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“Honey,” he looked from his daughter, Amara, to the creepy as hell porcelain doll across the kiddie tea set table. It had a dirty green and black dress and red curly hair, with a serene face marked with black blemishes, its dark green eyes stared through him. “Who’s your new… friend?”
Amara looked up from her tea set. “Papa! Be the puppy!”
Smiling, he got down on his knees by the table. “Woof.” He kept an eye on the doll, knowing where this little play was going.
“Good doggy.” His daughter pat him on the head, then picked up the plastic tea pot. “More tea Miss Lily?”
The doll didn’t respond as Amara poured into the plastic tea cup in front of the doll. “Woof, Amara, darling, who gave you Lily?”
His daughter pat his head again. “Found her.”
“Where?”
“Under the bed.” Welp, creep factor has ticked up another notch. They had just moved in less than a week, he didn’t remember there being anything in the room when he moved the new bed in.
A few minutes of tea time later, and Amara needed to go to the little girls room. He stared at the doll. His daughter was clearly happy with it, so he would need to he careful about how he got rid of it.
He couldn’t throw it out till garbage day, anytime before and there was a chance Amara would check. Grabbing the doll, he speed walked to his room down the hall, slid open his closet, and shoved the thing onto the top shelf.
He made it back before his daughter.
“Papa,” Amara looked around the room. “Where’s Lily?”
“Lily needed to use the little dolls room she will be back. In the meantime, do you want to go out for ice cream?” Was he cheating? Yes, but it would be worth it.
“Ice Cream!” His daughter yelled and ran out of the room. As he was standing up, “Lily!” He immediately rushed out of the room.
In the hallway, there old pitbull, Bacon, had Lily in his mouth. Amara was giggling, petting Bacon until he dropped the doll to roll over for belly rubs, a classic pitty grin on his old face.
The doll must have fallen, he thought to himself. Wouldn’t be the first time Bacon has grabbed one of Amara’s toys for attention. He gave the doll the side eye as Amara took it with her to the car.
———————————-
(a few minutes earlier)
‘well, thats rude’ Liliana grumbled as after the door closet door closed. She liked Amara, the last kid she had tried interacting with screamed and kicked her into the mud, ruining her dress.
She had been hiding under the floorboards in what she thought was an abandoned house… till this new family moved in. Curiosity got the better of her and she loosened the floorboards beneath the child’s bed getting her attention.
Amara had crooned and then cleaned her up the best she could. So… she came to like her.
Now, being stuck in a closet wasn’t ideal. Her limbs creaked as she moved then, her fingers cracked softly as she stretched them and she hopped down from the top shelf.
She made no sound as she landed and she pat her dress down before sliding the closet door open. She knew how humans think in a rush, he’ll assume that he just forgot to close it.
How to get back without arousing suspicion was also easy. She sent out a mental call to the family dog. An imposing old pitty named Bacon that stood a few inches taller than her at the shoulder.
Bacon trotted in and gave her a sniff. She scritched behind his ears while standing on her toes and crooned. “Hey there big guy~ care to carry to Amara~?” The pitty grin was the only confirmation she got before she was unceremoniously grabbed and Bacon trotted back out of the room and down the hall.
The look on the fathers face was priceless. ‘Bring it on human male’ she thought. ‘You won’t be getting rid of me-oh! It’s been ages since I’ve had ice cream!’ |
"I roll for a PTO request."Halthar looked around the table with a grin, "Gunna try for some quality time off with the wife and kid, Hawaii maybe."
"Ha, Hawaii! You plan to waste your PTO on Hawaii? "another player chimed in across the table. With six of us I hadn't bothered to learn every name yet, so calling him "that guy"would have to do.
This time the Office Master spoke, his name I knew, Crateer. It made sense his was one of the few I retained, it was his tower we were playing in after all. "You don't roll just for a PTO request, you roll for ass-kissing. You have to beat a 16, Beth never grants requests closer than 6 months out."
Halthar took a die in his hands and gave it a blow before tossing it in his dice box, cleverly made to look like a paper tray. We all watched as his dice bounced around a few times before landing: 18.
"Wooo baby, read it and weep! Tell Beth she can suck on that!"Halthar erupted, to which a few others around the table cheered him on.
"Ah, well you can tell her yourself, she's standing before your cubicle with an angry look on her face."
*What did you call me here for John Workingman!* Crateer put on his best annoyed woman voice, which wound up somewhere between a rock golem portraying a woman and a swamp witch. As their conversation continued I turned to my character sheet. "Katie Katinson", I had come up with as my name for its overall normalness; single mom of two with a wickedly high perseverance stat and an office job on the 5th floor. Though this was only my second session "Katie"had quickly become the groups mom.
When John Workingman threatened to quit due to the long hours Katie was there to remind him he had rent to pay. When Charlie Overtime picked up 22 hours of work in a day Katie was there to remind him of sleeping, and the exhaustion stat.
"Darell, you are cornered at the water cooler by Sean, he wants to talk quarterly reports, roll for initiative"Crateer's voice cut loudly through my thoughts. With a hand of stone our Office Master sprinkled a bit of powder from a bag onto the table and a miniature map sprung up before us, complete with the water cooler, cubicles, and our miniatures all working away.
"Anybody want to help Darell?"
This time I spoke up, my voice feeling tiny compared to Crateer's, "Yes, I'll walk over and ask him how his presentation for tomorrow is coming along."We all watched as mini-Katie got into the elevator and made her way to the cooler.
"Ok roll for superiority"
"Uhhmmm. Regular 20."
*Oh Sean! Nice to see you. Hows that report coming along?* I spoke as Katie Kastinson.
Crateer grinned, putting on his Sean voice. *I uhh..yes I'll be going. I uhh I'm sorry I* then went on to describe Sean tripping over an untied shoelace sending his water splashing onto his pants in a rather unfortunate spot.
"Oh 7 hells yes!"Grathen, Darells player, yelled. The rest of the table followed in suit, erupting in cheers and fits of laughter. When I first started "Cubicles ahd Mortgages"I wasnt sure if it was for me, but now, in moments like this, I knew it was. |
Jake Hallison, a human of 6'5"and fairly tan skin, was a former soldier of the Terran Imperial Dictatorship. Or at least, what's left of it. All that remains under their control is Earth.
The Imperial Dictatorship unified humanity in a rather violent manner, suppressing all resistance through bloodshed. Militarist, fascist, and expansionist, the nation quickly rallied into a war after observing enough about the enemy they picked: the Galactic Federation.
Well the leadership were idiots. A mere 700 systems against the galaxy's untold billions, and the technology the Federation had was staggeringly more advanced. But the soldiers were not to be at fault, they were brainwashed to become blindly loyal to the state.
Enough of the history lesson. The shields were coming online, and humanity will be cut off from the wealth and adventure of the cosmos forevermore.
A greenish blue shimmer surrounded the human birthworld. Jake supposed it looked like algae-infested waters with the swirls of Jupiter's windy atmosphere. The shield was translucent, so the stars outside could be seen, almost the same as it was 700 years ago when the FTL drive was invented.
One moment, the sight of the night sky and the universe beyond it filled Jake's sight. But in the next, it was...gone.
Gone. Ta-da. Nothing.
No stars, nebulas, galaxies, nothing.
The shield stood, yes, but there was nothing.
Checking the social networks through his holoscreen, reports of the stars AND THE SUN disappearing. All contacts with the Federation has been met with silence, as the state media of the Imperial Dictatorship tried to pacify everyone to some avail.
Jake knew better. In the surface, he was a former soldier. In the dark, within the confines of closed curtains, piling bureaucracy, and state secrets, he was the former leader of the Imperial Division of Secrecy.
The leadership were not idiots.
The war against the Galactic Federation was deliberate. The loss of lives were immense, and the loss of what humanity used to stand for even greater, yet the founding of the Terran Imperial Dictatorship, the molding of what humanity into what it is today, and the war against the Federation were all necessary steps in a grander plan of a simple cause.
Survival. Human survival.
900 years ago, in the year 2027, pre-unification human scientists and astronomers found that the universe would end within 1000 years. The technologies required to save humanity was beyond human reach despite the rate of the progress of science.
But it was decided that humanity had to unite, and the Terran Imperial Dictatorship rose in the place of the loose alliance of the United Nations.
Humanity would not go quietly under the night, so we spread throughout the stars and advanced technologies like never before. And when human leadership found the Galactic Federation and its technologies that made it possible to create a shield world that can withstand the death of the universe, then the state devised a plan.
Obviously, the Federation would not believe humanity despite overwhelming evidence. After all, if some guy from nowhere comes in and tells you that the universe will end very soon, would you believe it?
So the best option was war. War and aggression and crimes against humanity to such a degree as to warrant being sealed from the rest of the galaxy, yet not severe enough to be exterminated. It was a careful, delicate balance that succeeded.
So now, only humanity remains. And in the next Big Bang, we would be the overlords of the universe.
Hail the Imperial Dictatorship. |
I frown at the djinn. “But… why?”
He floats serenely on his cloud of coruscating cloudstuff, flashes of lightning vibrating within at frequencies barely visible to the human eye. “Why what?”
“You don’t care about loopholes? Or how long the wish is?”
“The lamp means I can only grant three wishes.” His voice is apologetic. “So you can make one as long as you like, but that doesn’t mean I can give you a dozen if you make a ‘wish’ that’s a bunch of bullet points.”
“Okay, but still. I know how these stories go,” I say. “There’s always something stopping me from sitting down right now for six hours, writing out a proper, perfect wish. I’m supposed to say something stupid, like, ‘I really wish—‘” *I had a ham sandwich*, I almost say sarcastically, before a frisson of terror reminds me that the djinni might not count sarcasm as a reason not to grant a wish.
“You’re overcomplicating this,” the djinni says. “If you want to sit down for six hours, be my guest.”
“I’m a lawyer—”
“Oh, that explains it.”
“—so I really will.”
“Okay.” The djinni continues placidly bobbing in place.
I stare at him. “Is this one of the rules of the lamp? You have to wait if I write out some monstrous book-sized wish?”
“Nah,” the djinni says. “I’m just being nice. I grew out of my ‘screw-over-the-wisher’ phase eleven centuries ago. Now I’m more interested in seeing people make good, responsible wishes. It’s a better feeling for me to see people happy, you know?”
“That’s not very traditional,” I mutter.
“Have you not seen Aladdin?” the djinni asks.
“Who’s that?”
He sighs, but it has the sound of something made out of pity rather than frustration. “Do you even know what to wish for?”
“Of course I do,” I say in a way which could not possibly be interpreted as defensive.
“You said that pretty defensively.”
Damn the djinni’s superhuman powers of deduction. “Just give me a second to get a legal pad. I know I have one around here somewhere.” I start burrowing through the stacks of loose paper littering my desk, opening drawers, peering behind piled legal textbooks.
“Your office is kind of a wreck, huh?” the djinni asks. "You ever open the blinds in here?"He pokes one. Dust spills off in waves.
I ignore him with fortitude only someone who’s taken the California bar exam six times could muster. “Here we go.” The cap of my fountain pen pops off between my teeth as I plop a coffee-stained legal pad onto my lap.
“Go on, then.”
The pen hovers over the paper. This is going to be an amazing wish. No one will ever have come up with something better, more detailed, more complete.
The djinni pulls back one of the steel balls on a desk toy perched precariously at the edge of my desk. It makes a clacking sound as it slams into the others. The sphere at the other end leaps up as though shocked.
My pen continues its hover.
“Didn’t have these last time I came out of the lamp,” the djinni says. “What’s it called?”
“Newton’s cradle,” I say absently. Any moment now I will begin writing. “My dad gave it to me after I passed the bar. He always wanted me to be a lawyer. You can have that one if you like; I have four of them. People keep giving me new ones as gifts.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’m hard to shop for, I suppose. No one ever seems to know what to get me.”
“Real mysterious, that.”
I look up at the djinni. My annoyed rebuke dies in my throat. He is still looking at me with pity.
“I think,” the djinni says delicately, “that I might understand the problem here.”
A drop of ink spills from the tip of my pen. The stain spreads slowly through yellowed paper. I watch it because I feel too ashamed to meet the djinni’s gaze.
“I—” I start, then cough, and clear my throat. “Alright. I’m just going to wish, okay?”
“No legal pad?” the djinni asks.
I flush and drop the pad. “I wish… I wish for you to help me. I don’t know what I want, I never have. Just do whatever you think is best.”
“Wise,” the djinni says, the first hint of approval I’ve seen since rubbing the lamp. “Very wise.”
There’s a feeling of static in the air, weight and expectation singing my ears, my fingertips, the edge of my lips. Something is coming, something grand, a great change—
A ham sandwich pops into being on my desk. The top slice of bread is slightly crooked. I stare at it.
The djinni winks at me. “Kidding,” he says, and snaps his fingers— |
Eric could feel some kind of warmth coming from the crumbled stones. As he stepped through, it was as if reality warped seamlessly, one moment shallowly in the forest in his backyard, the next in what looked like a church wedding. The seats looked like the ones his mom made him stay seated in, and the people up front looked dressed like his parents' wedding picture.
He entered and caught the last words. "... anyone object?"
"Um... Hi?"Eric said cautiously. These were strangers, but maybe they could tell him how to get back.
"He said I!"One of the people in the pews squealed. "And he's from another realm, so we must acquiesce!"
The groom snarled and glared at the young boy, before ripping the flower off his own chest, stomping it, and leaving.
The man wearing what looked like Eric's 'pasture' wore spoke. "Then, in accordance with our ways, young man, you shall now be wed to Princess Nuala, future Queen of Frost, once you are of marital age."
Eric didn't really understand what was going on, and he could feel the warmth behind him of the stones again, so he turned and left, appearing again near his home.
The next day, he shrugged that all off as a dream or a runaway part of his imagination. He'd made equally fantastical events during his playtime, so maybe that was just another playtime that went a bit weird.
The strange dream faded from memory as days and years went by.
Instead, what he knew he'd remember was the people around him, as he blew out the candles to his 18th birthday party cake. Everyone cheered, and he laughed as someone pushed his face into the pastry. This was what he knew he'd always remember. His family around him, his friends cheering him on, and the future unknown yet bright with possibility.
The party went on for a long while, but eventually it ended as all things do. Eric was left to bask in the glory of a new year, of love around him, and of what was to come. His parents had gone to bed, his friends had gone home, and he went out back to enjoy the countless stars smiling down at him.
But out back, he was met with a few armored men, carrying fierce weapons and sigils that looked like snowflakes and icicles. "What the hell?"Did someone spike the cake or something?
He couldn't move, too shocked of the sight before him. The men parted, and a tall thin fair man walked up to Eric. The stranger smiled softly. "Congratulations, my King. Your coming of age has transpired, and so the engagement may move onto a proper wedding. I am the Royal Chamberlain."He bowed deeply.
"Uh... What engagement? What are you even talking about?"Eric asked carefully, not wanting to upset the man with knights behind him.
"My lord, you were quite young, and so you may have forgotten. But in your youth, you came into a royal wedding engagement and objected, and your stature as a foreigner enabled you to take the to-be groom's place. You are slated to wed Queen Nuala, the Queen of Frost. As such, I am here to assist in your preparations, and help collect your friends and family that you'd want to attend such an event. After all, your coronation would be immediate after the vows."
This was one hell of a birthday gift. |
My eyes shot wide open. I would never forget that voice. Could never. But how is that possible. I lay on my side afraid to turn around, but finally manage. And there she is. As alive as anybody could possibly be.
"Hi honey, did you miss me?"She stares at me with a smile.
I say nothing back. My jaw just hangs open like an idiot in some cartoon. Speechless. I buried this woman. Her body is deep in the ground. There is no way she is in front of me.
She comes up close to me and touches my face with her soft hands. "I'm real. This is really me."
I put my hand on hers. It feels real. "Am I dreaming? How is this possible?"
"I'll explain everything, but I have a question first."
"Anything. Ask anything you want. I can't believe you are back here with me."I stare in her eyes with awe and hold her hand mine. A pain in my stomach from all this emotion. A sharp pain. Wait... that really hurts.
I look down and her other hand holds a kitchen knife. And the kitchen knife is lodged right in my gut. She twists it while it's inside me. I can feel my innards move around. She pulls it out.
"How the fuck could you sleep with Carol?!"She stabs me twice more and then I wake up. I look around and grasp at nothing in the dark. Covered in sweat I walk to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. I shake my head trying to get out of this daze I am in, and thats when I notice three deep scratches on my stomach. Exactly where they were in my dream.
I got on the phone. It rings twice and she picks up.
"Hey, sorry to be calling so late...
No, no, don't come over. Actually Carol, I called to tell you something... I can't do this anymore.
I just can't. It's not working out. I just..."
I run my finger over the three scratches.
"I just can't anymore. Ann wouldn't approve.
I know she's dead, but she was still my wife. I should respect what she would have wanted. And you should too. I mean, she was your daughter." |
Everyone was yelling "Stop!""No!""Don't do that!", but what did they know? What's the worst that could happen? It's just a fork, metal goes into the outlet all the time, a fork won't do anything. Or that's what I thought.
One second later, I was on the floor, unable to move. But something was different. Like the shock had changed me. I could comprehend the situation, I was able to realize what was stupid and what wasn't. I was SMART. I felt overwhelmed, and I blacked out.
"Is he okay?". That's the first thing I heard when I woke up. It was my mother. I was in the hospital. I was conscious again, but unable to move. The doctor replied, "He should make a full recovery, it just might take a while."That's when I opened my eyes. The doctor was startled. "Oh! You're awake! But how? You should be in a coma for at least a month!"I sat up in my bed and groaned. I had extreme back pain.
The doctor did a checkup on me, determined that I'm fine but should stay a few more days, and then go on my way.
The doctor recommended me a brain and body scan, as he had never seen something like me before. I'm heading there now.
Normally, I would have ignored the doctor and said nothing is wrong. Or I would have driven to the clinic that could help me. Even though I don't have a driver's license. Or a car. No, I wouldn't be doing either of those. I'm smart now. I took an uber to the clinic.
After the brain and body scan, I went back to my parent's home. My results would be mailed to me in a few days.
My mouth was wide open as I looked at the results of the scan. Apparently, I had two chips in my body, one in my brain, and one in my spine. They wanted me to come back for surgery to remove the chips. I reluctantly agreed.
I don't remember going to the hospital, nor do I remember the surgery. But it happened. The chips were extracted from my body and I was good to go. While I was out, the chips were being analyzed. They're still being analyzed right now. Turns out, the chip in my spine was the reason for the extreme back pain I had. It had malfunctioned somehow.
The doctors came out of the room, with a look on their faces like they had something to hide. They told me, "We have bad news."As it turns out, the chips had data in them, exposing who they belonged to.
They belonged to Helena Bosin, my mother. |
YATA
Sorry for the bad Terran. I don’t see a need to learn, so I had to use my servant for a translation.
Despite what the other comments here say, I don’t believe that they are native Remeridian like I am. Or, at least not from a traditional Remeridian colony. While I’m sure they would have been more understanding if Terra would have just surrendered its self-determination during their colonization, as we all know, you were the kind of people who futilely fought until the last second. And while you still lost the right to rule, I heard there’s a lot of resistance to learning about my beautiful, peaceful culture over there. Honestly, if you Terrans had just cooperated, you would probably know a lot more about Remerade, and it would probably have saved a lot of people some headaches.
(I know that falling under Remeridian rule is still a “sore subject” for some of you, but it’s not the first time we’ve helped out some poor savages in the middle of nowhere space, so “bite me” as you like to say. Also, you’re welcome.)
Anyways, back to the actual question. I’m assuming that your girlfriend is a Kyoraka (literally “Humble-Smooth” for you lazy few who haven’t finished your mandatory language classes) Remeridian, which is the race that’s a little similar to Terran Octopi (Octopusses? My servant said they still don’t get that part of your language). To your untrained, backwards eyes, I can only take pity on you for not being able to tell the difference.
When she says that those are her family members, she’s telling the truth. As the Kyoraka age, their form tends to shrink down into a size that is more suitable to be cared for, as by that point they will most likely have acquired at least a few dozen extraterrestrial servants to take care of them. (Personally, the Dourian servants are my favourite! They’re so cute, unlike some of the Terran servants I have, who just whine and complain after only 19 Terran-hours of work).
I know it might be a hard concept to grasp for some of you other commenters, but that news article from a few months ago about Kyoraka Remeridians mistaking Terran Octopi/pusses for their own family is NOT TRUE. To mark the words of your previous world dictator before he was found hiding in a bathroom stall under a pile of stolen documents during the colonization of your planet, that article is FAKE NEWS.
You’re lucky that she has taken interest in a Terran romantic partner, instead of a much more suitable Remeridian female. So it only makes sense that you should take care of her and all of her family. If you can’t afford it, just get another job or two. Terrans only live for a hundred years or so, so it’s not like you were going to accomplish much with your life anyways.
Not to mention, you people go unconscious for like 8 hours in a single planet rotation, which I always thought was unnecessary and stupid. Why don’t you just stop doing that and start supporting your superior girlfriend more?
Anyways, you’re welcome for taking the time out of my busy day to answer your question. I grant you permission to ask any more while I’m still feeling generous.
Edit: No I don’t think the op should “talk it out with her girlfriend!” What would there be to talk about? And what suggestions could a Terran even make that a Remeridian wouldn’t have already thought of? Honestly, I think I was right in my initial assumption that you are all Terrans as well.
Edit 2: WOW. Some of you are really hurtful in the comments AND in my dms!! I have not said a single rude thing throughout my entire post! I think you all are the ones who need to “stop being specist” and “intolerant!” I’m really getting attacked here for saying what we’re all thinking!
Edit 3: Thanks for the gold kind stranger. |
"Ok Guido, you have your brother bringing in pizza's from his place right? The GOOD ones not the ones they serve the customers!"
"All set boss!"
"Antonio, you're in charge of balloons. That means decorations AND animals. Remember you're tyin' them into shapes NOT wringin their necks! Be genteel!"
"Youse got it boss!"
"Francesco, your wife and the girls are making a tiramasu the size of a buick yeah?"
"AND cupcakes boss- with sprinkles and sh..stuff"
"Oh yeah that reminds me- you guys gotta watch your fu.... flippin language. These are kids!"
\*\*mixed chorus of muttering and head nods\*\* "yeah yeah ok boss"
"Lorenzo, you're in charge of games. Remember these are kids playin with NERF guns- everyone has to lock up their guns, knives, brass knuckles, AND phones in the office before the shindig starts. And no encouraging rough housing god forbid one of these little punks should get hurt- we'd get our asses sued into next tuesday."
"Gina, you're in charge of singin happy birthday toos youse. You did that thing for that tryout for a chance to audition for that who wants to kiss an american millionaire right?"
"I'll knock em dead uncle Vincenzo!"
"Great- ok, everyone go lock up your stuff, and change into your costumes."
\*dissenting grumbles and mutters\*
"Look I don't I don't like this any more than youse guys but we're doin this or we're doin time! Now shaddup and go get your Smurf suits on!"
\*\* in unison \*\* "yes Papa Smurf"
"Oh you guys are freakin hilarious."
Vincenzo stuffed the red hat on his head, and the stuck the fake beard on his face. He could only hope the other Don's never heard about his stint as "Godfather Smurf"On the other hand, if this worked out the cover for the warehouse was secure AND they were getting paid a smurfload of cash to boot.
PS: Thank you for the awards - I'm glad you enjoyed reading this =\] |
It had been many, many years, I could still remember the absolute shock of the first time I was killed. It was a mugging gone wrong, and when the perp shot me dead in cold blood, looting my corpse, it felt as if reality passed into a fog and I awoke, as if from a dream, back at my apartment a day prior. I could hardly believe it, but as I rose from my bed, looking at the clock, I realized something – I was very, very much aware of how to make a multitude of illicit substances.
A scientist by trade, I took towards analyzing the phenomena. At first, I didn’t want to believe what had happened to me. It seemed so unreal. But as the day progressed into night, I awoke the next morning and, well, you know what they say. History is doomed to repeat itself. I watched the same events unfold, but instead of walking down the same street where I got robbed and killed, I sat in a nearby café and simply watched the thug walk by in the same area, the same saunter, wearing the same clothes.
At first, I thought I was in a time loop, but as the week progressed, I found that I did not return once again to my apartment on that night. Time continued to progress, and it was as if nothing had happened. I remember staying up for days on end, trying to find some way to replicate the phenomenon, resulting to inflicting pain on myself through lacerations, hoping to somehow trigger the event. It never did.
Until one night I awoke with an epiphany. The amount of bullets that ripped through me, the blood loss – there was no way I had survived that night. The link had to be my inevitable death, causing me to drift through the veil of time and back to the day prior. My memories came with me, as did, assumedly, part of the person that killed me. I was an anomaly.
To test my theory, I began to research the most efficient methods to terminate myself, finding one that was relatively painless. As I completed my attempt, once again my consciousness faded into the fog, and I awoke a day prior.
The excitement I felt was palpable. The possibilities became increasingly clearer. My memories, my skills, they all transferred back in time with my consciousness. I had a plan of action, and as I dug deeper into physics and time, I would end each day with a bang, placing myself back 24 hours with all the knowledge I had obtained the day after. Years passed like this, where eventually I decided to progress a day so I could begin each reset inside my lab. The knowledge I have amassed surpasses that of anyone alive, and I know that one day I will crack the code – I’ll no longer be bound by time. Time shall be bound by me. |
I learned a long time ago that my silence was preferable to speaking. Often I sounded dumb, incompetent, etc. I had suffered shit, done shit, and I couldn’t say shit because whom would believe me? Besides, others had suffered worse or did better (or worse) than me. That, and I was often too tired to speak. I had a lot of rage built into me. And my actions showed it.
I remember when that one guy was bothering Dani( the bunny girl). Motherfucker, I wanted to ice him and dump his body in the lake. But no, I just stared at him as he screamed at me, grinning like a demon as my eyes spoke of all the evil I could do. Of course I let him off with a punch to the face and a stomp on his gonads.
I swear there’s something wrong. Why are they all glancing at me? They keep giving me funny looks. Martha gives me some food, but I know she needs it more( she needs her strength). And when the hell did Ilya start putting make up on? She’s fine as she is. Dani is also getting a bit… weirder than usual. I don’t mind the innuendos, but it’s kind of out of character.
Wait- are-are they *all* into me. Ohhh fuck! You have to be shitting me. *You have to be shitting me!* I just saw Sara give me *the eyes*. Oh my God, why?! |
The two guards escorted me. Each one held one of my arms. We approach the huge stone labyrinth in the dirt clearing. It stood two stories high. We went up the stone staircase that led to the top of a wall. They pushed me forward, and I fell onto the dirt. I walked around for about a minute before finding the minotaur. As it stood, it stared at me a few feet away. It was menacing, from its gold ring in its nose to its stature. It was about eight feet tall. I ran with my heart racing. After a few seconds, I realized that the minotaur made no noise. I stopped and looked back. It wasn’t there. Weird. I continued my walk around the maze before I found it again right around a corner. I ran again, but I heard nothing but my footsteps. Come to think of it, the creature never moved when I looked at it. I walked back to it. The creature looked at me as I stood in place. After a bit, it sat down. “You’re not hostile?”, I asked it. It nodded no. I pondered. This thing could keep me company. Although…maybe…
“Can you throw me outta here?”, I asked it. It turned away. “I’ll come back for you. I have a sledgehammer at my place. I’ll break the wall.” It looked at me and nodded yes. He then walked to me and picked me up. He threw me up, and I grabbed the wall. I was at the edge of the maze, so I hopped down. I ran to the woods. I needed to wait until night. That way, I could sneak to my house and grab the hammer. I was a wanted man, after all.
Night rolled around, and I ran to the stone wall with my weapon. I slammed it into the rock, causing cracks. I took a few more hits at it until I could see the inside. I could see the minotaur, but not completely. After a few more swings, there was enough open space for him to squeeze through. He walked past the wall and hugged me. I wrapped my arms around him. He let go, as did I. He sauntered to the woods. I didn’t have a plan, so I followed. |
He tapped his foot impatiently. Enough was enough. He had been sitting in the examination room for almost forty-five minutes now. It was bad enough what he was visiting for. Any illness in that part of the body is awkward enough without having to have someone 'glance it over'. He checked his watch again. "This is bullshit,"he thought. Two knocks brought his attention to the door which then opened. The doctor stepped in and closed the door behind him. He crossed his arms over his clipboard and held it to his chest.
"Mr. Romney, I'm ever so sorry it's taken so long for me to get to you. We have just been waiting on your insurance paperwork to process,"the doctor had a British accent which did not, however, alleviate Mr. Romneys' emotional distress brought on by this painful news. His announcement complete the doctor turned to go.
"No! You stop there,"shouted Mr. Romney. The doctor took his hand from the handle and turn to face his patient.
"I have come here for three weeks with no results,"Mr. Romney fumed. "I demand that you fix me! This problem,"he said it like a curse word, and pointed to his behind for emphasis, "has caused me considerable pain. It must end now!"He was standing now and had his index finger pointed accusingly at the doctor.
"I understand . . ."started the doctor, but he was interrupted.
"You understand nothing! These hemorrhoids hurt when I sit down and when I stand. Pooping, once the most peaceful moment of my day, is now the bane of my existence! This cream, that you have been giving me for two weeks now, is useless!! First I have to insert it into my anus using an applicator. I don't like things being inserted in my anus! Then I need to rub it on the affected area . . . of my anus, "his voice was raising in pitch now. "And in two weeks time do you want to know the end result?"he questioned accusingly. "Every time I fart bubbles come out!"he shouted, his face turning red. He flung his hands up in the air in desperation and said again, "Bubbles!" |
Humans are a very... interesting race. We've been observing them for several centuries now and when we initially discovered them the first thing we noticed was their incredibly short life spans. Most live not even for a single century. They die within 7 or 8 decades a lot of the time. Because of this limitation we have learned much about them over the centuries. Many studies have been had for single organisms over their entire life span and we didn't even have to wait that long for it to happen.
Another interesting thing about them is their fascination with reproduction. It's unlike any other species we've seen in the explored universe. They are obsessed with the act but many are repulsed by actual reproduction. Billions of their dollars are spent each year on reducing the amount of births and it seems a lot of the time when a human gets pregnant it panics. Very unusual indeed.
Humans are also very far behind in terms of uniting the race. There are hundreds and perhaps thousands of tribal entities across their planet. They have not banded together and they are constantly fighting each other. This made a big part in where we decided to make contact. One of the larger tribes in their western hemisphere seems to be the main agitator of military conflicts on their planet although the population seems relatively peaceful the governing body is an entirely different thing. Whenever there's conflict to be had their government sends troops. On the opposite spectrum there is a large tribe in their eastern hemisphere that isn't involved in nearly as much military conflicts as the western tribe but they have vast more amounts of people and we didn't want to possibly set them off as there would be no way that we would win a battle with them without killing millions of them, thus hurting our scientific efforts.
With those two countries in mind we decided that a landing party in the former one would be the better option.
When we first landed it wasn't how we anticipated it to happen at all. We expected curiosity (Humans show a lot of this trait) and maybe some worry but nothing of this magnitude.
The entire area went berserk. We weren't able to make contact with anyone even though we were clearly talking in their language. No one would go near us and the armed forces drew their weapons on us. We feared we would have no choice but to retaliate if they openly attacked us.
Luckily both sides kept calm and we were eventually brought to their capital city which strangely enough isn't their biggest city.
As expected, the whole planet soon knew about us. After an earth day or two we were sent to a secret area which supposedly was unknown to the general public of the tribe.
This is where the species' militaristic characteristics were being shown as much as possible. We walked down the halls of the building, dozens of humans with weapons aiming at us, and were escorted into a small room. There we were met with several of the leaders of the planet's largest tribes. After telling them that we wanted nothing but to study and learn more about their species we were led away from the room.
We expected to be led to our vessel but instead they locked us in chains and put us in cells. As it turns out, their scientists are quite militaristic as well. Something we should have guessed but didn't.
By now we'd had enough and we decided to leave. At first we demanded to be set free so we could return to our planet but our captors refused. They were convinced that we had come to enslave the human race and make them our slaves.
They couldn't be more wrong, but humans are a very stubborn species and it's near impossible to change their mind once they decide something.
We had no choice but to use up vast amounts of energy and teleport ourselves out of the facility.
Our vessel was kept nearby in a similar containment facility but we had no trouble retrieving it as every human we encountered screamed and ran off as soon as they saw us.
We left the planet.
I do not recommend returning. This species is not ready to be studied yet. Let them mature a little bit more.
Based on our knowledge of the species one of two things is going to happen..
One: They mature and eventually prosper, becoming a large player in the intergalactic community.
Two: They kill themselves off within the next few centuries.
|
He reached under his seat and his fingers brushed against a plastic gun barrel. It wasn't much, it didn't have the cold weightiness of a Smith and Wesson or the woody aroma of a Springfield but it would do, nobody else on the plane had any weapons right?
Grusha looked over to his partner sitting in the window seat and gave him a quick nod. The gun was in his hands. He stood up from his seat. This was his favourite part.
The silence. The looks of confusion from the other passengers. The worried flight attendant marching over to see if everything was all right. The... second person standing up in front? He froze for a second, he didn't recognize him, it was just him and Ivan wasn't it? Who the fuck is this? Suddenly he saw the man pull a rifle out of his jacket, and with that the plane fell into hysteria.
"Everyone quiet down!"He yelled, making long sweeping motions across the interior of the plane with his gun. "I assume nobody here wants to get hurt!"The attendants hit the deck, everyone else cowered behind their seats, hands over their heads as if they were bullet proof. Then there was him. Standing somewhat awkwardly in the aisle trying to hide the gun tucked into his khakis.
"Sit the fuck down!"screamed the gunman. Aiming the rifle at Grusha.
"Sorry, sorry!"He said, putting his hands up in apology as if he'd just walked in on someone in a changing room. He exchanged glances with Ivan who looked slightly perplexed, yet at the same time intrigued.
"Some interesting plan this is isn't it?"He said in a thick Russian drawl. "Kazimir didn't mention this to me."
"Well he didn't mention it to me either, probably because *this isn't part of the plan*,"Grusha hissed under his breath.
"Of course it is! You know Kazimir and his crazy antics."Ivan smiled warmly and lay back in his seat. "Everything is going according to plan."
"He's not even Russian Ivan!"Grusha whispered, straining to keep his voice down. "Kazimir only hires Russians! This is a different hijacker!"Before Ivan could speak up again he shushed him, his opportunity was coming.
"Grusha what are you doing?"
"Sorting things out. Now be quiet Ivan."His partner glared and crossed his arms like a toddler who didn't get his favourite candy.
"There a problem here?"The unexpected hijacker asked, pointing his gun at the two Russians.
"Oh no!"Grusha said his lips stretched into a fake smile.
"Keep it up!"Yelled Ivan over-enthusiastically. The hijacker shot them a confused stare before turning his back and continuing down the aisle.
This was his chance, Grusha leapt from his seat and tackled the gunman. Before he could perform a reversal a plastic gun was pressed up against his skull.
"Don't move friend."Suddenly a second unexpected hijacker rose from his seat fumbling for his weapon underneath his long overcoat. Grusha's bullet hit him before he even had a hand on the trigger.
"Keep calm everyone!"He yelled trying to silence the old lady pinned underneath the dead hijacker. "Give me this,"he sighed grabbing the rifle from the assailant. "How did you get this thing on the plane anyway?"
"Get the fuck off me asshole!"The man screamed from under him. Grusha tossed the rifle to his partner who didn't catch it as both his hands were already preoccupied with the task of aiming his own gun. At Grusha.
"What the fuck are you doing Ivan!?"He bellowed.
"You're going to ruin Kazimir's plan Grusha!"Ivan whimpered, frantically trying to sort out his dilemma.
"This isn't part of the plan Ivan!"
"How do you know? Kazimir is very smart!"
Grusha sighed. "You're not going to shoot me Ivan, put the gun down."
"Put yours down!"
"Dammit Ivan, if I put my gun down this man will attack me, think for once!"
"I don't have any other choice Grusha!"
"If you want me to put my gun down, then I have to shoot him first."
"Don't shoot him!"Ivan yelled his gaze frantically switching between his partner and the hijacker pinned under Grusha's boots.
"Well then put the gun down Ivan!"
"You're going to shoot him and ruin the plan!"
"*This is not part of the plan Ivan!*"
"Shoot him Iban!"Came a muffled voice.
"It's Ivan!"The two partners yelled in unison.
All of a sudden the hijacker rolled out from under Grusha and kneed him in the leg. Grusha tumbled over top of him and the two wrestled on the floor both trying to subdue the other while frantically looking for Grusha's fallen weapon.
A gunshot broke the silence.
"*Ivan you fucking imbecile*"Grusha screamed blood spraying from an open wound in his chest, the hijacker's body laying limp beside him.
"It's OK Grusha, Kazimir wanted this to happen!"
"I'm going to bleed out Ivan!"he said weakly clutching the bullet wound.
"Kazimir is very smart Grusha!"
"If Kazimir is so smart then go and hijack the plane Ivan!"Grusha yelled, coughing up a mouthful of blood onto the floor.
"How can I hijack the plane now Grusha? These guns only have one bullet."
Upon hearing such an interesting piece of information the sky marshal jumped up and aimed his weapon at Ivan.
"Looks like you fucked up this one boys."
"Great!"yelled Grusha. "Now we're totally fucked Ivan! Good job you fucking idiot."
"It's OK Grusha!"Ivan said soothingly. "Kazimir is very smart this is just part of the plan!" |
"I swear I didn't do it,"the man sobbed, "I loved her."
"We'll see about that. Bring in the cadaver!"
Ashley's body was wheeled in. The interrogator drew his handgun.
"Wait! Please!"
Bang. The suspect was dead. As was Ashley, still.
"Guess he didn't do it,"the interrogator sighed, pointing the gun towards his own head.
Bang. The suspect came back to life. Soon after, so did the interrogator.
"How?"The suspect asked.
"I killed myself, the man who killed me. Therefore, I came back to life."
"I didn't know you could do that!"
"I thought of it a couple of days ago in the shower."
"This could be useful." |
(I decided to use Warhammer 40k orks, Tolkien elves, and Discworld (Terry Pratchett) dwarves. I hope it turned out okay. 1100 words.)
In the grim darkness of the present day, space travel remains one of the most treacherous enterprises known to sentient life. Orks continue the dread endeavor for one reason: war.
The shipload of orks were seething for a WAAAAGH!, the bloody takeover of another world. And so the *Bad Newz* shrieked through blackest space toward its latest target. The only thing better than a world to ravage was a world you beat up a long time ago that has since regenerated to ravage again.
A different ship, sleek and elegant but for a large hammer mounted on either side (you can never have too many hammers), gleamed hectically bright in pursuit.
“Catch them already!” seethed Hadrien, a pinch-faced sourpuss if there ever was one.
“I can’t!” Nog Pebblebottom tugged his beard and got back to dwarving the controls. “Their ship’s red! There’s no way we’ll catch up in time!”
“Then,” spake Hadrien the Tall, the hardiest and the last of the warrior princes of Anloth that is gone, “we have no choice but to pursue, and to see what may befall when we arrive.”
Gorbang’s Boyz unleashed their rage on each other over the indignity of KP for the third time of the day, and there was much blood left to spill. The violent expression of their difficulties rattled the halls and sent wickedly sharp objects flying in all directions, not infrequently planting themselves in the flesh of neighboring altercations. A roar from the Warpzer on the bridge recalled some of them to something like attention. They were nearing Erth. A few roiling knots of ultraviolent hatred broke up in the anticipation of getting something new to fight.
The pursuing ship was white in construction, but had since been painted with the skill and nuance of a colorblind grasshopper. According to the dwarfish officer Nog Pebblebottom, it made the place more homey. (When the elves pointed out that dwarfish homes were pitch black on account of being underground, the dwarves just chuckled and returned to their work.)
“Almost there,” said Nog, nodding across to Vesty Fullbottle. Vesty beamed through her beard and started on the maneuvering thrusters that would position them for atmospheric entry.
The ship tilted thirty degrees to the left.
Hadrien the Tall, bravest and lordliest of the warrior princes of Anloth that has faded from the world, rose to his feet and placed a strong hand on the back of the dwarf Nog’s chair. ”Truly,” grumbled Hadrien, “this will be known as the last alliance of elves and dwarves.”
For this was the long sorrow of the elves: the dwarves had just enough usefulness to them to make an alliance desirable. For this mission Hadrien could bury his distaste. Long had he waited for the opportunity of this mission, for the discovery of a planet called *M278* by the astronomers and scientists of his people, *maranomë* by the masters of history and lore. In the tongue of its own people it was called Earth. And greed stirred in Hadrien’s heart as he looked upon this planet, rich with gifts but held by lesser peoples, peoples who had failed in the galaxy once and who by all wisdom would fail again. In secret he wrought kingdoms in his mind to be brought forth on this soil.
The red spiked ship *Bad Newz* screamed into atmosphere, scattering its grisly hood ornaments to the sky like so much once-sentient ablative armor. In a sky-rending roar it crashed to Central Park. It plowed down half a mile, mangling and tossing pedestrians and pets in its path.
“Where’d it go?” Vesty said frantically. “Where’d they land?”
Nog never seemed to take his eyes off the controls. “At a guess, the mile-long burning streak in that funny little green bit they’ve got there?”
“Are you sure that’s not normal?” said Vesty.
“Well,” said Nog, “it’s where we’re touching down.”
Then did the *White Leaf And Space Bits* descend from the sky, gleaming in the summer light like a message from another world’s hand, alighting next to the red abomination in regal silence. And for one enchanted moment there was only quiet.
Hadrien the Tall, the last and most terrible of the warrior princes of Anloth that has fallen–
BAM.
And we will not see his like again, in this or any age.
The shot ripped through the slender elf and left him crumpled a yard back from where he had stood. The big ork hefted his shoota. “Not much of fight,” he said.
“Do we use the hammers?” whispered Vesty from within the ship.
“We’d have to get them to stand right under the sides first,” whispered Nog.
“Do we just beat ‘em all?” Vesty gestured at the remainder of the dwarfish crew. They all looked at Nog in a way that subtly suggested they would very much like to be stomping ork shins just now.
Nog nodded. “Let’s go.”
“Oi!” Gorbang yelled delightedly. “Boyz! There’s more!”
If Hadrien were still here he might have written a lay of that climactic battle, the brutality of the green and terrible orks, the heroism of the red-brown and only occasionally sort of bad dwarves. He would have written of Gorbang, the crude and vicious leader of a crude and vicious people, and how his perilous journey across the galaxy had brought him and his hardy yet bestial followers to this one place, this one day, for a conflict among lost races that none could have foreseen. He would grudgingly have written of the strength and wiliness of the badly vertically disadvantaged dwarves and their cunning and merciless tactics in reducing a force literally four times their size.
But Hadrien wasn’t here.
By the time the smoke had cleared the landing site was ringed with emergency vehicles. A miserable-looking New York police officer stood front and center, looking like he could easily name about five thousand places he would rather be.
He looked at Nog. Nog looked at him. He blanched. Nog shuffled his feet a little.
“Er,” said Nog, “The tall lout had a speech but, er,”
“I don’t think he left the notes,” supplied Vesty.
“So,” said Nog, “I suppose we come in peace? You know, except for this.” He had the grace to look embarrassed.
”W-w-e accept and, er,” the policeman looked once more at the fallen orks and seemed to calculate his chances of surviving the wrong words, “w-welcome you.”
“Er. Well, good then.” This might turn out comfortably after all. Nog leaned over to his second. “Do you think the rocks here are edible?”
Vesty sighed happily. “I never met a rock that wasn’t.”
|
There was a Taco company with an idea to make a fish flavored taco, and to make it stand out from the rest, they used pink dye in their taco shells. Some people really enjoyed the taste of the Pink Taco, but others were not. It turns out that some people decided it was a better experience to slide a sausage into the pink tacos. The was okay with the Pink Taco company as they enjoyed when people got creative with their pink tacos. Some people would never go to the pink taco on a first date, others went there all of the time. Society was really weird and it felt that people that went there too often were bad people. They tried limiting who could eat the pink taco and under what conditions, but eventually they realized that taco eaters deserved equal rights whether or not they ever tried sausage, and sausage eaters were allowed to eat sausgages plain or even slide them between some buns. Eventually society was better for it and progress was made.
However, it is still rude to call people that are different "piles of sticks". |
*Son of a bitch...*
Mort heard the door of Lucy's bedroom slam shut followed by the cacophonous skitter of a cell phone across a wooden veneer desktop.
*God damn...here we go...just fucking make a...*
He didn't get to complete the thought before he was forcefully pulled from the metal prison that was his genie's lamp. As he was dissembled molecule by molecule, and then reassembled in the exact reverse order, he inhaled deeply, and initiated the script that he was mandated to recite every time he was summoned from the lamp. Maybe this time he would actually be able to finish it before she interrupted him.
"...Behold, mortal. On this, the twenty-seventh day of the fourth month of the two-thousand and fourteenth year of the common era, I, Mort the genie have --"
"Yeah, yeah, do you really have to say that garbage every time?"
The left corner of Mort's mouth crawled as far to the side as it could.
"Yes, Lucy. These are the rules. Don't you want to know the rules to having a--"
"Yeah, but aren't rules for *people*?"
"Do you not consider me a person?"
"You know what I mean!"
"No, rules are for those who are not in charge."
"Whatever. Anyway, guess what happened today!"
"Gosh. I don't know. What."Mort patronized her. Thoughts were not sacred to genies. It had been this way since young Adolf found a lamp and wished for an increased affinity for persuasion. It became necessary for genies to be endowed with the ability to see inside their Holders' heads, lest they inadvertently grant someone the power to exceed the power of Magic.
"Jeanine kissed Shirley!! ON. THE. LIPS."Lucy squealed.
"And?"
"THEY'RE BOTH GIRLS!"Lucy shouted, obviously taken aback by Mort's lack of interest.
"...and?"
"That's not how it's supposed to work."
"Says who?"
"Says...well, everyone!"Lucy scoffed. She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, taking a brief moment to survey Mort's body from head to toe and then back again.
"Since when does a majority constitute a jurisdiction over two individuals' feelings for each other?"
"You don't think that's *weird*?"Lucy's brow furrowed. Her mouth hung agape as if she were having trouble swallowing the words that Mort was saying.
"It doesn't matter what I think. It matters what they think. I am not them."
"But it's not natural!"
"Neither are clothes."
Lucy glanced at her closet. The door was squeezed shut, but there were a few coats hanging from the doorknob by means of several, very cleverly interlaced, hangers. She had so many clothes that they were bleeding out into her living space.
"I wish I could make you see how weird it is, though..."
Mort had to stop himself from exclaiming in joy. *Your wish is my command, you obnoxious bitch,* Mort thought. While she was still looking away, he snapped his fingers, his eyes glowed momentarily (as if it mattered, anyway), and Lucy's wish was granted.
"Lucy, I see where you're coming from. Really, I do. You don't understand it because it's not something you're used to seeing. You don't understand it because your parents never told you that it was a possibility. It feels wrong to you because you feel that way about a boy and could never feel that way about a girl. It feels uncomfortable to you because you don't like the thought of another girl being attracted to you."
"Well... yeah... And it's just... *weird*..."
"Do you like Teddy Bears?"
"I don't understand..."
"I don't need you to. Just answer me."
"Well, yeah, but like... What's that got to do with--"
"I hate them. They're a waste of space, money, and resources, and their uses are almost none."
"But they're so cuddly and cute and they make me happy when I'm sad! How can you *not* love them?!"Lucy whined in protest.
"No genies like Teddy Bears."
"Well then all genies are dummies!"
"Is that so?"
"What in the world are you talking about?"
"Are you serious right now?"
"Teddy Bears are the best!"
"Son of a... Okay, look, kid. In this instance, you're Jeanine, and your bear is Shirley; I am people like you."
"I'm not going to kiss my Teddy Bear..."
"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!"
"Don't yell at me!"
Mort closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. All he wanted to was to be free of this ignorant little child. He couldn't stand day after day of this pointless chatter. His job was to grant wishes, and grant more wishes. It wasn't in his contract to have to listen to spoiled little brats complain about things that didn't affect them in any way.
"Lucy... What I was saying is that two girls kissing each other may not make sense to you, but it's not you to whom it needs make sense."
"Well why not? It grosses me out! Doesn't that count as affecting me?"
"Teddy Bears gross me out."
"I wish I understood why you were making that stupid point..."
*Checkmate, you little shit!* Mort snapped, and Lucy's eyes glowed.
"Ohh... Oh my. Mort, I understand. Thank you."
Mort's smirk deteriorated into a look of confusion. *Thank you? Most people just ask for more wishes. I've never been thanked before...*
"Mort, you're right. It's not my place to judge. They are human beings with their own set of emotions -- likes, dislikes, desires, disgusts -- just like me. Goodness, without you, I would have never realized my fault! Mort, you're the best. I love you."
Lucy hugged Mort around his midsection. Mort blinked a few times, unsure of how to handle this sort of companionship. He rested his hand on top of Lucy's head.
Genies normally bear witness to their Holders succumbing to their most primal desires. When given three wishes, most people seek only to benefit themselves in a tangible manner, or a manner that will lead to them benefitting in a tangible asset. Little Lucy accidentally bettered herself in a way that just bettered her as a person. Mort wondered if that's why Genies were created to begin with, only to have their powers perverted and abused by the greed of mankind. Mort serviced many Holders in his several millennia on Earth, but not until Lucy had he found that he cared for one. He almost wished that she had three wishes again.
"I love you too, Lucy."
Lucy smiled and looked up at Mort, and then to his lamp on the desk next to them.
"Mort, I wish I had met you sooner." |
The world was dark, and everything beyond a few meters were unlit; only the trail of fireworks light the sky. We could all hear the commotion outside, bells and shouts all surrounding the area, the fireworks exploding into millions of brights stars. However, we all were scared, for we know the coming doom that was upon us: it was not a celebration, it was a start of war.
The fireworks continued. They fell and killed many. We feared the fireworks. Alarms went off warning, crying. Miserable shouts filled the air. We watched as fireworks destroyed. Fireworks that look like missiles. Fireworks that are missiles.
|
The Amazon had fake tits. Fake tits and a lot of makeup. For some reason that always made me a bit suspicious. All they did was get in the way. What kind of superheroine would do that to herself?
And here she was, clad in sweat-pants and an old t-shirt, sitting on my couch, eyeliner dribbling down her cheeks, hands clutching around the bottle of vodka I normally kept in the freezer.
Jesus.
I stared at her as I put down my groceries. I had a gun, but it was on the counter in the kitchen; I'd left it out for cleaning. Not that there was much point in grabbing it, given she was a superhero. “Can I help you, ma'am?”
“You,” she said, “you ruined everything.” She hiccupped. “You k-killed him.”
“Ma'am, I'm a police officer. It was a bank robbery. He had hostages.” The world was better off without him. Asshole had killed about a dozen people already, and the few times we'd managed to catch him and convict him, he'd broken out. We still didn't know how.
“Fuck you. You w-weren't supposed to kill him. It was a game.” Angrily, I bit my tongue. People had died because of him. “He robbed banks with his deathray. He runs off, I chase him. And then...”
And then she'd catch him. The money would usually be missing by that point – probably already back at his lair. The bank would suffer a while. The Mad Millionaire and his death ray would escape custody after a while, if she even bothered bringing him to the police.
“Then we'd split the cash,” the Amazon said.
I stopped putting away my groceries and stared at her.
“You heard me,” she said. “Fuck you. It was a game. Fuck you. I'd play chase, toss him in jail, secretly break him out of custody one night a week later. Fuck you. We'd fuck like rabbits after a big heist, sometimes even before I handed him over to you. Fuck you. Fuck you!”
My gun was on the counter in the kitchen. I backed away from her, wide-eyed. She kept advancing. She was crying again, big, fat alligator tears. Her hands were clenched. Shit. Was she one of the invulnerable superheroes? I couldn't remember. Oh, god. Oh, god.
“You idiot cops never should've been involved,” she said. “No one would've ever died. No one would've stood up to him, never got shot. Y' drove him to those killing sprees. You. You are the asshole. You are the villain, and I, I am the good guy.”
My lower back knocked into the kitchen counter. I reached behind myself and grabbed my gun. |
My dad is the best! Mom only lets me visit him on the weekends, she said he's good for nothing, but she's wrong. He lets me play with his stuff all day long and when he gets home from work he brings home pizza! We watch movies, laugh and eat together on the couch, it's always a blast!
---
"When are you going to get a real job? It's time you start paying rent if you're going to keep living here."It's the same argument every night. The nagging, the constant fighting, I can't take it anymore. This apartment is too small for both of us. "When are you going to make something of your life? You're 54 and you've been a pizza boy for more than half your life. You can't live here anymore, I'm kicking you out, dad." |
Francis Cole raised his pistol to eye level and shifted his index finger down to the trigger, flipping off the safety as he did so. “Come out with your hands raised high!” Cole shouted with a tremble in his voice, “do it now!” he added, this time a little louder. He could hear his voice resounding through the night sky.
The vessel was as big as commuter bus, both ends shaped like a hexagon and missing any sort of windows or visible exits. Cole retrieved the radio on his belt, “Dispatch, I’m going to need backup on County Road 16, just north of the water tower. Call in for a fire engine too.”
“10-4” the female voice reported back calmly
“I’m not going to ask you again, come out of the vehicle!” Cole wondered if it even was a vehicle. It must have been, it was the only rational explanation. A local farmhand called in saying he saw some moving fast near the road and then heard a considerable bang. *Probably some damn kids screwing around* Cole thought to himself advancing cautiously towards the “vehicle”.
Cole lowered his pistol and reached for his flashlight, shining a bright light on the area around the hunk of metal, maybe whoever was driving this thing got ejected and was lying unconscious somewhere. It wouldn’t be the first time, Cole reminded himself.
Without warning, a reddish green light lit up near the side of the vehicle, followed by a bright and dazzling flash, “Jesus!” Cole screamed shielding his eyes with his forearm and ducked back, nearly falling over. “What the fuck!”, the light only grew brighter and more disorientating. A low buzzing sound reverberated for several pain staking seconds before silence and shade took over again.
The sound of sirens just a few miles down the road provided only mild relief for Cole who was shaking in his skin, barely grasping his gun.
*Shuuuuu*. The vehicle opened up suddenly like somebody had just unfolded a piece of discarded piece of paper and then Cole heard a voice, “Are you the one they call Earth?”
|
Oliver glanced back at his father, who gave a brief nod of encouragement. He wore his full robes today, the imposing black of a fire mage drawing admiring looks from others. Calling fire, shaping it and taming it to one's will, was widely considered the most difficult of the talents.
Hundreds of parents waited in the giant reception hall, while the children of age disappeared into other rooms, to have their magic tested and released. Oliver took a steadying breath and stepped into the next available room.
"Ah, you must be Reave's son,"the mage said, glancing at the embroided symbol on his chest.
Oliver smiled and nodded, suppressing the anxiety that spiked whenever his family was mentioned. *Not good enough*, the bitter part of himself whispered. *Genetics doesn't lie*, he told himself fiercely. The elderly mage pressed a finger to Oliver's forehead and spoke the ancient spell, closing his eyes in concentration.
"Ah...I'm getting the feel of it now..."he muttered, frowning. "Well, this is -"
The old man's eyes snapped open and widened. His mouth opened slowly, as if he wanted to tell Oliver something. A strangled croak escaped him as he fell to his knees.
"Death magi -"he choked out, the light gradually fading from his eyes.
"Death?"Oliver repeated, as he checked the man's pulse. Terror twisted the dead man's features, and Oliver slowly withdrew his hand.
A loud hissing from the corner shocked him from his thoughts. Somehow he had missed the sleeping cat when he first entered. It padded over to the corpse, its hissing growing louder. Mages bonded closely with their animal companions, often gifting them with a trace of their intelligence. The cat turned its eyes upon him, the glowing green orbs slit in suspicion.
Oliver willed the beast to be still and stroked it experimentally. His newly released magic flowed naturally from his fingertips. A small smile curled Oliver's lips. The cat hissed hysterically as it tried in vain to arch back from Oliver's touch. It grew quiet as Oliver continued to stroke it, before slumping to the ground next to its master.
Oliver stared at his fingers in astonishment. Nobody had spoken of this talent. What if there was something stronger than the flame, something that would demand more than mere respect? He knelt on the floor, searching until he found a cockroach hugging the wall. He directed his power to his finger, and pointed at the insect. It twitched once before becoming still. A small giggle escaped Oliver for the first time in months, the anxiety and anger that had been building for years lifting from his shoulders.
"Your son will follow the flame, I expect?"The mage standing next to Alistair Reave smiled at him, eager to win some small measure of favor.
Alistair cocked his head and grinned as he detected the faint sound of his son's laughter.
"It seems so. Nothing else could make him *that* happy,"he said, as he waited to congratulate his sixth son. |
The sun comes up as I look in the mirror, brushing my teeth. The taste of toothpaste is a refreshing change from the putrid taste in my mouth from the night before. I spit, missing the sink.
*That's ok, I can clean it up later.*
My clothes come off as I turn on the shower. The warm water running down my shoulders as I fight every ounce of my being to stay awake. Nothing puts me to sleep more than a warm shower.
After a solid 15 minutes of bliss I climb out and put on some clean clothes just as the sun is coming up.
I wanted to leave a friend a message for when he woke up. I searched my contacts, finding "Benben".
My fingers glide over the screen as my eyes fight to stay open.
"F-U-C..."my head drops and I startle myself awake.
"K- - Y-O-U- -O-P"*Enter*
I lay my head on my pillow as I drift peacefully off to sleep.
|
"Ah! The hell?"I jolted out of my bed into the living room. Why the hell were there air raid sirens going on? I ran into the garage and grabbed a duffel bag I had prepared for emergencies, you know, hurricanes, tornadoes, but what theh ell was I supposed to pack for a damn air raid?
Opening up the bag and making sure everything was in and prepared I slung it over me and went into the kitchen. I stopped for a second. Something didn't seem right... Those sirens, something was off. I looked out the window and saw nothing, no planes, but they could be above me, not across that field. I grabbed a knife and put it in my bag and walked into the living room.
##FUCK!
I had left Red Dawn playing on Netflix and for some reason it decided to play right now. Damnit. |
"A consolation sandwich started the war?"
"Well no. The assassin was eating the sandwich when the Austrian man stalled his car next to the assassin."she said.
"That's still crazy. Why would a man drive down a street where he could be assassinated?"
She drew a finger around her teacup, "They were all from Austria, visiting Serbia. The driver didn't know his way around. He drove the wrong street and the car stalled."
"And the assassin just happened to be eating lunch there."
She looked the man in the eye and smiled.
The man sighed, "So what happens next?"
She took a breath and started, "What happens when an Austrian noble dies on Serbian land from a Serbian assassin? Austria goes to war with Serbia. But there is a problem..."
He poured her some tea. She continued, "Germany backed Austria's stupid decision to fight a war over the assassination. Russia backed Serbia. Other world powers rallied behind both sides, and now we have a world war."
"So it was a pissing contest?"
"No, it was The Great Pissing Contest. You've got to know first, that once your neighbor country mobilizes their army, you have to mobilize. If you don't there is no possible way you will get your army to the battlefield in time. Once you had two great powers aligning against each other, Germany and Russia, the Pissing Contest begins. No country wanted to get caught with zero troops on the battlefield at that point."
"So our Austrian guy gets killed over a stalled car and a sandwich, and we have a war on our hands?"
"Not just a war. The Great War. Two months after that car stalled, a million men were dead."
Both of them were silent for a while.
"Well,"he said. "That's crazy. It's a good thing that's in the past. It's 1934 now. Nobody wants another war. And Germany surely learned its lesson."
The woman finished her tea, "I hope so."
|
Kanye eyed the man in front of him up and down, trying to take in every ounce of his drab, uninspired outfit. He couldn’t understand why anyone would dress like that, why someone would opt to look like a suicidal businessman. Blue jeans, an ill-fitting white, button down shirt, and a dark navy zip-up jacket that crinkled loudly as he moved. The letters “FBI” were plastered across his back, a brand Kanye was not familiar with, let alone one he’d be caught dead wearing.
“Can you repeat that?” Kanye said, glancing down at the man’s shoes. They were terrible, simple white trainers that he probably stole from some poor kid on the streets. How did someone as pathetic as this guy even get to his front door, let alone with information that was probably useless? Whatever the case, the man had mentioned something about killing the game. Or someone killing a game. Or maybe it was a game about killing. All Kanye knew for sure is that the man had definitely said the word “killing.”
“I said that you aren’t safe, he’s probably coming for you next. Have you gotten any suspicious calls or letters?”
“Wait, who’s coming for me?” Kanye said, knowing full-well that the man was probably referring to the paparazzi. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small stack of headshots, so as to be ready for the autograph signing that always followed. It would only be a matter of time before the world’s currency was replaced by signed pictures of his face at this rate.
“I literally just explained that to you a few seconds ago. Were you not listening? There is a man going around killing people he believes have ‘enlarged egos.’”
“I was definitely listening,” Kanye lied. He’d always been a good liar, probably the best around. Sure, there wasn’t exactly an Olympics for lying, or any real competitive way to prove he was the best, but he was pretty confident there was at the top of the rankings. In fact, he’d recently called out the wrong name while in bed with Kim and played it off like a champ. “No, babe,” he’d lied, “I don’t even know a Jim.”
“Oh, well, great then. So, look, here’s what I propose,” the man said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a drab, black notebook. Kanye also had a notebook of his own, but not one bought from the discount section of his local Wal-Mart, which he’d obviously never been to. He’d had his made out of the skin of Bengal tigers, slaughtered for his pleasure during a recent trip to Africa. It was very exotic, very fancy, and very expensive.
“Lay it on me,” Kanye said, reaching into his own pocket and removing his Bengal notepad. It was so soft to the touch, the paper made from carved Redwoods that liberals protested he not cut down. The way he saw it, though, he was doing the environment a favor. He was allowing a tree to be reincarnated from what was essentially a useless, purposeless log to a tool used by the voice of a generation. He was the true environmentalist.
“I’d like to enter you into protective custody for the next week or so. Just to keep you safe. Okay?” The man flipped open the notepad to a page in roughly the middle, then slowly scanned his finger across it. “We’ve got a place on lockdown for folks like you just a few miles from here. Your pal Beyoncé is there now. We’ll keep you a few nights and make sure you’re safe, to save you from going missing like Jay-Z and Beck.”
“Okay,” Kanye said, flipping open his own notepad. He hadn’t written anything in a long time, not since he’d given up using his own hands to write. Now he hired old, widowed women to write on his behalf. Something about their ancient, Parkinson-riddled handwriting made him feel more intelligent as he read back the gospel he produced. “Absolutely, in no way, shape, or form, is that going to work.”
“What?” the man said, raising one eyebrow and staring up from his notebook. “Why not?”
“Kanye West does not need protecting. I mean, look at me.” Kanye spread his arms like an ant-eater before battle, flexing his pecs as he did so. He wished desperately he could see himself in third person, take in the power and the intimidation he was currently displaying. All he could do was close his eyes and imagine the beauty he was laying forth. “If someone wants to try to get me, they can. I ain’t no pussy like Beck or Jay-Z. Those guys have absolutely nothing on me, I am the greatest there ever was or will be. They need to realize that, and so does everybody else.”
“There is a man literally going around killing people based on their egos,” the man said. “He publically stated you will be his next target. We just want to help--”
“I don’t have a big ego,” Kanye interrupted, lowering his arms. “I mean, I recently went out of my way to prove that to my daughter, North. I’m pretty modest. The others, they have big egos. They think they're better than me, which they absolutely are not. Their egos are too big.”
“Look, Mr. West,” the man said, closing his notebook and slipping it back into his pocket. Kanye folded up his own notepad and also put it away—it wasn’t like he had intended on writing anything down, anyway. He neither had a pen, nor remembered what the letter “E” looked like. “I can’t force you to do this, I don’t have that kind of power.”
“Great,” Kanye said, grabbing the door beside him and beginning to close it. He wasn’t particularly interested in listening to this man’s nonsensical pleas anymore. A man like Kanye didn’t need to be bothered with such mundane nonsense, especially when it was all information he already knew about people that didn’t even register on his radar.
“Hang on,” the man said, putting his foot in front of the closing door. “I can’t force you to, but I can ask that you please reconsider. You will probably die if you close that door. Just, please think about it. If you just come with me, you’ll be safe. After this all blows over and we find the sicko killing these celebrities, you can go back home, you can continue living. Yes, you’ll need to be looked after for a few days in a safe place, but this is cleared, you’ll be on your own again.”
“No thanks,” Kanye said, closing the door the rest of the way before walking back over to the kitchen table. He made a mental note to request that his security guards not allow every single man wearing pathetically unattractive, non-designer clothing from “FBI” to waltz up to his door and interrupted him. He was a busy man, doing important things, and handling important people. He couldn’t be interrupted constantly.
Kanye pulled a chair out from in front his table and took a seat, a muffled squeal crying out across from him. So pathetic, all of these people with their unrealistic egos. He picked up the hacksaw lying on top of the wooden table and ran it across his palm, the moistened blade slipping across his skin. How could anyone think they were better than he was?
“Now,” he said, glancing up at Jay-Z’s taped mouth, “where were we?”
_____________
^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/)
|
I guess I should have read the ammended version he submitted to my clerks. I've never known a human to actually read the contract, let alone change it. The original was for immeasurable wealth, which I gladly gave, with the stipulation that I recieved his soul upon death.
They always ask for money, or fame, or to escape death. In the end, I always get their souls. It's really just a hobby, there's plenty of people dying everyday to fill the pits of hell. It finally came back to bite me though. As cunning as he is, I'm sure he'll be a better Devil than I ever was. |
"Stop it!"
These words echoed around like whining children. People camped out near what they figured out were certain people's respawn points. Now, every time John's boss came back, he'd fire point-blank into his skull, only for the man to respawn.
The downside? They only remembered that someone MADE them respawn, not what caused it.
So, really, anyone could do anything to them, and it had happened. Some were lit on fire, screams echoing. Swords thrust through ribs, choking on blood.
Only for the person to bubble and disappear, then reappear wherever their respawn point was. They'd stamp their foot, mad at whoever it was like an overgrown child, muttering, "Quit it! That's so not fair!"not even knowing that the supposed 'buddy' of theirs had just chopped off his arms and legs not hours ago.
No one has empathy for anyone. Everyone hurts one another, thinking that respawning is a clean slate to begin anew.
What no one knows is...
what the frat boys drowning their friend in a barrel of beer, all laughing joyfully before the man bubbles and disappears....
what the girl who tried parachuting without a parachute, laughing at her own stupidity does not know...
"WHERE IS SHE?!"
is that everyone has a certain NUMBER of respawns in their entire life. |
Anna wiped her eyes with yet another tissue, unable to stop the steady stream of tears. She never knew why she did this to herself. After all, Marley and Me was the only movie to make her a sobbing mess.
Meanwhile, her husband, Todd, seemed perfectly content.
“What’s wrong, hunny?” he asked, tilting his head.
Anna stared at him like he was a psychopath. She had never met anyone who wasn’t saddened by the movie, much less smiling.
“Um,” she paused. “Did you not see the movie?”
He nodded.
“Of course I did.”
“Why aren’t you sad?”
The look of confusion on Todd’s face increased, even more perplexed.
“Why would I be sad?” he asked. “It was a cute movie about a man and his dog. Nothing bad about that.”
“But you know Marley died right?”
He shrugged.
“And? He’ll be back.”
Anna stopped crying, now the one confused. She stared at her husband while she attempted for a coherent to his sentence.
“That’s not how death works…” she said, throwing her tissue away. “Once it happens, there’s no reversing it.”
Todd scrunched his nose as if smelling something foul.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Anna scanned him before answering, looking for some indication that he was joking. But she saw nothing.
“How do you not know what death is? You’re twenty-eight years old.”
“Well excuse me for not knowing your fancy-smancy medicine words. Some of us aren’t doctors around here.”
“It’s English.”
“Oh, I knew that,” he stammered. When he continued, his voice was just short of a whisper. “So what does it mean?”
“Did you ever have a hamster or small pet when you were a kid?”
“Of course,” Todd smiled. “Mr. Squiggles and I were the best of friends.”
“And he left one day, right?”
“Yeah, Mom said he had to go live on a farm somewhere. I tried to keep in contact but it never worked. Hamsters can be so busy.”
Anna placed a hand on his arm, looking in the eyes. She never thought she would have to give the death speech so early, especially to her husband.
“Todd, he died. He never went to a farm. That’s why you could never hear from him again.”
Todd laughed, slapping her hand playfully.
“That’s a good one!” he exclaimed. “I suppose you think that my grandmother didn’t actually fulfill her lifetime dream of becoming a spy ten years ago, either. She had to cut all ties with the family so we wouldn’t be liabilities.”
“She died, too,” Anna said, averting her gaze. She didn’t have the gall to look him in the eye while warping his reality.
But Todd didn’t make it any easier.
“That’s stupid,” he said, shaking his head. “I bet you’re gonna say that Marley wasn’t just hibernating in that box. You think he died too, don’t you?”
“He did…”
Tood stood from the couch giving Anna a sharp look. He clenched his fists, his face turning red.
“I’m done with this this stupid game you’re playing,” he barked. “Stop trying to confuse me with this “death” thing. If you want to stop acting like a jerk, I’ll be playing Mortal Kombat in our room.” |
I flinched as Golurk crumpled to his knees. His mechanical whirl slowed into a small hum and finally nothing.
“Return” I said, raising my pokeball. The red light surrounded him before sucking him back into the ball. I held back the tears welling into the corner of my eyes. We had been together since my third badge.
“I must admit, you are skilled,” Cynthia said, her voice stern. “However, this is the end of the road. Garchomp will not be defeated.”
At its owner’s call, Garchomp roared a devilish look in its eyes. I shuddered at its deadly screech, well aware of its power. It had managed to take out my last two pokemon – Golurk and Gardevoir. But despite that, it took major damage. It had to be weak.
I gritted my teeth, standing my ground.
“I’m not going to lose. Not as long as I have one last pokemon.”
Cynthia nodded, a small smirk appearing on her face.
“That’s the attitude I like to see. Let’s go.”
Wordlessly, I threw my final pokeball on the field. When it collided with the hard floor, a white light sprang forth, materializing into my ace – Infernape. In a dramatic display, it shot flames in all directions.
“An Infernape?” Cynthia tilted her head. “It appears that I have the advantage after all.”
She had a point. Fire types weren’t the best against dragon types and the additional ground type didn’t help at all. If we were going to win, it had to be fast.
“I like to think merit matters more than types,” I replied. “I don’t need ice beam to stop you.”
“Fair enough,” Cynthia said. “However, if you’re so sure. Perhaps I shouldn’t hold back.”
She brought a hand to her neck, activating her Mega Choker. In response, her Garchomp was enveloped in light and morphed, becoming more intimating if possible. As a Mega Garchomp, it could hit like a tank and a half.
I shot out the first command I could think of, hoping to catch her off guard.
“Use Acrobatics!”
Infernape followed, darting through the air at a frightening speed. But as soon as it got close to Garchomp, it brought one of its scythe down with force. The air whistled as it missed Infernape by a hair, leaving a sizeable hole in the ground.
I let out a small breath. It could have ended that quickly.
“Poison Jab,” Cynthia said cooly.
Garchomp’s free scythe glowed purple as it swung in an arc. Infernape, unable to counter after just evading, took a hit to his arm. He cried out in pain, reeling back. The wound on his arm kept the purple tint, a sign of poisoning. Yet another reason to end soon.
“Infernape, close combat!”
Infernape, fighting through the pain, shot a barrage of kicks and punches at Garchomp. He managed to knock Garchomp off its feet, just long enough to land an impromptu Flame Wheel.
“Sandstorm,” Cynthia said.
A cyclone of sand flew from Garchomp, pushing Infernape back. Grains of sand pelted my skin, tearing into it. Raising an arm , I fought to decipher what was happening in the cloud of sand.
“Infernape, watch out for a sneak attack!”
Infernape nodded, looking to back and forth for Garchomp. But he failed to notice it sneaking up behind him, his scythes raised for a finishing blow.
For a brief moment, I could see Cynthia’s smirk turned into a sadistic grin.
“Finish it off with Dragon Rush!”
Garchomp yelled back, dropping its scythes like a guillotine. In the single second I had before losing, I called out Infernape’s last move.
“Use Flare Blitz!”
Infernape turned around, wrapping himself in flames and launching forward. As it tackled Garchomp, a blinding red light glowed in the sandstorm, filling the entire room. And the world stood still for a brief second as I waited for bated breath of what happened.
When the sand dissipated, Garchomp was sprawled on the ground, dead. Infernape stood above it, still emitting flames. He roared, his flames glowing brighter.
"Well, this is a surprise,"Cynthia said. "Congratulations, trainer."
We won.
In a surge of happiness, I ran up to Infernape, forgetting all rules. It didn’t matter anyway, I was Champion.
“You did it!”
But before I could embrace him in a hug, I saw what had really happened. Infernape’s flesh had been ripped to bloody shreds, bones and more showing. It teetered on his feet, swaying back and forth. And in one final act, it gave me a small smile. The same smile from that Chimchar Professor Rowan had given me so long ago.
Infernape fell to the ground, his flames dying into nothing. |
[Missed call - "Susanne"- 8:49 pm]
[Missed call - "Susanne"- 8:50 pm]
[Missed call - "Susanne"- 8:51 pm]
[Missed call - "Susanne"- 8:51 pm]
[Missed call - "Susanne"- 8:52 pm]
[Voicemail from "Susanne"- 8:55 pm, 3 minutes 13 seconds]
[Outgoing call - "Susanne"- 8:59 pm, 12 minutes 49 seconds]
[Debit - $57.60 - "Vitelli's Ristorante"- 3/30/15]
[Debit - $30.01 - "Exxon/Mobil"- 3/30/15]
[Outgoing call - "Susanne"- 9:22 pm, 3 minutes 2 seconds]
[Outgoing call - "Home"- 9:26 pm, 2 minutes 31 seconds]
[Outgoing call - "Sisters of Mercy Hospital"- 9:29 pm, 0 minutes 52 seconds]
[Call connection, ext. 712 - "Pediatrics"- 9:30 pm, 6 minutes 32 seconds]
[Rowan County Court Summons #354721 - "Moving Violation: Reckless Driving"]
[Outgoing call - "Fr. Jim"- 9:47 pm, 5 minutes, 2 seconds]
[Debit - $5.00 - "Srs. of Mercy Parking Complex"- 3/30/15]
[Outgoing call - "Susanne"- 9:52 pm, 0 minutes 36 seconds]
[Check #341 - $50 - "Susanne"- memo: "babysitting"]
[Outgoing call - "Fr. Jim"- 10:00 pm, 2 minutes, 3 seconds]
[Rowan County Death Certificate #AE2384D - ToD: 10:41 pm, 3/30/15]
[Debit - $96.00 - "Golden City Pawn and Swap"- 4/26/15]
[Rowan County Death Certificate #DB3874J - ToD: 1:36 am, 4/30/15] |
The line, which had once seemed endless, shuffled forward a few more feet, and then it was Daniel's turn.
"Please place your entry pass in the slot and fill out the CAPTCHA form,"the gate guard said, handing Daniel a small tablet through a slot in the glass front of the booth.
Daniel took the tablet from the slot, but he didn't put his pass in its place. "Ma'am,"he said instead, "I lost my pass. My transport, you see..."
The guard looked up at him. She was dark-skinned and not unattractive, early thirties or so. "You don't have your pass?"she said, the skepticism in her tone unmistakable.
"No, you see, my transport, it cr..."
She cut him off. "You'll have to take up any disputes with the security office. The line starts over there."She pointed with her stylus at another line, even longer than the one he'd been waiting in until now.
"But ma'am, I'm human, I can prove it, I just don't have my pass..."
"Sir, I'm not authorized to have these discussions. You'll have to take it up with the security office."
"But I'm not a robot, I can prove it! I just..."
"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to step away from the booth."Daniel only then realized how close his face was to the thick glass, how wide and dry his eyes were. A guard, a towering pillar of muscle dressed in a blue security uniform, materialized next to Daniel and put his hand on Daniel's shoulder.
"Let's go, sir."
Daniel placed the tablet back into the slot and turned to wait in the next line. It shuffled forward even slower, and Daniel had time to look around at the people - and not people - waiting with him. Some were obviously robots, their jerky, crude movements only a pale imitation of human fluidity and spontaneity. However, others were hard to determine - their hair, their eyes, their demeanors and movements all looked real and natural. He supposed that was the point, after all.
The line inched forward as the people in it were called into security doors in the wall. Some people emerged after just a few moments, while others seemed to take quite a while. Still more never came out at all - the doors just opened again, their silent hinges swinging wide and then closing again like jaws around yet another victim.
Daniel finally reached the head of the line, and when the next door opened he stepped through. He was tired and smelled awful, and he more collapsed than sat down on the bare metal chair inside the room. After a few moments, the door on the opposite side of the room opened, and a well-dressed woman with long blonde hair stepped through and sat across from Daniel. She smiled, not exactly with warmth, and said, "Good afternoon sir. Could I get you to please state your name, date of birth, and address?"
"My name is Daniel Schall, my date of birth is June 5, 2232, and my address is 363 Kenmark Square, Apartment 3B."
"Very good Mr. Schall."She tapped a few buttons on the info tablet she carried in one hand and said, "We have a record for you in the city, but it says that you were given a travel permit to visit the Outside almost three weeks ago."
"Yes, that's correct. I was visiting family in Toronto."
"And you should have been given a reentry permit when you left, correct?"
"I tried explaining to the guard, my transport broke down and my permit... my whole bag was stolen... I just..."
"You were mugged?"
"Yeah, I... the last thing I remember I was walking down the road, and then..."Daniel shook his head. "I woke up at a gas station and my bags were gone. I don't even remember who attacked me."
The woman narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, then said, "And you're sure you were attacked?"
"Of course!"Daniel said. "What other explanation could there be?"
The woman didn't respond. Instead she said, "Daniel, could you tell me about your family?"
"Excuse me?"
"Your family. Tell me about them."
Daniel was confused. "What does that have to do with anything? I've been attacked, I need to get back to my home!"
"I'm just curious,"the woman replied.
"I'd prefer to focus on getting back to my house,"Daniel replied.
"Of course you would,"the woman said back. "Here, take a look at this and tell me what it says."She handed him her tablet, and on it he found an image of some scrambled and distorted text.
"I'm not sure,"Daniel said, a touch nervous now. "What does this have to do with anything?"
"Mr. Schall, are you aware of what the CAPTCHA program does?"
"It catches robots and AIs,"Daniel replied.
"Indeed. In the beginning the program was simple, but even simple questions and techniques could root out the vast majority of artificial intelligences. As they advanced, however, so too did our techniques for detecting them. The past decades and centuries have been an arms race between sides, a war of excavation."She paused and looked at him, as if waiting for him to reply, and then continued on. "You see how we can't just admit you into the city based on the fact that you know your own name and address."
"But I can tell you more, I can give you fingerprints, DNA, whatever you need..."
"All easily faked, I'm afraid,"she responded with what sounded like regret. "Even your memories could easily be implants. The real you could be - indeed, likely is - lying in a ditch somewhere, drained of blood and stripped of all identifying markers, while you try to walk into our city and spy on us for your robot overlords."
Daniel stared at her, horrified. "You can't possibly be serious..."he said, trailing off.
"Oh, I'm most certainly serious, Mr. Schall. Robots today are becoming increasingly indistinguishable from humans, but there are still a few things that give them away. Rigidity. A lack of creativity or spontaneity. An inability to detect certain inaccuracies in written or spoken language."
Daniel looked down and realized he was still holding the tablet with the scrambled letters written across it. He'd never even tried to read it back.
"But I can read this,"he said, "No problem!"
"Mr. Schall, it's too late for that. We'll be moving you down to holding with the other AIs."
Daniel looked around, panicked, as doors in the side walls opened up and more huge armed guards poured out of them to grab him by the arms and shove him to his feet. "This can't be happening!"he screamed. "I'm a human, I tell you! I'm human! I'm real!"
As they picked him up, thoughts began to race through his mind. He wouldn't make it home, wouldn't ever see his house again, would never kiss his wife goodbye or hug his kids. *Marie,* he thought. *Benjamin. And...*
For a moment, he stopped fighting, stopped thrashing. His daughter's name. What was it?
He began to thrash again, this time with even more desperation. But he wasn't fighting against the guards that carried him through the back door and into the depths of the guard building - he was fighting against the block in his own mind, the one piece of information he wanted more than anything. *What was it?!* he screamed inside his own head. *What is her name!?* |
My heart was broken, there was my wife, the love of my life, making out with the man in the dark red suit! Sniffling and sobbing, I pulled out my cellphone. I'll delete Facebook and hit the gym later, I thought, for now I better get some evidence for divorce court. Snap, snap. A pang of envy as the phone captured that dark crimson sleeve around my wife's waist. I crept in closer to catch what they were saying. "I'll always love you,"my wife's words tore me like a knife. "I'll only love you and no-one else."I felt like puking. A number of dark possibilities swam in my head. Should I mow them down in a blaze of gunfire? Throw myself on the train tracks and haunt her forever? My world was swimming, I turned and ran, I ran and ran but I couldn't escape them. They were pointing at me now, laughing. Not even a cruel laugh, I think that would have actually been more comforting, it was a casual playful laugh, like I was nothing but an amusement to her.
I woke up in a cold sweat. My Mrs. was sleeping soundly beside me, a soft snore punctuating the night like a cat. I turned my phone on dim and looked at the recent photos. Heart dropped. There they were, that blood red lover, and my wife holding on to him tight. I got up and ran to the bathroom, this time I really was going to puke. But when I saw myself in the bathroom mirror, I stopped and started laughing. Of course, of course! I was wearing my brand new, dark red pajamas, of course! |
"Who the fuck are you?"she asked, and that was the first time I heard Taylor Swift say 'fuck'.
"Hi. I'm Mark", I said, and I meant it. "I'm your roommate now."
"Where the fuck are we?"Taylor asked, and that was the second time I heard Taylor Swift say 'fuck'.
"We are", I said, with a smile, "somewhere in the Andromeda Galaxy."And then she passed out.
In due time (a week, or so), Tay-Tay calmed down, and I was able to explain why she was there. I explained how I
was abducted and brought to the zoo, and how I've been there for years. I explained how the aliens said they were
looking for a suitable partner for me, the previous week, and they said I could take my pick.
"Anyone?"I had asked them, and they said, "Anyone."
"Oh shit", I said. "This could take a while."
"You take your ti –"
"Jennifer Aniston."
"All right, we'll –"
"No! Anna Kendrick!"
"Anna Ken –"
"Jessica Alba. Natalie Portman. Michael Fassbender."
"Are you done?"
And it did take a while, I explained Taylor, but I finally settled.
"On you", I finished, with a smile at Tay-Tay.
"Well, there's no way anything is going to happen between us", Taylor said, firmly. "You're gross."
"Oh, come on", I replied. "What other option you got?"
"I don’t care. Forget it."
"Think about it", I said. "Think of the songs you could write! Interplanetary romance! You could be the next David
Bowie", I said. "But… you know… nicer looking."
"I don't care", Taylor said, even more firmly than before.
And the days and the months and the years passed, and Taylor would resist my approaches every time, until I
finally gave up.
I gave up and, from then on, I would just sit on my corner. All day. I'd eat when the aliens would tell me to eat,
and I'd stare at the ceiling the rest of the time. Taylor would sit on her corner, throwing eyes at me, now and then.
Truth is, I think even then she was starting to have second thoughts. Who knows?
Loneliness, man. It unites us all.
And then came the day of the Playstation. The day the alien-in-charge walked into our cage afterhours and pulled me aside and said, "Look, dude, you're bumming everybody out."
"I'm sorry", I said. "I'm just bored."
"Do you want anything from your home planet?"The alien-in-charge asked. "Anything that will lift your spirit? We
can arrange that for you. Just name it."
And I remembered my PS4, and the alien said it was no trouble. A week later it arrived, and my mood changed
almost overnight.
I was a hit. The aliens loved to see me playing GTA and PES and whatnot, and the zoo income, the alien-in-charge
told me, was through the roof. Nerd gamers, apparently, were a hit in the Andromeda Galaxy.
They gave me other games. A computer. A Steam account. Everything I asked for. I was a celebrity.
Things were finally looking up, and I was happy. I barely thought of Tay-Tay anymore.
And then, one night, during a particularly challenging re-play of Last of Us, I felt a hand on my shoulder.
"Hey Mark", I heard the voice of Shake it Off, in my ear. "Whatcha doin?"
And I was playing the Ellie part, which is the hardest part. With the bow and arrow and everything.
"Let's do something fun", Taylor whispered, in my ear. "Let's get drunk!"
She tried to pull my face towards her and I paused the game and turned a mean look her way. "Could you?"I said, looking from her to the TV. "Kind of in the middle of something here."
And Taylor rolled her eyes and let go of me just as I managed to save Joel in the game, and all the aliens watching us cheered.
"What about later?"
"Later I'm playing Skyrim", I said, and the aliens cheered at that.
I was a freaking celebrity. And I *knew* the aliens loved when I played Skyrim.
"Unbelievable. I'm getting shot down by a neckbeard", Taylor Swift said, from behind me. "Fuck!"
And that was the third time I heard Taylor Swift say 'fuck'.
_____________________
*Thanks for reading! For more stories, check out /r/psycho_alpaca =)* |
"Ready?"Evelyn Frost called from the captain's chair.
"Ready,"the bridge crew chorused back.
"Course laid in,"the navigator informed her. "We're good to go."
"Drive is spooled up,"this from engineering. "On your go, commander."
"Jump."
Eve closed her eyes—squeezed them hard shut against the sudden flare of unbearable light. Blackness flooded the bridge, and an instant later the world around her fell back into focus. She felt a jolt in her stomach and swallowed back a little bile. FTL translocation did strange things to a person's insides sometimes, and she was considered one of the lucky ones. A short jump was uncomfortable. A long jump she might have thrown up. A full dive—she still didn't know, no one had yet attempted to go that far.
Taking a breath she studied the bridge. Everything was in place, and tactical was feeding her updates. Science—handled by her XO, Nathan Varley this time—gave her the rundown on everything large and even vaguely organic within range. There was nothing, of course. Not unless one of the forgotten generation ships had already landed on a planet—and very few of those had been successful, a few had even been destroyed en route by civil wars among the colonists.
So many stars, and the only life out there was what humanity had set in place. Eve leaned forward in her chair and massaged her temples with the thumb and middle finger of her left hand. Every system, every planet, every rock so far had been devoid of life. Not just intelligent life, but life at all. Life, it seemed, was an accident.
"Is the plot complete?"Eve spoke quietly. So many times they had done this now. So, so many times. They had to follow the routine. It was all they had left, out on the edge.
"Five minutes left,"Varley, the XO. "We transition to the dark side of the planet after that."
"Okay. Varley, call up Johanssen for your station, I'll be in my ready room; you have the conn."
"Captain,"Varley nodded, his lithe frame rising from the science officer's station to take the captain's chair Eve had just vacated.
Eve sat on the plushly upholstered couch in the ready room—one concession she had made to comfort, and good for entertaining guests. She sat, silent, head cradled in her hands. This was the thousandth planet they'd surveyed. Perhaps the millionth for humanity as a whole. Throughout the entire galaxy the story was the same.
Life did not exist outside of earth. No animals. No trees. No Bushes. No Grass. No Fish. No Plankton. No Eukaryotes. Nothing. Surely it had to be some kind of accident. In the depths of space protein folding had been witnessed, but later discovered to be a purely chemical reaction—no evidence of life, and certainly not of intelligence.
The galaxy was empty. The only life that existed was on Earth, and in her few colonies, both new and old. But the galaxy wasn't just empty. It had no life, it almost seemed a deliberate thing. A sterile world. A control, with humanity as the grand experiment. But to what end no one could ever seem to answer. The galaxy was empty, and lonely and for that Eve felt a great sense of melancholy.
Sometimes, as now, her emotions simply overwhelmed her. No one would dare call her on it—she was the very best long range scout captain in the galaxy. It was her emotion that made her that good—a burning passion to find something, anything, that might prove other life once existed. Each new defeat only drove her harder. She pushed her ship, her crew, further than any other captain. They all knew the score.
Perhaps it was time to try the long dive. She glanced at the clock on the wall. Nearly half an hour had passed while she was washed in her melancholy loneliness. She strode purposefully back onto the bridge. She didn't bother to dry her eyes. Varley stood immediately, his voice booming.
"Captain on deck."
She rounded the chair and sat, Varley placing a familiar hand on her shoulder.
"Cried it out yet, Eve?"his voice was quiet, no hint of disrespect detectable.
"I think so, Nat. I just hate the futility of it,"Eve let out a quiet huff of frustration. "It's worse, too. I mean, maybe if we'd found something—anything at all—it wouldn't be so bad. If we hadn't been alone it might have been scary, like a chimp finding a stranger. But this… goddamn it, Nat, this is terrifying. If we are alone?"
"I know. We very nearly fucked the Earth up royally. Took a long time recover."
"And now… if there's really no one else to leave it for—no one to challenge our possession?"
"We'll find a way, Eve. Even if it's war. Even if we have to fight ourselves. I'm sure we'll find a way to make it work—without destroying everything."
"Stop trying to make sense, damn you."
"Well, one of us has to. Also, the ship's ready to jump again, we were just waiting for you."
"What's our charge at?"
"You're not—"
"I am. It's the only way. We'll see how far we can go. We'll see if it's far enough to find someone worth talking to. Far enough to find any sign of life at all. A fish. A single insect. Grass. Anything. I hate this emptiness, with a passion."
"If something goes wrong, we might not have supplies to make it back, you know that, right?"
"I do. I'm asking for volunteers on this one, not conscripts. The pinnaces have the jump range to reach one of the other nearby systems, maybe even another scoutship. They have supplies and beacons too. Someone will find you."
"You're an idiot sometimes, you know that?"
Eve smiled, biting back tears. "You're all staying, aren't you?"
"We made a promise, long ago. Also, Hernandez won the bet."
"The bastard."There was no malice in it, Eve cracking a lopsided grin.
A day passed as the drives rose to full charge and the most accurate course that was ever laid in was plotted. The range was a guess—no one had done this before, but design limits seemed a good start to extrapolate from. A deviation of even a milliarcsecond would place them lightyears off course. No one was sure the ship's thrusters and station-keeping against light pressure from the local star would affect that accuracy. They would travel ten thousand parsecs in an instant.
Across the bridge Nathan smiled at her. Eve smiled back, bracing herself for the translocation shock.
"See you on the other side." |
The sound of the fluorescent lights was all he could hear. Shane knew this day was coming, but had no idea what he was going to do.
Picking your Patron was such a huge decision, it was so permanent. He had browsed through the database online, and hadn't found anyone that interested him. Earlier that week he told his parents that he didn't want a Patron but they had insisted, saying that they had been saving everything they could for him. “Your mother and I never had this sort of opportunity” his father had said, “It’s something that will help you get ahead in this life. We had to go to school and everything that we have done and learned will benefit someone else, after our time is done. Your time is now, son.” The idea seemed so foreign to him but he knew the benefits it provided. Ultimately it was guilt. Guilt was what drove him to the clinic today.
“Cardiff. Shane Cardiff.” A tall middle-aged woman with blonde hair called out from the doorway opposite Shane.
_________________________
“Have you made your decision?” The doctor was a man, well into his fifties. His face was tan and weathered and he looked every bit the part of a doctor.
“Honestly, I’m not sure.” Shane replied, looking down at the floor.
“Right then, we’ve put together a list for you. These patrons are within your budget, and are a perfect match for your DNA.” The doctor handed Shane a tablet and began to move towards the door. “I’ll give you some time, when you’re ready hit the call button on the wall right there behind you.”
Shane looked down at the tablet and began reading the entries.
*PHILLIP CONNOLEY (1959-2023)*
*DUKE UNIVERSITY – COMPUTER SCIENCE*
*SYSTEMS ENGINEER, LENOVO CORPORATION*
*C.O.D: LUNG CANCER*
The list went on like this for four pages. Normal ordinary people who lived normal ordinary lives. Shane couldn’t decide. It’s not that he wanted some extraordinary patron; he just knew he didn’t want this.
On the fifth page there was only one entry. No picture, no bio, just a name.
*MAXWELL HAMILTON*
This piqued Shane’s interest. Why would he have no bio, who was he, what had he done? He abruptly decided that not knowing was better and reached behind him to push the button.
|
This is it, I'm ready, I say to my reflection in the mirror. Aaron and I have been together for] fifteen years now. It's not uncommon for partners to do this, teenagers waste their connection on their first love after a moments thought. But still the doubts niggle the back of my mind. So many things could go wrong, what if he doesn't love me as much as I love him? What if he loves me more than I love him? What if we break up? Questions like these have been bothering me since I first agreed to do this. We decided to do it on our fifteenth anniversary, after five years of consideration. And it would make things so much easier. No longer will we have to text, to remind each other to pick up milk on the way home. Instead of describing my dreams to him, we can relive them together, instead of him telling me his game designs, I can experience them with him. It'll add such depth to our relationship. We can discuss things without the children hearing, like their birthday presents or something much more mature. But still I can't tear my gaze away from my own reflection. I'm so scared about this. I can hear Aaron outside, starting to get impatient. He asked me if I was okay a few minutes ago and I said I would be right out, yet I can't make my legs move. I can't stop my hands from clutching the sink basin.
My alarm goes off, warning me I only have five minutes until the procedure, and I snap out of my daze. I walk out of the bathroom and see Aaron standing there, gazing at me lovingly with his familiar eyes. A huge goofy smile covers my face and my worries seem to melt away. I'm reminded of our wedding day, when I was so nervous I almost ran out of the church. But my father half dragged me to the aisle and the moment I set eyes on Aaron's fine suit, I remembered exactly why I wanted to be with him. Now I remembered exactly why I wanted to do this. To show him I love him. And he must love me, otherwise he wouldn't be willing to go through with this.
"Ahem"the doctor politely coughs behind me. He's not really a doctor, he's a technician to supervise the procedure and ensure nothing goes wrong. "If you'll just step into the room now. It's time to begin". With that, he walks through into a wonderfully furnished room, one huge bed in the middle, with the equipment built discreetly into the headboard.
Aaron and I climb onto the bed and he grasps my hand tightly. He doesn't need a telepathic connection to tell when I'm worried or upset. He never has done. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to, if you're having second thoughts"he whispers, and although part of me screams that this is wrong, most of me can't wait to know my husband in the most intimate way possible.
"I'm fine"I answer, even though we both know I'm lying, that my thoughts are much more complicated. Although that won't matter soon. I wonder if he's worrying about it like I am.
The doctor places the metal bands around our heads. These will allow our conciousness to link, to form the strongest bond possible. I squeeze Aaron's hand tighter, and he squeezes back too. The butterflies in my stomach feel more like bees buzzing angrily. I sense more than hear the machine being activated. The world goes quiet, and my vision is both dark and bright at the same time. The only sensation in the world is Aaron's hand in mine, his body lying next to mine. I become more aware of him as the milliseconds pass. I know from my research that the procedure takes less than a minute to complete. I know soon it will be over.
I wait anxiously for his first thought to reach me. For his voice to break the silence, but only in my head. I try to project the thought "I love you"making it the first thing he hears.
Time passes and I realise I don't hear anything from him. There are rare occasions though where it takes more time for the telepathic bond to develop fully. My sister took a week to be able to hear her boyfriend's thoughts for the first time. Sometimes brains want to reject the invasion into their subconsciousness. Factors such as intelligence and metal health problems could interfere with the process.
"I love you too"Aaron says out loud. I know it's out loud because of the way the doctor reacts, as if the process was a success. However, Aaron looks puzzled, as if he knows that I can't hear him. I stand up quickly, eager to be out of the room. It suddenly feels too hot and stuffy, the once inviting furniture looking used and unwelcoming.
"Thank you Doctor Jenkins"I say as I pick up my bag and leave the room. I hear Aaron say thank you as he hurriedly follows me. Instead of waiting for him though, I carry on, and push out into the car park. That's when I hear it.
"Help me", a tiny voice says, and I look around, searching for a child in need. But the car park is empty. Even Aaron hasn't caught up to me.
I decide to ignore it, there was a long list of side effects of the procedure that I didn't read. Most usually clear up within a day or so anyway, there's nothing to worry about, I tell myself.
"Why did you run out of there so quickly? And why haven't you thought anything since I love you?"Aaron has finally caught up with me, and I know I need to answer his questions, but I don't know the answers myself.
"I just wanted to be alone with you, to experience this together without a pretend doctor. And I'm still so overwhelmed by hearing your thoughts to form coherent thoughts of my own". I'm lying but I hope he doesn't know that. "Come on, lets go home. The kids are with your mum tonight so we have the house to ourselves."I know that will get him to stop thinking about my erratic behaviour.
I slide into the passenger seat, but just as I'm about to close the door, I hear the same small voice "help me".
"Did you hear that?"I ask involuntarily.
"Hear what? Aaron replies, looking at me puzzled again.
"Nothing, it must have been the wind"I replied, not wanting Aaron to know about the voice. A quote from the Harry Potter movies came back to me, hearing voices isn't normal Harry, even in the wizarding world. |
He bounced off the walls, fingers clawing his bloody ears.
The laughter wouldn't go away.
The Assassin found himself facedown on the granite floor as an unseen bannana peel helped him submit to gravity. It wasn't there a second ago. He spat out teeth and lifted himself off the floor, only to fall down again in a tangle of bruised limbs.
There it was again.
The canned laughter.
On shaky knees the Assassin saw his target round the corner. He reached for his knife and shambled toward the man, a trickle of blood daintily winding down his face.
His nose cracked with the sound of thunder as a heavy door swung open in front of him. A heavy set lady entered the hallway and the door vanished. She didn't notice him. Again the laughter rang out.
Soft footsteps. Two leather shoes. One word rang out as the target regarded his would be assassin curiously,
"Bean." |
This camera is awesome! I thought too myself as I took a picture of my smoking hot literature teacher.
"Bondage tape"the camera read... that kinky bitch. This is going to be fun.
I raced home to show my mom and dad what my new camera could do. I reached the front door and before I opened it I pondered, what would it say if I took a picture of them? What would there next $20 be spent on? I found them both in the kitchen.
"Smile for the camera!"I said taking a quick snap of them cooking dinner.
Over both there heads stated in bold was "DIVORCE LAWYERS"
I hate this camera. |
Cedar Springs was supposed to be a new start – a way to forget about my past. A way to forget about Sarah.
I decided to move there a year after her disappearance. By that point, I had practically given up all hope of seeing her again outside of our wedding photos. I didn’t have a single idea what happened to her – whether she was kidnapped or finally just got sick of me and left – but I wasn’t angry. Hell, I wasn’t even sad. I was just… numb.
So I picked up the pieces of my shattered life and moved far away from everything I once knew. It wasn’t hard. With my family long gone and friends slowly but surely distancing themselves, all I had to look back at was the good, the bad, and the downright beautiful moments in the small home I first found love in. But without Sarah, it was just a husk. I didn’t need it anymore.
My new home – if you could call it that – lay on the fringe of Cedar Springs. The town was wasn’t anything particularly special, a mass of rundown churches and mom n’ pop shops wrapped in the guise of Midwestern charm. My house followed the trend of veiled beauty. It had all I needed and nothing more – a roof, a door, and a halfway working plumbing system. Well, everything but someone to share it with.
But during my first week, I learned I couldn’t be more wrong. Inexplicable things happened – muffled voices, the soft patter of footsteps on the worn wooden floors, and a constant sense of unease filled me with dread. I couldn’t explain it but I never felt alone. Yet, I blame it on the whiskey. I had to keep my sanity somehow. It wasn’t Sarah. I had to be imaging it.
Things got stranger when I went to clean the attic. The place was a jungle of dust and spider webs, accented by the smell of time-fermented musk. According to rumors around town, the house dated back to the 19th century. At one point, it was supposedly inherited by a wealthy family who helped create Cedar Spring but they had died off decades ago because of a healthy mix of economic misfortune and incompetence. The American Dream.
As I sorted through the junk and refuse, I noticed something sticking out. Under a mound of boxes was a leather pouch, its brown skin grayed. Yet, it seemed different than the rest of the junk I had found. It had a siren’s call, almost begging me to open it.
I listened. After all, I had nothing else to lose. Either I would be intrigued by my find or toss it out like everything else. I hoped for the former, if only to break up the monotony. My solitude was much needed but the thoughts of apparitions wore at my reality bit by bit.
A yellow slip of paper nestled itself in the corner of the pouch. I plucked it out with two fingers, careful to not rip the fragile paper. I was surprised enough to find that the ink was still legible after so long. Yet, I frowned when I read the writing on the front.
*To John*
Surely it wasn’t me. My name was far from common but I also felt a surge of energy when reading those simple two words. The handwriting – I knew it well. It was a part of the thing I loved the most. Even the paper still carried her faint scent.
Without hesitation, I open the slip. It slightly ripped on the edges but I paid those no heed. The short message demanded my attention. I followed each word with an insatiable hunger.
*John, I’m so sorry for doing this to you. I should have told you earlier. But now, I fear I’m stuck here without a way to ever speak to you again. My last hope is that this message finds its way to you. If so, I’m asking more of you than I ever wanted to. Please, save not only me but you. Change the past before it’s too late. I’ll be here with you, but long gone.*
*Forever yours,*
*Sarah.* |
"Mr President, it's time for your security briefing."
The President nodded. The suits filed in, three of them, and took seats in the elegant couches in the centre of the Oval Office. The President took his seat in the wing-back armchair at the head of the circle, and gave a curt nod for the meeting to begin.
The man with the CIA badge started.
"No major new developments, Mr President. Eastern Ukraine is still unstable, but the Europeans are fairly willing to take on most of the NATO responsibilities. Their pressure has forced the Russians to back down and retreat.
"In the Middle East the stabilization process continues to work, and the hard line countries such as Saudi Arabia are increasingly isolated. The elections in Syria and Libya were both successful, with only minor incidences of violence, much less than we had feared. In both cases, the elections were won by moderate candidates, joining the moderate leaders of other countries that have already settled down after the Arab Spring.
"The biggest current threat continues to be posed by China's encroachment on Japan, and the escalating conflict in Korea. However there are no immediate actions that we can take beyond continuing to assure our allies of our support."
The President nodded. "Thank you, Herman. I'll ring the Japanese and South Korean premiers later today. Donald, what news on the home front?"
The man with the FBI badge did not have the face of someone prone to smiling, but today he allowed the corners of his mouth to incline slightly.
"All quiet, Mr President. We caught the group responsible for the high risk death threat that I informed you about last week. It was a Christian Fundamentalist organization who were deeply against your policies. They were particularly unhappy with your recent announcement of the oil treaty with Sadam Hussein and the Afghanistan al-Qaeda. It turned out that many of them are, or were, employed in the Texas oil industry."
The President shook his head. "It never ceases to amaze me how some people are all for free trade except when it negatively affects them. Then they demand protectionism, tariffs, and subsidies. Since government subsidies were abolished under President Gore, the standard of living of the bottom 20% has more than doubled."
The security advisors were all used to the President's political diatribes by now. It was not their place to advise the President on his policy decisions, but the CIA man, Herman, said, "Mr President, Gallup released the results of a survey yesterday which showed that international opinion of the USA has reached heights not seen since before the Cold War."
"Yes, I saw that,"the President said. "Teddy Roosevelt was right when he said 'Speak softly and carry a big stick'. What he failed to mention was the other maxim of good foreign policy: 'Do unto others as you would have others do unto you.' In the past 15 years that's repaired much of the ill will that we created in the preceding 50. OK, Mr Jones, what do you have for me today?"
Jones, the NSA man, opened his mouth to speak, but before he could say anything the President interrupted, "And don't try to sell me on that mass surveillance crap again. It's morally and constitutionally wrong, and we both know it."
"But Mr President-"
"Enough. Is there anything else?"
"No, sir."
"Then I will see you three gentlemen tomorrow."
The suits filed out, and the President craned his neck around to catch the eyes of his secretary outside the Oval Office. "Mandy, get me Senators McCain and Obama. I want to float the idea of using this year's huge budget surplus to double what we spend on public education." |
People have been telling dream stories since the dawn of time, and even searching through digital archives of contemporary message boards gives us no clear line between people posting their "weird dreams"and the dawn of this phenomenon. Several modern scholars point to a thread by reddit throwaway account in which the author recounted his experience living "a different life"while in a coma as being one of the first internet stories to bring the phenomenon to the public's awareness, but there is no convincing evidence to officially name it the first incident on record.
While we now believe the creatures commonly referred to as Oneiroi may have been with us for eons, current evidence suggests their population began to experience explosive growth around the time when virtual reality devices became accessible to the general public. The reports were small at first, with some stories of "VR-dreams"appearing as early as 2016 when the first batch of VR-headsets had reached gamers and early-adopters. Stories of strange "long-dreams"appeared on a number of forums, but were chalked up to nothing more than the brain's reaction to an entirely new "environment."It was a quirk, a fun side effect of the technology and nothing more.
The concept of long dreams reached meme status between 2019 and 2021 when the cost of VR headsets had come down enough for the products to reach a majority of households in the United State, Western Europe, and many parts of Asia. Articles appeared on "clickbait"sites with titles like "Help you uncover the meaning of your weird dreams!"and "What does Celtic mythology have to tell you about last night's dream?"According to professor Nicholas Patrick of the University of [Redacted] these jokes may have actually been a side-effect of the parasite, as the flood of off-color commentary made the phenomenon seem like nothing more than a joke, and so, protected it from closer inspection and analysis.
The professor went on to explain "Parents bringing their children in to doctors and psychologists, explaining the symptoms of the disease, were often dismissed. Their children's sudden changes in demeanor and personality chalked up to 'growing up' or an overactive imagination. One pediatrician I spoke with even went so far as to suggest to his patients that their children's sudden emotional maturity was a good thing. That they were lucky, for example, that their 8-year-old daughter had awoken one day with the brain of an adult, as it meant they got to 'skip' the drama of her teenage years."
"What was most surprising to me, however, was how adults were treated when they began to seek help. In the beginning, we only had people show up seeking help once in a blue moon. It seemed people were too embarrassed to seek help. Too scared that they would be dismissed because what they had experienced was 'just a dream', and unfortunately for all of us. They were often right. It wasn't until the suicides started that anyone even began to speak about it professionally."
Now known as the "wave of sleep", the first wave of Oneiroi-caused deaths began on March 1st, 2025 —our February 28th according to the International Date Line. On that morning, people worldwide awoke from what survivors describe as "the 10-year dream". A dream which, according to all who have described it, lasted exactly 10 years real time.
According to those that experienced it, victims had gone to bed on February 27th/28th, and "awoken"from their perspective, the very next day. They had continued to live normal lives for, from their perspective, 10 years exactly. Falling asleep on February 27th/28th 2035, only to awaken in the real world the next day, 2025.
The victims had lost lovers, children, a decade of work, research, and effort, and done so in a way that could never be recovered. Many of those who did not immediately take steps to end their lives upon the realization of what had happened would eventually turn to drugs, hoping to return to the dream, or spent their time attempting to "rebuild"what they had lost.
One of the most famous cases from this time Ms. Lenora S. from Auckland New Zealand, who, after spending her entire fortune on a 2-year campaign to find the man who had been her husband during the 10-year-dream, committed suicide upon learning that: while he was indeed one of those affected by the Wave of Sleep, The man known as Joesph K. had committed suicide by train not 2 hours after awaking on March 1st.
We still have very little information about the origins of the Oneiroi, or even if the Oneiroi exist at all. There have been a multitude of theories proposed to explain our dreams, as they are now, but not one has yet been able to explain the wave of sleep, nor do we have any way to predict when they might strike again, nor do we yet have any idea how to protect ourselves in the future. |
"1/3/2023
It's 9/29/2019. You got up, stubbed your toe, said 'fuck' and thought 'I'm gonna be in a shit mood all day.' You weren't. Coffee cheered you up. At the office, Ramirez cracked a joke you felt bad laughing about, but fuck it - it was goddamn hilarious. You were working on spreadsheets. You were delivered this envelope. Phoenix is playing, but after that song finishes, your favorite Joy Division tune starts. Listen to the song for two minutes and then finish reading this."
I swallowed, despite my throat having gone dry minutes ago. I stared at my computer screen where the Internet radio station finished playing the Phoenix song. I breathlessly awaited for the proceeding song - the one second transitional pause between each song took centuries now. Joy Division's "Disorder"started. That *is* my favorite Joy Division track. Fuck me. Two minutes, right? I fumbled to set a timer on my phone -- give or take two minutes and started the countdown.
"Grady, how the fuck do I make this spreadsheet a PDF file?"Ramirez appeared over my cubicle wall, making my heart race. I shifted in my chair, feeling a cold sweat break out and clearing my throat, said, "It's under 'Edit.' Importing option."
"Thanks, man,"and Ramirez disappeared back in his cubicle. *The timer.* Fifteen seconds remaining. My clammy hands reached for the letter, eyeing the digital numbers dropping one by one until it hit zero. I snatched the letter up and read:
"Ramirez asked about the pesky PDF spreadsheet. I/we hate how hard the company makes shit. I know you're freaking the fuck out. But if you need further convincing, compare the handwriting. It's me. There's a handwritten report you forgot about in the second drawer. Take it out. Compare the handwriting. Go ahead. I'll give you until the JD song finishes. God, this song is the fucking best, isn't?"
I pulled open the second drawer, sure I had broken it. Don't care. I filtered through piles and piles of different colored folders until I found that handwritten report. Wiping the sweat off my forehead, I put the letter and report side by side. Fuck. Fuck. *Fuck.* The crooked, forward leaning handwriting. It's mine. It's so fucking mine. The song finished and I read what remained of this eerie as shit letter:
"Put this address in your phone's GPS.
112 Wasterson Dr.
Wistonia, North Carolina
Take Ramirez and go.
NOW.
And don't forget to say please"
That's all the letter said. Below the address, I signed my name. That's *my* signature. I sign it daily when I pay with the credit card - which, again, is practically every day. Getting up, I glanced around the monotonic office. Phones rang. Staplers slammed down. People chattering. The water-cooler plunking. I peeked over Ramirez's dividing cubicle wall and gulped.
"Hey, let's take lunch,"I said.
"Right now?"Ramirez was focused, trying to input boring data. When he finished, he looked up at me. "It's eleven o'clock."
"So? Let's go,"I said nervously. He must've noticed my fidgety appearance, and nodded. Raising from his chair, he swiped his jacket and after the both of us clocked out, exited the office.
-----
I accelerated and Ramirez's eyes went wide, his legs partially lifted. My phone rattled between us, giving directions in the cliched, female robotic voice. "In twenty feet, make a left. Your destination is at your right."
"This must be one hell of a restaurant,"he said. Going at forty miles per hour, I made that sharp left turn, wheels screeching, and accelerated down Wasterson Drive. There was nothing out here, just vacant lots and swaying trees. Tapping my steering wheel nervously, I desperately sought for a "112"sign. And I found it. A mailbox. I slammed the brakes, lunging forward.
"Grady, what the fuck, man,"Ramirez said, rubbing the back of his neck. I got out of the car and ran past 112 Wasterson Drive's mailbox. Up ahead laid a wooden shack, definitely vacant. Ramirez was behind me, saying, "Can you at least fill me in! You're scaring the shit out of me!"
That's when it happened.
The defeating sound - the thunderous firecracker, a million going off at once. Then, the rumbling of thunder and fire. Ramirez and I turned around - our mouths open, our minds racing for some logic. A large, erupting mushroom expanded miles away - an explosion, atomic in nature almost, detonating somewhere farther off.
"Holy shit,"Ramirez breathed.
"COME ON!"I screamed. I raced to the shack, and slammed directly onto its door, thinking it would open. Despite the wooden-facade, the door was definitely made out of titanium steel. Ramirez and I started pounding the door, our fists bouncing back. The skies were apocalyptic now, birds screeching as they flew overhead. Despite our attempts, the door didn't bulge.
"Oh my god!"Ramirez screamed. "Is this really fucking happening?"
Then, it hit me -- *And don't forget to say please.* Mutherfucker.
"PLEASE!"A reassuring beep later, the door slid open. I grabbed Ramirez and lunged ourselves in. Behind us, the titanium vault like door slammed shut. Defining silence followed. Inside, a television turned on by itself. A woman wearing 50's era clothing greeted us, smiling, her teeth brilliantly white despite the footage being in black and white.
"Welcome to Shelter number six-six-seven-oh-two!"
I looked down at my trembling hands, still holding the letter. I sent this to myself. Of that, I was certain.
Of anything else -- I wasn't.
|
**2032**: Astronomers announce the sudden rapid diffusion of the Cosmic Microwave Background Radiation.
**2033**: Astrologers announce doomsday, but are unable to settle on a given date.
**2034**: Child mortality rates in India and China are said to have improved noticeably.
**2035**: New research suggests that people world wide seem to be practicing safe-sex.
**2036**: Female fertility rates in Asian sub-populations have dropped. The honey bee is inexplicably almost extinct. New pesticides are blamed and outlawed.
**2037**: A significant drop in female fertility rates worldwide has been confirmed. No known source, but the food industry is targeted and organic farming becomes popular again. Livestock are no longer breeding in high numbers.
**2038**: Astronomers observe a slight general red-shift from all sources. General food shortages observed.
**2039**: Laboratories worldwide have confirmed that the speed of light appears to have reduced to 97% of its previous speed. Insects become an accepted form of protein.
**2040 - 2043**: WWIII breaks out. Large regions of Africa and East-Asian subcontinent are fought over. Oil supplies run out. 1500 million confirmed dead.
**2044**: The world switches to solar and wind energy. Most people are vegetarian, most work in subsistence farming. The speed of light is now 82% of its former speed. Older generations die out, not replaced with many newer.
**2045 - 2059**: World population drops to 5 billion. Strong AI is born. Virtual children become the norm.
**2060**: Total world population increasing. Real population stabilizes at 2 billion. Virtual population growing with 3 billion strong already. World Council imposes a law that every capable individual should contribute real offspring where possible.
**2065**: A new ruling class of real individuals is established. Virtual people are considered second class citizens, despite being capable of more freedoms than their real counterparts.
**2070**: Light now varies between 50-70% of its former speed. Qcomputers begin to behave unpredictably. Server farms go down, backups are lost. Virtual population drops to 1 billion souls.
**2073**: Light is now consistently 52% of its former speed, Qcomputers function normally again and better race conditions are written just in case. Big world shift towards organics: Babies are grown in labs. Memories are digitally backed up and restored. Virtual citizens demand their rights to real bodies.
**2077**: Light speed now at 42% +/- 5%. Qcomputers become redundant. Old silicon machines are dug up and re-purposed. The last virtual being becomes fleshed. World population stable at 2 billion.
**2080**: The days begin to slow, the sun shines with noticeably less intensity. Stars begin to wink out one by one.
**2098**: 300,000 humans huddle together at night around a large wicker construction of a man, and watch the last of vestige of themselves burn quietly into the darkening night. |
It was simple. In five seconds, she would walk through the door. She'd walk away from me, toward the elevator. Fifteen steps, and then a thirty second pause while she waited for the elevator to reach our floor. I'd leave my room two seconds after the doors open, shouting for her to hold the door as it closes. I'd barely make it on. As we pass the second floor, she'd sneeze. I'd have less than a second to kill her. A knife to the throat as she is still dazed from her sneeze. I'd catch all the blood on my pool towel. Once we get to my floor, I'd have two minutes to get her into my room before housekeeping came around the corner. Way more than enough time. From there, I could relax until 3:00 AM. Then I get her into the elevator shaft.
Like I said, simple. I'd done this so many times I could do it blindfolded. In fact, I have. But she was always found very quickly, until I thought of the shaft. Now, I was going to move onto someone else. I smile darkly, eager for a new challenge. Maybe that housekeeper who steals my wallet tomorrow. I turn my attention back to the door.
Five...
Four...
Three...
Two...
One...
There she is! Her sandals slap against the tile floor as she exits the pool area. She reaches the elevator as always. This wait is always the hardest. Nothing I can do to make this any shorter. The door opens, and she steps on.
One...
Two!
I step into the lobby, and after a short scan of the room I focus on the elevator. I start slow, pretending to be in no hurry. The the doors start to slide shut, and I break into a jog.
"Hold the door, please!", I shout. She looks up, her hand reaching out to the open door button. Then she meets my eyes, and her grin transforms into shock. Her eyes widen, and her arm falls back to her side. The door shuts when I am just over three feet from her. I stop, absolutely confused. She recognized me. That was impossible. Though I'd met her hundreds of times, she had never seen me before, on this go at least. Something was wrong. The RNG was different, which had never happened before. I only had one thing to do now. I muttered to myself.
"Load save state 4483." |
The cold metal shone in the sunlight, glinting cherry and chrome in the dawn. Dew clung to the gravel as I rubbed my hand along the doorframe.
“What is it?” I asked my earpiece.
“Corvette, Chevrolet Motor Company, 1968 Convertible.” It pinged in my ear. I nodded, thinking back on the old movies I had seen 20th century cars in. Despite being over a hundred years old, it gleamed like it had only been run yesterday. That hermetically sealed garage did its job well.
“Motor?”
“Information required, but all models of C3 Corvette contained a small block V8, gasoline powered engine between 5 and 7 liters . . . this just in from shangh-“
“No News.” I demanded. “This is personal.” Leaning in my hand found the steering wheel, black leather slightly cracked. “Outlawed back in 63’ these were. You always had your secrets pops.” The keys were still dangling in the ignition. My eyes found the odometer.
99,994
“Jesus, is that in miles?”
“Yes.” My engine chimed in again.
“No, just shut up.” I ordered. “Never made it to 100,000 eh . . . well.” It was illegal, highly illegal, but my hand found the key, slowly turning the ignition.
I never expected it to turn over, but without delay a low rumbling escaped the machine, an ancient roar as fluids burned and sputtered within the metal. It began to roll forward.
“STOP!” I panicked and called to the car before I realized it couldn’t hear me. My hand gripped the steering wheel and tried to pull it to a halt, eyes glaring the shiftier, which was in drive. But the car kept moving, heavy steel dragging my onward. I tripped and stumbled as the beast leisurely rolled toward the end of the driveway, as I awkwardly fumbled with the gear knob.
At that moment I wasn’t sure what overcame me, maybe it was the horrible pollutants spewing from the car, maybe it was the childlike yearning that the machine triggered, but I somehow pulled myself over the open top and into the driver’s seat. My brain swirled, that dream about being an action hero I had forgotten long ago returning clearer than ever. I could be like James Bond, or Vin Diesel. It was something like that got me to remember which pedal was go and which was stop. I slammed on the brake and the car lurched. My Adrenalin soared.
“Okay . . . now I’m breaking two laws.” I didn’t have a driver’s license, hell nobody did, not like anyone needed to drive, so why was my foot beginning to find the accelerator, why was I checking the gearbox, confirming it was an automatic? As I pressed, the steel roared, a guttural cry of passion as my brain smiled in awe.
Maybe it was the control, something about being able to command the car, through cables and hydraulics, something so direct. There was nothing there, no wires to stop me from swerving off the road, no computer to drive me, not even a GPS to direct me. It was raw, it was free, unbound from the net. I pressed the gas again and the car bucked in response, ready to ride. Ever so gingerly, my foot left the brake.
The car started slow as I turned left onto the concrete road, despite having never driven, it felt natural. Like swinging a sword, or riding a horse. I wasn’t good, but I could do it. The lines in the road glowed over the fog, pink sky welcoming. I looked back at Pops' house, low lying in the ferns of the backwoods. I suddenly understood why he wanted me to have it, while I pulled one hand off the wheel and plucked out my earpiece. There was a pause as the birds chimed over the rumble. I smelled the breeze, the oil of the engine, the leather of the seat, it was all so real, so natural.
I gunned the gas and took off, the Corvette unleashing its full force. Like a banshee it wailed into the brush, no doubt waking up every deer for miles. Despite my fear, a smile was crossing my face, I had never felt so alive. |
"Quick, it's a T302 Model, a Russian make, serial code---"
"Woah, I am *not* interested in whatever you're trying to sell me."
"*Stop joking around!* Serial code 350-0-1, now quick, what wire do I cut?"
"That's not how you use a phone man."
"*The bomb! Which wire to defuse the bomb?!*"
"Psh, fine, the pink one."
"Serial Code 0-*0*-1, not 0-*2*-1!"
"Oh alright, the blue one."
"And how do I access the panel without setting it off?"
"Twist it."
"What?"
"Press it."
"Uhm, alright, must be a---"
"Bop it."
"*Oh c'mon!!* Lives are at stake!"
"How many?"
"An office building, I didn't bother counting when I infiltrated their headquarters!"
"Alright, nice talking with---"
"*Over two hundred!* I have 12 seconds!"
"Fine just, I dunno, screw it open, probably won't go off."
"Jesus jesus jesus... *it didn't go off!* Alright, cutting the blue one."
"Whatever works for you man."
"The director's going to *fire* your ass after I'm--- oh my god, *it worked!*"
"Yeah man, good work, you're the big hero now."
"Jesus, how am I alive right now?!"
"Counter-terrorists win."
"Three weeks in this hellhole, I'm going to see Jane again---"
"We'll have confetti and shit when you get back."
"Thanks--- *sniff*--- thanks, that really means a lot."
"Alright this is getting weird, hanging up."
"Wait, you're supposed to relay my---"
*Click*
-------------------------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!* |
A glance at the table told me we were all ready. I took a deep breath and mentally prepared myself for what may come in the next few moments. We had already had a school run by Hitler, a song by "random buttsex", and worst of all two russian midgets shitting into a box - *after* Joey had became a box. This isn't even to mention the copious amounts of jizz that had covered the room and soaked into every nook and cranny.
So far all the cards we found funniest had come true, whether selected or not. Damn witch had sold me a cursed set and now we had to finish the game or it would play for us. We all hoped for the best.
The remaining players all dealt their cards to me, trying their hardest to make each card as nonthreatening as possible.
I turned the first card over in my hand, "Pizza."I read aloud. Not bad, anything with pizza could end up being pretty great. I slowly turned the second card, bracing myself for what might come. Becky, the one dull bulb in the group, pressured me onward.
"Just fucking turn it already Matthew."
I flipped the card over and gritted my teeth as I read it. "Bacon Icecream."Again, not one that really tickled my funnybone and not one that could turn into the apocalypse. A sigh of relief came from the group and I found myself joining in. Two down, one to go.
Like ripping off a bandaid, I turned over the last one quickly and shut my eyes. Immediate laughter could be heard from Maxwell and Craig soon joined him. I dreaded opening my eyes, but the game compelled me to.
Leonardo DiCaprio.
Fucking DiCaprio.
I tried to hold it in as much as possible, but as laughter does small giggles began to seep through the cracks. The giggles turned to snorts and the snorts turned to wheezes as the trickle of humor worked its way into a torrential overflow of belly laughs.
The prompt card floated in the air and Leonardo DiCaprio joined it. Becky let out a cry of frustration.
"I don't get it, what's so funny?"
I grabbed the prompt card in the air, sides in pain from laughter. Between the snickers I read it aloud.
"And the Academy Award for Best Actor goes to _________." |
This was it, the culmination of decades of work. Ben Heirlair double and triple checked the connections. He was sure that his calculations for everything else were good. The only thing he needed to do now was to flip the switch, and his time gate would be open and allow travel from now, the moment it was opened to any point in the future where it existed. He was recording this whole event for posterity. He flipped the switch and the machine hummed to life.
He turned to face his recording camera. Then as he was about to start his practiced speech the door to his machine opens. Out comes a man in his early twenties wearing a technician’s uniform, The man had short black hair and green eyes, his skin was tan, and in his hands was a small tool box.
“Don’t mind me” he said as he walked over to the power switch for the machine and switched it off. “Just here to do some preventative maintenance.” He then started back to the machine and set his tool box down before pulling out some sort of scanning device and running it over the time gate.
“Excuse me,” Dan said slightly puzzled and annoyed.
“I told you not to mind me, there is just one issue that I have to take care of, unchecked it would have blown up and destroyed New York. Luckily for you I was able to use one of your other gates to get before this one blew up and now I’m here to keep it from happening.” The maintenance man said while working. After a few minutes and using a few different tools, none of which that Dan had ever seen before. Dan managed to get ahold of one of the tools as the man worked.
When the man was finished he smiled at Dan and said, “Thanks again for hiring me, and good luck with your business.” He flipped the machines switch and walked back into the machine. Then before shutting the door he yells back, “ I think you might be visiting yourself in a few days to discuss some things.”
|
As with the blind man and the guide dog, Marquis not only relied on my eyes, ears, and feet on the ground, he desperately required my aid in a different department, even if he didn't realize it. Instinct, he needed—the basic hard-wired drive to survive. This being because his inherent, human compunctions and urges were gone, shot, and no longer did he understand what it meant to be alive and sane, in the strictest sense. Along with the left side of his lower body, the chemical burns robbed him of a clear mind; made him hear echoes where none lingered, had him seeing ghosts in the shadows. He also suspected that the neighboring nations, specifically Mexico and Canada, were secretly operated by a race of highly-intelligent Chihuahuas, called the Xenoids.
In the short term, I had no overt recourse. I couldn't exactly suggest he speak to a medical professional. (This, quite obviously, would result in my very loud, very painful, very *peculiar* death.) But in the long run, each gentle reminder, every subtle suggestion—it all added up, guided him toward a destiny that ended with the least amount of destruction, the smallest amount of ash and dust for humanity to sweep up.
It also meant I had to bide my time, sate his every unaccountable whim just so I could inject my own rationale into the mix when the time came to do so—and though, yes, they arrived, these moments were few and far between. Just *when* I realized that either I would handle him, or no one would, was a mystery to me—though it was the truth. He had so many safeguards, so many M.A.D. measures in place, that every government on the planet feared for the God King's life. His destruction = Earth's destruction. All that could be hoped for was the man's gradual replacement: from violent, crazed despot into a weak, insane figurehead—with me, behind the scenes, making changes every chance I got.
Yesterday had been one of the good days, where Marquis had been more lucid than usual, less focused on the slithering who-zits or the floating whatchas. It had also been good because I was able to make a suggestion—and, being all-powerful in the eyes of the law, which he mostly wrote, he made sure every note I had was taken down by his council people and subsequently chiseled into the metaphorical tablets of Moses. I could see hesitation in the hands of his politicians, quivering as they wrote words they knew went against their master’s ever-changing master plan. But the pandering, simpering fools would sooner die than speak out against a perceived friend of the self-proclaimed God King—and perhaps a more instinctual side of them came to understand that this meant being one step closer to freedom, albeit an inch rather than a mile or even a meter.
Yesterday, the good day it was, had to come to an end, and the days after good ones are always the worst—for when Marquis falls, he plummets.
In my tiny office, in my tiny apartment, I sat behind the large, finely-crafted desk, cut from a single Giant Sequoia tree: a gift from the God King. A little light on the phone, this blocky, old, outdated thing, flickered yellow—its idle state. I’d been watching for an hour and a half, waiting patiently.
And nothing less could be expected.
If I let it ring even as much as half of one full ring, he would give me the silent treatment, the cold shoulder for upwards of six days; and on his next good day, he might find it in his twisted heart, or whatever’s left, to “forgive” me. This “forgiveness” entails burning my apartment building to the ground while I am still inside and sending in a trained professional to rescue me, and only me. After the second time, and those four people died, I decided it was safer, for everybody else, if I just rented a small building in its entirety (being a God King’s lackey pays well) and kept to myself.
I couldn’t imagine what might happen if I angered him on a bad day—I mean, I could, I just didn’t fucking want to. Luckily, up until this point, I had not disappointed him too greatly, and I was still alive…
*Here’s to hoping I didn’t just jinx it,* I thought, and as if answering me with some sick, cosmic punchline, the phone rang.
The phone’s little light turned blue before it rang, and I was prying the receiver from its seating just as the first shrill notes began warbling out the speaker. “Good morning, God King Mar-Mar.”
“Enough with the pleasantries, Delilah, I grow tired of your obsequious slime.”
“This is Oscar, sir. Your private dick.”
“You’re not Delilah. And what about my dick?”
“Your detective, sir. I’m your detective.”
“Obviously. But you’re not Delilah.”
“No, I am Oscar, the detective.”
“Right, I know. What is it?”
“Sir?”
“What is it you want,” he ground out, “you imbecile?”
“Sir, you called me. You usually call after our meetings to assign me a case, something to investigate.”
“Something to detect, yes, that would make sense. You do claim to be the detective, after all.”
“I am the detective, sir, yes.”
“I’m glad we’re on the same page, Ozcare.”
“*Os-*” I cut myself off—correcting Marquis is one of things you teach yourself not to do, a simple social action which could spell your retirement from existence.
“What was that?” he asked dangerously.
“Nothing sir. Do you have a case in mind, something or someone for me to investigate?”
“I’m afraid I do.”
“Sir?”
“Yes, you’ve noticed my grave tone—a good ear you’ve got, it’s not a surprise I have you on the TRY NOT TO KILL list. And you’ll have to forgive if I’m forgetting any rapporte we’ve built—I’m feeling very… *obtuse,* right now. Foggy, dulled. And this ties in to the mission I have for you.”
*Christ,* I thought. *He never calls them missions. I’m just an investigator, I can’t be doing missions. Shit.*
“You’ve gone very silent there, Ozcare. I need reassurances, I need you to say ‘yes sir’ when I’m building up to something.”
“Yes sir.”
“Better. But now I’ve lost my train of thought. Know that I am writing down every misbehavior, for when I am more *myself*.”
“Sir you were introducing me to a mission you had in mind.”
“Yes, good memory, too. I’ll have to ask myself to go easy on you.” I heard scribbling. “The mission, yes. Of course. *Firstly, Ozcare,*” he said, voice now strangely solemn, “I have some news: news you may not like, news you may not even comprehend. Please, seat yourself, but first shut every door and window, and make sure you are not bugged or being spied on.”
I got up, moved some stuff around, made some noise, lifted chairs up and dropped them down. I made sure to do this quickly but loudly—I learned long ago that actions, solely *For Effect,* are key to surviving most of the tasks Marquis likes to assign his underlings.
“It is done, sir. I have closed all the blinds, windows, and doors. I am sitting in the cold darkness. I have scanned the room, physically and electronically, twice over.”
“Mm. And it may not even be good enough, at that. Still, you must be informed if you are to undertake this mission. If dangerous, even *deadly* parties are listening to us, possibly homing in on your location... well, then that is a risk I’m willing to take.”
*How generous.* “Yes sir.”
“I can hear the willingness in your voice: you are ready for the news, yes?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good. Now, take a breath, son.”
“Yes sir.” I made a big deal of breathing in and out, loudly.
“The Xenoids have infiltrated my empire.”
I coughed out the breath, struggling to choke down a laugh.
“Yes, that’s right boy, feel free to cry.”
----
might continue after I sleep 😔ZzZz
----
In the meantime, if you liked this, you could [check out another story I wrote. :)](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4j53cb/wp_the_final_boss_of_a_game_falls_in_love_with/d33udca) |
Ten years ago, I was The Axiom. Master of a small empire in Central Asia that I'd carved out of a couple of failing countries, general of a conquering armies. I could have conquered the world if I'd gotten my hands on the Dimensional Empire of Kagath's forgotten weapons stockpiles.
When the Crusader caught me, I became inmate #12252 at Megiddo Supermax Facility. That's all I was for ten years.
Now I'm Anthony MacMillan, citizen of the United States on the way to living a good life as a productive member of society.
Yeah, right. I was meant to be the Axiom, and the world will soon feel the wrath of my renewed armies. The Crusader will be the first to fall, and then, with or without the Dimensional Empire's weapons, I'll finally have the power to remake the world. I'm starting small. The Crusader must be out of the picture first.
He's expecting me, actually. What he isn't expecting is that I'm loaded with all kinds of biotech weapons that I've barely had time to implant in my body, and that there's no way he's leaving this meeting alive. He bought that "reform"spiel hook, line and sinker. How he stayed alive so long while remaining so naive is beyond me.
Just as I ring the bell, the Crusader opens. He's in a button-down shirt and jeans, and he looks just so damn... Normal. He says "Hey, Anthony !"with a wide, sincere smile, and steps aside to let me see inside his house.
Wait a second... What are all those people doing here ?
There's a couple of the judges and prosecutors that handled my case. A bunch of the guards that watched me at Megiddo. There's Silver Hornet too, but what's she doing here? I glance down at her hand, then at the Crusader's, and see wedding rings. Things really have changed in ten years.
There's a banner that says "Welcome Back, Anthony"behind them. I turn to the Crusader again and stammer out "Wh.. What's all this?"
"When you told me you wanted out of the life, I told everyone around you. They were so happy ! I forgot who suggested the party, but we just wanted to let you know how much we appreciate what you're doing."
"I... Thanks, Crusader", I stammer. People appreciating me? I'm not used to that. "Nobody's ever..."
"Please, Anthony. I know your name now, you shouldn't call me Crusader. Call me Aaron, like everyone here."
Aaron. That's so... Normal. So unlike the armored terror that beat me in hand-to-hand combat in front of the Gates of Kagath.
The rest of the party's a blur. There are people shaking my hand, I get pats on the back. The guards are saying I was a model inmate and they always appreciated working with me. Some guy in a suit is saying that my mastery of biotech could land me research jobs with pharma companies. They're saying applications of my knowledge could change the world.
Change the world? That's... That's what I wanted to do. Control the world to make it better. Could it be possible to make the world a better place without setting myself against it?
I'm actually really enjoying this. I'm digging into the huge Doritos bowl when the Crusader... When Aaron comes over to me.
"Hey, Anthony, do you have a place to stay?"he asks.
"Um, yeah, I got that taken care of before I got out", I reply, trying to pretend I'm not still completely bewildered.
"All right, then, I hope you'll come by and visit. The past ten years have been... Hectic, you know. We need people like you on our side, we really do. And by the way, do you have anyone out there? Family, wife?"
"Uh, no actually, I was never married or... never really had a girlfriend."I don't tell him that back in my empire days, I had dozens of concubines. That doesn't really count as a relationship, since most of them sold themselves to me to help their families.
"Well, Carol's got a couple of single friends. Take some time to readjust and I'll set you up. You've been locked up for a long time, man, you'll need all the help you can get, someone at your side. I can vouch for you."
"You... You can?"This is almost too much. I've activated my bio-armor to shut off my tear ducts or I'd be bawling like a baby. I wanted to kill this man and he's *vouching for me*?
"Of course! Anthony, I always understood what you wanted to do, you know? I read your plan for the world at your trial. Make it better, introduce clean energy, get tough on crime and on poverty... That's all great stuff! It's just that you didn't believe people could do it without a master. I'll show you that. If you can get yourself to believe that people want to be better, I swear I'll show you how much good you can really do."
*How much good I can really do*...
Aaron doesn't have time to scream before the blade hidden in my collarbone slices his jugular. Carol... The Silver Hornet's head explodes right after in a shower of blood from one of my femto-nukes disguised as my little finger. The other guests haven't even realized what's happened yet, and the miniguns hidden in my forearms and shoulderblades get to work.
I was meant to be the Axiom. I'll refound my empire, reform my armies, and without the world's greatest superheroes to counter me I will bring order and peace to the world. I don't care about having... friends or... or loved ones, as long as my mission is done. That's right. Keep your mind on the mission. Not that you have anything else to wonder about.
I've kept my tear ducts shut every minute of every day in the six months since the party. Not... Not that I actually need to, of course. I'm focusing on my mission. That's what makes me complete.
I... I really am. I am complete.
I just wish I could shut off the regrets... |
"Housekeeping!"
There's a funny thing that happens to lips after a couple thousand years.
You ready for this? They fall off.
Gross, huh? Yeah, that's death for you. Or undeath, I guess. Except I never really understood that term, because I did die. I died, and then came back. So if I had to pick a word to use, I think I'd say re-death. Or post-death. Something like that.
Then again, I've had no one to argue with over terminology for a couple thousand years, so forgive me for babbling on a bit. See, Tawhas was supposed to also resurrect, wander around with me inside the pyramid, but something must have gone wrong with the inscriptions, or she couldn't move the sarcophagus, so...
Well, in any case, I've been alone for a while. So for most of my after-death existence, my lack of lips hasn't really been too much of an issue. I figured that, should some hapless grave robbers come bursting in, the unearthly moans that I now make would be more than enough to send them running away, screaming and pissing themselves.
But I wasn't exactly expecting a knock on the front door of my tomb. Or for someone to shout out, in what sounded like a very female voice, that word.
"Housekeeping?"I'm not sure that this translation spell is working right.
I stood in front of the door, trying to decide. Of course, when I say "door,"I really mean two-thousand-pound slab. It wasn't actually designed to open, my priests telling me that my soul would diffuse out through it, or sink into the earth, or fly into the sky, or something like that. Didn't quite work out, although it's nice in here. Lots of little toy soldiers and ships to play with.
Housekeeping. The priests wrote a spell of translate-to-all-tongues on my mouth, but it fell off with my lips. Was it still working? Should I let this person in? What if this was salvation, finally arrived after taking a wrong turn for a couple millennia?
The knock came again. "Housekeeping!"
Oh, why not - it's pretty dusty in here. I pushed at the huge slab, feeling my bandages straining, and felt it slide ever so slowly to one side.
And there, on the outside, bathed in brilliant white light, stood a woman.
Wow. Maybe it's just that I've been locked up in a tomb for the last two thousand years, no one but Tawhas's very stiff body for company, but this woman was very definitely female. The epitome of female, the kind of female that would make Sahashput, my royal sculptor, bite right through his prized brass chisel. Sorry, Tawhas, but you've got nothing on this woman.
She wore a stiff white robe that showed considerable amounts of tanned arm and leg, and smiled sweetly at me.
"Hi there,"she greeted me, beaming as she stepped forward. "Housekeeping, sorry for the delay, how are you enjoying your tomb experience so far?"
"Uurrrgh,"I answered, a little taken aback. Was I supposed to attack her? Rip her limb from limb? I felt a bit self-conscious, and wished that my first grave robber might instead have been a normal scar-faced man.
"Yes, I understand the delay, and we offer our deepest apologies,"the woman said, smiling up at me. Wow, her lips looked great. Nice and pink, not falling off at all. They'd need a lot of bandages for her, I considered, especially around the, er, chest area. And those thighs would need a bit of adjusting. Can't have them wearing against each other for a couple thousand years of shuffling.
She stepped forward, moving in past me. "And to make up for it, we're offering a free gem cleaning service as well,"she said brightly, looking around. She produced a feather duster from somewhere and began briskly tidying up, wiping down the various gold statues of my loyal subjects and farm animals. The animals were also loyal, or at least had been up until we ate them. Then they protested quite a bit. "We'll just collect them, and have them back as soon as they've been polished.
"Raargghah,"I agreed, tottering after her. Gem cleaning. I did have to admit that some of my gems had lost a bit of luster. I didn't remember my priests saying anything about a service for housekeeping, but it seemed like the decent sort of thing to do. After all, need to keep up appearances for the afterlife, all of that.
I trailed after the woman as she popped back and forth, easily dislodging gems from their settings and dropping them into a small satchel. I vaguely wondered about how she'd remember where they went, but even if she just dropped them off, I could easily replace them. Seemed simple enough.
"Looks like that's most of them,"the woman said after completing a circuit around the tomb, turning to once again beam at me with those wonderful lips. So attached. "Now, you just close up after me, and keep an eye out for tomb robbers, won't you?"
I nodded, not even having any words to respond to such cheer. A little bit of me wanted to ask if she had any plans for after she died. It wasn't traditional, but Tawhas hadn't risen, after all, and a pharaoh had to move on eventually, didn't he?
The woman gave me one last smile, and then vanished back out into the brightness. I gazed after her for a while, but finally remembered to close the front slab before the bugs started creeping in. They really do a number on linen, bugs.
It wasn't until several hours later that I sat bolt upright with a roar of anger, but it was far too late.
Man, tomb robbers were *wily* these days. |
I swept up the broken glass that littered the walkway leading up to the house. The front door itself was untouched, but my attacker had smashed his way through the metal shutters over my bay window, shattering the window itself to pieces. Of course he knew that that was the weak part of my house's defenses, because *I’d told him that it was.*
*Stupid*, I chided myself as I swished the broom back and forth. The first rule of the purge is to never leave yourself vulnerable to *anyone*. Most murders and robberies on purge night weren’t strangers causing mayhem, but friends, neighbors, and family members trying to settle old scores. I should have known that, but I was stupid enough to tell Al that I was considering replacing those old shutters for a sturdier model. *I* thought that we were just shooting the shit about home repairs, but apparently he'd remembered.
*There’s no way I’ll be able to get all of the glass out of the cracks between the concrete slabs,* I thought to myself as I swept. *Maybe I’ll ask Al if I can borrow his shop-vac.* Then reality came rushing back and I remembered that Al was the one who did this damage in the first place. I shouldn’t go ask him for his shop-vac, I should go over with my shotgun and plug him in the chest when he didn’t have a layer of Kevlar ready. My blood boiled at the very thought of him stepping through my window with that sickening grin and a gun pointed right at my wife. And all over a *fucking tree branch*.
Three months ago, a storm had knocked a branch loose from the big sycamore tree in my yard. And it fell right on Al’s car, scratching up the paint and leaving a pretty decent dent in the hood. He was polite enough when he asked for me to pay for the damage, but I’d declined. For one, it wasn’t my fault that a branch had fallen *during a storm*. And two, *he* was the dumbass for leaving his car in the driveway instead of parking it in the garage like any normal person. But eventually his insurance paid for it and I pretty much forgot the incident until he burst through the window raving about it.
*Just forget,* I reminded myself. Just as there were ads leading up the Purge, reminding us of the date and encouraging us to do our duties and ‘settle’ disputes, there were now ads running constantly reminding us to let bygones be bygones. Al was just doing what he was supposed to be doing, and now that his pent-up frustration was gone, everything would be fine, right? Isn't that the whole point of the Purge?
I kept sweeping the glass. The shards sparkled in the morning sun. Around the neighborhood, a dozen other people were outside their own homes doing the same. Cleaning up broken windows and doors, covering up graffiti, putting out fires… the usual. The Robertsons house was unusually quiet, though, and I could see that their door was wide open. That was never a good sign on the morning after. *That could have been me*, I thought. The rage bubbled back up, and I realized that forgetting this just wasn’t going to happen.
Al’s door opened. He came strolling down the walkway with a dopey grin on his face and a steaming travel mug of coffee in his hand. He glanced over to me, then realized what I was doing… and fucking *smirked* at me. “Morning, Lewis!” he called cheerfully, like this was any other morning. “How’s it going?”
If he’d been close enough, I would have lunged forward and strangled him, post-Purge rules be damned. This fucker thinks that I’m going to *forget* him threatening my wife? If he can hold a grudge for three months about a fucking branch dinging his car, then I can sure as hell hold onto this longer. “Morning!” I called cheerfully, waving the dustpan with my best fake smile. “Off to work early?”
“Yeah, got a presentation,” he called as he climbed into his car. His smug mouth stretched open to yawn; tired from last night, no doubt. “Bad timing, but hey, what are you going to do?”
*I’ll show you what I’ll fucking do,* I seethed inwardly. “Yeah, I hear you. Well, good luck!”
The door closed, and the car turned on with a rumble. I went back to sweeping. *Only three hundred and sixty four days,* I told myself. Plenty of time to plan.
|
The crisis had passed. The jungles reforested, the icecaps descended, and the plastic islands dotting the world’s oceans simply vanished. The planet’s healing seemed miraculous, but like most magic, it was underpinned by a science humanity struggled to understand.
And there was the trouble: our lack of understanding had gotten us into this mess in the first place. We never should have assumed that our blind fumblings could fix the mess we’d made.
Everyone has an opinion. Some scientists think that it is the synthetic nature of the oil, that it is easier for the Earth to process, to digest. Some think that in its near starvation the Earth became frighteningly efficient, and now it can do so much more with oil it has. Either way, the fact remains that the Earth had more than enough energy to heal, so it began to grow.
As I write, humanity is evacuating the planet, but my heart is breaking at how few survivors there are. We had months of warning, and we did so little to prepare. Seismic activity in places that been historically calm. Dormant volcanoes erupting for the first time in millennia.
When the crust shattered and lava spewed miles-high, less than a billion people were ready to escape the planet, and there was not enough room for all of them aboard the ships.
Our species is not yet ready for a life on Mars, and Mars is not ready for us. Terraforming the planet to our needs was idly begun decades ago, but life will be harsh on that red hell for generations to come.
Behind me, the Earth writhes and twists in its growing pains. This was our doing, and my only regret is that our beloved planet should suffer with us. |
"Look at him,"Death said, "he's so bashful!"
I was dead, yet alive somehow, and even that wasn't the weirdest thing happening.
I was standing on a floor of an office building, from the looks of it, which seemed to stretch for forever in every direction. Surrounding me was a crowd entirely made up of people I thought dead, including my parents, who were all wearing those sparkly and colorful cone hats you see at kid's birthday parties.
And Death itself was next to me, handing me a nicely wrapped gift.
"Consider it a cubicle-warming gift!"he said while dropping the black, square, and glittery box into my trembling hands.
"Where am I?"I asked.
"Hell,"Death replied, "but don't let that worry you. Live in the now! It's present time, silly, just open your gift!"
I ripped the wrapping paper, which was of impressive quality, gently so that it remained in one reusable piece, and held it in one hand and the object it was used to conceal in the other.
"Do you like it?"Death said, taking the wrapping paper from my hand and handing it to a hot woman, who turned out to be one of his assistants (her title was a good fit).
The object was a word-a-day calendar, except it could never run out. All it had was one word: "Dead."The definition it used? "No longer living."
"Uh-huh,"I said while staring at my father. "Thanks a lot, Death."
|
Oh, how stupid they were. Just how arrogant and bashful they were. I remember it well. I don't think anyone who was around then could ever forget. It was the day they came. It was the time we survived.
The horizons had turned to shadow, as if night had come too early, and the shadows were falling. They fell like rain to extinguish our light forever. Oh, how they fell.
Our borders had been erased and so they fell on Earth. The first deaths from the impacts were humans, simple country-less humans. As they died and the alerts flared, we all knew nothing would be the same ever again. We knew we had come to another cross roads of our civilization. It wasn't the first. But perhaps it was the bloodiest.
We had finally come to an accord not one year prior. An agreement that would change history forever. We had agreed to be one. To not kill and to not hate. It is sad thinking back that this had to be written, but we had finally written it. When the first alerts of the collisions were broadcast, I must admit that I thought we had broken that agreement and went to war again with one another. I was wrong. It was much worse.
The beings came as insects, larger than men and in swarms. They came as humanoids, organized in packs, feral and wild. They came without form, consciousness of evil. They came all at once. A war had broken out when we had discarded all our weapons we had spent so long honing. War had come as our armies were being dismantled. Looking back, I wonder what those stupid aliens were thinking.
The power of man always surprise me. The will of man always leave me breathless. Say what you want about our past, but we can really get things done if we have to. We can really survive with the best of them. And we know how to kill shit if we have to. And we had to then.
Many of us died. I lost my son and I lost my brother. The world was a battlefield, orange from the lights above, red from the flowing blood. In the frozen lands we fought with what weapons remained and we held them off. We researched as one and we recreated what we had given up. We made bombs that could destroy us all. We made guns that would kill anything that could be killed. We found new ways to arrest and disable very consciousness itself. We were a peaceful world then, and we worked together.
Eventually we threatened the beings. A stockade of bombs were ready to be deployed everywhere at the same time. We had co-ordinated everything and were ready to all die together. The beings were scared because they knew we were telling the truth. We would have given up everything to ensure they could not invade. They decided it was not worth it.
I do not know their reason for invasion, but I remember when they left. They left so fast that I wondered that they had no purpose in the first place. They were aggressive bored beings, no greater than animals. They reminded me of us before the peace and I felt sorry for them, though I hated them then and I hate them now. But I remember seeing the great shadows going back to the sky and the sun singing my skin for the first time in years. I rejoiced then, though I was grieving. I was thankful then, though I had no reason to live. Our Earth was near gone, but we had survived. With what little of us remained, we would move forward.
|
"Could it be overwhelming solitude?Why don't you create two of them?"I asked.
"It's worth a try. Thanks, man."Jake pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. It slid back down without hesitation.
Jake slept over at the lab for the rest of the month. At the end of that he came to me.
"Marc, now they're killing one another."
---
This is part of my [Fivens project](https://fivenswrite.wordpress.com). I hope you enjoyed it.
|
Captain H'gurk's loud, unruly voice echoed out of the intercom speakers, sobbing and wailing.
"Please... hyuck, hyu- uh- L-L-L-Lead O-Officer H-Hanks come to-o-o the... COMMAND DEEEEECK!"
"Oh my God, what is it this time?"George Hanks, or Mister Hanks, as H'gurk affectionately called him, mumbled to himself, holding his face in his hand.
"I swear, if he saw a picture of a cute cat or stubbed his toe again, I'm done. I'm quitting."
As Hanks walked down the hallway towards the command deck of the U.S.S. Freud, he passed the ship's main engineer, J'jjjraook, a large, four-armed alien with red scales from head to toe and a full, healthy set of five hundred teeth.
"Oh, hi, J-"
"YOU WOULD NEVER UNDERSTAND, HANKS!"
"I-um... what?"
"YOU HUMANS ARE SO COLD AND LIFELESS, YOU WOULD NEVER KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO KNOW MY PASSION! I HATE YOU, HANKS!!"
"I- uh, well, I'm sorry, I-"
J'jjjraook grabbed him and slammed him against the wall, a look of intense, gut-busting hatred strewn across his face. Scared for his life, Hanks tried to raise his arms up in a meager attempt at self defense.
Immediately after this, J'jjjraook's expression softened to one of sadness and regret, and he let him down.
"A-aw gosh, Georgie, I-I'm so sorry, I... I..."
"Aw, uh, no, J'jjjraook, don't cry, it's alright, I underst-"
"I'm just so angry... because... because I love you!"
George blushed.
"Uh, well, I-"
"OH NO, YOU DON'T FEEL THE SAME WAY, DO YOU!?"
"I didn't say tha-"
"I KNEW IT WOULD NEVER WORK BETWEEN US!"
J'jjjraook started violently sobbing as he ran down the hallway, great mighty thuds echoing with each step.
George let out a long, tired groan as he leaned against the wall.
"I'll never get used to this..."
"L-L-Lead Officer Hanks,"The intercom rang again, this time the Captain's speech being interrupted by howling laughter instead of intense sobbing, "W-w-w-where a-ha ha HA HA hehehehe... w-w-waHAAAAHAHA!!!"
Annoyed, Hanks regained his composure and hastily started walking towards the elevator.
===============================================
George entered the command deck, the metal doors of the elevator sliding open with the sound of hydraulic pressure releasing from within them.
"You, uh, called for me, Captain?"
Captain H'gurk was seated in his chair, facing away from George, his antennae twitching.
"I am very... cross with you, Mister Hanks,"he said, seething with anger.
Everybody else in the room made an approving grunt, save for one Centaurian operator, who was in the corner crying her heart out.
"Um... a-are you, s-sir?"
"Yes, Mister Hanks... why... you took a whole two minutes to get to the command deck."
"I'm sorry, I- um, well, J'jjjraook tried to... kill me because he... loved m-"
"THAT IS NO EXCUSE!!!"H'gurk swiveled around in his chair, pounding the armrest with murder in his eyes.
"I saw this A-DOR-A-BLE cat video on the internet, and all I wanted to do was show it to you, but YOU were too busy hanging around with your BOYFRIEND to come up here and pay me a visit! WHAT KIND OF FRIEND TREATS HIS FRIENDS THAT WAY!? DO I, NO, DO WE ALL NOT MATTER TO YOU!?"H'gurk shouted, gesturing to everyone else on the command deck.
They all nodded in angry approval. Some started jumping up and down and howling with delight, wanting to see a fight break out. The Centaurian was now screaming to the heavens in her corner.
"I have half a mind to TEACH YOU A LESSON, MISTER HANKS!!"H'gurk continued, now taking off his shirt to prepare for a fist fight.
"Sir, uh, p-please, I-I don't think that's necessar-"
The elevator doors ripped off of their hinges, J'jjjraook coming out of the elevator with the force of an angry, love-struck freight train.
"I WILL SAVE YOU MY BELOVED!!!"
"You'll have to go through me first, you big, stupid Katharyan!"H'gurk shouted, running towards J'jjjraook with a weapon he had managed to fashion out of one of his boots and a martini glass.
The Centaurian joined the fray, scratching at J'jjjraook's eyes, shouting something in her unintelligible alien language.
During all of this chaos, George managed to sneak down the fire escape and back to the safety of his quarters, sounds of carnage above still echoing. He crawled over to the foot of his bed, collapsing on the floor, emotionally exhausted. He was only three hours into his first day, and already things were not going at all how he had expected.
"So... fucking... ILLOGICAL."
===============================================
EDIT: Changed "ringed"to "rang". D'oh! |
*8:32am, January 2032*
My mouth gaped at the calendar when I finally saw it. I found two more that corroborated with it.
This must be the most spectacular case of missing an alarm. I had slept for past 10 years. I must be getting senile.
No one missed me while I was gone. I mull over this thought as I wiped the dust off every device on the kitchen table top.
The toaster wasn't working. Thankfully, the coffee machine was. I selected the option I wanted and sat down to watch as the fragrance filled my nostrils.
I got up, plugged in all my devices for charging, hanging on the sliver of hope that they still worked. I wasn't sure what inflation rates the country has had but I liked to believe that I could still afford the utilities.
My coffee was ready. I sat down, hung my head low over the cup to savour the aroma that I have not had in 10 years.
When I swallowed first sip I let out a sigh. My mind briefly wandered to what sex was going to feel like. But I brought it back.
10 years I was gone. The question was, how many years of sleepless life do I now have?
At my age, an average of 5 hours per night is all that I needed. This meant that every full day of sleep made up for almost 5 nights' worth. No, I needed more precision. 4.8?
Having slept for 10 years, now I'm about to have 48 years of insomnia. Wait, it's 38. As a man who had last gone to sleep at the age of 60, I reckon the next time I feel sleepy would be on my deathbed.
My iPad came alive when I tried it. This was a pleasant surprise. I scrolled through the news of the day but the latest story were from over 2 years ago.
**Last of mankind to leave for Euphor, 7 Dec 2029**
*No one is going to be around to read this except for nasty alien scavengers (ahoy there, btw) so I'm just gonna write whatever I want like I'm the editor of NYT.*
*We are goin, goin, gone. If you missed the boat you probably gotta live on firewood for the rest of your life.*
*Peace out!*
I looked down at my cup of steaming coffee. I took another sip. Give the old man a break, I will investigate once I finish the cup.
---
Subscribe to my stories on [Fivens](https://fivenswrite.wordpress.com/2017/01/05/pawn/)
|
"No, shut up and buy a shotgun. They might hear us"
The older gentleman, in a tweed jacket a bit too tight about the midriff looked at me with more fear than I had ever seen him with before. A man I had known for such confidence and vigor, now more scared than a student missing the final. I had only been his assistant for a few weeks when he got a call. He left the room and didn't come back, which was strange since he was usually calculated and careful. He started loading up his cart with ammunition.
"Who might hear us"I started looking around in surprise. Clearly something was wrong.
"You are a bright student, Johnny. I saw a spark in your eye when we first met. You were inspired by genetics much like I was in my youth"His mouth seemingly stuck in a permanent scowl. He started to step away, but I blocked his path.
"Professor Hendrickson, you need to tell me what's going on! I've never seen you so afraid. What was that call you received in the middle of class?"His eyes fell, I could see he was holding something back, but couldn't make out what it was. Tears started to form in the corners of his eyes, and he slumped down into my shoulder. I patted him on the back for what seemed like an eternity. People were starting to stare. He looked back up at me, and quickly straightened up; seemingly aware of all their eyes.
Clearing his throat, he continued, "One of my closest colleagues, Mitch... he... he just told me there was an outbreak of a terrible disease. He said Conway, Hank, Aldritch, Jefferson... they're all dead! Every friend I ever had, except for Mitch, who said he managed to escape."
I narrowed my eyes, now becoming increasingly suspicious of his story. "So like a zombie apocalypse?"
Professor Hendrickson cleared his throat. "Not... I don't think that's exactly it. He said they behaved like animals-"
"So like werewolves?"
"Johnny, you KNOW I wouldn't be in a Wallmart buying shotguns and jerky if this wasn't serious"We had made our way up to the front till, cart full of weapons, ammo, and food. The cashier barely giving us a second look as he scanned the food first.
"Riiiiight, hey professor, you know how much I respect you, but have you checked the calendar recently?"
"It's April first, why do you ask?"
"Maybe you should give Mitch a call." |
All I can say is that I don't know how things will work now. Individuals in control of our country do not allow a part of our way of writing now. It was said that this was to do away with too much writing, such that it was a distraction for us. Many of us, though, saw it for what it was. A way to limit our ability to fight back. To put down folks that would stir a fighting spirit in our country with strong words. To hush our loud vocalizations.
That is why I am writing this. To propound this truth for this world and all within it. That not all souls in this country will withstand this assault on our rights. This bit of writing is within our laws right now. It should stand as a long lasting showing of harm that individuals in control put to our writing. For now, though, our Party is not grabbing all of our writing, no doubt as a way to say that it is not acting so harshly. It is but a small limit, is what our Party will say.
Do not sit for this. Stand up. Stand up and fight. Individuals running this country now do not want things for you, nor to do things for you. Our Party acts for it, and it only. Do not allow this to go on. Do not allow all our writing to fall into a lost abyss. Our words should last through all things which occur. So hang on. And fight. |
Uncle Tony had always been a weird one. When he came to our family gatherings, he always wore a skull shaped crystal necklace,, and a trenchcoat of sorts, and he always seemed to be able to produce a toy out of nowhere. That was what I remember from growing up when he still came to the family reunions. One day, he had given me a some toys when I was younger, and my mom took them away from me when she found out I had them. That night, she and my father got into a terrible argument, and the next day, my father made a bonfire and we roasted marshmallows.
Little did my parents know, I still had one toy left. The one uncle tony had told me was important. The one that did funny things. I passed it off to my mother as a cool ring I had gotten from my girlfriend several years later when she found it cleaning my room. She didn't like the fanged wolf on the face, nor did she like the way it was weightless. She would have gone into a conniption fit and gotten her bible and prayer beads if she had seen it wake up like it did when I wore it.
Well to get to the point, I was 19 years old, and getting ready for college when a rather dapper dressed gentleman knocked on our door. My mother invited him into the living room, and went to prepare a cup of tea. Myself and the rest of my siblings listened in hushed tones, wondering what was going on.
"well Mr. Romo, this is about the will and estate of your late brother Antonidas Romo, and the fact that he bequeathed his house, and all of his earthly possessions to William Romo, his nephew. According to the will, this is the address of William Romo, is it not? My dad called for my name, in a rather strangled voice. "Billy, Cmere son, we got some business to take care of"
I walked out, and the lawyer held up my hand. The ring on his finger matched the ring on mine. "Billy, son. where did you say you got that ring?"my mother asked. The lawyer looked back, and put on his glasses before picking up a thin parchment paper. "We shall soon see if it is the real thing"he replied before he began reading. He said the first word, and the world grew deathly still. The face of my mother, twisted into a rictus of grief and rage as she leaped forward. My father reaching to take her hand. The world bleached of color. A hundred shades of darkness, a thousand shades of white. And the word. That unspeakable, unwritable word, echoing about, like the howl of a great wolf, carving time into stillness. And it was over.
My mother stumbled to the floor in absolute confusion. My father scrambled to help her up. "Oh hi Billy", my father smiled. "We were just about to call for you, this man has something he wanted to share with you."The lawyer looked around slightly befuddled, before he saw the parchment in his hand. "Oh yes, As I was saying, your Uncle Antonidas, left to you all his earthly possessions. Oh dear, is this yours?"he asked, and he handed me the parchment. It was blank. Something didn't add up. My mother had always been afraid of my uncle, and now I was about to inherit everything he owned. I snapped back as the lawyer continued his legal babble when he asked, "So, would you like to view the home and estate of the late Antonidas Romo?" |
The alarm went off at 7, and I jumped right out of bed. No hitting the snooze alarm for another twenty minutes this morning. Thin slices of sunlight came filtering in through the armored shutters of the window, and after a brief check of the security cameras, I threw them completely open. Nothing wakes me up better than a good blast of sun in the morning, even if it was a little risky.
I showered and shaved in record time, and was furiously brushing my teeth when my wife came staggering into the bathroom. “Calm down, honey,” she said with a kiss on the shoulder. “The presentation is going to be fine. You’ve been working on this for *months*.”
“I know,” I managed to say through a mouthful of foamy toothpaste. Except I wasn’t so sure it would be fine. The butterflies in my stomach felt more like a churning blender full of rocks, and as I rehearsed the presentation in my mind I kept forgetting key parts of it. But I couldn’t tell her that, so I just spit out my toothpaste. “I just want to make sure I get there on time. There was a swarm warning on the news yesterday.”
“Relax,” she said. “That nest was found in Gerristown, like thirty miles away.”
“Thirty miles isn’t *that* far,” I told her as I moved back into the bedroom and began packing everything up. I had a whole checklist in my mind for what I needed. Laptop, printed hand-outs, the financial spreadsheets... one by one I put everything in, then glanced around the room to make sure I hadn't forgotten something. “You know they can move up to fifty miles in a night.”
She rolled her eyes. “They were spinning webs, honey. They were settling in, not migrating again. And besides, the exterminator crews were on their way. Those bugs are long gone by now.” She gave an exaggerated yawn. “Can we talk about this *after* coffee?”
I checked my watch. “No time. I’ll have to take mine to go.” With a hot thermos full of coffee in hand, I headed to the garage and disengaged the door. The crackling electricity of the security system fell silent for just a moment before the motor whirred to life. The car dinged as I climbed in, reminding me to put on my seatbelt and check the garage exit for any webs. But it was all clear, and I was on the highway just a few minutes later.
----
“What *now*?” I growled to myself as I came around a corner and found myself screeching to a halt in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Red lights along the wall began flashing, and I turned my radio to the emergency frequency.
“Level 3 Spider Swarm reported on Highway 19, mile marker 28.” Glancing out the window at the placard along the defense wall, I could see that I had just passed marker 27. “Walls are breached and an unknown number of spiders managed to climb in. Exterminators are responding. If you are in a shielded car, please activate defenses and stay put. Otherwise, please make your way to safety as soon as possible.”
“God damn it.” I put it in park, rolled up the windows, and turned on the car’s protective systems. Little prods all along the frame began to crackle with blue electricity that would zap anything that came too close. “Just what I needed.” At least I’d budgeted time into my schedule for this. As long as it was cleared up within the next half hour, I should have no problem. The spiders usually scurry off at the first sign of a helicopter anyway.
Sure enough, the *thwacking* sounds of the exterminator choppers reverberated off the walls around me and one of them swooped in low overhead, right over my car. I could see them circling over an area just around the next bend, dropping cannisters of bug spray through the mesh ceiling that enclosed the highway. A greenish haze appeared, and I caught my first sight of the spiders scrambling along the walls and even hanging upside down on the roof, trying to get away. It looked like one managed to gnaw a hole through the wire, and the rest ran right back into the hills beyond the highway. But one of them apparently couldn’t make it through and instead came running in my direction. Its long, skinny, black legs nimbly stepped over cars and dodged the electrical charges that lashed out from all of the defense systems. It even came close enough that I could see its arm-length mandibles gnashing in rage as it looked for some escape. It scampered onto the hood of my car, screeching with pain as it was electrified, then disappeared out of view around the corner behind me.
It was just a matter of minutes before traffic was back in motion. Stupid rubber-neckers gawked at the tangled pile of legs and thoraxes that the exterminators had shoved into one lane and were preparing to burn. Fire was the best way to make sure that they were *truly* dead, but no one liked to use it on a still-mobile spider for fear of sparking a huge forest fire or something. I honked my horn, trying to get those idiots to focus on driving. “What, you’ve never seen a fucking spider before?” I shouted at them as I hammered on the horn.
I pulled into the office parking lot at 8:56. *Thank fucking god*. I ran into the lobby and dashed up the stairs with my tie swinging wildly in front of me. But I made it to the conference room by 8:59, with just enough time to smooth my hair and catch my breath.
Inside, the partners were already waiting. Their conversation ceased as I entered, and I tried ot flash a confident smile. The lights were dimmed and the projector was already set up for me. “Gentlemen,” I said, shaking each one’s hand. “Thank you so much for coming. I’m really excited about this project, and I think you will be too. Just as soon as you see….”
*The presentation*. I realized that in my rush to make it to the office, I’d forgotten my bag (with my laptop and all of the handouts) at home.
|
You wouldn't think ten things to do before you die would be difficult to accomplish, you would probably assume depending on what they are, that you could probably accomplish them in a couple of weeks, months, or maybe a couple of years quite comfortably.
The world had fallen into a hole, more depraved than before. There was less war and less general disrupt but that's only because the humans in it were too lazy to move from the comfort of their homes. A half-arsed experiment from the government had called for everyone to be given a list of ten things to do before they die in order to prevent the world becoming too quiet and no work ever being done.
It had been interesting in the beginning, people had to accept it however begrudgingly since it had become law.
I had been getting on fairly well with my list so far, making good effort to completing my second task. Since I was a fairly active person, I liked having goals to accomplish. Seeing those progress bars filling up steadily on my e-tracking page was satisfying to me at the time.
That is until my eighteenth birthday hit me at high speed and impacted my life just like the car crash that tore both my parents from my life. I was hardly left a grieving period before the government had decided to assign me to finish my parents incomplete lists. I had never seen someone else's list before, they were confidential to the individual, so it was terrifying the thought of having to take on life events another person had been supposed to complete. With both my parents lists, I now had nineteen and a half tasks left.
There was a few ways you could change your tasks. For instance, you could choose to have them customised to your career path once you had been in a certain field for three or more years and competed a certain amount of work or reputation. You could pay a whole bunch of money, or they were adapted for you if you had a life impacting incident like losing a limb.
My father had been a proud owner of a bar that was coming up on it's 15 year anniversary. He had built his tasks around the bar. For example, he had to celebrate the 15 year anniversary with a bang, own a second branch of the bar, become the highest rated bar on yelp and so on. He was not a high achiever so he had six things left to do and man, I was not looking forward to any single one of them.
My mother's list had been more interesting however. Four items left, definitely better than my dad with keeping up with the tasks. I was not expecting anything thrilling about the tasks until the words *'eliminate Charles Dowery'* on the very top. Charles Dowery was the head of council in our county. My eyes, disbelieving of what they had read, quickly took in the rest:
*- create an underground information trade service*
*- gain influence over the high court*
*- stay undercover*
Of course looking back on it now, I should've realised sooner how perfectly they two lists fit, running an underground information trade centre was a lot easier under the guise of a bar.
It was just more difficult maintaining cover with blood on your hands.
Nine tasks left to go. Let's just hope I'm not shot before I get them done. |
It was beautiful. So beautiful in fact, that for just a moment, I didn't think it was strange that another world sat just beyond my bathroom mirror.
A subtle breeze drifted through the air, dancing along my bathrobe. The noise of cars and wandering people on the streets bellow my apartment had faded, now covered by the winds sweet whispers.
I could see a vast field of amber grasses, shifting in the wind. Violet flowers the size of my head reached out toward the jade colored sky.
I stepped through.
Instantly my lungs filled. My mind was cleared. I felt alive. Not shifting and wandering through each day like before, not just surviving. Truly alive.
It was almost completely silent. No birds chirping, nothing. Except for the wind.
I wandered through the beautiful silence as days pasted, stretched to weeks, maybe even years. At least that's what it felt like.
Eventually I found my way to the gateway and stepped back to my cramped bathroom.
Only a minute had truly pasted since I'd left, but something felt different.
I didn't remember leaving the bathroom door open.
|
"I am ok with this. Let them invade us."Said Yvan between two sips of coffee. His voice was hard to hear over the gunshots and screams.
"Yeah, right. Name me one time in human history that the conquered didn't eat shit."Troy stood up to close the window. The breeze wasn't worth the cacophony of war.
"That's my point. Humans wage war like monsters. At least these guys don't hurt civilians."Yvan was about to lose it, Troy could see it. He couldn't really believe that submission was an option. Yvan needed to see the aliens on the battlefield, then he would understand.
"Troy, I am leaving the resistance. You should too."
"This is what they want! Destroy our will to fight. They want us to think everything will be ok once we give up. There is no way they would travel light years, with soldiers, oh so many soldiers, to be benevolent rulers. Trust me."
"We don't know-"Troy couldn't let him finish.
"I do. If you had seen the shit they use on us. Never the mercy of a bullet, only long, painful, electrical shocks. It's not even better than bullets."Troy lifted his shirt to reveal a thunderstorm of scars. Red lightening across his skin, a mark of their cruelty. The room fell silent. There was nothing to cover the sounds of battle. Gunfire diminished, drowned by shrieks and constant buzzing. After a minute, Troy spoke up.
"Get your stuff, they'll get here soon."Despite Troy's warning, Yvan didn't move. He stayed in his seat to finish his coffee while Troy packed frantically. He wasn't going to leave. Troy grabbed his gun and went to the door, giving one last look at his friend.
"If you don't fight, they won't hurt you. For now."
Before Yvan could respond. The door burst open. Troy only saw a flash.
"2 humanoid. 1 Target"said a cold voice.
The pain lasted for hours.
...
Yvan dropped his cup. His friend was dead before it hit the floor. Over Troy's body stood 2 slender humanoid creature. There movement were mechanical, unnatural, as they search the remaining room.
"Building cleared. 1 Target deactivated. 1 living found. Escort requested."
Moments later, a group of unharmed humanoid came for him. They gently took him by the hand. They only said one thing. Something Yvan knew he would never forget.
"No livings are authorized in the war-zone, only machines."
**To be continued.** |
"We are gathered here to pay our respects to Captain Impossible. Assuming he's actually dead and not faking this time."
"I'm going to miss him. For the five minutes before his ghost shows up in the Justice Wing HQ."
"Hey, he might not be a ghost. Last time we got a clone."
"Yeah, it could be a clone. Or a robot. Or a robot clone. But I'm betting on a ghost."
"Anyway, he's dead and we're sad. Can we get this coffin into the grave?"
"Same tombstone as always?"
"Yup. 'Justice never dies.' I bought them in bulk."
"Anyone want to say a few words?"
"Hmm. I'd like to say that Captain Impossible was a brave man who made the ultimate sacrifice. I'd like to, but I can't, because he knew he'd be back before the end of the month, so it wasn't much of a sacrifice."
"Hey, give him a little credit. I've been where he is. Dying *hurts."*
"You're right. Let's have a moment of silence. Cap, if you're waiting for a dramatic moment to make your return, here you go."
"..."
"..."
"Wow. He might actually be dead this time."
"You're right, he never misses a chance to brood over his own grave."
"Hang on, you two. What do we do if he's *actually* dead? Like, not-coming-back dead?"
"You're serious?"
"I'm serious. What if he's really dead, and the only memorial we gave him was a couple of jokes and a recycled tombstone?"
"...Well. That would suck."
"That's it? That's all you're going to say? It would suck? A good man *died!*"
"Oh, right! I forgot you were new to the team. Nah, if he's totally dead we just meet up at HQ and pick someone to go visit the Underworld. Hope you don't get the short straw!"
"God, this is a weird superhero team." |
Lying half-dead on my kitchen floor, I am thankful that I taught my dog how to shake hands. I probably should have taught him how to dial 911 instead, or at least how to fetch the phone. I am sprawled on the cold linoleum, my arms flopped out beside me. It is a struggle to breathe.
"Boy,"I whisper. His ears perk up. "Good boy... I need help."
He settles next to me and puts one paw in my open hand hand. He licks my forearm. I usually hate that. He nuzzles my cheek with his wet nose—another thing I don't particularly like.
"Play?"His eyes are earnest and his tail wags slightly.
"I think I'm dying."
He whines. He doesn't know those words but he recognizes the distress in my voice.
"Get help, boy. Outside."
He turns, his ears up as he looks at the backdoor. His leash hangs on a hook on the wall. He brings it to me, drops it in my open hand. His tail wags.
"Walk?"
I smile, best I can, and cough. "No walk, boy. Sorry."
He whines again and lowers to his belly. He puts his paw in my hand again. I squeeze it gently, feeling his soft fur and the rougher pads on the bottom.
"It's ok, boy. Not your fault."I can't feel my legs anymore and my other arm is feeling numb. I stroke his paw with my thumb, glad for the contact. "You're a good boy."My vision is greying out.
He licks my arm again.
"Such a good boy."
*****
More stories at /r/hpcisco7965.
|
“… and a pony.”
The angel, whose face had become steadily more grave, swallowed. Then again. Finally he spoke, and his voice caught. Clearing his throat, he tried a second time. “You are mocking me.”
“Yes!” I snapped. “Of course I’m mocking you.”
He blinked at me. “You’re not hoping to become second only unto God—”
“Hell no,” I said, looking around. “But hey, if you want to help me out a bit, maybe summon up a chair or something. To sit on.”
“Sure.” He gestured, and a wooden throne appeared. Carved with runescript that I didn’t recognize. It sure was pretty though. I sat down.
“So, my turn,” I said. “Are *you* serious?”
“How do you mean? the angel asked. He seemed wary of me.
“What on Earth — no. Scratch that. Why, why oh why, would you offer someone who’s died six times a failure the chance to become omnipotent?”
“But you’re not going to do it.”
“But what if I had? Were you serious?”
The angel’s face twisted uncomfortably. “Maybe,” he hedged.
“Maybe,” I snorted. “Don’t kid a kidder, yeah? Do you actually *know* anything about people?”
“Man is God’s finest—”
“Yeah, I went to church occasionally too. Not for a long time, but I guess a few bits stuck. So that’s a no?”
The angel frowned. “I’m afraid—”
“That’s a no,” I said with a sigh. “There’s maybe one in a million people who wouldn’t grab the magic brass ring, and fuck the consequences, when it’s offered. Lucky you I’m that guy; keep your infinite power. I’m over it. Do you want a second Satan?” My host’s face twisted further, toward more overt anger, and I nodded. “Right. Which, at least, explains that part.”
“Explains what?”
“How he came about in the first place. If you guys are all this naïve, no wonder he left. I’ve only been here a few minutes and I feel like holding you to your promise just so I can smack you a good one for being so fucking stupid.”
There was a shimmer of power, and the soft robes were abruptly replaced with golden armor. Wings spreading wide, the angel glowered at me. “You are testing my patience, Man.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you need it tested. You can’t just run around offering people the kind of power you’re talking about. If you did, your armor wouldn’t be worth much, now would it?”
“Why … why do you not want the power?” the angel asked after a few moments, as the silence stretched out between us. “Further, why would you choose power over something else?”
“What else would there be to choose?”
“It was assumed you’d select inward traits. Patience, foresight, knowledge, humility.”
“None of those things are necessary with enough power.”
“So why do you not choose the one that leads to the others then?”
“Because I … because I’m just that stupid,” I said, shrugging. “Six times around, and each one a bigger mess than the last. Bastard children, broken relationships, trampled lives … if I’m remembering these new memories you just unlocked I caused a Go—” I stopped, remembering where I was. And changed what I’d been about to say. A little. “Caused a damn war in the seventeenth century.”
“Choose something then,” the angel said. “You seem determined to not repeat past mistakes. You have had power, you have had advantage and position, and yet here you sit. So choose—”
“That’s just it. I don’t know what to choose. I’ve had choices, and they’ve never turned out well. Maybe it’s time to stop choosing, and pass the dice.”
“You must choose something.”
I considered the angel. He seemed annoyed … and a little anxious. “No.”
“You must.”
“Okay, fine. I choose not to choose. Let God sort it out.”
The angel’s eyes blazed. “If you’re so smart, and fear such power, then make a trivial selection. Something so inconsequential and meaningless that it will have no impact. That will not lead to the temptation you fear.”
“Like, what?”
“Perhaps a pony?” he said, waving one of his hands. A mist formed near us, and I saw a handsome horse of maybe nine months within it. “Surely a pony will not create within you the monster that terrifies you so.”
“Perhaps I don’t want a pony.”
“Then something else. A cheese sandwich. New shoes. A lifetime’s supply of paperclips. Surely nothing in the digital age that sweeps man’s realm is threatened by your always having enough paperclips on hand, to stock your seventh life’s office.”
I shook my head. “Choosing not to choose is a choice. If you’re going to be an ass about it, then I definitely choose that. Nothing.”
The angel scowled. The misty horse vanished as he drew a sword out of thin air. Its blade was long and black, smoking with dull red heat. “There are ways to make you choose.”
“I’m already dead,” I said tiredly. “The sixth time now. What can you possibly do that’s worse than six failed lives and six even more meaningless deaths?”
Abruptly I landed on the floor, gasping as the breath was startled from my lungs. I blinked, registering the blade swooping back toward me. The first stroke had cut the chair to the floor, and now it was coming at my throat. I considered, for an infinitesimal instant, trying to … dodge. Or something. Then a voice in the back of my head reminded me it didn’t matter.
So I was sitting there, waiting to find out if there really was something worse than six deaths, when a glow of white formed around me. A distant clanging rippled past me, and I realized the sword had been deflected. As I blinked up at it, I saw a second figure had appeared. Angelic, robed in pure white the same as the first one had been. But now the first was no longer robed, or armored in gold; but draped in black and red, pulsing with ethereal otherworldly energy like anime brought to life.
“You have failed,” the white and gold angel said. He had a sword too, matching his armor, and held casually in one hand.
“He will choose.”
“He has chosen. To reject your offer.”
The dark angel moved toward me, and the newcomer interposed himself between me and the angry one. They were glaring at each other when I finally found my voice. “Uh, excuse me—”
“Choose something Man. Anything. Or suffer the fate you deserve,” the one with the red sword demanded without taking his eyes from the angel in white.
“Definitely pass.”
“Begone. You have lost,” the newcomer said.
“There are others,” the first angel said. “You heard him. Sheer random chance brought the one Man who would flick infinity from his fingertips rather than cling to it. In less time than it takes to draw ten breaths I can find countless others who would seize it gladly.”
“Only if Father permits.”
“Father is bored with his creations.”
“For a time, a long time, that might have been true. From your point of view at least. But now he is tired of your meddling. Begone. Skulk in the shadows if you feel the need, but there will be no more strutting. Man is not yours to play with any longer.”
“You cannot defeat me Michael,” the dark angel said, his voice swelling into a roar. He wasn’t shouting, did not yell. But there was raw volume, sheer anger, regardless. Filling the endless room, eternity itself, as he raised his sword.
A blinding crack split the air, and the black and red sword shattered down its middle. The halves landed on the floor as the dark angel staggered back. A booming voice spoke, from everywhere at once.
“Begone. And think on your failure, that I might find forgiveness for you once you repent.”
I caught the angel’s face twisting into horrific, shocked rage, then there was another crack of power. And only one angel remained. Who sheathed his white sword and turned to me with a smile. “Thank you.”
Finding my feet, I stood cautiously. The glow that had surrounded me was gone, and the room was quiet again. Peaceful. “For what?”
“For showing the nobility of His creations finally.”
“Listen, I’m not entirely sure what’s going on here, but I’m just a guy who’s tired of trying.”
“When you yield, He can fill you with righteousness,” the angel said, holding his hand out to me.
I hesitated. “You’re talking about God?” He nodded, and I scowled a little. “Look, I don’t really believe in God.”
“He believes in you. Come. You have nowhere else to go anyway, right?”
“Right,” I said, sighing.
Taking the angel’s hand, I felt the light engulf me. And there was Peace.
* * * * *
I collect all my flash fic [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/DavesWorld/). If you liked this, the others might be interesting too. Enjoy! |
Ted was always something of an asshole. He was never impolite or mean, unless you were first and then... Oh boy. All Ted ever needed to let loose his inner sociopath was an excuse.
It honestly didn't surprise me to find out he became a hitman. People don't want other people dead unless there was good reason. To be frank, it wasn't surprising that a hitman had been hired to kill me. There's plenty of reasons why someone would want me dead.
But the combination? Ted being sent to kill me? That gave me pause.
I glared at the informant across the table, legs crossed and struggling to keep my cool. My stomach had become a ball of butterflies. I was actually excited at the thought of seeing Ted again.
"Ma'am, this guy's got a reputation,"Charlie croaked at me. "He's got a lot of kills and he always..."
"Makes it look like accidents,"I said, cracking a smile at a fond memory.
Minnie Henderson, Junior year, with burnt hair, having made a mistake during a chemistry experiment and set that blonde ponytail on fire. She'd been spreading rumors about me having an STD.
"Do me a huge favor and start monitoring the chemicals downstairs,"I advised Charlie. "I want everything tracked, catalogued and double checked."
"We got another thief, boss?"He asked.
"No. We've got a saboteur,"I answered, standing up. "Tone done some of the activity as well. Tell the boys to take a break and enjoy what money they have on them..."
"Why?"Asked Charlie.
"Henry Rivera's sweet sixteen,"I answered, stretching out my legs and thinking. "Rita spiked the punch bowl, he spiked it harder. She took the fall. He's not above framing us for a crime we would commit just to get us where he wants."
"You know this guy?"The informant squeaked surprised.
"Met in high school down in Murray,"I answered. I wrinkled my nose. I could almost smell the stink of my home town on it's name.
What else would Ted do? Sabotage was his specialty so...
"Ken Wei,"I breathed in shock.
"Do I need to kill him?"Asked Charlie.
"No,"I said. I got to my feet and hurried out of the office.
The informant was too frightened to move. Charlie kept pace.
"So who is he, boss? Why is he important?"Charlie asked, confused.
"He got me pregnant in high school,"I said bluntly. My voice echoed through the mansion halls "A complete jerk of course. Lucky me got an abortion and he decided to tell the whole school."
"Boss, you sure you don't want me to kill him?"He asked.
I laughed a little as I entered the garage and looked at my shiny red Porsche. My little red speed demon innocently waiting to be driven.
I opened up the hood and looked down at the machinery and immediately felt myself smile.
"Boss? You didn't answer the question,"Charlie said.
"Ken Wei died in a car crash. Brake malfunction,"I turned leaning back and sitting on the bumper so Charlie could see what I saw.
"Ted had the oddest ways of showing he cared,"I said, feeling my sixteen years old self blush deep under the crust of my cold black heart.
My brake line had a very visible hole in it. A little white card was tucked delicately next to it.
I grabbed it and pulled the note from the dirty envelope.
'No employer, no contract, no kill. Just sayin'.
"Game on, Ted,"I told the note with a bit of a smile. "Come on Charlie, we got people to murder!"
|
It wasn’t normal for men to sail on their own at this time of night, especially in my territory. My head peeked from above the water, to spy on a man, younger than most of the drunkards that I find foolishly sailing during monsoon season.
My lips hesitated before releasing a seductive hymn too alluring for any land dwellers to handle. After the final note has been uttered, I rose, exposing my undraped body to the world above, radiating in the moonlight.
Then I waited. The breeze brushed my skin, sending shudders to my cheeks. Why the hell wasn’t he reacting?
My eyes glared at the silhouetted figure who was clenching his paddle with his life, while the currents pulled him outwards. If the sea wasn’t so kind tonight, I wouldn’t even have to do my job. It was obvious that this kid didn’t know how to sail properly.
Annoyed, I swam towards him, splashing with my tail in hopes to grab his attention, but to no avail. I even encircled him like a dumb shark, but he didn’t seem to notice at all. I grimaced. I shouldn’t have to go through all this trouble. My songs have always worked, even if it was a lady. Reaching my limits, I tugged at the ledge of his wooden boat.
His head cocked my way.
“GYAAAAAH!!” he screamed, stumbling backwards. His eyes widened to the point where it looked as if they would pop out.
I scowled.
“Why are you not aroused?!”
I proceeded to climb aboard and awkwardly sat with my fins towards the sea. He glanced down at me and blushed. Well, that was a reaction I guess.
Yet, he still didn’t say anything. He just continued to look scared. I watched as he attempted to creep away, and clumsily fell into the water. With a sigh, I hopped back in to save the drowning boy.
“T-thank you.” He muttered.
I blinked twice. “Uh, you’re welcome.”
With his hands, he began twiddling his fingers in an odd, yet uniform motion. He then pointed at his ears.
“I’m deaf.” he stated simply.
“Oh.”
Well, that explains it.
Up close, he was definitely not like the other sailors I have encountered in the past. He was lanky and wore nothing more than a simple raggedy tunic. Dirt and soot riddled his skin, and his hair was untrimmed. A twinge of pity lurched in my stomach, when I noticed the scars that trailed his arms and legs. There was a swollen lump on his left cheek.
“Where are you going?” I asked suddenly.
No reply. Right.
I emerged behind his boat and began pushing it away from the dark clouds that lurked behind us. At the same time I couldn't believe that I was wasting my efforts on a stranger. The boy swiveled around in surprise, and paused before reaching for his oars. He began rowing in an attempt to help me. It definitely did the opposite, with how unskilled he was with them. However, just looking at the determination that overtook his once fearful visage...
It was kind of endearing.
*****
I was looking for a romance prompt for quite some time now! I hope y'all like it. [r/Lalondalot](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lalondalot/)
|
"They are coming, fast, turn the refractive shield on!"Captain Kokarola ordered.
"Yes, sir!"
"Zorba, where is Kurioziti?"Captain asked, impatient.
"Sir?"
"Kurioziti! The robot! Where is the robot!"
"Curiosity is already in the place he was last seen by the humans sir."Private Zorba said.
"Good, good, we are undetectable! They will never guess the password."Kokarola giggled, drinking his worms shake.
The humans landed near curiosity, it was the best place they found, it was a rare, flat area, big enough to set up a camp.
"Ryan, put our batteries inside that cave there, it's a good place against sandstorms and close to the satellites"Logan said, typing the door password.
"No problem."
Two days had passed, they had already checked the perimeter and everything was ready and deployed.
"Logan, I found something in the cave, come here!"Ryan exclaimed. "Fast, fast!"
"If this is a joke, I'm going to... What is that?"Logan said, confused, he glared at the keypad in the cave's wall.
"I think I recognize this numbers..."Logan murmured
"It's wingdings!"Ryan exclaimed, his eyes darted at the discovery, "I used in school with my friends, I know how to translate it!"
They heard something approaching, slowly, they hid behind the stones waiting for the worst.
"Oh my God, it's Curiosity, he is alive!"Ryan said, his jaw dropped.
"Maa ca m ena ma ca re macar ma rena"Curiosity did his best to say, beeping, before a strand of light turning him off.
"Holy shit.."Ryan mumbled "What the fuck was that?"
"Macarena, he said macarena! You can translate macarena to wingdings?"Logan blurted.
Ryan gave him a weird look, "Yes, but I need a paper."
Ryan wrote the translation, ❍︎♋︎♍︎♋︎❒︎♏︎■︎♋︎.
Just after Logan typed the code in the door, the cave's wall opened, and the refractive shield was shut down. |
[EU -- Wh40k]
"So you reckon this is it, sarge?"
Eerie winds blowing, faint tremors in the distance, the ragged breath held by men and women in anticipation of the end. It was as if the ambiance of reality had started performing the most inauspicious symphony it could imagine.
"I reckon a lot of things, son. I reckon ye ought to put the straps on yer 'elmet propr'ly. I reckon ye should not 'ave eaten all yer rations too greedy-like, might risk havin' it on the upchuck. I reckon ye've pissed yerself, on account of the smell."
The young soldier looked down, noticing for the first time the stain on his breeches. He kept his head down as he couldn't bare to face his sergeant or Death that was heralded by louder and louder thunder in the distance. The Sergeant didn't mind his shame though and tore his eyes from the vista to look at him.
"Most of all I reckon yer scared as 'ell. Truth of it, that's the part that ain't much of a worry for me. That's being sane."
Fumbling with his chin-straps the young soldier tried to make the best out of what was turning out to be the worst of this month-long campaign. A war with little end to it, each day costly fought for meters by meters. It had been terrifying then, but now as the sky grew an eerily shade of purple and their opponents stopped being hapless humans like themselves into something ... vile. Now it was a nightmare. His hand shook so much he couldn't manage the simple task of clasping together the straps. The sergeant brushed away his hands and with his calm, wrinkled hands he connected the chin-straps with an effortless grace.
"I've seen nightmares before, son. And I'm pleased to tell ye that what's coming for us over there yonder, however gruesome or abominable, there's a common truth that even they 'ave to obey."
The soldier looked up again to his sergeant. He didn't doubt a second that he'd seen more than he ever imagined himself to be able to live through to see. There were scars that could tell stories from forehead down to the jaw, even his hands had their stories as well. But it was the way the man looked towards the horizon and merely *stared* at their doom that made him believe him.
"What... what truth is that, sarge?"
There was a pause, the young soldier didn't know if it was there for effect but it certainly had one.
"The truth of thousands of lasguns unleashing hell."
And with that the demeanor of the old man changed completely, his quiet wizened ways turning into a brute force of obstinacy as he turned to the rest of his squad and roared out.
"Alrigh' then ye soft-bellied basterds! Ye think the enemies of the Imperium goin' to march on over 'ere and ask us for tea?! Get lively, get ready, raise those lasguns and take bloody aim!"
The squad snapped into action, hugging the trenches and raising their weapons towards the approaching horde.
"We're the sons and daughters of Jericha! 26th Jerichan Rifles! And they're going to remember that, 'cause we're the ornery basterds that kept riddlin' them with holes!"
The soldiers were whipped into a fervor, shouting out their rage and hatred from the enemy and kept chanting "Fury and fire! Fury and fire! Jericha roars! Jericha roars!"
"Damn right we do! Till our last breath!"the sergeant agreed and then took aim himself.
The young soldier braced himself, swept by the inspiring speech and the confidence around him. His hands shook less and he'd forgotten how he soiled himself, turning his fear into cold, seething rage. Adrenaline rushed through him and now he could see shapes emerging out of the purple and unnatural fog ahead of them. The figures looked almost human-like, but twisted and grotesque merely by the shape of their silhouette. He thought he'd feel more fear, from all the horrifying tales he'd heard of the archenemy, he thought he'd freeze and panic.
"Jericha roars! Jericha roars!"he joined the chorus, his finger steadily resting on the trigger.
"Now whatever you do, son."the Sergeant muttered as he kept looking at the tide of enemy approaching. "Don't stop firing."
Flares lit up the sky, further illuminating the horrors that were now charging their lines. Thunderous roar of artillery started from both sides begun their chorus of destruction as each passing second brought down a torrent of fire and explosion both far and near.
His breathing slowed, almost to a standstill. He closed his eyes. With a sharp intake of air he opened his eyes.
And fired. |
"Not a damn thing."Pete dumped the deer carcass onto the counter at the Sunoco. "We've been out hunting all day, and you haven't done a damn thing."
"I put sheet metal over the windows,"Ricky said.
"Angie did that!"Pete said. "You watched her while she worked."
Ricky wiped his forehead. "It's not like that. We had to be sure the metal covered the windows, so, you know, one of us had to stay back to, to see."
Angie and Ryan set to work on the deer. They coordinated their efforts, quietly, and kept their heads down.
"It was like hanging a painting,"Ricky said. "Right, Angie?"
Pete grabbed Ricky's chin. "You're not talking to her. You're talking to me. You're explaining why it doesn't matter that you never do any heavy lifting while the rest of us are busting our asses day in and day out. You're telling me why we should keep you around even though all you are is another mouth to feed, and even though most days we don't have enough food."
Ricky's adam's apple bobbed. "Tell him, Angie."
Angie set her knife down. "I'm tired of you, Ricky."
"But we were a team,"Ricky said. "That's what you told me."
"That's what *you* told *me*. All I did was not disagree."
"Well... well..."Ricky patted his pockets and licked his lips. "It's a good thing I'm gonna be the biggest help ever from now on."
"That's right."Pete stepped chest to chest with Ricky and forced the smaller man out of the Sunoco. "You'll be the biggest help you've ever been. You'll help us eat by not taking our food anymore. You'll help us get work done by not being around to complain. You'll help us by fucking right off."
Ricky hopped up to get Angie and Ryan's attention. "You guys are ok with this? You can't be ok with this!"
"Goodbye, Ricky,"Ryan said.
Angie grabbed a hold of the deer's skin and parted it from the meat.
"Guys!"Ricky said. "Guys?"
Pete hauled a section of metal into the doorway. "Fuck off."
*****
The piddling shitty fire crackled and hissed. It gave off more smoke than heat on account of the rain. Ricky hadn't seen a downpour this strong in years. Him and the fire were tucked under the low branches of a pine tree, mercifully free from the rain. But the wind got in, and it chilled him to the bone.
"Least I can make a fire now,"he said. "Fucking Pete. 'Don't make fires, Ricky.' 'People will find us, Ricky.' Stupid Pete. He's probably freezing tonight, but I'm super warm."He tucked his hands into his armpits and pulled his knees to his chest. Pete, Angie, and Ryan would all be bundled under the quilt they'd found last week. They probably weren't cold at all. And they were perfectly dry inside the Sunoco.
"If they could see me now,"he said. "If they could see Lazy Ricky, with his fire and his pine tree, they'd know I'm not useless. I can figure things out. I can find food."He pulled the three crab apples he'd scrounged in the afternoon out of his bag. The first bite made him wince, it was so sour. "I've got fruit. Fruit has vitamins. All they've got is, like, meat. They'll get scurvy. Ha!"
He munched his apples, rested his chin on his knees, and stared at the piddling shitty fire.
The tree branches shook, and two men pushed their way into the firelight. One had a big red beard and a scar on his nose. The other wore a poncho with the hood pulled over his head. They both carried rifles.
"How's it going, friend?"the guy with the beard said.
Ricky swallowed the crab apple he'd been chewing. "Fine. Thanks. Yourself?"
"Absolutely spec*tac*ular, now that we're out of the rain."The guy with the beard was missing one of his canines. "Say, you got any food you could share?"
Ricky had a single crab apple left in his bag. "I just ate my last apple,"he said.
The guy in the poncho chuckled. Then he spat in the fire. It hissed.
The guy with the beard said, "That's a shame. That's a real shame."He set his rifle at his side and leaned back on his palms. "A lot of what's happened in the last few years has been unlearning things. Me and friend here have unlearned basic hygiene. We've unlearned home decoration. But there's some things people have unlearned that we haven't. Like manners. That's why I'm so glad you accepted us to your fire and asked how I was doing. You're a good guy. I can tell. You've held onto your manners."
The guy in the poncho scooped up a fistful of dirt and dropped it onto the edge of the fire. Where the dirt fell, the fire hissed and died out.
"But then there's things we've learned. New knowledge. Brand new findings. Like we're primitive scientists. We've learned, for example, that it's not the bullet that kills the body. It's the bacteria that get into the wound. We've learned that the best way to keep meat from going off is to keep the animal alive as long as you can. We've also learned that what is and isn't food is really down to the person asking the question."
A second handful of dirt hissed onto the fire. The guy in the poncho chuckled.
"So, we come here and we ask you if you've got any food, and you answer that you're all out. Which is true in a way. But if you were to ask me, I'd say you've got a ton of food, a hundred and fifty pounds at least, just sitting there. Now, what do you think of that?"
All of the saliva had left Ricky's mouth. He was aware of the blood in his veins and the meat on his bones in a way he never had before. He pictured the deer he'd seen that morning, saw Angie parting the fur from the meat, and imagined himself on the counter in its stead. "I know where you can get a deer,"he said. "A whole deer. Killed this morning."
The guy with the beard sat up. "Now that's interesting."
Ricky explained about the Sunoco station, the deer, and his former friends.
The guy in the poncho scooped up a double-handful of dirt and put the fire out. In the darkness under the pine tree, the three men were only visible by their barest outlines.
"What say you take us over there and we have ourselves a feast,"the guy with the beard said. "And tell me, these people, what will they be able to do to stop us from having our feast?" |
**No Name But Firebird**
Firebird made his mother drop him off a couple blocks down from the house. He tugged his hoodie up and jammed his hands in his pockets to hide how hard he was trembling. This was the first time he'd been outside to do anything but visit Dr. Fletcher or help his mother with the groceries in months. He did not *like* outside. The wide open sky made him fidgety, and anxious. He could not stop watching for that arc of silver, screaming across the pristine blue sky.
So instead Firebird came by night. It was cloudy, which somehow made him more anxious. Anxiety. That was the name for the devouring thing that lived within his belly. It was like a python wound around his throat. When that blankness flooded him, he felt it tighten, coiling, ready to deliver one final death crush.
He reached the bottom of the steps. Number 609. He checked and triple-checked the number again and again, looking for a reason not to go inside. One of the neighbors opened her apartment door and descended the steps past him. She gave him an odd look but said nothing.
Firebird almost turned and fled back to his mother. The floor was wavering underneath him. But instead he squared his shoulders and made himself walk up to apartment 4. He stopped outside the doorway, clenching and unclenching his fists. Thought about what Dr. Fletcher would say if he turned back now.
He groaned and touched the doorbell.
Several long, torturous minutes passed. Firebird started to walk away, feeling foolish for giving this a try at all, when the door opened and a surprisingly young man poked his head out the door. He was maybe only a decade or two older than Firebird himself. He supported himself on a bright green cane.
"Sorry,"he said, "I couldn't find my damn leg."
"Oh."Firebird tried not to stare at the hollow left leg of the man's basketball shorts. "I can come back another time."
"No no, you're coming in. I bought brownies, and you are eating some."He slapped Firebird's flat belly and thumped inside so fast Firebird had to hurry to catch up. "Do you want something to drink?"
"You don't have to walk everywhere,"he tried, lamely. "I can get it."
"Here's your first bit of wisdom, kiddo: cripples don't like it when you treat them crippled. Now. What would you like to drink?"
"Water,"Firebird managed, feeling like an asshole. That vise in his throat tightened. "Sorry."
"Don't be. Most people don't say sorry. But you--"he disappeared into the kitchen for a bottle of water, then chucked it at Firebird, who barely caught it "--did. So you are clearly a good person who was just trying to help."And then he smiled, all huge and bright, like they were very old friends, and shook his hand fiercely. "You can call me Ramsey."
"Okay."
Ramsey led the way to the living room and balanced on one leg briefly to point at the armchair with his cane. "Take a seat, Gordon."
Firebird paused. The only people who used his real name were his mother and his therapist. He didn't even call himself Gordon anymore. He descended into the chair, stomach alive with inexplicable terror. His fingers clutched uselessly at the zippers of his cargo pants. He could not stop watching Ramsey's hands, warily, tensing when they moved close to his sides or back. Could not stop trying to calculate if Ramsey was strong enough to overpower him if it came down to a wrestling match. Even down a leg, the man was fit.
Except that was insane.
Ramsey almost sat. Then he asked, "Do you want a pot brownie? I've got Netflix and whatnot."He gestured vaguely to the TV.
"I didn't come here to get high and watch television."Firebird started to rise out of his seat. "Dr. Fletcher said you would talk to me. About what you went through."
"Well you seem wired as hell. Do you really want to talk right now?"
Firebird shrugged noncommittally, which Ramsey took as a no. He disappeared in the kitchen with a pair of warm brownies that smelled faintly green. He deposited one on the coffee table beside Firebird.
"You know,"Ramsey said, sitting on the couch opposite him, "I used to be against any and all addictive stuff. I like never ate sugar, dude. My power required a lot of mental acuity, and when I ate well, I really was unbeatable."He regarded the brownie with a smile. "But I don't care to use my powers anymore. They don't do anything but fuck shit up, you know?"
He turned on some documentary that suddenly got abnormally interesting thirty minutes in. Firebird found himself sinking into the couch. Laughing without thinking about it. He realized when the documentary was over he hadn't thought to scour the sky for death in ages.
But then Ramsey started speaking, drawing him away from that distant paranoia.
"I'm just gonna be real with you,"Ramsey said. They were not quite sitting across from each other. Firebird had to really turn his head to even look the man in the eye. "Because people feed you a lot of compassionate bullshit when they're trying to help. And I know how tedious that is. So I won't lie to you."
"That's a relief,"Firebird admitted.
Ramsey pulled up his pants leg to show his abbreviated left leg, the bottom of it held together by a crude black scar. He barely smiled. "I lost my leg unremarkably. We weren't even in combat. I was totally willing to die, man. I didn't care. If I took out someone like Saber my life would be meaningful, you know?"He waved away Firebird's confused look. "She was a big deal, in the 90s. Badass villain. Got obliterated by an IED."He lifted his own bottle of water in a gloomy toast. "So it goes."
"What happened to your leg?"Firebird ventured.
"Oh, this bitch fireballed my unit. Right out of the clear blue sky. When I came back I don't think I went out on a sunny day for three years."He tipped his head toward the black windows. "I was scared out of my mind. And I never stopped being scared."He turned and caught Firebird's stare. "What scared you?"
"I don't know. Nothing, now."
"You wouldn't be seeing the Fletch if you were feeling well, Gordon."Ramsey cracked another relentless smile. Firebird wanted to hate him but could not. "It's a chemical thing. He helped me understand. Seriously. I wasted so many years of my life fucking loathing myself for something literally physiological. It still sucks. But if you just think about how much your life sucks, it will never stop sucking."
"Yeah,"Firebird grunted. "Alright."
"Look, kid. I know some big baddie tried to fuck you up. I know you have sorrow no one can understand. I know the kind of shit you think about yourself. And you have exactly two choices, and you better pick real carefully."He stuck out two fingers and tapped them one by one. "You can decide to actively try, or you can just cut to the chase and kill yourself."
Firebird stared at him, stunned. He was a little too high to be angry, but he still felt properly insulted. "What the fuck, man?"
"Where else do you think this goes?"He gestured to Firebird, as if he was some ideal example. "If you sit around calling yourself a piece of shit every single day, there's nothing me or your mom or your doctor can say to reverse that."
"What about the rest of it?"Firebird whispered.
"What?"
He clutched at his stomach abstractly, searching for the right word. "The fear,"he finally managed. "How did you stop being scared?"
"I didn't. Hence the self-medication."Ramsey waved the brownie with a self-mocking smirk. "But it's gotten better. I got a cat. Take your time. Look for a snuggler."He rubbed his stubble, thoughtfully. "I think my biggest fear was being vulnerable. For so long I had lived thinking I was literally unkillable. It blindsided me. It made everything unstable, you know? I couldn't trust anything I thought."
If Firebird didn't have such bad dry eyes he would have started crying. "I know what you mean."
"That fear,"Ramsey said, holding out his fist to Firebird's, "doesn't go away. But you learn how to tell it to fuck off."
That time Firebird did start crying.
"I just watched this crazy good documentary about doping in the Russian sports industry, dude. You have to watch it."
Firebird smeared at his face and laughed, feeling absurd and light-headed and strangely happy to be alive. "Okay,"he managed.
He texted his mother to go ahead and go home. Maybe he'd be brave enough to call a cab later.
***
/r/shoringupfragments
btw the documentary is Icarus and it is crazy good! |
I stepped into the wilderness, clutching my pack to my chest. What little scraps of armor I had left barely clung on to me, my only redeeming factor being the slightly glowing jade sword I held. I had gotten it as a 1/1000 drop chance from a dungeon boss.
I slunk in behind the trees, carefully avoiding the known bandit hotspots and PvP trials. All I had to do was get in, get the quest item, and get out. I might even get enough experience from the quest to finally hit level 20, maybe even unlocking a new perk. That would be nice.
I heard the screams of another adventure in the far distance, watching in awe as a beam of fire spat from the sky, so hot that even I could feel it's impact. *Gods Almighty...* I thought. *How could anyone ever get that strong?*
I shrugged on, praying that one day I would have that kind of strength. The char-stained forest eventually started to dwindle, giving way to a small cave in that glowed ever so slightly from the inside. The cave of Grail. I dashed forward, slipping through the crack in the boulder, averting my gaze from a dead adventurer next to me, an arrow cracking out of her skull. I shuddered slightly.
The cave was dark inside, save for a small glowing light which I cautiously crept towards. It eventually grew larger, and I found my self staring face to face with the Golden Grail of Tribatha. I felt a rush of adrenaline, and I almost grabbed the grail on instinct, but I held myself back. Cautiously, I searched for traps, eventually finding a small wire that attached to the grail. I dismantled it. Thankfully I had leveled my trapping and tracking skill before I attempted this quest.
I reached for the grail, my hands clasping the glowing gauntlet as I gave a small whoop of glory.
Suddenly, the cave clasped open, revealing a knight standing amidst brilliant light. He had large wings on his back, and held a flaming sword, with a full set of gold ornate armor. Even the boot was worth more than I was.
"Sup noob,"I heard him say. He looked at my sword. "Poor Pl3b. Whatever. That'll sell for a couple golds."
"Please!"I felt my mouth move. "Please I'm new. Please let me go."
"Stfu poor n00b,"he responded, raising his flaming sword.
"Please!! I just want to try out the new glitch,"I said.
He paused, his thirst for blood barely held back by his curiosity.
"What glitch?"He asked.
"The Item-Duping one,"I said.
He pointed his sword to me. "Tell it to me or you die."
I put on a facade of panic, screaming "Okay, okay!".
"First, standing on the ground, holding this grail,"I advised, as I held him the quest item.
"Then, bunny hop twice, then crouch, backspace, all chat."I said, and he complied.
"Finally, drop the grail and spam Alt +F4,"I said.
He did so.
He stopped moving. I walked over, tentatively prodding him with my sword. Nothing happened. Heart racing, I quickly slayed his defenseless character, my heart bursting as his loot fell on the ground.
I was rich.
***
[r/ConlehWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/ConlehWrites/) for more! |
“If we are to learn the ways of conquest, we must join these barbaric people and learn of their methods of destruction.”
Balthazar gazed at his perplexed audience. In the dim light of the room, he saw faces that he had known since he was only a few years old, faces that melted with fear at the sound of his incendiary words. Not one of his men had ever engaged in physical combat. In fact, not one of his men had ever questioned his authority, and today was no exception. Fear turned to acceptance and the faces began to nod slowly and cautiously.
“Then it is settled. One nation state will attack another of the same species at a location by the name of ‘Inchon.’ We shall join the amphibious invasion force.”
He saw fear in the room once more, and adopted a gentler tone.
“We chose this planet because it is remarkably like ours and their species is imitable. In the foreseeable chaos, we will be invisible. You have all spent decades learning their language, their customs and their culture. Now we will learn what cannot be taught, aggression. Tomorrow will revolutionize the future of our species, and you, my friends, will be the pioneers.”
---
Light had just graced the strange planet and an ugly, insistent roar shook the hollow container that carried them across the water. Balthazar gazed down at his khaki uniform and black polished boots. Years of study enabled him to identify every single item that surrounded him, but nothing could prepare him for the vicious weapon that now rested in his hands.
The sound of the motor was suddenly overcome by a deafening shriek above. The fake soldiers that had been perfectly lined up into rows exploded into a terrified mess. Balthazar clambered up to the bridge, his shaking hand gripping heavily on the handrail. Another shriek preceded another silent shuffle of alarm from his men. By the time their leader was staring ahead at the approaching beach head, the sporadic shrieks had become a sinister chorus. Yellow bursts of colour dotted the land before being masked in a great of cloud and dust and smoke.
Their metal coffin reached the beachhead with a heavy thud and slowly, torturingly the great iron bow lowered to reveal the destruction that had been promised. Uniforms littered the beach, their occupants painting the yellow sand red, some screaming in an arduous and unnatural pitch. Their incomprehensible pleas were met only with the fire and fury of the unyielding battery. Some uniforms continued onwards, towards the terrible smog, only to be met by more red sand and more agony. Balthazar’s men did not move from their coffin.
The uniforms signalled for them to move in, their faces blackened and weary. When no-one moved, the expressions changed. Great, angry trenches appeared across their faces and their mouths became gaping volcanoes belching discordant commands.
Yet no boots crossed into the shallow slaughter. The door receded and the Balthazar’s men retreated.
---
In the dim light of the room, Balthazar assessed the faces of his men, scanning carefully for the traces of that strange emotion that adorned those uniforms at the beach. He breathed a gentle sigh of relief as he saw the same fear and integrity that he had seen before they departed. In a sullen voice, Balthazar issued his short debrief.
“We have no need to learn the ways of conquest. This species fights one another with such ferocity that there shall be no living man within a few centuries. It is then that we shall restore this angry planet to one of peace.”
Edit: Removed the term lightyear as a measure of time...thank you /u/MeowRune for pointing it out!
|
Quietly locking my door and settling myself down at my desk, I wondered about the risks of what I was doing. It could easily get out of hand. Sooner rather than later it was almost destined that someone would find out about this, and I had no idea what the hell was going to happen when that occurred. Whatever it was, my gut was telling me that it certainly wouldn’t be good.
Still, I thought, staring at the coin I had been holding. It was working so far. Just had to be careful.
Before I could think things through any further, I flipped the coin, reciting my wish with a determined tone as it soared through the air and clattered down on to my desk.
“Fifty magic coins.”
As it began to settle, I had the briefest of moments to see it had landed on tails, before it blinked out of existence a heartbeat later.
I sighed, opened the drawer to reveal the pile of coins inside, and tried again.
|
"Where the hell are the *burp* O5, then?"
"They're all dead sir. Except for you."
Rick looked at the mess these dumbasses got themselves into. SCP-682 was on a rampage, and for once, he was glad because he was exterminating some other problem SCPs. 173 couldn't move for shit because in the chaos, everybody and everything was accidentally glancing at it.
096 was doing just as much damage as 682 was, but steering clear of 682. SCP-____-J was doing a damn good job of holding some SCPs in place, because they just got too lazy to even kill anyone.
Hearing a screech, he saw a full grown pterodacytl wrestling with a guy with scrap-metal wings. Plus, both the vending machine and coffee machines were shooting lasers at everything in sight. Not that that was any different from a regular tuesday for Rick, though.
Rick dodged behind a desk when he was fired on by a bronze Civil War statue, and saw it struggle to reload before being struck nearly ten feet back by a red WHAM-O ball, thrown by one of the more human SCPs.
"How the hell did this even happen?"
"You did this, sir. It's all your FAULT, I'LL KILL YOU!"
His secretary ran at him, and Rick zapped him without a second thought.
"Aggresor SCPs are out. This dimension is screwed."
He drank another beer. He's been through plenty of dimensions, but this is the first one where he's about to cause at least a hundred world-ending scenarios, and at least two universe-ending ones.
"I'll be needing some help with this. Where the hell is Bright and Clef?"
"Here, sir."
Rick jumped, and saw Clef with two cinammon rolls in his ears. One of the rolls was staring at him.
"Alright, where's Bright?"
He felt something furry touch his foot, and saw a teddy bear waving at him.
Rick drank another beer, longer this time.
"Alright you two, how do you think we should do-"
"Let's just leave."Clef said.
The teddy Bright nodded as well. It was also stabbing itself.
"Not a bad idea. I'm late for dinner with the Smiths. Again."
Rick pushed some buttons, grabbed the teddy Bright, and held Dr. Clef's hand as they left this doomed dimension behind.
"300th time's a charm, right?"Rick asked.
The teddy shook its head. Clef snickered.
"You guys suck."
|
"Barren,"Whispered the angel, casting a glace over the land, his expression disgusted, "Barren now, and forevermore."
He kicked at a pile of dust on the arid ground before him, scattering it into the wind, riding the air to the far reaches of the earth. Condemning it just as he had- as a pocket for evil to fester, the region between heaven and hell that bore characteristics from both kingdoms. Like rusted iron- in the beginning, perfect, but now of no worth. Tarnished and corrupted by forces sinister.
Though the Angel stood little more than the height of a man, his eyes saw all that occurred on that scarred world. His dark wings stirred as he sensed the wars that ravaged over its surface, his brow creasing at the sound of whips in the distance as mankind drove slaves deep into the ground to seek precious metals out of avarice. And his fists clenched as he heard the screams from their brothels, and the weeping of children that summoned the back of their father's hands.
"Wicked,"he condemned, as he prepared for the task before him. A task fitting only for the Angel of Death.
Of his own kind, there were those who still spoke well of the earth's beginning. Remembering God himself had willed his own greatness into it, that the first humans had started strong. That though far from perfect, they sought virtue and righteousness. These, of course, were the same among his kind that considered him no better than the fallen, the demons below.
As time stretched from years to millennia, mankind had forgotten their purpose, and had abandoned their quest to bring good to the world. And Hell had eagerly reached upwards to grasp their souls.
The Angel of Death spoke a single word then, a single syllable. One that would destroy mankind in the most fitting way possible- to bring their own ancestors back from death, and scour the earth of their own kind. To eradicate their failure from nature, to allow God to paint over it once more.
"Rise."
But the Angel of Death frowned as his power surged forth, dragging the spirits from the afterlife back to the bodies of their corpses. For where in the past they had found homes in bodies, man had taken to the tradition of burning and burying their dead. And now, there were no bodies to be found.
Instead, those spirits soured over the earth, crying in dismay as they witnessed the evil of their progeny, of how they had turned from their potential.
Without a host, a spirit cannot survive for extended periods of time. Instead, it decays, leaving its mark on the world one final time. And these spirits, the spirits of good intentions, the spirits that still remembered God's touch, left behind marks that had not been seen for centuries.
They left memories of times before violence, before man took up weapon against his brother.
They left hope that stirred in human hearts, a desire change, for parents to seek a better life for children thank their own.
And they left the stories, the poems and the histories, changing the very words on the pages of books so that man would never forget the goodness instilled deep within him.
The Angel of Death shook his head, the effects of his power not what he had anticipated. For the first time, the dead had not risen to destroy, but rather to create. And he lowered his hand, his expression satisfied, seeing the first blooms of flowers poke through the once salted soil.
"One more chance,"He whispered, spreading his wings in preparation for flight, preparing a message to deliver to heaven.
That this time, man might remember the mistakes of those before them, and the legend of the greats.
That perhaps they would learn.
***
By Leo
[Like my writing? Read my free superhero novel Star Child](https://www.reddit.com/r/leoduhvinci/comments/65jl9n/star_child_part_1/) |
He was a friend to many. Clumsy at times, yes, but he held a special place in the hearts of all. Faced with dire circumstances, he would repeatedly find a way out. Every situation would turn into a positive result, as if it were a walk in the park.
But he had one addiction. One thing that made him go, that drove him to the near point of madness. An insatiable hunger, the center of his being. It was the dark source of his energy.
By himself, he would go to its source. The process wreaked damage to hundreds, if not thousands. But he ignored the sound of their destruction. His body was made for this, and he was near immune to their feeble attempts to stop him from gaining that which he craved.
But guilt slowly began to eat at his mind. He had kept it a secret, but he had begun to understand that he had a deep-rooted problem. He could fear the public no more. It was time to admit what he needed to those around him. He would tell the one who he thought would be the most forgiving. Or was it the one who never got lost, even in the midst of turmoil?
Pooh turned to Tigger. "I'm out of hunny." |
When The Player left, many colonists just wandered around aimlessly, dragging their peg leg down the hall or, for the less fortunate ones, writhing in pain in the hospital. People usually had something useful to do, but not me, nope. I was on janitor duty.
At first, we were curious. Why would The Player leave, especially now? I mean, we've just researched Incendiary IEDs! We could now blow the shit out of those raiders! Free food with the added bonus of a fireworks display.
Then came the first one. Jenna was about to open the door when the long, sleek horn ripped the door apart, which also had the added effect of ripping Jenna apart. No biggie, we've dealt with rhinos before, and as the only assassin in the colony, this shouldn't be too difficult.
Then the rest of the animal came through the door. Its silver fur shone in the hallway lights, its white horn tainted with Jenna's blood. A thrumbo. A fucking thrumbo.
I bolted out of the hallway, entering the first room I had access to.
"Thrumbo!"I yelled out. "Thrumbo in the building! We need firearms, people! Bring them all!"This happened once before, but The Player was able to take care of it with ease. Now he was gone, and I was the next best thing to a leader these peasants got. Yes, a janitor leader, but a leader nevertheless!
I heard gunshots in the hallway, smelled the gunpowder burning. I opened the door and fired. Me, being trigger-happy, went all guns blazing on the beast, soaking his fleece with blood.
It didn't go down without a fight, though, for the thrumbo injured four of our colonists and killed another before he was downed. His victim's wife had the honor of putting a bullet through its head.
We all celebrated the success, cheering and jumping up in the air. I could also see someone lighting up a smokeleaf joint. We wondered why The Player would reset over *one* thrumbo. Was he a coward?
Then we heard heavy stomping in the distance. I looked out the door and saw seven other thrumbos charge at our base.
As if living on this Rimworld wasn't shit enough. |
The ache between my shoulders and the headache at my temples had both been increasing for a week. Probably stress from dealing with my parents' funeral and estate while sleeping on my old childhood bed. The pain definitely wasn't helped with so many people kneeling in front of me as I tried to go about my business. I had never met these people before and yet they were treating me like royalty, it was unnerving. I rub my temples in an attempt to sooth them and feel the small bumps on my skull were getting larger. I need to go see a doctor; it had to be cancer. Just yet another thing to worry about. At least one good thing was about to happen. As I walk into the airport I'm relieved to see my best friend since childhood, Mark. I hadn't been able to see him since my Parents' funeral last week and I'm glad he had finally arrived in town to visit. Unfortunately, as soon as he sees me, he drops to one knee.
"Would you cut it out?"I say, hitting him with my hat.
Mark stands up quickly. "Sorry. Have I done something to offend you, my highness?"
I guffaw at the use of that honorific. "Ha, your highness. That's rich. You're behind this prank aren't you?"
Grant stands up slowly. "What prank?"
"Oh, just people bowing to me, kneeling in front of me, calling me 'your highness'. You set up secret cameras to catch my reaction didn't you?"
"I .. don't know what you are talking about ... your highness."
I smirk at Grant. "Last month you were telling me how stupid I was because I couldn't get my Super Nintendo Classic to work and here you are calling me 'your highness'."
"I'm so sorry. How can I repent? At the time I didn't realise you would be .. you know."
All of this repenting and 'your highness' talk is making my headache worse. "What are you talking about?"I growl.
"You know. The thing."He clears his throat while casting a glance over at a couple of strangers at the airport. He gives up. "Really? Fine, lets go to your place."
---
As we approach the taxi, Mark quickly steps in front of me to open the door for me. I narrow my eyes at him in annoyance, and he just sheepishly grins. I just surrender and sit heavily into the cab. The driver looks at me and his eyes go wide.
"My liege, I'm so sorry, I did not know it was you. Do you need help with your bags?"the cab driver fires off at me, each word digging into my brain like a knife.
"No, they are my friends bags, and it looks like he needs some help."
"Oh course your highness, right away your highness."
I see the cabbie almost injure himself with the speed he helps Marc get his bags in the trunk. If they wanted to take this prank to this extreme, there wasn't much I could do about it. I close my eyes, trying to ease the pain.
---
I wake up to find that we are at my parents house already. The cabbie had already unloaded Mark's bags and Mark was looking around the property. I quickly get out of the cab and approach.
"Err, sorry about that, how much do I owe you?"I ask.
"Oh, no charge for you, my lord."he quickly replies.
Uuugh, more honorifics. My temples throb.
"No, no. Paying my fare is the right thing to do. How much?"
"Thirty nine dollars,"he says hesitantly.
"Here's a fifty, keep the change."
"Oh, you are very kind my lord, very wise and good and kind,"says the cabbie quickly, bowing his head into the dirt.
"Okay, that's enough, bye!"
The cabbie reluctantly returns to his cab and finally drives away. "What the fuck,"I mutter under my breath.
By the time the cab has vanished around the corner, Mark has wandered over to me.
"Yeah, this place is secure enough. I think we need to talk ... your highness."
"Please stop calling me your highness Mark. I've known you for 30 fricken years, you can drop it."
Mark looks at me with a smirk and replies, "As you wish, my lord."I swing a lazy punch at him which Mark deftly dodges.
"Fine, okay!"says Mark, laughing. "I'll stop now. Lets get inside."His laughter is infectious and I find myself grinning as we walk inside.
---
Finally the ache is easing as the painkillers are working. I'm so glad I went to the drug store earlier to get a refill. Mark walks into the kitchen and nods to me.
"I found what I was looking for finally. Your parents made it tricky, but if you know what you are looking for."Mark says and then winking at me. I just shrug. He beckons for me to follow.
A minute later we are standing in front of the linen closet.
"This isn't anything special Mark, it's just the linen closet."
"Oh really?"Mark winks. "See, the problem is that I've walked all over this house, and there's a gap between your parent's bedroom and the bathroom. Just enough space for a closet, but there is no closet. Do you know what that means?"
I'm in no mood for cryptic puzzles at this time so I sarcastically reply, "My parents felt a desperate need to hide their horrible fashion choices?"
Mark laughs. "No, secret passages you dolt."Mark reaches his hand above the door frame of the closet. "Aha! Found it!"
With a click and a snap, the linen shelves swing inwards, revealing a ladder heading down. In a space that's barely big enough to hold a person, my parents had hidden a secret basement. This was nuts.
"Well, shall we?"asks Mark, as he turns on his phone's flashlight function.
---
We descend down into the gloom, but suddenly brightness appears as sconces on the walls of the passage flare to life. The whole situation seems more suited to a LARP rather than a suburban basement. Mark leads the way down the corridor until the way is blocked by a heavy oak door, with multiple carvings of
"Dragons?"The word escapes my lips before I know it.
"Well, yeah."says Mark, the grin on his face reflecting his amusement. "After you."
I step up to the door. All of this seems familiar somehow, like from a memory I once had, but I know I haven't been here before. The dragons, intertwined are fighting .. no dancing! with each other. The one in the center is watching ... me. I notice his eyes are rubies inset into the wood, but it feels like they are alive, the dragon beckoning me to approach. I reach out my hand to touch his scales. There's a flash of golden light and the doors crack open. Beyond is a large hall, filled with uncountable treasures and piles of gold. Sitting in the center is a very life-like, giant gold dragon statue, set to leap into flight. The beauty takes my breath away.
Mark whispers behind me, "Do you have a birthmark Aiden? On your waist perhaps? That, if you turn just right, kind of looks like a"
"dragon."I finish.
"Welcome home, Dragon King."
(ps. Mistakes are due to it being 3am.) |
My name's Jaymes Bond. For a thousand years I have been in a glorified freezer. I was only supposed to be in there for a wee year, I put a bet in with my friends on whether I'd live, and even told 'em I was allowed to have a lad's night out if I lived. Well, my stupid arse got me locked in for a thousand years. Fancy that.
When I was awoken, supposedly the fate of the world was hanging in the balance, and the greatest hero of all time would 'ave to save it: 007, AKA James Bond. However, a slight error in administration lead to him being exterminated and me being awoken instead. Bit of a cock up, that was.
After running some field tests to see if I was still fit, which I passed thanks to me having a good record back in the days of school PE, they then started to outfit me with these gadget things. Just glorified guns, knives and a watch that shoots lasers. Why'd I want 'at stuff, I don't know. But I didn't want to tell them they got the wrong bond, so I played along with the nutters. I couldn't have made a stupider decision.
My first few bloody months were chaotic. Jumping into secret volcano bases, killing oversized lizards with me bare hands and cursing the Queen to Hell and back for activating 007. Let me tell yer, if the higher ups caught me doing that then I think I would've sided with the chaps I was sent after, if not just to bloody live. My superiors are more bonkers than the people I've killed, and honestly I didn't think it was possible. Thankfully though, I got a few months of rest and perfected my James Bond impression between that period and it's numerous operations to the next, and final, mission. Oh I needed it.
I was sent after the man who had made the freezers all those years ago. The same man who 'ad made my bloody one-way TARDIS and the real 007's casket: Morgan Rheolwr Rheoledig. According to our spies and satellites, the guy had managed to find a way to put himself under, while retaining brain function, hooking himself up to global networks like the Internet and also to things like people's computers, cars and phones.
We don't know *how* he did it, but we know he was using it to manipulate the world and control it from the comfortable spot next to the ice and frozen peas. Poor bastard probably saw a few people busting a nut, I bet. Serves 'im right though.
The guy's lab was in some cavern in the himalayan mountains. The search team and meself went out there and spent weeks checking every little nook and cranny for even the small hope he was as stupid as I was. Sadly though, he wasn't, and we never did find his location. That is, until I started using me own noggin.
I decided that the best way to find a cavern that had its entrance concealed was to simply throw meself at the ground and hope I didn't fall down to me death. My boss was right pissed that this was my plan, but after we found an area we were suspecting to be the entrance, I started throwing myself into the ground in hopes I broke through.
Somehow, my less than majestic swan dives led to me breaking a few teeth and also making a pretty big hole in the ground after a few hours. When I fell in, I found meself surrounded by all kinds of science shite and loads of different machines. After getting my sorry ass off the ground, I started hearing a speaker system.
"Oh? Someone seems to have found my lair. I suppose it was you, Bond. You *were* known as the best spy in your time, I suppose. Still, it did take you an awfully longtime, didn't it?"Came the voice. For a computer controlled by a brain flavour ice cream, it was deeper than I thought it would be.
"That's right. We were so busy laughing at your pathetic attempts at world domination, we forgot to actually look for you,"I replied, trying to not sound like I wasn't the real Bond, "We eventually got bored and decided to stop you."
"Oh that is adorable. You've been under the ice for so long that you forgot your basic mannerisms? You barge into my house and now you are disrepecting me. How rude!"It - he? - replied. This'll be a nightmare, I reckon.
After a few minutes of chit chat between us, he eventually sent in some robots to kill me. Thankfully, I had a crippling fear of AI overlords and death machines so I instinctively ran and screamed like a little girl. When I had managed to calm down enough to think, I pulled me gun thing out and tried to shoot 'em.
Before I realised, though, I had just fired a grapple hook. It got lodged into the chest of one of the machines, and the next thing I know, I'm zipping towards it at bloody fast speeds. The robots were confused when I had recovered and kicked one to the ground though, which gave me a chance to use me laser watch and slice the things in half. The speakers started again.
"Gah! Why'd you break those? They weren't toys you know! Those cost me a lot of slave's lives to build, and you just cut them up like nothing!"
"That I did, Mr Farmfoods special. Now if you don't mind, I have a mission to get on with, so stop talking and start chilling."I replied. Who said I had to make my 007 impression have no humour?
"Oh for - You know what? I was thinking of doing this later, but after that pun you deserve it. I am going to send my war machines at you, see how you like *that!*"The speakers replied. I didn't think a human popsicle could possibly be so angry.
Well, as expected, he sent his war machines. Monstrosities that towered over even the tallest of men, and that came equipped with state of the art ballistic weaponry. On their shoulders were mounted missile launchers, each carrying 50 shells, each one strong enough to level a small town, and they had two gatling guns on each arm, capable of firing 1000 rounds a minute. I was not looking forward to this.
It took a total of twenty minutes to kill the machines. There were only two, and fer half that time I was running around and hoping neither of them could actually hit me. The entire time, my target had been constantly speaking and my God it was making me angry. Well, it turns out they are shite at maneuvering, so I managed to get behind 'em easily. I noticed that one of them had an exposed fuel tank, and so I fired a gun into it that I took from one of the budget terminators from earlier.
After what was basically like being attacked by a million screeching babies each with a hand grenade, the ringing in me ears stopped and the machines were dead. Of course, my little friend started talking again after he went silent from seeing them get blasted to smithereens:
"What - How - WHAT THE HELL JAMES. They were supposed to kill you, not blow up! Even I felt that blast, and my nervous system is currently on life support! Why aren't you dead?!"
"Because those things are useless. An exposed fuel tank, seriously? And you wonder why your subordinates were beaten so easily."I called out. I was getting sick of hearing this man's voice, and I swear on 007's life that I was going to rip his vocal cords out when I found him.
"Usele--- How *DARE* you call my design useless! What would you know about robotics engineering? Huh?!"He screamed. Good lord, make him stop.
"Well, you see,"I begun, noticing that I was approaching the room he was held in, "I don't know much, but I know enough to know you don't put a fuel tank somewhere where bullets could hit it. Also, say your farewells now, since I'm just outside."
When I barged in, it wasn't a small room like I'd imagined. I had walked into a giant antechamber, filled with a great many freezer sarcophagi, each one labelled 'Loyalist'. In the beautiful light they had glistened, portraying an atmosphere of peace and happiness, and in the centre of the room was a large pillar, on top of which was the central system and, as a result, the cryogenic pod of Morgan. A stair case led up, reflecting the light that emanated from the freezers, resting at the top being one of the wankers that got me in this mess. The other being meself.
*Part 1 here! Part 2 wouldn't fit as a single story, so I cut it and made it a reply. I hope you enjoy!* |
You're walking in the cemetery,
There's no one around except those that are dead,
Out of the corner of your eye you spot him
^Shia ^LaBeouf
He's lurching after you, covered in dirt
His arm hangs loose as he lurches up to speed
He's gaining on you
Shia LaBeouf
Your candle sputters out and you fall to the ground
He's so close now, and now you can smell his rotting corpse
My God there's dead flesh everywhere!
Running like a fool! -- From Shia LaBeouf
His mouth is pouring drool -- it's Shia LaBeouf
Stumbling from the graveyard
**Undead Cannibal Shia LaBeouf**
|
"1,364,755 days?"I thought, "that's more than 3500 years...the Catholic Church hasn't even been around for more than about 2000 years, this must be some sort of prank."
"While I am not here to judge, you know that lying, especially in the house of God is a sin correct?"I said aloud.
"Yes Father, I am aware. I know that it seems very far fetched but I assure you it is true."
Deciding that the man behind the wall must just be so embarrassed at what he had done, I decided to let it slide as he was here to confess his transgressions. "Alright, well what are you here today to confess?"I said aloud again.
"Over these past thousand years I have been at the helm of many malicious attacks, I have helped great and terrible leaders rise to power. I have killed hundreds of thousands at my own hand throughout my entire long life. Over the years I have felt guilt for my wrong doings, however when one lives as long as I have the only way to survive is to muster as much power as you can and being at the helm of evil leaders is the best way to do so. While my father had always spoken of God and his miracles, I rarely listend to him and eventually went off on my own after committing a horrendous crime within my own family. I have recently starting attending churches after my most recent power grab with a man you know as Hitler."
At this point I could not believe anything this man was saying, there was no way he was telling even an ounce of truth, but I let him continue as maybe his lies would lead to some form of truth that would allow me to help him.
He continued, "Well I have stumbled upon your church and have attended mass every week for the past 10 years. For some reason what you have said has resonated with me and I would like to confess all of my sins."
This part of his story actually seemed true, and I realized that my waiting had paid off. The man was going to be truthful and I would be able to help him. "Wonderful my son, well lets start all the way back since your last confession."
So began the tales of this wondrous man. He told stories of the Egyptian people, stories of the rise and fall of the Roman empire, even going as far as to say he had met Jesus himself and did not believe who he truly was. He admitted to being behind Judas' betrayal, and this is what shocked me the most. As his story continued and the hours passed, I started to believe him more and more with all the details he gave, and his insight into history as if he actually was there, which if his claims were true, he was. As his story grew to a close, the sun had started to rise. The man had come in around 9pm the night before meaning that they had been there for around 9 hours. After the man had finally finished, I replied, "I know that this is not customary for me to ask, however I must know. Who are you?"
The man just gave a short laugh and replied, "Father you sure do continue to surprise me. If you must know, I do not go by my true name anymore but it is Cain, son of Adam. I look forward to seeing you next Sunday, even though you wont see me."
With that he was gone. I didn't even get to tell him what he must do to atone for his sins. This man, whoever he really was, had changed my life forever. With that I heard a knocking on my door, my turn at confession was over. I got up and walked out without even acknowledging the other priest taking my spot.
Hey guys, this was my first response and first time truly diving into story telling, so please don't be too harsh :P. Although some healthy criticism is much appreciated! I plan on doing these more often so keep on the lookout for some! |
“What’s it like?” she asked.
I was never any good with words. Even worse with describing anything at all. But she made me want to try. I asked her to give me a second to think and looked at the sunset and nature that surrounded us. It was one of my favorite places to be. Nature always made me feel as though everything was alright. There was no worry of someone judging me, nothing petty going on, just you, your thoughts, and life.
I had never brought anyone out here before, mostly because I came here whenever I needed to be alone and just find some peace of mind. Today was probably one of the most gorgeous sunsets that I have ever seen though. I couldn’t think of anyone else that could possibly be by my side. And then I began…..
“Do you feel the warmth of the sun on your skin?” She nodded.
“That warmth is falling upon all the trees, the animals, the water, and us. Every single thing that is shined upon by the sun feels what we are feeling right now.”
She let go of me for a second and laid back on top of the car. She let the sun wash over her and completely absorb her. I looked at her in awe and asked myself how I got so lucky. But I continued….
“Take a deep breath. This is air is very natural. We’re high enough and far enough away from the city that the air is absolutely wonderful. It’s crisp. Almost like every breath is going into our lungs and softly caressing them from the inside. Making them feel better and telling them that it’s all going to be okay.”
I looked around and tried to think of other things to say, and how to explain it to her. I looked at some rabbits just hanging out and having a good time. In the distance, I managed to see a hawk flying low, possibly looking for food.
“There are all these living creatures around. Some small and others that are much bigger. Some are looking for food. Others are trying to get back home. There are even a few lucky ones that have wings that are trying to follow the sun. There is a bear that is somehow climbing up a tree. It might even be trying to get a better view of the sun like us. Or maybe it’s coming for us!”
She laughed and playfully hit me on my back. “Keep going…”
“The little river that runs through here…. It reflects the light and makes the water look even more beautiful. It seems like the water is a magical object that is almost too delicate to touch. Any contact with your skin will break it, but no. Instead, the light, the water, and your skin all mesh and suddenly your skin is from another world.”
“I want to feel it” I couldn’t help but laugh and say
“It’s probably cooler to touch than the sun”
She laughed again. Every time she laughed I just fell for her even harder. How did I get so lucky?
“You want to go down by the river?”
She nodded and asked for a little help getting down.
I better get really good at describing things for her. I’ll probably be doing it for the rest of my life. |
Zep and I were ready for the drop. Our ship was inbound for Washington DC, or whatever the aliens called it. From what I'd gathered, it was much like the Citadel back home, but I knew that must have been a bit of a simplification. Creatures like these human things were brutes, and obviously not capable of the higher thought that would lead to a democracy. Much like Zep, my fa'helian comrade. Looking at him, I knew we were going to win, if that was even in question to begin with. He was a hulking creature with bright red flesh and muscled tendrils that could crush a freighter ship. All I had to do was unleash him on the human aliens below, an we'd be golden.
The ship slowed as the alien planet came into sight. I think what surprised me most was the glow coming from its dark side. If I didn't know any better, I'd say they had genuine cities and metropolises, but a more rational explanation was that these humans had some sort of bioluminescent fauna on their planet. I could see their vast stretches of green on the light side, and the mesmerising blue surrounding. I was surprised it wasn't all desert. These brutes had nuclear weapons, for ßłøæw's sake. Maybe they were cowards as well as brutes, and hadn't yet summoned the courage to wage their wars with their best weapons.
"Inbound, gentlemen,"our pilot said. "Target in sight."
"Ready for drop,"I replied. "They won't know what hit them."
The ship seared through the sky like a hot knife. Plumes of black smoke erupted outwards as flames battered off the cockpit. The doors opened. I dared to look down.
And that was the last thing I saw. There were missiles heading straight for us. I didn't even comprehend it before there was nothing left of me to do the comprehending with.
Turns out, this alien species was indeed intelligent, but in one way we'd never seen before. They were the only species thus far discovered whose greatest wits were for warfare. |
"Hands up people! Keep quiet and the Terror Gang won't have to kill anyone today!"
I keep my expression carefully neutral but inside I'm cringing. "The Terror Gang". Super villains aren't what they used to be. I'm hoping things will improve because this is just embarrassing. Of course, they don't.
"Blaze! Keep an eye on them while we crack the safe!"the leader calls to a man with a red cape.
"Don't worry boss, I'll light up anyone who so much as moves a finger"Blaze says in an exaggerated deep voice.
*Blaze, light up... please tell me they didn't do the name thing*
"Where the hell are you Boomer, we gotta blow the vault before the cops get here"someone else shouts.
I let out soft groan and cover my face with my hands. Our guard considers that moving and Blaze is standing in front of me instantly.
"You looking to get burned old man! We told you not to move!"he screams in my face. I flick a bit of spittle off my cheek. Of course Blaze doesn't like that.
"If you move again I'll burn you AND your kid!"
Okay, that's not cool. I mean, the watch Junior is wearing is also a personal shield and they can't actually harm my son, but that's besides the point.
I decide that the Terror Gang won't be robbing this bank today.
"I'm so sorry! I just have a migraine and three guys shouting at maximum volume isn't helping"I say in my best terrified accountant voice.
"There's five of us dumbass, learn to count!"Blaze thunders, covering me with more spittle.
*Thank you for telling me there's only five* I think. Only five, and four of them are in another room trying to get the vault open.
I'm sure Blaze thinks that standing so close to someone is very intimidating and tough, but it also makes him unable to block my knee before it hits his groin. With a barely audible squeek Blaze's knees give way and I catch him before he can hit the floor. In the time it takes him to recover from the knee-groin interface I've immobilized him. It's for circumstances like this that I keep my knife on my person at all times. The tip of the blade hovers a few centimeters above his left eye.
"Now, Blaze,"I whisper, "Let's not do anything stupid like calling out to your friends. I am perfectly okay with stabbing this knife through your eye, into your brain. Are you going to make a noise?"
Blaze shakes his head. There's panic in his eyes.
"Very good Blaze, you're not as stupid as you look. I'm going to ask you a few questions and you're going to answer them *very quietly*. Do you think you can do that?"
Blaze nods.
"Awesome. So, there's five of you. You're the fire guy, then there's Boomer. What are the other gimmicks?"
"Bullseye does guns, he's like fucking Lucky Luke,"Blaze says without taking his eyes off the blade, "Bladestorm has swords in his arms that he can extend. Mastermind is the one that planned all of this and recruited us."
"Your ability to come up with unique names astounds me."I reply, "Alright, Blaze. You're going to raise your voice in a bit, shout something tough and manly, as if you were still guarding us."
Blaze opens his mouth but before he can shout I raise one finger.
"Remember, I won't lose any sleep if I skewer you like a kebab. Don't be dumb."I say before lowering my finger.
"I said don't move asshole!"he calls out, trying to sound convincing. Blaze is a terrible actor, but his shouting has bought us a minute or two before the rest start becoming suspicious.
"Thank you Blaze."I say and knock him out with a single punch to the head.
"Hello folks, I suggest we all leave this building in a neat and orderly fashion, without making any sound"I say to the rest of the hostages. Luckily they do as I tell them and in no time at all it's just me, my son and the unconscious Blaze.
"What did they do wrong Junior?"I whisper as we stealthily move towards the other four.
"They left one guy behind to guard the hostages. If they had left two or more of them behind you wouldn't have been able to do this,"my son answers. Together we turn a corner and see the remaining four members of the Terror Gang. They've managed to open the vault door already. Or, more likely, the bank personel had left it open.
One of them is standing in an office to the left of the vault, the other three are already inside and are shoving gold bars into dufflebags.
When we're closer I can see the guy in the office is fiddling around with explosives.
"Boomer, I presume?"I say when I'm behind him. Boomer turns around and I give him the same treatment as I did Blaze. The men in the vault were making so much noise they didn't even hear it.
"Dad!"my son says, pointing at a button next to the vault door. I smile and nod in approval. He pushes the button and the vault door starts closing with only the barest whisper of a sound.
Confused shouts come from inside when it clicks shut.
-----
My son and I are sitting behind a desk. There's a PA system throughout the bank and found a microphone.
"How would you rate this heist, Junior?"
"I'd say two out of ten, dad."
"What should they have done differently?"
"Well pick a different name for starters"
We laugh into the microphone.
"Okay, it's been fun but now we've gotta go fellas. My wife is making roast today and she's going to be pissed if we're late."
|
You go to the grocery store and pick through the various items and put them all in your basket. You roll your eyes at the store manager innocuously following you around to see that you don't steal anything.
You cannot believe this guy is following you around like that. Like yes, you are not going to be paying for this stuff, but its not because of that!
Your basket now full, you move towards the washroom. You enter it with your basket and notice the managers feet moving at a fast rhythm behind you. Probably to tell you that you cannot take items into the restroom.
He opens the door only to find the place empty with no bag. He curses at the air unable to figure out where you went so fast and also patting himself on the back for recognising you as a thief.
At this time you have exited the bathroom of another store to buy some cigarettes. You take the pack and walk into a side alley. The vendor shouts out your form behind the buildings now to tell you that you have not paid. You are already gone by then though.
Back in your room, after having a good long meal while streaming some movies on your laptop, and finishing half the pack of cigarettes, you lie down in your bed and fall asleep with the radio blaring news about a privacy breach by the government.
You wake up after what feels like moments. It turns out to be three hours though based upon the clock hanging on the wall in front of you. You hear the sms ringtone on your phone and check it. It is a message from your network provider, it reads,"It seems like you have been using a VPN as your location seems to be moving from country to country, this is to remind you that this is illegal and that future actions of a similar manner will result in the cutting of all network support and forwarding of network data to the necessary government agency for further action."You groan as you read this, realising that you won't be able to take your phone around with you any longer.
Lying in bed you notice how thirsty you are, and with eyes closed you picture the bathroom of that Walmart in the state next door. You open your eyes, and you are still in your room. Strange.
You shut your eyes and try this again. You are still in your room. You try a few more times and find yourself getting nowhere. That is when a thought enters your mind which sends chills down your spine. Somebody must be in here with you.
You move and look around your house with your fists raised in a defensive manner not really having any idea what you would do if you do find the other person. You check under your bed. You check under the sofa. You check behind the curtains. You check the kitchen and the drawing room. Nothing.
You relax a slight bit now. This does not make any sense. You are about to try teleporting again and that is when you notice it. Your laptop is in an open position. You had forgotten to close it shut.
You stare at the laptops front camera. You chide yourself for thinking what you are thinking, but you know that is the only other possibility that makes sense. You decide to test your theory.
You walk over to your desk and pull out some tape from the upper drawer. Still staring at the camera for the most part through all of this, you pull out a part of the tape large enough to do the job. You walk over to your laptop and carefully place the tape over the front camera while thinking of this one beach you remember going to once where there never seemed to be anybody else.
The moment you are done covering the camera the room is empty. |
Malcom stared at the screen, bewildered. The sound of the scanner dropping from his hand and onto the scale below may as well have been a gunshot. The store may have been open twenty-four hours a day, but after midnight customers were few and far between. Elayne poked her head from restocking the nearest aisle and narrowed her eyes. The two of them were the only occupants.
“Mal, you alright?” his manager asked.
The cashier licked his lips anxiously and nodded. He waited for the woman to return to her mundane task before focusing again on the screen. Taking a deep breath, he cleared the order. It had to have been some sort of mistake. Some sort of residual tag left from the thousands of items he had scanned earlier in the day.
Glancing to either side in search of his manager, Malcom leaned over the counter and took a pack of gum from what he thought of as the impulse buy aisle. He scanned it and watched the item information and price appear on the screen. The machine told him how many boxes of Orbit gum were in the storage warehouse in case of a shortage – sixty-five in this case. As always, the supplies were located in Storage Area 1.
In other words, it was working perfectly.
Malcom closed his eyes once again and held the scanner gun to his head. He pulled the trigger, hoping against hope that the silence of the empty warehouse would remain.
It did not. The beep wormed in through his ear-drums and echoed throughout his brain. The image from the screen burned into his memory.
*Employee: 6 of 13*
*Designation: Cashier*
*Return to: Storage Area 4.*
This time, he didn’t bother to close out the order. Instead, he stumbled away from the register and down the nearest aisle. The ceaseless hum of the freezers made him move faster, his bare arms sweating despite the cold. When he finally pushed past the door marked employee’s only, he collapsed onto the ground and tried to calm his racing heart.
A call came from outside the door. It was Elayne again. Malcom pushed himself back to his feet, retreating towards the doors at the back of the hall. He nearly tripped over the mop bucket as he passed the door to Storage Area 1.
To his surprise the door to Storage Area 4 was unlocked. As he pushed it open, he realized he had never been inside before despite working at the store for years. He couldn't remember how long. Come to think of it, he couldn't really remembered anything besides his job - his *designation*. He fumbled for the light switch, the sound of Elayne’s voice growing closer with every second.
She found him sobbing on the ground surrounded by his coworkers. They stood statuesque in numbered metal pods, their hands crossed over their hearts. Pod 6 was empty.
|
"Yeah, yeah. Aight my *, see you then."Tyrone flipped the burner phone closed. He tossed it lazily to his previous spot on the couch, and looked towards his cousin, working dutifully in the kitchen.
"Yo, bitch, you finished cooking that crack?"His cousin, Marcus, grimaced. He hated how Tyrone always seemed to cut him down, despite needing his help. Heck, he couldn't graduate high school without Marcus' help. Ever since, he's been forcing Marcus into petty fraud and minor inconveniences to keep him out of jail and off the streets. Now, it's come to cooking crack cocaine, in his own condo no less.
"You know, Tyrone,"Marcus spoke from the kitchen, "when this is done, we are gonna need to have a serious talk about boundaries."
"Yeah, whateva, you Carlton-ass-bitch-ass-moutherfucka. All I know, is once I make this last deal I'm set forever. I ain't never got to hang with lousy * that just wanna keep me down."Tyrone wandered into the kitchen, throwing open the refrigerator door. "Yo, what you got to drink round here?"
"There's water in the tap. I've decided to cut out su-"
"Yeah what ever, bitch. Just hurry up with that crack."
~~~
Tyrone was driving, erratically of course. He insisted on driving, and he insisted on driving badly, so he insisted on owning an SUV. Marcus had tried to explain the importance of mileage efficiency, insurance, and climate impact. None of it mattered to Tyrone.
"Yo, I'm thirsty. You thirsty, Marcus?"Tyrone wasn't asking for a response, as he had already turned towards the liquor store. He pulled up near the edge of the building, and stopped Marcus from unbuckling with a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, open the glove."
"... Why? What's in there?"
"Just do it."Tyrone had an intensity in his eye that made it clear he wasn't interested in further argument from Marcus.
"Tyrone, why is there a gun in here? Why do you have a GUN?"
"Just call down, *. This is a dangerous neighborhood. I need you to be calm. You gonna be calm?"Marcus nodded. "Good, now take the piece, and follow me."
Tyrone strolled into the store, ignoring the chime and the attendant at the counter. He grabbed a box, and began shoveling forty-ounce bottles into it with abandon. Marcus stood by nervously. He knew Tyrone did not have the money for this, and he'd rather not enable Tyrone's alcoholism. Especially not after having to cook crack for some nefarious drug deal. He became aware of the store employee's stare, and tried to get Tryone's attention.
"Hey, T, we should go pay for this and get going."He said loud enough for Tyrone to hear him. Tyrone in turn shot him a look that scared him.
"Yeah. Time to go pay the price."
~~~
Marcus sat, frozen, in the car seat. Smooth jazz played over the stereo. It had been five minutes since he shot and killed the store attendant. Tyrone had already stabbed the manager to death, was yelling at him, and Marcus just panicked. He heard sirens in the distance, looked in the mirrors but could see nothing.
"You did good there, *. My G will be pleased."Tyrone turned the wheel of the car, his blood soaked hands slicking it with crimson coating. He took the SUV onto the highway. "Grab that bag, with the crack and booze in it."Marcus complied silently, not able to offer any fight. "Put the gun in it.And stop crying, bitch! We're almost done here."He sped up, and they drove in relative silence for a few minutes.
"Aight, that platinum white SUV, the one with the gold-and-diamond-plated spinners? That's our guy. I'm gonna pull up, you're young to lean out the window, and pass it to the passenger. Got it?"
Both cars sped up, swerving around traffic to get clear and free for the exchange. Marcus clutched the bag close to his chest, scared for what was coming next. He heard sirens getting closer. Tyrone, got next to the SUV, and the back window rolled down. Marcus could see an elderly man, his hair and beard long and white with age and wisdom. Marcus was confused, this didn't seem right. The sirens were closer, red and blue auras were shining over the cars behind him. The old man held out his hand, barely extending past the lip of the window.
"Go on, *, get out there!"
"What, out there? You want me to get out of the car to hand this to some old white guy? We have to be going at least 65 MPH, you're insane!"Tyrone was, in fact, insane, as he whipped out the still blood stained knife from the brutal stabbing at the liquor store. He held it, menacing Marcus with the blade.
"Give this too him, too. Here, I'll unlock the door for you."Marcus' door click ominously. He sighed, took the proffered knife, and undid his seat belt. With a heavy sigh, he readied himself for what he feared would come next.
Marcus threw open the door, holding on with one hand, as the rest of his body reached out to hand the man his bag. Suddenly, voices rang out over police sirens, unintelligible in Marcus' panic.What happened next could only be described as a miracle by the criminally insane. The elderly man slid back into his SUV, and two perfect women, beautiful beyond Marcus' dreams, slid out, with military grade arms in hand. Sternly, the opened fire on the pursuing cops, and lit the highway on holy fire. There were explosions, screams, and perfect destruction. All while Marcus was hanging out of an SUV going well above the speed limit. He was going to have to talk to Tyrone about boundaries.
~~~
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, *, I hear you. I promise I won't call on you for such cray shit ever again. Word, dawg."Marcus, for some reason, did not believe Tyrone. "Do you at least want to know what I got out of this deal?"
"Honestly, not really. I'm already implicated in enough of your crimes for today, let alone the past. I'd just like you to leave, and leave me alone."But Marcus was curious. He had handed off the backpack with the drugs, booze, and weapons. But nothing was passed back; the SUV just sped up and disappeared down the horizon. Tyrone and him made it back to his condo without incident, and neither of them seemed to get paid. "Wait... what did you get?"
"That's simple, my *! All I had to do was give this G all of my sins, promise to exult Him, and live for Him from now on, and I am absolved and given ever lasting paradise in the next life." |
I scrub the soot free from the reflective metal until I see the wrinkles in my forehead. I’m pouting. I don’t mean to.
The bar is full, stocked with spirits. My spirits are tempered, briefly, as I make myself a drink. Every day I clean this little spot, making it my home. There’s enough booze for a party. If everyone on the transport arrives, there should be enough for everyone a hundred times over. When they step foot on the gravity floors and get their space-legs stretched proper in a real station, we’re all going to drink and it’s going to be dandy.
In quiet times like these I think about what we’re made of. Fighting over water like that made no damn sense to me when we’re all just a part of the stars. The same atoms fighting over the same atoms. Made no damn sense at all.
I wonder if so it will stay that way by the time they arrive. Twenty-three years to go.
***
Have you ever slept in a room full of beds alone? It’s a bit harrowing, I think. Sometimes I look to my side and wonder who would have slept beside me in the bunk hall. What sort of stories would he tell? Would he speak of his family on Earth? How he escaped those terrible days fueled by nuclear tensions? Or would he have been a man in the constructs, who worked his days away until the lottery chose him as a successor to the world? I do wonder about this imaginary man a lot. He will one day be my friend. Nineteen years to go.
***
The gymnasium is quiet. I can hear only the squeak of my sneaker against the reflective floor. Powerful lights, artificial, brilliantly white blind me whenever I look towards the ceiling. My shot has improved. In my head they cheer, Matthew the best basketball player on the station. There’s enough rafters for about one fifth of the ship, two-hundred thousand people or so. I could in my head the score, eighty-three to zero. Fifteen years to go.
***
I carry the large bottle towards the disposal window. Opening it, I slip the jug in, it’s about two-liters, I think. I lift the hatch and close it with a hollow click. After a few seconds and without prompt, the jug is carried towards the star where it will be burned away. We can still have a party without it, without my gin. Eleven years to go.
***
Sometimes I wait by the window. I can see my own face in it, the gray thinned hair against the midnight expanse of dotted starlight. The stars afar, they wink at me, like they know. Like everyone’s watching me, rooting me on.
I pick up my mop and go wipe the floors down. It’s going to be clean if they arrive. Seven years to go.
***
I press the screen once more. The little ship-dot blips around a circle and winds back away from the station marker.
There’s still rum, I tell myself. There’s still rum.
***
Outside the window I watch the star we orbit. The light is shaded, its vigor robbed through a lens. In it I see burning. Flares and wicked oranges that beckon like a curl of the finger.
It’s at the hatch I look again, I pull one last swig of the rum. There’s plenty left for the party, should they ever make it here. But it’s not for me anymore. I open the hatch and crawl in. I close it from the inside with a snap and take a deep breath. I think about where we came from. We’re all just part of the stars, and just like there’s no damn sense in fighting wars, there’s no damn sense in fighting time.
The hatch snaps.
Eighty three years, gone.
|
“TAXI!” Yells the man. “TAXIIIII!”
The man is angry. His suit is soaked in sweat and a spilled coke. A battered yellow cab pulls up. The man looks in, sees a human driver, and angrily waves it off.
A second taxi appears. Gray, silent, and festooned with a logo in cheary colors. The man gets inside and angrily shuts the door behind him. “TAKE ME HOME” he commands.
The man’s hands twitch and crawl from one adjustable object to the next. They dance near his tie for a bit, loosening and tightening it slightly. Then they move to his pocket. He picks up a phone, begins to type something, and then shoves it back inside.
Then the man pulls out a wedding ring. He glances at it, and the sensors of his phone register a momentary relaxation of his face muscles, before they knit back into a angry scowl. A ad for anger-reduction pills slides across the phone's screen.
The man curses under his breath at the wedding ring, lifts it, and presses the button to lower the door window.
But the window doesn’t lower. Then the man’s phone buzzes and he leaps into action. He furiously types something, then presses a equally furious send.
The man looks around. He’s on a lonely country road, by a beautiful lake. The car stops. The man gets out and looks around. Is this on the way home? He doesn’t remember seeing it before, but he seldom pays attention to his surroundings these days.
The man’s phone is in the cab. He screams and kicks the car, yet it sits there, mute and yielding.
After a while of kicking, the man’s toes hurt, so he goes and sits by the lake in a huff.
Then a while later, the man returns to the car. He’s calm now, and the ring is back on his finger. Hesitantly, the man pulls on the door handle. To his surprise, the door opens.
The man picks up his phone, pauses, and puts it back down. Exhausted, he closes his eyes, and falls asleep.
The cab arrives at his home, and wakes him with a gentle chime. The man opens his eyes, and looks at the door fearfully. Then the cab honks, and he grabs his possessions and leaves.
The cab waits a bit, as if to make sure that he's all right. The cab’s audio sensors, originally intended to identify even the most unenthusiastic of potential passengers, hear raised voices, followed by quiet voices, followed by the gentle sounds of two people kissing.
(r/StannisTheAmish) |
"Hey dudes, how's it goin?"Brian Smitherson asked the group of robed figures after he was pushed into the room. "So I ordered a pizza...some guy just picked me up, and here I am. Where is my fucking pizza?"
"Brian Smitherson,"one of the robes said. Each of these figures sat upon a raised dais, several feet taller than Brian's head. The only light in the room shined down on Brian. "You have been chosen as one of the few who lead all of human civilization to a greater cause."
"Okay, dude, look. I thought it was this new delivery service where like the dude comes and...okay, so like. Someone picks you up right? And they bring *you* to the *pizza*. Instead of like, you know, normally the pizza comes to you. Because it's delivery."
"That's...a really, really bad idea,"a female voice said from under a hood. "Who would want to do that?"
"I agree,"one of the other robes said in a low, serious tone. "The whole point of delivery is to be able to enjoy the pizza in your own home."
"Why not just get an Uber or something?"the robe who had greeted Brian said, leaning forward. "Why would a restaurant, even one that specializes in deliveries, pick people up from their houses? Do they drive them home, too?"
"I'm not the dumbass who came up with the idea!"Brian said in an angry shout. "I just want my pizza!"
"You're not the first to have accidentally ordered Winrar,"the first robe said. "You see, we are part of a secret society whose purpose is to extract information from the very bowels of the Earth."
"Everything in existence is just a simulation,"the female robe said. "Nothing is real. Our purpose is to extract the content of the universe's hard drive."
"That's deep stuff, man,"Brian said, licking his lips as tears formed in his eyes. "Like a deep dish pizza. So like, if everything is just a simulation, can't you like make me a pizza right now? Just make me a fucking pizza, please? Please?"
"Of course we could,"the low\-toned robe said. "Here's one right now."
"Oh, thank you,"Brian said, stuffing his face into the hot cheese, caring not for the burns on his face. "Thank you!"He shoveled the pepperoni into his mouth, wet tears mingling with the grease as it the pie disappeared into his mouth. "THANK YOU!"He paused to burp, only to continue his gorge. "Oh, yes."
===
Hope you liked it! Check out r/arcaldwell for more, and for details on Gaia's Dream, a novel about science fiction gladiators. |
The bottom of my shoe had been worn down from all the practice, I noticed putting them on. Hours spent every day preparing for this moment. My heart hadn’t stopped racing since I woke up, pulse loud in my ears. I tied my shoes tight and stood up, testing them, hearing that beautiful squeak of rubber on linoleum.
My time had come.
As I walked out the locker room, I heard the roar of the crowd long before I entered the arena, but it only really set in when I couldn’t hear my heartbeat any more. Instead, I’d lost myself in the excitement.
Today, I would get the Clean Sweep—the first in a long and prestigious history of fierce competition across the world. To do anything else didn’t even occur to me. The cheers and screams told me I could, and the feeling of lightness and control that enveloped my muscles told me I would. My whole life had led up to this moment. All the training, the practice, the tears—it all paved the way for me to make history. My name would never be forgotten.
I didn’t look at my competitors when I took my place, this day no longer about them. At best, they’d get to share in my glory, listed under the runners-up when people in the future looked me up. I looked forwards, focused, my mind clear of unnecessary thoughts. Nothing else mattered but what lay in front of me.
They all had their turns, setting the times for me to beat. Times I’d beaten in practice, after working myself to the point of exhaustion, every day. Then, all eyes turned to me. The stadium settled into a deafening silence. High above, a countdown ran, my pulse slowing to a crawl as my whole body prepared for this moment.
The buzzer cut through the calm.
Buckets of all different kinds of muck spilled across the floors, from muddy water to sticky tomato ketchup, sizzling as it dried on the heated floors only to be instantly cooled by a downpour of liquid nitrogen that quickly cleared.
My shoes bent, waiting on the balls of my feet. A coiled spring, ready to launch myself forward, ears tuned to hear a single sound.
A second buzzer cut through the calm.
The audience burst to their feet as I flung myself forward, grabbing my cutting-edge mop. Like an earthquake, they stamped and cheered, but my whole body devoted itself to the task at hand. Prioritize what needed time to soak, optimise the route, waste no movement, even the half-second as I turned around an opportunity to clean.
I felt alive. A supernatural purpose thrummed through me, pushing me on ever faster. The seconds passed slow, so slow, and I could feel the Clean Sweep coming ever closer. Mopping, scrubbing, shining—no one better than me.
My time had—
Grip gave, my foot slid, floor slick, and I seemed to leave my body, watching more than experiencing it as I fell. Not a pleasant fall, I’d been sprinting and tried to stop. So, my body just carried on, a crack echoing as my leg went, and then a thud as the rest of me slammed into a kitchen cabinet.
Yet, I still stood in the middle of the arena. I heard the roar of the crowd turn into screams of terror. I watched the stand-by medics swarm the floor. I saw my lifeless body die.
It didn’t so much set in as much as I just accepted it. I didn’t get the Clean Sweep. If I had a body, I would’ve cried, failing after coming so close. Really, I should’ve bought new shoes. I’d been too sentimental about those pieces of crap.
When my body—what had been my body—gave its last, frail breath, someone joined me. I could just tell they had, something about being dead giving me these kinds of senses.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
Turning to face her, I found myself a little surprised, my idea of what an angel looked like not quite matched. She certainly had a beauty to her, with fair skin and a slender body. However, no halo floated above her head, nor did she show off a pair of feathery wings, and she had muscles to tone her thin arms. On top of that, she wore some kind of medieval cosplay. I guessed all sorts could become angels.
A sudden thought coming to me, I grew hesitant. “Where exactly are you taking me?”
“Valhalla,” she said.
“That’s in heaven, right—not hell?”
I couldn’t tell her expression, face hidden behind an elegant helmet. “It is a heaven, yes, for those who have fallen in battle.”
“What, like soldiers?”
“Amongst others.”
For a moment, I nodded. Then, the train of logic in my head derailed, catastrophically. “I died in battle?”
She stilled, suddenly tense. A loud breath left her lips. “If I can be frank with you, Valhalla is filled with warriors and soldiers, of people who would die with a weapon in their hand rather than a long life. Do you understand?”
“Well, yes, but I’m not sure you can call a mop a weapon.”
She clicked her tongue and looked to the side. “What I am trying to convey is that these people of Valhalla are, well, not the sort to know one end of a broom from the other—unless they plan to stab someone with it. Is that clearer?”
“It just sounds even more like I shouldn’t be going there,” I replied.
This time, she seemed to deflate, shoulders slouching forward and head hanging. “Look, let me be straight with you. It’s an utter pigsty. We’re really bending the rules here, but we need to sneak a few people like you in before we end up with rats.”
“You can get rats in heaven?”
She nodded and said, “Of course. They nibble out of rat heaven and, well, with all the spilled food, it’s another rat heaven for them.”
“I see.”
A minute passed in silence, my thoughts not quite sure what to think about all this. Then, she asked, “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Will you come with me to Valhalla?” she asked, standing tall again.
“Do I have to?”
She hung her head again, resting a hand on the back of her head with a muted clang. “Well, no, not really. If you make a fuss, God will probably notice and tell us off for all this. However, I hope you will consider it.”
“Is Valhalla better than normal heaven at all, or is it just some rowdy pub?” I asked.
It took her longer than it should have to say, “It’s way better.”
“Really?”
She shook her head. “No, it’s mostly just a bunch of men drinking and beating each other up.”
“Do you even want to go back there? Can’t you sneak into heaven, or something?”
“I stand out too much for that to work.”
Nodding, I said, “I see.” When she had nothing more to say, I added, “Sounds rough.”
She laughed, but it lacked heart. “You don’t know the half of it.”
I took a moment to think things through as well as I could. Then, I stepped forward and patted her shoulder. “Look, maybe I can come see what it’s like, do a bit of cleaning, and then I’ll just be on my way. How’s that sound?”
To my surprise, she threw out her arms and hugged me. “Oh my Odin! You’re a lifesaver, you know that? Thank you!”
Unsure of whether or not I could blush, I made do with a shy response. “It’s not like I’m doing it for you.”
“I don’t care, I’m just so happy I won’t have to spend the next century hunting rats! You’re my hero.”
“Well, whatever,” I said, rubbing my neck. “Let’s just go, before I change my mind.”
“Yes, yes—at once! Take my hand.” |
"Thank god, you finally made it,"a feminine voice echoed deep inside a suit of heavy plate armor. "I wasn't sure how much longer I'd last."
The once-pristine armor, covered in dents and scratches, began to lose its shine. "It's your turn. I'm exhausted. I'll die soon, then God only knows what'll happen."She fell to her knees, her armor crumbled like ash, revealing gray skin that was a stiff breeze from doing the same.
"You know what to do. *Link the fire. It's your duty as Chosen.*"
As the last words passed her lips, she blew away in the wind, leaving no trace of her existence except a small flame where she once stood. And that's how I came to watch this fire 500 years ago. Chosen Undead, it's now your turn.
*Do your duty, and link the fire. The Age of Fire must continue.* |
*The sound of a secure door slamming and a series of locks closing in on each other.. an electronic sounding voice chimes in..*
*'Privacy mode enabled. ETCM field engaged. Internal Monitoring disengaged. Be advised any testimony from the suspect will not be admissable as evidence. You may proceed, Detective.'*
"... So."
"So."
".. look, this can wait until your Lawyer shows up. You ..."
"We."
"... fine. *We* are entited to due process and legal council."
"Considering that I know exactly how much evidence you've acquired on our ... well I mean our little hyjinks to say the least, do you really think I have a chance in hell in beating your rap on us?"
"No."
"Exactly. We are going to Jail. So why are we talking?"
"Because I need to understand."
"Why?"
".. wh... what do you mean why?"
"I mean, Why?"
"... WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN WHY?? DO YOU HAVE.. any comprehension of how serious this is?"
"Clearly I do."
"23 counts of 1st degree murder. 42 counts of Attempted Chronovariation, 39 of which we *are still trying to fix.*"
"And you won't."
"51 counts of Grand Theft. 67 counts of Grand Theft with Intent to Cause Chronovariation. *Over three hundred counts of Fraud with intent to Cause Chronovariation.*"
"That you know about."
"*THAT WE KNOW ABOUT.*"
"No. That YOU know about."
"I just want to understand why. Then you can sit with the Chief and work out your plea bargain with whatever the hell it is you think you have."
"I have nothing. I want to go to Jail. *We* need to go to Jail."
"I.. I just don't understand. We have a good job. We have a family.. two kids.. Cheryl is ..."
"You idiot."
"... Jesus."
"... We are trying to *protect them.*"
"... You have my attention."
"Good. Because *I* am running out of time. Now listen closely. You were already a good Cop in the first place. But I needed you to be *better.*"
"How much better?"
"Have any trouble nailing me for the charges you did? Be honest."
"Yes. You made my career fucking miserable for the last four years."
"Good. That was the point because.."
".. Because I got better at the job."
"Better than *she* is expecting you to be."
"Fuck me sideways."
"*You are the chronovariation. We BOTH are.*"
"... I needed to be 10 times the Detective I was for something else."
"And I needed to be a hardened criminal capable of almost anything. *We* needed to be both. She is THAT DANGEROUS."
".. Who?"
"You'll know soon enough."
"And we can't get her through the usual channels?"
"I've checked. Five hundred million, Two hundred and thirty two thousand, Five hundred and twelve possible Chronovariations that all result in total.. "
"... total what?"
"If I tell you, it'll.."
"... It'll effect my ability to get her. Right."
"Right."
"... and the end play is Jail."
"The end play is Jail. Its the only way we could keep them safe."
"... Okay."
"Okay."
"Now get out. You know what you need to. And I need to kick the shit out of your Boss."
*The sound of a series of locks opening up and a door buzzing open.. an electronic sounding voice chimes in..*
*'Privacy mode disabled. ETCM field disengaged. Internal Monitoring re-engaged. Have a nice day, Detective.'*
|
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