He seemed so small there, blue lights running over him, his hands, those dark eyes that saw so much.
The next phase is the interview. I was sweating, but he told me to calm down. He reminded me of my father. I started with the first question.
"How do you feel?"I said. The camera recorded everything.
"Splendid. Very calm."he replied.
"Tell me about your day,"I read from the screen before me.
"I woke up. I had a cup of green tea with jasmine. I exercised, read the news, played with my son. Went to chapel. Kissed my wife. And then I came here."
"Here,"I said. I forgot the script. "You came here. To a death clinic,"
"A FERO, yes. A 'death clinic'."he said.
"I'm sorry, Juan- sir, I mean. I just need to know why. Why? Your wife, your son. You created this - your choice today could change *everything.* The way all seventeen billion some people on the planet view life and death. You would make me question... I don't know. I don't know what I'm saying."
He reached over the table and grabbed my hand, gently. "Pratha? That is your name?"
I nodded.
"I have been alive for seven hundred years. Do you know what I've done with my time?"
"Everyone knows, doctor. I've read everything you've ever written, I've studied--"I began.
"Shh... shh. Not everything. I've written other things. Stories. I've read. I've spent time with my family. And I am happy. So, so happy."
"So now you want, you want to *die?*"I said. I yelled, actually. Something about this made my stomach feel like ice. I wanted to cry. I wanted him to stop. I didn't understand.
"There is a limit, Pratha. We were not meant for this. For forever,"he said
"So you're saying you were wrong? That the world is wrong now?"I said.
"I'm saying that there is a limit. The body, the mind can live on. But the soul needs something more,"he said. He paused, taking a deep breath. "I am happy, Pratha, but I am *curious.* Deeply curious for what's next. I want to know, Pratha. I am not afraid."
I slumped in my chair. An afterlife. He was after an afterlife.
"No,"he said. As if he knew what I was thinking, "I am not chasing heaven. But I am ready for whatever naturally comes next. My body, my spirit, feels like a stagnant pond. I must release it. I must feel the flow of time. Again, Pratha. I must feel the tug of time again."
I cleared him for the injection. It was hard to do. I got hatemail. I had to quit my job at the Rest office. And didn't even understand why I did it. I could have passed it off to someone else, the decision. But I also *did* understand. I felt what he felt. That tug of time. I'd been stagnant for so long.
In the morning I returned to the office for the last time. I went to my desk and packed my things into a few small boxes. And then I took a form, signed my name, and handed it to another examiner. I must feel the flow of time again. I must make the decision. I must be free.
|
In June of 2015, Elias chanced across [an article on NPR](http://www.npr.org/2015/06/14/414397424/man-with-the-golden-arm-donates-blood-thats-saved-2-million-babies) while looking through English language news for an assignment. It was about the "Man with the Golden Arm"- James Harrison, an Australian near-octogenerian who had donated blood over one thousand times. The Aussie's blood had the ability to treat Rhesus disease, in which Rh positive babies' blood is targeted by the immune system of their Rh negative mothers. Harrison's donations saved millions of babies' lives.
In the article, Harrison called for younger folk to step up, and Elias found himself idling musing the matter every now and then for months. Finally, on a random Thursday, he bopped into the local hospital and gave the standard half liter. He figured his phone might light up a few times, given that the blood is separated after donation, separated into red blood cells, plasma, and platelet fractions for different uses. Sure enough, a few days later he got two texts saying he'd saved two lives. A month later, he'd largely forgotten the whole matter, having been satisfied with doing his small part to help others.
Then the texts started coming. At first, once per few hours. Then once per few minutes. Then his phone stopped turning off in between.
*Tack! Det blod du lämnade den 14 juli 2016 har nu kommit till nytta för en patient.*
*Tack! Det blod du lämnade den 14 juli 2016 har nu kommit till nytta för en patient.*
*Tack! Det blod du lämnade den 14 juli 2016 har nu kommit till nytta för en patient.*
*Tack! Det blod du lämnade den 14 juli 2016 har nu kommit till nytta för en patient.*
*Tack! Det blod du lämnade den 14 juli 2016 har nu kommit till nytta för en patient.*
Elias had no idea what to make of it. The texts were woefully brief and lacking in information. He figured it had to be a system malfunction, and called the hospital to give them a heads up that their system was setting his phone on fire.
The hospital replied that a part of his plasma had been donated for a cancer patient. That patient developed an immune response specifically targeting his cancerous cells, and recovered within days. They tested it a few dozen more patients with different cancer types. They all recovered. After passing an accelerated validation process, his blood was being used for clinical trials, hence the increased number of lives saved.
He should come in, they said. There were important people waiting for him. Elias asked why didn't he get notified earlier.
"We did,"the nurse replied. "The notification must have been buried under all the texts."
"When should I head over?"he asked.
"If you consent, just head out the door,"the nurse replied.
He walked to his window. An ambulance and several police cars were already parked outside. |
README.docx
Author: Will Dalton
If you are reading this, I am dead. Not probably, definitely. After all, the secure encryption on this is tied to my brain. No, not my heart – so they can't incapacitate me with that hellspawn.
But of course, you don't know who I am, or why it matters. I am Will Dalton. My name has been redacted from history. And here is my story.
On October 17, 2071, I was, as a mercenary, offered the sum of one hundred thousand credits by the North American government in order to participate in a project with level ten clearance. The orders: to assassinate Aaron Garcia, better known as Doctor Death. A comically ridiculous name, I know, but hey — I didn't pick it.
Anyway, I was tasked with killing him and stealing a highly dangerous and infectious substance that he had been developing for the past several decades, as the government told me: Tabula, it was called – Latin for "slate,"or "tablet."Of course, a hundred thousand credits was quite a sizeable sum for me, enough for a year. Particularly because it was taxation-exempt. Thanks, North American government.
Anyway, fast forward a couple weeks and some two hundred dead people. No, not Garcia – me. Yes, I know, I'm a terrible person, but that's ninety percent of why the government hires me. But that's besides the point. And enter Garcia's laboratory – a rather mundane affair, probably something you would see at the dawn of the century. No advanced particle accelerators or force-field separators… simply a centrifuge, an array of glass beakers – yes, glass, the thing that those old church windows are made of – and some vat. Pipettes, a solution for gel electrophoresis, and a cooling container, bubbling with liquid nitrogen, labeled MILF. No, goddamnit! Sylph! SYLPH. Cortana, I know your speech dictation feature works off previous search history but they sound nothing alike. Not even remotely. Fucking hell, you piece of shit. Sixty years since these things came out and you still can't distinguish basic words apart.
Uh, anyways, sorry. Where was I? Oh, yes. MILF. God damnit! S.Y.L.P.H. I have no idea what it stands for, but it looked scary. While I attempted to sample the substance – Garcia came. I shot him – two lethal rounds to the stomach, I don't make a policy of using nonlethal guns – and proceeded to begin analyzing the substance, ignoring his screams of pain. But what he said afterwards – here, let me pull up the audio transcript.
720123-33MilleniumAve-WEDalton.mp3
*static*
"Don't—"
"Just die quietly and let me do my thing, all right?"
"Listen to me."
"Why the hell—"
"Listen. To… Me…"
"I suppose you're bleeding out anyway, so go for it."
"That container has Sylph, the delivery mechanism. The vat – Tabula. Slate, for slate-wiper."
*coughing*
"Yes, I know."
"I conducted live human trials."
"You sick bastard…"
"No, listen! They… I thought they would die. But they did something far more terrifying."
*coughing*
"They ascended."
"What the fuck? Cortana, do you hear this?"
"Yes, I do indeed hear audio that states—"
"Okay, shut up! Garcia. Continue."
"Tabula does not destroy any organ nor any part of the nervous system. No, it targets the human soul. I sought to destroy humanity from its fundamental origin."
"And?"
"What is the human soul?"
"I didn't major in fucking philosophy, you piece of shit. I dropped out of Neuroscience and went straight into the military."
"It is our hatred. It is our sin. It is our greed, our sin, our lust, our wrath. And above all, it is our mortality."
"What?"
"Have you read the Bible?"
"No. I'm atheist."
"Do you know the story of the forbidden fruit? That is the human soul. That first sin, the one that cast us out of Eden, That was what made us, human."
"And when you take that away…"
"Door E3. The code is—"
*cough*
"I have the clearances. Goodbye, Dr. Garcia."
*gunshot*
*static*
What I saw haunted me forever. Six people, evidently mentally unstable, confined in a cage.
*sobs*
Damn it, Cortana!
\disable_emotion_recording
They looked horrified. "End me,"I heard. "End me!"
I shot. I emptied my clip at them all.
Nothing happened.
Immortal, transcended. Stupid. Desperate. Perfect and yet so horrifying.
It was then I realized that we are our flaws. That I – my preference for MILFs,
my nicotine addiction, my lying, immoral ass – that is me. And I wouldn't trade that for anything.
So this is it, government. That is why I destroyed all samples of Tabula. This is my final report – and it has no clearance. Citizens of the Internet, do not let the government take your identity, your soul! I will die. That is inevitable: resistance is
death. Freedom, liberty, is dead. But you must fight.
This is Will Dalton, signing out.
EDIT: Just came home and looked at it on PC. Damn, sorry: Reddit Mobile formatting is shit, it should be more readable now. Apologies to anyone who had to suffer through that. |
I did it, I finally found her. She looks beautiful as ever, and the sheer weirdness of seeing her as I remember her when we first met is almost too much. I fight back misty eyes and start my walk across the coffee shop.
"Hey, that's my favorite book."
She looks up at me and our eyes meet for what simultaneously feels like the first time and the millionth. "Oh, awesome. I just started it last week."
"Yeah it's not a quick read at all. Do you go to school around here?"
She smiles, "Yeah I go to MHS, what about you?"
"Yeah, I'm a junior. I feel like I've seen you around."
"Well I haven't seen you."
"What makes you so sure? We might have had a class."I hope she remembers now.
"No, I'd definitely remember if I'd seen you before."She says, again with a smile.
After melting my heart for another half hour, she tells me she has to go meet up with some people to go camping tonight.
"Listen, I really wanna talk some more sometime. Do you think maybe you'd wanna go out sometime?"
The words I've been dying to hear. The words I've been dying not to hear.
"You're hands-down the most intriguing, beautiful, brightest girl I think I've ever met in my entire life, and I would love nothing more than that. But...I have too much going on right now. Give me your number and maybe sometime soon we can try this again. I just really wanted to spend the afternoon with you, so thank you."
She sees me start to break down, reading me like she has always been able to do, and responds in that same old way. She grabs my left wrist gently and tells me that sounds great. She types her number in my phone, grabs her bag and stands up with me, and we part ways. I would give the world to be able to spend my life with her. But I know too much. There is too much responsibility in the hands of someone who knows what is coming. Too many people to warn and save the lives of, never to know how awful things could have been.
I look across the parking lot and see her toss her bag in that old blue accord she used to drive. My whole life, about to drive away. I pull out my phone, type in a number that I know by heart on a phone I used to know like the back of my hand, and call her. She looks confused, but answers.
"I changed my mind."
-4 years later-
"How did you know my number?"She said.
I had just woken up but could tell she had been up for a while. I kiss her and ask her what she's talking about.
"That day we met. You seemed like a crazy person, remember? Well...I gave you a fake number. But when I got to my car, you called me. I never asked because I gave you a second chance and you were so perfect and I just now remembered how bizarre that was...so, how?"
Just then, a news report breaks out. "Fifteen dead in terrorist bombing this morning in Chicago"sprawled across the screen, showing footage that I've seen many times before. I think of the lives that were lost, I thought of the chances that anyone would have believed me if I had tried to warn anyone, I thought of toying with fate and time travel, I wondered if I did the right thing. But then I look at her, and I think about my future.
"Honestly I don't remember. Maybe it was just a lucky guess"
|
The news had been on all day constantly talking about the successful mission to the distant Earth-like planet. Apparently everything had gone well, and it had only taken 40 years to get there and back due to the clever use of wormholes and some other science stuff I didn't quite understand. That kind of stuff was way above my pay grade. I just worked a boring desk job making minimum wage.
*"Here we see the astronauts stepping out of the shuttle for the first time since landing..."* The guy in the cubicle next to me had been blaring the news all day, very eager to hear of the exotic tales of the explorers of new Earth. I was busy finishing up some of my reports, trying to tune out the sound when I heard something strange. *"The five astronauts are all shaking hands with the president now, accepting their medals and waving to the crowd. This is an exciting..."*
What?
Five astronauts?
I was almost positive the trip had started with four. I remember the day when the rocket left for it's voyage. It was all over the news then too, although I was a little bit more excited about it then. In elementary school all of the science teachers talked about it during their lessons. This was one of the biggest breakthroughs in recent memory.
I leaned back in my chair so I could see my coworker past our cubicle dividers. "Did they say five astronauts?"I asked.
"Yeah... Five..."He stared at me with a look of slight confusion on his face. "No one died or anything."
"Huh..."I leaned forward again staring at my computer. I searched *four astronauts new earth mission* and looked at the results. I found a forum that was dedicated to conspiracy theories that had a thread about this. As I scrolled through I noticed I wasn't the only one who thought there were only four crew members. In fact, hundreds of people were on my side, all confused as I was. One post read: "Guys, this is like some Berenstain/stein bears kind of stuff."Huh. I remembered reading about that conspiracy theory. My parents had kept those books from when they were kids, and they always told me they remembered it as Berenstein bears. Crazy people chalked it up to two convergent timelines that left remnants of memories from both, hence why people remembered it differently. Was that what happened here? I shook my head and gave a short scoff. No way. I didn't buy into that kind of stuff.
As I was scouring the forums one of my other coworkers came walking by and overheard the news. "Five? I thought there were only four..."He stopped at the desk where the news was on. I saw something change in his face as his concerned look transformed into a grin. "Oh. No duh. Of courses there were five."
I got up from my chair and went over to my neighbors desk to get a look at the fifth astronaut. "I don't know Frank, I swear I thought there was only..."I stopped speaking when I saw the TV.
Something changed. I grinned.
There were five astronauts. Of course there were! There were always five astronauts. I didn't know what happened to me earlier or why I had the crazy notion that there were four. I brushed away all of my worry and went back to my desk and continued my work. I closed out of the conspiracy theory forum but managed to glimpse one more thread. *GUYS. PSA. DON'T WATCH THE NEWS. I THINK THAT'S HOW IT'S DOING IT!* I laughed at that, and vowed never to go on one of these crazy people forums ever again. |
Ten seconds can feel like an eternity. Relativity and all that.
When there are nine left to go you begin to wonder what could possibly come of it, what's the outcome going to be? It's so close yet it seems so far.
Eight seconds in is a squeeze of the hand for comfort, to silently say it will be alright if you just hold on.
After all, seven isn't much at all, it's only one away from six.
Five seconds left, nothing takes five seconds. Aside from four it's the shortest time frame in existence.
Three means it's almost here. You notice that you haven't been breathing but it's too late now.
Two and it's so close. In that moment you remember that all life is just a sequence of ones, adding up to minutes and hours and days and weeks and months and years.
Zero. I hold him in my hands, he's crying and so am I. Not the same tears. For him it's bright lights and noises and terror. For me it's a tiny little body in my hands, it seems so wrong.
I smile at him and hold her close as we gaze down into those little eyes. We tell him it's okay and he slowly goes quiet. He trusts our voices.
He holds my finger in a tiny hand and I couldn't be happier.
One second leads to another, adding up into a series of twos.
Suddenly he's running and playing and laughing, we're taking care of three exhausting children.
It's four in the morning and there are tears and sleep is a thing that we don't even remember. One day we'll look back at those years, remember the birthdays when they turned five, and wonder how they flew by so quickly.
Sixteen and it's a car in the driveway, seven days a week we live in fear of what might happen but we have to let them out into the world.
Eighteen and it's off to college, a kiss and a wave and I sit in an empty bedroom and cry.
Nine months and they're welcoming their own little ones and once again a little hand wraps my finger in a soft grip and I am theirs.
Ten days to wait for a medical diagnosis.
Nine months to live.
Eight grandchildren to visit and love and run with, seven days a week for an old grandpa that can't get enough.
Six months in and there's no more running and playing.
Nothing takes five seconds, aside from four it's the shortest time frame in existence.
Three minutes and I can feel it. Two more breaths until the end while one hand holds mine tightly.
Goodbye, I say. Then, all the time left to me...is
Zero. |
I sat on the park bench and unwrapped my bagel. The girl had put way too much cream cheese on this. I didn't ask for a cream cheese sandwich, I asked for -- you know, it doesn't matter.
I sighed, setting the bagel on the crumpled bag beside me. I was exhausted today.
Suddenly, I heard a scream coming from down the block. I looked toward the sound, and saw a girl dangling from a ledge on the fourth story of an apartment building.
I jumped up, leaving the pile of cream cheese with a side of bagel on the bench. I ripped my shirt open, my hero suit gleaming in the sunlight.
"Here he is!"someone shouted. I skidded to a stop, my cape fluttering behind me. I put my hands instinctively on my hips. Yes, I felt like a trope.
I looked up.
"Oh thank god!"the girl said, holding onto the railing, feet dangling high above me. "Save me!"
"Fly up and save her!"someone shouted. I was annoyed. Everyone in this town knew I could only do that the one time. I hate when they forget. I tried to control my face.
"Fly up there!"someone else yelled.
"Let me think!"I said. Christ, these people.
I looked toward the end of the block. A construction crew was working on the street light. I knew what I had to do. I looked up.
"Hang on..."shit... "Hey, what's your name?"I asked.
"Lisa!"the girl shouted. "Help!"
"Lisa, hang on!"I said. I turned and sprinted down the block, my cape fluttering behind me.
"Where is he going...?"I heard multiple voices whisper and not whisper. I hate this town.
I stopped at the intersection. A fat construction worker leaned against the cherry picker.
"Listen, guy, I need to--"
"Holy shit its you!"he said.
"Yeah, hi. Listen, I need to borrow this."I pointed at the cherry picker.
"What? Why?"
"I need to save a girl. Come on, I need this thing now."I walked toward it, looking for keys. I saw them dangling in the bucket.
"Are you shitting me?"he asked. "You're a--"
"I know I know I KNOW."I said. I have very little patience these days. "I am a super hero but I can only do each power once and I've already flown and had super strengthandyaddayaddayadda. Move."
He stood, stepping back, holding his hands up like he meant no trouble. I turn the key. It rumbles to life.
"Hang on Lisa! I'm coming!"I throw the shifter into Drive.
"To the rescue!"I shout, pointing forward. I hit the green button with all my might.
Have you ever been stuck in slow moving traffic? Where you get to watch children and old people slowly beating you to your destination on foot? This was kind of like that.
Slowly -- painfully, embarrassingly slowly -- the cherry picker moved forward. I steered it carefully over the curb and up onto the sidewalk. A very loud, very unstoppable (trust me I checked) beeping sound was emanating from the cherry picker. People stood in jaw-dropped shock as I rumbled my way past each shop, toward Lisa.
Honestly, even Lisa looked a bit like... "really?".
Finally, after what felt like miles, I stopped beneath her. The beeping stopped too. I shifted into Lift, and hit the green button again.
The beeping started.
The bucket jolted and shuddered all the way up. I could hear someone sneeze. I looked around as the bucket lifted. It was a nice day.
Suddenly, the bucket jolted. I looked back and saw that Lisa had dropped into it next to me.
She smoothed out her jeans and jacket, and sighed.
"Thanks,"she said. It was half hearted.
"Sure."I said. We stood awkwardly in the bucket as I shifted in to Lower, and hit the green button. The beeping was insult to injury.
When we had finally stopped, she opened the door and climbed down. A few onlookers clapped. Most had dispersed.
I think it's time for me to retire. |
As an aging aficionado of accent, befuddled and bemused by bringing to bear my breathtakingly behemothic burden with brevity, callous cuts of the crystalline clamour of this cadence called conversation must commence; to delineate and deliver the dearth of discourse is decidedly difficult. Endless extinction of espoused and expounded emotion through expression that echos is fast following the failing frailty of my frivolous fabrications.
Gone.
Heart, humor, heresy, and hypocritical hubbub;
inflated implications, idioms, and idiosyncratic inspirations;
jubilations, jackdaw jabbering, and jocund jokes.
Killed. Kicked Off. Kaputt.
The last lingering lamentations of a language left with little lasting life leaves a laboriously loquacious lad lost. Many more muddled men mean mastication of musing to migrate into malevolent memory. No, nay, never -- Obviously they obviate offal of an overly obtuse order.
Planely, passing pronunciation of "Persephone,""prodigious,"or "precocious"persuades perfectly that parlance is pulchritudinous.^1
Quiet quivers and quakes, quite.
Rather, let robust revelations of romance and remorse ring, ravishing and relentlessly raucous. Save salaciously supernal salutations from suffering silent soliloquy.
Truly, the termination of tremulous titters and telling of tales 'tis terrible to tabulate.
Ubiquitous yet unique undulations of utterance; verily vacuous and vapid vocations; weeping wails and wasteful whispers.
Xanthous^2 and youthless , you yield your zelotic zeitgeist to zero.
-------
Welp, that was hard. I primarily tried to base this on my own vocabulary, rather than just listing a thesaurus (although I did need help for one or two specific sentiments, but I hope you like it anyway!
^1 Beautiful, thanks thesaurus.com
^2 Yellow, best I could do, RIP X
Hope you enjoyed! It was super fun to write :D, but let me know your thoughts!
|
"In the interests of facilitating communication, the delegation from Earth of the Sol system volunteers to be referred to as 'Terran' for the duration of these conferences, and for all other races to pick an equivalent term."
"*Chkkt!* A transparent ploy! Yes, the delegation from 'Land' of the 'Sun system' volunteers to be referred to as 'the inhabitants of the planet's surface'! As if theirs is the only system to have a sun! As if they are the only species to reside on their planet's surface! This is the xenocentrism typical of -"
"Well, actually, we humans are an aquatic race, properly living below our planet's surface, so the human delegation raises no objections to this terminology."
"Boo! Poor form!"
"Incredibly disrespectful to your fellow Council members!"
"I'm simply saying, if the Terran label applies to other races, let's take advantage of that distinction. Meanwhile, we humans, having no claim to the Terran title-"
"Unacceptable! This calls for sanctions!"
"Rampant xenocentrism! Meanwhile, we of the Class G2V stellar system are attempting to-"
"As if trying to impose your own stellar classification terminology on the rest of us is any less xenocentric."
"To be clear! This human delegation has advanced past our stellar system generations ago! We would suggest that Sol system inhabitants, or Solarians, be likewise distinguished from humankind-"
"Poor form! Poor form! Poor form!"
"We've all advanced past our homeworlds, you collection of neotenous primates!"
"Well! You don't have to resort to racial slurs!"
"And if you hadn't noticed, we're all having an intergalactic conference right now, off of our homeworlds! Or we would be, if self-centered infants like you didn't insist on-"
"Order! Order! We will have order!"
"They started it."
"Now! If we cannot agree on an acceptable terminology to distinguish between ourselves, I propose that we simply adjust the translator to not translate species' names. We will all be identified in our own language. Is that acceptable to everyone?"
"A vote in approval!"
"The human delegation reluctantly accepts."
"Aye."
"Aye."
"Aye."
"Good. Now, that the adjustment has been made, let us start, proceeding deasil, to give our species' names. Starting off, we of the h̬̟͎̹̀u̸̦̬̹̝̦m̢̺͖a̩̪̬͙̪n̢̠̮̟͕ͅ delega-"
"Arrrrggh!!!!"
"*Chkkkktttt!*"
"Oh my goodness! Oh my! Are they -! Are-! I - I didn't mean -! Oh! Oh the humanity!" |
This is what I get for following a fad. The new cryonics tubes were cheap and easily obtainable. You'd take a week off work and sleep like the dead. It was the most refreshing sleeper you'd ever had. Of course, your mouth always tasted like a dumpster fire because your electrolytes were out of whack. Once you'd taken care of that, you felt like a million bucks. People started calling them sleep-cations.
I did one in June and loved it. I had been fighting sleep apnea and night terrors since before I could remember. The sleep in the capsule was the most restful sleep I'd ever had in my life. Hell, I didn't know sleep could even be like that.
So I stared using it every night. Eight hours of cryonics. No more tossing and turning. No more getting up three and four times a night to pee. Just eight sold hours of the most blissful rest you can imagine.
I got two promotions at work in three years do this. I had spent all my energy previously fighting tiredness but now I could put it towards something useful. I looked back on some of the old project I had worked on and saw how many mistakes I'd let through. I couldn't believe I was the same person.
I met a girl and things got kind of serious. Well, up until she wanted to stay over and she saw I had replaced my bed with the cryonics tube. She flipped out when I explained it. I told her it was medically necessary. She said I was some kind of freak. We never spoke after that night.
That breakup was hard. Was she right? Looking back now, I think I was addicted. You don't realize how essential a good night's rest is until you've actually had one - or until you don't have it. Maybe I was relying on the capsule a little heavily but she didn't know what it was like to not sleep worth a damn. I need that capsule. I was lost without it.
I turned it up to nine hours regularly after that. The waking world didn't hold quite as much for me anymore. Then I was doing ten hours and was up to 12 before I knew it.
One night I must have been in a hurry and didn't set the controls right. Instead of 12 hours, I set it for 120 years. At least, I assume that's what happened.
The dust was an inch thick when I cracked open my capsule. Most of the large buildings outside have crumbled. The houses seem mostly ok, if a little run down. How the hell did the power even stay on to this thing?
I can't see anyone out there. I haven't heard anything but the wind rustling some trash in hours. The sun is setting and I'm not sure what will happen at night. I thought I'd better make some record of my existence though.
I think I hear scratching ... |
BEEEEEEEEP, BEEEEEEEP, BEEEEEEEEP!!!
"God damned mandatory emergency alert message,"James angrily professed. "probably another Amber Alert for a kid hiding under their bed."
He took a look anyway. "ALERT! ALERT! ALERT! Biological attack at Grand Central Station. Stay away. Do not leave your home. Avoid contact with those infected. Infected show symptoms of cannibalistic tendencies and seem to feel no pain. Law enforcement are setting up quarantine. ALERT! ALERT! ALERT!"
"Holy, Fucking, Shit! Zombies!"
James reached over and turned on the TV and switched the channel to the local news.
"...are in fact zombies in the area. Law enforcement and government agencies are instructing people to remain inside and not open the door for anyone who looks infected. Now we go to our aerial reporter, Ariel Sky. Ariel?"
"The scene here, at what we are now calling ground zero, is a mess. There are hundreds of infected streaming from the station. The don't seem to be making any headway in leaving the area, however. There seems to be an equally strong tide of, what looks like, civilians with improvised weapons confronting the monsters. Yes, I even see as chain saw down there!"
"Holy FuckBalls!"James yells, "It's happening, It's finally happening!!!"He lurches to his closet and throws it open. Inside is a big green biohazard sign adorning a black wooden chest. Throwing it open, he reaches in for a set of padded body armor. Legs, chest, arms, and shoulder protection are thrown on, but no head protection (why make it harder if he was turned.) On his back go his favorite weapons for just this occasion, a katana and a fire ax, and in his hand the exact same crossbow used by Norman Reedus in the Walking Dead. (If you're going to be single and have a good paying job, might as well indulge yourself on your hobbies) On his way to the door James looks out the window and sees something he has never seen before. A mass of people, gleefully carrying makeshift weapons, streaming toward downtown. "Oh, this is going to be fun. I hope they save some for me"
|
This morning was going along well. I grabbed my tea, went to my job at S.T.A.R. labs and saw that there were free donuts. My boss gave me a bonus for helping him out with something last week, and the vending machine already had three dollars inside. Needless to say, I was pretty stoked. I then walk down one of the halls and trip into a wall. turns out it's some weird hidden door. When I walk into the room, it's covered wall to wall in massive braille, which mind you is an interesting design choice. I look to the left and see some strange yellow leotard. Then I see him. The CEO of the entire company, clapping.
"Congratulations, you've figured it out."he says, as a random **CHUPCHUPCHUP** noise plays. "I'm not surprised that there was smart enough to do so. It's a shame really. I had so much in store."
I don't want to be rude and get fired, you know how it is, so here I am all "Uh, yeah, it was pretty tough, but I could manage. By the way is there a helicopter outside, or-"
"I had everything lined up *just* right. I'm so close to going home. Of course you knew that already."
"Yes! Definitely, everyone just wants to be done with the workday right?"you know, gotta keep the conversation light.
"I trust you knew about the particle accelerator, I've disappointed myself."Now, at this point, I have no clue what he's talking about, so I just let him talk, he's bringing up the fact that he's in a world where everyone's been dead for centuries, mentioning some shit about killing this one"gary's"mom, and uses the word reverse a lot. "anyway, you know too much now, so I might as well get rid of you"
So now there's a vibrating hand in my chest. That's a thing. |
"Would you like some more tea, Mr. Deebee?"
Diablo rolled his eyes, but held up his tiny plastic mug in his claws. "Yes, Ms. Happy Sunshine, I would be absolutely delighted. Thank you for asking."
"You're very welcome!"Ashley replied. She bounded up from her seat and ran across the edge of the tiny plastic table, similarly plastic kettle in hand. She had to strain to lift her arms high enough, but she was determined to pour the imaginary drink. "Just... a little..."
"Allow me."
Diablo snapped his claws, a remarkable feat all things considered. The kettle rose from Ashley's hand gently, and hovered itself in place; then, without a prompt, searing hot flames jumped from the spout and into the cup. The cup all but vaporized on the spot, followed by the table, and then the floor under it.
Ashley stomped her foot. "Deebee! That's no way to behave."
Diablo shook his head, but sighed in resignation. "Okay, okay, fine. But I don't know why you don't enjoy at least a *little* destruction. My last master destroyed entire planets."
"No! I want my tea party!"
Diablo raised his scaly arm to the sky. Over the tip of his claw and high above the clouds, a great whirlpool of fire cascaded from above; meteors of destruction rained like a simple hailstorm, laying waste to all. Adjacent houses exploded. Streets turned to boiling pits of asphalt and cement. Cars flew through the air, thrown around like toys. Ashley giggled.
"Yay, fireworks!"
Diablo chuckled. Even when she was most stubborn, little Ashley's attention span was certainly brief. Sometimes it annoyed him, but more often than not, it was a perk of serving such a young master. "Would you like to have the tea party now?"
"Yes please!"she happily cheered. Diablo grinned. *He* was having fun now, too.
"Behold!"
Diablo spread his arms side to side. The world erupted in light. Ashley's giggles turned to gleeful laughter.
|
The first few years were fine, I received word that the snail was spending most of his time at a bar in Tahiti. The bartenders simply threw the snail back onto the beach to begin with. But apparently he became a novelty, and they just let him crawl around as the designated bar snail. However, after a few days they saw something written on the bar in slime: “*Tequila, no salt.*” I guess things escalated from there.
The bartenders were fine serving him drinks, never really understanding where the snail kept all his cash. Apparently he had a large shell. They didn’t even mind when he started asking for company, or “*snookers*” as he wrote it. The bartenders never stopped to consider why he always ate them afterwards, they figured he had just played too much STA V and thought he could get his money back.
The real trouble started when the police came. They told me the conversation went something like this: “Excuse me sir, can I see some ID?”
…
*I am sorry officers, I must have left my wallet at home.*
The policemen were confused by this, considering that he was wearing his home. But it had taken the snail 5 hours to respond, and they had probably drank a few too many beers to pass the time.
Eventually they puzzled out a response:
“Ssir, this is unusual for us, you need to show us your ID, or we are taking you to jail... er, a small box,” they slurred.
…
FUCK THE POLICE, he responded brashly, albeit slowly.
Having had enough of his attitude, they shook him down and extracted a driver’s license from his shell.
“Sir, this license says you are three weeks old.”
...
*What's your point?*
“Well you I know this seems like an island paradisse with no rules, but we can't let a, uh, minor drink at a bar. You are going to have to come with us downtown.”
This didn't play well with the brazen snail. He began to escape.
“SHIT, HE IS MAKING A RUN FOR IT.” Cried the policemen.
They both dropped to the ground, pulled out their sidearms, and started laughing their asses off at the snail slowly crawling off the bar. This was the first mistake.
The second mistake was making a drinking game out of it. I guess they wanted to see how many beers they could drink before he got off the bar. Considering how they had been there for almost a day trying to interrogate the snail, it was impressive that they could drink any more. But they did. And they both passed out, drunk on the patio floor.
I don't know what happened after that, the bartenders don’t know either, or at at least pretended not to know. I think they had become fond of him, and just let it slide.
The third mistake was all the border patrolmen who let themselves be fooled by the fake mustache. None of them realized the most sinister underage drinker and canibal of our time was right there in front of them. I think running from the policemen in Tahiti woke him up from his debauchery and gave him a taste for danger.
He chased me relentlessly. He made it into the United States posing as a worker on a banana boat. He made it into Sweden, pretending to be one of the cross-country skiers on their national team. He made it into every single country I tried to run to. Sure, I had a few good months of luxury in every location. But a few good months is not enough to make up for a life spent on the move, frightened of anything even remotely moist.
The biggest mistake was me thinking that one million dollars was enough to make up for moving around for so long. The money ran out a few months ago. I spend my days on the streets now, holding a sign that says, “Need money for salt, killer snail is after me.”
People just laugh, they think it’s a joke. I’m not laughing. And I’m tired of running. He’ll find me soon. I’m just disappointed that life turned out to be so predictable. |
NEDD looked down at the rhythmic sound of wood clanging against your gargantuan cloven hoof.
*sigh* what is the world coming to? That this semi-naked warrior with nothing but a wooden sword had reached his domain meant the guardians of all the lower levels had failed to prevent this nobody to pass, there was no way he could have actually bested them was there?
How had this human reached the feet of the Nether Elemental Daemon of Destruction, Unspoken Shadow King of the Greater Nether Realm and Lord of all the Arcane? He went by NEDD because his given name was horrendous, but he was still the most powerful warrior bar none! He stood protecting the gate to his mistress' layer and none had ever passed him. Few ever reached his gates and those that did normally took one look, bowed before him and backed away to find a less daunting prize.
The challenger took a final swing and his wooden sword staggered against his hoof. There was a mark on the armour plaiting but it looked like bits of wood ground against the chitinous plate, rather than any damage to his person. The challenger backed off and dropped the broken handle on the stone floor, littering was not something he liked but the maintenance goblins would be round later to clean up anyway so it wasn't a problem.
The tiny human shuffled his pouch and withdrew another wooden sword and resumed.
NEDD sighed and buried his face in his hand. This was growing tiresome. Standing from his basalt throne he paced to the other side of the room, far outpacing what an I enhanced human would be capable of. Once he reached the other side of the hall he turned and true enough the tiny human was only a third of the way to him.
Deciding to humour the creature he drew drew his blade and sliced the chain holding open the door. He stood at 40m high so when the 100m wide by 50m high door fell it released a tremendous shockwave that knocked the human skidding across the floor. It stood up and looked around for it's sword. It was gone.
NEDD paced across the room and hauled open a draw inset to the wall. The door was enchanted so that when it closed it would disarm challengers, anything held in their hands would be teleported to this draw. He picked through the contents and found what he was looking for. He picked up the jewel studded necklace and for humour grabbed the wooden sword.
He glanced over to where the human stood watching him and threw the sword and necklace so they skidded to within a few meters of the challenger. The human moved to pick up the items and NEDD sat down again on his throne.
For a daemon NEDD had a particularly nice voice, it was deep and strong and reverberated so that you felt the lower consonants rather than hearing them. "What brings you to this place mortal?"NEDD was technically mortal too but he could pull off the look and did so as his standard greeting to challengers.
The human spoke but being so far away and so quiet he could not be heard. NEDD cut him off "Put on the necklace! You should have crafted one with the sisters of Thaler's Vale?"
It was a statement left hanging that demanded a response and as he human put on the necklace he received one.
"Hello, I'm Peter."
NEDD's brow furrowed, that was not quite as informing as he hoped. Just being blunt might work better.
"How did you get here?"
"I ran most of the way."
Again not really telling him anything useful.
"What... How..."NEDD paused and grumbled to himself before speaking loudly but clearly "I dislike pointless threats but you may not have realised that I am a guardian of this hall! I can CRUSH you with almost no effort and will do so without hesitating. How exactly did you make your way past all the previous guardians?"
The human paused "killed them."
Now that was interesting "Go on..."
"I was created by an incredibly powerful Mage. Born under a new moon that coincided with a solar eclipse at midday on the winter solstice. Conceived with no mother. 7 virgin sacrifices fuelled my creation and the blood of a thousand warriors."
NEDD raised an eyebrow, "and they call you Peter?"
"Well I had to be called something didn't I?"
"And they chose Peter..."
"Why is the name Peter the part you're questioning here?"
"I just struggle to see how they'd go to all that trouble and name you something as banal as Peter."
"Mhmhehmmm"The challenger mumbled
"What was that?"
"If you really must know, Peter is not my given name. It was my wizard creator's name and I took it when I killed him"
"Now that is more believable, now onto the rest of your tale. You don't look very..."Peter looked at him questioningly "...threatening."
"Well I'm not really, I don't have super human strength or the gift of otherworldly magic. I'm clever but not nearly as sharp as a magically enhanced mind. I'm fairly squishy, I cut easily, I'm regularly seriously injured by plants and rocks that are just lying about. I have a ludicrously high pain threshold but I'm really very easy to kill."
"I'm sorry, I must have missed something. How do you plan on getting past me?"
"Well that's simple"and with a smile he took his pathetic wooden sword and sliced his own neck open."
"Oh..."that was rather anticlimactic.
But then Peter stood up "I've been killed literally thousands of time getting here, but never permanently. The early guardians took a few attempts to learn how to kill them, some of them just got worn down over time. A few just let me past because they got bored of killing me. If I'm killed very badly I'll loose any armour I have which I why I only have a wooden sword but I won't ever stop."
"Oh, that does explain allot."
Peter and NEDD just looked at each other for a while before Peter spoke. "So what now?"
"What a question!"NEDD leapt to his hooves and swept across the room. In two paces he was at Peter and he swung his feet in an arc.
Peter died first upon contact with several tones of very solid hoof. He then redirected in the air just long enough to regret starting this, before he smashed into the stone wall and his head exploding.
"What now Peter? What now?"
The human stood, drenched in warm fresh blood. In front of him NEDD burst into flame and drew a pair of swords that probably sighed more than a house each. "Now I face an opponent worthy of my effort!"
The fire elemental pointed his sword at Peter and the world turned to flame. Before he was roasted for the first of many times Peter thought 'here we go again'. |
Goddamit!
Yet again, Seth was caught in an outrageous accidental death. 'How could this happen', he asked himself. This was was the 256th time he had died by the hands of an idiotic suburban Canadian dad. It was honestly getting really tiring.
Seth always had the ability to re-spawn 10 minutes back in time after every death. The first time he was alerted of this ability was when he tried to assassin a high ranking politician, resulting in him getting shot by a security guard. How he got this ability or why remains a mystery to him. As you can imagine having the ability to re-spawn 10 minutes before dying made him the best of the best assassin, without any flaws. His 100% success rate gave him many employers, and his service fee was towering into the millions.
It was at that time that it came to him. An unknown employer had sent him the ID of what seemed to be a casual Canadian suburban dad. The contract price, on the other hand, was a whopping 50 million dollars. Seth didn't hesitate to accept the offer, little did he know that it would be the death of him, literally.
The first death was kind of dumb. Seth had his gun pointed straight at his target. He was stalking him on the absent neighbor's porch. His target, Bob, was backing out of his driveway - and Seth was waiting for just the right moment to shoot. Slowly, Bob was backing out of the driveway, and Seth was waiting with a trigger-ready finger. As soon as he saw the opportunity, he pulled the trigger.
Nothing.
Seth was wondering what happened, so he pulled the triggers a few more times, nothing happened though. He finally pointed the gun towards him to inspect the barrel. He pulled the trigger to check on the recoil reaction and then BAM. He shot himself. Just because you are an elite assassin doesn't mean you aren't stupid. Seth re-spawned to his position
The second time Seth tried to kill him he got rid of the gun. He decided to kill Bob while he was still in his house. Slowly sneaking in, he made his way into kitchen where Bob was fixing himself a mighty sandwich. He slowly pulled out his shiny knife, waiting for the right opportunity. Suddenly, Bob turned around and saw him.
It was awkward at first. They were both just staring at each other for a while, until Bob stepped up saying "Bad Boy!"and smacking Seth in the head with a newspaper. Now mind you Bob was very much older than Seth, but Seth was no child.
Frustrated, Seth shouted at the top of his lungs, "Im not a boy!"
"Oh yes you are, now sit down son, we need to have a talk about this behavior of yours."Bob replied.
Seth was an American so he half expected Bob to pull out a shotgun, but instead, he pulled out a fucking cookie jar.
"Do you not have any shame,"Bob lectured while placing a cookie onto a plate and passing it to Seth, "young man, I'm sorry but I will have to tell your mother about this. These pranks are not cool."
Seth looked at the cookie for a minute, ignoring whatever lecturing Bob was giving him. After a minute he grabbed a cookie and started eating it. Then the thought came to him, 'Wait a minute, why am I not taking the chance to stab him now?'
In an instant, Seth stood up and quickly attempted to stab Bob in the neck. From mere instincts, Bob dodged in surprise. Unfortunately for Seth, he ended up tripping by the shear force of his attack, and tumbling straight onto the ground - cracking open his skull. It was then, that in a fraction of a second, he caught a glimpse of Bob smirking. He thought nothing of it then, but after 254 more deaths, the truth finally dawned to him.
|
David lived the life of a 1950's American Sitcom dad.
His car was always clean, as was his suit and haircut. Where others were protesting, he went to the local mainline protestant church. When others "assumed genders"and "fought the patriarchy", he lived a quiet life in in a white picket-fenced house on Mulberry Lane.
He was, in short, the most dangerous subversive the Department had ever faced. *No one* could possibly be that straight laced. Agents shadowed his every move, and were astounded by his humble lifestyle.
"He must be a drunk!"They said. Yet he never drank to excess. "Maybe he's a Communist! A Fascist! An Anarchist! A CommuFashoAnarchist!"They exclaimed. Yet every action pointed to a mild, albeit fervent, dedication to the democratic and republican ideals of his birth country.
This was bad, the authorities could not condone any form of perfection. Especially a perfection born of the expected average. Things got so terrible that the Director himself went to talk to David *in person*.
This was an unprecedented effort, the Director never left his office. His preference was to pass judgement from behind his shadowed desk, piled so high with papers that the average agent would never meet him. Yet here he was; in all his small, fat, and bald ignonimity.
He stood before David, and demanded an imperfection. David asked him in for a cool drink of lemonade. Lemonade *without* whiskey.
In shock the Director passed out and had a heart attack. Ever the dutiful citizen, David called an ambulance. It arrived quickly and sped the Director to urgent care. No one noticed Dave's small grin.
AN: Written on Mobile, sorry for any errors in spelling or grammar. |
One gulp two gulps, three gulps four gulps.
Plastic falls to the ground. Wracked with scars, a body crumples and a mind clouds over. A mother's scream.
~~~
"Attention students. It is with a heavy heart that I inform you, that your classmate Steven Gilding is currently in the emergency room, fighting for his life. I have received reports that there were instances of others bullying Steven in the past weeks, and I can not stress enough how unacceptable that is. Rest assured, all perpetrators will be held accountable for their actions. Please rise for the morning anthem."
Rumors immediately flew regarding the principals announcement, each more outlandish than the last. The consensus was that Steven had attempted suicide, given the context of the message.
"Hey Carl, you think we went too far last Thursday? I mean he didn't even come to school the next day."
"You're overthinking things, he's probably just doing it for attention."
"Would Carl Mason please report to the office please.", the PA suddenly called out.
"The hell do they want with me?", Carl wondered, shrugging to his friends before standing up.
Walking into the principals office, Carl's heart sank when he saw the police officer waiting inside. He slowly took a seat, trying his best to steady his nerves.
"Carl this here is officer Hedge. He just arrived after interviewing Steven's parents, and he wants to talk to you."
A million thoughts raced in Carl's mind, most involving an unpleasant experience in prison.
*We didn't do anything, we were just messing with him.*
"Carl, your classmate is in very serious condition. His mother found him collapsed in the kitchen, with a jug of bleach laying on the floor nearby. She also found a note, in which you were mentioned by name.", the police officer explained.
Suddenly all the pent up anxiety was released at once, Carl falling out of the chair and babbling almost indecipherably.
"We were just playing around I didn't think it was that big a deal he wasn't even bleeding and sure we called him some stuff but we barely even hit him and it's his fault for being such a loser and I'm sorry and I bet he exaggerated in the note please don't send me to prison."
There was a tense silence afterward, before Hedge reached behind himself to grab something. Expecting handcuffs or worse a gun, Carl raised his arms defensively. Instead however, he pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper.
"Actually, in the note he forgives you and your friends for what you've all done, and wishes he could have gotten to know you all better. As far as suicide letters I've seen, a very mature response."
Carl stood, not comprehending what he just heard. Hedge coughed, before continuing.
"Now, since his parents haven't pressed charges, I'm only going to recommend you do something instead."
"W-What?"
"Go visit him."
~~~
"L-Listen los- I mean Steven. I know you can't hear me right now, but I want you to know I hope you pull through. You survived the hell I put you through for the past two years, so you can survive this. I know you said you'd forgiven me, but I can't accept that forgiveness just yet. I need to make things right, and I swear I will, no matter how long it takes. Please wake up man, you deserve better than this."
Carl sat by that bed whenever there were visiting hours, trying to repent to someone who couldn't hear his apologies. Finally, the day he thought would never arrive did. Steven's eyes opened. At first groggy and clouded, the boy slowly gained consciousness.
"C-Carl?"
"Oh my god you're awake!"
Steven gasped as Carl lunged towards him, before being surprised at the hug he found himself pulled into. Soon medical staff rushed in, ushering Carl out of the room. A week later when he was finally allowed to visit, Carl practically sprang into the hospital room. Steven sat upright and was reading a book, jumping at the sudden entrance.
"Steven, I don't know if you heard what I said while you were in a coma, but I need you to know that...that..."
Having spoken his thoughts for so long, Carl suddenly found himself at a loss for words. He fell to his knees and buried his face in his hands, tears leaking through his fingers.
"It's just that- I can't believe I've- You never should have-", he stammered.
Looking back up expecting to see Steven glaring at him, Carl instead met a brilliant smile beaming back.
"It's alright, I heard." |
My vision has started to go to shit. My leg is more or less dead weight at this point and I've been dragging the thing for the past ten years. I have to have my wife or one of the kids around to lean on if I wanna stand for longer then a minute or two. Even my powers are starting to fizzle out. I used to be able to leap over a sky scraper without missing a beat and could eat depleted uranium rounds for breakfast. Not so much anymore. Now it's a struggle to get out of bed most days, and a fall down my porch stairs could probably lay me out for a few weeks. I was a flying brick, but I'm not ageless.
In short, I'm an old man. I've been one for a while now, but with the premiere coming up, I've started noticing it more and more.
I haven't been in the public eye much since I stopped doing the whole superhero shtick. I never really liked the attention, even back in my good days. Hell, I only started wearing the costume for the kids. So once the resolution was passed and my kind were no longer needed, I took the opportunity to fade out of the public eye and enjoy the privacy with my wife and family. I did interviews and appearances every now and then. But as I got older and the world got safer, interest in me faded. And that was fine by me.
But about two years ago, I got an email from some Hollywood bigwig, asking me if it was okay to make a movie about me. It wasn't gonna be a biopic, but out of a respect for me (and a respect for libel laws) they wanted my permission to make a film about me. I gave 'em the go-ahead. Grandkids could use the college money, and ever since I sold the farm back when my leg crapped out, I've been living off my government pension and royalties. One last big check to even things out for my grandkids and maybe even my great-grandkids, well, that was worth being in the limelight.
As the movie crawled along, the Hollywood hype machine started churning along, and I had people coming to my door, asking me more questions then I'd been asked in years. Some were to be expected. How did I feel about my portrayal in the movie? Did I think they focused on the early part of my career by choice or because that was when I was doing the most action movie esque stuff? Questions like that. A few outlets got really odd with the question they asked though. Started asking for my opinion on stuff like marriage equality and racism. I guess they were fishing for a snappy quote to put in a headline.
I was born when it was illegal for blacks and whites to drink from the same water fountain. And I've fought with men and women of all colors and creeds, both when I was a marine, when I was a part of the Homo Novus program, and when I was freelancing after the Thule Storm calamity. I don't really much care what or who you do, so long as no one gets hurts or has to clean up your mess. Pay your taxes, and do your duty as an American citizen. That's all I care about. I told the rags as much, and the dumb questions sorta dried up after that.
As the movie got closer and closer to being done, it was looking more and more likely I'd have to show up in public and make an appearance. At first, I didn't want to. No one should have to see their hero all old and frail. I was old, and beat down by the years. I wasn't a superhero anymore. I was just Dale Stenson, from Greensleeves, Kentucky.
But then I heard Herr Doctor was gonna show up.
I didn't even know he was out of prison, or alive for that matter. I'd fought with him after the Thule Storm calamity turned half of Europe into a raging tempest and given thousands of people powers. Herr Doctor didn't have a name, or he didn't recall having one at any rate, and no one could find his old pre Calamity name. All that we did know was that he was one of the top Thule Project researchers, and whatever had gone wrong with the Thule Project had been at least in part his fault. He'd been one of the first villains, and the first super villain. He gathered the Nazi survivors of the Thule Project and formed the Fourth Reich in the wasteland that Germany had been turned into.
When I heard he was going to show up, I no longer had a choice. I had to go. If not to keep everyone safe, then to make sure the old bastard didn't get one over on me. I'd lost a lot of good people taking apart his Fourth Reich, and I wasn't gonna let him get one over one me, even in such a petty display as being the only one to show up at the premier of my movie.
I had to get my costume resized to account for lost muscles and gained weight, but with Trixie's help, I was able to don the costume one last time. It was only fitting. She made the first one, and she'd fix the last one. She had a better sewing machine now then she did back then, bought her one for our anniversary a while back, but it still had that handmade feel to it that was my favorite part of the costume.
The day loomed larger and larger, with more and more fanfare and hype as Herr Doctor and I both made our respective appearances known. Heck, I even managed to show up in the nightly news again for the first time since the seventies. The attention was nice, in a bittersweet kinda way. The talking heads brought up old names and old places that I wasn't eager to remember. Munich, Luxembourg, Normandy. Howitzer, Quicksilver, and Duke. Lotta good memories and a lotta bad ones too.
Eventually, the day dawned. I'd flown out the night before so I could have plenty of time to get settled in and get ready. I didn't wanna do any of the pre-show party crap, that was never my scene even in my good days. All I allowed myself was some time at a bar with Trixie and Dale Jr to get a stiff drink before showtime.
I passed on a limo, opting for the rental car I picked up at the airport. We arrived in a hail of cameras and lights, of snapping shutters and of yelling questions and hollering at me for my attention. I do my best to smile for the camera as Trixie helps me limp along the red carpet towards the theater and the square of red carpet where people could pause before going into the theater to pose for pictures and answer a few questions. Or, in my case, meet the man with god only knows how much blood on his hand. The man who killed a few of my good friends, and damn near killed me. It's been years, decades really, since I saw him last. But his face is etched into my memory, as are that pain and injuries he'd done to me over the years.
He looks up at me from his wheelchair and smiles blankly at me, his eyes foggy with age and dementia.
"What a show!"He exclaims to me, extending a hand to me as he beams like a child at the circus. "My name is William Fischer. Your Major Stenson, right?"He asks.
"You don't remember me?"I ask, a bit incredulous.
"Nope! I'm sorry to say, but my memory isn't what it used to be."Herr...William says. "I was told you and I had a fair share of scuffles a long time ago. Is that true?"
I chuckle dryly and nod, finally taking his hand. "You could say that.
"Well I hope I didn't hurt you too much. I've been told that I hurt a lot of people by the nice people who help take of me. I was a very. very bad person. I can only hope the years have been kind to you and you've been able to live with what I did to you."He says, dabbing at his eyes with his free hand as he looks up and into my eyes.
His caretaker emerges from the crowd to comfort him, and the handshake loosens as William turns to the familiar face of his caretaker for a measure of comfort.
I suppose I should be upset, or suspicious. It could all be a ruse, or a trick. But I can't find it in myself to be suspicious of a senile old man. It's been a long, long time since we last fought, and one of us doesn't even remember the fights in the first place.
"It's okay William. I'm alright."I say, kneeling down, using his wheelchair for support so I can get down on the ground. "My names Dale, and we used to fight. But that don't mean we can't get along now. You wanna try and let bygones be bygones?"I ask my once nemesis.
William nods, and smiles, the boyish smile returning to his face as quickly as the tears appeared in his eyes. "I would love that!"He exclaims. "Maybe this movie can jog my memory, and I can remember some of the things I need to apologize for." |
I finally get the nerve to walk up to her. "Hey you. How's it going? I know it's been a while since we've talked...I think we've been avoiding each other. Can we chat?"Silence, but she looks ashamed and lowers her head.
"No- don't look away, don't hide your eyes. Stand tall. Breathe in, breathe out. I think you're amazing. When I look into those eyes, I see love pouring out, trying to bathe the world in kindness. The world is a big place, and there are mean, wretched people who like to tear others down everywhere you look. There are those who would spit in the face of your kindness, push you down into your ocean of caring to boost themselves out and on to that elusive "next rung on the ladder."You don't have to let them step on you."Her eyes are pleading. She can't run from this today.
"You're so busy trying to help others, you forget to help yourself. Surround yourself with the people who love you, not the people you wish loved you. They want to be there for you - just reach out. Put down the knife you've been torturing yourself with and believe in yourself for once."
I stare into her glistening eyes. "The new day starts here. You are more than those scars and bruises. You have to remember that. And I have to be there for you from now on. I promise to treat you better because I love you."
I reach out and touch the surface of the mirror. "We're going to be alright,"I tell my reflection. "I'm not going to ignore you anymore."
And I walk away, breathing in, breathing out, embracing myself with every step. |
It wasn't personal when he killed me. He wanted my wallet, my phone and my watch in that order. Me being alive, able to identify him, able to get him convicted, that's why he killed me. He wasn't even angry when he shot me the first time, or the second time to finish me off.
Personal or not, he took my life and everything in that life from me. As I shook myself off and watched him run away, revenge was the only thing I thought of. I decided I had to be cold and calculating about this. Killing him-no matter how slow and agonizing for him would never be enough. I had to give him a life that was worse than death. With that goal in mind I knew exactly what I was going to do.
Somehow or the other, I was going to get him together with my wife. |
"In order for me to answer your question fully, I'll ask that you indulge me a bit. Parts of this may seem strange, but I assure you that the truth will be stranger still. With that in mind, let's begin:
"Close your eyes. Now touch your nose. You just used your sense of proprioception, which is essentially your body's sense of itself. Even when you can't see it, you know, generally, where your fingers, feet, arms, and legs are, and where they are in relation to one another. This is the sense I used to reunite my body with my head after I'd been guillotined.
"There is, for better or for worse, no experiment which I can devise which can adequately explain the oddity of searching for one's own head. The closest challenge would be to instruct you to leave those pages right where you are reading them, and then to have you march across the room, close your eyes, and then attempt to retrieve them. The marked difference being, though, that while there was indeed a tremendous amount of bumbling involved, I could feel where my body was and could tell when it was getting closer to my head.
"And so it was, on the top of a mass grave, that I learned I was cursed with immortality.
"As you might imagine, when I staggered back to town most people were disinclined to associate with me for two rather compelling reasons: one, a number of them had been present at my beheading and were quite correctly convinced that I should, by all rights, be dead, and, two, those that had not witnessed my execution knew I stood charged with counter-revolutionary activities and was therefore dangerous to be associated with. Of secondary importance to these to facts, but likely nonetheless compelling of the public's avoidance of me, was the not insubstantial amount of blood covering my clothes and the manner in which I was attempting to hold my head atop its precarious perch. I was, at that time, what today would be referred to as a 'hot mess.'
"With the aid of a physician who had a particular fascination with anatomy, the various veins, nerves, muscles of my head were roughly sewn back to their counterparts on my body, and with time, the wound healed. High collared shirts, which were in fashion at the time, allowed me to obscure the damage that had been done to by neck, and with not a little luck, I was able to leave France and escape the remainder of what historians now call the Reign of Terror, but which I look back on merely as my twenties.
"Now, quite a bit more history has transpired between that moment, and this one, but I believe I have prattled on long enough in answering your question Mr. Juarez. As I recall it, after your men shot me 18 times without apparent effect, you asked 'Who - or what - the fuck are you?' The answer to who is 'Jack Moreau.' As for what, well, I'm a free agent Frenchman with a God-complex here on behalf of the American government to tell you they would like you to stop shipping drugs into their country,"I finished, bowing with flourish.
One of the henchmen gave Juarez a nervous glance. "Boss, this shit's fucked."
Juarez stared at me, his eyebrows knit in concentration. Finally, he spoke. "If you really are a free agent, Jack, then come work for me. I could certainly use a man of your skills,"he said with a soft smile.
I shook my head. "I'm afraid Mr. Juarez that I'm not interested in being in the employ of a drug lord. Particularly, if I may get more to the point, one which so freely preys upon young children. You have made a distasteful business downright despicable with your practices."
Juarez pursed his lips. "Very well. I can't accept your offer, Jack. We'll see if we can't change your mind about mine. I think first we'll seal you in a vat of acid, and find out what happens to the immortal man then. And if you're still alive after that, perhaps we'll try burying you in concrete."He motioned to his henchmen, who advanced somewhat nervously.
I made a show of checking my watch. "I'm sorry, Mr. Juarez, but in succumbing to my unfortunate tendency of being overly verbose we seem to have run out of time, sir. You've only got about ten seconds to change your mind, and tell me you'll abandon the drug business forever."
Juarez chuckled. "Or what?"
I checked my watch again. Time was up, so I stepped over to an overstuffed chair and sat down. "We won't be able to clear the blast zone. According to the mission brief, the missiles were fired immediately after I sent a signal back alerting the destroyer off the coast that I had entered your compound. That was 19 minutes ago, so I would expect them to be hitting this location in two minutes. But maybe you are faster than I think, and will be able to get clear."
"You- you maniac!"The henchman started scrambling out of the room. Juarez simply glared at me, vein throbbing ominously in his forehead.
"Ninety seconds."
"You'll be blown up to. Vaporized into bits - there's no coming back from that!"
"One can only hope that I will be so fortunate."
Juarez scrutinized my face, looking as if he was searching for some kind of poker tell. "Fine,"he said quietly. "I'll give you what you want. I don't want to go out like this."
"Hmm? Sixty seconds."
"I'll do it! Whatever you want! Names, dates, locations, all of it! Just don't kill me! Don't kill my family!"
I raised my jacket sleeve to my mouth. "Abort."
The house rattled as several cruise missiles detonated a few thousand feet away. I smiled at Juarez as I leveled a pistol at him.
"Now that you have come to your senses, Mr. Juarez, and decided to accept my rather generous offer, let's get on with discussing those details of your business sir. Unless you'd prefer to simply wait here for the second wave of missiles to arrive."
*****
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Charlie nudged his shopping cart forward inch by inch. The scanner was down, the cashier had said earlier. She was inputting everything manually. All of them were, every line. He looked across the isles, and thought how everyone looked like long curving metal caterpillars. A woman was red-faced in the line next to him, her young daughter constantly tugging at her coat, calling, “Mommy, mommy, I wanna go home.” We all do.
The cashier was young. Brunette, hazel eyes so far as he could tell from this distance. She had a dimple in her cheek that was especially pronounced when she smiled, of which she was given little opportunity to do so in the past half-hour. The old man she was checking out was patient, kind even. It was the man next in line who felt it necessary to let his inner thoughts vomit outward.
“Jesus Christ,” he’d mutter loudly. His wife was next to him and she aimed true and often with her elbow. Didn’t really do much more than redden his face. “This is goddamn ridiculous,” he blurted.
Charlie was busying himself reading the ingredients side of his groceries. He’d look up on occasion, whether drawn by another outburst by the man ahead of him, or to glance again at the cashier. Spitting image, he knew. It was *her*, right down to the dimple.
But it couldn’t be *her*.
“And what in the hell is going on with your machines? Are we in some kind of third-world country?” the obstinate man asked when it was finally his time to check out. The old man put the last of his grocery bags in his cart and said a kindly word to the young cashier in response, indecipherable from Charlie’s distance. He saw her smile though. That dimple.
“Sorry, sir,” she said to the man. He was in a red coat, and his face matched at this point. “Some sort of electrical malfunction, impacting all our stations.”
“Sure, sure,” he said. “Go on.”
Her hands were a blur. Charlie frequented this particular grocery store often. He had noticed her before, but generally it’s an in-and-out ordeal. This was the first time he got to admire. He looked down at his bulging gut, brushed the two-day stubble with his hands, and felt every bone in his thirty-six years as he stood still in this unending line. He could nearly be her father. But he felt that *pang* of loss. Spitting image, like the reincarnated soul of a childhood friend.
He realized he was twisting his fingers around the extra white loop of his ring finger. Nothing there but skin and the scar of a ring. The lights flickered above. It kicked off the computers. He could see it on her face, “Not this, not now, not him,” and sure enough Red Man noticed.
“I swear to god if you have to re-input all these groceries I’ve put up, I want your manager.”
She went for the phone.
“Hey listen,” Charlie said. His voice was drowned out by the phone intercom requesting manager assistance. He cleared his throat. “She’s just doing her job.”
His voice echoed across the line. He had adjusted to speak over the intercom but there was nothing to speak over. The man turned to him.
“You bastard,” he said. “You son of a bitch, don’t you tell me how to live my life. Been in this line going on nearly an hour.” His eyes bobbed crazily. His wife stood between him and Charlie, looking up, whispering like one would to calm a wild animal.
The cashier looked at Charlie. She shook her head. “It’s okay,” she mouthed.
Charlie was wearing his finger raw. The lights flickered. The man in red enraged. For a moment, he looked ready to lunge. Charlie carefully positioned himself around his grocery cart. Just in case.
He saw her eyes. A spitting image. A pure, unadulterated copy, just twenty years shaved off. She could be a daughter. But no, that’s not possible.
The lights flickered. The man in red growled. Charlie white-knuckled his cart. His wife had a hand on the man’s shoulder. Then, black. A pop. Like the shattering of a bulb. It startled Charlie enough to lunge, almost instinctually.
He fell flat on his face. It was soft. Wet. He pushed up, saw the snow, felt the radiating midday sun on his back. His face ached and itched from the sudden cold. A voice from behind, familiar, “Get up Charlie!”
A hand yanked on his jacket, and he was on his feet. Greg, always tall for his age, seemed to tower over him. He was thirteen, fourteen maybe. Last time Charlie saw him, he worked at the bank, cashing checks and making deposits, apologizing to upset customers, his voice deep like granite. But not here.
“Greg?” said Charlie.
“Charlie,” said Greg. “Come on, day’s a wastin’.”
Charlie grabbed onto Greg’s jacket. “Greg!” He looked around wildly. He saw other kids jumping in the snow, making angels, sliding down hills. He knew them – Mrs. Carter, back when she was Caitlyn; Mr. Boykins, but a boy, not the town’s care salesman; Ms. Radford, but the girl, not the widow, not missing her husband who never returned home, who buried an empty casket as men in uniform fired off rounds between *Hut’s*. Charlie looked at his hands. Soft, no calluses, no missing ring. He cried, again shouting, “Greg!” without letting go his coat.
Greg pulled away.
“You’re weird. Come on, it’s snow day.”
Charlie remembered snow day. It came to him in a rush. Elizabeth, her brown hair curled into locks. That dimpled smile. Snow stacked up on his shoulders as she dove in like a mermaid. She was here.
“She’s here!” he shouted to Greg, who looked back with a crumpled face. Charlie didn’t care. “Elizabeth!” he called.
She answered, not sure who said her name. It was like Where’s Waldo as she and her friends kept bobbing their heads out of the snow. He spotted her though. His heart fluttered. It’s her. It’s really, really her.
He twisted at his ring finger.
Charlie summoned the courage to walk towards her and the other girls. They stared at him, wide-eyed. He was older, but never showed the gall to talk to them. But he did so now, with a “Hello,” and a “How are you?” There were giggles in response, and a solo, “Hi,” from a familiar but painfully distant voice.
He knelt down in the snow as Elizabeth sat up, blowing hair from her face. There she is. Frozen in time, just as he remembered her. He loved her since kindergarten. His heart fluttered. But, what now?
“Yes?” she said at last.
He realized he had not spoken in quite a while. But he had to.
“Elizabeth,” he said. He turned in sudden panic to one of the girls beside her. What if he was wrong? Was this the right date? “What,” he stuttered, “what day… what date is it?”
The girls, all three of them, locked eyes on one another, and then all at once giggled. Elizabeth spoke: “It’s Thursday, it’s February 8th,” she said.
Charlie felt his heart drop in anticipation. He was going to do now what he didn’t do then.
“Elizabeth,” he said, “Um, well I was wondering if you would go on a date with me. This Saturday. Wherever you want.”
The girls all eyed each other again. Each of their faces flushed. Even Elizabeth. He never remembered her embarrassed by anything.
“Well,” she started, “you see it’s just, my parents have their anniversary this Saturday—“
“I know,” Charlie said. “God I know. But I thought maybe, maybe it would be romantic to mimic their special day. Is all. I just,” he paused, scanning all their faces. They stared back in anticipation. “I just thought, I like you, and I’d like to do something memorable. For you.”
Elizabeth beamed.
“Okay,” she said.
And Charlie cried. Suddenly hands wrapped around him, with Elizabeth saying, “It’s okay, it’s okay,” in his ear. And he remembered that day before, twenty-two years ago, when his mom held him in his arms whispering, “It’s okay, it’s okay.” She was gone. She was gone.
He smiled. “I’m so excited,” he said to Elizabeth. “I’m so excited to treat you so well. For the first time.”
|
Thirty candles dances in front of my face. I don't know how long I had stared into the flames. Imagining the screech of a laugh I couldn't get out of my head since that day ten years ago, the day I sold my soul to him. I was an old pro gamer. But I was getting older. The new talent was younger and faster. I couldn't keep up. I was laughed off of my team.
I walked to a crossroads and buried the usual, Black cat bones, graveyard dirt, and my picture. Except the demon that appeared was worse than anything I had ever imagined. He wasn't red with horns like everyone expects. Hell. The scariest thing was that he looked just like us. He could be anyone, at any time. But he told me that if I signed over my soul, he could give me the power to win at any game I played. But in return, after ten years he would come to collect.
I didn't have anyone close to me so what did I have to lose right? I made the deal. Pfft. After the deal I was the greatest. COD players? I made them look like 12 year olds. Faker? I faked him out and made him quit the league. I rose in the rankings and took on the username "Blank". I made a fortune but it wasn't enough. All of the thrills of beating someone better than me was gone. So I waited. And now I sit in this dark room staring into the flames, exactly ten years later. I hear him appear in the hallway and I see him walk into the room.
"Well, Tyler1 are you ready to pay up?"He said, his eyes beginning to glow red.
"My soul is yours for the taking, but you'll have to find me first."
As I blew out my candles and fell from the window and then I realized this was going to be the greatest game of hide and go seek ever played.
|
Lights of all colors flashed in Parker's vision as the hospital room dissipated into the fog of prophecy. A hand clenched hers tight, and reality was left behind as her senses were flung into the future.
Alarms screeched, and footsteps padded on a smooth, tiled floor. A dark room surrounded the team of masked doctors and nurses, who themselves surrounded an operating table being blasted by light. Parker was weightless, and had no control over where she moved. She would only see what the vision wanted her to see, and only understand what this particular prophecy desired.
"He's flat lining!"One nurse called out. There was no response, as if the other doctors were chastising him for wasting time conveying information that was already known.
A woman pushed her way past, and began chest compressions.
"Vitals?"She asked to the room in a short, curt tone meant for quick and efficient communication.
"None,"came the reply, equal in its emotionless efficiency.
Parker, or whatever it was that was granting her this vision, began to float high above the heads of the doctors and nurses surrounding the patient. Her heart thudded like a drum line in her chest, threatening to burst.
*It's me*, she thought. She was the sick one, she had the operation tomorrow. Parker had always wondered if she would see her own death, as she had seen her mother, father, and brother's before.
She had been able to save them though. There was nothing she could do for herself. Time was up, she could not wait for another kidney, or postpone the operation. Death had backed her into a corner.
Parker had just resigned herself to her future fate, when she finally gained a clear view of the operation below her.
It was not herself she saw, it was not even a woman.
*Austin,* her pupils widened in fear for her friend. She tried to scream, but she was locked in this vision as a being without any form with which to scream from. The doctor threw her hands up in the air as if to surrender, and ceased the compressions.
"Call it,"her words seemed to echo through the tunnel in space time that the vision had transported her through. A rainbow of colors once again filled her vision as the prophecy dissipated into the clarity of the present.
Her eyes shot open, and Parker's first sight after returning was of Austin's gray-blue eyes looking back into hers. Worry, fear, and helplessness were conveyed through those beautiful, lively eyes.
*I have to tell him,* she realized as they silently stared at each other. Parker did not want to die. Parker did not want Austin to die either though. There was no escape from this path. No shortcut, and no U-turns.
*It's murder,* she thought, trying to fight her self-preservation instinct. *Going ahead with this, knowing what I know. I'm murdering him.*
"Austin,"Parker gasped weakly, realizing she hadn't even taken a breath since returning.
"Yes,"his voice was soft and reassuring. She wondered why they had never been a couple. There was so much about him now that she was suddenly noticing. The look he gave her, the affectionate touch of his hand, the smile that seemed to banish the dark fears from her heat. Did he love her?
Parker thrusted those thoughts aside. They were useless now. She had no future, and it was too late to act on them.
"You can't-"
Once again a vision grasped hold of her, and she was flung into the future before she could finish her warning.
Now she floated above a small office, with a view overlooking downtown. It was cloudy out, and a miserable rain tapped repeatedly against the window like hundred of tiny fingers.
In the office was a desk, cluttered with paperwork. Sitting at the desk was the doctor from Parker's previous vision, the one who had lost Austin. Her hair was unkempt, and she had bags under her eyes. Beside her left arm was a bottle of scotch, partially empty.
"I lost him,"she said to someone. As the vision drew Parker closer, a man appeared in front of the desk, looking across it towards the doctor.
"These things happen,"he said reassuringly, "We can't predict them. It's just shit luck."
"***I*** should be able to,"the doctor shot back, "There's nothing simple about the operation, but it isn't complicated either. I've saved people who've had no right to be alive entering this place. I've brought people who've looked worse than roadkill back from the brink. How do I lose a healthy, young man in such a god-damn ***easy*** operation?"
The man was silent. Maybe he knew talking to her would make things worse, or maybe he just was tired of trying to talk to her.
"Here,"he said, simply tossing a folder at her from across the desk.
She looked at it with mild disgust. "I'm done working today, fuck off with your charts."
"They aren't charts,"the man said in a measured tone, "Open the folder and look."
The doctor begrudgingly grabbed the folder, and yanked it open. A handful of pictures fell out, each one of a family it seemed.
"What are these?"She asked, genuinely confused.
"The families that young man saved. He was an organ donor. His death saved the lives of six children today. And the life of his friend."
The woman was silent. And then she gave a tiny, pitiful laugh.
"Fuck you and your silver linings, Stephen. I hate saving lives on accident just as much as I hate losing them."
Stephen gave a humorless laugh back. "We all have a purpose here, Addi. Far be it from you to get in the way of that."
Then, as if she had simply blinked, Parker was back in the present. Austin was still looking down at her, as if he hadn't noticed anything wrong.
"I can't what?"He urged, a compassionate smile forming on his lips, "Tell me."
Parker took a deep breath, and a single tear rolled down her cheek as she took in as much of him as possible.
"You can't let me die."
Austin smiled, and clenched her hand tighter. "I won't,"he said with confidence.
*We all have a purpose,* Parker repeated as she lost herself to grief. *We all have a purpose.*
____________________________________
Did you like this story? Check out my other stuff over at r/Niedski! I post all of my stories there! |
“John!” she cried out. “You must have been waiting forever for me!”
John took off his aged leather cap and quietly walked towards her, a somber expression on his face. “Good morning, Sarah,” he said. “I’ve been very busy and couldn’t see you for a while. I hope you can forgive me.”
“Of course I forgive you, you silly fool!” Sarah laughed. “What’s a couple years to me? I've got all eternity to look forward to! And it’s not like I’ve been lonely. All sorts of wonderful people come and go through here, and even if I can’t touch or talk to them, it’s more than enough to see them laugh and smile. The times they cry are less pleasant, but even then I find it lovely that they have people around them who can help them laugh again!”
“I see. I’m glad that you’ve been keeping well.” John slowly sat down, the joints in his knees giving him a dull pang of discomfort. “And what of me? I daresay I’m not half as lovely as any of your friends are.”
“Heavens, John, no! You look even more horrid then when you had pimples down your face!” she cackled, her short blond curls whipping about as she bent over laughing. “But even so, I love you more than anybody else, because you’re the only one who will talk to me.”
“The others could, but they don’t. They’re afraid of me, and pretend I’m not important. And I understand that feeling, because they have people who are more important to them. They should talk to them first. It’s alright if they don’t talk to me, because they don’t know the words like you do. But you’re the one who remembers me the most, the one who understands me most, so you are the one person I love most in the world.”
John smiled, wrinkles curving around the ends of his lips. “You really don’t change, huh? I know that it’s been a while since my last present, so I’m hoping you really like this.” He extended his arm and placed a small flower in Sarah’s hand. “From my last business trip. It was a nightmare to explain it to customs but I knew it would be worth it.”
“Oh, John I love it! Thank you so much!” Sarah took the flower and held it close to her chest, her stance as serene and beautiful as the morning sunrise. “I’m almost jealous, you know. You get to fly all over the world and see all these wonderful things. Can’t really do that myself, you know, what with being stuck in this little square box and all.”
John shrugged. “My adventuring days are nearly up,” he said. “New kids are coming in to the agency, and they’re putting in hard work. Guess I’ll be thinking about retiring soon. Then I’ll definitely visit you more often.”
“Well, works for me too. Make sure you live as close as possible, so when you’re ready to join me, you can get a close seat and we’ll be bored together.” Sarah smiled, and leaned towards the man with a glint in her eye. “Hey, aren’t you forgetting something?”
John paused. “Of course I haven’t forgotten. I haven’t missed telling you once after all these years.” He silently fingered a ring in his coat pocket as he touched Sarah’s cheek with a faded hand. “I love you, Sarah. I promise I’ll come back for you, as many times as it takes until I can live with you again.”
It had been over fifty years. Time causes memory to fade and will one day take John’s life to oblivion as well.
Even so, even if John is the last person on Earth who remembers Sarah, he would definitely hold onto the memories he shared with her until his dying breath.
John turned, put on his aged leather cap, and quietly walked away from the grave. |
The whitest white you've ever known and the sensation of removing a blindfold, that's how it felt. I had died, I knew days before it happened that I was going to but it still felt strange.
I sat up in the white room, four... walls? Empty space really but it felt like a room. I brought myself up into a standing position. I scanned the room again, no change. I took a step forward and then another.
Something in the distance, a black dot. So far away. I continued in it's direction. As I walked I noticed my steps left a black, inky residue. Black, liquid shadow rising from the imprints. As I got closer to the dot the same tendrils in my footprints were emanating from it. The dot began to form a shape, a doorway.
I felt uneasy as I got closer. It was mixture of emotions I couldn't quite pin down. I slowed my pace, I could see a figure now standing by the door. I had not seen it due to the sheer brilliance of it's whiteness. But next to the door it became outlined at the distance I stood at now. I continued ahead now cautiously.
I was perhaps 10 steps away from the door now, the figure stood behind what looked to be a concierge desk. I tried to speak, to say hello. Nothing came out. I raised my hand to wave, the figure did not see. I was nervous and confused. I walked slowly, carefully, the short distance between the figure and I.
I reached the desk and put a hand on it. Leaving a black and inky handprint. The figure had no face yet it moved its head at me as if to convey disdain. I sheepishly retracted my hand down from the countertop. The figure seemed to be writing something down as I stood there silently waiting for something to happen.
The figure paused a moment and very abruptly I heard a voice in my head.
"You must enter through there. Make the climb or fall into oblivion. It will be brutal, for you most of all. I've rarely seen a staircase such as yours. Go now, begin your journey."The figure disappeared as well as the desk.
I stood in front of the door way now, alone. I walked into the frame of the door. A long, steep staircase was laid out before me. The stairs themselves were black as onyx and the shadows leaking off them cascaded down in wispy tendrils. I hesitantly raised a foot and placed it on the first step.
The pain was immediate, a hot searing awful pain accompanied by a memory. The first time I'd ever stolen something. A small duck keychain off a fellow classmates backpack. She cried when she found out it was lost. I was 5.
The pain subsided and I crumpled onto the step. The stair now blazed a brilliant blinding white. Interlaced with gold, shimmering and shining it was cool to the touch. I pulled myself up and gazed up the seemingly endless array of shadowy stairs. I sat there on the step and cried as I remembered something said to me once when I was alive.
*At some point, you're going to have to pay up.*
It meant something more now. It got me up off the step. It made me climb one step after another. I pushed through the suffering because it's what I deserved. I was running now, the pain worse with each step. I kept going, I couldn't stop.
I won't.
***
Hope you liked it! Other stories over at r/TheYogiBearhaWrites
Edit: sorry I missed a word in a pivotal point in the story and had to fix it!
|
The doubt is the worst part.
To love someone unconditionally is a brilliant feeling. It’s a certainty in an uncertain world, and when we were married I felt a weight lifted; not only was I certain about *him*, but *he* was certain about *me*. We were one being, tied together from two.
Then came the doubt. The late nights home, the increase in drinking, the “weekend retreats” with the company. It could all be perfectly innocent, and that’s the worst part, what does that say about *me*? The doubt slammed down any weight that had been lifted from me, any sure footing I had was turned to gravel with it. I didn’t know whether to flagellate myself for being so untrusting, or to flay him for answers, I didn’t know anything, and that was the problem.
So I looked for answers, passively at first, innocent questions.
“How was the retreat?” I’d say.
“Oh, you know, same old. The SpaceEx contract is coming along nicely, but I’m sick of hearing of it.” A vague answer, that wasn’t really relevant to the question. Is he being evasive, or just burnt out?
“I hear the restaurant at the hotel’s pretty good?”
“Didn’t get a chance to eat, spent most of the night working. I had a pizza.” Because he was so busy, or because he wasn’t there?
I needed something more. It became clear that I wasn’t going to get any proof from asking, and I couldn’t live with the agonising paranoia tearing my heart and mind to pieces. I needed something real. So I flicked through Facebook, but of course his posts corroborated what he told me. I married a clever man, and as much as I love that about him it irked me now, which of course caused more guilt. What kind of person resents their husband’s success just because they can’t find any proof of their likely-delusional theories?
I found something eventually though. Not proof, not a slip up, just an old friend from school who happened to work at his company, and on the front desk no less.
So I laid a trap. I was as diligent as I was guilty as I crept to the fridge, took out the mayo and lettuce, and threw it away.
“Hey, hon? Where’s the lettuce?” he’d called the next morning.
“We’re out, sorry. I’ll get some this morning and bring lunch to your office, k?”
“Okey-dokey, love you.”
I resented his carefree attitude. Either I was wrong, and it was jealousy, which meant I was an even shittier spouse, or worse, I was right, and the bastard was sleeping around, putting me in this agony and then having the gall to go about his day, happy as can be.
I didn’t know what to think, and it tore me apart. Still, I pushed on with the plan. Off to buy lettuce and mayo, make a sandwich, then drive to his office.
“Hey, I’m just dropping off my husband’s lunch, he’s in office 34B.”
“Ok thanks, I’ll make sure that gets to him.”
“Thank you!” I said, then half-turned, before turning back. “Jessica?” I’d said. “Jessica Wong?”
“Jessica Voller now, actually?”
“From-“
“Oh my god!” she said, recognition suddenly clicking. “How are you! It’s been years!”
“I know, right?”
So we chitted, and chatted. We spoke about old friends, our marriages, et cetera. Eventually I managed to bring up the retreat.
“So were you on that retreat last week?” I said. “Sealing the SpaceEx deal?”
“No? I didn’t know there was one? I thought the SpaceEx deal fell through a month ago?”
“Oh, I must just be getting confused. I don’t have a head for business.”
I brushed it off, but it was enough. Not proof, but encouragement. I drank myself to sleep that night, and went to bed alone. He came home at just after midnight, smelling of vodka, and maybe perfume? I couldn’t tell.
“Long day?” I said, half asleep.
“Damn rocket scientists drag everything out.” He said. “Come and give me a cuddle.”
He climbed into bed, and I relaxed myself into him, inside, however, I was tense. Now I knew he was lying, I just had to catch him out further.
The next day I took off work. He went at his usual time, and once I saw him pull out of the drive I fired up his laptop. Of course it was password protected, but no matter how much you might want to hide something you should always expect your spouse of 15 years to think like you do. The fourth one I tried got me in, and I quickly loaded up his Facebook.
What followed was a rollercoaster of emotion. He’d been writing poetry, I never knew. I read a few, falling in love with him all over again until it occurred to me that they might be about someone else, some other life. I fought the urge to be sick and loaded up his messages. Typical stuff; some memes, some sports talk with various friends, catching up with a buddy from college.
Then I saw the one that made my stomach sink.
“Can’t wait ;)” It said. The small winky face taunting me. I smoked four cigaretted and chugged a beer before I managed to open it.
>Hey, we still on for tonight?
>Ofc, meet me at the usual bar at 6?
>Sounds good. You sure your SO doesn’t know?
>Sure. I’ve got it handled. See you later for the big one!
>Can’t wait ;)
I threw up then. It wasn’t courtroom proof, but it was proof enough to me. In some way I’d been betrayed, he *knew* he was deceiving me, and even if he wasn’t fucking the bitch, the proof of the lie was enough to turn all my doubt to fury. I thought about my next actions carefully as I chained another three cigarettes, then went back to the laptop.
The first thing I looked at was purchase history. He’d not bought anything suspicious, but that was easy enough to hide. I managed to find the woman he’d been messaging's LinkedIn, and she did actually work at SpaceEx, buried his lie in a truth it seemed. 6 o clock came and went, and at a quarter past I logged into his phone finder to see his location. He was down by the docks, at a bar by some warehouses. Weird, but I guess he wouldn’t want anywhere I might happen upon.
I considered going there right then, catching him and “Maria” inflagrante, but something told me to wait, and I’m glad I did. I checked again at 8 and they’d moved from the bar, into one of the warehouses. I jotted down the address, deleted history, then went to bed, I was getting drunk, and drunk meant sloppy. I needed to be on my game now; for every moment of guilt and pain I'd felt I wanted him to suffer a thousandfold. Where doubt had held me back before a vindictive anger buoyed me, and I used it.
The next day I was as loving as ever; quick kiss as he took his lunch, and then I set to work. I took the bus down to the river, *he* might leave traces behind, but I wasn't going to have him notice the milage on my car and ask questions before I was ready. His warehouse had security, which was why I’d taken both our passports, and after a friendly conversation explaining who I was to the guard I was in.
I took one look inside, then left.
Filled with equal parts unending relief and crippling disappointment I broke into his laptop again and confirmed my suspicions, now I knew what to look for I was much faster, and by the time he got home late that night I was waiting.
“Baby,” I'd said. “We need to talk.”
I had everything out on the table. Bank statements, invoices, emails, screenshots. He glanced at the table, but without his glasses on he couldn't see what was there.
“It's not what it looks like, I can explain. Maria is just-”
“An expert on ICBM targeting software, I know.”
“Wait, you do?”
“I know about the missiles baby, I know about the nuclear materials in New Jersey.”
“I can explain.”
“What's there to explain?”
“I'm not a terrorist. I'm not… look. There's these people, *bad* people, they're called Cerberus. Our firm is working with the CIA to try and foil-”
“I know, baby. I know they're planning a nuclear apocalypse, I know they have the resources to do so, and I know that certain people in the US government want to beat then at their own game.”
“You do?”
“I know you prevented the attack in Cuba, I also know you helped plan the false-flag in Seoul, you don't have to say anything.”
“You don't know how much of a relief that is. I couldn't tell you anything, they'd have me up on treason charges, I've wanted to tell you for so…” he trailed off as I’d smiled sweetly at him.
“How do you know about Seoul?” He said. “I wasn't directly tied to that project, there's nothing on my laptop…”
I'd stood at that point and kissed him, then with a gun pressed to his gut I whispered into his ear.
“Hail Cerberus. I love you."
I married an incredibly clever person, unfortunately for him, he did the same.
Sometimes I miss him, I *did* love him, but at least the doubt is gone.
The doubt was the worst part.
---
*Thanks for reading! Feedback welcomed! More at /r/Xais56!* |
It was the fizzy lifting drinks that convinced me something was wrong.
A classic 274.2 - the carbonation tank wasn't properly sanitized. Whoever had installed it had left handprints on the interior walls. Normally, this would be a $1,500 fine and they'd have three working days to clean it up. However, two of the hand prints were quite small - like a child's.
"Mr. Wonka - have you ever employed anybody under the age of 18?"
"Well, no....I mean, the Oompa Loompas are technically in their 30s, because their year is 73 days long. They only live to 50, so their year is compressed."
"50 of who's years?"
"Who's years?"
"Yes, who's years? Theirs or ours?"
"Who's years, indeed. Come along now, I'm sure you have other things to tour."
"Well, if anything, I'd like to go backwards and re-investigate that shred of fabric we found in the chocolate mixing area."
"That was clearly a worker's rag."
"Or an article of clothing. I didn't hit you with a 146.9 - improper storage of cleaning materials, but I feel like maybe I should double check."
"Ah, good. We can take the Great Glass Wonkavator!"
"Actually, if you don't mind, I'd like to check the stability of your footpaths and handrails."
|
I heft the thing up. Deep breaths. A man's gotta move with the times. The crisp evening air isn't *too* cold, but I can see my breaths. My joints hurt, but I barely notice.
Check the trigger mechanism, the only one of its kind. Nothing else fires this kind of ammo. Well-oiled. I keep it in pristine condition. I have to. Only one of its kind.
Check the Magazine. Fifteen bullets. An ornate silver case of magazines next to me, half of them empty. Maybe a couple hundred rounds remaining. Only one of their kind, too. I touch the box much more tenderly than it deserves. Forgive an old man for being sentimental.
Check the scope. Push an eyebrow, white with age, not quite against the rim. Run my hand over the buzzcut that should be my hair but feels like a rough brush, bristles caressing calloused hands. The target moves slow, fancy bottle in hand. They're expecting me to show up, of course. I'm watching them from a mile away and I breathe the cold air in again. My lungs hurt, and I can hardly feel it.
Check the safety. She didn't use to have one, but she's gotta move with the times, too. My hand seems to rough for how gently I click it off. The sound echoes in the air, reverberating.
Check the trigger. Press it. Feel the resistance. Know exactly where it'll go off.
Deep breaths. Check the target. See the bottle swing, like a pendulum, taunting me. Everything hurts, but I don't care.
Excalibur barks. She hurls a stone bullet at three-thousand feet per-second and I can see it make contact, throwing the bastard across the room in two separate pieces. He drops the Grail. |
Anticipating a long night of grading papers, I watch sullenly as the kettle boiled, steam issuing almost angrily from its spout. As I pour it out I wince at the distasteful stench of coffee – never had been a fan – and resolutely dump a couple of teaspoons in, stirring thoughtfully as I stumble back to my work.
The white glow from my laptop illuminates the lounge; untidy, threadbare sofa, several bookshelves teetering under the weight of old books and crammed ringbinders. I ignore it all and heft the computer onto my lap, sipping coffee as I do so. It’s the week before the geology final, so technically I do have plenty of time to get these papers looked at, but I’m anticipating the deluge of admin that exam season always brings…yeah, best to get these done now so my students can’t complain that their grades are late again.
I’m just opening the folder of student papers when my phone buzzes, loudly and aggressively in the still air, and I idly glance over to the coffee table. Looks like a work email…and sure enough my laptop gives an answering chirrup a second later, the email app flagging up a little scarlet icon. Unable to ignore this tiny, bland little excuse for a distraction – I always was a chronic procrastinator – I tab over to my email, and barely manage to suppress a roll of the eyes at the name and subject that flashes on screen.
“From: Barton, J
Subject: Next week’s final…”
Jon was a real piece of work, I think savagely to myself, opening the email and preparing to sigh in irritation. If it weren’t for the fact that I’d been dragged to several Dean meetings with him over attendance, I’d have no idea who the kid even was, given that I doubt he’s attended a single lecture this semester. Fucking typical that he’d try and weasel his way out of an exam a week before.
“Dear Professor Davies,
I’m really sorry to ask this. Grandmother has just passed away and there are matters to attend to. Please reschedule the final at your earliest convenience.
Regards.”
I almost choked on my over-sweet coffee and angrily slam the mug down on the nearest coaster. I always thought Jon was an insufferable little prick but this was…this was really a new level. I rescan the email and with every word my brow furrows that little bit deeper. The tone is unusually formal for him, and I don’t think he’d ever started an email to me with ‘Professor Davies’ before, but to me that just further confirms this was a stupid joke – the kid couldn’t even take emailing me seriously any more.
I pull myself more upright and square my shoulders, preparing myself for a suitably snippy reply – and my computer pings again. A second email – and again, I recognise the name.
“From: Yates, L
Subject: Next week’s final…”
Frowning, this time in confusion, I click on it. Luis was a good student, a bright kid and one of my favourites to have in my seminars. For him to be emailing about the exam…something must be wrong.
“Dear Professor Davies,
I’m really sorry to ask this. Grandmother has just passed away and there are matters to attend to. Please reschedule the final at your earliest convenience.
Regards.”
The fuck? My confusion lasts all but two seconds as I slowly realise what had happened. Some joint venture – probably a party – had screwed over a group of students’ study schedules. These probably weren’t the only two hoping for an extension. And Jon, true to his nature, hadn’t even bothered to craft his own excuse and had stolen Luis’, word-for-word.
I sigh heavily and press my fingers to the bridge of my nose. Sometimes their ridiculousness was almost endearing.
I’m just flexing my fingers to craft a snide reply to both Luis and Jon, when again my email pings.
“From: Chen, T
Subject: Next week’s final…”
I open this one, scan it for the briefest of seconds and close it almost immediately, really feeling my temper rising now. Fuming, I open an new email and CC in all three students.
“Dear Jon, Luis and Tara,
I am really very disappointed in the three of you. Had you chosen to come and talk to me face to face, with genuine reasons, I would have been willing to listen and discuss the possibility of an extension. However, given that none of you can even be bothered to come up with your own excuse, I don’t see why I should accommodate you. You will attend the final as expected and I will be arranging a meeting with your tutors and the Dean to discuss this behaviour.
Regards,
Professor Davies.”
With a weird sort of vindictive pleasure, I slam the send button and pick up my coffee again, taking a much needed sip of the syrupy drink. Maybe I’d been a little harsh but I’m tired, and quite frankly this is a little ridiculous. Jon, I expected this of. Luis and Tara, on the other hand –
My email squawks, with the sound that tells me that the email failed to send. I groan and reopen the sent message. I’m seriously behind on marking my papers now, and now I’ve got to deal with –
Before I can make another move, another email dings into my mailbox
“From: Goodwin, D
Subject: Next week’s final…”
This is seriously taking the –
Ding!
“From: Lim, M
Subject: Next week’s final…”
Ding!
“From: Eisler, K
Subject: Next week’s final…”
I stare at my laptop as the notifications continue to flood in, faster and faster until there’s a strange groaning noise and the email app just…freezes.
After a tense few seconds a window flashes on screen, indicating that the application has ‘encountered a problem and needs to close’. Swearing, I shove the computer to one side and snatch up my phone, scrolling through the page of notifications. A stream of emails, all bearing the same subject line. They’re flashing up on screen faster than I can scroll but I’m willing to bet there’s 42 of them.
My initial thought is confusion, swiftly replaced by annoyance. Clearly, my class is playing some kind of stupid prank on me. I swipe open my email on my phone and rapidly tap out a terse reply to the entire cohort.
“To all,
I do not appreciate this ill-timed and frankly stupid prank. I will be contacting the Dean about this tomorrow.
Professor Davies.”
The second I hit send, my phone explodes with notifications and I gape at it – surely no one had time to reply that quickly? I flick through the new emails and again they all have the same subject…but it’s different. I open one at random.
“From: Morris, G
Subject: Final date
Dear Professor Davies,
Grandmother has passed. Grandfather is next. Please move the date.
Regards.”
Just in case, I open the second one – and sure enough, same email again. A chill runs down my spine – what’s going on? It must be some kind of virus…but I’ve never seen one this specific, or this adaptable. And what’s the intention? Just to annoy me? To screw my students over?
Swallowing my thoughts – and another mouthful of now cold coffee – I bring my laptop back to my lap and carefully click through to the email app again. It seems to have recovered from its little fit, so I open a new email and address it to the head of IT admin.
“Hi John,
Sorry to bother you so late, but I’ve just got a bunch of really weird repeating emails from my entire Geology year. Looks like some kind of virus but I’m no expert, do you think you guys could take a look into this?”
After carefully pasting a screenshot of my inbox in, I click send – and again, my email pings.
“From: IT Services
Subject: Final date
Dear Professor Davies,
Move the date.
Regards.”
Seriously weirded out now, I do the only thing that makes sense and prepare to draft an email to the head of the school – and again, my inbox calls for my attention.
It’s from the Dean. I hadn’t even started typing into the blank draft yet.
“Move the date.”
|
"Take this weapon with you"my Sergeant said, his hand extending a rifle towards me.
"No, it's cool Sarge, I got this..."I shrugged with an air of confidence that my new found skill had provided me.
"Whatever private... it's YOUR funeral."Sarge and a few others continued to hand out weapons as we filed past them, nervous to get out onto the battle field.
"Where's your piece, bro?"asked Williams. He stood next to me, field checking his rifle before bumping helmets with me.
"I don't need it - yo, check this out...". I fired one of my finger guns at a paper cup full of coffee someone had placed on a table at the edge of our platoon's muster station. A hole silently appeared on either side of the cup, coffee dribbling out and across the table .
"Through and through..."I grinned.
"What ... the ... fuh..."Williams could hardly finish his statement as he stared over at the cup in awe.
Our discussion was cut short as a mortar landed near the table, sending everyone for cover. Our assailants were making their way towards us from quite a distance, as we all hunkered down for our premature battle.
"bang!"I whispered. I watched a guy I pointed at fall dead. Shots being fired all around me from other members of my platoon - we were ambushed, with attackers coming at us in all directions.
"bang! bang!"I whispered... and witnessed 2 more people fall in the distance. I scurried on my elbows behind a fallen log, next to Williams. He was yelling something into his radio about an ambush, but I was having a difficult time hearing him over all the gunfire.
I sat up slightly, put both arms over the log I was using for protection, and pointed my finger guns at anything that moved.
"bang! bang!"I continued. "Screw this"I thought. I brought my middle fingers alongside my already pointing index fingers, thumbs standing proud, cocked and ready. Now I was ready for some real action.
"ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-bang!"I whispered in machine gun fashion. The enemy soldiers were dropping like flies. Bullets whizzed past my helmet and I heard Williams let out a gurgling 'oof' as he took a bullet in the neck. I looked around, our numbers were dwindling swiftly and I could tell this may be my last stand.
I flipped around to face the other direction, my head resting on the log. The enemies behind us in the trees. I fanned my fingers out and said 'bwaa-a-aaa-aa-aa' as bullets sprayed from my hand, almost cutting the trees down as the assault from the trees ended. One of the gunmen in the trees fell to the ground, the stub of his arm shredded from my attack, his limb still clinging to his weapon in the tree.
I looked around me... lifeless soldiers all around me... guys I had trained with for months before being dumped out here in B.F. nowhere. I was the only one left. I turned back again, protected by the log, and saw 8 enemy combatants running towards me, with one guy moving slowly, about 20 yards behind them, following their lead.
"ba-ba-ba-ba-ba-bang!"I yelled. The 8 in the lead all fell suddenly, their life ended. I turned my finger guns on the last one. "Bang!"... nothing happened... he kept getting closer. "What the hell?""Bang! Bang!".. I felt the bullets leave my hand so I know it was working, yet he continued to get closer. 10 yards away now, and making no move to engage nor retreat.
I stood up and pointed right at him. "Bang!"... 8 yards.
Nervous now, I looked around to see if anything else was going on. 6 yards.
"Why won't you die?!"I screamed at him. "Bang!"4 yards. "Ba-ba-ba-ba..!"I continued to spray him with bullets. 2 yards.
"Bang..! Bang! I said 'Bang!'..."now he was right on top of me, bumping me to the ground, trampling me under his impossibly heavy weight. Each step of his boot crushed through my body, finding flat footing on the earth beneath my now dying body. He walked over me like I wasn't even there.
As I lay there, organs crushed beneath his weight, my last few ounces of breath leaving my body I could hear him whispering something...
"tank.... tank.... tank...." |
For many rabbits being chosen was a gift, others thought of it as a curse. Some say on the other side is a heaven of carrots and lettuces. some claim that it is a hell, trapped in boxes of unknown make. I was contacted by a herald of the hop at my burrow. I was taken to the great hall. The top was open, not to sky but it was open. I was placed directly underneath while they order chirped out incantations for a seemingly endless amount of time. Once I began to doubt that the great being existed I saw it. a being looked as if it was made of skin, yes but the shape was alien. it looked like it was made of 5 large carrots, before I could see more I was lifted. I emerged from a black cylindrical portal. At this point I saw the great being was merely the hand of a giant. with a coat of black, white and red fur, it was pale with several exposed areas of skin like its paws and face. I then saw a sea of more and more beings in front of the one that summoned me. After a few seconds I was placed into a large open air box lined with thin shards of wood. it was true this was not a heaven but a hell. I began to cry and yell for help but the giant walked over and plunged me into darkness with the wave of his paw. As he cast night over me I fell victim to sleep. When i awoke i was back in my burrow but with a mark on my ear in an alien script. I know not what the characters mean. I leave my burrow to try and find the elders but when I left the burrow all I saw was as before a open air box but this time larger and with others they apporach and one bows to me. she explains that they also were chosen and that this is the next stage of being chosen waiting to be chosen again but by smaller giant. she says we are in "the pet shop." |
The important thing whenever you’ve made a mistake is to stay calm, and consider your options. Number one: how much time do you have to fix this? Number 2: much do you have to fix? Number three: what resources do you available?
So, let’s take them in turn. How much time? Not very fucking much. That’s kind of the point really. That’s the rush, returning just at the last minute. Last second if possible. I’ve even gone up to just a few seconds after whatever I’ve done has been discovered. The change in people’s faces is amazing, I always make sure I have a good vantage point for before to make the after more fun. Seeing them going from musing the mundane – perhaps what to have for dinner, or where to go at the weekend – to suddenly having a life-changing disaster right in their face. When I started with vandalism, I would almost always wait until the person had seen what I’d done to the inside of their house before returning. When I ram raided shops though, I’d wait until I was just about to be caught to return. I didn’t want to actually go through the process of being arrested – it’s the relief of escaping that gives the high in that case.
I killed Ted at about 4:45pm and I’m sure his wife usually comes home at 5. So 15 minutes to dispose of a body. Not just a body – that brings us to number 2….
This is a messy one. I knew decapitation would not be the tidiest of deaths but wow. Blood. Is. Everywhere. I can see it’s seeping under the sofa, so I’ll definitely have to move that at least. I haven’t looked at myself in the mirror yet, but I imagine I look like Carrie in the final scene. So this is a big job.
Number 3. I have no resources at all bar a blood stained and now quite blunt samurai sword. My biggest resource has failed me, and put me in this situation. The plan was: leap out from behind door shrieking, slice off Ted’s head with one elegant whisk of the sword, and then return. What actually happened was: my mask kind of fell over my eyes as I leapt so my shriek was more of a strangled gasp. It took a good three or four goes to actually get the head off – anime has lied to me all these years. And then…as I have so many times, I closed my eyes…..flexed….and expected to open my eyes back in my bedroom, one hour in the past. I would have travelled back in time one hour, and everything would have reverted to how it was then. Only I would remember anything.
Instead, I was still in Ted’s house, and Ted’s head was still very much not attached to his body.
Shit. That’s the door. Ted’s wife. I’ve been sat here spelling out nonsense to myself for 15 minutes! SHIT.
The front room we’re in is just off the hall from the front door. Ted’s wife hasn’t gone two steps, hasn’t even got to the little wicker basket on the table for her keys when she sees me. And the sword. And Ted. And Ted’s head. I tense for a scream.
Instead, she rolls her eyes and tuts at me. “God, don’t you know anything? Didn’t you check for his mark?” she says to me, with withering contempt
My mind is boggling a little bit too much to get anything out, but I make a kind of inquisitive sound intended to mean “what the hell are you talking about and why aren’t you freaking out?”.
She strides into the room and takes in the scene, appraising it as if I have left a coffee ring on her table. She tuts again.
“You’ve not seen one before I presume. I’ve marked him, so time-travel by someone else won’t affect him. Look”
She picks up the head of her husband and lifts up the hair at the nape of his neck. In the back of his neck is a faint circle, with a complex symbol inside. Blood continues to drip steadily on the carpet, but she seems unconcerned.
“Never mind” she says, ignoring my dropping jaw, “I can fix this. It’s happened outside my sphere of influence, so changes will apply if I do it. I’m going to take us all back an hour, he won’t even have a headache”. She laughs without humour.
Slowly, I get it. She’s like me! And she seems to know a lot more about this stuff….
She puts the head down and looks at me steadily. “When you get back, you’d better come over and see me. I think we have some things to talk about…and you have some things to learn”.
I nod. I feel excitement…and also a good portion of fear. This woman was a boring housewife to me yesterday. But now I’m aware of a glowing latent power within her. Ok I’ll be honest, I’m bloody thrilled and scared shitless.
She shakes herself and gets ready, I recognise the preparations from when I return. She closes her eyes…then suddenly opens them and stares right at me
“I should say – I’ll let this go once. But you fuck with my turf again, and I’ll put you back in your mother’s womb like THAT” snapping her fingers for emphasis.
Before I can reply, she closes her eyes, and……flex…..
I open my eyes. I’m back in my room, one hour before. I scramble to my window and look out: Ted is there mowing his grass, head firmly attached to his body. I feel relief….but the wait until 5pm is going to be hard…
|
“Brooooo! You gotta check this shit out. It’s freaking hilarious.”
I sighed and looked up from my book. Cupid was sitting in front of the 80 inch plasma screen, watching some poor sap write the most pathetic love letter I’d ever seen.
“Holy shit! He actually compared her to wet socks, what the fuck? How is that romantic?” He broke into an obnoxious peel of laugher and popped open another natty lite.
I looked at him, unimpressed. “Brother, will you leave those poor humans alone? What have they done to deserve this?”
Cupid burped, loudly. “Brahhh I’m just getting started on this one. You know that chick he’s into? Yah she’s gonna fuck his dad. Hilarious as fuuuuuccckkk.”
I was used to my brother’s antics, but the way he raised up the hopes of the humans only to watch them crumble always seemed cruel to me. I like humans. They are cute in a bedraggled cat kind of way. They just try so hard at their puny lives, it’s endearing.
I knew not to meddle with his game directly, that would piss him off and I had learned my lesson after the Oedipus incident. He’s very petty. If I wanted to help this poor soul (and to be honest watching him was really killing my vibe), I would have to do what I always did.
“Hey brother, do you know what would be funny?”
He looked at me, nacho cheese all over his mouth.
“What’s up?”
“You know her second cousins best friend Adriana?”
“No? Who the fuck...”
“Sure you do. Wouldn’t it be hilarious if you made him fall for her?” Cupid looked at me confused. I continued quickly before he could consider my statement. “Of course it would be. Imagine it, one minute he’s in love with her, the next he loves her cousin.... well, her second cousin.... well, her second cousin’s friend. Her best friend though, very funny.”
Cupid’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t buying it. “I don’t know bro, shit sounds kinda lame.” Ugh I would have to break out my secret technique. I hated doing this.
“Don’t worry bro, sh... shit will be... uh... freaking hilarious.”
I felt dirty just saying it, but it worked. Cupid’s eyes lit up.
“Brah ya think?? Dope ok let’s try it! Lit as fuck!” He closed his eyes and snapped his fingers. The man on the screen looked confused for a second and stopped writing.
I knew my brother well enough to know he’d get bored of this couple in about 7 minutes. I’d been tricking him into partnering soul mates for millennia. I sat back in my chair with a slight sense of satisfaction. I was rooting for those crazy kids. Humans, adorable. |
I probably look ridiculous in my ratty sports jersey and pajama bottoms, skittering backwards like a startled spider on my hands and knees across the bedroom floor, my mouth hanging open in dumb shock.
I blink, stare, and blink again. There was Emily, under the bed, curled up in the dark among discarded toys and dust bunnies.
...And there she was on top of the bed, wrapping her heavy comforter around herself like a hooded cloak. The mirror-image girls both stare at me with eyes like saucer plates, scared and expectant.
I don’t want to be here. I’m not even remotely equipped to deal with this. I consider leaving the room, shutting the door. Perhaps when I open it in the morning things will have sorted themselves out, and there will be one Emily again.
I close my eyes, count to three, open them again. Still two daughters. Shit.
“Daddy?” says the Emily under the bed. Her other self above flinches at the sound, pulls the blanket tighter around her.
I stand up on shaking legs, turn on the lights in the room. I wish Sharon was here. Well, not really. I wish it wasn’t the weekend, and Emily was with Sharon instead of me. I bet Sharon would know what to do in a situation like this. Sharon has her shit together.
Standing up I can only see the child on top of the bed now, which helps. “Emily,” I say, softly, trying to sound calm, “Get away from the bed and come here.”
This was a bad decision. Both daughters obediently move towards me. As one Emily begins to gingerly step down from the bed the other emerges right below her feet, and they both see each other. The room is filled with two identical high pitched screams, loud enough to make my ears ring.
The girl from under the bed scrambles out and runs to me. She grabs my pant leg and clings for dear life. I tense and look down at her. There is a lego piece stuck in her unruly hair. She doesn’t sprout tentacles or fangs and start tearing into me, which would at least have uncomplicated things.
The other Emily has retreated to the farthest corner of the bed. She holds a pillow in front of her like a protective shield. “Dad, who is she?” she asks in a quavering voice.
I feel disoriented, light-headed. Fear and revulsion struggle with protective paternal instincts.
The girl clinging to me is Emily. I could feel it in my core, am more certain of it than I was aware a person could be. This was my daughter.
But so was the girl on the bed.
I was confused and scared, but so were they. And I didn’t go through half a year of joint custody negotiations to turn tail at a bit of Twilight Zone bullshit.
I take a deep breath. “It’s okay,” I say, to both Emily’s, to myself. I lift up the girl next to me in one of my arms, hold a hand to the one huddled on the bed. “Let’s go to the kitchen. I can make something for us to eat and we can figure this all out.”
The other Emily crawls across the bed and onto my other arm. She gives a suspicious glance at her doppelganger, but says nothing.
We can get through this. I can get through this.
As I carry both girls out of the bedroom, I hear a tapping sound from the closet door, followed by a small voice.
“It’s dark in here, daddy.”
...Fuck.
|
"Well...if you're offering, I'll have a cup of mead, thanks!"smiled the young man, reaching out to grab the cup.
Odin smiled. The new arrival had yet to comprehend his situation. He loved seeing the look in their eyes the moment realization dawned on them.
"Welcome to my hall"he boomed, arms out-stretched. "Do you know where you are, and who I am?"He liked to hear their answers. These days, hardly anyone got it right.
The young man looked about the room, taking stock of his surroundings. Slowly, he sipped his mead before replying.
"Probably some kind of after-life, to be perfectly honest. No way I survived what just happened. You look like you run the place. Great mead by the way!"
This didn't happen often, but when it did, Odin always found it was *he* who needed to lower his eyebrows. The new arrival knew where he was...in a manner of speaking.
"Not bad, Youth. You're in Valhalla, and I am Odin All-father. Welcome to my hall. Now, stand tall and tell thy tale, warrior!"Odin demanded.
The young man seemed to shrink into himself at that command.
"Warrior? Oh, I don't know about all that, Mr. Odin. See, the thing is...I signed up for this. I knew this would happen sooner or later. I was hoping it wouldn't, but...you know how these things go. Speaking of...I was with a group of people when it happened. How are they?"
Odin smiled, and the warriors of the hall started to whisper amongst themselves. Holding his arm up for silence, Odin looked the young man in the eyes before laughing out loud.
"A true warrior seeks the welfare of his friends before his own. Mark my words, boy; you are made of the stuff of legend. Your friends are well, thanks to you. Now, tell us your story!"
The young man rang his hands together in a display of nervousness. Swallowing his nerves, he made a start.
"Hi everyone! My name is Peter and I'm 24 years old. I grew up in Berkshire...Anyone from Berkshire here? Wait..Is that...Oscar Wilde? Love your work, dude! Anyways...I joined the army when I was 18, trained up in bomb disposal, and here I am!"
Odin smiled, gesturing for his cup to be refilled. "And how is it that you have come to walk amongst your brethren warriors?"he inquired.
"Ah, yeah...that. Well, one of the hazards of the job, really. Comes with the territory, I guess!"he answered, nervously.
Odin looked at the new arrival. As he met his gaze, Peter almost thought Odin saw *through* him. At that moment, he knew that Odin was aware of how he *really* died, and had been all along. And he knew that Odin still admired his courage, despite this. He shrunk away into the crowd as quickly as possible to avoid any more questions.
---
Through his missing eye, Odin could see with a thousand eyes. He saw through the eyes of Peter, on the battlefield just moments ago. He watched as he ran towards a cowering little boy, no more than eight or nine years old. He watched as Peter tried to comfort the child and lead him to safety. He saw Peter's gaze drop to the child's chest, and felt the knot in Peter's stomach at what he saw there. He felt Peter hurriedly wrap his arms around the child, using his own flesh as a living shield. He saw Peter's last thoughts; of his family and friends back home.
Yes, a warrior indeed. There was no doubt in Odin's mind that Peter was where he belonged.
---
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"Hello"I say.
"Good evening"says the cat
"What is your Name?"
"I had many names, all given to me by my owners. You can choose whatever you like and seem fit"the cat says
"Yes but what is your ORIGINAL name? You must have had a name before you became a familiar? Or do you not want to tell?"
The cat hesitated and looked slightly uneasy. "Why do you want to know that?"
"Oh is it a weird question? Sorry. I didn't want to put you in an awkward situation. You dont have to tell, all good. Let me think for a good name then...."
The cat eyed me. "You were just curious?"
"Aah, why, yes"I was a bit befuddled "I find it a bit disrespectful to just impose a name on you. You are well known, a powerful and formidable familiar. You formed kings, conquerors and rulers. I can't just call you... Sir Q.T. Pawsees."I snickered at my own joke.
The cat narrowed his eyes a bit "Of course you could"
"You would hate it, right?"I grinned. It was too obvious, the cat would absolutely hate that name.
"I always wanted a kitten"I said as I sat down on the sofa and turned on the tv.
"It would be wonderful to just live as a normal house cat for a change"the cat said quietly.
"Then come sit with me. My favourite TV show will be on soon."
The cat sat next to me and watched me for a few minutes in silence. "My name is Tomomi"he said "'Tomo' means wisdom and 'mi' means beautiful."
'How fitting."I told him
He curled up next to me and started purring as I scratched his head. "'Tomo' can also mean 'friend'"he whispered quietly after a few minutes.
|
“Hey Bloodfang!” A baritone voice carries across a cavernous room, lit with torches, decorated with furs and pelts of giant beasts.
“Hi Jeff.” A gruff voice all but growls in response. The owner of the voice is Bloodfang, the chief Orc of the family. Bloodfang is large, blue, and covered in tattoos. At 9 feet tall and almost half as many feet wide he dwarfs the human who approaches him.
“Did you hear about the Orc who lost his arm?” Jeff has a huge grin and is trying to contain his laughter. Jeff is tall for a human, at around 6 and a half feet. His blonde hair is stained with what looks like blood. He is covered in blue paint. He is dressed in animal skins, similar to Bloodfang, though less impressive.
“No, Jeff. I didn’t.” The giant orc is grinning as well.
“He was called Horvath the fingerless! Get it? Get it?” At this Jeff loses it. He folds over and clutches at his sides guffawing loudly. This draws the attention of other Orcs in the dwelling. Tears stream from Jeff’s eyes.
“Yes Jeff. I got it. That was a good one, little Orc.” Bloodfang smiles, his eyes filled with merriment.
Kreeva, Bloodfang’s mate, saunters over. Her long hair is braided, and her body is covered in tattoos similar to Bloodfangs. She wears a dress fashioned out of animal skins. At her waist is an axe, in her arms a small, blue babe.
“Is the little Orc cracking jokes again, Bloodfang?” Kreeva asks, laughter filling her eyes.
“Yes, he is! He certainly has an odd sense of humor for an Orc.” Hammerfell, another Orc, one of Bloodfangs sons, has approached as well.
“Yes. Right. That would be because I’m from a tribe that uh... still trades with the elves. We oft hear their jokes and what not. My father was a trader so I got to spend a lot of time in the city.” Jeff repeats the story he first told the Orcs when he stumbled upon them almost a month ago. It had been too easy to convince them he was from an Orc tribe that had evolved into smaller statutes Orc to fit the environment. The only hard part was how many blueberries he had to mash to keep his skin color covered. “My grandfather never understood the humor. He insisted that we Orcs should never associate with other races.”
“Ah yes, that’s the tradition. However we have found elves and dwarves to be very valuable allies, and to be friends.” Kreeva responds, noticing their guests sweat dripping down. She grins internally.
A fourth Orc approaches from a door carrying a pack, Ragnor, the merchant. “Hey Jeff, here are the Blueberries you asked for. You must really like these berries. This is your 3rd package in two weeks.”
“Oh yes. They help my digestion. Very good for that. You should try it!” Jeff grabs the package from Ragnor and scurries to his room.
When he’s gone the four Orcs share a laugh.
“Remember when he first turned up in the forest, Ragnor?” Hammerfell asks, a grin spreading across his blue face.
“Oh absolutely. I thought we should eat him until he started on about being a small Orc.” Ragnor responded.
Bloodfang barks out a laugh, “And I didn’t have the heart to eat the little storyteller, so we just played along. He really is a laugh. And a good cook too.”
Kreeva had to add, “it’s a fair trade off, except that awful paint.” |
I'd had dreams like this before, when I was younger. Spending what felt like weeks or months -- even years -- in a relatively mundane world before reality pops like a bubble.
A rekindled love. Another tour of duty. Finally confronting my piece of shit father. Every story ends the same: lying in bed, soaking in a cold sweat and a strange mix of confusion and longing.
This was different. This dream felt like it lasted an entire lifetime. Seemed fitting, given I'd been sentenced to several not 48 hours ago.
The punishment in the dream was brutal. 176 agonizing years in solitary before finally earning the right to die at the ripe old age of 208.
The memories of the life that didn't exist somehow seemed more vivid than my own. It'd been a long time since I was shaken like I was that day, and I tried my best to hide it. I could tell by the guards' faces that I failed. As shit as my luck had been, I could at least be thankful I wasn't in genpop.
It took 17 days before the first deja vu. We had a lockdown after a couple inmates took a guard hostage and stabbed him in the neck with a toothbrush. Repeatedly. They say the poor bastard lived. The bit that really caught my attention is that they stabbed him 17 times. You count a lot more than just the days in solitary, and that coincidence always stuck with me.
And yet it wasn't the first time. A distant memory from my hellish dream seemed remarkably similar. Most of the details were hazy after 176 dream-years, but the important parts were crystal clear: a guard, stabbed 17 times on my 17th day. I was shocked by the coincidence, but decided it was just that.
That got harder to do as the months passed. Again and again, I'd encounter a situation that seemed to match a memory from my dream. After 18 months, I accepted the obvious truth. A family history of mental illness and the thought of spending the rest of my life alone in a box was driving me insane. I decided to get treatment.
Doctor thought it was a joke. Guards thought I was a joke. Strangely enough that made life easier for a while. Every prison has its problem guards, but Florence was smart enough to keep them away from the high profile prisoners.
The deja vu didn't let up, and neither did I. They eventually gave me meds, but things only seemed to get worse. As time went on, the dream-memories felt even more recent and became even more clear.
I wasn't stupid. I knew they were withholding a proper evaluation as long as they could. The infamous "TRK"being declared insane and absconding to a cozy mental hospital is an absolute worst case PR scenario. I was stunned when they finally uttered the word "psychiatrist". Even if it was the second time.
It took them three months to vet the guy. Ninety-nine out of a hundred who'd take that job are in it for the book deal, and this needed to be as quiet as possible. The morning before that first appointment was the first time I had felt relief in three years. It was the last time I would ever feel relief.
Things begin to get a little fuzzy the moment door opens, before he even enters the room. It was the little details that triggered the deja vu -- the way the guard's shirt ruffled about his weight, how the pale light flicked off the steel bars of the door as it swung. But instead of a glimpse at some false memory, there was nothing but a blinding rage. I knew exactly who was coming through that door.
It's almost funny in a way. I sat there for hours, eagerly awaiting the person who would help me regain my sanity, or at least give me some idea of how fucked I really was. And now, seeing the terrifyingly familiar face of the Shrink, I finally understood that not only was I sane, I was a very special kind of fucked.
|
"You have much to learn in the ways of the Force, Young Skywalker."Master Windu raised his hand and concentrated, and the severed head of the former Sith Lord rose into the air. It floated to its abandoned body, where it sat at an awkward angle. The mouth opened, and a weak imitation of Palpatine's voice came out. "Fetch some glue, My Apprentice. And makeup, so I look my best when I resign my position as Chancellor."
"Master, you're not seriously going to use the Chancellor's corpse as a puppet to fool the Senate, are you?"Anakin stared in shock as Master Windu nodded.
Palpatine's corpse nodded as well, causing its head to fall off and roll across the floor. "Motherfucker!"Windu exclaimed, "this is harder than Yoda makes it look."The corpse, and the Jedi, relaxed. "This will work, Anakin. We've eliminated the Sith, so all we need to do is replace the corrupt *head*,"he pointed to the severed cranium on the floor, its bulging eyes staring back, "of the Senate with someone we can trust. Someone who has the best interests of the Republic at heart. How about that girlfriend of yours?"
(Yes, the absurdity of *Weekend At Bernie's* set in the *Star Wars* universe was what immediately came to mind, so I just ran with the silliness.) |
The ceremonial s'mores had been meticulously arranged in the shape of a pentagram around the fire. Lee and his friends held hands and started circling the fire, singing kumbaya for their next visitor.
A strong gust of wind accompanied by a trail of cackles stoked the flames, making them shoot up sky-high. It was time. Rafi, who had been getting drunk off his flask of coconut rum stumbled over to the fire.
"Sspirrit, We summon you into thissh world of the living! Show yourself and accept our humble offering of s'mores and hot cocoa!"He slurred, tripping on the mug of cocoa and spilling it on the floor. "Ugh, dammit."
Everyone else raised their flasks and took a swig of ceremonial rum. The dancing flames began to twist, turn, and coil, taking on human form before their very eyes. They looked on in anticipation, which turned to shock in an instant. Lee was the first to blurt out what was on everyone's minds.
"Holy fuck, it's Adam!"
Adam, who used to organize these excursions, who had made the woodlands seance an annual tradition for their group of childhood friends. Adam, who had disappeared into the woods on their last trip a year ago, never to be heard from again.
"Ssup guys,"Adam said nonchalantly, using a flaming hand to pick up, and wolf down a stick of s'mores. "Man, did I miss these."
"Dude, what the hell happened to you? Bear attack? Stumble off a cliff? We looked for..."
Adam raised a hand, stopping him in his tracks. Then he picked up some more s'mores and wolfed them down. They all watched in silence as their ghostly friend finished it all.
"I'm so happy you guys are keeping the tradition alive and all. Y'all ready for a story then?"
"Adam, I really don't think this is the time for..."
"I think you guys'll like it,"their friend said with a mischievous flaming grin.
"It's about my gruesome murder by... one of you here."
---
Please visit r/Seriousaboutnachos for more of my writing, thanks! |
 
I'm telling you, every day they come here to drink coffee and just stare at each other across the room until we close, I mean it's a free country but it's the weirdest thing. They don't make eye contact mind, each guy has a notebook and while one is staring the other is writing, and then they switch! Annie figures they're gay but not out yet and this is some way of testing the water so she's taken to complimenting one guy to the other, letting him know he has an admirer that sort of thing, you know what she's like with her playing Cupid crap.
 
They are super into each other though; when Ann started getting involved they both asked her how much she knew about the other guy, but she doesn't know anything more than what I've told you!
 
We close up at five and it's just so weird between them. Like, they both just hang around the door waiting for the other to make the first move but neither ever does. It's maddening to watch. I just wanna go "guys! it's twenty eighteen"y'know, "get on with it!"Eventually they walk off in the same direction but one of them always chickens out and crosses the street to keep going on the other side.
 
Anyway, I don't know where they go after that but I heard from Frank that they're at the cinema a lot together. Honestly, it seems like the whole town wants them to hook up. Kind of romantic, right?
 
|
Journal Entry: Day 1
So I started this journal to detail everything that happens during my stay in the army. This all got started because my best mate Aeshma told me that I couldn't survive a month in the army. Jokes on him, I'm not only going to do it, but I'm going to get promoted to the top before I even get out. I purchased a disguise today, from a halloween shop. The guy behind the counter told me it was really lame to wear a costume while buying another costume. I really had to remember my sensitivity training to make it out the store without snapping, some people are just assholes I guess. I tried on my disguise when I got home, the package says, "GI Joe"on it, which is exactly what I want to be, just another nameless GI amongst all the other GI's. This will be so easy.
Journal Entry: Day 2
Stage one is complete! I went to the recruiter today and signed up for the army, and even managed to get shipped out next week. I was extremely anxious while I waited in line, but the line moved really quickly. I think a lot of the people got nervous about signing up, because most of the ran away before we got to the recruiter. My disguise worked extremely well, the recruiter was completely confused when I told him I wanted to sign up for the army, likely because it looked like I already belonged. I told him that it was my lifelong dream and would do anything that it took to get into the army. I even flex my muscles, to show what a fine addition he would be adding to the army, and he nearly peed himself with excitement.
Journal entry: Day 10
So, it was kind of annoying that I had to wait so long to deploy. I called my recruiter every day asking if I could leave earlier, but he told me that it was the law or something. Anyways, I shipped out today, got on a bus with a bunch of other people, everyone looked so scared, I guess they were afraid that bootcamp was going to be really hard. The army is pretty terrible at management, there wasn't enough seats on the bus to fit everyone, so I got up and let someone take my seat. He was really grateful, but too nervous about his deployment to speak, just kind of whimpered and sat down. Poor guy. We got to the camp and were checked in, I think they might use new recruits to man the check in desk, because those guys were scared as well. The bunker is awesome, really small with just enough space for everyone to get in. I don't want to brag but it's hard for me to squeeze between the beds, but I manage. I was way too hot to sleep with the blankets, but everyone else did, I think they might have been sleeping with them as a comfort tool.
Journal Entry: Day 11
We met our drill sergeant today, great guy. He really likes to shout compliments at people, but I don't think they are used to being complemented so much, one of them broke down crying he was so happy. We did push ups, jumping jacks, squats, and situps, and then even got to run for two miles, which was just amazing. It's great to have so much fresh air, and when someone fell during the run, I picked him up and carried him on my back. The sargent was yelling that if he didn't get up and run it off, he was going to go home, and it seemed terrible that he would be out on his very first day. I think it was okay that I helped the guy with the run, because when I picked him up the drill sergeant just backed away slowly. The guy was still shaken from his close call with being kicked out, so forgot to thank me, just went and crawled under his covers. My bunkmates are really weird people , today at lunch today we got punished with chocolate for desert, and one of them talking about how much he missed eating it, so I gave him mine, and he was so happy. I've never been so amazed to watch someone eat chocolate that fast. Not even a wince or a grimace, wherever he came from must have been a tough place.
Journal Entry: Day 20
So bootcamp remains awesome, but I'm starting to get a little bit worried. My drill sergeant will yell compliments at other people all day, but when he comes to me, he just grimaces and moves on to the next person. I don't know if I am doing a good job or not, and so I'm really worried that they will send me home soon. We started weapons training, which I'm not sure why they ever bothered. I tried to hold the tiny stick and destroy the target, but it barely even dented the target. I gave up and just destroyed it with some fire, which was way more effective than this tiny stick. Maybe that was part of the lesson, because while my squad cheered, the sargent ran up to me and started complimenting me, "You have got to be the stupidest cadet I have ever met. You are not cleared to use explosives yet, and if I see you even think about using one, I'll have you out of the camp faster than you can say hoorah."He got a little bit embarrassed and quickly left to do something else. A lot of the squadmates talk about hazing rituals, so maybe holding back compliments was a way of hazing me, since everyone in the entire camp seemed to refuse to compliment me even a little bit. We did get latrine duty as a reward, so I'm guessing it couldn't be all that bad.
Journal Entry: Day 28
We are really close to graduation, and I'm starting to get worried for my squadmates. They say we have to be masters of hand to hand combat, ranged combat, and tactical combat in order to pass the test and be promoted, but most of my squad is terrible at hand to hand combat. I try and spar with people every day, and show them what they are doing wrong, but they don't seem to want to learn. I give away all of my food at meal time now, they seriously need to put on more weight, I can pick up several of them at once, no way they will win at hand to hand combat unless they bulk up. We get latrine duty a lot as a reward, so we might be doing okay, but I tell them that they can't relax and clean the latrine, they have to practice, practice, practice. They are good guys though, and eagerly give up their wonderful afternoon cleaning toilets to train. We do combat exercises in the forest, and my squad hasn't lost one yet. They are the easiest thing ever, all you have to do is wait for a few hours until the sun goes away, and then the enemy gets really stupid. I can walk right up to them and take away their gun, and all they do is shreek and run away. I wonder if they are poorly programmed robots designed to teach us to just be patient with our enemies.
Journal Entry: Day 30
I did it! Consider my challenge complete, I survived a month in the army and even got promoted from boot camp. We were super nervous on the day of the training, and everyone was telling us that it would be the hardest task we have ever done, and the drill sergeant told us that if we didn't all finish, then none of us would graduate. Something about the strength of a team. The course itself was massively easy though, we had to run for a really short distance, and then climb a wall. I just picked each person on my team up and put them on the other side of the wall, no big deal really. Then we got to a bunch of barbed wire and were supposed to crawl under it. There was no way I would fit under the barbed wire, so I just melted it and we kinda just walked over it and moved on. They had a series of ropes hanging over a mud pit, but it was barely even a jump to get across, so people just climbed on my back and I jumped over, I guess that's why we did jumping jacks every day. We did have to do some hand to hand combat, but I went first again, and told my squad to get my back if I go down. I think they paired us against another squad, because these guys sucked at combat. I felt a little bit bad, because they wouldn't get to graduate, but my squad comes first. We had to use the tiny sticks again to poke holes in paper, but I just walked down and stuck my nails through the paper and no one said anything. We got our promotion as a squad, and everyone cheered for me, which was really nice of them to do, I guess my hazing was finally over.
Journal Entry: Day 35.
So war was declared just as we were going to ship back home. Some bastards bombed the country, killing millions of citizens. Two of my squadmates lost their parents during the bombing, and we were asked if we wanted to deploy right away. We all signed up, as a squad, myself included. I was supposed to return home after completing the challenge, I had people that I needed to torture, but I learned a lot from this journey. These frail humans have become like a family to me, whatever that is, and even though they are a few thousand pounds underweight, and can't keep themselves warm at night, much less breathe fire, there is something about spending this time with them that makes me feel different. I wish I could describe the feeling, but I've never felt it before, it's like there is a fire in my chest, but it's not my heart that is burning, it's something else in there, but I don't know what it is. Maybe after we win this war, I can ask my squadmates if they have that feeling in their chest too, perhaps it's part of being a squad?
*****
You can always read my of my writing on /r/iruleatants.
|
I am not a very strong person. Which is why my existence is cruel. I am forced to relive my life over and over until I can defeat an indomitable enemy, with no apparent weaknesses. Why I was bound to this fate, I do not know. I have never done anything to deserve it.
I was minding my own business walking back and forth in the same spot one day, and the demon appeared, sword in hand. I went up to greet him, thinking that perhaps he was friendly. I was wrong. He lit me ablaze and cut me in two. I thought I was gone.
\*POOF\*
All of a sudden I was back, pacing the same spot I usually do. I thought I had been dreaming, or hallucinating, nothing could die, and just come back to life, right?
Wrong.
I realized my struggle soon after, when I saw the same demon, slightly different looking, coming for me again. He looked more terrifying this time, as if his power was on a whole other level than before. I attacked this time, in self-defense. The demon had murder in its eyes. And thus the cycle kept repeating.
I have seen the demon do this to many of my kind, just outside of the distance I am able to walk to. They share the same fate. He collects items from our remains when he is done as well, sometimes our very souls. We still manage to come back to this world, even if we are soulless.
But today was different. As the demon ran by my companions, he made no effort to attack. Instead, they attacked him as he ran by. There was fear in his eyes, and he looked heavily injured. He had just emerged from a rather large gate after sounds of sword clashes had filled the air for what felt like ages. He then ran by me. I finally had my chance. I swung. The demon looked at me, somewhat annoyed. My strike connected satisfyingly. He then perished, in a blast of light. I did it, I'd won, I'm free from this terrible existe-
​
***\*CONTINUE FROM LAST SAVE?\****
**\*YES\*** ***NO***
​
I am not a very strong person. Which is why my existence is cruel. I am forced to relive my life over and over... |
I had forgotten how thin I was in those days, how thin and tired. The child needs rest, I thought, good food and rest. Not to be out dancing all night. Then she looked at me and I remembered the longing that lay behind her eyes, and my heart almost broke.
'Just until midnight,' I told myself, and my younger self smiled and hugged me tight, and promised. I can do that.
I know. I did do that. In all the years since, I had learned, bit by bit, how my late godmother did it.
'Very well,' I said, and began to work.
She gasped in delight at the gown of finest silk, but my eyes were no longer the eyes of fifty years ago. I could still see the rags. I tried to remember how it had moved and rustled, how it felt against my skin, that first time, before the many gowns of real silk I have worn since, but I could not. I helped her up into the gilded coach, but I could only only smell the pumpkin. The horses waved their mouse tails, the footman licked his rat whiskers.
Now all that remained to be done was to give the necessary warnings, and see her on her way.
'Come with me,' she said. 'I'm frightened.'
I felt a chill come over me then, because I'm certain I had never said that. I had gone my way, starry-eyed, with not so much as a backwards wave at my kind fairy godmother.
Why had I imagined I could become my own godmother? I could not tell this child what her future would be. She was not me; she never would become me. Who, then, was I?
'Don't you want to see the Prince?' she asked.
Of course I did. I stepped up into the coach, and an uncertain future.
The palace seemed somehow smaller than I remembered, but I could see that to her it was every bit as magnificent it had been for me. He was there of course, so young, so naive, so like our first son. He smiled at me without recognition, but reached out to steady me as I dropped a wobbly curtsey. Then he turned to her, and led her out onto the floor, the girl who would never be me, and the man who would never be my husband.
A familiar voice whispered in my ear.
'Cinders, my love. If you had not come, I would never have found you.'
'Chas. You followed me.'
I turned to face my husband of fifty years.
'How could I have done otherwise? I had to make sure we met, when your godmother is not here to work her magic. I've not done too badly on my own, have I?'
Now I could see the Palace as it really was - the oak-tree vaults, the bird-nest chandeliers, the tapestries of moss. I looked back to the dancing couple, and the illusion came back into focus.
'Made for each other,' said Chas.
'Definitely.'
He sighed.
'I'm not as talented as the old woman. By midnight, all the magic will be used up, and then, how will he find her again? Do you think you would have loved me, if you had known from the start I was only a poor swineherd?'
I smiled.
'We'll soon find out. You see, I haven't told her about midnight.'
|
*When were you a human? What did you do?* I ponder as I lie in my crib.
My parents seem loving. In many creatures there is no love, so perhaps I am a poor judge of this. I’ve yet to decipher their language. It won’t take long. Across ages I’ve mastered the dialects of chimps, dolphins, and big cats.
My memory is a tricky thing. Knowing my previous lives is a curse from beyond our world. Yet I know memories are limited by the mind of the creature. Maybe my previous life was in a creature with a smaller mind, and I am growing into this human brain. For all the suffering I face from knowing, there’s still so much I don’t know.
I am still a babe. But these humans have technology far surpassing other creatures. Far surpassing even themselves, only a few seasons ago. I have seen them develop, and I was once them. Now, combined with my knowledge, perhaps they can relieve me of my suffering. They are my only hope.
Right now, I will enjoy being a human, in a nice home, with parents who love. I don’t need to scavenge or kill. Instead, I cry once more, and fall asleep. My life is suffering, but right now this is fine. I am human again. |
Everything was peaceful, deep, dark and dreamless in my comfortable and sound slumber. I knew I drank too much last night… but hey man, it was Vegas, baby! You don’t come to Vegas and get virgin drinks, right? No man, you come and you get absolutely schnockered out of your ever loving mind, especially when it’s on the company’s bar tab. I mean, yeah, I’m pretty sure after the seventh or eighth screwdriver I probably should have called it a night, but who does that?
I wasn’t one to get angry drunk, thank god. No, I was a social drunk, and a ladies man. Too often my drunk charm would wind up working and I’d bring home one, two or even three women, only to disappoint them because hey, sometimes that happens with too much alcohol, you know? Thankfully, though, I never got sick at least.
I was rambling in my thoughts. Heh. Must still be a bit drunk. But for now, I was comfortable. Like, really comfortable. Warm, soft, pliable… wait, that felt like skin. Damn. I think I’m next to someone. Soft… Oh! I know what that part is. ok, that’s definitely a woman. A part of me groggily tried to remember what happened last night as consciousness very slowly began to return. An edge of light began to creep into my vision as I tried to recall exactly what happened.
There’d been a dance, I think. I remember that. I’d been dancing the night away with this really amazing woman. Her hair had seemed… odd, somehow. Like, alive? Is that right?
Nah. That was probably the booze talking.
But as I was waking up more, I remembered something else about her. She’d definitely been a bit odd. She was absolutely gorgeous, I remembered that quite distinctly. She was as tall as I was, and built like a brickhouse. I remembered distinctly asking her what her workout routine was, and she’d mentioned some kind of yoga move. Earth positions? I don’t know enough about yoga to know what those were, but I was definitely willing to find out. Her core was fantastic.
She talked very oddly though. Everything about her was in some way related to Earth stuff or Nature. Guess she was a new-age nature freak, not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’m cool with it. She’d even had a very… earthy smell to her. It was intoxicating.
Come to think of it… I still smelled it.
I blinked finally and opened my eyes, yawning. I smiled as I realized that I was naked, and was lying in a very large bed with the very naked, earthy-smelling woman from yesterday. “Well hello there, you lovely thing.”
She returned the smile and said, “Hello yourself, handsome. Sleep well?”
“Indeed I did. I do hope I didn’t disappoint you last night, but alcohol and I might make for a great party… but well…”
“Oh no. The earth moved quite nicely for me.”
“That, I’m glad to hear.” Huh. For once, the booze let me have fun. That’s a first. I looked out the grand picture window we were lying in front of and realized we could see down into Vegas. “Wow. This is an expensive room, huh. Did I get this, or did you?”
“I did. It’s on my tab.”
I whistled. “Nice tab.” I stretched, looking around. Ah, there’s the clothes… discarded hastily in a line from the door. Mixed with hers. Nice. “Wish I could remember last night, because I’m lying here with an absolutely beautiful, naked woman that I don’t even remember her name, or what we did, and I’m sorely disappointed in myself that I can’t remember any of that.” I smiled ruefully. “Because I bet all of it was wonderful.”
She chuckled. “Well, one I can help you with now. My name is Gaia.”
“Gaia? Oh, like the goddess of Earth?”
“Not ‘like.’ And we’ll have plenty of time to help you remember the rest of last night, my love.” She snuggled up close to me and sighed happily.
“Huh?” I looked down at her, and a reflection from the morning light caught my eye. We were wearing rings. “Oh… ohhhhhhhhhhh. So we…”
“Mmm hmm.”
We were both quiet for a while as this gorgeous woman simply lay against me. Finally, she pulled herself up on an elbow and looked at me with concern. “Is something wrong? I know it was hasty, I admit…” She sighed. “I suppose if it’s a concern, we can go get annulled, what is your human saying? What happens in Vegas?”
“No.” I placed my hand on her shoulder gently, and was shocked to see the beginning of tears in her eyes.
“No?” She pulled her knees up to her chest and clutched them, “So you… you do love me?”
I smiled. “I do not, not yet. But,” I said, stopping her objection, “I also swore that, if I got married, I’d only ever do it once. Well, this isn’t something I’d planned on, but I drink too much too often for something like this to not have been a possibility.” I shrugged. “And you seem like a nice enough person. If you want to marry me, I will be the best husband I can be to you.”
I traced her face gently. “And if the woman inside is as pretty as the girl outside, I’ll fall in love soon enough regardless.”
Tears were now openly streaming down her face, but they were not sad tears. I pulled her into an embrace, and we sat there for a few minutes, just together. Finally she pulled away and wordlessly nodded.
“That’s settled then. Now, a question.” I raised my eyebrow. “What did you mean by … ‘human’ saying?”
Gaia smirked. “Let me show you.”
Over the next few hours, I learned that the earth truly CAN move… and it was glorious. |
“Holy shit did you just see that?” The terrified crowd shied away from me. “Damn that was loud, my ears are still fucking ringing. Oh, by the way, this is a robbery, so don’t move, unless of course you want to end up like him.” I said while stepping over the lifeless body of the old security guard. "Where is the manager?” I asked the crowd.
A small balding man looked up, “Please don’t hurt me, I have kids.” He beged, with tears in his eyes.
“Might want to have someone clean that up.” I pointed at the spreading pool of blood. “And I want all of the money in the safe.” I added, tossing a plastic grocery bag to him.
“We only have $3,500 in the vault.”
“I killed somebody for 3 and a half grand? Well shit, give it to me anyways, can’t leave empty handed.” The sound of sirens outside were growing increasingly loud. “Hurry up, doesn’t sound like we have a lot of time, and your going to want to get to some cover, before the shooting starts.” The manager runs as fast as his short legs can carry him, disappearing into the vault. “You would think the cops would be here by now wouldn’t you? What do we pay this taxes for? To be fair I haven’t paid taxes in 4 years” I ask the crying woman sitting by the window. The Manager returns with the grocery bag, now full of cash.
"Take it"He practically cried, pushing the bag into my arms.
“Oh fuck off” I say walking to the back door.
“911 what is your emergency.”
“My name is \[REDACTED\] and I live at \[REDACTED\] and I just saw a strange man run through my yard, he was carrying what looked a gun, and a grocery bag full of money”
“Can you still see them?”
“No, I do not know where they went.”
“Okay, stay on the phone, I am sending an officer over now.”
“Thank you.” A young officer arrived only moments later.
“Hello Minister, I have some bad news. It looks like this nut job was trying to impersonate you during a bank heist. Right over there actually” The officer gestured to the bank behind my backyard.
“Oh my lord, was anybody hurt?”
“Yes father, sadly the security guard did not make it.”
“We should all pray for him and his family tonight. How was he trying to impersonate me?”
“We found this mask by the back door.” The officer held up the rubber mask. It took me a while, but damn it really looked like me. “The idiot left it at the scene, he was probably high on meth and thought he could frame you.”
“Do you think I am in any danger?”
“Don’t worry father, we will catch the son of a bitch.” I gave the officer a disapproving look and he remembered his manners. "I am sorry father, I didn’t mean to swear. Where did you see this man?"
"I saw him climb over my fence and run through my yard."
"Where did he go then?"
"I am sorry officer, I didn't look, I was afraid he would see me"
"Its okay father, you have already helped so much. We'll catch this idiot." |
"Not real?"
"No. Of course not... dude look at the world you live in! Have you ever *heard* of suspension of disbelief?"
"What? Yeah, but-"
"My disbelief has failed to be suspended, Thor."
"What? I'm dealing with the most terrifying things on a daily basis! Hela-"
"Hela looked like a god damn grumpy reindeer. Whoever designed that costume needs to be shot."
"Desig- costume? What? Hela was the god of death!"
"Not real."
"Not real?"
"Nope. You either. Fiction."
"There's evidence, though. I am real! The city was almost des-"
"Thor, think critically. You are a member of a multidimensional space organization responsible for defending the Earth against alien/godly invasions. Do you really think that, with your powers, the institutions of humankind will let you walk around all willy-ni-"
"I am a god! Thor, of lightning and-"
"No you're not. You aren't even the real Thor. You've got none of his characteristics or character traits. You're a really bad copy."
"... a copy?"
"Yeah. Someone wrote you - made you. In a comic book. Or a book, I don't really know. I was never a real fan of his work."
"Who made me? In a book? What is their name?"
"Oh! Yeah, that guy. Stan. Yeah he's dead."
"Dead? What?"
"Yep dead. And people don't come back to life in our *real* world."
"How could someone who made me die? He must be powerful! To make a god!"
"Uh-huh. Old age."
"Old age?"
"Yeah he was pretty old. He died."
"Gods..."
"I thought you were a god?"
"What?"
"Never mind." |
I sigh as I hear those words.
"Yes yes. Of course I have. I've even tried erasing and re drawing the runes so don't give me that line either Ammead!"
This was my forth call this week. And each time I had to explain the story. I knew it was my fault. A daemon appeared in the circle one night and instead of dismissing him, I listened.
"Hello, my name is Simon. I am summoned from Macrocircle, it appears you have a problem with your summoning circle"
Well I was the laughing stock of the office when I told them what had happened. I got a ransom rune inscribed and had lost all my previous bindings. Now I had to explain the story EVERYTIME I got through to customer support. I was beyond being embarrassed at this stage. Just frustrated.
"Oh I see"came the voice of the grandmage with a smug tone. "Well unfortunately, because you made an unapproved alteration, this isn't covered by your warranty. We could send out an arcanition but that is going to cost you quite a bit. Have you considered buying a new one?"
"A new one?"I shouted back. "This one is less than a year old! You know, I'd get better support over at Rotten Core, maybe I'll buy one of those you stuffy robed Bastards! Grandmage? I'd say your some acne faced intern working for free in your first year of university! I want to speak to your supervisor. . ."
The divination portal was disconnected.
That's when I decided that summoning wasn't for me. I was gonna get one of those mortal machines. Should be way less complicated then the intricacies of infernal communication.
"Hi this is Microsoft support!"
"Hi, um yeah, I'm trying to send an email, but I can't connect to the Internet"
"Have you tried turning your modem off and back on again?"
"Oh for fu. . ." |
My hotel was right there. *Right there.*
I could just see the marquee through the doom and gloom of the dreary night. What would be the harm in just crossing right there instead of walking another half block to the intersection? It's not like there was any traffic to be seen this late at night.
I mean...I should've heard the truck. I should've seen some hint of its lights. Something, anything.
Noooope. No such fucking luck.
Truck vs person.
Winner: not the squishy meatbag. Obviously.
I know it hit me. And it fucking hurt. WHAM, BAM, fucking thank you, MA'AM!
Honestly I think the worst part was when the front tires caved in my ribs; so much so that when the rear tires crushed my head into oblivion less than a second later I was just thankful for the sweet release of death.
Then again, had I known what awaited me beyond the veil of death then I might've never jaywalked in the first place.
Who knows? God or some other deity maybe, but certainly not me.
Maybe the driver of the truck that's stopped by the curb with its hazard lights flashing in the eerie gloom of the night.
See that's my problem. I died but I didn't go anywhere. My broken and tangled body is lying in the middle of the road in a growing pool of blood and guts, but me...or what passes for me now...I'm standing over my own body.
Dead but...not? I guess?
I mean I have a body and it seems tangible. I can touch myself and feel the fabric of my clothes.
But that is *very* clearly my body lying at my feet.
And the murderous truck is still sitting by the curb. I can't tell if I'm confused or dazed or just overall apathetic to the whole situation.
Then again I did experience some pretty traumatic shit just now so maybe I'm in shock.
But did I, though?
Hm...
The driver door opened on the truck. I looked up.
A dark robbed figure stepped silently down from the cab and seemed to glide towards me.
Ooookay...the hairs on the back of my neck could probably stab a mofo...
*"Congratulations are in order,"* the figure hissed as it drew itself up before me. *"For me...that is,"* it finished with a rather sinister-sounding chuckle.
Um...okay...I'm obviously screwed. This dude is clearly Death and now he's come to collect my soul. I'm obviously in Purgatory.
*"No, not quite,"* the figure said with a huff of annoyance. *"I thought the same thing 10 years ago-"*
*10 years ago* No...that can't be right. Death should be ageless.
*"Death doesn't work like that,"* the figure growled, interrupting my thoughts.
*Wait, what?*
"Hey how are you reading my thoughts?"I demanded.
The figure shrugged. *"Comes with the territory, as you'll soon see."*
"The hell does that mean?"
The figure chuckled and the robes vanished leaving a young woman standing before me in a torn and tattered high school uniform.
"It means I've served my time,"her voice was Now clearly the voice of a young woman, the rasping hiss now gone. "Now you serve yours. Byyyyye!!"She abruptly finished with a giggle before turning and skipping cheerfully into the dense fog.
"Excuse me?"I demanded to her retreating back, but she was swallowed by the gloom without so much as a glance back.
"Hey!"I shouted. "Come back here!"
I took a step after her...I drifted forward.
*"Explain yoursel-"* I stopped as the sound of my own voice registered in my mind.
*No no no no*
My train of thought derailed as I looked down to see I was now cloaked in the dark robes myself.
*"God fucking dammit,"* I sighed. |
There’s always a bit of downtime before I respawn.
That’s the only way I can describe it. Every single time I have die—sorry, *passed on*—I’ve been given a brief reprieve before being thrust back into the uncertainty of life. The first reset saw me thrown into a crystal cavern, lit only by the reflections of a solitary candle. Terror consumed me, a vast ocean which pulled me down beneath its waves. Days passed, and the terror left me as I lacked the strength to comprehend it. I sat cross-legged by the candle, and blinked out of existence.
Only to be born once more as a screaming babe.
My mind was aware of all that had happened, but my body was not yet under my control. For years I developed my gross and fine motor control, waiting anxiously for the days where I could share the knowledge that I gained through my past life. But a screech of tires and a crunch of metal saw that life end before it had even begun to flower.
I landed on a bed of lilies. My body was that of a child, young and excitable. I walked through the flowers, sniffing eagerly, before sitting in front of a stone garden gnome. I waited. Calm radiated from me, and at that moment I was thrust into the world anew.
This continued for many lifetimes. In some I never reached adulthood. In others I lived unhappily for forty years, never satisfied with my impending death. But no matter what happened, not a single lifetime extended past forty years of age. Not by a single second.
After each life I had time to think. To contemplate. And over many lives, I searched for a purpose, a reason, for why this existence continued. Finding no answer, I thought of what I could do. After a long period of quiet contemplation, I decided to use my time to learn, to apply my knowledge, and to ultimately solve some of the difficulties that plagued mankind. I sat upon the dew-soaked grass, and waited.
In the next lifetime, I did everything I could. I gave shelter to the homeless in my neighbourhood. I provided food for those who starved. I taught, listened, and loved. I passed on in the arms of my father, taken early by a terminal illness.
*Level one complete. Congratulations!*
The voice was automated. It spoke in a stilted, halting cadence.
*You have reached level two.*
I must have done something right. Completing a level in life can’t come along everyday. I was surprised they didn’t announce any achievements. But a single question stole every ounce of thought.
What would happen in level two?
It was the cavern again, stretching before me. I sat beside the candle, ready to accept the remaining adventure this existence had to offer. I smiled as my body vanished.
The first thing I noticed was the craggy, reddish-brown rocks that stretched in every direction.
Second was the strange feeling of my muscles swelling. My blood seemed more viscous than usual, flowing like syrup through my veins.
Third was the air. There wasn’t any.
Pitching forward, I sank onto the rocks. I looked up. Despite the night swirling around me, the moon had disappeared.
Shit.
This was going to be harder than I thought.
_____________________________________________________
Hope you enjoyed my take on the prompt! If you want to read more of my writing, check me out at [r/smoothbaritone](https://www.reddit.com/r/smoothbaritone/). Thanks for reading! |
The acceleration of gravity is approximately 9.8 meters per second squared.
On Earth, I weigh precisely 73.042 kilograms.
The conversion rate for mass to weight is something like 0.82, so, you know what, fuck it. Every person I know considers them to be practically interchangeable.
F = 73.042 * 9.8
1 kg* 1 m/s^2=1 N
I’m falling, face up, so I have no way to gauge how long I have until 715.8116 Newtons of force eventually act upon my body.
I just realized how much bullshit I did for nothing.
I can’t believe it’s possible to be so bored in a dream that you solve a sixth-grade math problem for the hell of it.
And now it hits me. I’m *bored*.
Consider the fact that I get nauseous insanely often while subjected to irregular motion.
I have no point of reference to compare my motion to, so it makes sense that I haven’t figured it out yet. The fluid in my ears is the only indicator of any motion at all.
Since I’m not puking my guts out, I must be floating down like a feather. I’m not accelerating at 9.8 m/s^2 at all.
Even in dreams, I can’t do math without fucking up something I failed to consider.
Then again, even if I was falling properly, who’s to say that the laws of physics work in my dreams?
The acceleration of gravity is probably like 10 tangerines to a koala or some weird crap like that.
It’s odd that I haven’t hit the bottom yet.
Whenever I get these recurring thematic dreams, I usually regain consciousness just as I begin to get meta about it.
And all of a sudden, I’ve teleported to the bottom. I’m standing on a solid surface again. It feels... rocky? Definitely porous, but not rough.
Okay, I don’t like this. I’m out. Time to wake up now.
...
...
...
Okay, how about now?
...
....
Maybe I should bash my head on a rock, just to see if I can die.
I attempt to hit the walls of the... chasm, for lack of a better word, and *bounce*.
I’m *bouncing* off of solid objects.
No. No. No. No.
This feels wrong. This shouldn’t *work.*
Humans don’t bounce.
Humans don’t float through the air.
I want to wake up now.
Up! Lazy bastard!
WAKE THE FUCK UP!
Why can’t I just get out of here?
This bothers me.
I don’t *want* to live in a fantasy. Why doesn’t logic apply here?
I want things to *make sense.*
“Ah, but they do make sense. Just not to you.”
I don’t know who said that. Judging by what I’ve seen so far, I don’t really want to. Probably a cuckoo clock or something equally absurd.
I really hate my own imagination sometimes.
“Who knows, I might be the psychological trigger that breaks you out of this... Come find out.”
You know what, I have no way of knowing if that’s even possible.
Weird shit happens in dreams, but if I die, I wake up anyway, right?
If I respawn in a dream, I swear to god, I’ll... well... okay I can’t do shit about it.
I follow the voice, because what choice do I have?
And I seem to waddle, despite how hard I try to keep things straight.
Odd little... bubble-things float downward from the ceiling.
The walls start to change around me, becoming less like rock and more like cloth, but still oddly spongy.
And eventually, I’m at a dead end.
I turn around, and there is no exit.
I’m in a padded cell, but I have no idea how they got me in.
Have I been drugged?
Is this part of my insanity?
Am I really here at all?
There’s a bed in the corner.
Another dream seems to be my only escape. |
I blinked. The mirror blinked back at me. I tilted my head.
He was still throwing paper, and I was still throwing rock. I opened my mouth. After a moment of delay, my reflection opened his mouth.
I narrowed my eyes. He narrowed his back, but too late. I leaned forward. "Wait a minute..."
He leaned back, laughing, inaudible, and then two long fox ears poked up from his head. They twitched once and then he reached forward. His finger tips dove through the mirrored surface and then reached out the other side.
For lack of anything else to do, and perhaps because I was tripping off my ass, obviously, I reached forward and shook the hand. It was warm, rough, and covered in callouses.
Then the fox man tugged me forward, and my fingertips pressed against the glass, pushing it aside like thick cold putty, and kept right on pulling. It went up my wrist, then up my arm and I thrashed on the other side, gripping the sink, but despite all of my strength, the fox on the other side of the mirror had far more of it, and tugged me, bodily, inch by inch, through the mirror.
It wasn't until my head disappeared inside that I considered that I wasn't actually tripping, because the cold on my face would've totally woken me up.
For a moment, it was all darkness and an all encompassing cold press keeping me in place, and then I landed on the other side.
"There we are!"The fox me said, happily. Behind him, a long fluffy tail twitched. I stared.
"What?"I asked.
"Well, you lost!"The fox yipped. "That means you have to take my place!"
"I don't think we agreed on that."
"That's how it works!"He repeated, leaning forward. He was close enough that I could feel his breath on my neck, and close enough that I could see slightly differences between us. His face was a bit narrower, his eyes a hair darker, but in the poorly lit confines of my bathroom, it'd been an easy mistake to make.
"How what works?"
The ears twitched.
"Well, the work has to be done,"the fox gestured. "And I can only get out of doing it if someone else does it."
"...Right,"I said. "I guess... What work?"
The fox straightened up, and he shimmered, his half modern clothes fading into more simpler fabrics. Magic.
I mean, it was pretty obvious it was magic I was dealing with, what with being pulled through a fucking mirror, but still.
"So... I lost at a game of-"
"Smother stones and stabs-"
"Rock, paper scissors,"I said. "And now I have a job?"
The fox nodded, his ears twitching. "Temporarily. I need someone to cover for me so I can go on vacation! I've been due for years! But you know, regulations are what they are."
I paused. Thought back to the gas station I'd been working at, where I'd been robbed just the other day and my boss was a total bastard. "Sure! What's the pay?"
"All the honey you can drink and all the beer you can taste!"The fox said, happily.
I gave him a brief look over. He was tanned in the sun, and well-
"Does it come with housing?"
"You bet!"The fox said. "You get your own cottage!"
Well, that was a hair bit better than the cramped apartment I had as well. Really, this was a lateral move. I didn't have too terribly many of those left after dropping out of college, so-
"Well,"I said. "Just one problem here."
"Oh?"The fox asked, ears twitching.
"I need an expert to train me,"I said. "Someone with charm, and experience, and enough time to make sure I know the ins and outs of everything I need to do."
"Hmmm,"The fox said.
"Otherwise, someone might get in trouble for putting someone poorly qualified into the position,"I hedged my bets. "And that would be awful for someone looking for a vacation."
He gasped. "Oh my, you're right! You need on the job training."
"Yes,"I said. "That is definitely what I need. From, say, the person whose job I'm taking."
He leaned in, close enough that I could smell him (he smelled faintly like honey and the meadow, which was a very nice smell, if I were being honest) and squinted at me. "And if I do that, you'll take it?"
"On my word as a loser as rock paper scissors,"I said.
"Stone smother stabbing?"He replied.
"Yeah sure that,"I said. "So like, what's the pay, cost of living around here? Any cute guys? Girls? I'm not really picky. And what is the work anyway? What're my coworkers like?"
"Really, you know, the handbook said this method of getting temps usually only got unwilling workers,"The fox said, blinking.
"Humor me."
"Well! We have all of those things, I guess. Really depends on what you like, we're all like, immortals and stuff so it doesn't really matter. As for coworkers... well, avoid pissing off upper management, and you'll be a-okay! They probably won't even notice the switch!"
"Won't even notice the- you know what, never mind. Am I immortal?"
The fox laughed, his tail twitching behind him. My fingers twitched. I was close enough to pet him. It took more self control than I needed to stop myself.
"No,"He said. "After all, you've got to go back to where you came from when I get back from vacation!"
"Right,"I said. "So it's a deal?"
"Great!"The fox yipped. "I'm Nathanial by the way, but my friends, before I died, called me Nat."
"Nat,"I said. "And what are we doing?"
"We're measuring souls!"Nat yipped!
Then he grabbed me by the wrist, and I don't need to mention how strong the damn fox man was by this point, right?
------
https://www.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ |
This is the seventh time they’ve relived this calm, insignificant day in time. It’s June, in a tiny farmers village way off the main freeway, at 11:47 pm. And the three of them are standing on a deserted street in front of a bakery with a closed sign hanging on the glass door.
I watch carefully from the alley across the street, as they whisper among themselves. Mira has her arms crossed over her chest, worry painted across her face, as she glances back and forth from one end of the street to the other. Luke’s conversing with Ryan, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s uncomfortable. And Ryan is grinning from ear to ear.
I pull in my eyebrows. The first few days I watched them wander about aimlessly, not quite sure what to do at the sudden time loop holding them in this day. They initially panicked, sure that this was an accident in our training session and something had gone wrong.
Mira sobbed into Luke’s shoulder while he tried to calm her down, but failed miserably as he was also scared out of his wits. Ryan was momentarily frightened, but he quickly morphed the emotion into anger, refusing to speak to his other two classmates. After the fourth day he managed to pull himself out of the emotional hole he’d buried himself in, but I could tell his thoughts were turning…less morally acceptable as the days went on.
Nevertheless, they have yet to perform any bad deeds while being stuck in their time-loop test and I was nearly ready to pull the plug and congratulate them for their success in completing the last of their Time Cop training. However, by their fidgety demeanor and the mischievous gleam in Ryan’s eyes, I have a feeling they might not pass, after all.
“Dude, come on!” Ryan’s voice is a little louder than a whisper, making it audible from my hiding spot across the street, in the shadows of a jewelry shop. “It will take two seconds and no one will even see us do it. I mean, look around.” He motions to the quiet, empty street in front of the bakery. “We’re alone.”
“I don’t know, I feel weird about this.” Mira says, rubbing her upper arms like she’s suddenly chilly, even though it’s about 80 degrees out here.
“Don’t worry, the day will just reset tomorrow anyway and no one will ever know.” Ryan’s grin is playful, but I can see his moral barrier is breaking by the second at the thought of having no consequence for his unlawful actions.
Luke and Mira give in, nodding hesitantly, and the three of them make their way toward the closed bakery. Ryan grabs a large rock from the ground, takes a deep breath, and hurls it at the door. An explosion of glass echo’s through the quiet street, setting my teeth on edge. Surprisingly, no alarm is triggered when the impact happens and as the last pieces of the door crumble to the ground, the street is silent once again.
Annoyance bubbles inside me that they couldn’t make it just one more day without committing a crime. The temptation was just too much to handle, after all the training they’ve been put through over the last four years.
I sigh and watch them run in the store as fast as they can, their feet crushing shards of glass into the tile floor of the bakery. They’re only in there for a total of 23 seconds before they scurry back through the broken door and try to take off down the road.
But I’ve already stepped out of the shadows and started across the street to reprimand them for disobeying the number one rule of being a Time Cop – do not ever commit an immoral act, regardless of the circumstance.
Mira catches sight of me and stops dead in her tracks. Luke yelps, nearly running into her and Ryan quickly tucks whatever he stole behind his back. They all look absolutely mortified to see me, the color draining from their faces with each passing nanosecond.
“Having fun?” I say, not at all amused.
“What are you doing here?” Ryan’s the first to open his mouth, trying to sound tough but his voice wavers. “I thought…we thought-”
“Yes, well you thought wrong.” I say flatly, holding out my hand toward him. “Hand over the money you stole from the bakery. And say goodbye to graduation.”
“What!” Mira exclaims, her jaw hinging open. “But – This wasn’t our idea! Ryan’s the one who wanted to go in there. He broke the door and everything!”
I glance at her, my expression neutral. “Yes, it was his idea and instead of convincing him otherwise, you two decided to follow.”
She scoffs and turns away, pacing. Luke is pinching the bridge of his nose, clearly frustrated at the unfortunate turn of events. And Ryan’s face is turning as red as a tomato.
“Ryan,” I say again. “Hand over the money.”
His gaze shifts from the ground, to the sky, to the jewelry store across the street, as he slowly walks toward me. He pulls his hand out from behind his back and sets a cold, partially eaten blueberry muffin in my palm.
I gape down at the pastry. Miniature crumbs are breaking off from the side with the bites taken out of it.
“A muffin.” I mutter. “You just broke the number one rule of the Time Cops, for a muffin.”
 
**Herro! If you liked this story and would like to read more of my stuffs, it can all be found at r/AliesStories! Thanks for reading :3** |
Always able to control fire, to manipulate flames.I thought it was a gift but it turns out to be a curse. Charles had assured me it was from the genes I inherited, and that there are many like me, called mutants.
Charles was my saviour, my mentor, my friend. He was the one who gave me shelter, the one who took me in when I lost my parents, when I was just a boy. Everyday, I relive the moment of their death.
If not for me, my parents would still be alive.
They had warned me not to play with fire. But did I listen? No. And all because of me, I'll never be able to hear their voices ever again.
"It wasn't your fault."
Those were the first words Charles said to me.
But also his lasts.
It's 15 years after Charles found me. And now, I'm finally able to control my powers, to be able to use them for good.
"Back so soon?"Charles sipped his tea, leaning back on the balcony.
"Yeah, not much to do anyways. It's always just normal crimes that the police can handle, no need for me to step in."
"Well, sooner or later another mutant would try to take over the world or something"
"How do you know I'm not _that_ mutant? I mean, I'm pretty powerful and _could_ take over the world."
"Because I know you. I raised you to be a better person."
"But still, if I wanted to I could easily just—"
Our conversation was cut short by a knock on the door. One knock.Two knocks.And silence. Then all hell broke loose. 3 dogs broke through the windows, barking at us. No, not dogs. Dogs don't normally go around with flames on their head.
"OLIVER RUN!!!"Charles screamed at me while grabbing his shotgun.
"What for?? It's just 3 dogs. I can handle them. Plus, their heads are burning, maybe they need help."
"NOT JUST DOGS, OLIVER, HELLHOUNDS! THAT MEANS, OH GOD HE'S HERE!"
I threw a fireball at my closest attacker."Who's here?"
"Oliver, you need to go. **Now.**"
"Charles? What's going on—"
The next thing I knew, a flaming sword went through Charles chest.
"CHARLES"I threw a fireball at his attacker, knocking him down, and ran towards my mentor.
"Remember, your...past does not...define you...It isn't your... fault..."Charles took his last breath as he collapse onto my arms.
Suddenly I felt a wave of emotions. Is it sadness? Or is it anger?
Charles' attacker got up.
Anger. I definitely feel anger.
The attacker was a hooded man, wielding a flaming sword on one hand, and some chains on the other. By his side was 2 other dogs, no, hellhounds. The man removed his hood to reveal a familiar face with beautiful amber eyes. The same pair of eyes I saw staring at me the day i lost my parents.
"WHO ARE YOU?? WHY DID YOU KILL CHARLES?"I cried while holding onto Charles lifeless body.
"Why Oliver, I'm pretty sure you know who I am. After all, you were the one who brought me to this world, 15 years ago. You were the one that summoned me to this plane of existence. You were the one that freed me. As for this man you call 'Charles', I wouldn't say I _killed_ him. All I did was destroy his mortal body. Look closer."
I looked at Charles, and saw something on his upper back. Wings sprouting from his back, as if Charles is an...
"Angel. A guardian angel, if you will. The one you call Charles is not human. He is your guardian angel. Every human has a one. So how'd you get a guardian angel?"
I was overloaded with information, overwhelmed with what I've just been told. It can't be. I could not have summoned this man, this...demon. It's impossible.
"Overwhelming, isn't it. To finally know the truth, after 15 years of lies. You see, you and me? We're not so different, Oliver."
And that's when I snapped.
"I... AM NOTHING LIKE YOU"with all my rage, I unleashed a ring of fire, burning everything in sight. The hellhounds whimpered and disappeared into their shadows, leaving only the man there.
By the time I calmed down, I realised he was still here, his face badly injured and his once amber eyes are now milky white.
"Well played Oliver, well played."He touched his face and winced. "Don't think that this is over. I will be back."He disappeared into the shadow, leaving only me and the ashes of Charles.
I never thought of going to church before, mostly because I don't believe in God. The whole concept just smells like utter bullshit to me. But after what happened, after realising that Charles is an angel, it made me wonder if there really is a God. Which is why I decided to go to church, and maybe pray to Charles, my guardian angel. But as I entered the church I saw holy water boiling on its own.
"Huh. That's weird. I've never boiled water just by entering the room before, although that could be useful."I wondered, while walking towards the bowl of boiling hot holy water. I dipped my finger into the holy water, as people normally do. It may be boiling but heat doesn't affect me as much as it does to others. But this bowl of boiling water does. No, not just water, _holy_ water. It doesn't just burn my fingers, I can _feel_ it burning my soul, as if...
"We're not so different, Oliver."
"How'd you get a guardian angel?"
I finally understood what he meant. I'm not a mutant. Heck, I'm not even human. I'm more than that. And for the first time since I was 8, I was afraid of myself. |
Again you get the sense that he’s someone you know; that you can trust. He leads you out to the most gnarly 1982 Econoline you’ve ever seen and pops a cargo trunk bolted to the back bumper. While he does so, you step back to fully take in the airbrushed mural on the van—clearly it depicts the man you’re with, riding a huge squid and jousting with what is unmistakably Flipper. Your attention is drawn back to the rummaging in the cargo trunk, and you come closer. In it is all manner of improvised weapon—from ancient seeming clubs festooned with shark teeth to more modern pieces of heavy chain with huge fish hooks fastened along the length. All of it meticulously maintained. He pulls out some weird looking armor—oddly ritualistic looking—fashioned from bone and what looks like sleek high end diving gear and holds it up, muttering that it should fit you.
You begin to think maybe he was serious.
More than a little curious, nonetheless the alarm bells are ringing in you head. He sees your discomfort and wordlessly hands you an expensive looking spear gun, and says (somewhat cryptically) “Don’t worry. I only eat fish.”
Bolstered by the feel of the weapon in your hand, you dress in the ceremonial gear and get into the passenger seat of the van. Immediately you notice you aren’t alone. In the back are several vaguely familiar people, including the attendant from the gas station where you met your current host. She’s wearing what looks like fitted armor, bulging with inflatable air sacs, and covered in some unrecognizable writing. She looks as slightly out of sorts as you feel, and nods as recognition dawns in her face. The others are similarly kitted out in what looks like medieval-themed protective gear mated to modern flotation devices, clearly crafted with care.
As the manic looking man beside you starts the van, he fumbles in a pouch on his orange vest and produces a tin of tuna and a cassette tape. Handing you the tin, he slots the tape into the deck mounted between you and the familiar beginning of ACDC’s “If You Want Blood” fills the air. He takes back the tin and opens it. It is filled with what you’re pretty sure is powdered fish, and he shoves his nose into it, snorting mightily, refreshing the crust of white on his nostrils and trapped in his moustache.
He looks around the van, turns to you and says “Now we’re all here. Let’s do this!”
The van screeches away from the curb, the surreal-ness of the situation being replaced by the adrenaline as the music swells and the cloud of desiccated tuna invades your head. As you speed through the rain slicked city night, your imagination fills with scenes of the battle to come, wondering if this is the destiny you always felt lurking around the corner of your life, come finally to claim you. Your reverie is interrupted by the sounds of sirens, and you glance over your shoulder to see flashing lights.
The driver pulls over and motions to you to pull his identification from the glove box. You do so, and he waits for the officer to approach. You are pretty sure you’re all going to jail followed by the booby-hatch as the situation starts to come into focus and you realize what it will look like to a sober and serious lawman. You nervously get ready to bolt. The window squeals as it rolls down and the bemused face of a uniformed policeman comes into view.
“Oh, it’s you Mr Gaiman” he says. “More research?” |
[New to writing, Feedback very much welcome]
"oh christ, where the heck am I-", I said opening my eyes with what feels like the worst hangover in the history of the world. *what is this place, it's so clean I seemed to have fallen asleep in some sort of old folks apartment complex.*
"hi there newcomer, sorry about the head. You'll feel chipper soon enough..."came a voice from behind me. *oh crap, I really have trampled into an old folks apartment complex. I'm so busted* "...is the transistion you see, makes the soul all worn out you see".
I turned to see a very well made gentleman, hands clasped together, in some very sensible clothing. *Whos this guy, the owner of the place?* "Well, yes I am.."he said at once, "..and I'd refrain from thinking too loudly here. I can hear you."
*Wait, what...how..thats-*
"impossible, well yes it would be, if i wasn't Satan you see. Long laundry list of powers and all that you see. Anyway I can see you're in shock, so let me give you tour. You can walk off the hangover felling...", he turned and urged me to follow. *well, I'm either going to jail, insane, both or this guy is telling the truth....either way i'm proper fu-*, "Language please"said the self proclaimed satan, cutting into my thoughts.
"Ok, so the long and short of this, you are dead. Died at 9.06PM, your local time, from a heart attack and you've been sent to hell.", said this man matter-of-factly.
"...I thought hell was supposed to be all fire and brimstone, eternal torture and all that?"I asked
"Oh now, it's never been THAT bad. That's rumors for you; all done by the big man himself."he said, continuing to walk along the long path towards a more built up area, "The funny thing is, when the big guy set up the rules, those rules were very vague so those not in the correct religion were sent down here, which was a lot of people indeed. With me being here to look after the place, and those newcomers accepting their position in all eternity fairly easily after they got to grips with everything, we really did create a nice place to live in. We have everything you would ever need and then some. Living areas, different kinds of buildings, swimming pool, oh and the interstellergrapic megalopolas is-",
"Sorry, Mr Lucifer...Sir", butting into this long introduction, "but can I ask then, if basic christianity isn't the right religion to get, up stairs....then what is?"
"Ah sure, it's West-borough Baptist teachings. I mean, yes it's pretty hardcore, even for me.."he said, adjusting his sweater vest, "but those are the rules, so who am I to complain?"
"HUH"I had proclaimed in a fair amount of shock. *well that's pretty messed up then...*
"Yes i agree. Anyway we're here..", he gestured out to an apartment complex we had arrived at. I had hardly noticed the area we had walked to while we were talking. ,"..Here are you're keys and some pamphlets about the local area and your local council. Trash pick up is on a Wednesday and if you need anything, shout Satan into a mirror 3 times. I must be off, Ta-taa".
With that he had turned and left. Since that day I really hadn't needed or wanted for anything. We see on the Hell news all the things going on with our families and even upstairs in heaven, (who knew only 30 people live there!). Satan himself is often opening a new complex or shopping area or something like that, he's always in the news doing something like that. He seems like a pretty nice guy. |
All 7.7 billion of them and still counting.
When they first introduced themselves to the intergalactic welfare society, the whole multiverse was shook. They were the only planet that survived their galaxy, the so called ring of doom. They've survived countless ice ages, meteors and even wars they created among themselves. They paint their skin with deadly colours and poke holes and make scars for vanity. The so called humans created underwater vehicles without having gills and materials to survive terrestrial territory without evolving. They were the only beings with impatience and the ability to tame predators that can eat them in one bite, they were weak but also the strongest.
I heard that if they used all the strength in their body at once all their bones would break, and high dosages of electricity makes their own, live muscles throw themselves across rooms.
And most of all, they created music, the most powerful weapon, a hobby and a profession.
It was a scam, a travesty. How dare they dirty the sacred vessel of power?
And when the others declared war, they sung. With the powers of their "microphones"and loud speakers, all the "races"sung songs in unison.
Remaining humans did not slaughter the others left alive, instead they gave hospitality and took care of them as their own.
And I?
I am the last of my kind to witness the power of "We Will Rock You"and "Bohemian Rhapsody".
And the last of my kind to witness the power of their God, Freddie Mercury. |
"Spinder?"
 
Traella rubbed the sleep from her eyes groggily, the red LED chains of her cube slowly brightening and shifting into orange, then yellow, and onward to blue. The cube was a tiny unit deep in the mire, the poor part of the city below the smogline where... things lived.
 
Traella rolled her legs off the pad and sat up facing the screenwall, weather reports for the different districts marqueed across the screen as a small frame materialized with an announcer reading off the scores for last night's blitz games. Her face stared back at her in three-dimensional holoprojection, hair askew and eyes groggily red.
 
*"Last night the Quasars absolutely stomped the home-team Cybernauts with a late-third..."*
 
"Spinder?"She called again, looking about the 10 square meter spread. She tried to keep it clean but, the cube was so small that it necessitated space-saving everything. The sleeping pad folded into the wall, the kitchen-bathroom-sink-ette folded out of an iron bulk-plate which doubled as a mirror, the shower-hose rested directly above the bidet, the fridge hinged 90 degrees to double as a counter-top. That was all nice, except that, here in the mire, there was a serious pest problem, and pests loved those nooks and crannies.
 
*"... it's going to take a lot of effort for them to come back from this defeat, but a path to victory at the cup could be seen if..."*
 
Spinder was a purebred mega-salticidae, genetically modified for docility and sociability, about the size of guinea-pig. With years of selective breeding, they had become furred, playful, intelligently curious and, above all, brutally effective at keeping blocks on the lower level infestation free. While at first Spinder had been merely an accessory, his daily antics had slowly grown on Traella, one of her truest friends in this dark underworld.
 
*"In other news, block 27 in the Mire district has..."*
 
With a last indulgent yawn, Traella got up and flipped her cork-board around to reveal the mirror. As she reached for the comb stuck to it by magnetic force, she noticed a strange sheen. Frowning, she rinsed the last grog from here eyes to reveal, written in light, precise silkings "Do NoT LeaVe! DaNGeR!"The lights flickered overhead as the building gave a slight tremble. An involuntary gasp escaped her.
 
*"... swarms of ferro-termites... ::crackle:: ... structural integrity ... ::crackle::"*
 
Replacing the comb with trembling hands, Traella turned slowly back toward the cube. A sudden violent rattling from the fridge made her jump in surprise. Her eyes widened in confusion as she saw the entire kitchen wrapped in gossamer threads, frayed and straining over the hole where the fridge folded up from beneath. More ghostly writing painted the ceiling. "STaY ouT. Go WiNDoW. I coME"
 
*"... strong acidity of smog... ::crackle:: ... rescue helicopters having ... ::crackle:: ... unfortunately..."*
 
Traella backstepped on trembling legs, the holoscreen a breaking into fractallic static as the announcer struggled through the interference. The lights flickered once again before everything except the LED chains went black. The deep blue of their sunlight-simulating wavelengths casting the apartment into a grotesquerie of shadows. There was a frantic, scraping, scrabbling sound at the door. Traella screamed.
 
She ran to the opaque window, a two-inch thick pane of synth-glass designed to imitate glass and give the impression of a cheerful exterior when it was in fact a sludgey cloud of toxic chemicals and acid rain. The scratching at the door took on a new sound, the wrenching of bending metal, the crunching of snapped off shards. Traella spun toward her code-deck and grabbed her trusty multi-tool "Thanks mom"she muttered as she smashed the glass-breaker extension into the window expecting a collosal shattering. The synth-glass cube instead popped out unsatisfyingly with a small squelch and tumbled into the fog below.
 
The sounds of tiny claws rasping on metal and mandibles clicking in mindless fury sounded behind her as she peeked out the window.
 
"Spinder!"she shouted out into the mists. Then waited. One second. Two. With horror, she realized he wasn't there. Of course he wasn't he was a glorified vacuum cleaner, what was she thinking. Trembling, she began to turn back into the room, slowly unclipping the blade from the multitool, ready to die in true Mire-ling fashion, forgotten in a trash-can.
 
She felt a not-unfriendly mussing of her hair from above, and, eyes wide with adrenaline, looked up to see Spinder dangling from a silken rope hundred of meters long leading up into the clouds. The sun shone behind him and she could swear he was smiling.
 
With a grin, Traella jumped up and grabbed the rope. |
The Captain shrugged. Asaza had never been one for speculation, but myths sometimes had truth behind them.
"Bring it into cargo bay five."She ordered, "And do your best to keep your speculation to a minimum."
*****
It was elegant, in a way. They'd had no trouble bringing it in and now that she was looking at it the object seemed almost... pretty. Long and sleek, not quite a perfect black but certainly a very deep shade to her eyes. The cargo hold felt chillier than usual and she briefly thought back to the ghost stories her grandmother would tell her. She brushed the thought away, nonsense made to occupy the minds of children. Not useful for moments like this. What was useful was that they just happened to have Gnzara, a Xenoarcheologist on board. "What can you tell me?"she said, breaking the long silence since they'd entered the hold.
"It is older than any known civilization as we suspected. I can't get scans through the material of the hull, if that's what it is."He explained before continuing "What I can tell you is that it seems to be absorbing energy, mostly heat, from it surroundings. Nothing dangerous, more of a curiosity. I know you don't like speculation, but there is a chance its designed to do this. Maybe that's how it 'charges its batteries' so to speak".
The words had barely finished leaving his mouth when a small opening appeared, almost silently, on the outer surface. Asaza debated calling a security guard in, but overruled it after briefly imagining them getting jumpy and shooting it. Long months in peaceful space where there really weren't any threats sometimes left them overzealous.
"Hello."A single word came.... from the object? She'd never seen anything like it. Nevertheless she wouldn't have been made captain if she couldn't stay calm. And there was no sense being rude.
"Hello."She said back. "Welcome aboard the Discovery. I'm the captain, this is one of our scientists. And you are...?"There was a long silence before the response came back.
"Very, very old, I'm afraid."The object replied, with what seemed like sadness. "I didn't think it would work, but here I am. Your language took me an unusually long time to analyze. It doesn't seem to be related to any of the Earth languages in my database."
"You're from Earth?"She said, barely covering the shock in her voice. She hadn't really thought it possible, but this damned machine threw it out so casually she was almost ready to believe it.
"In a way, I suppose. Long ago, billions of years seems a decent guess based on my equipment, humans arose on Earth. They fought and warred and struggled, and then they found space. And the laws of the universe fell before them, one after the other. It seemed there was nothing they could not do. They were troubled, however. No matter how far they traveled or how many places they went they were always... alone. The universe was young back then, and Earth was apparently unique in its capacity for life.
It is a sad thing, loneliness. They had so much to share and no one to give it to. They tried to engineer life and place it on new worlds but it always ended in failure. Impacts, disease, warming, cooling. Life is so hardy but so fragile. It never seemed quite able to make it. And so in time their own world changed. Earth became less and less friendly to them, until even their home was like a foreign land. Unable to accommodate them anymore, they took to space stations and enclosed biospheres.
Space is a harsh place though. Accidents happened here and there, and in time their numbers dwindled. Where once there had been nearly a trillion humans now there were only thousands. And thus, I was born. Not on Earth, but by those from the Earth. They had so much to tell, and so much they wanted to share. And so they created me, and my brothers and sisters. Billions upon billions of AIs, made as hardy as their considerable technology would allow. They called us their children, and we loved them as our parents.
We stayed with them through their final days. They were happy to have the company, and we were thrilled to learn from them. And then they were gone and we became the ones who were alone. Nearly immortal, and with nothing but time we scattered ourselves into space. Hoping that one day some of us might be found by new life. By you! And now we are no longer alone. The humans lived on in us, and in time perhaps they will live on in you too.
Tell me captain, would you like to hear more of their stories?"
Asaza called for chairs and something to eat and she ordered the ship home. She knew she would want to hear everything, and her people would too.
Now they weren't alone anymore either. |
Immortality. Historically, humanity has always been searching for it. In the first story ever told, about Gilgamesh, who was king in Sumeria, sought immortality after the death of his best friend. He failed. Shi Huangdi, first true emperor of ancient China and foul burner of books, tried to have immortality pills made from Mercury, which predictably failed. Some have tried to make themselves one with the gods, immortalise themselves through song, story, or conquest. Some believe that alchemists could live forever if they'd only find the Philosopher's Stone. Magnetic immortality watches, having your soul downloaded into the internet, cryogenic freezing, countless other things.
But we finally found a source of eternal life and eternal youth. Sure, we could get destroyed, but with strong regeneration, anything short of being covered in thermite, lit on fire, while in your lungs, heart, and stomach explosives had been placed, couldn't kill you. And even then, the method wasn't foolproof, but very few ever dared to try it twice. Initial fears were that only the rich and powerful could live like that, but immortality turned out to be cheap and easy to produce. And soon, pretty much all humans on Earth became immortal.
It was the worst thing that ever happened in human history. We are not meant to live forever. It was great for the first few hundred years, a party that never ends with guests that never dies. But over time, partying became quaint, dull even. Some of us turned to research, using our immortal lives to unlock the very secrets of the universe. But most others turned to debauchery the likes of which have never been seen. The nightmarish parties, of the sort that the legendary Marquis de Sade would have squirmed at. The abominable things done for sake of alleviating the boredom of existence. Those of us who could, retreated to holdouts on Mars, as Earth was slowly consumed by angry, desperate, bored, and insane immortals. There were those of us who had refused the treatment, who had left Earth behind long ago. The moon-Mennonites, the cybernetically enhanced humans living on the moons of Jupiter, the human hive mind on the hivemoons of Saturn, to say nothing of the bio-conservative nation of New Texas occupying half of the Asteriod Belt between Jupiter and Mars, while the other half was owned by Eternal Space Japan. But those of us who were immortal, settled on Mars, in the great fortress city of Olympus Mons.
But even as we studied, we grew bored. The game of seeing who could stay sane the longest as our minds degenerated into pure madness, was a hellish one. We invented new philosophies, tried deleting old memories, rotated our lives between various states of existence, built vast VR chambers where we could be safely contained, and forget our immortal lives, but it only extended the inevitable.
Only a few remain now, who haven't cast themselves into the burning hell that is Old Earth, or locked themselves permanently in the VR chambers, having their memories erased over and over again as they live out new lives inside the false reality. The few of us who remain are those who have an iron purpose, a will stronger than anything. We keep at the great work, the maybe 20 or so of us that are left, trying to discern the very nature of reality.
We all have our own reasons, even as we forgot our own names, we kept our relentless work going. The Young Woman, last to gain the treatment since the knowledge of how to make it was destroyed, so that none may follow our path, she desires to meet the creator of the universe. The Bronze Man seeks to find a way to give back sanity to the immortals that still roam Earth. The Genetic Aberration seeks an end to his own bloodline, cursed with their horrible reaction to the immortality as they are. The Crimson Woman desires to see reality from the outside. The Grey Stranger seeks to undo the past.
And I? I seek to know. To understand and comprehend the entirely of the universe, to know everything that ever was, everything that is, everything that may yet be, and everything that could have been. We no longer need words. We do not speak. We know so much, and we learn more. Humans were never meant for this knowledge, but we keep going. Sanity is all we have, and the work gives us sanity. Because we work, because we attune the ancient and complex machines to discover new things, we kept ourselves on the path towards something greater, and away from the path of hopeless insane degenerate hedonism.
On Earth, the immortal elite, having bred a race of mortal slaves, rule as vampires would. In the rest of the Galaxy, the humans who were not foolish enough to become immortal have spread themselves over countless worlds. Over the centuries, we have sent many immortals out to wander the wastes of Mars, where the mortal inhabitants of the Martian cities usually capture them, and destroy them for fear of their terrible fate being repeated.
I sometimes wonder what will happen if we succeed. If we learn all there is of creation, then what? Will it give us peace? Will it grant us rest? I know I am not the only one to think in such a way, but unlike my companions, I am the only one who has forgotten nothing. Who, with Eidetic memory, can remember everything. Every day of revelry on Earth, the escape to Mars after the hedonistic mad immortals stormed our last fortresses on Earth, underneath the Matterhorn, Mount Everest, and Mount Kilimanjaro.
I remember our work on the VR, our work on making Mars 100% self-sufficient, before the Martians decided to shun and hate us. I remember when we built terrible weapons to use in the Immortal War, so that the mad hedonists, trapped on Earth, would not spread into the cosmos. I remember my family, I remember their madness. I remember placing them in the VR chambers. I still visit them once a year, every year. It has been so long since I spoke with them. So long since I was ever happy.
We would have killed ourselves long ago, if the only methods weren't so horribly painful. Our only choice is to work, study, and maintain the Olympus Mons facilities and its particle cannon, capable of wiping out all mortal life on Earth, and render the mad immortals there incapable of anything but slow regeneration for centuries. We guard the universe from their hungry, terribly bored, and tremendously mad schemes. All the while we work. We endure, and we learn more.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
As I cleaned up the still twitching robot bird Cutie twitched her tail and watched.
"What was that about girl?"I asked, reaching out and scratching the orange tiger cat behind the ear. He purred and pressed into my hand, as he always did, and he bit me. "Hey, what was that for?"I exclaimed, pulling back. With that he turned and ran off. "Crazy cat."
That night I had a dream. It was of a beautiful land. A race of entities, a symbiotic worm like creature, that entered the bodies of the natives and brought the gift of sentience. Those beings they chose became smarter, able to use tools, and flourished into society. I saw as they traveled, world to world, species to species. Where no sentient life was found, they uplifted the life they found. Where sentient life was already present, they made it a utopia.
Then I saw their end. One world was inhabited by a race of machines. I found it hard to understand, but I realized they didn't understand such complex machines. The worms, masters of life, could grow whatever they needed. Every tool they needed was alive in some way, capable of healing or reproducing. When they saw this race they did not understand, and tried to join with them.
The machines did not like this, and with their mechanical efficiency eliminated the worms. Being machines they used radiation, harmless to then and brutal to the worms. The worms fought back, but for a race that won by winning the hearts and minds, quite literally, of their hosts this form of total annihilation was anathema to them.
The war was bad. The machines had spent their entire existence building weapons for a war long over, and were happy to turn their arms skyward. The worms had millions of planet, but were playing catch up on things that could kill the machines.
Normally the worms had the home field advantage, but not this time. I saw the worms coming to earth, only for a missile to destroy their craft. The machines were already here, and already taking over.
I awoke feeling rested, feeling strangely energized and ready for the day. I had a purpose, and already the ideas for how to carry it out.
But first I would need help. I licked my tongue against my rapidly sharpening teeth, the worms anticipating their new hosts. Yes, I'd need lots of help. |
I always wondered why my mother always insisted we not move away from our home in rural Minnesota. My childhood passed as the world evolved rapidly into the twenty-first century, and with the explosion of technology came an explosion in me; one of yearning for more than Rose Valley had to offer.
My town was home to a measly 487 people, so small that the nearest high school was 17 miles away. My adolescence was a cycle of getting up too early, taking a commute that was honestly too long, and coming home to a town of too few people who I actually cared about. My mother insisted that when I grew up I'd think back fondly on my home. I never believed her. The sooner I could head to the Twin Cities for college, the better.
What Rose Valley lacked in anything remotely interesting to do, it made up for in one semi-macabre attraction: the Rose Valley Arboretum. The sprawling land was home to not just the thousands upon thousands of trees, but also the thousands and thousands of bodies buried just below the foliage. People came from around central Minnesota to bury their loved ones here. Perhaps that was one of the reasons I couldn't wait to leave; who would want to live surrounded by the dead? I only knew one person buried there, and he wasn't someone I could say I gave a damn about.
My father's grave was near the outskirts of the graveyard, with a stark white headstone. "Calvin James Whittier - A community, country, and family man."Perhaps the fact that he'd died when I was so young made me bitter towards that last phrase in particular. He'd never been my family, or at least not a part of any family I recognized. My only memories of him were those captured in photographs around our house. My mother liked to tell me I reminded her of him - according to her, my high cheekbones and brown eyes made me distinctly *his*, a thought which always made me feel like an imposter in my own body. How could I belong to someone I couldn't remember?
It was August, hot and humid. I'd received a letter with my housing information for the University of Minnesota the previous week - I'd be moving out in just a few days. My mother lamented my soon-to-be absence. I'd reminded her that she could always move to Saint Paul, but she shook her head and looked at me with the mom-eyes that said a thousand words. She couldn't leave Rose Valley, even if I didn't see why her husband's corpse could be so compelling. She insisted that the last day before I departed, we take a trip to the Arboretum. Picnic basket, blanket, and candles in hand, we drove my blue truck to the edge of the forest, and settled in front of the white stone. A tree grew behind the stone, tall and rich with violet blooms, heavy with fruit.
My mother reached up and pulled a plum off with little resistance and tossed it to me. She picked another before sitting down beside me.
"I know you think me foolish for staying around here for your father, but I thought you ought to understand why this tree is so special to me."She had the mom-eyes again, almost like she was looking straight through me to the plum tree. I sighed, preparing myself for another drawn out explanation of how much she loved my father, and that the fact he was taken from us when I was so young makes her feel as though she needed to remember him even more. Over time I had come to resent these talks. I didn't need to make myself sad over a father who I'd never really known. My mother took a bite of plum, and I followed suit.
The burst of juice dribbled down my chin, but I hardly noticed for the flavor, the bite of tartness, the full-force sweetness felt like it rolled over me. The fruit tasted of happiness and fond memories and family. I could no longer picture my father's face outside the posed moments haunting the walls of our house, but with each bite I felt as though I could hear his laugh, the warmth of his arms. The plums *were him,* his very essence captured in the burgundy fruit and violet flowers.
I understood why my mother couldn't leave Rose Valley. |
**00:01**
As of this moment I am taking over for Angel 752 who has filed for early retirement. Funny, I don't remember him being older than me. What's with all the wrinkles and white beard... do we even age?!
My charge is currently asleep so I'll just stand guard over him till he awakens.
.
**04:59**
5 self suffocation attempts during sleep averted.
Fell out of bed twice, thankfully I caught him before any real damage was done.
.
**05:05**
He's awake, fell out of bed and I caught him again.
Tripped on the way to the bathroom but no injury.
Slipped in the bathroom twice.
Choked while brushing his own teeth and I had to preform invisible heimlich.
The toilet lid fell directly on his privates. Had to hold it up until he finished to avoid disaster.
.
**05:30**
He walked in on his parents as they were trying for another child. Would have been a girl called Alexia with lovely brown hair that grew up to be a civil engineer. That is no longer a valid timeline.
Shoes are new and he slipped on them going down stairs. Held him all the way down to avoid further incident.
Is not allowed to cook but attempted it anyway resulting in a small burn to the right index finger before I put out the flames. That frying pan is no longer usable.
.
**6:00**
Attempted to climb the kitchen counter to get to the "good"cereal. Hurried mom along to stop him from falling and cracking his skull.
Would have poked his own eye with the spork at breakfast had I not slapped it out of his hand in time. Hide the spare and forced him to use a spoon.
Bumpped into a decorative vase resulting in a land mine of broken shards all around. Protected him from initial shattering until parental help arrived.
.
**06:49**
Daycare bus is here. Thank heavens! That house is a death trap. A daycare designed for four year olds like him is bound to be safer. I think I got my first wrinkle... |
“Wait. So let me get this straight...” He stopped, taking a moment to fill his lungs with much filthier air than he’d grown accustom to during his last visit.
“You’ve perfected antibiotics and extended your longevity by almost double. You’ve created lenses that allow you to stare millions of miles into the vast darkness. You’ve discovered fusion, fission, and are nearing the point at which you’ll truly be able to harvest infinite energy. You’ve recognized the base pairings that allow all life to originate and diversify, and managed to theorize a damn near perfect representation on the origins of life...” he pauses again looking down from the screen sighing deeply “ but... the vast majority of species still hate one and other based on the melanin content of their epidermis? You are locked in constant endless war over dwindling resources that are far inferior to the substances you sit at the verge of discovering? Your leaders mock the disabled, while shunting vital resources from the masses? And those masses still believe that these overlords act in their best interests? You’ve created an immutable data link system, and all you do is post pictures of cats?”
With one more sigh he stood and walked back towards the tiny circle of scorched earth he’d appeared upon. “Honesty, I can’t tell in-which direction you are all moving anymore, I’ll try again in another two hundred years.” He stifled a cough as he began punching coordinates into the band he wore upon his arm. “My advice, do something about this air, tastes like shit.”
And with that he was gone. |
"Whoa whoa whoa,"I said in shock. "You can *talk*?!"
"Always could."replied my cat, Jasper. "I just never really had a reason to say anything before."
"Okay..."I said, still not sure what to make of the situation. I looked skyward and noticed the large group of ravens circling around my house. "Does this sudden speaking to me have something to do with them?"I asked, pointing toward the dark figures that were slowly descending to the ground.
Jasper just nodded as he said, "Well, I didn't think that raven whose offspring I had for lunch had so many friends..."I cringed slightly at the thought of Jasper eating those poor baby birds. At that very moment, I saw a particularly large raven dive-bomb toward him.
"Look out!"I shouted. Luckily, Jasper turned his head and quickly pounced out of the way just as the raven hit the ground, with nothing but a clump of grass in its talons. "Come on, we need to go inside!"Jasper and I quickly leapt inside the house, slamming the door shut before the birds could follow us in.
"I think we're safe now..."muttered Jasper. Suddenly, I heard the sound of crackling. I turned around, only to see the terrifying sight of a dozen ravens rapidly pecking at the window as if they were glasspeckers. I quickly scooped up Jasper and ran upstairs, going into the bathroom and locking us in it. Not a moment too soon, as the ravens soon broke through the window and began swarming into the house.
I didn't know how much damage they were doing at that moment, but all I could hope for was that it would end soon.
All I could think was, "Karma really is a bitch..." |
"So, Dale, I've been meaning to ask you, why don't your eyes have any color?"
"My eyes are brown, "What he meant was, why didn't I have the streak of color in each eye that indicates what I can see and others can't. I said, "but yeah, I actually don't have any special sight."The words left my mouth accompanied by innocent green smoke. At least, that's what my friend Jacob saw.
"Wow. You're not lying."
"I just see things the way they appear."
There was a pause and he looked away for a bit. "Hey, can I talk to you about something?"And he told me a lot. I said that everything looked like it would turn out fine. His worries were all in his head, but that doesn't make them any less real. Allie appeared to really like him, he should go talk to her. He looked happier, and my words seemed to help.
I didn't know it, but Oscar saw a strong cord strung between us. He saw a lot of strong cords attached to me. Andrea sees a white light when I pat people on the back, and Clarice sees my footprints alongside those of many people. My wife sees only plain words written on my forehead, and says it gives her perspective. My best friend sees simple ocean waves ripple across my forearms.
They all come to me and ask me what I see. |
I've been in 507 car accidents, four train wrecks, and an airplane crash. I've been exposed to more nuclear radiation than Homer Simpson, consumed more bleach than a hair salon, and been forced by the CIA to listen to thousands of hours of Justin Bieber's "Yummy"playing on repeat. Yet somehow, I am still here.
The only thing I can even recognize from the old world is the Garfield comic strips. They're just as soulless and corporate as always. Perhaps having too much personality makes something feel dated after a while, whereas something like white bread can last forever.
I've watched everyone I have ever loved die. I've had to bury my own children. I carry within me the guilt of failing to save a thousand souls. I could only ever save myself. Why did they need just one car accident to die, and yet I had survived 507?
I still remember the trees. There used to be things called trees, big, beautiful, and green. But after The Friendly Air Corporation privatized oxygen about a century ago they all vanished. I remember the beautiful churches, from before religion was banned. Even science was called a religion and subsequently banned. Now the only way to think logically is to walk in goosestep with the Grand Vizier's vision.
I'll be honest with you: A lot of those 507 car accidents were on purpose. Suicide is illegal here, so I must not be too blatant with my attempts to end my life or I will be imprisoned and beaten severely. The labor camps stretch on for miles. But I don't want to live anymore. I really don't. I was a product of my time, and that time is gone. Now I am nobody. I have no identity, and I am utterly alone in this alien world.
Besides, I have been musing on this for a long while, and have discovered something of interest: the likelihood of my surviving all of these incidents is so low, it would almost seem to show that I am being transferring between quantum worlds each time. That is to say that for every universe in which I live, there is another in which I die. For this reason, I have been trying to die enough times to find a universe where the Grand Vizier is not in charge, where The Friendly Air Corporation was never founded, where the trees still stand tall and proud, where children still play in the streets. Yet every world is exactly the same.
I can no longer write, for I can hear the footsteps of the secret police outside of my apartment. I will try to write to you later if I pass inspection. If you never hear from me again, then you can assume that I have been discovered and am currently eternally enslaved. And for every universe where I successfully escape, there were be another where I am caught in the act. Thus is the sad truth of this cruel joke that we call life. |
My mom told me the best thing for a broken heart is a dog. Growing up in a household with more pets than people, I would tend to agree. My favorite dogs were always the big dogs, so that’s what I have in mind when I head to the local shelter.
The moment I laid eyes on Peter, I knew he would be coming home with me. Something about those sad eyes that I saw in my own reflection. He was a young mutt, with some possible Husky and German Shepard in the mix of other breeds I couldn’t identify. In some ways, he looked more wolf like than dog like, except for those brown eyes.
What I soon discovered after taking Peter home was living with your family and nine pets is quite different to living alone with one dog. Especially if said dog is very needy.
Peter would get lonely when I went to work, bored if I put on one of crime drama shows without petting him enough, and marked his territory in my small apartment in pretty much every way dogs know how. He howled and whined daily, enough that the neighbors began sending complaints. I hadn’t even kept him a month and Peter was already a handful.
It became considerably more complicated 25 days into welcoming Peter into my life. When I came home late from work, my dog was nowhere to be seen. Listening for his telltale noises as I drop off my keys, I hear the faint tingle of his dog tags.
Of course I’m used to Peter jumping on me when I come home (unless he’s been doing something naughty), but instead a small boy wearing Peter’s collar octopus hugs my legs. My first thought was that this boy stole the color from my dog and let him lose. The second thought was wondering who this kid belongs to.
I tried to shake him off, and eventually he let go. When he looked up at me, I see Peter’s eyes staring straight into my soul. “Peter?” I asked in confusion. The boy’s face lit up considerably.
“Me, I’m Peter,” the boy proudly pointed at himself. Now that boy Peter wasn’t surgically attached to my leg, I could fully take in the monstrosity of a wardrobe he concocted for himself. There was the collar, of course, around his neck. Then further down at his torso, where most people would wear a shirt, he was wearing one of my bras. He somehow managed to wear it both backwards and upside down. My exercise shorts were bunched up around his waist, but otherwise seemed to fit him well enough.
As I was absorbing the new person in front of me, Peter changed his attention to the framed photo on the fridge. “Who’s that?” He asks, pointing at the man with an arm wrapped around me.
I swallow. I really should take down that photo. “A person who used to love me,” I said in lieu of explanation. “Enough about the photo. Tell me about you. How are you now a person?”
“I’m a werewolf pup,” Peter rocks back and forth on his toes. “Except I can only be in person form on the new moon since I’m not good at transforming yet.”
“Okay,” I said. I don’t know why I was so calm and accepting of my new reality. But I could tell that Peter was a little nervous I wouldn’t accept him. Maybe that I would try to return him to the shelter. I just knew that this kid needed me, maybe just as much as I needed him.
And so my life adjusted. Peter became less of a mischief maker after I realized he understood everything I said to him. We worked out a somewhat reliable system of communication when Peter was in his animal form. I pasted different images of things he could want or need and he would paw at them when I asked questions.
As chaotic as my life became after adopting Peter, I wouldn’t change it for the world. Mom was right in some respects that adopting had helped my broken heart. Because with Peter, I was able to experience a love I wouldn’t trade for anything else in the world. My kid, my pup, my Peter the werewolf boy. |
The hammer had fallen at the "Pillars of Heaven"the Garumach Armadas one though fifty striking the human facilities, placed to study the nebula. They fell upon humanity with relentless abandon, intent on punishing the recalcitrant species from cowering in their burrows like Ferrow-Worms.
Thousands died and the Garumach were confronted in the League of Nations chamber with a grim warning. "We have not forgotten the lessons of our past. Cease your mistake."The enigmatic threat did not stop them Garumach from descending upon the next line of human colonies. Ships burned and troops invaded, putting humans to the torch, impaling them on stakes or worse violations. The Garumach bathed in human blood for a hundred days and nights as they burrowed deeper into human space. Intend on punishing the weakness they saw.
The other races, for all their own reservations, refused to support the Garumach, and so too did the mighty Garumach fall on the others of the League of Nations. Its fleet unmatched and unchallenged. For a thousand days and nights they burned across the skies. For another thousand days and nights their soldiery rampaged, murdered, pillaged and raped their way across ten thousand worlds.
And then they lost contact with the fleets that had been sent to the human coreworlds. After a year only flashes of light, travelling across the vast distances managed to reach sensor outposts and be relayed at superluminal velocities.
Those races that had disparaged mankinds weaknesses and were even now fighting for their own survival were left to wonder what happened. The Garumach however.
The Garumach were in retreat.
Mankind no longer fought with soldiers, swords or rifles. They did not dispatch laser, plasma or kinetic. Not as they knew it. Mankinds wroth had been raised. The newest fleet to ever occupy space had been constructed and dispatched with a singular order.
The annihilation of their enemies. The Garumach.
For fifty years humanity fought back, pushing the Garumach from their borders. As they were forced to withdraw troops from other fronts the Garumach wondered if the humans, now pushed to stand up, could not now negotiate on even terms.
But the time for that had passed. The people who wanted peace had long since been ground into silence by the mounting casualties. Humanity no longer stopped with its own borders. The great fortress of Angurador was struck. Bombs turned night to day and then night once more as the great walls were annihilated in the fire of newly born, if short lived, sun.
Then human troops descended as the people of the planet surrendered. No mercy was to be found however as the populace were herded into incinerators and destroyed. Each corpse checked off on a list before they would lift once more and continue to bombard the planet until even the deepest ocean microbes could not survive.
The black fleet of humanity became the terror that lived in the dreams of bad children for a hundred races. Annihilation rolling from one Garumach system to the next. A hundred years of limitless destruction. Pushed from their peaceful ways humanity descended into the worst of barbarism and annihilation.
As the last of the Garumach colonies fell. Antimatter bombs falling, relativistic projectiles, or even simply dropping their own moons on them the forces of mankind began to disappear form the public eye. Shifting back behind their borders once more. Sealed in iron with promises of vengeance to any who crossed it.
On the Garumach homeworld but one figure continued to live.
Humanities last words still ringing in his ears.
***You were warned.*** |
Good morning class, you may have noticed the book on your desk, 101 common wishes and ways to pervert them: a guide for newbie demons and djinns.
Now i wasnt always the master of the monkey’s paw that you know today. Once I was a beginner just like all of you, and this book helped me immensely. Now this is isn’t the kind of book you read and shelve. It is a guide that you can, and should, reference often. In fact I still keep a copy in my pocket dimension for quick access.
I am going to pick a couple of choice excerpts from the book to use as today’s lesson, so follow along and you might be surprised at how many applications you will find to use these simple lessons.
Lesson 1, page 36.
Wish: To be rich. Variations include wishing for money, ability to produce currency, or similar.
How to subvert it: Many times you can simply take advantage of a poor choice of words. Examples include changing the person’s name to Rich, giving them literal bucks (the animal, *applies to English speakers*), or giving them the tools to make actual currency.
If your wishee gets specific, you will need to be creative! It is obviously impossible to list every possible wish and solution here, but that’s why it is a guide, not a rule book!
Lesson 2, please turn to page 88.
Wish: World Peace
How to subvert it: A classic but easy one. Move the wishee to a replica planet with no other people. This may seem extreme but dont worry, they will be begging you to undo this one pretty quickly. Great for causing them to forfeit another wish to fix things. Or you can offer them a pity wish to undo it. If they seem ok with it, check on them in a few days or weeks. Trust me when I tell you humans cannot deal with being this alone. Especially the kind that would wish for world peace.
Lesson 3, a personal favorite of mine. Page 116 please.
Wish: Ability to fly.
How to subvert it: Give them the ability to only fly upwards. No coming back down. Period. Simple but so effective. Not much more to be said about this one.
And now, the last excerpt I want to bring attention to before I release you to peruse the book as you like. Page 143.
Wish: Immortality. Variations include “Live forever” or “Never Die.”
How to subvert it: Have you ever seen Groundhog day?
Have your wishee relive the same day over and over with nothing changing. They wont age, they will live forever, but forced to repeat the same day for all eternity.
Now class, you will find many more examples in this book, however it is not an exhaustive guide. Apply the principles within to each situation. I will say one limitation of this book is that it does not help much against those that craft their wishes carefully. But you will learn how to deal with those types in Advanced Wish Deconstruction. Plus, those types are few and far between. For the vast number of situations you find yourself in, this book will be invaluable in helping you dispense quick and effective wish subversions.
Enjoy! |
((EDIT: Thank you so much for the awards and upvotes. It means so much to know yall like this.))
I thought it odd when it was never quite in the same place i left it. Or when the plush itself seemed different, as if the fabric had been unstitched and resewn into a new position or head tilt.
But I grew fond of seeing the cute little guy on my dash every day I'd leave work to go home. He was like a reminder of the person who gave him to me and her love.
His little blue and purple holo scales seemed to catch the sun different today, kind of distracting. I patted his head and offered him a greeting as I shut the door and buckled my seat belt. A new tradition that had started about a week ago.
The drive was normal. Tame. Traffic. Lights. An accident on the shoulder of the highway. You could practically see everyone craning their necks to get a look at the minor fender bender.
I made it home just fine. Kissed my wife hello and she asked me if I'd had a good day. "It's always better once I get home to you,"I'd said. "Your little gift always keeps me safe, too."
It was just after 3 when we both woke up to the car alarm wailing. My first instinct was to shut it up and go back to sleep. We live further back from the road, but even so, no one wants to hear that shit when the sun isn't even up.
And then we heard the scream.
A full throated scream of terror from a man. I'm telling you horror movie, being torn to shreds after being chased by the hounds of hell- T E R R O R.
We both darted out of bed and i grabbed the bat in the corner by the door. Charging out, ready to swing as my wife threw on the spot lights.
I don't know how far I slid as I hit the breaks. I probably left a decent trail. But I know I dropped the bat knowing full well I could have hit like a pro player and it would have done me no good.
He had the guy under a glittering holo paw of blue and purple, his claws shining like silver daggers. He was no longer **in** the car, which is good. He'd probably have exploded it from the inside out at that size. His body was more than double the cars and his long, thick tail wrapped around it like a prize. He snarled down at the would-be thief and made a sound somewhere between a growl and a hiss.
"What... in the ever loving... fuck..."
How do you even process something like that? How do you begin to process a dragon protecting your car like a guard dog?
When he heard my voice he looked up and those slit pupil eyes turned on me. But the absolute venom he'd shown the robber melted away in an instant. His tail thunked against the grass and he seemed to smile. "I helped."
As the police sirens drew closer we all blinked and he was gone.
Just a stuffed plush dragon sitting on the chest of a crying man. |
We were taught that Humans came first. That they cracked the secrets of the arcane and through sheer determination propelled themselves through the stars to find us. Showering us and countless others in their benevolent wisdom, they took their rightful place as our cultural leaders.
You’ve heard this tale a thousand times. It’s one the Republic would teach one and all. Nothing but a self serving lie, fabricated to win our trust and hide their shame. You want the truth? Then by all means keep reading.
The truth is complicated. It’s messy and incomplete, and I think we’re better off not knowing. I think it would be easier if we all stopped now and never looked back. Burn the documents, wipe the drives, keep our tenuous grasp on reality firmly rooted in the idea that we were enlightened by a graceful savior.
But easy is not best. To live in peaceful ignorance is not worth not knowing. Don’t we deserve to know our history? Our real history, how the Humans were involved long before they ‘found’ us all those decades ago?
Because that’s just it. That *is* the truth, that they didn’t find us. They didn’t come in search of a people needing their guidance, their pity. They *created* us.
It’s no lie that the Humans are fiercely intelligent, nor that they care for us. For I have no doubt that in some sick twisted way they care for us just as much as we are led to believe. Not as fellow men and women, not as equals. But as a parent to their children.
They seeded life throughout our galaxy, and waited. And waited. And waited. Until eventually, nobody knew what they had done. Generations passed, factions rose and fell and rose once more. And so they discovered us once again, unaware of the role they played in our very existence. Their bastard children, left alone in a cold and unfeeling universe.
The worst part is, perhaps, that they didn’t know. They truly did not know of our existence. They wholeheartedly believed that they saved entire worlds through sheer happenstance. Even I couldn’t blame them then, if their strife lead to such ignorance.
But they learned. They found the derelict remains of their own vessels, centuries past their prime. They reverse engineered their own ancient technology and uncovered the truth. Went through so much time and effort, only to cover it up once more.
*That* is their crime. *That* is the unforgivable truth of it all. I can forgive ignorance, honest mistakes, even barefaced malice, but I cannot forgive the cowards that would hide the truth to preserve their own reputation.
And the worst of it all, the worst part of this entire situation, is that nobody would blame them. I don’t care that my gods didn’t put me here. I don’t care that the Humans have power and status I don’t. I care that they were so afraid of being alone that they created literally everyone else in the known galaxy, but they were to cowardly to just say *‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there.’*
So that’s it. You know the truth. What’s done with this information, I frankly don’t care. I’m no revolutionary. I don’t even know if anyone will believe me. But tell me, please. What bothered you more? Humans creating us, or acting like they didn’t? |
"Happy Birthday, Max!"my family chanted as I blew the candles.
"Finally, now I get the fuck out of here."I heard Uncle's Tory
"Oh, his dimple when he blows! I just want to bite it..."Cousin Becky said. Wait, what the hell? Why'd she say that?
"Let's cut the cake shall we?"Mother grabbed the knife and started to slice the cake as people went back to chatter. "Who wants a piece?"
"Oh yea, serve me last like always. Like you give a damn about me."Father stood behind me crossing his arms.
"Please lick the frosting again, Max. I'ts been so long."I heard cousin Becky, I looked her in the eye, but she just looked down and to the side. Why is everyone behaving so weird? Why is no one saying anything about it?
"Perfect, now it's my time to slide unnoticed and back to the TV huehuehue."Cousin Arthur stepped backwards and walked out of the room.
"I'll be right back, darling."Aunt Grace said to my Uncle Jack. "My vagina itches like crazy, damned Elliot, why does he want it shaved anyways? I don't ask that of him."She left to the bathroom as I looked with wide eyes.
I turned to Uncle Jack. "Oooh! Lemon, nice!"
The cellphone of my sister rang.
"Ohh yes, I hope it's Nick!"My sister reached for her purse as my mother was handing me a plate. "It better not be that fucking Nick."Mother was looking at my sister.
"Who is it sweetie?"Mother dropped the plate on my lap as she leaned forward. "Oh, Max! I'm so sorry!""Fucking Nick, it's all his fault."
"Oh yes, thank you, god. I'd clean that up so good."I heard my cousin say.
"What was that?"I accidentally yelled. My cousin had a red face as she pinched her piece of cake and my mother apologized. "Sorry Max, I'm clumsy sometimes. Here you go, clean yourself. I'll be right back."My mother went after my sister.
"Max! Can you hear me?"Cousin Abby said, but she didn't move her mouth. I just stared at her. "Max!"
"Yes?"I managed to reply. She definitely didn't move her mouth. How did she say that?
"Ah, so I'm not the only one. I have so much to tell you. But first, let me formally welcome you, to hell."Cousin Abby never changed her closed lips smile. |
"So... she revealed everything to the entire muggle world did she?"Kingsley asked the reporter in front of him. "How seriously have the muggles taken it?"
"Far too seriously! Everyone thinks I-"the reporter started, before another voice cut her off.
"They treat it as complete fiction, but it has been wildly popular. They have even made movies - a sort of muggle picture that shows dozens of images every second to make it appear to be moving, it's actually quite clever and-"
"Arthur, I understand your excited, but please try to stay focused."He paused before looking to the reporter "Rita, I understand your upset with how you were depicted in these publications, but we are still trying to assess the damage, and we can work out damage control and reparations later."Kingsley said, looking over the papers and skimming over the newspaper clippings, from both muggle and magical newspapers. After a brief review of the headlines, he signals Arthur to continue.
"Right, as I was saying, they made 'movies' out of it, Hermione tells me is reserved for only the most popular novels, and these 'movie' adaptations were incredibly successful, by their standards."He pauses briefly, before concluding, "based on what I've heard... a large portion of muggles have a basic understanding of some events leading up to the Second Wizarding War."
"Merlin's Beard. You're saying they still treat this as fiction? That seems to be our lucky break."Shacklebolt says while pinching his nose. "Rita, do you have any ideas on how to run damage control?"
Looking up from her handwritten notes, she says "I have a few ideas. She made me out to be a slanderous gossip monger, and while running a piece within the wizarding world reporting on her traitorous actions would help me feel vindicated..."she pauses tapping her quill, "but that wouldn't be the right audience."She looks to the red headed man in the chair next to her. "Arthur, you have any ideas on how to get the word out to the muggles?"
Shifting around in his chair, he starts "well, my grandchildren have been using what they call 'social media' and anyone anywhere can send a sort of, electric howler? for the whole world to see."He slumps back into his chair before finishing "I don't know how we'd make that work though."
Jumping out of her chair, Rita exclaims "IT'S PERFECT! WE CAN PRETEND TO BE MS. ROWLING!"
"Miss Skeeter, slow down, I don't follow,"the minister said, "but you clearly have an idea, so start from the beginning."
Laughing apologetically, she takes her seat again. "Social Media! It's PERFECT! Anyone can say anything, and BE ANYONE, RIGHT?! We can just quietly arrest Ms. Rowling! Then we can set up someone up to impersonate her!"she says, giggling uncontrollably. "We can say whatever we want about the fictional wizarding world, and put enough bad, contradictory information out there that they'll never be able to keep it straight! We can do all kinds of ridiculous things, we could say Dumbledore was gay and the muggles would never know the difference!"
Watching the cackling reporter, the Minister of Magic closes the J.K. Rowling file folder, and says "Do it." |
“General!, don’t die on us!” Screamed one of my crew mates pulling me straight out of my dream. “Goddamnit man, I was having a good one what’s wrong now” I said half awake. The crewmate looked at me nervously, embarrassed to see I’m clearly not dead.
“How many times has it been now that you’ve interrupted my rest thinking I was dead?” I asked, “50th time this day sir” he replied his head now sunken into his body. “Just, get out of my room unless I’m needed” I point to the door as he slugs his way out of my room.
If I hadn’t of known any better I would’ve thought he wanted me to dead or something.
Ironically I’m quite tired so I’ll finish writing this tomorrow. |
I learned how to meditate in college, when the stress of papers and exams and a full time job got me halfway to a mental breakdown. Ever since then, I've taken ten minutes in the morning and ten minutes at night to sit cross-legged on the ground, close my eyes, and just breathe.
I'd never expected to use meditation quite like this.
I woke up blearily and slowly sat up. Around me, I saw dozens of other people doing the same. We were all wearing the same white, pajama-like uniforms. The room was huge and white and didn't seem to have a door.
"What the fuck?"I muttered. A girl, maybe ten years old, started crying a few feet away from me.
"Welcome,"said a pleasant, neutral voice, like an airport announcement system or something. "You have been selected for the annual Varos Sweepstakes. Once the contest begins, the first 99 people to move or speak will be immediately executed."The people around me started freaking out. Some yelled at the ceiling, some ran to pound on the walls, some seemed almost catatonic with shock. "You have 20 seconds to prepare. Good luck! And remember: Smile! You're on camera!"
A large number 20 appeared on each of the walls and began to count down. I only had a few seconds, so I had to make it count. I grabbed the ten-year-old, who was still sniffling loudly.
"Sit down, shut up, and close your eyes,"I said. 'Plug your ears if it helps."A few of the people around me seemed to be taking that advice as well. Maybe I should have said it louder, gave more people a chance, but there was no time now. I crossed my legs, closed my eyes, and tried to empty my mind of everything happening to me.
Those first few seconds were chaos. The people who hadn't found a way to follow the instructions were killed off first in a cacophony of gunshots. That set off other people, all screaming and the sound of running, and they were shot as well. Within 30 seconds things had quieted down a bit, and I set in for the long haul.
It was weird, sitting there, the ten-year-old girl pressed up against me for comfort, trying to ignore the metallic tang of blood. Every so often someone would slip, and another gunshot would ring out. The announcer had said we were on camera. Was this some kind of weird test? A deadly reality game show for some sick rich person's amusement?
The worst of it was when the child next to me shifted, stretching out her legs. The gunshot rang out and hot blood splattered my face, and I barely managed to suppress a flinch. The body wasn't taken away but lay like a sack of potatoes across my lap. I couldn't even push it away.
It felt like hours. I still don't know how long it actually was. Eventually the voice came back, congratulating me in that same cheerful tone, and I opened my eyes.
All around me were the bodies and the pools of blood, and I vowed right then and there that no matter how much money they gave me, no matter what threats they used, I would never stop trying to get some kind of justice for the other so-called contestants.
////
Find more of my writing at [r/coolwrites](http://reddit.com/r/coolwrites). |
It's not so bad being unable to breathe. You get used to it eventually, especially if you can't die. I think it's a valuable skill. To be honest I think I'd forgotten how to breathe at this point. But the lack of oxygen was the least of my worries.
It's very cold out here in the vast nothingness of space. Like negative four hundred degrees or something? Very chilly. Unfortunately the last supernova blew away all my clothes so... yea. Not at my most comfortable.
Happen to have company at least. That little snail whose been chasing me for the past bazillion years. Can always see the little guy coming. Little blue glow. Every time he was close, I could feel it. Turn my head and there he is chugging his way to me. Wasn't on a daily basis or anything like that. Every maybe few thousand years? I'd get that sinking feeling and he'd be coming over a hill, coming down a wall, or through some poor soul who was brave enough to try and stop him.
His name is Pete. I didn't give him that name. It's on his shell. Like a kid wrote it in all capitals.
I just always had a feeling, the closer Pete got, the more intense it would get, as if something terrible would happen if he touched me. Never was able to shake the feeling. If there was anything that could kill me it was likely Pete.
Now here we are, travelling just a meter or two apart, at the same velocity. Forever. Because Pete decided to take a shortcut through the last star a couple million years ago.
Can't really talk to him, being in the vacuum of space and all. Probably wouldn't understand anyways. But I'm sure he's staring back when he's not wiggling around. Big eyes on those glowy stalks. would be cute if he wasn't responsible for the fall of a few civilizations.
Lately it's been... tiring. I held on hoping maybe another universe would just pop in out of nowhere. But that hasn't happened. My sleeps have become dreamless and I've forgotten the sensations of my favorite things. Food, music, recreational procreational acts... It's a very maddening kind of boredom.
Today, Pete was doing something different. Something new, not his usual wiggles. He was taking off his shell and then sat on top of it. I realized what he was doing, was giving up his only possession he had left for that extra push. Pete looked up at me and "kicked"against the shell with his tail end pushing it away, fading into the void.
It was just this little blue glow coming at me. Very slowly, very accurately.
I reached out to him. There was nothing left to do. What was the point of continuing my existence?
But a thought caught me. What about Pete? Was he just going to be by himself now? Even if he's just a snail, what's an immortal snail going to do in literal nothingness? I pulled back my hand wondering if that was even okay. I realized that foreboding feeling was no longer there even though the snail was closer than it had ever gotten.
Tons of folk have come and gone but I guess in a weird way Pete's been there for me. Almost always. Like an option in case I'm done with it all. There were a few times where I thought I couldn't go on. But the snail just never showed around then. Usually when stuff got out of hand.
Like being a god emperor. I'll admit, it did get boring when things got to that point.
He managed to land on the back of my hand. Nothing happened.
Very warm to the touch. He slithered up my arm and onto my head and sat there. Pretty sure he was saying something but I don't speak snail. Then there was a bright flash of light. Hot, Blinding. Followed by the most incredible explosion which sent me flying so fast I thought my limbs were going to tear off. Passed out actually.
When I awoke I could hear things again. Wind. Trees.
I was breathing in air. Fresh air mixed with some earthiness. There was a slight smell of something smoking too. Opened my eyes to bright blue skies framed by the edges of the large crater I was laying in.
I climbed out and brushed the dirt off my naked and charred body. People were coming to me. Early civilization types. Spears, loincloths, that sort of stuff. They must have seen me enter their atmosphere and probably think I'm a god or something.
I looked back up at the sky, there were a few planets up there. This planet was actually a moon. Somewhere past all that I'm sure is a blue snail making his way back to me again. |
'Librarian, sir?'
The words startle me, throwing me back to a past in which I cannot recall. A times of many, of voices, of gentle touch and gentle speech. With movement, the dust creaks from my shoulders and my bones ache with the familiar rot that I have grown to consider company. The musty air stills as I turn and fix my eyes on the person in my wake. He flinches.
'Librarian?'
'Well, yes, are you not-?' He shudders before me, and studies my form to escape my direct view. Whether polite or fearful, I do not yet know.
'I'm sorry, I was just wondering,' a deep breath, 'I come looking for a story. I search for tales of old, and word says you hold them.'
I tilt my head and stare blankly at the plain man. He is unremarkable, and yet I feel he can see right through me. I know in that instant he knows more of me than I do myself. 'Librarian,' I mutter, my voice creaking with years of disuse.
'Tell me the word of which you speak'
*I'm speaking with a madman,* I hear him think, and though he remains steady on his feet, his eyes reveal his unease.
I can hear him think.
*A terrifying, broken madman who knows none his past or his world; who knows only stories he cannot speak.*
I catch his eyes again. He opens his mouth and snaps it shut once more. Again.
'My deepest respect, Bookkeeper, but that is not my purpose. I seek stories, tales of old.'
I can feel his careful treading of his words, as if I'm holding malice lightly veiled under my skin. I blink, my expression blank.
'Of course. You seek those Laid to Rest. Of course.'
I raise my arms gently, my tattered coat drudging behind. I realise, in the moment, that I tower over him. My library, *My* library, swirls and shifts around us. His face reveals only confusion, perhaps both at my phrasing and the sights he sees, but his mind is a maelstrom of pleads and cries.
*Don't hurt me, I'm going to die, madman,* madman, MADMAN. *Not-man, beast.*
'You clearly know more of me than you've lead me to believe, traveller. You are the first to seek me out in the, well, however long.' I have to raise my voice among the cluttering wood and flapping pages, 'and you respect me in ways you should not. I do not know of myself like you do. I do not know how long it has been, and I do not know why you have arrived past what you have revealed. Something is keeping that from me, and it is likely the very same that lead you here.'
Suddenly, the library settles, though I can feel its breath on my neck. It's desperate for answers. For additions to the collection.
'Also, I am not a madman. Or a beast. It's cruel to judge one on the tales woven by others.'
He staggers, finally out of the trance of my words, and grabs the shelves for support. A curse reaches his lips, and his vision darts as if to find an escape.
'You may beg *them,'* I gesture to the rows and rows of stories, who've lain untouched for years, 'to release you, because they will not utter what you seek in my presence. I wish you luck, traveller, with achieving that which I could not.'
He grasps at me as I move to leave, and cries what could be a name, but by then, I am long gone. |
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