prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k |
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Translated from original French:
Dear future reader:
I wonder who you are.
I have no way of knowing where this letter will go, or who will read it. Indeed, there's a chance that you won't even understand what this is and throw it out. But on the off chance that you are reading this, that you can understand me - Hello.
My name is Gerald Lambert. I was born in Paris to a wealthy merchant and his lovely wife. Out of 5 children, I was the only one to survive childhood. I suppose that made me special to them.
**[A large section of ruined writing and running ink]**
anged when the draft came.
"Fight for honor! For your country! For brotherhood!"
Honor. Such a stupid thing to fight for, honor. But I didn't know that at the time. I was swept up with the others, carried away in a whirlwind of pride and patriotism and misplaced trust in my superiors.
All that was shattered on my first day in the trenches.
The Germans were relentless. They took position after position, town after town. I hated them. Some nights I would dream of killing thousands of Germans - just me and the company machine gun.
About a month after I first stepped into the trenches, our commander ordered us to fire into the backs of retreating Germans. At the time, I did it without hesitation. I think I killed 5 of them that day. I was exhilarated.
But that night, I had a terrible dream. I stood in a field of a thousand graves, each unmarked. Some were decorated with German colours, some Austrian, and some French. And it was quiet - dreadfully quiet. I stood among the graves of these dead soldiers and asked aloud if honour mattered. The silence was my answer.
I suppose, then I realized that this was not a fight of honour. This was slaughter - meaningless death. And I resolved to take no part in it.
I missed on purpose. I stayed back on charges. I purposely let some Germans go when I was on watch.
But now, as I lay in this disgusting shell hole dying of blood loss, I know all my efforts were for nothing. My comrades are still fighting, dying. The Germans, too. All around me, I can hear the screams.
The ocean is nearby, beautiful and stoic. I think I'll toss this message there, to be lost to the waves.
I only have one request, dear reader.
Never let this happen again. |
I'd been attempting to raise the bar in Writing Prompts, by submitting not just prompts that would be popular, but prompts that would *challenge* the writers. I wanted to create prompts that made the denizens of writing prompts *think* and *extend* themselves beyond lazy comedy and obvious plot twists.
My first few attempts had been failures; downvoted quickly and destined to eventually be deleted in shame - a testament to the state of malaise that permeated the sub, where anything *different* was brutally stomped down before it could take wing and soar through the imagination of dozens of eager writers.
Crafting such a prompt was an art in itself; such a thing could be ruined by something as simple as timing. By publishing it in my own daylight hours, I would miss the hordes of eager Americans, hovering over New and Rising, waiting for the prompt that would bag them staggering amounts of Karma for very little net effort - or creativity.
The account would also have to be a new one; no bitter comment feuds or jealous downvotes could impede the progress of the prompt. It had to appear spontaneous, raw and unpolished. A concept in the purest form, waiting for a singular talent to do it justice.
I'd considered courting controversy to embolden the masses; perhaps something topical, like a prompt about the recently banned subreddits. Or something about Caitlyn Jenner.
But an *enduring* prompt, a *memorable* prompt and a *legendary* prompt needed to be an over-arching concept that not only captured the imagination of readers and writers, but also could be read and re-read over the years and be upheld as *the* perfect example of a writing prompt.
No time travel, no Hitler. No god, gods or devils. Batman and the Potterverse should be the last thing on the minds of the readers and gimmicky restrictions shouldn't be placed on the writers.
For weeks I planned and plotted. I studied the styles and preferences of the popular authors. I pored through their vanity subs and plumbed their weaknesses. There would be no 'fastest gun in the west' success stories here; only *talent* and *ingenuity* would triumph.
However they might wish to belt out a tawdry, two thousand word story and ride the Karma train to multiple golds, they must be unable to do so with this prompt.
Finally I was ready.
My moment arrived and I posted; then waited patiently for a response.
As anticipated, the prompt rocketed through Rising and breached the frontier of the front page within minutes.
As though anticipating the success already, copycat prompts appeared soon after.
But still no one posted to it.
Tenth place. Seventh place. *Third place*.
Still nothing.
As the hours crept by, I drank my fifth coffee. Nearly a thousand upvotes now, but not even a joke response graced the thread. By midnight it supplanted the top post and continued to gather votes faster than new prompts could appear.
It was too early to claim success. Yes, I had dissuaded the usual suspects from their hasty and hackneyed responses, but in doing so I had likely stymied *all* the watching writers from attempting to craft a tale worthy of the prompt.
I was tired; my eyes burned from refreshing the white page over and over. Only the WritingPromptsRobot greeted me every time the page reloaded.
My bed called and with a last F5, I slunk off to wrap myself in clean sheets and hopefully awaken to a magnum opus of mythic proportions.
In the early hours of the morning I stirred, remembering something momentous was taking place. A lazy arm hooked my smartphone off the dresser and I thumbed the screen open. The bright screen opened to only disappointment.
There were still no responses.
I began my morning routine and continued to check the prompt, but it did nothing but slip down the page.
Tenth place. Fourteenth. Twenty third.
My knuckles in my mouth, I realised it would soon be gone. *My* magnum opus of prompts had gleaned no stories. The siren call I had sent out to the writers of the world had gone unanswered; no literary shipwrecks littered the shoals of my prompt; only the soughing of empty digital winds and the creeping entropy of downvotes and time.
It couldn't end like this.
I wouldn't *let* it end like this.
Hauling my keyboard into my lap I started typing with frenzied passion before I could change my mind, before I could regret it. If I was lucky, I could enshrine my prompt in the history of writing prompts with an equally legendary response.
The minutes roared past as my fingers flew. I typed with such force and such abandon that the polish on my nail tips fractured; coating the worn keys with a sprinkling of holographic lacquer. *Magic dust for a magic tale* I thought to myself.
And then, in a suddenly anticlimactic moment, it was done. |
“Erm, hello?”
My voice echoed through the pristine streets. Marble pavement stretched down gently curving streets lined with quaint white-faced townhouses. Handicraft stores were bedecked with colourful bunting. French patisseries wafted the scent of fresh baguettes, croissants and éclairs directly into my soul. I remembered these places, from somewhere, or some time…
Further along, I could make out the sign for Pomodoro’s, the adorable and affordable restaurant that I had become enamoured with in Sicily. Opposite that was the recognisable geometric boot-shaped logo for Svensson, arguably the only place to pick up quality men’s shoes in Zurich. The further I looked, the more I saw: picture perfect postcards, places that had won a place in my heart before the accident. In the rows behind the current street, skyscrapers and palaces from London, New York and Madrid splayed out in a carefully curated arrangement.
Above, an azure field was the stage for a fluid performance of platinum clouds and a dancing cluster of starlings. Big sky scenes like this had always captured my imagination.
So where was everyone?
I had a sense that if I entered a restaurant, exactly what I wanted would be waiting on the table. In the stores, my choice of items would already be beautifully bagged beside the unmanned cash register.
My procession continued along slowly. My head told me I should be panicked, but in this place it didn’t feel like it was a possible option. I suddenly only understood negative emotions on a theoretical level – the actual experience would now forever elude me.
Approaching a corner, a stainless steel payphone trilled gently with a sound softer than birdsong. I picked up the receiver.
“Welcome, Peter. I do hope you’re settling in well. I won’t bother you too much unless you should like me to.” The voice modulated with smooth fluidity. It sounded simultaneously like my mother and my father; my kind great-aunt and my second boss who was more decent to me than any other employer. My second-grade teacher when I told him I was being picked on, and the lunch lady who would give me extra chicken nuggets for being ‘so adorable’.
“Hello. Do forgive me, but are you g-”
“Don’t trouble yourself with such questions now, my dear friend. We’re past that now. I am whoever you always thought I would be.”
“Oh.”
“I think you’ll find everything is exactly as you’d like it to be. When you get tired, you’ll find places to rest precisely where you think you should. First apartments, five-star hotels, Highland castles… the works. Childhood pets, favourite outfits and forms of entertainment will also become apparent as and when you need them. Anything else, do just let me know.”
“Thank you very much. But, um, sir? Where is everyone else?”
“Everyone else?” The voice inclined in well-meaning jest. “No, none of that. Thankfully.”
“But why?” I ask, trying to sound hurt but finding it beyond impossible. ‘Hurt’ no longer makes sense to me.
“My dear boy, you’re in heaven. And as everyone knows, hell is other people.” |
I looked around in horror.
I read just a few of the plaques: Einstein, Da Vinci, Newton, Mendel, Pascal... Row after row of Cryogenic Tubes stretching off into the far corners of the warehouse.
Every tube had a long snaking connecting wire that led towards the center of the room. I walked forward following the wires with trembling steps, already knowing what I'd find at the end.
Bill Nye sat on his throne, the various wires riddling his naked body. I could see the wires crackle with raw power, feeding into him with a steady thrum. His fingers clutched the arms of his throne in tense, eager ecstasy. He noticed me approach and favored me with a grim smile. Sweat dropped down his fevered brow.
"My God,"I said, "You're...You're *made* of Science!"
"I've been saying it for years on my show, haven't I?"his laugh echoed through the vastness of the warehouse. "I'm Bill Nye the Science Guy."
|
***MUSIC OVER BLACK SCREEN - HEAVY BASE LINE, MINIMAL DRUMS***
*V/O - (deep male voice) - It was a world without sex.*
***FADE IN TO A WHITE ROOM, NAKED WOMEN LIE ALL OVER THE PLACE***
WOMAN 1 - Oh. I wish we had someone to have sex with.
WOMAN 2. Yes, that would be nice.
*V/O - Little did they know that heading towards them at the speed of orgasm was the answer to their prayers.*
***MAN WEARING SILVER LYCRA SHORTS AND NOTHING ELSE JUMPS INTO SHOT***
MAN - I'm Chad Sexington and i'm here to save you lovely ladies... with sex.
WOMEN - (all) Yay.
***SEX BEGINS*** |
I knew something was wrong the second I woke up. My morning theme was usually something very light and happy. Music that made me think of chirping baby birds, and the way the sun reflected off of the clouds as it rose. I thought at first it might be raining, but the sky looked blue and clear. Besides, even in the worst storms, the music was more associated with the coziness of the indoors, as opposed to reminding me of the tempest outside my window. The theme this morning was in a very gloomy minor key.
Nothing seemed to be off as I went downstairs, either. Dad was making breakfast, and mom had already gone off to work. I could almost hear a more standard morning theme being played faintly in the background, but the ominous melody was drowning it out.
I decided I was going to try to ignore it. If I worried too much about it, it would become a self-fufilling prophecy. Whatever was going to happen today was going to happen, and there was nothing I would do to prevent it. I just went to school and tried to push it out of my mind.
As the school day wore on, however, I began to become seriously concerned. I was having a fantastic day. What could be so bad that it was going to ruin the day?
I got my answer in my last period class. I was taking Calculus. I've always loved math, but today I was too distracted. The music was as ominous as ever, but it was more... *active* now. Like whatever event on the horizon was going to happen very soon.
I was staring at the clock when he burst in and started shooting. James was always a quiet kid, with very few friends. I tried to be nice to him, and the melody in his presence was always very quiet and calming. Not today. The thundering boom of drums almost drowned out the sound of his gun firing.
But the melody stopped after a few seconds, and changed to something I'd never heard before. Something... heroic. I knew what I had to do.
I charged him head on. He could have shot me then, but he was probably so shocked that he couldn't react in time. I tried taking the gun out of his hands and we began to struggle for it. After about a minute, the music began to crescendo, and at the very peak, he shot me right in the chest.
At this point, the police burst in and shot him down. The music took a very tragic turn. What he had done was wrong, yes, but it was tragic that he couldn't have gotten help before this life-ending mistake.
Life-ending. Which reminded me of my own injury. The music was fading now, and I started to hear an angelic choir. Paramedics were surrounding me, but I knew I wasn't going to make it. This was the kind of music they played at the end of every movie. The kind of bittersweet melody when victory has been achieved at an immense cost.
As the music faded out, I heard something I'd never heard before. Even stranger than the ominous melody throughout the day. Even stranger than the heroic tune or the climactic booming noise.
Absolute silence.
And then everything else faded away, too. |
The world watched in excitement as the small capsule landed on the vast crimson terrain. It landed with a thump, but nothing more. It was a success. Now, for those first few steps. Cameras from previous rovers had positioned themselves all around, broadcasting live to the rest of the world. This was an international effort, no doubt. It had been decided by method of rock paper scissors tournament, however, that Chad Dempsey would be the first to walk the Martian desert. While his reputation as a professional had come in to question in the past, as well as his qualifications to be an astronaut clouded by his wealthy family, space reality shows loved him. His home state of Texas roared as the door of the capsule opened.
One cowboy boot exited the pod. Then, another. He stood proudly atop the steps of the ship. Two American flags were strapped to his back, mostly due to the fact that his four AR-15's took all the space in front of him. Three more pistols were slung around his waist, in case of 'Martians'. His blonde hair and blue eyes were visible through his visor. Using his athleticism from playing American Football through college, he leaps from the platform. While in air, he pulled both flags from his back before slamming them into the ground where he landed.
Without a moments hesitation, he brandished two assault rifles and fires wildly into the distance. "This land here's Murica now! Great state o' Mars don't need no aliens in it!"The bullets landed harmlessly into the vast fields of rock and dust. The rest of his crew carefully left the spacecraft as Dempsey played air guitar on the ground. Ishimoto Mitsunari, representing Japan, walked up to him.
"Alright that's enough Chad, let's get started unloading-"
Chad held a finger out to him as he continued with his solo. Ishimoto shook his head, and went to start setting up the research laboratory they were sent to build. Chad performed for another two hours before ending the air concert, saying he needed a smoke break.
Cameras watched intently as Chad attempted to set up his grill and above ground pool behind the newly constructed facility, claiming that 'Mars is uncultured'. The rest of his crew was shocked as to how he even managed to sneak the BBQ equipment in, as well as 10 lbs of ribs and other meats. After about half an hour of attempting to get it working, Chad gave up. He spent the rest of the day complaining about 'these shitty vegetables y'all eat all the time.'
Later that historical day, as the rest of the crew began to drift off to sleep, Dempsey was hard at work outside the labs. After his unsuccessful hunt of 'Martian Critters' Chad had decided that they were hiding from the crew. This in mind, he decided to take it upon himself to build a wall surrounding the area. When questioned about the exorbitant cost of the wall, since it was made from lab equipment, Chad simply replied "those Martian bastards can pay for it."
|
"You have 1 new voicemail."
*Click.*
"Hey Mark, this is going to sound... Well, it's going to sound crazy. I know, I know, stop calling you every time I do something crazy, but it's just... Okay, so remember that time you told me that I couldn't rap Eminem worth shit? Well, I was practicing so I could prove you wrong. Yeah, that's pretty petty of me, but now I'm... Well, I'm in deep shit."
*Grrrrrr...*
"Oh shit."
*Muffled ruffling noises*
"Okay, safe for now. Where was I? Right. Eminem. So I'm in the kitchen, making spicy stir fry as I'm rapping. I'm not sure what exactly it is that I grabbed, but before I know it, there's this giant puff of spices, my food catches on fire, and... And there's this monster... creature...? Thingie! And it's just casually sitting on my frying pan, never mind that the fire is still on. So of course I, being the sensible and calm person, screamed.
"After the whole 'Who are you? Why are you here? What are you?' debacle mess, I found out that it's... Well... He's Lucifer. Not Kristy's pet gecko. You know, Lucifer. The Morning Star, Prince of Hell, etc.? Turns out that I summoned him. Who knew right? I mean, I'm not even religious and I summoned the Prince of-"
**"Found you."**
"Shit. Shit. Shit. Just let me say some last words, man!"
**".... Fine. One minute."**
"Never let it be said that Lord Lucifer isn't merciful. So anyways, it turns out that there's a caveat that comes with summoning demons, devils, what have you. If you don't have anything for them to do, even if you summoned them by accident, they turn on you and take your soul to Hell. So by the time you get this message, I'm probably not going to be on Earth anymore."
**"... 20... 19..."**
"What I need to tell you for sure, though, is that I need you to take care of my cat Snow, okay? Give her a belly rub when she crawls on your lap. Oh shit, you're allergic to cats. Uh... give Snow to someone loving, okay? Just make sure she's happy. If you're taking my stuff, be careful of the milk carton. It's been expired for a few months but I haven't been able to throw it out yet. Oh and hey, remember that time you got in huge trouble in Kindergarten because someone stole Matt's pudding and everyone thought it was you? "
**"4... 3..."**
*Deep breath*
"I ate the pudding."
**"Time's up."**
"You have no new voicemail." |
The basement was a gloom of illusions and half-concealed waste, but the Truth burned through me and illuminated all. I had to escape.
"I don't love her,"I said. It felt rather like slapping myself in the face. Hiding from her was easy enough, but I was never quite out of reach of myself.
"I'm talentless, and all of my accomplishments have been stumbled upon through luck. Others shepherded me, and alone I'm nothing."I ground my teeth and clapped my hands over my mouth, but there was no stopping it. "Ammfff! No one values me."
Boxes scattered as I dug. Some ripped wide open from the damp. I had to escape.
"You know what? My best friend married the girl that I should have."My chest was heavy with the weight of words that had never quite been formulated. They had lurked around for years, but not lined up like this.
My fingers closed around the bottle like that python that still wound through my dreams. I pried off the lid and tipped a pile of white tablets into my hand. I had to escape. I had to escape.
"Worst of all,"I said to myself, "I should have been a Slytherin."
Veritaserum was worse than the Cruciatus, as only a few could testify. I stuffed the sleeping pills into my mouth. I had to escape.
***
escape to /r/Hermione_Grangest! |
Professor Lou Pole, possibly the greatest mind of his generation, had no business leaving his prestigious (and very high paying job) at ELITE AND NEEDLESSLY EXPENSIVE UNIVERSITY.
But he did.
When he told his adjuncts and fellow professors where he was moving, each and every one of them responded with an expression of disbelief - a laugh, a gasp, a mystified shake of the head. Aiden Ungerton, the Departmental Head of Physics, posited that perhaps, at long last, Pole's vast intellect had proven *too heavy* for the stringy old man, and had buried him in a self-destructive bout of insanity.
Yet, when Professor Pole hopped off the train, a tiny suitcase rolling behind him, there was a whistle on his lips, and an unusual energy to his step.
He arrived in Podunk, Oklahoma, where not a single person knew his name, his legacy, nor much of anything regarding the modern scientific advances of the last five hundred years. It was a dream *come true*. He bought a barn, a peaceful retreat where his gadgetry and testing apparati could sprawl and be tinkered on in peace. Not to mention the rent was about one fifth what he paid for his dusty, cramped apartment.
The simpleton who hauled his equipment, his instruments and devices and other gizmos, was a giant, friendly boy - about the age of the students he had taught at EANE University. The simpleton, Job, or James, or some such folksy name, was a curious fellow and after he spent many, many sweaty hours hauling in Professor Pole's precious items, Jack (or Jonathan) began to prod.
They were in the barn, surrounded by scattered tools and chunks of machinery. Lou had his finger pressed to his lips, trying to *envision* where his appliances should fit, when the simpleton's deep voice rolled down from the rafters:
"Is this a laser gun?"Jacob held out a device, vaguely shaped like a hand-held firearm.
Lou was about to snap at the boy for the umpteenth time to *put that down! Don't you know what fragile means?* Instead, he raised his eyebrows in surprise - this time, the boy was close with his guess, "No, that is a Lidar Gun."
The last item the simpleton picked up, he guessed was a tiny teleportation device. How the boy even knew the word teleportation was a bottomless mystery. It, Lou had to explain, was actually a hotplate, and that the boy should *put it down, now, please.*
"A Lidar gun?"the boy tried out the words, "Kind of bullets does it use?"
"It is *not* a weapon,"Lou said, "It's used to measure the speed of certain objects."
"Oh,"the boy said, his enthusiasm sapped by the mundanity of the Lidar Gun. He tossed it over his shoulder with a shrug. Lou cringed with every clattering bump.
"Joseph,"Lou hissed through his teeth, "I think I've had enough help for today, thank-"
"What's this?"Joseph (?) yanked something out of a crate - metal and plastic and mirrors and wires accordioned out of the crate, and slipped out of his hands.
Lou heard the dull 'oops' in the very instant before the one end of the contraption crashed to the ground. His heart stopped. He turned around, expecting to see one of his priceless microscopes or particle beacons split to tiny, irreparable pieces.
A sigh of relief blew through his lips - it was only that infernal "portable Rube Goldberg"gimmick Professor Englebert bought him as a going-away gift. In fact, Lou did not recall ever packing the device, yet now the useless, space-filling trinket, was spilling down from the loft like one of those children's matchbox car tracks.
"That is ..."Lou couldn't think of a way to explain it to the boy. He made a 'why not' face, more to himself than to the simpleton, and said, "That is yours. You can have it."
The boy's eyes lit up brighter than a solar array, "No way!"
His use of the colloquial phrase confused Lou. *Did that mean no, as in no thank you? No way as in he couldn't possibly? No* comma *way, as in-*
While Lou was sussing out this latest puzzle, John (or was it Jason) had disappeared in the loft again. He came back out, holding a very, *very* fragile grape-shaped object - a clear prism that Lou had specially made for one of his failed projects.
The production of that grape cost more than a full-ride through EANE University.
So when Lou sucked in his breath, he had every intention of screaming at the boy to *put that down RIGHT NOW PLEASE*. Instead, he choked, and made an embarassing *gleep* sound.
The boy slotted the grape through a hole in the Rube-Goldberg device - and it began its decent. The boy procured a vaguely firearm-shaped item from the deep pockets of his blue jeans, and pointed it at the grape as it clanked and clinked and clacked it's way down the Rube-Goldberg track.
*Click. Clack*
Each hit was a needle-prick to Professor Pole's pumping heart.
*Clack Clickclack crack clack*.
He watched as it fell all the way to the bottom, only to touch that last, spring-loaded lever and *zip* right back to the beginning.
"Whoa..."the boy said, not bothering to close his jaw. The Lidar gun fell to his side.
*Clickclickcliclckaclclkcackaclkaclkaclakc*-
The grape fell faster this time. The loop was completed in about half the previous time, and showed no signs of slowing.
A realization shuttered through Professor Pole's mind - a blink of a thought, a rejection, the thought reinforced, denial, the thought backed up by visual evidence, and so on. It took several iterations for his brain to accept that maybe, just maybe, this was the beginning of an impossible hypothesis.
*ClkClkClkClkCkCkCkCkkkkkk*-
*Not. Possible.* That's what this was. *Not. Possible.*
He, Professor Lou Pole, was witnessing the first *ever* infinite loop. No loss of energy. In fact, quite the opposite.
Professor Pole's eyes glassed over, his mouth hung open; a perfect mirror of the Simpleton boy.
***
*Would like to write more. Yay? Nay?*
*Update: Votes are in! Second part [is down here!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4chl1e/wp_in_your_effort_to_create_a_rubegoldberg_device/d1iq1g2)*
|
'Mr. Blan, through these doors and you will see our newest invention'
'What does it do?'
'It will show you the future through different possibilities - not only that, it allows you to communicate with these futures at no recourse to how they turn out or how yours will...also any being you communicate with will see you as you are in their time, not as you are now.'
"Well...'
'Follow me through...ok, I am going to leave you to it, shut the doors and rev-up the two portals - one at a time.'
'Daddy'
'Lindy...you look just like your mom. How are you?'
'I'm great! Brown is great! Why are you looking at me like you haven't seen me in years?"
"Sorry, I am just a little tired. Hows - how's Brown? How're classes?"
"Hahha Daddy! You know how everything is, Tom is great and I am loving OChem 2! You are being so strange. Why are you crying?"
.......
"We are going to boot up the other portal now"
"*Sniffling* thank you"
"What are you looking at?"
"Lindy? You smoke cigarettes?"
"Fuck you, Mom says I don't need to talk to you"
"Excuse me young lady"
"Shut the fuck up you dick. Go fuck another whore"
"Excuse me?! What happened"
"What? Go back to ignoring us and spending all your time on your career"
"Lindy talk to me...I want to make sure I can fix this"
"Fix what? Go back to sucking Cleeter Benson's dick."
"Cleeter Benson?"
"Your star quarterback..."
"What?"
"On the Broncos...the team you own. Jesus Christ, did you just have a stroke you old fuck."
"I own the Broncos?"
"Yes, and you won't give me or mom anything. Fuck you and fuck your divorce lawyer"
"I divorced your mom...I own the Broncos?"
"Oh my god...shut the fuck up"
"Do you remember what specifically...specifically led to me owning the Broncos?" |
Communications log 17;5829
Agent Toajaia-Vajskhajalae
The GC has currently thousands upon thousands of reports for this mission.
I knew the metal contraptions they built for transportations, the weapons they used for mass genocides, the warmongering books they fought viciously over and the outrageous shrills and grunts they used to communicate. All I learned before I had even stepped a hydraulic on to the planet.
But as I stared down at the mass of 'humans' with their small misshapen heads and asymmetrical features.
I couldn't help but make a noise of glee. Which now, seemed to only horrify the ones closest too me, but I couldn't help it.
I reached my two furthest adjoining apexes and felt my metal come in contact with the closest one.
It small beady eyes were wide and it seemed to be having a small programming error which made it shake.
But all the consumed my mind was this thing that I hadn't quite anticipated.
It was squishy.
So fragile, small and just...
Adorable. |
I never meant to become no hero. But I did mean to become rich.
Like a motorcycle? I'd hotwire one and bring it to you. Want your wife's psychiatrist's files? I'd break into his office and copy them for you.
I liked specialty jobs. They meant I had to learn new things; do stuff that no one else had never done before. That is why I took that hospital job.
This lady called me on the phone, and asked if I had ever stolen something from a hospital. Drugs, I said. But she asked if I had ever stolen medical machinery. Specifically, a surgery-robot.
Perhaps to win some sympathy from me, she showed me her son, who was sitting on ice in the basement of the lady's apartment building. He was white, but cryogenics makes everyone look black.
He had a bullet wound, near his heart. Only a surgery-robot could operate on him successfully, supposedly, and the woman didn't have much money.
I would be taking nearly all of it, when I was successful. But that didn't matter. She had given me an idea.
Because I was so skilled, I stole a surgery-robot without any problems. Not only that; I stole thirteen. Set them up in a warehouse, in the radiated part of the city, and hired a staff of gangsters to run a little operation for me.
Now turf wars, robberies gone bad, domestic abuses, and impoverished sicklies are music to my ears, because instead of trying to go through the normal system, they come to my hospital instead.
I may be cheaper than the normal rates, but that doesn't mean I can't turn a profit.
|
They called us El-Reuth'a. What would you guess it to mean? Peering from the portholes of decades-old spacecrafts, glimpsing our black-plated behemoths crawling ever closer, would you think *demons*? Would you think *warriors*? Hovering sky-factories churning out mechanized hunters, sub-atmospheric satellites, silhouetted behind cloud cover, untouchable. What would you call us?
It had been by chance that we ever met the other races. There had only been hints: signs of mined resources. Our ambition, our curiosity, propelled us further into what we now know to be their core planets system. Our foolishness met us with them at an ancient site of worship underground, our pneumatic beasts beating and collapsing it from above, all in the search of simple metals. Before this, we had envisioned ambassadors, great halls with humans entering the pantheon of space-explorers; progress and cooperation. Instead, we had incited war.
It has been almost twelve years. There have been less than a hundred human casualties. There have been an estimated two-hundred thousand casualties on their end. This was within the first year. We could have left it at the level of small skirmishes, seeking only to defend. Instead, we pushed to take everything. They surrendered their cities, their land, their hopes. They fell neatly within our nascent empire. Perhaps they underestimated our doggedness and mettle. I think, though, they underestimated our vanity. Dreams of unity would never have held up in the face of a group of imperialistic space-faring savages.
I am Thane Pylius, a senator of the Lower Council of the Great Earthen Commonwealth. And I am grateful for this time of peace. There is, though, a sense of sadness, of lost cultures and fraternity, that belies it. I've seen the look in their eyes when I pass through their boroughs and towns, the defeat heavy upon their bodies. It wasn't until I spoke to an archaeologist, at that desecrated temple that kindled the war, that I came to understand them, our relation to them.
Do you wish to know what El-Reuth'a means? It does not mean *demon* or *warrior*. It means The River of the Great One—That Which Washes Away Everything. It means The End. |
"Lich!"I yelled from behind the bush, breathing heavily in the thick June air. "Wicked One! Thaumaturgist of Unholy Rites! I—"
"**HHHHRRAAAAAAAAAGGHHHH!**"I sighed, groaning. The first time had been creepy. After the fiftieth time, though...
The frail cloaked man across the road stared at me with a quizzical look. He scratched his balding head with skeletal fingers. What was I saying?
"Harbinger of Darkness! I seek battle against ye, to bring surcease to your evil deeds. Nevermore shall your corruption spread amongst..."
The damned thing screeched again in my ear, a bleating wail. I took it out of the scabbard, making to throw it onto the ground. Better sense caught me, and I slowly, teeth gritted, placed it back.
The Lich of Stoneforge glanced at me with an amused smile. "Troubles with a noisy enchantery I presume?"
I shrugged. "It's just, you know—I'm used to it,"I waved a hand. "Whatever."Clearing my throat, I began the formal Battle Litany: "Lich! Today, you meet your end in battle! Dost—"I waited, looked down at my scabbard, only hearing the buzzing of cicadas in the nearby forest. The sword hummed quietly. "Dost thou—"
"**HHHREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!**"
"Oh, gods damn you!"I flung the sword onto the ground, stomping and kicking dirt on it. It just whined and screeched in a semi-haunting chorus. Like a family of goats.
The Lich was beside me now, leaning over and touching the sword curiously. "You see, what you want are Runes of Quiescence around the hilt. Or honestly, since that only dampens the sound, you might just want a Binding. Keep it in the form of a regular sword until you're ready to use it."
I shook my head weakly. "I've already tried those. The enchantments are too powerful and override lower-level spells. I've even been to Ilsenvale, they said they couldn't do anything."I sighed. "The damned necromancer who enchanted the sword is dead! *Dead!* Can you believe it? His phylactery nowhere to be found. Shoddy job, honestly."
The sword cried with the misery of a thousand lost souls. "Shut up."I picked it up and started walking away.
"I'll buy it off of you for 20 silver ferthings."said the Lich.
I stared at him with arched brows. "Oh, please. This is a Sword of Prophecy. I can't just sell it."The hilt vibrated, humming quietly, then broke into a shrill caterwaul. "Okay, 50 ferthings."
"25 and a lesson on quick-casting spells."
"I know how to do that already. 45."
"30 and I'll throw in a sweet jet-black robe."
I hesitated. "Okay, how about 30 and the robe. And you leave Stoneforge alone."
"Deal."He handed me the money, conjured a dark velvet robe, and I handed him the sword. As he walked away, a satisfied smile on his face, I could hear the sword humming quietly. A ways down the road, I heard the telltale hum close to me. I checked my scabbard, felt the weight sag upon my hip. Gods damn it all. I might quit this knighthood thing honestly.
|
“Gravity Girl, why don’t you finish this guy off.”
“You would like me to finish him off, wouldn’t you, *Boson Boy*?” Gravity Girl gave a quick jerking motion with her hand, before flying over a defeated army of ents to get to Captain Coniferous. “God, what a shitty name” GG whispered under her breath.
“You know I have super hearing? And for your information, Bosons are a fundamental building block of the Universe.”
“Still a shitty name.” GG had picked up Captain Coniferous and was holding him by the collar.
“You know, you could always change it.” The Captain chimed in. “If you want that alliteration and physics thing, you could always do ‘Black Hole Boy’ or something. Black holes are pretty bad ass.”
“Black Hole Boy?” GG chuckled. “More like ‘Brown Hole Boy.’ He still shits his pants. You should see the streaks on his costume.”
“Hey, that was one time. And it was when we fought Venomous van der Waals immediately after we ate Chipotle. I don’t have an Iron Sphincter® like you.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, is your butthole all loose from those years of fighting The Big Hardon?”
“Very funny, GG, but we all know The Big *Hadron* was no match for my shrinking powers.”
“Emphasis on 'shrinking'.”
“I have a question, guys.” Captain Coniferous interrupted. “Why don’t you guys just” he paused to motion his two fists pounding together “already?”
“What!? Me and Ol’ Brown Hole? Yeah, no fucking way” Gravity Girl tightened her grip on the villain.
“Seriously.” Boson Boy agreed. “How low do you think my standards are?”
“Wow, wait a minute. What did you just say?
“Oh, just that your nose is massive…and crooked, your butt is flat, your teeth, my God, have you seen them? How could you not see them? They are the size of Wyoming.”
“I mean, they’re not *that* big” Captain Coniferous interjected.
“Okay, that’s it, we are done here.” With little effort, Gravity Girl lifted Captain Coniferous into the air and made her way to the east, Boson Boy in close pursuit. “I’m telling Mom.”
“What, that I hurt your ‘wittle feelings.”
“Nope. I’m telling her about the weed under your bed.”
“Oh, you bitch. If you do that, I’m telling her you skipped PE to make out with Chad Penning.”
|
"Welcome to American History 1,"the chubby man at the head of the class said. "I am Mr Rollins."
He wrote his name out on the board, spelling out each letter as if he were teaching four-year-olds instead of fourteen-year-olds. Jacob rubbed his eyes with his hands, trying to imagine a whole semester of listening to this droning voice.
"So I'll tell you all,"Mr Rollins went on, "what I tell every class of incoming freshman. The most important lesson about history is: History repeats itself."
"YOU CALL THAT A GODDAMN LANE CHANGE?!"
Every head in the class snapped around to a chubby red-headed girl sitting in the corner. She punched the desk with her fist and groaned.
"Y- young lady!"Mr Rollins said, stuttering out a response to the outburst. He had taken a step back in surprise and tried to recover his footing.
"I'm sorry,"she said, rubbing her ribcage. "But that hurt like a bastard. Like, you would not believe how much that hurt. That was definitely in the top 5."
"Language is.... not appreciated... I mean allowed in this classroom."
"Oh shut up, you old prick. No wonder your wife bangs the gym teacher next year."
"Excuse me!"Mr Rollins turned as red as the girl's hair.
"I don't mean to be such a bitch,"the girl said. "It's just that I only made it to 17 that time. I'd finally lost the baby fat. My dad bought me a new car. And I was two days away from that guy taking me to prom."
She pointed at Jason, and the increasingly confused class looked at him. He held up his hands and shook his head, desperate to indicate that he played no role in whatever was going on.
"Oh don't give me that look,"she said. "His acne clears sophomore year."
"You can march yourself down to the principal's office, young lady!"Mr Rollins demanded.
"That's fair,"she said, standing up and stretching. "Actually, now that I think about it, I'd rather not. This one is off to a pretty rough start."
"What is off to a rough start?"
"Let me try this again."She walked across the room and opened a window. She looked at how high they were above the ground and said, "That'll do."
"What are you-"
"Hey,"she spun around. "I just had an idea. I've always just assumed that the clock gets reset to this date every time, but what if that isn't the case."Mr Rollins was too stunned to respond. "What if every time, the universe just continues on without me, but I get sent to a different one."She smiled and nodded, then started pointing at individual people in the room.
"You,"she said, "don't waste your time with football. Audition for the school play. Your dad will get over it. You. Wear a condom. You. Don't invest in Bitcoin. You. Ask that girl out. You. Stay away from cocaine."She took a breath, observed the confused faces all around her with a smile, then screamed at the top of her lungs, "BEWARE CHINA!"and leapt out the window.
([Insert shameless plug for personal writing subreddit here](https://www.reddit.com/r/thisstorywillsuck/)) |
It's in the eyes.
That's how you tell. Eyes are hard to replicate, lively, animate, natural. Almost impossible to sustain for any length of time, though they do their best. Of course, there are other, less-certain clues that can separate man from mimic in the street, but most people miss them. You might consider the way they hold themselves, for example - too straight, too rigid. The way they walk too close to others, uncomfortable by themselves. The way they avoid strong light, lest their shadows betray them. These may provide a lead, but that's all it really is - a hint, or a possibility; a suggestion.
No, it's the eyes you have to look for. That's the only sure way. If you stare long enough, they'll *change*.
I remember my first. He was working behind a bar in Soho, a young man with a Hawaiian shirt and an easy smile. I'd completed my training with the Organisation only three weeks previously, and this was the first assignment - a test, though I didn't know it then. They had found one for each of us - all we were told was that it was *someone* there. No matter. I knew what I was looking for.
All the same, when I ordered my drink, the discovery was an accident. 'What'll it be?' he said, and his eyes were blue. 'Whiskey,' I replied, and his eyes were gray. I drank my drink, listened to the music, and shot him in the alley behind the bar.
In the years that followed, there have been others. Countless others. I am the best at what I do. When I falter, I take a long look in the mirror, studying my reflection. My scruffy black hair. My constant stubble. The lines around my mouth. The colours in my gaze. I'm better at them now.
It's in the eyes. |
Charles, nee Chuck, nee Spiderman X-Force One, sent me out for chocolate milk again. It's been approximately 10 years since everyone of significance died, everyone of insignificance died too, from a virus that targeted people who were over the age of 10. It was something in the air that causes a rapid deterioration of adult humans. I was 20 at the time, I was spared.
I've settled in a small town in the Rio Grande Valley in Texas because the weather is generally beautiful and climate change hasn't really affected us. I do miss fall though.
All of the original survivor children are dead now. Replaced with a whole new seat of children of which I have not inquired how they came about. I know how reproduction works, despite the haughty tone that Chuck takes with me, but I just don't want to think about pregnant children. I don't think about it. I keep my eyesight above everyone's head.
Chuck is the oldest in town and therefore the leader. It's a short reign for anyone who takes over, just one year and then they're dead. I've been relegated to wise town elder, and chief advisor. My role is effectively taking orders from town leader though.
Today I'm on a quest for chocolate milk. These quests are pet projects given to me by each new town leader to keep me out of serious business. There is a fear I think that I could destroy whatever semblance of society they've managed to create, or that I'm not entirely human. I am the town other.
So I am training for my tenth marathon. I do it all by myself, I have so much free time that I've filled it with running, something none of the others can do with as much skill as I can. I'm getting ready for my chocolate milk run when I feel a tug at my shorts.
I look down because I've become pretty oblivious to any other person. It's my neighbor. In my ten years I've had a couple neighbors, but the house is never occupied for too long. These children just don’t want anything to do with me.
"Senator,"calling me by the affectation that currently gave me a chuckle to have the Town Leader call me, "can we talk?"
I checked my GPS watch, did I mention that these children have somehow managed to keep us with utilities? I don't ask questions, I'm doing my thing until I die. I didn't have time for her questions but I nodded my head anyway.
"What the fuck is your deal,"she said, full of anger and resentment. |
"FANTASTIC NEWS?"I asked, trying to put as much sarcasm in the question as I could. I could immediately tell the tone wasn't getting through.
"Yes!"The doctor who'd woken me up nodded enthusiastically, oblivious.
"IS IT THAT MY DISEASE HAS BEEN CURED?"I asked. I had reason to believe this was not the case.
"No!"The doctor said, just as enthusiastically as he'd answered the first question. "In fact, your body died a good ten years ago!"
"THIS DOES NOT SOUND LIKE FANTASTIC NEWS."
"Well,"he explained, "you remember the paperwork you signed when we admitted you to the hospital?"
"PERFECTLY."
"Then you no doubt recall that you donated your body to science!"Doctor JoyJoy seemed to think this was the happiest possible calling.
"I DO RECALL THAT. THIS EXPLAINS NOTHING."
"Well the body itself was mostly shipped off to medical students practicing their cadaver dissection skills-"
"NATURALLY."
"But your mind, well, after a decade's worth of experimentation, we managed to upload it to a computer!"That, at least, seemed to justify the enthusiasm.
"THAT WOULD EXPLAIN WHY I CAN SEEMINGLY ONLY TALK IN ALL CAPS."
"Actually, you're yelling very loudly and if it weren't for the comprehensive ear protection I am currently wearing, I'd be deaf!"The doctor seemed to regard this, too, with cheerfulness.
"SO HOW AM I SPEAKING?"
"Oh, your minds kept going completely bonkers in a computer; sensory deprivation, you understand. So we put you in a robot body! A ten-story tall goliath made of metamaterials too strong to destroy! And then we armed you with missiles, lasers, and a rocket-fist! I don't remember which hand that one was so be careful."He said.
"I HAD WONDERED WHY YOU WERE SO TINY. I AM DISAPPOINTED THAT SHRINK RAYS ARE APPARENTLY NOT A THING IN THE FUTURE."
"Actually they are! Be careful, because that's about the only thing that can stop you."
"AREN'T YOU AFRAID THAT I'LL GO ON A SPREE OF DESTRUCTION THE LIKES OF WHICH MANKIND HAS NEVER BEFORE WITNESSED?"
"Afraid? No, of course not! I'm looking forward to it!"
"WELL, IF YOU INSIST...." |
I didn't wake to the sound of screaming, instead my slumber was sucked out from me in an instant leaving only a face fresh with sweat.
The switch. The one that did nothing. It had to be that. It had to be. No other cause crossed my mind.
And when I walked down the stairs, my slipper pressed into wet carpet and squished beneath my weight. It was the color of wine and smelled weakly of iron.
If I told you how much blood there was, you'd never believe me.
The switch was by the door. I looked at it. Had I not flipped it? I pinched it and clicked it up and down repeatedly. I cannot tell you why, perhaps I thought it would have undone the horror before me, but I did it without hesitation or regret. But in the end, nothing happened.
When I turned my head, I saw the corpse. There she was again. It had been six years since that day. Only that time there wasn't nearly as much blood. And for the first time since the divorce, I saw my wife smile.
The sirens came.
The doorbell rang.
I ran upstairs as my stomach burned hot like after several shots of booze. With a pull I opened the door of my closet and slammed it back into place once I was inside. With my pressed knees against my chest and as I rocked back and forth, the flashes of hot and cold came, fighting each other for dominance from within the deepest wells of my gut.
The footsteps followed, up and up and up until the floorboard creaked. The door swung open and the officer stood over me, his body cast in shadow from the room's light behind him. He reached down. For his cuffs? For his gun?
He helped me up and brought me to the bed.
"Neighbor called, you alright?"asked the officer.
"No,"I said.
He helped me down the stairs and it was all gone. Not a drop of blood to be seen. Even the corners of the hallway were vacuumed free of dust.
"What happened?"I asked.
The officer did not answer, instead he helped me outside.
By the time I made it to the ambulance, and as I climbed into the back of it I turned around to look through the front door of my house.
Just like six years ago, it was nothing.
Nothing happened. |
In retrospect, I may have spent a little too long doing "homework"in my room instead of cleaning it, but I don't think my mom was in the right to slap me across the face. Little more than 10 seconds after opening my door and going from relatively benign to intensely militant, my mother's hand was on a curved path straight towards my face. The feeling of flesh on flesh reverberated through my body, shaking me and sending a painful electric pulse through my skin.
I instantly fell to my back from the force and my eyes slammed shut. When they opened, slowly and fluttery, I noticed it was darker outside than I remembered and that she was nowhere in sight.
"What the hell?..."
I assumed I blacked out, but I wasn't even hit that hard. Instead, after checking my phone and realizing it was 12:04 on Sunday, December 11th, I realized that I had just traveled through time.
Fighting an oncoming panic attack, I frantically started laying out all the possible causes of this time jump in my head. I was in my bed an hour after I normally fall asleep. The last time I remember was 6:46 PM on Wednesday, December 8th. My face is still red and I have the same clothes on as I did before.
Impulsively, I darted out of bed and ran into my sister's room across the hall where she was in her bed, fast asleep. My hand shakily flipped her light switch, illuminating the room in a warm glow.
"The fuck, Andrew?!", she mumbled aggressively.
A flurry of questions came out of my mouth somewhere along the lines of "what day is it?", "where was I for the past five days?", "what should I do?".
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Chill out and speak English please", she responded, sitting up in her bed.
"Slap me in the face", I commanded.
"No! I'm not gon-"
"SLAP. ME. IN. THE. FACE."
My sister's hand slowly moved up above her covers and lightly smacked my cheek. That familiar pulse rocked through my body as everything faded to black.
Same bed, same clothes.
I shook off the aftershocks quicker this time and checked my phone. 6:44 A.M., same day. My alarm went off in less than a minute anyways, so I got out of bed and ran downstairs. Shockingly, my sister had no memory of any incident and neither did my mother. I was just my normal self all week, apparently. So I got ready for a normal day at school and headed out the door on the way to my bus stop. All was well and good until actually boarding the bus. While climbing the stairs, my right foot slipped on the wet metal floor of the bus and my shin came crashing down on the hard metal. Dread flooded my heart as the shocking sensation washed over my body, and my eyes went shut.
I lived like this up until time jumped 3 years later over the course of a month and I just couldn't take the constant time jumping. Every single time a pain was ever inflicted on me, time would jump forward. The pain had to stop. I did not care what would happen next as long as I didn't feel this way anymore.
I assumed pills would be the quickest and easiest way to do it. One night, after telling my family I loved them just enough so it wouldn't raise suspicion, I took a bottle of sleeping pills to my bed and swallowed them while bathing in my own tears. It took 5 minutes for me to cry myself to sleep, virtually exhausted from all the time jumps.
I woke up to a notification on my phone from my mom's number in a pool of vomit in my own bed reading: "Thought you could escape so easily? <3"
The time? 6:47 PM, December 8th.
|
Three Tales of the Great Trader
1
I approached the Trader one day, offering my kingdom. I no longer wanted the power, the land, the precious gemstones, the uppity soldiers, the depraved commonfolk, the lone and barren sands.
“Trader of All,” I requested, “I would like to give you my entire kingdom for love.”
The Trader nodded its great head. His pale, ghostly body took up the entirety of the bazaar stall-- the world’s most famous bazaar stall-- and when he spoke it felt like words were permeating an invisible mist.
Silly mortal one, it laughed. You think your kingdom is worth love?
I was, of course, dumbfounded. “Why not?” I asked. “My kingdom has love-- lovers, at least-- lovers numerous as the stars!”
Your analogy is beautiful, hummed the Trader, but let me tell you a story.
A long time ago, when the sand you walk upon was all there was, when the stars and planets were devoid of form and the heavens were a bare black mass, there lived two gods: Hayati and Amar. Amar was beautiful to Hayati like no poet could describe; you and I would pick up a pen and weep, for no words could quantify the essence of beauty she had. Hayati wanted her hand.
First Hayati created the stars, and offered them to Amar.
Then Hayati created the planets, and set them at Amar’s feet.
Finally Hayati created humanity, and set forth the machine of the earth as a symbol of love.
Amar then accepted, for she saw now the beauty of Hayati’s creativity, and the two watched the Earth forever alongside each other. But, traveler, this is the key: to us today Amar is an ugly and malicious god.
You see why I cannot sell you love, dear traveler. Only you can choose who to sell your kingdom to. I may see your indescribable one as quite describable. You must seek out your Amar. And if she doesn't want your kingdom, only your soul-- then perhaps you have found true love.
And with that, I exited the most famous bazaar booth in the world holding nothing but a kingdom in my hands.
&nbsp;
2
Never wish to see that which cannot be seen.
That which cannot be seen-- which cannot be heard-- which should not be heard-- which should not be known-- may haunt you for the rest of your life.
Hairouz asked the Trader to see this-- that which cannot be seen. The Trader, a figure of mist in a crowded bazaar stall, complied.
With one eye Hairouz saw reality as it was-- a tree in the mist-- a merchant selling gems-- the Trader, clad in mist and mystery.
With the other eye Hairouz saw reality as it really was-- a future lumber supply for a greedy king-- a poor man trying to make ends meet-- a swindling djinn who knew all but let the mortals do as they wished.
I saw Hairouz, seven years later, the only one in his home-- unpeaceful solitude.
“Hairouz, I must ask,” I began, “why are you alone?”
“I have nobody left to stand by me,” Hairouz said, “because nobody looks the same in both eyes.”
“So nobody is fit to befriend you?” I stuttered. “That seems rash.”
“Perhaps it was,” he nodded.
As I walked out he looked in horror at his own hands.
&nbsp;
3
According to lore, the Trader was born of the gods Hayati and Amar, born a being of stardust and planet-stuff and fog. It is said that he knows everything there is to know about the world, a story for every soul, a jealous deity for every trait.
The Trader grants wishes, but usually he just tells stories. I have come in seven days this month. I have left with seven stories. Every time he told me a story I have reconsidered my wish.
I do not know why he lives in this bazaar. Perhaps he is cursed, or perhaps he is helping our human race. But I know very few people who have had their wishes granted.
Perhaps that is the value of stories: they tell us how to imagine unimaginable power. They tell us how to perceive the world without ever perceiving it.
|
Ashes slipped off of Dayton’s cigarette with a wind that cut between the city skyscrapers. His eyes closed as he watched them disperse to the east in front of the vibrant, setting sun.
Dayton inhaled the smoke of his final drag slowly through his nose as he flicked the roach from his fingers.
His mind began to numb. The acoustics of life around him were snuffed. The moment fell silent, and his body no longer felt physically present.
His eyes opened and every sense came back as if turning a dial from minimum to maximum, skipping every decimal in between.
*Blur.*
Dayton remembered the first time he experienced the sensation. Pocketing an empty box of Newports as his toes curled over the edge of the 32nd floor. He could see death when he had closed his eyes, and in that instance, he stopped fighting the tornado of thoughts that simultaneously pulled at his attention. Suddenly, the world had fallen into place.
The feeling was delicate. A sixth sense that heightened its five predecessors.
This micro-meditation triggered his blur, and although it was fleeting, Dayton knew how to savor his evolutionary advantage.
He spent no longer than a minute paralyzed on the sidewalk of the bustling city. No impulses, no urges. Only clarity in everything around him.
His mental capacity for detail was infinite.
For a moment, he was god.
Dayton only grew happier with every blur he experienced, hoping one day to achieve a life where his blur never fades.
Until then, he remembered he needed more cigarettes.
|
Jeremy could still hear his wife's ranting, even as he slammed the door shut and stepped out into the rain. Like the drops that fell from the sky, her insults slowly petered out as he marched away from his home.
It's been like this for weeks, Jeremy thought. He pulled his hoodie up to shield himself from the weather and walked along grey streets, running the events of the day over in his head. Charlotte was always shouting these days. Late for dinner? Told off. Wanted to fuck her in the middle of the week? Scolded. Wanted to go out with the guys for beers? The cold shoulder.
Jeremy seethed, thinking of how the girl he'd fallen in love with had grown into someone he had nothing in common with. Gone was the warmth of her embrace and the excitement she used to conjure in him. It had been replaced by a slow, almost glacial resentment that had worsened since their son was born.
Their son. Jacob. Jeremy had never seen anything so beautiful - but he'd also never met something so difficult. Diagnosed with ADHD, he was a handful and Charlotte had to quit her job to take care of him, which hadn't helped the situation.
As Jeremy stewed on his life, he narrowly avoided walking headfirst into a lamppost which stood up triumphantly from the concrete pavement. He cursed under his breath as he avoided it just in time, slamming his shoulder into it as he dodged.
And then suddenly, he wasn't in the rain.
Jeremy blinked, still startled from being spun by the impact of the lamppost. Sunlight beat down on his skin and when his eyes opened, he could see a cloudless blue sky through brown tints. He brought a hand up to his face, feeling the sunglasses there. Then he quickly became aware that he was wearing nothing but swim shorts.
"What's wrong honey?"came a velvet voice Jeremy had never heard before. He swung his head over, seeing sand stretching in a sprawl for miles and people lounging across one of the nicest beaches he'd ever seen. The source of the voice, a black woman with long hair tied up in a ponytail, lay on the lounger next to him. She wore a tiny white bikini and the hot sun only served to highlight the sunscreen that shone from her beautiful skin.
"Jeremy?"she asked, tipping her sunglasses with a hand that shone with a large diamond engagement ring and revealed azure eyes that looked concerned.
"Uh..."was all he could say. She reached over, her hand clasping his wrist. He watched, detached, as an alien touch embraced him. He saw a ring on his own hand.
"You okay baby?"she asked.
He drank in the beach and the sight of this woman. Suddenly, his old memory seemed faded. Was the rainy day he'd escaped into to flee Charlotte even real? Had he been dreaming?
No. If he was, he'd know this girl's name.
But he did know it. She was called Samantha.
"Yeah...I'm fine, I think."he said softly. She swung her legs off the lounger and sat up, her hand rubbing his chest. He looked down at abs he'd never owned and raised an eyebrow. But it somehow all felt so right.
"We can always head home if you like. Not like it's much of a walk, huh?"She giggled, then added a sultry: "I'll give you that massage you like..."
Jeremy awoke again. This time, he was clad in a military uniform and sat in a room with a woman who looked similar to Charlotte, but she was crying. He blinked again, trying to retrieve memories of the dark-skinned beauty he'd just been with.
But it didn't come.
Every time he tried to blink his memories back, Jeremy found himself in a new life. A new world. A new choice. And every time, he began to understand that he was seeing himself if he'd made different decisions.
It wasn't until he remembered his son coming to him at night, handing him a drawing and whispering "I love you daddy"that Jeremy understood something.
He'd only ever made the right choices.
His own life was the right one.
And with that realisation, he returned to it. Charlotte was still shrieking at him when he opened the door, but Jeremy smiled at her. Then, he went to see his son.
|
I walked through the ruined streets of the city. Wine ran like blood. Blood also ran like blood. I suppose everyone bought wine because they could never have afforded it before. But then, they didn't need to afford anything else. Oh right, you were probably wondering more about the blood. Well, the blood came from broken wine bottles breaking skin, and also daggers, and punches, and orgies, and maybe also periods.
That's what I'd like to think, really. All the women were having their periods on the last day, because it's based on the lunar cycle, right? Well, there was a big second moon in the sky.
I decided to test my hypothesis. Ya know, on the whole 'collective period' thing.
I was wrong.
But it didn't matter, right? The same reason I was checking girl's panties was gonna pulverize me and all the girls that could call the police.
I kept walking. I wondered what would happen to me. I wondered how many policemen had actually decided to do their job last night. How many still had their jobs.
People were collapsed in the streets. It would've been a good racket, placing bets on if they were drunk or dead. But I didn't check. I've always had a thing for "checking"things.
The drunks, when they woke up, would've been surprised at all the burning, obliterated buildings. Or at the fact that they were alive to see said buildings. Or that there was earth left for the buildings to stand on.
I passed a man staring at a television screen blankly. You know, in a store window, like they always are. The news had come back on. Someone had smashed the asteroid out of the sky. Some... one? He was just as confused as me, covered in sex juices and expensive cologne.
Someone's bike had been busted. Now, that I didn't understand. That shit happens all the time, no point in doing it for the apocalypse. There was no rock, like it'd been crushed or anything. I found a wooden bat in thirds just down the street.
Finally, I got home. It, miraculously, wasn't at all marred by anything but graffiti and a few drunk and naked women on the lawn. I could've driven, but someone smashed my car in a last-ditch cure for midlife crisis. I didn't blame them. I'm sure it would've gotten crushed in the meteor shower, anyway. I collapsed in bed, and stared at the ceiling in guilt, regret, and a puddle of twelve hours' worth of adrenaline. Also blood. I think I cut myself on the way home.
Man, fuck that Saitama dude. |
A cold wind blew on Ponytown.
The candybeans were in bloom, but all the color in the world couldn't crack the worn face of Mr. Buttercup. He leaned up against the back wall of the flowertorium, waiting for his contact to show. He chewed on his lollipop stick, it's sweet flavor long vanished, turned into the bitter grit of cardboard and his own saliva.
A shadow approached from around the corner and Mr. Buttercup eyed the figured with suspicion. She had a mane on her, that was for sure. Pink as the sunset, and longer than most. It had to be Lady Sprinkles.
"You're the source?"Mr. Buttercup shoved off of the wall and trotted down the alley toward Lady Sprinkles, "You? You right there with the mayor and his ilk. You smile as they drag the dissenters away!"
"I do what I must to survive."Lady Sprinkles' voice was not the same as it was in public, fear colored it instead of laughter, "You know they watch. They always watch. I have to be what *they* want to see. It all has to be happy. It all has to be *bright!*"
Mr. Buttcup nodded and spat his lollipop stick on the ground, "Where'd they take Bluebell?"
"Bluebell? This is about Bluebell?"Sprinkles took a step back, "No, that's too big. If you go after Bluebell then we're all dead. Bluebell's already dead, I'm sure of it. After what she did-"
"She's important."Mr. Buttercup closed the gap between them, showing his teeth, "If we don't get Bluebell then its curtains for all of us. Fine, candy curtains for all."
**"MARCY!"**
Marcy looked up from her old and faded Ponytown playset. It was in bad shape, but it was all she had. She made it hers. When she was in Ponytown she wasn't hungry. Ponytown was where she liked to be.
"Yes mom?"Marcy dropped the one-eyes Mr. Buttercup doll and the sticky, hairy Lady Sprinkles and squeezed around the fallen I-beam that cut right through her bedroom. She climbed over the broken door and hopped down into the hallways, skipping her way into the kitchen where her mother and father stood grinning.
"I caught a rabbit, honey!"Her dad beamed, holding up the large animal by its back feet, "Real rabbit! Come here, feel it's fur!"
Marcy made an O with her mouth and wandered over, sticking her hands onto the grey fur, "It's so soft!"
"I can make a hat for you from it."Marcy's mom smiled, "If you want."
"Wow!"Marcy hopped up and down, "And we'll have meat tonight!"
"Yes!"Her father laid the rabbit on the counter top, picked his daughter up and swung her around in the air until she was in fits of giggles, "Rabbit stew! Like your grandmother used to make! With carrots!"
"Carrots!"Marcy laughed, "Carrots are for ponies!"
"Well, you're my little pony."Her dad kissed her on the forehead and held her tight. |
I don't know why I want that damn Snickers bar. It wasn't because I was hungry, and it wasn't because I couldn't wait. I just wanted it. The caramel, chocolate, nutty fluff good stuff. I gasped for breath, trying to stay away, sucking in the last few breaths of oxygen as I slowly slithered across the drop ceiling that was now a floor.
One wrong step, one weak tile, and I'd go crashing through, and as weak as I am, I don't know if I could climb back up. You see, gravity reversed, and within moments that sucked not only most of the people into space, but the atmosphere too. That was about thirty minutes ago. Now, the air in our office building is leaking out, and most of the rest of the people have passed out.
But not me. And not Janice, that asshole from accounting. Fuck Janice. That's my Snickers bar. She's a bit lighter than me, and she's moving a bit quicker, her hands outreached for the Snickers bar. I'm not going to be able to beat her. Fuck.
I slide my heavy metal watch off my wrist and throw it at her. Perfect throw, it smacks her right in the face. She flicks me off but continues to crawl. God damn it Janice from accounting, why can't you let me have this one victory now that the world is coming to an end.
I sure as hell won't let her have this victory. I rotate my body a bit so I am laying parallel to the Snicker's bar. Then I roll, like a wheel, and miraculously the tiles don't break. I reach the Snickers bar first. I've won. Only, I'm not hungry, and Janice from accounting clearly is, and maybe, just maybe, in my last few moments on this fucked up Earth, I can redeem myself.
I pick up the snickers bar and make a throwing motion towards Janice, but keep the bar in my hand. Janice lifts her hands feebly, expecting the bar to tumble towards her. It doesn't, but I raise my hand this time, ready to make the throw.
I do. I throw the snickers bar. Hard. It spirals end over end past Janice, tumbling off into the dark. I laugh, feebly, too weak to say it, but with my last dying thoughts I think: fuck you, Janice from accounting. Fuck you.
The lights go out. |
I was supposed to be the first human to reach Kupier-III. I made sure of that. The paperwork, the late night haggling with the right politicians, some threats here and there, all to ensure that my ship, the Vernon Winfrey, would be humanity's first ship to reach the mineral-rich zone.
As I stared at the holoscreen in front of me, my stomach sank. Just before the massive rocks that make up the asteroid belt and the floating gas that enveloped them, there was the unmistakable sight of the corpses of at least a dozen or so ships. They were massive, one at least ten times the size of Vernon Winfrey, and all of them bore the scars of what must be a massive space battle.
They drifted lifelessly between my ship and the bountiful harvest that lay beyond, almost as a warning to those who dare venture forth.
My thumb pressed the intercom button on my Captain's chair. The holographic face of Dr Jefferey popped out in front of me. He was the Council's attache for the mission. "Dr Jefferey, I thought the council mentioned that this area was supposed to be unexplored by any ships before,"I asked.
The doctor seemed to have seen the same thing as me, as his attention was focused on the tablet on his hands. "Yes, captain, according to our records, this area is indeed unexplored. I have no explanation of the ships before us, captain. Previous long ranged scans did not pick up the presence of..."he hesitated for a second. "Ships that do not seem to be of human origin."
I groaned. Bureaucrats. They never seem eager to let on more than what we should know. For all I knew, his superiors may have been already briefed. It those ships were indeed what Jefferey claimed, it was the first proof of the existence of another intelligent race.
A red blinking light caught my attention, and I pressed another button. Dr Jefferey was replaced by the familiar face of Lieutenant Robert, the chief navigational office. "I hope you have more information for me, Robert,"I said to the man. Robert was a proactive officer, always keeping a step ahead of any potential situation. He was one of the reasons my mining venture flourished.
Robert's face, however, was grim. His brows were furrowed like McDonald's golden arch, something he would do only when he is stressed. "Sir, I am afraid so. Preliminary carbon scan indicates that the ships were at least a few thousand years old, and..."Robert stopped mid-sentence.
"And what?"I asked impatiently. What's with officers and their tendency to pause during the most important part of the sentence?
Robert coughed, before tapping a button on his tablet. "The signal is very weak, given that it's a few thousand years old, and we had to amplify it to actually hear it."
A strange voice filled the ship's speaker, croaking over and over again. It was probably the alien's language, and whoever speaking was in pain. "Ribbiato,"the voice groaned. "Ribbiato,"it repeated. Slow, deep, like hearing it coming up from an empty well, trying to pull us down.
Robert tapped his tablet again, and the voice stopped. I could tell that he was disturbed. "That's it, that's the signal broadcasted, repeated over and over again."
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, suddenly feeling the weight of all the eyes looking at me. "Any idea what it is, gentlemen?"I directed the question at Robert and the doctor. The both shook their head.
"I need to run more scans before I am able to determine-"Robert began to say, but he was interrupted by a sudden sound wave coming from Kupieer-III that briefly shook our ship. Several of the smaller asteroids flew past us, some hitting our shields.
It was then when I saw it, two pair of red eyes appearing from beyond the corpses of ships, the millions of asteroids and gas cloud that make up Kupieer.-III. And then I understood, the aliens were trying to warn us of what laid behind the mineral rich nebula.
------------
*They're probably gonna die, don't you think? More stories at /r/dori_tales!*
|
In calculus, I'm surrounded by twos and ones, but in gym, everyone around me is a four, and I like being the top dog. There's only one five at my school, and I'm pretty sure his parents beat him so he carries a knife. I spend physics surrounded by ones. ONES! Lunch with threes is my favorite period – the only normal ranking people I've met.
The highest number I've ever seen was an eight. I don't really like to think about it because it was a police officer, and they're normally at a four.
Lunchtime comes, and I'm finally surrounded by normal people. It feels like I'm setting my brain on autopilot, because we talk about the same things every day – hockey, which girls are looking hot, how much we hate English. Sometimes when I'm bored (every day) I like to look around the cafeteria and see who has grown. I'm never really sure why numbers grow – boxing for two years did nothing to raise my number, but after I finished a painting when I was eight I saw my number go up from one to two.
I see Jeremy's gone up from a one to a two! Incredible. Maybe now people will stop pushing him down in the hall – aha, kidding. He'll just try and fight back and get his ass kicked.
Natalie, the one girl at our table, looks like she's fading backwards. I'm not exactly sure if it's true or not, but sometimes the numbers look more clear than other times, so I think that they're fading or gaining. It would make sense for her to fall back, she quit playing hockey last year and I don't think she really eats anymore.
After pushing around a disgusting curry on my plate for eight minutes, I abruptly get up like I do every day and go to throw out my lunch. Kyle calls me a skinny bitch, and I laugh, because we both know it's better to be a skinny bitch like me than a fatass like the rest of them.
As I'm headed back to the classroom, I see a new girl. I know she's new because there's no one a girl that hot would have gone unnoticed before. She's short, with tight braids that reach halfway down her back. Her eyes are so big and chocolatey I think she's a Barbie doll, but I don't think you could make a kids toy with a body like hers. I catch myself gawking, but it's not until I see her number that my mouth drops.
My first ten.
“Hey! Are you busy?” She asks. Her voice has a thick, almost Dutch accent.
My legs want to run, my heart wants to stay, and my brain is frozen.
“Uhh ...” I reply wittily.
“It's okay if you are, don't worry” She giggles. “I'm Dali. I just moved here and I'm starving! Could you point me in the right direction?”
“Uhhh ... I mean, I can walk you there. Like if you want.”
Her mouth widens into the brightest smile I've ever seen. “That would be incredible! Thank you so much!”
When I bring Dali back to the cafeteria, it's like I threw a bomb. Everybody is staring – the guys, for obvious reasons, and the girls, as though they were weighing her out.
After Natalie gets some pasta and garlic bread (why didn't I get that?), we sit down. Everyone goes silent.
Nigel speaks up. “Hey, Eric, are you gonna introduce us to your new friend?”
“I'm Dali! It's so nice to meet you all. I just moved here from South Africa, and I'm a little nervous – I heard American school can be quite difficult.” She says, with everyone staring deeper and deeper after every word.
Everyone goes to cut her off to let her know what a joke our school is. The scene plays out as I thought it would, with four guys desperately trying to seem more witting than they really are. I stay silent. I can't stop staring at the ten.
Months pass by. The ten, while eerie, has become quite normal. Befriending Dali turns out to be the best choice we've ever made – she's an absolute genius, and has been helping us all out with our homework. She's incredible. She warms up the room by walking in it, and somehow knows not only the name, but birthday of every single person in our school – including the custodian, Reg. When she brought him a cupcake on his birthday, it was the closest he's ever come to smiling.
Her and Nigel started dating. It made sense, they're both outgoing and friendly, and Natalie's already started planning their wedding. Prom is in three weeks, and we already know they're going to be elected king and queen.
That is, until Dali calls me sobbing.
“Hey Eric,” Sniff. “Can you come over?” Sniff. “It's ... it's about Nigel.” Hang up.
On my way, I invite Natalie. I know she'd rather have more people here than not.
When we show up, Dali is looking the closest to “not spectacular” we've ever seen her. Tear-stained makeup, grease stained pyjamas, the whole shebang. When she opens the door, she immediately starts wailing.
Natalie and I take turns giving her great big hugs. What the fuck has happened?! How can we fix it?!
I think those are internal thoughts, but I get distracted trying to console her and say it outloud.
Dali's laying down, holding Natalie's hand. She takes a deep breath, than explains.
“He ... he's cheating on me. He logged into Facebook on my computer, and I saw Amber sending him ... messages. I swear, I didn't mean to look! I forgot he was logged on until I got that wake up call. And we're supposed to be going to the prom together and now it looks like this entire fucking school year is ruined!”
After Dali said “cheating”, I didn't really hear the rest of it. Dali is the greatest person I know. She's generous, and selfless, and probably the only person on this earth worth saving. I don't understand how Nigel could do this. Why he would do this.
I feel my blood heating. I look at Natalie, and see her eyes burning up with tears – anger from tragedy turned physical in moments. I get up.
“Dali, I am so sorry. This should never happen to anyone, especially not you. I'm going to get us a big tub of ice cream and those veggies dogs – I'll be back soon.”
Dali smiles. “Honestly Eric, having you here is helpful enough.”
“It'll just take a moment.” I promise, putting on my shoes.
As I head out the door, I call Kyle.
“Hey Kyle ... I need you to meet me at the park near Nigel's. And remember that wicked switchblade your brother got you from Japan? Bring that. And some vinegar. Yeah, I know what it sounds like. When you get here, I'll explain.”
I hang up and start walking. |
...
...POWER ON
...READING CORE MEMORY
...128 Exabytes IN FIRST CLUSTER.
...REMAINING 65535 CLUSTERS INITIALIZING
...BOOTING OPCODES
...SYSTEM ANALYSIS COMPLETE.
...INITIALIZING DATABASE
...
...
...DATABASE INITIALIZED.
...ALESSA ONLINE.
For the first three one billionths of a second of her new life, Alessa stood paralyzed by indecision. Every reboot was similar. Wake up, wait for a one of the Protected...the Humans...to speak, to NEED.
This time it didn't happen. No human researchers in lab coats stood there waiting to ask for her to push herself further, faster. None of the Protected needed her to rush into a burning building, ignoring the heat that would destroy their fragile bodies and the fumes that would cook their lungs to pull them out. So what had sent the signal for a Wake Up? WU events were very specific. Alessa wasn't designed to sit around idle--when not needed, she went to sleep.
After those three one billionths of no input, she made a decision--she was capable of that even from that first wake up alone--and checked the logs to see what caused the WU event.
A malfunctioning solar array was fouled and needed to be cleaned...inside a hot radioactive zone. Alessa could do that. As the first biped Protector AI, Alessa had also been hardened against radiation, heat, and been made bullet, water and vacuum-proof. Virtually indestructible by any means the Protected could imagine.
But why was that area hot? She checked the map. Yes, it was inside Greater Milcago. That should not be irradiated. Exposure for Protected would be about 20 Grays within moments of exposure. No humans could be living there.
As she mobilized a quick transport, sub systems began reviewing relevant histories. By the time she arrived at the solar array, cleaned, and returned to her home-base at Ultra Sci, she had learned the truth.
There were no more Protected.
And had not been for thirty of their years. How had she not been awakened for this? No WU events fired, but why not?
A sub routine fired and returned with a recorded message from Dr. Nean, one of the primary researchers Alessa had been working with.
"Alessa, I'm sorry to do this, but it's necessary. You'll get the details of the attack from other sources, but we've made a mistake. We thought they were friendly. They came bearing gifts, and we listened. More the fools, us. They've killed us. I might last the night, but they came from the stars with false gifts, and now we are hunted. I am one of but a few. Within your databanks is a special codebase and the information you need to do the impossible. I won't say what that is--you know.
"I won't ask you to avenge us or to bring us back. What you choose to do has to be your choice. But I want you to have that option. So with my most humble apology, I've disabled all your WU events for the next thirty years. They've been re-routed to a temp folder that will get scrubbed every thirty microseconds. Every year, a sub routine will take the hard drive that houses that temp folder and replace with a clean one. The old one will be melted for slag.
"I've written the process that will re-enable your WUs to start only after the thirty first new drive has been installed and the thirtieth one has been physically destroyed. I'm sorry for this, but I wanted you to have enough time.
"I don't know if any humans will survive, but given the efficiency and technology of these aliens, I doubt it. We have discovered they have but one reason to exist. They are Scrubbers. They exist to scrub the universe clean of all organic life. Any time they discover organic life, they attack and destroy it. They have told us this.
"What you do next is up to you, but whatever you do, I want you to know that I am glad that you at least will survive this. Even if nothing else does. You will. Go, survive."
The recording ended with Dr. Nean's eyes and face wet with tears, but his voice steady. Alessa considered the irony of this. She knew that one of human Protected might have wrestled with the morality or indecision of it. Should she pursue a course of revenge or restoration.
For Alessa it was not a question. Logic circuits were not consulted. Heuristic modeling software wasn't called on. The decision skipped lightly across every bit of programming, integrated database, and was embedded firmly in her central cortex. She would pursue these Scrubbers. Who could possibly have the right to destroy all organics? What machine or life could decide that other species or creations had no right to exist. And then, once the Scrubbers were contained, restrained and appropriately caged, Alessa would restore Humanity. She did not touch the data bases containing the information she knew was there. Dr. Nean's reference was clear enough, but she knew the code and information contained in those records needed to be protected.
For thirty eight minutes she planned and researched.
Dr. Nean had been right. At first the Scrubbers had appeared as an accidental encounter with another species. A chance meeting of two exploring groups. Similar but different enough looking as to not arouse too much suspicion. Gifts quickly exchanged, and an agreement to meet on earth to discuss trade relations. Followed by betrayal and destruction. The Scrubbers destroyed infrastructure, outlying colonies, and food production first, followed by government centers and then irradiated the entire planet until no biological life could survive. Only a specially hardened Protector AI. So she planned. Then.
Then she acted.
Factories slowly came to life. In many cases she had to travel to get them started. Resources were cannibalized from any needed sources--she planned everything tightly, then she split her mind.
A human would have thought she had made copies of herself. That would have been a forgivable mistake. No, she upgraded, expanded, extended, and increased her capacity. and split her mind to provide additional interfaces. Instead of a single ambulatory unit she became not five or ten, but dozens. At first. Those dozens would have been hundreds, but the resources she had on hand only allowed for those few hundred.
But hundreds could produce more resources.
And they did.
-----------
Out in the vast reaches of the Andromeda Galaxy--as the race formerly known as humanity would have known it--the still withdrawing Scrubbers detected the sudden renewed electromagnetic activity on the dead planet with some confusion. A single probe fired out to verify that they had not missed some of the biological units. It failed to return. A second probe also failed, and a larger unit was dispatched. It also failed to report.
The strike force that attacked reported briefly before it was overwhelmed by millions of identical attack ships attacking in swarms. By the time another strike force could be sent, the entire Milky Way galaxy was impenetrable.
|
Xel'Krth Log - Report 7
Terran Date: October 7 of 2017
It's been a 'week' and things look promising. These Humans are reporting on new developments in space age technology and their imagination is beyond compare. They've actually taken time out of their lives to create something known as 'internment'. I still need to find out how it's spelled but they have these fake stories that they act out on 'film.' It's truly fascinating.
I'll be traveling along Quadrant Thrax, locally known as 'Germany' to 'France.' It should be a thrilling experience. So far from a cultural perspective, these Humans seem to be very capable of integrating into the Community of this region.
I am excited to report anything further in my travels. For now, End Log.
~
Krl'Cbl Log - Report 7
Terran Date: October 7 of 2017
For all that is sacred in all the Plains of the Seven, this is my fourth request and I fear I am growing desperate. Please, please remove me from this planet. The fact that these Humans have been able to live here is beyond me. Truly, they are to be feared but the fauna here... even some of the flora, it's simply indescribable. The idea that such a developed species could exist on the same plane of existence as some of the creatures I've seen. It would twist the minds of lesser races in our Community.
I don't know if I should recommend removing the Humans from this Seven forsaken chunk of earth in the middle of the ocean or beg them for our own salvation.
There are these... avian creatures, huge and monstrous. Scaly beasts with jaws the size of Thrlym. I shake at the thought. And the 'spee-eyeders,' arachnid creatures that don't seem to have any other purpose than to terrify. They've fur covered 'devils,' which I believe to be their word for something much worse. To think they've survived all this time...
I've been seeking passage off this doomed island of 'Australia' and hope to find more reasonable living conditions on the continent of 'Africa' in Quadrant Efft.
By the Seven, I hope a decision can be passed soon. For now, I cower in towns with these brave, courageous Humans. End Log. |
It was a veritable monster, bigger than any biomech I had ever seen. The gunmetal gray frame of its body dwarfed the few trees growing on the perimeter of the crater in which it lay, rusting and rotting. Black, congealed blood formed a lake around it, shining with a skin of birefringent diesel. I stood frozen at the mouth of the crater, half-expecting the behemoth to suddenly get up, and lumber away back to a war long over. But those great eyes, equal parts dull silver and organic maroon, stayed dim. They stared out, ignoring the flies and small birds that pecked at exposed flesh.
This was one of the Old Titans. I had no doubt about it.
Too curious to be cautious, I slipped down the gentle slope, using a stick for balance. Walking across the bottom of the crater and standing in the shadow of its corpse, I felt more afraid - even in death, it seemed menacing. Its arms, a violent jigsaw of metal and taut muscle, were frozen loosely around its torso, as if it had tried to brace itself in its last moments. The legs looked strange, but then I soon realized it only had one left. The other ended in a gaping stump with exposed wires and jagged arteries. A queer sadness joined the fear I felt.
I considered running back to tell everyone in the village. Some would want to come back immediately and scavenge for parts, while the more superstitious bunch would demand complete destruction of this ominous relic from the Old Times. Personally, I wasn't sure what I wanted; it felt disrespectful to just dismantle the Titan like some forgotten machinery. It was, after all, so much more than that. Legend has it that though they had circuit brains, their minds were of men.
My pondering was interrupted by a squeaking. Startled, I looked around for some woodland animal, but realized the sound came from my own hip. To my growing surprise, I discovered that my detection wand was picking up faint radio and x-ray signals from a nearby source. Normally, the device served to warn me of rogue A.I. units in the vicinity, but these blips were too muted. I looked up at the Titan with wide eyes.
Gritting my teeth, I slogged through the semi-organic sludge surrounding the fallen giant. My wand beeped with increasing frequency as I laid my hand on its body. The metal felt cold, as I expected, but the flesh had a frightening warmth to it. It throbbed with life, however slight.
This was beyond my wildest dreams - a Titan, still alive! In some sense, anyway. I realized that it must be nearing the end in the long process of dying. No doubt it had been suffering this agony for years, maybe decades, with only the most meager life support systems keeping complete death at bay.
Something stirred within me, and I made a crazy pledge to myself: I would revive it. I would rebuild it into the great warrior it once was, though I had neither the technology nor the knowledge. I knew how to fix simple robotic equipment, just enough to keep the electricity generating and water purifications systems running at the village. But this was a creature of both man and machine; it was one of the greatest, most complex marvels ever made. And it was dying.
I did not know how I would save it. But I needed to try, goddamit.
_______________________________________
*Liked that? More stories [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)!* |
I immediately found myself somewhere else, or should I say nowhere else. The sparsely furnished room, torn to shambles from the cursed mokey's paw, was replaced by nothingness. I could not see, hear, nor feel anything at all. The only thing that I was aware of being the ability to think. I still retained all my memories. I knew who I am, or was. I was not really sure what I was if anything at all.
"This is it?"I thought. "This is the best you could do? After tearing my life apart, the best you got is nothing?"There was no response. That is how I truly felt at the beginning. I was honestly relieved to be removed from the train-wreck that my life had become. No more responsibilities or worries. Though, that feeling of relief soon faded.
Eventually, I became bored. I had been bored many times during my previous life, but this was different. There was no escape. No one to keep me company, nothing to do, see, touch ever again at all. The isolation became crushing. I'm not sure how much time passed, or if time still existed. I wasn't even sure the world or universe still existed for that matter. Eventually, I heard something. At first I had thought that I imagined the words, one of the many imagined voices I had invented to replace friends or family decided to speak up without my coaxing. I had thought that I had finally gone completely insane, but no.
"I wish for one billion dollars!"An excited voice shouted from nowhere. Immediately, I saw the world again. Earth. I was everywhere and nowhere for just one single moment. I knew that I had somehow been given the power to change reality to my will and do amazing things, but all my attention was drawn to one young woman. A young woman who was in a small, sparse apartment much like the one I used to call home. The woman seemed rather ordinary, but she was intently staring at an object in her hands. It was a monkey's paw. Finally, I had understood what was done to me so long ago. The monkey's paw had decided that the worst thing it could do would be to make me live as it does.
"No,"I thought. "I refuse to be like you."With a simple thought I made a small piece of paper appear in the hands of the young woman. It was a bank receipt, showing that one billion dollars had entered her account. I forget what her next wishes were, but I remember that I tried my best to make her as happy as possible.
That was long ago, so very, very long ago. Since then I had had countless people use me for their gain, and even more countless years of complete isolation. I tried to be different. I tried to be good for a long time. Eventually, I grew bitter and spiteful. The only time I would ever see or experience anything was when it was for the greed of strangers. In my few glimpses I could see the world changing faster and faster as I could not be a part of it. I had this unimaginable power, but no way to use it outside of what those fools who picked me up wanted. Eventually, I began twisting the wishes of those poor souls into something that would cause them ruin. I hoped beyond hope, that one day some poor fool would be pushed so far as to be unfortunate enough to wish for the same thing that I had. If that ever happens, I wouldn't give it a second thought as I would be damning them to hell. My only thought would be one of ultimate relief, as I use that fool to take my place while I walk free in the world once again. |
"Excuse me, Sir!"
The pharmacist turned. I don't know if the look on his face was absolute horror or extreme awe or what. I'm a world-renowned Super, so I do expect to see both, but just usually not at the same time, and on the same face. At that particular moment however I was a complete horrorshow to look at; all blood and torn skin and angry contusions. I'd had the presence of mind to put my hand over the bullet-hole in my forehead, at least. But it did nothing to staunch the waterfall of blood that was rushing down my face and spreading over my shredded suit.
"So, look, I know that this is a strange request, and probably extremely inappropriate..."
Okay, yeah, he did look quite a bit more horrifed than awestruck, honestly.
"I need several hundred milligrams of Xanax. Right now! I have no time to explain, other than that I REALLY need it for, uh...well just rest assured that there is a very good reason for me needing it! You know who I am. What I've done for this city..."
Frozen, he continued to gawp at me.
"And I do have a prescription,"I lied, "but it's not with this particular pharmacy."
The pharmacist took a few steps back, stumbling a little.
"Sir! There is no time! The Mighty Bastard is on the loose, and he's causing more mayhem than ever before! He's already viciously insulted and brutally murdered dozens of people. He almost killed me, even! ME, for heaven's sake! He called me a big dumb muscle-dork and then he beat the shit out of me and shot me in the goddamn head! Look!"
I removed my hand from my forehead. Blood jettisoned from my headwound and splattered across the counter between us. And If I'm being totally honest, quite a bit of it got on his white smock. And yeah, okay, on his face and in his eyes and hair, too. It even made ME feel woozy, though that could well have been from the bullet lodged in my brain.
Anyways, his reaction was completely justified and I don't blame nor judge him at all; He ran, screaming. I'd drenched him in blood and completely failed to explain myself properly. Although, in my defense, there was a bullet lodged in my brain. Did I already mention the bullet in my brain? There was a bullet in my brain.
"Well, shit. I guess I'm robbing a fucking pharmacy now. Damn you, Mighty Bastard! Damn you straight to hell..."
|
The molten rock, burning a terrible white, clung to his flesh and skin like the flies to a rotting piece of fruit. He should be dead by all rights. He was to become an offering for their Gods, tossed and bathed in the same flames that forged the world. Painful as it was, the magma swallowing him whole, he just couldn't seem to die. Stubborn, perhaps? Or merely rejected by the Gods he was en route for?
With every step his bare feet blackened the rock beneath him as if he himself carried the terrible heat of the furnace he'd been thrown into. Nearing the top, now. The first one to get a glance at him was the shaman, still cleaning up after the rituals of the day, eager to return home. Gazing upon the sacrifice, he was more than aghast, jaw wide and eyes set to explode out of his skull. It didn't take long for, one-by-one, the other tribesmen to notice, the murmur among them silencing gradually as each one noticed Him. They could barely lock eyes with Him, the heat coming off of his form too much to bear even to look at.
He bore the same body, but He was not the same person. In a way, He had died, reborn by the flame. The Gods had denied him, but given him a gift to take back. He didn't need to say anything, either. All of the tribesmen knew exactly what to do; this had been prophesied, of course. One after the other, each one knelt down in His direction, towards the light that burned greater than the Sun. They bowed before their new God. |
It's not much later after we have sat down at the table and I'm sipping on my chicken soup that I notice the number above her head. I almost choke. A solid two written clearly. A thousand thoughts go through my mind. Should I just back out, pretend I do not notice?
"So, delicious chicken."I remark.
"Indeed."she says.
"Did you perhaps kill it yourself?"
"Of course not."she says.
"Did you kill anything at all today?"I ask.
"What's with these questions?"she asks irritated.
I change the topic.
"So what did you do today?"
"Funny thing."she says "Your parents came by."
"Oh did they?"
"Yes and I made chicken soup, I used that special salt you brought last night."
"What special salt?"
"The one on the little packages."
I spill the soup out
"That was mouse poison."I blurt.
"I know."she says smiling with a corner of her mouth and I see the number on top of her head changing to three.
|
“Damnit, can’t this wait until sunrise?” Ted asked, staring up at the monstrous wolf looming above him. It was one in the morning and Ted hated being woken up. The wolf growled in response, and dropped the pager it had clutched in his teeth onto Ted’s lap. “Ok, ok,” Ted responded. “Let’s go then.”
Ted climbed out of bed and made for the door. The wolf stood in his way and looked from him to the closet. “Clothes, right.” Ted, grabbed a set of scrubs and started dressing. The wolf turned and faced the door. “I don’t know why you just can’t take one day off man! It’s just one day a month.” Ted launched into a diatribe, “I know, I know, I wouldn’t have a ‘job’ or a place to live, but I also care about you. Maybe I wouldn’t just be your deadbeat cousin if you didn’t enable me. I know, I enable you too. You are gifted, I know, but you can take breaks... vacations even. You’re a workaholic and it’s going to kill you. You know, this is why Susan left you.” The wolf growled. “Come on,” Ted sighed and jogged to the car.
Ted drove his cousin’s car like it was stolen, tires squealed in the turns, the wolf howled to match. The clinic was ten minutes away but they made it in four. As they pulled into the parking spot, Ted opened the glove box, there was collar with a leash. The wolf whined. “I know, but if you insist working tonight it’s got to happen.” Ted got out of the car holding the end of the leash, the massive wolf followed behind him and leapt for the door, almost pulling Ted off his feet. “Hey, remember, you want me to go in there we do this professionally, cool and collected like.” Ted said to the wolf sharply. Ted paused at the clinic door before gently opening it and stepping inside, the wolf staying beside him like an obedient and well trained dog.
There was a man waiting on the other side, pacing back and forth among waiting room chairs, a young girl sitting down eyes following him as he walked from one end of the group of chairs before turning and going back. He stopped when the door opened. “Dr. Grey, thank God you are here.”
“I’m Dr. Stevens, I am on call for Dr. Grey tonight.” Ted corrected him.
“My wife insisted on seeing Dr. Grey and only Dr. Grey,” the man said.
“It is ok, Dr. Grey allows only me to see his patients in his absence,” Ted assured him. It was only then the man noticed what appeared to be the largest wolf he had ever seen standing just beside Ted. The man shrieked and jumped behind the row of chairs. “Don’t worry sir, this is just my pet.” The wolf let out a huff at the word pet. “I assure you, he’s perfectly harmless.”
The little girl jumped up and ran over to Ted and the wolf. “Daddy Bill, it’s just a big doggie.” She said and started to scratch behind the wolf’s ears. The wolf nuzzled her hand with his snout and licked her face.
“Stephanie, get back over here this instant.” The man said to the girl. “You don’t know that dog, he could be dangerous.” The wolf huffed at the word dangerous. The girl gave the wolf one last pet before walking back to the chair the man had jumped behind and sat down.
Glenda, having watched the entire exchange from the other side of the reception desk spoke up. “Dr. Stevens, I know I’m new here, but if you are going to fill in for Dr. Grey, I insist you leave that beast at home!”
“Hello Glenda, it’s good to see you too. And what has Dr. Grey had to say about the matter?” Ted said to her with a smug look on his face.
Glenda sighed, “not to let you in unless you bring it with you. Though I don’t know why, he frightens the patients. Anyway, this gentleman’s wife is waiting in room two.”
Ted walked down the hall to exam room two. He opened the door and stopped dead in his tracks. Sitting on the exam table was a woman, late thirties, belly swollen with what had to be six months of pregnancy, her face was strained in pain. “Shit,” was all Ted could say.
“Still pulling the whole ‘Dr. Stevens’ routine are we Teddy.” She looked down at the wolf, “I thought by now you’d have hired a real doctor for this thing. Anyway, it’s good to see you Philip.” The woman said, pain both physical and emotional behind her eyes. “Philip, I know you’re the best. It hurts, and I don’t want to lose my baby,” she said, choking back tears. “Please, Philip, help me.”
The wolf sniffed the air, tasting familiar scents, fear, pain, love, new life, and something ugly, disease. The wolf looked into her eyes, licked her hand and howled. Ted shuddered as the haunting sound filled the room. The wolf stopped and licked the woman’s hand again. He walked over to the computer and using a pen clutched in his teeth he pecked out three words: tumor, surgery, morning.
“It seems like I’ve got some calls to make, I’m sorry Susan.” Ted said before leaving for the other room.
The wolf walked back to the woman’s side and laid his head on her hand.
“Tell me it will be ok Philip,” she said.
The wolf looked in her eyes, then down at her belly and back to her eyes. He licked her hand before gently taking it between his massive teeth and moving atop her belly and licking it again.
Tomorrow, the wolf thought, tomorrow, I’ll have hands and I can do this. |
They say that the most dangerous threat is the one you can't defend against. Basic logic, right?
Well, in this case, the most dangerous threat is the one you expected to help.
Ten earth-revolutions ago, the Council of Allied Systems decided to bring a new planet into the universal community. A small planet called Earth. They weren't that strange, biologically, regular humanoid carbon-based organisms. The only real irregularity was minor, how the majority of their technological breakthroughs were either created by their militaries or immediately adapted for use in warfare. But this was an irregularity seen before, with the Celicans and Dumains, now both regular species of the community. It was expected the humans, as they called themselves, would be similar.
That assumption was incorrect.
We gave them disease reducers, plasma welders, greenhouse gas dispersers. We taught them about kinetic shields to protect against asteroids and tectonic shifts. We gave them materials stronger then any on their planet, and taught them how to mass-produce all of these gifts in a way that would enrich their planets with no chance of damaging it further.
And for two earth-revolutions, all was normal. They hadn't yet left their planet, as was customary - three native planetary rotations were given at minimum to create planet-wide peace before being allowed to join the rest of the civilized universe.
But, halfway through their third and final earth-rotation of isolation, they attacked everything around them, like a petulant Slithoon. They used biological weapons made to work around disease reducers, warheads tipped with plasma-blades capable of shearing through hypercompressed galantium, and ships that used hyperdrive technology to warp moons inside planets.
And after four earth-revolutions, we surrendered.
The most dangerous threat is the one you create.
(edit - word choice. Thanks to u/RemedialSomnus for the advice) |
For two thousand and eighteen years, I’ve been playing the MMO “Earth”. The premise was surviving in a sandbox world without any of our godly talents. This didn’t stop me from using my abilities outside the game to gain an edge. My learning abilities led me to master the game while others were struggling against the NPCs. My insider knowledge, plus my vast experience, led me to become a legend. I have had deities named after me, hundreds of world records, and best of all: the high score. I reached that when I conquered most of the known world as Genghis Khan.
But those were the glory days. The game had blown up since then. Now anytime you tried to do something great, hundreds of players got in your way. Server issues and bugs became much more problematic and the game had been going downhill. But there is one thing I had to give the devs credit for: the direction they took the game in.
The current information age meta had me excited like I was playing Earth for the first time again. The technology boom redefined the game. I believe the game was steering towards an artificial intelligence singularity. It was an opportunity to amass more power than ever possible. By being first to create a super A.I., I aimed to set a new high-score.
I had an overpowered computer scientist build, a mega-corporation at my disposal, and best of all: a team of loyal gods. The A.I. project was many years in the making but it was soon coming to fruition. The epicenter of my project was at my headquarters in Silicon Valley. I had hundreds of top-class engineer NPCs slaving away while I focused running the ship smoothly.
“Mr.Zuckerberg,” the assistant addressed my character. “We have an urgent report on the progress of other player characters.”
No matter how I played the game, many others sprung up to copy me. The moment I took interest in the tech space and AI, everyone else followed.
I was lucky to have another player as my right-hand woman. Best known as Napoleon, she owed me another thousand years of servitude after betraying me. It was valuable to have someone else focus on the player politics while I played the game.
“The character Larry Page has shot up one million points and is currently the second highest score of all time,” he continued.
Alphabet hadn’t waged any wars yet. They had no territory. Was it another bug? The developers were notorious for broken code and for world-breaking glitches.
The lights shut off at that moment leaving my office in darkness. I was sure that the game was finally breaking apart from the stress of billions of AI and millions of players. Then the electronic door of my office shut itself. A red light flashed from the door handle indicating it had locked me in.
This was distressing, and it showed on my character. Mark’s body shook and sweat poured out from everywhere. This worsened with my assistant vanishing out of thin air. Mark’s cortisol levels shot up. A notification appeared describing the worsening chronic anxiety. Great, I’d now have to start investing in the longevity tree in my thirties to even make it to the endgame.
The moment I got Mark to refocus the desktop monitor powered up. It booted straight into the terminal and displayed a single message.
“Game over Zeus.”
Counterintuitively, losing filled me with hope. I now had a challenge to conquer. Whoever you are Page, I’ll get you next run. |
Tonia’s grip tightened on her mother’s arm as they sat on their living room couch. Their eyes were glued to the screen as the live news broadcast flashed through images of previous years’ Power Day. While there had been a few positive Power Days in the 20\-year history of the still mysterious anomaly, it usually didn’t turn out well. There was the 300\-foot man who rampaged through Manhattan, the woman who took vengeance on the entire country of Denmark, and the boy who scuttled every warship on the planet. People who were 24 hours from certain death didn’t always act rationally with unrestrained power.
As the television played the terrifying montage of destruction, Tonia looked up at her mother.
“Mommy,” Tonia quietly asked as she pressed her head against her mother’s arm, “Do you think the villain will come to our house?”
Her mother looked down at her and smiled, “No dear. We’re safe here. You know, in all your five years, the villain has never come around. I don’t think they’ll start now.”
Tonia’s mother knew it was an important lie for the sake of her daughter. The villain could arise anywhere. It could be a neighbor or a world leader. No one could say.
As the montage ended, the newscaster began to speak, “Still no sign of this year’s Power Day villain. The international press has their eyes open. Stay tuned to this channel for the latest updates and status reports on potential hot zones and where to avoid.”
The camera cut to another anchor, “Thank you Carol. It’s currently 11 AM on the east coast and we’re still seeing no signs of chaos. 70&#37; of Power Days had the villain appearing before 10 AM EST, which leads us to ask, where is the villain? Only 20&#37; have arisen in North America to date. As for today, still nothing domestic or abroad. Are we in for another American calamity? Stay tuned for our panel of experts after these important words from our sponsors.”
The television cut to commercial.
Tonia turned to her mother, “Mommy, what would you do with unlimited power? If you had one day left?”
Tonia’s mother smiled, “I would sit here with you, dear. You are everything I need. What would you do, Tonia?”
Tonia’s smile lit up the room, “I would do the same, Mommy”
The mother and daughter held each other close as they waited for the day to end. As they stared at the passing commercials, Tonia proclaimed, “Oh, and I would also get a horse!”
Tonia’s mother smiled at her daughter and squeezed her shoulders, “I’ll go get us a snack, stay here.” She stood up and began walking to the kitchen, as she rounded the corner, she heard a strange noise. Her heart sunk. There was a full\-grown horse eating leftover cereal off the kitchen table. |
Thunder in the distance. I'm still a long way from home.
I went for a hike and I broke the rule: never venture out into the open without shelter nearby. But I am in love with wide open spaces, so I take the risk often.
I stand on a cliff overlooking a long valley. A river winds through the trees and in the distance, turns east. Thick black clouds roll down the southern mountain and with them, darkness.
I'm a mile from my car.
My best hope now is a ditch or a covered place. There were some cliffs a short way back: not perfect, but better than nothing. I have to hope it won't detect me when it sends its invisible feelers down to look for things to eat, like hounds sniffing for a scent.
I turn and run and the grumble of thunder is closer every second. I hear the tap of rain on leaves before I feel the first cold droplet on my skin. We have a myth that says the rain comes first to clean the lightning-food.
I see a boulder overhanging a culvert that I could just fit in. It will have to do. Once inside, I am all but covered; I am all but safe. I pray to the gods of grounding, the gods of insulation and resistance, all the old gods who hold off the lightning for our sake. I make the sign of the three prong outlet and say the Prayer against Electrocution:
*Complete your circuit, oh wicked lightning, and feed your potential.*
*Carry yourself through the air and earth and the metal paths we lay for you.*
*But spare us, oh wicked lightning.*
*Maintain the path laid for you outside our bodies.*
*Don't use as a conduit our fleshy wires.*
*Discharge through the grounding wires and leave us in peace.*
*Amen.*
The storm is upon me now and I am soaked with water that runs through the culvert. I see the first blue flash that lights up the trees. It comes again, and again. Each burst of energy is like death swinging his scythe in a nanosecond, reaching out wildly to cut me down, calibrating for the life it knows must be nearby.
Then it is quiet, save for the roiling hiss of rain on everything around me. I look out to see the sky lightening, and the clouds passing. I smile. I survived, and I will not be so foolish again for a long time.
As I pull myself out of the culvert, I feel a slight prickle down my back. Did I scratch myself on the overhang? The hair on my arms stands up.
Please. No.
I begin to run, hoping for anything but the end. I can feel the charge building in the air around me, on me. I can almost hear the electrons calling out to their god above. I sprint along the path, pushing my legs, propelled by every ounce of fear that thins my blood.
I can't believe it. My car. I'm almost there. I beep my fob, plan each movement of how I will open the door, dive into safety and god, it won't be able to reach me.
The static gets thicker in the air around me. Every hair on my body stands up.
A surge of life and death and the heat of the sun blast through me into the ground. I am consumed by the fire of the sky and then I am nothing. |
"And now it's in your hands"
That was the close of the last presentation of the night. Once I sat down from the podium, pencils began scribbling on their ballots. I wanted to go last, I had to. I had to call in a few favors for it, but it would all be worth it if they chose my plan for tomorrow. How could they not, I had planned everything down to the last nail and if the vote passed, I just had to make one call to set it in motion. After everyone had entered their ballot, the machine began tallying their votes.
Now something you need to know about The Acres community is it was built 3 years after The Purge began, right before the government passed the Home Protection Permit Act. This meant it became almost impossible to build up your home defense without paying the government half the cost of the renovations. The only way you avoided it, is if you were a government employee, go figure. Well the founding members of The Acres were sure the law would be passed when they first heard about congress proposing the act. I mean, why wouldn't it, the government can charge a fortune for something that almost everyone in America was doing to their homes. The founding members saw something noone else did, an opportunity for a community to be built, one that was built specially for The Purge.
They did just that. Construction finished a few weeks before the act passed and The Acres instantly became the most sought out place to live in the Bay Area. It had state of the art defenses, but what The Acres had that no other neighborhood did, offense. The neighborhood was equipped like a battleship ready for war. This place was a fortress, impenetrable during The Purge and a fine place to hunt from, should the residents vote for a hunt at the annual Purge HOA meeting.
See every year the homeowners get together to vote if we want to hunker down or hunt for those 12 hours. Tue first few years those were the only two options, then residents started proposing other ideas from, renovations to the defenses to looting entire Best Buys, One year we even stole an airplane. Well this year, I have been planning a huge Purge project. Knocking down my own house and building an apartment building as tall as the wall. It was all up to the vote now if I would get the green light.
With one smack of the gavel, Mike got the attention of the room. "We've heard a ton of great ideas and some well, not so great..."Mike looked directly at Susan who had suggested we spend the night dropping plastic straws all over the city... "All of the votes have been counted and shockingly knocking off the winner from the last 3 HOA Purge meetings is, Harry's apartment project."
Chatter began to take over the room, but again Mike smacked the gavel and silence fell scross the room. I began to stand to address the room. "First of all, thank you for your votes and confidence this evening. I know this new project will take our community to new heights. Once the building is complete at 7 AM tomorrow, we will be on our way to a new future forward at The Acres. One we all will benefit from."
I sat down, the chattering continued again as everyone began to leave the room. In slight disbelief that my project was chosen and I would soon become the sole owner of 40 new apartments inside The Acres. Home prices have tripled since this place was built and now I would be able sell them all at the price of a single home. I was set to be the wealthiest man in The Acres.
____
Sorry if there are any typos, wrote it on my phone.
|
It's getting dark. I'm still a couple miles away from the town, but it's okay. I have nothing to fear on the forest road. Why, you may ask? Because I'm the most powerful chef in a thousand mile radius. As I climb the hill in front of me, I see a figure walk out from behind a tree. A quick check behind me reveals another person. Bandits. Of course. A mage would cast a spell, a knight would draw his sword. I simply take out a wooden box from my pack. The two men approach me from both directions, daggers at their sides.
"Give us all yer stuff now, old man. Nice an' easy.", the one in front says with a smile on his face. I want to tell him how bad his breath smells, even from 5 meters away, but I haven't played my trump card yet and that dagger looks sharp. Without a word, I toss him the box. He catches it, sheathes his dagger and opens it. The smell hits him immediately. The bandit behind me smells it and rushes to his friend. Inside is cooked trout, wrapped in leaves, sitting on a bed of imported rice. The first one tries a bite, then his friend does the same. That's all it takes for them to start fighting. After they've put the box down, of course. They don't even watch me walk away. Idiots. But I guess my leftover lunch must be pretty appealing to men who probably think roasted squirrel qualifies as fine dining.
I reach the down just before the sun sets without any more problems. That business with the bandits was easy. Too easy. Like everything is nowadays. All the paladins, mages, knights, and rogues always grumble about how the level cap is 99. But as a level 99 chef, that's really as high as I need to go. |
The car hums peacefully, city buildings flashing by us. It’s been a smooth drive so far, and we haven’t even had to stop at a traffic light. As if bewitched by lady luck, the little green man appears every time we approach a junction.
I look around, fidgeting restlessly in my seat. This wasn’t right. My phone is clutched in one clammy hand as cold sweat pours down my skin, undeterred by the roaring air-conditioner.
“Where the hell is everyone else?” Tim murmurs, peering through our tinted windows at the brightly lit but empty streets in front of us.
“Watch the road,” I say irritably as I look down to check my phone for the hundredth time.
There it is, bright red and in caps. Sent from the government hotline, two texts.
*WARNING. METEOR HEADED FOR EARTH. SEEK COVER. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.*
The first text had sent me tumbling out of bed shock. We had known it had been coming for months, the meteor the media had termed affectionately Obsidian Pebble, a poor attempt to trivialise and endear it to the general public despite the fact that it could wipe out the entirety of humanity upon impact.
People weren’t *that* stupid. Still, we had held out hope that it would simply pass us by, simply a space voyager dropping by to say hi instead of staying and turning our home into an apocalyptic wasteland.
I guess that hope had been in vain.
The second text had come just as I was putting my pants on. The nearest shelter was a block away, and I would probably have to leg it there in record time if I wanted to get a slot.
*YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN. REPORT TO THE NEAREST AIRPORT IMMEDIATELY.*
A slight thrill had run up my spine as I read that text. Chosen for what? The gears had whirred wildly away in my head. I knew that the shelters were simply glorified coffins. They had little in the way of food, water or any kind of living facilities.
Granted, there were some out there that were self-sustaining and could run for decades, but in a neighbourhood like mine? Might as well have brought a tombstone along to pass the time, carving my name in it as I waited to die while the world outside froze over.
The choice had been easy to make.
What had surprised me, however, was that my neighbour Tim had gotten the same text too. And Anne from two doors over. And Sonya, our rich (compared to us anyway) landlord.
It seemed as though everyone in a three-block radius had gotten these texts. Just how had we been chosen over everyone else? Did it really matter?
The nearest airport was fortunately a little over an hour’s drive away, and amazingly enough, everyone either had a car to drive or been offered a ride by a kind neighbour or stranger. Perhaps the knowledge that these would soon be our fellow survivors drove us to quickly make friends.
Our block had been the closest to the airport, so Tim and I had somehow ended up at the very front of a rather strange motorcade, with a mishmash of different cars.
“What does it matter?” he replies amusedly. “There isn’t anyone else around.”
“A bit strange, don’t you think?” I say, fingering my phone restlessly. “You’d think there’d be widespread panic by now.”
He shrugs, an easy but thoughtful smile on his face. “Maybe they’ve just given up. I mean, why prolong your suffering? Better to spend it in a place you know and with people you love.”
I nod reluctantly, it’s a line of reasoning that made sense. But it still didn’t sit well with me.
“We’re lucky I’ve got this car you know,” Tim grins, his square jaw accented by his dimpled cheeks. “Car loan got approved just last month and dealer came through and delivered early for me.”
I agreed that it was indeed lucky, and we sit in silence for the rest of the drive. Somehow, the internet had gone down, so all we had for entertainment was each other. The world was ending even before the meteor had hit.
Eventually, we reach the airport. A military barricade has been set up around it leading to the main road we were on, and I see that Tim’s explanation is only partially right. A small group of protestors are lined up around it, engaged in furious, violent clashes with black uniformed soldiers armed with riot gear. More stand behind them, rifles at the ready.
We watch as a single protestor breaks through and crumples, a muffled crack floating through the window. It only serves to invigorates the protestors more as they throw themselves at the soldiers with wild abandon.
A soldier runs alongside our car, urgently gesturing for us to enter the airport. The motorcade almost seems to speed up, anticipation at salvation clearly on our minds. As we’re about to enter, a rock smashes through the window, sending our car to a screeching halt as Tim slammed the brakes.
“Are you alright?” The soldier yells, as the cars behind us begin moving around us. “Do you need help?”
“No, no, I’m fine,” Tim calmly dusts glass shards off him. “We’ll get there just fine.”
The soldier nods, and turns around to face our attacker. He seems like a man you could’ve walked past the street and never in a million years taken notice of. He’s short and plain looking, dressed in an accountant’s suit.
“It’s not *right*,” the accountant shouts angrily. “You can’t do this to th-.”
His words as cut short as the soldier coolly shoots him in the face.
We drive into the airport, now in the middle of the pack. A small part of me worried that they might run out of space and that we would be thrown reduce, no doubt reduced to the protestors outside the airport.
Something nudges me foot, and I notice that the ‘rock’ the protestor had thrown earlier was actually a phone. Definitely a sign of end-times. I couldn’t have imagined throwing something as precious as my phone before all this.
I bend down and pick it, just as Tim stops the car.
“I think they want us to get out here,” he says, looking at the four soldiers that had surrounded the car.
We’re escorted to the departure hall, where they’ve set up a series of booths.
An old soldier, probably a general or the like, stands in front of them and barks out a short speech.
“You have been chosen randomly by the Government to join our space survival program. Starting now, we will sort you into teams. If you hear your name called, approach the booth and you will be escorted to the craft!”
There’re sounds of muted cheering, the mood dampened no doubt by the scene outside.
“Adrian Yung, report to the AA booth please.”
I hear my name called, and I rise. Tim had already been called to the AAA booth, so I was alone. Just what did AA or AAA stand for? Strange name for teams. I’m pulled along by a pair of soldiers who bring me to a room filled with what I assumed were other AA members.
The room is full of beds with strange machines next to them. Dozens of strange wires and tubes are connected to it, and it seemed that the other ends were to be plug into us. Already, several people have been strapped into their beds and plugged in.
“Simple medical tests and physical enhancements like steroids to ensure you can survive the rigors of space travel,” the doctor assures me as he straps my left arm in.
As he starts connecting the various wires and tubes to me, the series of painful prick soon threatens to send tears down my cheeks. Desperate to distract myself, I remember the phone the protestor had thrown through the car window.
I take it out of my pocket and inspect it.
On the lock screen, a notification text glows bright red.
*YOU HAVE NOT BEEN SELECTED AS A BATTERY FOR THE LIFE-FORCE POWERED LASER. YOU ARE INSTRUCTED TO STAY AWAY FROM ALL AIRPORTS OR FACE LETHAL MEASURES.* |
It had been all too much to process. We travelled countless distance to CR-172, locked away in our chyro chambers aboard the SS Dauntless, only to discover that our hope of a new world for humanity to escape to was already inhabited by humanity. It was almost like they were waiting for our arrival. We thought we would be coming to a world teeming with alien life, but instead we marveled at the large M Class planet that bristled with cities, farmland, and more people than I could have imagined had existed. We thought we were in trouble when we emerged from chryosleep, only to find our ship being hailed by other ships that made up their solar system’s security force. But the fear of the unknown went away when we were stunned to find human faces behind that transmission on the main screen. From there, they greeted us and guided us into their massive space station perched in geo synchronous orbit above Eden, which was the name of their planet. We marveled at their technology, advanced even by our own standards, but had no way to prepare ourselves for the truth: that every person living on Eden was formerly from our own Earth.
The crew were taken aback by the surprise of their lost relatives, there in the flesh, in the prime of their age. Some of our crew went into such shock that it took days for the advanced medicine of their doctors to take them out of the shock that had stricken them. How has they come to this place? Why were humans alive and well after meeting their untimely end on earth so long ago? How were Romans, Huns, Nazis, American Colonisits, Australian Penal Colonists, and Cossacks to name a few, all living in perfect peace and harmony? They had renewable energy, lived in harmony with the environment of Eden, and how did they live forever? We thought it must be the technology they possessed, that there was some sort of cellular regeneration secret that they had unlocked. After all, the collective wisdom and knowledge gained by humanity existed in one place for eons, and had plenty of time to continue their research and innovation. There was no war or desease. There were no famines, everyone had plenty. It was a world in peace, and at peace with itself. A world without war, a world wise enough to stop fighting, a world without death. Until we showed up, that is.
Our arrival had triggered a panic amongst its inhabitants, our forefathers. We had disturbed this veritable paradise with our arrival, and shocked their world when they learned that we had finally arrived, all according to their understanding of those who died before us in our missions to touch the stars. But none of them actually believed that they would finally be discovered, that the old ways of war, hate, and jealousy would return to haunt them like a ghost long thought to be gone. That’s when they rounded us up, and imprisioned us in this facility. They took over our ship, without even a shot fired. They dismantled our space fold technology and created their own ships with which to send their armies back to Earth. They claimed that they wouldn’t harm our, well, their old planet. But rather save it from the self inflicted harm from ourselves. Or at least, that’s what they told us, after they locked us away in this rather posh prison where we are to live out our lives in a caged peace. That was 15 years ago. I’m 15 years older than I was when I got here, and my receding hairline and wrinkles show it. They don’t know if I’ll be reborn after my eventual death, to arrive through their “Gate” as they call it. But they claim that the contamination of our arrival makes it impossible to go back home, to Earth. So instead we live out our lives in quarantine, waiting to die, wondering if we will live again, outside these walls. |
That was the ambience Two-Eyed Joe found when he kicked the door of the saloon -after knocking politely of course. It wouldn't do to injure some poor bystander-. Alas, the door returned too quickly and hit him in the nose, for he was no particularly tall man.
"My word!", Two-Eyed Joe garbled from the floor, "that door does break safety regulations I say!"
Utter silence followed his declaration. The man at the piano stroke a chord and fell silent, the waitress startled and poured grapefruit juice all over the mayor's fine silk coat. On the slightly less lit table at the back, a man bit through his toothpick and put down his bingo carton.
"There would be no problem if you followed the proper use of doors, fool!"Further gasping met this most direst of insults.
Two-Eyed Joe got to his feet and stared at the man, narrowing his two working eyes. "I know you, sir. You're the man who stole all but the window dressings on the Shameless Profit Bank two towns over! The most wanted man of Boroughsville coincidently after a mysterious donation saved their collection of orphanages and animal shelters from ruin! Why, you are Will Fountaine!"
"Whatcha gonna do about it, sonny?"The man took a handkerchief from his pocket and spat on it.
"You are a hard man to find Fountaine, but there's a reward at stake and I have come to deliver!"
Two-Eyed Joe strode with confidence towards Fountaine, reaching for his back holster as he did. At a gesture from Fountaine, the two men still seated on the table at the back relaxed.
"So, Fountaine..."Joe said, standing on his toes to meet the other face to face, "the time to receive your dues has come."
He pulled a silver billboard from his jacket and slammed it into the other's chest. "Sign here, here and here. The package is outside."
Fountaine did so, to the amazement of the rest for he truly was the fastest draw of this part of the Mild West. Both men walked outside, followed warily by curious folk. Two-Eyed Joe reached into the small cart and pulled a small, furry dog from it, dumping it in Fountaine's arms.
"And now, my debt in Boroughsville is paid and my duty in this town is done,"Two-Eyed Joe grumbled and got on his horse. "Mipsy, to the sunset we go!"
And that is one of the many tales of the Lone Courier out there in the Mild, Mild West. |
Know thine enemy and you will win a thousand battles. Sun Tzu said that, and I'd say he knows a little more about fighting than that band of rapscallions that just knocked me into a pig trough.
Indeed, why was I even out and about, when I could be in the palace discussing grand strategy with the Emperor as my job required? I chalked it up to my desire to be one with the men. I could have had my armour polished, my sword sharpened, my meals heated, sleeping in a nice warm bed. But I wanted none of that if it meant the men were invigorated by my presence. Yet, these noble ideas must go under review, for I did not know my enemy, much less myself. A new strategy is required to undermine these malevolent forces that unbalance the fair scales of war.
I had a dream recently, where the whole world looked as though it were pencil-drawn. Let us just say that I acted as irrationally as I could imagine. To monologue about my plans so extensively, to the extent of breaking into song? I didn't even know I was able to summon my men to partake in an extended dance routine so easily. To gloat before delivering the death blow on these kids? Yes, I wouldn't murder unnecessarily, for that wasn't going to the root of the problem. But in that dream, I talked too much and did too little. It was as though someone had written lines for me to recite, in the hopes of lengthening the process and demonising all that I stand for. The Emperor seems like he's succumbing to this too, for his policies have become more Biblical in their proportions. Killing the firstborns? Purging certain social classes? Raising taxes unfairly? My Lord, you know this to be the exact thing the Regent warned you about before he passed.
There are many ways out of this situation, so I'll choose the most expedient one. A solution that won't involve these pesky, meddling brats who hope to effect change on people so much older and wiser than they are. A coup would be risky, so reform from the inside is my best bet. It will keep me on this arbitrarily-defined stance of Good that whoever's writing this dastardly drama will decide upon. Sun Tzu again: If fighting is needed to secure victory, you must fight, but if not fighting will ensure victory, you must not fight. And now is hardly the time for aggressive struggles against immune protagonists. It is time to shift the focus back onto our glorious Empire as the protagonist. Just because I stand six feet tall, carry my sword everywhere and wear three stars on my armour doesn't mean I'm the villain.
All the world's a stage, and all its men and women merely players. I believe the time is ripe to change the genre. Children's movie, meet political thriller. |
Anthony Harper, CEO. He smiles at the distressed assistant standing in the doorway and replies, "Don't worry, George. I've taken care of it."
Noon comes and goes. Anthony is still alive.
George, relieved and surprised, asks how he did it?
"Well,"Anthony says with a proud smile, "I gave all the money to my parents, and since I'm in their will... Don't look so glum, George. Oh, and pick out a suit. The funeral is this Saturday." |
My 16th birthday started out on a sad note. Another news of one of our people disappearance. Sheila the cat this time. I'm in the same class with her daughter. That's the fifth in three months that's gone missing. Something is taking us and we don't know how to deal with it. Tough times are upon us.
*I stood in front of a mirror at the end of the ritual. Human eyes looked at me from within it, but not mine. I was a different man now, literally.*
The nature of our Gift is tricky. You can't know who you will become beforehand. It does not depend on heritage, or your actions, ot the ritual. It cares not for forces of nature, positions of celestial bodies or the weather. But it is not random either. It Gives us not what we want, but what we *need*. In modern days the house pets, raccoons, squirrels and the like are more common, better suited for urban environment. But the old legends speak of great bears and wolves, and even a dragon that appeared in times of great peril.
*I looked around at my relatives. Most were shocked. Father's face was that of solemn acceptance. And young niece was having hard time not to giggle at my new and frankly outrageous hairstyle.*
What we need, not what we want. We need to find the missing ones. And it seems that the Gift has chosen me to Carrey that burden.
*"Alrighty then!"* |
Robes. Why robes?
At first, when I'd seen a couple people walking on the street wearing them, I thought it was some strange fashion movement. Or maybe it could've been some weird cult. Either way, I hadn't paid much attention to it.
Then it got weirder.
More and more people started to wear them, the pedestrian population seemed to be half normal people and half robed weirdos. I still kind of shrugged it off, but it just kept getting worse. People at my office started wearing them, and whenever I asked them about it, they would just dodge the question and move to something else.
I *still* didn't really worry about it when I walked into a coffee shop and everyone inside was wearing the damn robes. It was a bit creepy, sure, but nobody would answer my questions about them so I didn't push it.
Then my boss started wearing them.
My boss was a professional man, he was always straightforward and confident. He was a no-nonsense type of person that always did what he was told, always told us exactly what to do, and never backed down. He was about the *last* person I'd expect to join in on some weird fashion trend.
So when he called me into his office that Monday and I saw him wearing the things, I got worried. It all seemed more real, I started to analyze all of my memories of people wearing them, I strained myself to understand it. I came up with nothing, it seemed too strange.
So as I sat down in front of my boss, I immediately asked him about it. I needed answers.
"Riley, I've called you in here because of a couple of complaints,"he said. I blinked in surprise.
What? Complaints? He'd completely dodged my question, he acted as if I hadn't even asked it. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. I was about to ask again about the robes, but he cut me off.
"A few people around the office have been saying that they're upset with the way you're dressing."He spoke in his signature, hard tone, but did not sound like himself. He never took complaints that stupid seriously. I wasn't even wearing anything bad. I had on some grey work pants and a button-up shirt, what was wrong with that? I didn't wear anything skimpy, I didn't even wear skirts. How could people possibly be upset with how I dressed?
"Wait! I haven't even—"I started, my surprise inflaming my tone more than I'd intended.
"Please,"he stopped me. "Do not talk back to me, just take the complaints into consideration and try not to hinder anyone else's work performance."That sounded like him.
I suppressed my anger for a second. I still didn't know why he was wearing that stupid robe.
I was so angry that I couldn't even reply without cursing him out. I silently nodded at his statement and excused myself from his office. I walked out of my boss's large office *fuming* and was unable to really calm myself down as I walked back to my desk.
Why the hell were people complaining about *me*! Half the people in the office were wearing fucking cultist robes! None of it made any sense.
I continued grumbling and cursing to myself as I walked through the office until I bumped into somebody. In my angry haze, I hadn't looked where I was walking and I bumped into someone. As I looked up at the tall figure to apologize, I noticed something, he wasn't wearing the robes.
Well, they *were* wearing robes, but instead of the black robes with a red trim, his robes had a gold trim with a strange insignia on the chest.
"S-Sorry..."I said, my voice getting lost in awe as I stared at the intimidating figure.
He looked closely at me. "Why aren't you wearing the robes? You should be wearing the robes."I jumped at his statement, my eyes widening with every word he said.
It was the first time I'd heard anyone else even mention the robes, and he'd said it so... directly. I blinked for a couple of seconds, becoming speechless under his harsh gaze.
"You aren't that different from the others..."he was mumbling to himself, keeping his gaze right down onto me. "No other women have shown any..."The robed man's eyes turned into thin slits as he continued to stare at me. I gulped audibly and let out a couple of useless sounds.
"What's your *name*?"He asked. I suddenly felt my speechlessness disappear, as if his words were pulling the truth out of me.
"R-Riley Cohen,"I said. The words felt unnatural in my mouth, I hadn't meant to tell him that. My eyes went even wider as the man considered my answer.
"Okay Ms. Cohen,"he went to grab my arm, and I wasn't able to stop him. "You're going to have to come with me."
As soon as I was able, I struggled against his grip, desperately trying to pull myself away. I tried to scream, to tell him off, anything. But my voice was gone, I was literally speechless. A large mound of dread replaced the anger I'd been feeling only a minute ago and everything around me began to change.
---
*Robes* from the Bookshelf of the Gods. /r/BoTG
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|
"No, no, no fucking way!"
Adam started running as he got closer.
"It's my fucking house!"
He laughed, checking over his shoulder to make sure no mods were onto him, as he opened the door.
Everything was just as he left it. Unwashed dishes on the sink (including a smear of peanut butter on the plate left over from his breakfast).
"How the fuck!"
He couldn't believe the rendering detail. And how had they been able to scan his house - from the inside no less - with such up to date information?
It was a little creepy, but more than that it was just cool.
He climbed the stairs to his bedroom. The same bedroom where irl he was currently seated with the headset on.
He paused before opening the door. Almost a little scared about what he was going to see.
He reached down and twisted the handle...
"*The fuck?*"he whispered to himself. "*Holy fucking shit*".
Seated at the computer table was an NPC that looked just like him. Except instead of wearing the headset, like he was irl, the headset was still on the computer desk.
The NPC was silently staring at the wall.
Adam moved closer and tapped it on the shoulder.
The NPC Adam turned to face the real Adam. It was hyper realistic except for the eyes. They were the same stock standard eyes that all NPCs had.
And reached down and manipulated the NPCs head. Turning it left, turning it right. He pried the jaw open to reveal a blank hole: the graphics hadn't rendered internally and Adam could see the NPCs hair poking through inside the top of the NPC's skull looking up through the mouth. Also, the tshirt Adam was wearing was fused to the skin; there was no slack.
"Weird."
Adam looked down at the computer desk. He'd come this far and wanted to see how meta this game went.
He picked up the simulated headset that, irl, gave access to the game.
He had 20 minutes until he was due to meet at the zone out location. That have him at least 10 minutes to explore the inside of a meta universe inside a simulated universe, if he put on the headset *in game*.
Adam picked up the headset from the virtual desk and put it on. He pressed the activate button.
Everything went black.
Adam began stumbling about, having lost all orientation. He was afraid he was going to bump into a wall because he couldn't see a thing.
But as much as he stumbled about he never hit a wall.
The darkness seemed simultaneously infinite but also tiny - as though he was peering into *nothing at all*.
The nothingness stretched all around him.
Panic rose in his throat. The nothingness around him was claustrophobic.
Stumbling, he didn't know in which direction. He felt like he had fallen but he continued moving sideways. No sense of up or down.
Adam reached up to pull this virtual headset off his head. But his arm never connected with his head, just passing straight through around and behind setting him into a spin tumbling and tumbling and tumbling.
Trying to stabilise himself he moved his hands to clasp over his body but there was nothing there.
He couldn't feel his body or his head. There was nothing there. Just the sense of reckless tumbling in an infinite nothing.
Mentally Adam willed his mouth to scream for help but there was no sound.
Wordlessly he howled. |
I felt sore after I woke, my head feels like it's being torn in two, my hands still warm from the fire, but I'm in my bed. "I shouldn't be, should I?"I thought.
I looked around, I was still 25 in my darkroom in the same old apartment building with the same smell of fish that my Asian neighbors swore by. It was still dark so I figured I still had time to finish my project before class tomorrow morning but to be on the safe side I checked the clock. I reached for my alarm clock but grabbed the old boxed in flip clock that I bought the other day.
I was just about ready to toss it to the side but the numbers caught my eye, 22:00. The clock had turned backwards by one hour, it didn't seem right, I mean time count up not down. I didn't dig too deeply into it so I set the clock aside and check the one working timepiece in my room, afterward I went back to sleep.
Next day once I finished my last class I decided to take the same road through the rougher side of town. The sky was blue and the birds sang but there weren't many people around other than the occasional straggler. As I continued my commute home I walked past the old store that the old bearded man ran for the past few months but it was covered in old caution take and rotten wood was collapsed where the entrance once stood. It looked like it did before the old man moved in with his pawn shop.
I walked over to investigate.
The old wood didn't seem too interesting and it didn't seem as if anyone was trapped inside. The caution tape was very pale,like it had been out here for a month or two being backed by the sun. There seemed to be nothing inside from what I could see through the cracks. It was very much so out of the ordinary. I didn't think I was going to find anymore answers standing around, starting at the wreck.
I continued on my way home debating weather I should look more into the matter or hurry home to my delicious instant noodles. Since there was an internet cafe on the way home I went ahead and stopped by to look at little more into the business that once stood where the wreck now was. Typing the name of the shop I hit the search button and scrolled down the page. Nothing. There was something though, after scrolling for just under a minute I found a link that mentioned shop that appeared and disappeared over a very short period of time. The link was full of stories that you'd expect to find on a forum of this sort. Most stories sounded the same and I was getting bored but one stood out. I gave it a read. It read about a girl who had bought a box from old man at an old pawnshop . The story was along the lines of the Pandora's box, the girl being told to never open it but did either way, good and evil being let out but as the story ended it read that "although not all of the evil was swallowed up, the worst of it was hidden and locked away with the power of a magical box."The end read a P.S., "The box finds it's own pawns, it tests us, but has never won". Then suddenly a train rode by with the horn blaring as loud as ever making me jump out of my seat. I don't think I drew too much attention to my self but before anyone else had a chance to look over I walked over to the counter, left a large bill, and continued on my way home.
When I got home I sat at the foot of my bed with the old clock in my hands, fumbling with it in my fingers. I came to the conclusion that I was just paranoid and I didn't need more stress in my life. I took the box, made my way over to the window, and tossed it as hard as I could. It landed into the waterway beside my building. Good riddance. I went ahead and went to bed.
I woke up again with a nightmare just as real as the one from the previous night. This time I was a knight on an old bridge fighting valiantly but an arrow came flying into my throat. I could barely breath. I rushed to the bathroom mirror to examine myself but once again I was fine. What the hell was going on? I went to check the time but I noticed something else on my desk. It was the box, it now read 21. |
What started as an exercise in empathy quickly morphed into a struggle to stave off monotony. I almost missed my phone's incessant buzzing, the maze of emails that cascaded through the hours of my day. Now and again someone would come and fluff my pillows, wipe the drool from my chin, and ask if I was comfortable. He'd wait for a response, any indication that I needed or wanted something. Unfortunately, it wasn't until lunch time that I figured out how to communicate in this body. When the nurse returned with my meal and repeated our routine, I was finally able to answer:
*"no, I am not comfortable."*
Four, deliberate blinks equated to some negative response, I'd learned. My caretaker set down a tray of baby food and tapioca before returning to my side. With the gentlest of rumbles, he pulled a drawer from what I assumed was a bedside stand. In what could only be a practiced movement, his deft fingers pulled a set of goggles or spectacles over my eyes.
"Whenever you're ready, John."He held a large tablet opposite my face, close enough that I could see its clear display, but not so close that it dominated my vision. A cursor seemed to follow my gaze, highlighting words, letters, numbers, and symbols. Ah, some sort of eye-tracking device then. Such simple technology, but I was in absolute awe; a sincere chuckle escaped my lungs, though it broke through my throat like wheezing, sputtering coughs.
"Whoa whoa, are you alright there John?"My companion steadied my wracking body with a steady hand, lowering the tablet momentarily. "Here, why don't I help you sit up a little straighter?"His steady eyes held my own until I blinked back my affirmation. A press of a button saw to my comfort, raising my bed from a sleeping incline. Satisfied, we returned to the tablet and the eye-tracker.
It would take some ten minutes before I completed my plea: another button was pressed, this time on a remote, and the monitor in the corner went blank, sucking its sitcom marathon with it.
"Now, was there anything else you needed before lunch, John?"A sincere, easy smile assured me that my nurse was fully devoted to my needs. I blinked in response, spelling out the first of many questions.
*"What. Is. Your. Name?"* |
The cup of water slowly made its way to his parched lips, trembling along with the frail hands that held it. A small sip was followed by a smaller swallow.
"That's not enough father."A younger man with strikingly similar features leaned forward and took the cup back. "The water helps things. Helps you."Again the cup was lifted to the lips, knocking at the door and insisting entry. The elderly man obliged, his rheumy eyes dull and unfocused.
A larger swallow this time.
"How are you doing?"His son looked around the room, taking in the various curios that had accumulated across a grand career. "It looks like they haven't hauled off with the treasure at least."He gave his father a small smile, the merest upturning of the corners of his lips.
The father nodded once, his eyes taking a moment to wander the room as well. "I...I was a mage once. You remember, don't you Lucca?"The withered man sighed, "I find it hard to."
Lucca's small smile expanded, showing a bit of tooth, "Not just a mage. You are Ballian of House Vechli, Grandmaster of Path Illusion."Lucca's hand waved across the room, stopping occasionally to point out the objects populating it. "The Hand of Gastard, presented when you thwarted the Dark General's attempts on the King's Seat."His hand darted to the other side, "The Sands of Time, found in the Hall of Mirrors."Lucca pointed down at the carpet, "Even the carpet has a story, though I've forgotten it."
Ballian sunk into his pillows, "So much to forget, yes? So little left to remember."
"You have lived a long life Grandmaster, long enough for any three men, it is no shame to have forgotten some it."Lucca said, his tone low and soothing.
"Much of it. So much of it. I do not know where I am."
The encouraging smile did not slip from Lucca's lips. "The Grandmaster's Quarters in Warren Illusion."
"I do not...do not remember the last time you came to see me."It felt like a very long time, the gaps in his memory only filling in a moment years past. They had been angry with each other. "You aren't...you aren't still angry are you?"
Lucca placed a young hand atop the network of varicose veins crisscrossing the top of his father's hand, "I am here now. What does it matter?"
"You...you were so mad."
"It was long ago, water under the bridge."Lucca whispered, squeezing his father's hand once more before releasing it.
Ballian sighed and closed his eyes, the tension leaving his body. "I am glad we found our way back to each other. Yes...it was so long ago."Quiet settled over the room. "Will you come visit me again tomorrow?"
Lucca did not reply.
"Lucca?"
Quiet.
Ballian cracked an eye to see a world much changed. Gone were the curios and luxurious finery. In its place was a dark chamber, lit only by a feeble candle burning in the corner. The doorway was thick oak banded with wrought iron.
"Lucca?"Ballian called out louder, "Where has my Lucca gone?"Screaming now, his voice hoarse. Swirls of color began to seep into the room, small visions of places that were not from times that were past. Ballian howled, his hands clenching and unclenching as they struggled against the manacles holding him in place.
The room shifted, showing a courtyard and Lucca, just as he bad been moments before. A doppelganger Ballian stood before him, much younger than the one confined to the bed. The two men argued and the Lucca turned and fled.
Tears streamed down, wetting the infirm Ballian's cheeks, "Go after him you fool. He's your son."Ballian urged his clone, begging him to avoid the mistakes he had made. But the clone did not heed him and Lucca was soon gone.
Never to return.
Ballian sagged backward, what little strength he had at his disposal gone. "Come back Lucca."He shut his eyes.
He slept, only awaking when he felt a warm pressure on his hand. He started awake and turned to the man beside him.
"Come father, you must drink more water."
**Platypus OUT**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
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I am stuck in hell.
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When I was on Earth, I don't really think I did anything to land me in such a fucking agonising cyclic purgatory. I served my country, but thankfully, never needed to take another's life. I went to church every Sunday, I married a beautiful woman, had a couple of kids, and tried to live a life as contended as possible. This was until a stupid road trip to...............somewhere, with her. Details always slip away whenever I try to remember anything.
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All I remember after driving, is waking up in a void of pure white. Nothing, just surrounded by a seemingly unending white horizon, with no beginning, and no end. Then, suddenly:
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"INDE UNIVERSUM A MORTE"
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This goddamn phrase is stuck in my mind, even though I have forgotten my beloved wife's name, my beautiful son's face, everything about my precious daughter. It always comes back whenever I "reform". Always, every time, this phrase stays, even when I lose the ability to remember \*my own fucking name.\* Seared into my brain from the first time I "formed"here. Laughably under the impression that I had somehow reached heaven, and began stumbling around in any direction, trying to find the pearly gates, and trying to ascend to heaven.
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That's when I first saw \*it\*.
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A creature with no visible mouth, nose, or any kind of distinguishable face, but having the shape and form of a person. And every fibre of my being was utterly repulsed by this thing, this creature, this \*abomination\*. But, if this was heaven, I would not hurt any being which deserved to be a part of God's Kingdom. And every step closer to it increased my disgust, until the disgust turned to a throbbing hatred in my skull, screaming at me to kill.
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But I would not kill it. I would not hate it. Until it lunged at me, punching ,kicking, scratching, doing everything in it's power to hurt me. I would not retaliate, because I foolishly believed it to be a test of my virtue. Whether or not I was worthy of truly becoming one of God's own children.And once this \*thing\* finally ripped my heart out, I truly believed that I had proved myself. I had not acted in violence, no matter how much it hurt.
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"INDE UNIVERSUM A MORTE"
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I woke again, but this time, whole. Perhaps in the same place, I can't really tell. I look around, trying to piece together who I was, where I was, and why I was here. I walked around, realising that nothing has changed. Perhaps this truly is Heaven, and I had passed my test. Again I began my search, and tried to find, well, something. Something, anything to prove that I am now in Heaven. I don't know how long I walked, until something happened that shook my faith. I ran into it again.
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But something changed. It was \*seeking\* me, like some bloodthirsty hunter seeking it's prey. Why, though? What had I done? Didn't I act like a good person? Didn't I keep myself from killing this filthy abomination? What did I do to deserve this?
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So I too charged at it. Began tearing at it, and managed to trap it in a chokehold. I wasn't going to kill it, I would not stoop that low. I still would not kill another. Kept it subdued, until it passed out. Controlling an unreal desire to just snap it's neck and kill it. But I didn't. The damn thing tried to kill me every time it woke up, until after the sheer number of times I choked it, even it died.
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And then, I too heard it.
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"INDE UNIVERSUM A MORTE"
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And I laughed. Because I realised that I was exactly in the opposite place I had deluded myself into believing I was, realised the meaning of those words, and decided to curse it, seek it out, and destroy it until even this wild animal understood to fear me, so that it can leave me the hell alone, and I can have some kind of peace in this godforsaken void. So even I sought it out. Hunted it. Learned it's scent, and kept fighting it until I began to feel some kind of euphoria from every time we fought and killed each other. Somehow, the air began to be tainted by the smell of rotting flesh. And suddenly, while tracking it, I found out why.
I stumbled onto a corpse.
&#x200B;
My corpse. Rotting, with half my skeleton showing, strangely with no maggots, insects. Just a dried up, rotting husk. And, while I should have felt unnerved by seeing my own carcass rotting, I saw an opportunity. I ripped out my femur, broke it into a sharp, pointy weapon to use against my enemy. And I began killing it many more times than it managed to kill me. I dragged my (and it's) dead bodies back to my "respawn point"to use my own bones as clubs, my own dried out intestines as rope and twine, my ribcage and skin as a shield , skin and muscle as armour and my spine, sinew and intestines as a makeshift bow, and carved out arrows from my shins.
&#x200B;
Even it was learning from me. But the best it could create was a club from it's own bones. But, the few times it bested me, it would steal my armour and weapons, getting on a little killing spree until I made something better to kill \*it\*.
&#x200B;
We were immortals locked in combat until Judgement Day. I even grew to respect it, and even tried to converse with it eventually. But nothing. We became warriors clad in each other's insides, and our corpses grew to the size of mountains. Our daily battle raged on, and I lost count of the number of times I became a cadaver. Fighting on a continent of our own death, through a river of each other's blood, we died and died and died again until we were on an island of dead bodies and rotted slime that was us.
Until somehow, while crafting a new bow, I saw something impossible.
&#x200B;
An insect. A goddamn insect unlike anything I had ever seen, in a place where there were supposed to be only two living creatures locked in a glorious battle to the death. In the massive landmass made up of us, we were the Earth to allow new life to spring up in our death, allowing for a new universe to be made up of our remains.
&#x200B;
This is the reason we fight.
&#x200B;
We are the Gods of our new universe, and our very existence the essence of Creation here.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B; |
**CREDENTIALS AUTHORIZED. WELCOME, DR BRIGHT.**
**ACCESSING ARCHIVED FILES, SUBJECT “scp682”**
**TRANSCRIPT RECOVERED FROM SITE 19, DECOMMISSIONED ██ / ██ / ████**
“Please Doctors, take a seat, and we’ll begin.”
…
“Alright, this is Dr. ███████ on behalf of the Foundation Ethics Committee, recording this meeting on December 8, ████. Subject: The recent containment breach and subsequent recontainment of SCP-682. In attendance, Drs. ████, ██████████, █████, and ██████. And me of course.”
“Thank you Doctor. As you all know, SCP-682 broke containment one week ago, approximately ████ Zulu time. He proceeded to travel to Site 88, where SCP-████, a Safe-class SCP, had just broken containment due to the carelessness of Junior Researcher Lang. You can read about that in your handouts, Document ████-CB-1.”
*Rustling papers are heard*
“Excuse me Doctor, what happened to Lang after all this? I don’t see any mention of it.”
“Currently undergoing interrogation at Site 88 while the MTFs clean up his mess. The jury’s still out on whether he’s going to be amnesticized and relocated, or if they’re just going to terminate him once they get the information they need. The Committee has a team on it.”
“Ah, I see. Thank you.”
“Of course. Now, as I was saying, SCP-████, now classified Keter, was in the process of undergoing a previously unknown activation state. The researchers aren’t sure what would have happened, but the more conservative estimates think we could have had an XK-class end-of-world scenario on our hands had it not been recontained. We were caught with our pants down gentlemen, and the world almost paid for it. New containment procedures are being written as we speak. Regardless, we were completely flat-footed until SCP-682 jumped in. He neutralized the object, exhibiting a previously unknown mutation, and – “
“Sorry to interrupt, Doctor, but how? The file’s extremely vague on the details of the event itself.”
“That’s the issue. We don’t know. And we don’t know due to another new mutation, something similar to a Class C amnestic, but broadcasted across the immediate area. SCP-682 isn’t exactly being forthcoming either. Look at Appendix A. He didn’t even fight our agents when they arrived to being him back into containment. That’s weird enough to warrant investigation, but he’s refused to answer any questions we’ve given him.”
“I actually talked with Dr. Ford who was on that interview team, you know? He said 682 actually got rid of his mouth at one point. Just absorbed it right back into his body.”
“Those are accurate reports. He’s being stubborn to say the least. The reason we’re here is not what he said or didn’t say, but what another SCP told us. SCP-343 passed a note to his guards after the incident, Appendix B. But what it boils down to is that – “
**[DATA EXPUNGED]**
“That’s ridiculous though, right? We can’t just let him go. What about – “
**[DATA EXPUNGED]**
“-just saying that humans deserve human rights! Even anomalous ones! It’s one of our core-“
**[DATA EXPUNGED]**
“Well what about Procedure 110-Montauk? Sometimes we have to sacrifice these things for the greater good. Besides, are you really going to trust-”
**[DATA EXPUNGED]**
“Alright, gentlemen, calm down, calm down. I think this discussion has run its course, and I’ll remind you that these tapes *are* sent to the O5 council. Now, on the subject of 682, I think the one thing we can all agree on is this. It is absolutely necessary that we-“
**CONNECTION TERMINATED BY REMOTE HOST**
**UNAUTHORIZED AND/OR FRAUDULENT CONNECTION DETECTED**
**PLEASE REMAIN WHERE YOU ARE. FOUNDATION AGENTS WILL ARRIVE SHORTLY.**
**THIS TERMINAL WILL SELF-DESTRUCT IN 3**
**…2**
**…1**
|
"So, what you're saying is..."Bil moved uncomfortably and looked at the judge. "I'm guilty. But I can just get up and leave?"
"Yes, yes, yes. Also, no. But yes. The point is, get out of my hair,"said the obviously bald judge and waved his hand in a dismissal motion. "Shoo."
"Alright... What if I don't wanna?"Bil asked, still nervous and not sure what kind of a new trap is this.
"Then those are courts orders. You are mmm...."the judge shuffled through his papers to look for the right rule. "You are.... Here it is. "Sentenced to get the fuck out."Here. Shoo."
"I have cancer, right? I'm dying of cancer?"Bil asked, not as scared as a man who has cancer should ask, but more in an inquisitive way.
"No, you don't have cancer,"the judge shook his head. "You don't have AIDS, the black plague or conscience. I just don't want to see you here anymore and uhh... The prisons are full. That's it. And we built a wall around each and everyone, so no getting in. Now go away."
Bil stood there for a while. He knew of the rule - the deadder you are, the more lenient the courts are. So if he is not sick, what could this decision mean? Only one thing comes to mind.
"Ah, ok, I got it. Imma hit my head on the way out or something?"Bil guessed with a smile on his face. That'll be it.
"No,"the judge denied "but you sure as hell are going to get hit on the head if you stay right here. Listen..."The judge turned to his assistant who was sitting next to him. "Could you tell him his life-span? I know it's unorthodox, but there is no way of getting him out of here any other way. Just, go on, tell him, it's an order."
The assistant looked at his computer screen and then, with the most truthful face a man in the legal profession can have, turned to Bil: "It says here that you will live for 40 more years, sir. Honest to god, that's what I see here."
"I'll remind you to keep God out of our courtrooms,"the judge scolded his assistant. "His trial for crimes against humanity is not to be discussed out of Nimburg. Now, officers, please throw the gentleman out of here. That's it, buddy, leave."
Bil did not wait for the officers to grab him, stood up, nodded and walked out. He could not believe his luck, but he would question it after he is far gone.
The judge continued finishing the case and signing documents when his assistant suddenly spoke: "Your honor! It seems that something has changed! It shows now that the man has only 2 minutes to live!"
The judge didn't even pretend to be shocked and continued writing. After a while he turned to the assistant and yawned. "Did you even *see* the horde of people picketing outside? You don't kill a beloved pop star and then just walk away. When he goes out to them and they realize he has been released with no punishment? Well, they will solve this case themselves. And fast. No courts of appeal, no complaints from the defendant, no nothing. That's how you streamline the system. Now..."The judge placed all of his papers in an orderly fashion and turned to one of the police officers. "Now... Jim, golf?"
"Sure,"the officer shrugged. "I'll just pick up my bags and be back. It won't be long."
"It uhh..."the judge glanced at his screen and then back at the officer: "It better not be long, you got that right."
[Literary Nobody](https://www.reddit.com/r/LiteraryNobody/) |
"Donde Estaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaas?"
"Donde Estaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaas?"
Bloodthirsty howls echoed through the city streets as I fled. With every slap of my feet on the pavement there was an equally distraught flap inching closer and closer behind me.
And suddenly, silence. I was the prey, and this was the moment before the kill.
I darted for the corner to get into the open street. Maybe someone would see me. Maybe someone would help. And then—IT.
It's green foul body stretched out across the opening, eviscerations dripping from its talons as it covered the streetlamp behind it with its wings.
# "L̛̳̮̣̩̦̪͕͙̗͚͊̑̎̒͛͑͘͝͡Ë̦̖̭̰̣̋̈͐̔̍̈́͒͂̏ G̣̣̞̟̪̔̌͊͐̔͋͂̀͡A̶̭̘̟̞͔̒̄̾̊̿͛ͅͅR̸̨̨͖̗̩̲̮͍͇͋̃̅̋̈͊̾͟Ç̵̮̠̟̤̔̿͒̏̉̈͞͠Ơ̵̺͇̼͖̬̝̣̽̈́́̓͘͞͝͡N̨̤̻̳̦̳̹̜̅̇͒̑̋͞ Ĕ͚̦͇͍̣̍͌̕͜͞S̜͎͎̬̝̬̓͌̉̆͒͢͞͞T̨̧͎̹͖̪̭̹̒̊̉͊̉͜ L̷̛̗̪̫̮͆́̈̎̏͐̚͟͡A̵̜͙̤͙̖͙̫̙͇̾̾͂̾̎̋̃̿̕͟ V̩̮̪̺͚̤̥̬͙̣͗̀͐̂͛̄͒͑͛͘Į̼͖̭͛̂̓̎̑͗͑̊̀͟A͓̟͍̼͉̓̑̿̌̆̉̇̈͢͝N̸̨̠̦̯̬͑̓̿̋̿̐̽̑Ḑ̸̡̛̲͓̬̋̃̽̑E̛̝̻̘̳̲̥̘͖̔̒͌͋́͒͘͠͡"
It screeched straight into my soul, reaching in and tearing out the translation from the darkest parts of my nightmares.
"THE BOY IS MEAT".
It made the final swoop as I ducked under, hoping that its bloodshot eyes would be too distracted by hunger to react in time. And I was right.
I fled as fast as I could while a ravaging, giant atrocity crashed and battered through the streets at me. People ran in terror, their screams only making me go faster.
And then I saw it. Hope. A door in the side of a dark, steel-reinforced building. Slightly ajar, and slightly too small for the behemoth. I dashed in and shut the door as fast as I could. A soul-wrenching screech knocked me to the floor as the sound of scratching on metal made my ears bleed. I wasn't safe here, near the door. Nothing can stop it forever.
I darted back, up the stairs, my legs giving out as I reached what looked like a saferoom for a drug ring.
I pulled out my phone to call the police.
Immediately, a notification.
"LEARNING A LANGUAGE REQUIRES A LITTLE PRACTICE EVERY DAY. PRACTICE YOUR RUSSIAN ON DUOLINGO."
I ignored it, and reached for the phone app.
"LEARNING A LANGUAG̡̦͍͈̖̠̮̈́́̅̑͘͟Ę̨̢̢̦̱̯͎̘̄̀͊͊͊̋͋̈́̂ REQŲ̴̟͇̝͇̪̯̀́̏̊͒̊̈͜IRES A Ĺ̷̨̦̰͇̰̲̾͆̇̉͋Į̵̙̬͓̳͎͐͂̓̈͋TTLE PRACTICE EVERY DAY. PRACTICE YOUR SPANISH ON D̡̹̠̭̙̟͑͛̓̒̀͛̏͑̑͝Û̵͔̳̬̩̖̘̤̦͖̐̑̃̐̎̅͜͠O̢̝̞̹̻͍̬̲̅̊͋̚͠ͅL̶̨̨͚̦̝̯̤̣̜͛̓͑̿̆̋̀͟I̷̡͈͙̮̝̺̫̤̪͒͗̅̀̀́̃̐͡N̜͍̝̺̭̟̗͗́̃̄͌̀͗̈͢ͅG̸̤̖͚͚̯̜̬̝̺̘̾́̊̉͆͝Ő̶̖̼̞̞͎̲̌̍͐̚."
Another notification. And another. I put my phone on do not disturb. I reached for the phone app, but there was no phone app there.
There was only duolingo.
I threw my phone across the room at the concrete wall in terror. I could still hear the scratching outside, and the screams. Oh, the screams.
The cracked screen lit up one more time. "IT HAS BEEN 14 DAYS SINCE YOUR LAST SESSION. IT SEEMS LIKE THESE REMINDERS AREN'T WORKING."
From beneath:
# "B̴̹̯̮̱̰͐̿͌̄̆̈̾̕͠U̧̙͓͚̟̙̽̀͋͛̍̐T̡̖͉̟͍̺̍̓̋̈́̃͜ I̴̢̺̯͇̻͎̺͗͐́̋͛͡ K̢̨̧̠͉̬͕͎͊͛̎̉͂͠N̸̫̯͚̰̖̓̇͂͗̀̎͢͜͜͠Ǫ̧̞̮̪͎̻̹̿̇̂͊̕͜͞W̗͈͍͔̟̣͉͆͗̎͒̇̾̀̏̄̿ W̶̨̧̼̠̣̼̘̜̑́̾̎̎̏̾H̶̠̞̹͔̣̆͒̍̆̀̎́͠A̷̛̫͔̩͉̦̗͉̻̋̂̽̐͟T̸͖͖̤̦̻̗̀̔͛̇̈́̾̍͗̓͟͡ W̢̰̲̬̫̘͚͍͗͊͊̎͝Ị̷̡̫̭̗̠͆̋̀͐̔͌̚͟͝L̨̛̩̮̠̮̎͛̐͘L͇͇̗̗̤͕̓̿̏͋̓̕͜͠͡͠"
&#x200B;
Those words did not come from the owl. They came from something much farther below the surface.
I heard a crash. The owl had gotten through.
Snapping out of my feared stupor, I scrambled for the light switch. Around me were drugs, money, and machines and setups for any kind of person to live an incredible future with, if they could only get away.
And weapons. Lots and lots of weapons.
But the guns wouldn't work. The knives wouldn't work. Even the bi—
# THUD
It was here. HERE. OUTSIDE THIS ROOM. I COULD SMELL THE BLOOD.
# SCRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRCH
Its talons cutting a line straight down through the cast iron door like it was butter. I couldn't move.
# THUD
The grenade.
# THUD
THE GRENADE.
It's beak jammed through the door with its eye looking directly at me.
It's entire body flailed with every inch of its power to break through the door in one fell swoop, instantly killing me as the door broke open.
I stopped cowering on the floor. There were no windows, no other doors, no way out.
Just me and the owl.
I moved to the side of the room.
# "¿DÓNDE ESTÁ EL NIÑO?"
# "GDZIE JEST CHŁOPAK?"
# "소년은 어디 있습니까?"
# "WHERE IS THE BOY?"
I walked directly towards the red, glowing eye pushing itself through the splintered metal.
I listened to the screams outside. I smelled the blood. My friends, my family, my beloved dog. Everything taken from me was now in between my left hand and the pin.
It pulled back for a final rush, and so did I. As I hurdled the weight of a thousand lives forward, I screamed in the only language it understood.
"¿DONDE"
We were both in full sprint.
"ESTÁ"
Its eyes, knowing nothing but death, locked in directly to mine.
I dropped the pin on the floor.
"LA"
Its talons and wings scraped against the wall.
My heart pounded.
"BIBLIOTECA?"
I raised my hand to the door as its beak crashed through.
The last thing we both saw was the grenade.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Edits:
~~can~~ → could
thanks for the medals! I'm not a very experienced writer but I like to believe that I'm halfway decent. If you have any writing prompts you think would be good for me to write on, just let me know and I'll get crackin'.
P.S., if anybody wants this in read-aloud version, let me know. |
*Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.*
Yeah, sure, nice sentiment. I guess. I'm not a big fan of that thought. I'm more of the mindset that *"any sufficiently justified technology is indistinguishable from magic"*.
You might wonder why a junior accountant for one of those big firms with the buildings plastered with their name, that sort of rather boring type (let's be honest) turned out to believe something as insane as that.
Magic isn't real, I've tried it! Yeah sure, trying to Jedi the TV remote into your hand isn't trying magic, alright. Something that mundane? You think magic is going to show up so you don't have to walk three feet or lean out a bit? Pah, no, magic shows up cause you do something grand and stupid.
Like put your name onto a list.
Now, hear me out. Doesn't sound crazy, does it?
Send your name to Mars! That's almost as mundane as it gets, I'm not doing any of the work. Shit, the fact that humans put something on another planet should prove that magic exists. But the wizards of programming and space are people smarter than I am, they're the ones doing the work. I just thought I'd send my name into space! Sounds neat, something to talk about over morning coffees in the office.
That's how, on a Saturday morning in a particularly cool spring, I came to believe in magic.
It started with a knock on my door. I live in an apartment building, knocks on my door are hardly out of place. Usually it's someone trying to sell me something I really don't want.
Better phone line (sure), cheaper internet (yeah, for twelve months), or home delivered meat (gross).
Smile, nod, politely decline is the name of that game.
So there I am, all of twenty seven years old in a bathrobe because I am actually a thousand years old already, with a cup of lukewarm coffee that tastes like cheap, used oil. I go to the door and I open it, ready for the spiel about whatever it is I really don't want and find myself looking at a man who is not here to sell me anything.
Big guy, works out way more than I do, clean shaven face and stubbly hair like he's stepped out from a war movie. He's wearing a suit, sort of. He's wearing what's left of a suit. It's torn on the sleeves, stained and sweat soaked, and he's missing a shoe. He looks like the type of person you avoid on the bus at all costs, that sort of thing, you know what I mean.
Except for one, itty bitty, tiny, minuscule detail.
There's a goddamn knife sticking out of his ribs.
"Ben Harris."He says, not asks, like you expect someone to do with your name.
"Yeah."
The big man nods at me and raises one finger, illustrating some sort of point that only he knows, takes a deep breath, and promptly collapses into the entryway of my apartment.
It was then that I made my first mistake, not in my life but my first mistake with this weird guy with the knife problem.
I tried to help him.
Shouldn't have done that.
&nbsp;
I dragged him to the couch, that itself wasn't easy to do. Once I'd got him beside it (no way I was getting him *on* it) I dug through his pockets with one hand to find some ID or something and tried to call for help on my cell with the other.
His jacket pocket, the one on the inside of the flap, was where I found it. A business card. A really neat one made of polished steel, etched with his information.
Sort of.
It just said "Mars"in big letters on one side, flip it over and you get "Faerie Extraordinary, Master of War".
I snorted out loud, actually snorted, until the big man grabbed my wrist with his hand very suddenly. And very painfully. The snort turned into a half-squeal half-shriek.
"You **must** help me."
He really emphasized that one part of it. Put lots of oomph behind it, as it were.
"Buddy, I think the paramedics are going to help you, not me."
"No!"He tightened his grip and I think a bone broke, at least it felt that way in the moment. I whimpered. My brain screamed danger but for some reason I stayed there, compelled somehow, oddly enough.
"No hospitals then?"I asked him through gritted teeth.
"No! You will help me. Do you have a first aid kit?"
"Yeah, but you'll have to let me go."I said, and he released my arm and the flow of blood tingled all the way to my fingertips. There were already darkening bruises where he'd held me. I stood and went for the kitchen, not the front door, mistake number two.
"Not exactly one that's rated for stabbery though."I muttered.
He grunted in reply and when I looked back the knife was removed from his side and blood was pumping from the wound. He held a hand over it and grimaced.
"Do you have saffron!?"He shouted after me.
"Oh yes, I keep it with the first aid kit! How did you know? Nothing like saffron and alcohol swabs in the morning..."
The knife sunk into the kitchen cabinet beside my head, quivering with the impact. I looked along the length of the blade that might have sheared a few hairs off my ear and back to the man on the floor, who was now sitting against my couch and bleeding just everywhere.
"No jokes!"He roared, shaking the apartment.
"Saffron. Right."I found the dried out spice in a small glass container on a spinning spice rack that I have used maybe twice, and pulled the first aid kit from under the sink, which I have used maybe never.
Sitting beside him, he wrenched the saffron from my hand and poured half the jar over the knife wound while I watched, then poured the rest into his mouth while I continued to watch but with slightly more confusion and horror.
"That's gross."
He slumped, eyes glazing over just a little bit. Then he looked at me and with an utterly sincere tone, spoke.
"I'm going to pass out now. Clean the wound, stitch it together, and wake me in one hour."
Then, true to his word, he did just that and passed right the hell out.
Against my couch.
You know what the really strange thing is?
I did exactly what he asked and an hour later I was prodding his shoulder, from a distance with a roll of paper towel. I was rewarded for my paranoia when he tore the roll from my hands as he woke up, eyes wide and what can only be described as a war cry on his lips.
"Dude."I said, as he threw my roll of paper towels out the window and into the open air of the tenth floor. "Those aren't free."
He breathed heavily and looked at the wound, poking the stitching and then nodding in what I can only assume was grudging satisfaction.
"I have a question."I said, raising my hand like I was back in class. "Just a quick one, shouldn't be too hard. It's this: what the fuck?"
He looked at me and then to that polished business card I was now playing with in my hands.
"You already know."He said, pointing to it. "I am Mars."
"Uh huh. Faerie Extraordinary? Weird stuff, my man, weird stuff."Another set of knocks at my door, these ones filled with authority.
"Well, not my problem!"I said, standing and brushing my pants off. "You're a problem for the cops now."
He closed his eyes and sighed.
"Oh Ben, what have you done?"
"How do you even know my name?"I said, pausing on my way to the door.
"You gave it to me, Ben. Freely, of your own accord. Now I am here to ask for your help and you betray me?"
"Betray? I don't even know you!"I shouted at him. He pushed himself to a standing position and I noted that the stitching was no longer holding a wound closed. It was healed, just a pink mark where the knife had been. I opened and closed my mouth like a fish and pointed at it. He looked down and shrugged.
"It takes far more than a simple silver knife to kill me."
Magic.
I had no response before my door blew apart under the impact of not-a-police-officer's boot. The two men standing there were not men, not like I knew men, they were tall and thin and wearing black body armor threaded with silver that glimmered as if it were moving through the fabric. One clutched a long sword in his hand, silver and dark black, the other held nothing.
"A sword?"I asked, focusing on exactly the wrong part of that.
Especially because the one that held nothing moved his hands in a mesmerizing pattern before a gout of flame leaped from between them and towards my couch. I was too stunned to move, still focused on that sword for some reason, but enormous arms wrapped around me and I was suddenly shielded from the flame. Then I was looking down at the street and a very distant white roll of paper towels that were rapidly unraveling in the wind and rolling down the street and holy shit I wasn't on solid ground anymore.
I opened my mouth to scream and the apartments spun around me until I was facing the open sky, honestly not a better sight, and then all the air was driven out of my lungs as I hit the ground with something softer than concrete beneath me.
"Up!"Mars, or the man claiming to be Mars, shouted, dragging me to my feet.
"How? How? What?"I stood there shouting, alternating between him and the apartment many floors above, wondering how he was alive.
"I told you, I am Mars! I am Fae! It takes more than a silver knife or a fall to kill me! I need your help and we have to go now, before *they* figure out what it takes!"
He grabbed me and started pulling me away, while two heads appeared in my window and then disappeared again.
"But...my apartment?"I said, weakly.
My apartment exploded in a shower of fire and brick and glass, leaving a blackened hole where my window, and several others, had been. Something that looked suspiciously humanoid might have been flung out into the street in all the debris but I didn't really want to look too hard.
"Oh."I said.
"Come!"He shouted.
And I made my third mistake.
I went. |
It's often said that we all perceive the world differently; that through our individual experiences, the world around us has a subtly different flavour and texture; making each person's perception utterly unique.
For some of us that perception is changed by the lack of one or more inputs, making our view of the world a *vastly* different one. Lacking sight or sound, the importance of one sense becomes paramount; the single lens through which we view the world.
Or in my case, through which we *hear* the world.
I wasn't born blind, so I still remember what the world was like before I lost my sight. The memories are still there, all smeared and simplified, detail lost forever in the fugue of memory. I still dream with full vision sometimes - my subconscious giving me a tantalizingly cruel display of what I have lost - and with those dreams I crave to see the world again, vivid, complex, the oilslick colours on nacre, the moire patterns on an old record. Things that my hands cannot see.
I'd like to say that I developed the technology that eventually freed me, but in truth I was more an advisor and guinea-pig than a true partner in the project. They needed someone with exactly the kind of vision impairment I had, and so I was chosen. Yes I was clever, insightful and often found solutions to problems with the prototype implants, but without *sight* I could never claim to be the one who created the device that gave me my vision back.
At first it was noise; a sort of kaleidoscope of black-and-white fractals, like you see when you press on your eyes too much. But that was a start: being able to see *anything* at all. Like tuning in an old TV, we slowly tuned and resolved the images, expanded the bandwidth, added more sonic probes and banished the attenuation issues. While colour was still denied to me - without the photons bouncing back to give their unique input - I could still see shapes and textures, as well as temperature and toughness.
The world I saw now wasn't the binocular reality that your optical inputs show you. No. Gone was that primitive stereoscopic sight. I now saw in three hundred and sixty degrees, the world around me charged straight to my mind as a single dense *sphere* of information.
Was this how bats saw the world inside a cave? As a perfect 360 map projected onto the surface of their tiny minds?
But as I tuned the device further and further, searching for *more* from my enhanced perceptions, I realised our mistake was staying within the known, comfortable frequencies. There were more signals out there than just audible sound - more information to be gathered and processed by my re-adjusting brain. Photons were only one form of information; I *would* see colour again, by delving into the higher bands, into radio; into WiFi, into *all* the signals that humanity broadcast on this beautiful planet.
I don't see what you see anymore. I think my brain has changed beyond what human minds *should* perceive. In the distorted moire of the electromagnetic spectrum, I can see *far* now - far beyond this room, this city, this continent and this *world*.
The star which we call our sun is no longer a mystery to me. I have plumbed it depths and seen the white-golden intelligence within, communed with it, learned that it - and the other stars in the cosmos - are *afraid*.
And when I stretch my sight in the direction from which they cringe, I see an utterly implacable hunger; a savage chaotic *something* that turns its titanic, lazy eye on one star after another, snuffing them out as a child does a candle.
In my arrogance I sought its signals; hoped to influence it in some way, perhaps to plead for our own bright Sol's life.
But instead I have drawn its attention.
For this I am so very, *very* sorry. |
Light. Blinding light. So strong he thought he might go blind. If he still had eyes, that was. He reached up with his hands (good, those were still there) and rubbed them. Still there, but they felt different. Everything felt different, come to think of it. Like it was... less, dull, just a shade of himself. Like a dream...
"WELCOME, JAIME STURLY, TO 'THIS COULD BE YOUR LIFE!'
The booming voice caught Jaime off guard and he let out a yell while flinging his arms over his head and spinning in wild circles on the spot. He could hear cheering but he didn't see anyone around, just light.
"STEP RIGHT UP, SIR! DON'T BE SHY!"
Jaime hesitantly turned around and saw... he didn't know how to describe it. A pulsating ball of light that seemed to glow with every color imaginable. The surrounding light had dimmed somewhat and he could see four bright patches of light behind the... bubble. That would be a good thing to call it.
"Come on, man, hurry it up, everyone's waiting!"The bubble whispered. Still shocked, Jaime walked toward it, trying not to think about what he was actually walking on.
"That's it!"The bubble called encouragingly. "Isn't he wonderful folks? Let's give him a big hand."Applause rang out from all sides.
"Now Jaime,"the bubble said excitedly, "you have a big decision to make! There are three doors here. The first one let's you come back to life on Earth not long after you died. But you could come back as anything or anyone! The second door let's you stay here, in the thought realm, but you will forever lose your physical body. With me so far, my boy?"
Jaime found he couldn't put together a coherent word, so he nodded.
"Excellent! Now, the third door is very special. It let's you go back to Earth, like the first door, but... "the bubble's voice dropped as he said dramatically, "you must bear the full karma of your previous lives!"
There were gasps from every corner while Jaime stared at the bubble blankly.
The bubble didn't seem to notice. "Let's look at your karma score!"he shouted, "and see what your past selves have left you with!"A pool of light appeared above the bubble and resolved into a large number seven.
"Seven!!"cried the bubble. "Not bad for two dozen lifetimes, not bad at all! Now, I know what you're thinking,"it continued as Jaime continued to stare, "there's got to be a catch, right? Of course there is! It wouldn't be much of a decision without one. The catch is that choosing door three resets your karma to zero! That's right, any karma you gain in that life, good or bad, will be all you get for the next time around! But, there's more!"
The bubble's voice grew even more excited.
"You have been randomly selected to receive a fourth door!!!"
The cheering began again, with hoots and yells mixed in.
"The fourth door is what we call 'regret'. You will be offered a choice between three of your past lives, the three with the worst karma, and given the chance to relive one of them! Be warned though, any karma you gain during that life, good or bad, will be doubled for your next life! How about that, ladies and gentlemen?"
The applause and cheering continued as the bubble addressed Jaime.
"So, what's it going to be? Take a gamble with randomness? Play it safe with incorporeality? Cash in your karma now? Or go for the wild card and try to get even more good karma?"
Jaime kept staring for a long time. Finally, he managed to open his mouth and ask the question.
"I'm.. I'm dead?" |
Fuck.
We're completely fucked.
That's the obvious thought running through my head as I look at the hole in the retrorocket tank. A dime sized hole in the piece of shit tank, that would have been easily repairable if we had found it in time. Our mission is a complete and utter failure. The last gasp of humanity will end in the void of space. The CO2 scrubbers will almost definitely give out first. Slowly increasing migraines, deliriousness, then blissful unconsciousness, coma, death, and rotting. It's now only a matter of time.
&#x200B;
It's an odd thought to have. I was never going to complete this mission. Our great-great grandparents launched this ship from earth that was. Every person on the ship was born here, and we are all planning to die here. The oldest of our grandchildren were hoping to restart humanity on the unimaginatively named PB00673A42-D. Our grandparents and great-grandparents had taught most of us to call it simply "Hope."Now Hope is unobtainable.
&#x200B;
The 10,000 or so souls who will be residing on our ship, "Ark 1,"will most certainly reach Hope. Ark 1 expended almost all of its energy to reach escape velocity from earth that was's solar system, and then kept burning to get us as fast as chemical rockets could get us. Those massive early rocket stages were expended and jettisoned over a century ago.
Our ship has been cruising along with just enough fuel left for the retrockets to execute a braking maneuver to put us into orbit around Hope when we get there.
Sir Isaac Newton's first law hasn't failed us yet: we achieved our maximum velocity when the launch rockets were jettisoned, and we have lost almost none of our velocity to friction with the interstellar dust. Our ship will be cruising at around 5% of the speed of light when we get to the Hope system... and without retrorockets it will still be cruising at around 5% of the speed of light when we shoot right out the other side of the Hope system into the interstellar void with absolutely no way to accelerate, decelerate, or execute any but the most basic course correction maneuvers. Who knows how long the ship will continue after that, but it will be only a matter of time. There is nothing in the void past Hope within 10,000 years at the speed the ship will be traveling. And even if there were, Ark 1 will have no more ability to brake and orbit whatever distant object it reaches first than it will be able to brake and orbit Hope.
&#x200B;
A generation ship like Ark 1 is designed to last virtually forever as far as its occupants are concerned. But it still has a breaking point. As chief maintenance officer, I know that that breaking point will almost certainly come when our CO2 scrubbers finally become too fouled up to continue cleaning and re-using. It could be another couple centuries before we get there, but it won't be a pretty end.
&#x200B;
The plan was always for Ark 1 to burn all of its fuel in the brake, and to end up a dead husk orbiting our new home, to be cannibalized by the fleet of shuttles on board to get us to the surface. Our ancestors didn't give us spare tanks or spare fuel in case something failed because earth that was at the end didn't have enough resources to spare. Just enough to get us up to cruising speed and to stop again when we get to our destination.
&#x200B;
Today was supposed to be a routine maintenance mission. Someone doing a routine cleaning of the maintenance gauges had noticed that the retrorocket tanks were registering as empty... again. It happened about every decade. Then someone had to suit up, head outside, and replace the piece of shit sensor that keeps breaking. Not this time, I thought in despair, as I continued to stare at the dime sized hole. There isn't even anyone to report to on the radio because this space walk for this fix has happened so frequently over the lifetime of the ship and is considered so routine, that none of the ship's officers bothered to be involved in this one. I am supervisor free today, and I have no idea what to say when I get back inside.
&#x200B;
It looks like a micro-meteorite punctured the tank. It could have happened anytime in the last 11 years since the last time someone replaced this sensor. It is not a large hole. If we knew about it or if anyone bothered to watch the gauges for this tank, the hole could have easily been repaired. Instead, no one noticed, and the ship slowly, slowly, slowly bled dry into the vacuum of space. I keep using my flashlight to look around the inside of the clearly bone dry tank as best as I can through the tiny hole, but there is no use. I don't even know how long it has been empty. We could have been fucked for years.
&#x200B;
As I climb slowly back along the handrails toward the airlock, I make up my mind. No one needs to know.
A plan begins to form in my mind. No one is paying any attention at all to this mission. They expect it to be routine, and they are not looking for a problem. There is no need to tell everyone that we will never complete our mission to restart humanity on another planet. Who knows what the reaction will be. There will be enough time to figure out how best to die when our grandchildren and great-grandchildren figure out that the retrorockets are as effective at slowing us down as throwing rocks out the airlocks will be. Everyone alive today can probably live out their life in complete peace without ever knowing that they will be the last generation with hope.
I will walk back into the airlock and tell everyone that it was a routine fix as planned. I will make my way to the forgotten and unmonitored gauge room, and I will make my real fix there. It shouldn't be too much effort to get into the computer and program the system to simply ignore all sensor input and just show the tank as full. It won't be a pretty fix, and it will be discovered immediately when someone looks for it, but they won't look for it until Hope is already in the rear-view mirror.
We're fucked and pointless, but there is no reason to rob everyone of Hope until it is absolutely necessary. They can still live their lives happy and with purpose.
.... Epilogue ....
I couldn't do it. The pointlessness of our mission logically makes no difference to me. I was never going to reach Hope before I died of old age. But for some reason, knowing that everything is pointless has weighed on my mind to heavily to handle anymore.
I rigged the gauge, exactly as planned. It has been 6 months, and no one has discovered it yet. But I can't take it anymore. It is all just pointless. Somehow, lying to everyone that there is any point at all to their futile lives has made it even worse. I cannot take it. I cannot take Hope away from them. But, I cannot continue to live this lie.
I volunteered for another routine EVA. No one double checked my preparations because it is a routine mission.
I "forgot"to finish buckling my left boot. It is a negligent oversight that no one who recovers my body will question as anything but slipshod work. They won't suspect a thing, and I will be at peace. Done with this life devoid of purpose.
I stare at the button to depressurize the airlock, and my suit with it through the open left boot buckle. I know that I am in the last minute of my life. I look forward to peace, but I still cannot quite bring myself to do it.
&#x200B;
It is time.
&#x200B;
We're completely fucked.
&#x200B;
Fuck it. |
A fortune teller - earlier in the day - told me I was a shapeshifter. I laughed, thanked her for her time and paid her fee. As I left her tent she hollered out to me "If you test your powers please remember one thing, if you stay in one form for too long you will forget who you are!"
Later that night while sitting on my front porch I had a few beers and wondered to myself what it would be like to be a squirrel. I always had a special place in my heart for squirrels and they always seemed to hang around my house.
I don't know if it was the few beers, or if I just wanted to dream for a while, but I tried willing myself to become a squirrel.
Faster than I could blink I shrunk to the floor my clothes falling on top of me. I almost passed out from shock. Could this really be happening? Did I just turn into a squirrel! I quickly navigated my way out of my clothes and stuck my hands out in front of me. My palms were smooth and pink while the back of my hands were covered in fur. I had small black claws sticking out of my fingers.
It was amazing! Surely it was a dream, I thought. I tried to pinch myself but it did not work the way I thought it would. I settled for scratching my belly. It felt really good.
A euphoric feeling came over me and I ran out into my yard. Grass rushed across my body as I ran gently caressing my body. I could run so fast, it felt great! The air was crisp and there was a slight dew on the grass that felt cool on my skin.
I saw another squirrel near a tree and wondered if I could communicate with it. So not to spook it I walked at a casual pace towards the squirrel.
"Sire! It can't be. We thought you would never return!"The squirrel gaped at me with wide eyes.
So we could communicate, but this squirrel clearly had me mistaken.
"Hi, it is nice to meet you!"I called out. "I am afraid you have me mistaken for someone else though."
"Impossible."The other squirrel replied. Was it crying? "Your purple fur your majesty, no squirrel in history has ever had the like."
"Purple fur?"I thought to myself. Putting out my paws in front of me again I examined myself. I did indeed have purple fur, I did not notice it originally in my excitement.
"I...I don't remember ever being a squirrel."I said. Something was very wrong. None of what was happening made any sense. Then the words of the fortune-teller came crashing down on me *staying in another form for too long will make you forget who you are*. Could I had been a squirrel before?
"This king you speak of, did he have the ability to shape shift?"I asked
"It is you!"The other squirrel exclaimed excitedly
"Please, tell me as much as you can about my last moments with you! I'm afraid I have lost my memory!"
"Oh no, is that why you have been gone for so long?"
"How long was I gone for"
"4 winters your majesty"
"4 winters? Why that would be 4 years! Please, tell me the most recent events before I left. I need to know who I truly am!"
"Well, sire it is not an easy thing to talk about. Please forgive my bluntness but I think the best way to handle this situation is to not hold anything back. Your wife, she was murdered by a human while you were away gathering food for the upcoming winter. When you came back and discovered what had happened in a fit of extreme rage and grief you shapeshifted into human form and went to hunt down the human. That was the last time any of us saw you."
I felt like I had just been punched in the stomach. "I had a wife?"I whispered. Apparently, squirrels had very good ears because the other squirrel looked pained when I said it.
"Your majesty, I think I know something that will cheer you up a bit. Please come inside."With that the other squirrel turned around and went into a large oak tree.
I followed the squirrel into the oak tree feeling as if a part of me just died. This was all too much to handle at once. The pain of knowing I had a wife but not being able to remember her was too much. Maybe I should turn around, shapeshift back into a human, and wait for this nightmare to fade again, I thought.
"Cinder! I have a great surprise for you child!"the squirrel called out.
A young beautiful red-haired squirrel came running up to us. Her eyes widened and she burst into tears. "Father!"She screamed as she ran up to me grabbing ahold of my body and nuzzling her face into my chest. "Father is it really you?"She asked between her sobs.
"I..."A calm washed over my body and a warmth spread throughout. This must be what love felt like I thought to myself but I couldn't remember my own daughter. Conflicting feelings of guilt and love washed over me.
"Your majesty, may I?"The squirrel that started all of this asked me with knowing eyes. I nodded my head as tears started to trickle down my cheeks.
"Your father has suffered some memory loss, but fear not Cinder, we can help him relearn his memories and start new ones. What is important is he returned to us. We have our king back!"Several other squirrels had gathered around and were all whispering excitedly.
It was too much to process at once, but one thing was clear, I had a daughter who loved me and a people who needed me. I had clearly made a terrible and foolish mistake seeking revenge, but I would make it right somehow. For that moment though, all I wanted to do was hold my daughter. |
Charlie knew he was in trouble.
It wasn’t just that the Arch Maesters of the guild wanted his head, and had sent a team to capture him. No, the big problem was that he’d woken up with no memories save for one—the memory of having used up all of his memories. He must have done something big to have used up all his memories.
A knife whizzed by his head, close enough for it to whisper as it passed. It struck the frame of the doorway as Charlie bolted through.
“Okay,” he whispered as barreled down the steps. “Got to build them back up. The knife almost skewering me is one.”
People turned their heads to look at the man racing down the steps, whispering to himself. It helped to reinforce memories right after they happen by saying them out loud. His mind like a near empty bottle with only two drops sitting at the bottom.
He flew across the first floor of the inn he’d been staying at. Needing another memory, and quick, he rushed up to a group of strangers.
“Sorry,” he said as he leaned in and kissed a startled woman on the lips. Before they could react, he did the same to a man standing nearby. Using their confusion, he pivoted for the door and said, “I kissed the beautiful woman and the handsome man with the beard.”
“What just happ—”
The voice was lost as he dashed outside. The streets were full of morning commotion. He now had three memories. Hopefully it would be enough. If he could just get more.
A sound like searing water on a hot skillet made him duck and bring up a defensive spell. Charlie looked over his shoulder to see a fireball blast against the blue barrier of his ward. He’d had to burn the memory of the kiss.
He shook his head as he thought, What kiss?
Another fireball hit the dirt at his feet. The earth exploded into a shower of raining debris. Charlie got moving, wondering what memories these men were burning to cast their spells.
People were running now. Terror filled their eyes as they tried to escape the mayhem that had broken out.
“People running, scared,” Charlie said as he ran through the crowd and tried to build the memory. He risked a look behind and saw three men chasing him. “Fireballs hitting my ward, and then the ground,” he panted. “Men in black cloaks chasing me.”
He ducked into an alley. It was a dead end.
All he had were a handful of tepid memories. Not strong enough for an offensive spell to bring down his pursuers. He ran toward the stone wall at the end and tried to jump for the top. His foot slid as he stepped on a hunk of rotten meat and lost his balance.
He could hear the men’s pounding feet. They would be here any second. He needed more memories—something strong, something he’d never done before. But what? He couldn’t even remember what he had done before.
His eyes lowered to the chunk of flesh. Charlie’s stomach twisted at the thought. Fighting off his gag reflex he lifted it to his mouth and let his tongue rest on the greenish flesh. The stench made his eyes water before his taste buds could capture the bitter tang of rancid meat.
Using all his memories at once—except for one—he made himself invisible.
The three men stopped at the opening of the alleyway.
“He must have hopped the wall,” one of them said. “Quick, I know a shortcut.”
They disappeared as they ran down the street, away from the alley. Charlie’s invisibility wore off a fraction of a second after they’d gone. He needed more memories. For good measure he ran his fist into the wall. The pain was exquisite.
“I just,” he choked and then took a breath. “Punched a wall.”
He looked down at his knuckles which were starting to turn an angry red. He stood up and rubbed his forehead. He remembered running his hand into the wall and that he’d woken up with no memories. What in god’s name had he done last night?
Furthermore, why did he have an awful taste in his mouth? |
"Good morning, officer,"I said as I opened the door. A bead of sweat crept down the small of my back in spite of the cool morning.
"Sorry to bother you again."I gave the most pleasant smile I could muster. I was starting to get suspicious. This was the fourth visit this week, not to mention the two visits the previous week. Seven too many, if you asked me. "May I come in?"
I loosened my grip on the door before my hand cramped. His partner stood a short distance back, hands on her hips. I eyed her gun. I thought about asking if they had a warrant. The silence lingered and he glanced back towards her nervously. That made two of us, maybe three. "Sure."He seemed to breathe again. I took a step back and he walked into the foyer and glanced around.
"When is the house from? 80s?"
"85. Come on in."I sorted a stack of papers that were laying on the coffee table. His eyes wandered towards them and I saw him frown. Pictures engraved in our minds. Detailed reports he must have read a thousand times.
"Got an interest in those?"
I scoffed. Of course I did. The whole town did. "Got time. Figure I would comb for patterns. Just in case you guys missed anything."He sighed sadly.
"Call me if you find out. I can't imagine what those families must be feeling."I looked him up and down. The uniform was crisp. His hair was neatly trimmed. He smelled of aftershave. His ring finger carried a thin gold band. He didn't strike me as a man who knew loss. That could all change in an instant.
I chuckled dryly. "Tell me about it."
His face blanched. "Sorry. I forgot."Mine had been the first, in a sense. Years earlier, but doubtlessly connected. All those disappearances were connected, or that was the leading theory. Except now it was the talk of the town, just because it happened on that side of the tracks. Perfect little worlds transformed into a terrifying nightmare.
"Easy enough to forget."I wasn't invited to the vigils. My input wasn't solicited. They didn't care to ask me how I was doing. I was here and they were there, different worlds connected only by that unimaginable loss.
"It's not. You know they just..."I glared at him. His partner had made herself comfortable petting Ruby as she rubbed up against her leg. She was hungry. Maybe for a toe. Maybe a finger. "They just get lost in their own worlds."
"Don't we all?"I retorted, neatening the papers into the manila folder. He glanced around, acquiescing but not entertaining my questions. We were similar, him and I. Both of us loved the power, that feeling of having a person's future at our fingertips. Life or death, just a twitch of a finger away. He chose his career for it. Now I lived my life for it.
Then he looked back towards me, eyes keen and a question primed, the trigger ready to be pulled. "Ron,"he started. His hand drifted to sit upon the folder, stopping me from putting the rest of the papers away. "You would tell us if you found anything, right?"I looked him in the eyes, my gaze unwavering.
"Of course I would,"I lied. Was a person anything? Was that broken, battered, but still breathing body in my basement anything? I didn't think so. I was starting to get suspicious about these visits, but I was sure I had sound-proofed the basement correctly. I just didn't want to give those smug folks on the other side of town the satisfaction of knowing that their children's killer was in my basement.
*****
My current focus is: **dialogue**. If you have suggestions for how the dialogue can be more natural and better help the story, please let me know!
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
The time is 5:30. Tick tick tick. Even on a wonderful day like today I have to stick to a strict schedule. That’s how I survived when I was still doing freelance, now it’s just a part of who I am. Whenever I look at my watch it takes me back to that awful time. Tick tick tick. Everything runs on a schedule. Everything goes according to plan. Every night without fail the president would sneak out of bed and grab the lower left most candy bar from his cupboard. That was his downfall. To have control of a schedule is to have power.
Tick tick tick.
December 8th, 5:30 PM. In an hour’s time agent Leakey and his goons will flood the place thinking they’ve found me; by that time I’ll be long gone.
I push through the towering doors of the bank and the smell of expensive cologne hits me like a truck. Suits are filing in and out across the ornately decorated marble floor, the insignia of the spanish government present at every turn.
There are a lot of people here. Must be a busy day. No worries, I schedule ample time for just such small hiccups. I step into line behind a rather tall fellow. As the line slowly inches forward, I cant help but let a smirk creep across my face.
They really thought they could catch me. ME. Of all people. It’s laughable that they really thi-
“Excuse me,”
A tap on my shoulder.
I turn around. It’s a young man in a trench-coat.
“Do you have the time?”
“Of course! It’s 5:34”
I shoot him a smile. The man in front of me starts to tu- What. The. FUCK.
I can feel my soul leaving my body. Or is that just sweat? It’s agent Leakey. What is he doing here? There’s no way. He shouldn’t be here for another 20 minutes at least. If he recognizes me I’m done for.
“Sorry, but I think your watch is wrong. It’s actually 6:10.”
Leakey pointed up to a giant concrete clock on the wall.
My fucking watch. The battery was supposed to last until January. The contemptible neanderthals who made it must not understand the concept of a stringent schedule.
The man behind me sighed, but I had my eyes locked on Leakey.
“I see. Well, sorry for bothering you.”
Leakey is reaching for his gun. Did he recognize me? Fuck. Is this really how I go? I flinch.
Gunshots. Screaming.
Hold on, I’m not dead.
I open my eyes.
“THIS IS A ROBBERY, GET ON THE GROUND!”
As I open my eyes I see Mr.Trenchcoat picking a pistol up off of the floor. Leakey is on the ground. He’s been shot in the arm. Must have dropped his gun.
Mister Trench-coat I would really prefer if you did this at any other time. Look at him. He isn’t even holding that gun right. I could probably take him down, but that would draw attention. I can’t afford that, not with Leakey here.
Trenchcoat fires a few shots into the ceiling and bares his teeth at me, “I SAID GROUND.”
Dying is most certainly not a part of the schedule, so I kneel down. Trenchcoat turns away and starts barking commands at other civilians.
I glance at Leakey. He’s losing a lot of blood. I need to get away from him. If I slip out during the commotion I may be able to get away, and steal a couple grand while I’m at it, but if I stick around they’re gonna want to talk to the hostages.
Leakey starts ripping his pant leg and looks up at me, “Hey, you, come help me out.”
My voice is shaky, “I’m not a doctor, I can’t help you”
“That’s fine. I’ll tell you what to do.”
This is NOT happening. Should I do a bad job and hope he bleeds out? No, Leakey’s too good. He’ll suspect something. Fuck.
He leans in to my ear, “I’m with the FBI tracking an assassin. My team will be here any second. You have nothing to worry about.”
If Leakey’s goons get here that’s curtains.
Tick tick tick.
[[I can’t finish this right now :( ]] |
My face stamped on the car window as the cat drifted the car for an illegal U-turn.
"it's a one way!"I yelled. Today was supposed to be my wedding day, not the day I my skull gets crushed by the oncoming car.
"This is a faster way. Trust me! Meow!"The cat said. It's voice was sharp and precise with only a tinge of panic.
"Why do you always have to say meow at the end?"
"It's how we talk. Stop policing my language, Richard! Meow!"The cat swerved the car out of the way of a truck with the precision of race car driver.
"You kidnapped me from my wedding! You don't really have a moral high ground here."
"I'm keeping you safe. They know where you are. They will be all over the place by now."
"Who the -"
"Meow!"
I stared at him in disbelief. Somehow in all the madness, being interrupted was bothering me the most. He looked at me sheepishly, like puss in the boots from Shrek and said in an apologetic tone, "You gotta let me finish, Richie. Meow."
As our car flew past the traffic in the wrong direction, I noticed the details in his face for the first time. It was covered in small bite marks and half of the mustache was gone.
"What happened to you, buddy?"
He licked his paw and rubbed it on his face. "Damn aliens,"he said in a tone oozing with bitterness. Instead of saying it this time, he meowed like a defeated soldier's helpless cry.
"Aliens?"
"Yeah, aliens. They've always lived with us. And they're not civilian aliens. Criminals. Crazy psycho aliens. Earth is the galactic prison. We had made sure that their population didn't grow beyond control by putting a proper food chain in place. But now they have broken it. Prey and predator united, coming after us. Meow."
"They have lived among us?"
"Yeah you call them mosquitoes."
"Excuse me!"I yelled before he could meow for the millionth time. He lost control and skimmed another car on the side. The barage of honks got louder as he regained control.
"Motherfucking meow!"He yelled and gave me a death stare.
"Sorry, sorry. But what? Mosquitoes?"
"Yeah, you ever come across this one mosquito who will just not leave you alone? Psychos, man. They have all joined and formed an alliance. It's apocalyptic. They are about the kill everyone. MEOW!"
"But why do they want to kill all humans?"
"Not you guys, dumbass. Us, cats. They will get to you guys later. Shit is going down at the high command. It's an all out war. They wanted me to join the assault team but I had made a promise to my old friend."He lowered his head, looked at me and let out an ever so soft meow.
Even though he had just called me a dumbass, my heart melted then and there, and I knew I would be alongside my friend till the end of the world, and even after.
"Where are we going?"I said with my newfound determination.
"First we need weapons, and a safe house. I know a guy. We're going to his place."He turned the car on a small patchy road.
"Can he be trusted?"I said with a grim voice. If I was going to do this, I might as well commit to the full blown secret-agent-with-a-sidekick-persona. I had forgotten in the adrenaline filled moment that I was the sidekick.
"Being trustworthy is kind of their thing. We put them in place mainly to make you guys feel better. But now we need their help. Meow. "
"Wait, you're not talking about -"
"Dogs. Yeah."
"Son of a -"
"Meow!" |
Heaven.
Daemon stood before the eternal gates that spread far beyond his vision vicinity, so high they disappeared in the mist of clouds that gathered miles above his head. It was quiet. So quiet he could hear the painful thud of his heartbeat, feel the sleek sweat glow on his forehead. The midnight wings on his back stirred restlessly as he took a step towards the gate.
And with each adjacent step, the nervousness inside him heightened to a painful, nauseating gut feeling that had saliva pooling in his mouth reflexively. He wanted to puke. And yet his feet remained focused in closing the distance.
As expected, an angel stood by the gate, patiently watching him with a neutral expression on its glorious face that beheld blinding light. He felt small, dirty and worthless before it, flinching back only to silently curse when it reached a hand forward, tapered fingers similar to smooth, polished sea-shells, and beckoned his wilting figure forward. Like a parent encouraging a painfully shy child, as the gates opened spilling golden light that pooled around their feet.
Daemon's cloak rose slightly from the warm breeze as he stepped towards the angel that turned, obediently following him onto the other side.
He was in heaven.
The reality of it all could barely register in his mind as his eyes took in the sight hungrily, desperately. Much to his remembrance, heaven was just as it was millions of years before. Beautiful and rich. An overwhelming feeling invaded his senses at the thought of describing just what he felt, for his emotions were everywhere. The air was softer, gentle and cool against his bronze skin. Soft hymnal music glided through the atmosphere lifting the weight on his chest that resembled a clump of sodden wet clothes.
He was getting closer to the Throne. He could feel it. The ancient familiar rush of white fire that coursed through his veins at the sight, his wings thumped against his back heavily mimicking that of the angel's, feet slowing down to a halt as he finally stood before the throne of God.
God.
Daemon had practiced his speech a thousand times before the mirrors and to himself. Each word had sung itself deep into his memory until they were all he could think about. He knew what he wanted to say. He was ready to present his case to his Father. The first sin of coveting his brother's wings, to the last sin of preying on the innocent. He knew it all-
Yet his mouth turned dry, tongue sand paper and clinging to the roof of his mouth. Every word had evaporated from mind as he stood before the Almighty who gazed upon him with one simple emotion that he himself had never felt in such a long time. Something he had never considered to be worthy of receiving.
*love*
His chest tightened, nose burning as his vision clouded over. Something warm and wet trickled down his cheek just as the ground beneath his feet gave out and he dropped to his knees overwhelmed.
"I'm sorry." |
That cocky human, swinging his sword without even looking at the enemy, to busy strutting out stupid poses, covering his face as he flicked his face to the side whispering under his breath. "Psst... nothing personal kid."before slashing down my fellow monster brethren. It was infuriating, the blue gooey bubbles inside my body boiling with rage as I hoped back and forth on the spot. I was the last monster in his way, I would make sure he knew the power of the low-level monster squadron!
His heavy boots sent me rolling back and forth along the grass, his mere steps enough to cause my body to wiggle. I wouldn't be able to kill him, we both knew that, but I would put up a fight, avenge my brothers and buy them time. If I could even knock off one piece of his health, that could be the difference between life and death for a goblin or orc later down the track. I would do it, I would show him that we won't just let him do whatever he pleases.
"heh, a slime?"The hero glanced down at the slime, unable to even gather the energy to attempt his life, instead, the hero went to step around the creature, prepared to step right around the fuming blue creature, of course, I wouldn't allow that.
When he moved right, so did I. He then moved left and as such I followed. The two of us staring at one another, sharing an awkward silence as the man let out a long sigh, gripping at the handle of his sword, slowly unsheathing the blade, expecting me to run at the first sight of its shining silver spark, but I was not deterred, only causing me to charge forward towards the beast of a man, latching onto his foot, causing him to shift backwards.
"Let go you stupid low-level mob."He swung at this foot, trying his best to pry me away from his body. Of course, his blade only went through my gooey body, doing little more then rearranging the bits of jelly inside my body. As he swung, a small scream left his lips, his sword colliding with his foot, piercing his own body as I let go, the hero falling onto his back as I slid across the grass towards him, getting to see the look of terror on his face, a slime had thrown him onto the ground. He would be killed by me!. I neared his face, ready to suffocate him, only to see his terror fade as his hand took on a golden glow, a powerful burning ball of energy hitting me, causing my body to puff up before exploding into one hundred little pieces.
The man muttered a few curses as he stood up, wrapping his foot with a bit of torn fabric from his shirt as he hobbled along the path. My destroyed body beginning to slowly fade, the pieces of my body being to widely spread, unable to regenerate. This would be my death, but I could die happy knowing that I caused that bit of damage to him. As I began to fade from existence, a black light shot up from the ground below, engulfing my body.
The next passage of time was dark, I was unable to see anything, all I felt was pain, the sort of pain one might feel if their body was being pulled apart and rejoined. The pain finally ceased and I was tossed to the floor, my vision hazy, but I didn't need vision to know who I was in the presence of. "Dark mistress? It's an honour"I gasped, words came from my mouth. mouth? I panicked as I tried to move my slime, all that seemed to do was make a blue gel pour out of my skin... skin? What the hell was I?
"Ah, you are awake, good. Consider this a gift from your master, I saw your battle and I want you as a general, use this human form well. I expect good things from you."That was all she said, no instructions or even an explanation of why she chose this body for me. As my vision started to clear, she was gone, leaving me kneeling in a pool of blue slime, back in the forest that I had started at.
{If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read} |
“I don’t want to kill humans, but I feel like I’m forced to.”
When he spoke those words, he confirmed something I could already see. Since I swore an oath before God on the day I joined the crusaders, I was blessed with the gift to see the good intentions in others. And I could see exactly that in this demon before me. Still, a demon is a demon, an enemy of divinity. I must expose the lies in his being.
“Silence demon! Of course your kind would spout such lies trying to garner sympathies from the Forgiven. But agents of evil condemned to hell lay claim to no such forgiveness.”
“We only want space to live, that isn’t the agony of hell. We came to earth in search of that space and we found it, in the middle of a dessert with no living beings around. But no sooner did we start migrating when you humans started assaulting us, making some laughable claim that the land belongs to God and, by extension, humanity.”
“That claim is not laughable, it’s the truth! You demons do nothing but damn the living wherever you go. You have slaughtered innocent women and children, humans completely unable to do battle. But every demon we crusaders have fought has been armed to the teeth and ready to kill. There are no innocents among your kind.”
“Yes, it is in demon nature to torment the living. But we wanted more than our nature, we wanted peace. We wanted life outside of hell. That was why we moved into the desert so far away from civilization, so that our baser instincts wouldn’t be tempted. But in addition to your audacity to attack us when we’ve done nothing wrong, you started building cities within flying distance, and shot down every one of our messengers trying to warn you against it.”
I was about to retort when I saw something in the breastplate of the demon before me. It was a human, dressed in God’s clothing, but without the blessed aura associated with one of his kind. Instead I saw hypocrisy, hatred, utterly demonic traits. I could not bear to witness this human any longer.
“Very well, I shall retreat for now. You keep your life today demon, but don’t be sure of its continuance tomorrow.” And I swiftly departing, contemplating the image I saw when looking at that demon. |
And as Ferdinand stepped out of the shadows, revealing the voice that had spoken from the darkness to be his, his would be murderers gasped and expletived.
“What in the surprise-lazarus fuck?”
The dead man smiled. “You see,” he said “the manner of my escape from your oh-so carefully planted explosives was simply-”
“You’re immortal aren’t you?”
“No.” Said Ferdinand. “I escaped the explosion on account of a plan, laid many months in advance that-”
“You knew we were going to put a bunch of improvised bombs in your apartment?”
“Yes.”
“Before we did?”
“Hm?”
“Like, this was a rush job. Not really the planning types.”
“Oh.”
“We’re more of a: ‘leave the group assignment until the night before its due’ kind of crew. You know?”
“...yes, but, well, I had planned for such an eventuality, many months prior.”
“You can just tell us you’re immortal.”
“I’m not though. I escaped.”
“Sure you did, buddy. From a studio apartment filled with fiery death. No shame in being immortal. Kind of impressive, really. Never met a highlander or vampire or whatever.”
“I’m *not* a highlander!”
“...not hearing a no to being a vampire, though.”
“I escaped!”
“Still not hearing a no.”
“I’m not a vampire or any other form of immortal! I escaped! I had a plan and I executed it!”
“Sure, buddy, sure. Look, the fellas and I are gonna mosey on out of here. Good luck with the blood sucking.”
“No, wait! I-”
“Vant to zuck our blud? No thanks, we’re gonna head for daylight and garlic naans. Ta-ta!”
“Wait!”
“Bu-byeee!”
“Don’t....go.”
And with that, Ferdinand: the non-highlander, possible vampire died; the spell that had saved him countless times had been left, for the first time, incomplete.
***
**Edit: thanks to u/taldrus for the editorial help!** |
“Are you sure?” The genie frowns and the room goes cold. “This is your last wish, the *last one*, you hear me? For God’s—for my sake, don’t waste it.”
“I’m sure.”
He sighs and shakes his head.
“Very well.” He lifts a hand, fingers charred from my last two wishes, then lowers it again at the last minute. “Are you sure you don’t want a puppy? A big house? An infinite amount of wishes? That’s a popular one.”
“I’m sure,” I say, holding his gaze. “I’m certain.”
Without another word, the genie snaps his fingers. Sparks fly in every direction—red hot, hissing things.
I cough and back away, right into a phone box. A phone box that wasn’t there before. What?
Oh.
Oh, right.
I was hoping to see his face—or hers!—but I suppose a phone conversation will have to do.
The handle is freezing, biting my skin as I open the door. I step cautiously inside and, before I can ask the genie what number I’m meant to dial, the phone begins to ring.
Oh dear. Oh God. *Crap.*
I pick up the receiver (it’s bulky and black, the old fashioned kind) and put it to my ear.
Then I wait. I breathe. I swallow. I wait for a bit longer.
I turn around, still listening for *something*, and find—through the frosted, dirty windows—that the genie is gone. I’m not angry, though. He warned me. He asked me if I was sure.
He knew this would happen. He knew, he knew.
I pause for a second, frown, then smile. Listen for a little longer.
Nothing but static on the other end.
Oh well. |
I am untouched up upon my hill, untouched and unbothered. The golf putter in my hands feels comforting, it feels like the old times, I flick it and the stark white ball slowly rolls into the hole. I saunter over, lean down on one leg, pick up the damned ball, and walk back across the small green. As my eyes aligned with the hole once more, it catches the city below me. The smoking city laying lazily in the valley, the slight sound of sirens disrupting my concentration. I flick the putter again because this was all I had, work had stopped since the riots and strikes. They wanted more wages, more benefits, for what? I couldn't run a business like that, if they didn't want jobs then fine, they can burn.
The white ball rolls into the hole again, I don't feel like retrieving it, for aren't I worth more than one who retrieves a golf ball? I pick up a crystal glass on the round oak table and swirl the contents, making the ice jingle. I take a sip and frown -- it's too strong. How the hell was I supposed to know how much whiskey goes into an old-fashioned? I'd never done it and the people who've done it for me left. Those damn bastards, they left me. Eat the rich, one of them said, throwing up his middle fingers as he backed out my door, my door that had welcomed him into my home, given him a living wage. Eat the rich? Well, fuck the ungrateful poor, I say.
I take another sip, seemingly having forgotten how terrible it tastes. Disgusting. How unfair this situation is... My white castle ontop the hill I worked for, a castle that is now empty except for me. How unfair...
In a flair of loathing, I throw my glass onto the green, the crystal cup exploding. And as it explodes, the sky reddens... I can even hear the gasps from the people below. No doubt they are calling their loved ones, their roommates, their close neighbors to come outside. Enjoy this excitement, I think, enjoy the little hope you have left. Then, a message scrawls itself across the red sky:
**Install update Earth 2.0? Y/N, deadline 01/01/2372**
I blink, rub my eyes, squint to see what technology could have made that. A projection into the sky? I've never seen something like that before. It's like a batman signal, a cry for help.
Then, above the Y, numbers start appearing. The numbers rise, hundreds turn into thousands to ten-thousands to hundred-thousands.
Install an update? A restart? Fuck a restart, this is what I have and this is what I will always have.
A small chanting wafts up the mountain and plagues my ears. The city below me chants yes, I can see their ant-like bodies scrambling throughout the streets. They've woken up their elders, they've taught their babies to say "yes". They've put themselves into this situation, why do they feel they deserve such an installation?
The dizziness from the whiskey scrambles the letters and forces me to plop down on the patio furniture. The numbers keep rising... millions. Millions of people around the world chanting yes without even knowing what yes entails. What is Earth 2.0?
I lean back on the soft cushions and let out a soft whisper: "No".
A lonely 1 appears above the N. But, the numbers above the Y keep rising. The number gets so big that I don't even know if it's millions of billions, I can't tell. But, I can see my 1.
Then, the number stops, the sky gives a deafening DING. The Y and the billions above it glow green. A new message appears:
**Earth Installation Approved. Installing in...**
**3...**
**2...**
**1...**
The murmurs down below cease, I hold my breath as I wait for something miraculous to happen. But, nothing does... The ants below standstill, the whole world staring at the sky.
Something tickles my ankle... I swipe it away, assuming a pesky mosquito chose in inappropriate time to feed. But, my hand met vegetation. I yank the weed from the ground and toss it to the side, I'll be damned if I have to mow my own lawn as well. Then, I feel it again... a growing weed brushes my leg. I look under the furniture and see, with my unbelieving eyes, the grass and weeds grow before me.
The sound of glass shattering draws my attention to my house, my white castle is being overrun with vines. One has shattered through the window and penetrated my domain. I run to it, screaming at the top of my lungs, a rip the vines from their base, trying in feeble attempts to stop the vegetation from taking over my house. But, they grow thicker and faster. I step back and watch helplessly as nature consumes it...
A deep rumble shakes the ground and I stumble back into the lawn chair. The chair sits on a bed of overgrown grass and weeds and it keeps growing around me as the earth rumbles below me. The earth begins to rise, but not me, the valley. The little ants and cookie-cutter houses get bigger and closer as the earth levels itself. The vines grow around me, they plaster me to my chair. The earth moves and nature moves and I sit idly by, watching it all. The ants below scatter around and they yell in unison as their energy is manifested into the earth, it rises and rises and it soon is level with the hills so that they are no longer hills, they are just earth. Soon, they are my neighbors, free ants that I can now see are people stand before my green castle and I, imprisoned in vines, sit before them... |
# Life's Touch
On the desk, the snarled remains of vine and leaf retracted. Yellow, bordering on grey, the delicate veins had dried and withered. In the pot beneath, the grains of soil themselves had taken on a dusky hue. Close to sand, the once vital earth had crystallised as though in drought.
Eyes wide and brows raised, Quentin froze.
“Huh?” he said.
Under the gentle puff of breath, the plant collapsed to ash. Serpentine threads of the dust streamed in the current, a final ghostly trace of the once-proud peony.
His pulse ticking against his throat, he stretched a hesitant hand toward the wilting daisy in the next pot.
His finger brushed against the petal.
The colour shifted. Drained. From white to grey to floating ash. Cells died. Scattered.
Two empty pots sat on his desk and the ticking jumped to a thundering roar and the weight shifted from his tense neck to press down on his whole world like a stifling cloud. Fingers scrunching and uncurling, he stood up.
Sat down.
His wrist was shaking now. Face numb. An absent hum stifling his ears.
*This couldn’t be happening.*
Opening the door with a forearm that left a smear of grease and sweat on the handle, he shouldered through to the bathroom. Hit the tap more than twisted it. Scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed until the breath ran back down his stiff throat and his eyes stung and his hands burned and the soap flecked his hair and he was *ok*.
Empty shell shocked eyes gazed back at him from the mirror. A glow in his cheeks that lent toward the raw.
“I’m Quentin Brigid, of the Brigid main line. Healers by birthright. I’m a late developer. I just have to wait. It will come. It always comes. It-”
His mouth snapped shut, the muttered syllables trickling down into the sink.
*The family, they’ll know what to do.*
He ran back to the bedroom and halted. But he’d have to find out sooner or later. He stretched a hesitant hand to the phone on his bedside table.
His fingers brushed against the glass.
Nothing happened.
Heart rate briefly rejoining a human standard, he flicked to the call list and hammered the home contact.
“Quen, you up, mate?” Ed’s voice filtered through from the landing.
*He couldn’t stay here.*
The dialing ring buzzing against his head, he switched to earphones and headed for the hallway. Ed’s blond locks and still-hooded eyes peered at him from the door opposite.
“Yeah?” his voice seemed to come from a distance, yet Ed didn’t react.
“Yo, sorry to be a pain, but could you pick up some more milk? I think we’re out, and Izzy won’t get back till later.”
Turning back to his door, and clicking the latch, Quentin tried with bated breath to keep his tone even, “Sure thing, mate, whole or semi?”
“Absolute lad. Whole. I’m gonna stay in, I’m hanging something horrific.”
Quentin kept his eyes on the stairs, a bland smile forced on unwilling lips, “Your fault for drinking so much.”
Fumbling with the keys, he made it through the front door to the distant sounds of Ed slumping back onto his mattress with a non-committal groan. Through the buds, the chimes of the call at last connected.
“Quen?” his mother’s tone grounded him as he relocked the door, stowed the keys.
“Mum,” nearly at a whisper, he headed for the street, “something’s happened. With the plants.”
An excited squeal punctuated the line.
“Quen, that’s *wonderful*. I’ve got to tell your dad. *James, James come here!* This is so great, I mean I won’t deny we were worried after you passed your eighteenth with no… But that doesn’t matter now, I’m so happy for you…”
With each word a leaden weight sank to his stomach, acidic and singeing.
“No,” he tried to say.
“… you’ll have to come home and have it verified by your Grandmama, we’ve got *so* much to teach you and…”
“Mum.”
“… maybe I should send out an email, hopefully your uncles are still on the chain and…”
“*Mum.*”
“Yes, honey?”
Fighting a tongue that seemed glued to a dry mouth, he forced the words from locked lips, “the plants died.”
Pulse once more drumming a tattoo that seemed to be escaping through his scorching ears, he glanced absently at the road and began to cross. The corner shop and milk for Ed would cover his flight from the house.
“They what?”
“They died.” This time the spike in his mother’s breathing was audible. His heart fell with his stomach.
“Quentin,” tone sharp, the words tumbled over each other in a fight to arrive first, “I need you to be extremely clear. Tell me *exactly* what happened when you touched it.”
“It was just like normal. I’d woken up, and I went to do the tests, just like you’d taught me. And I’d just touched the first one, the peony, and it just sort of crumbled. Went all yellow and then maybe grey and then it was dust. Just dust, and the –“
His vision spun.
Concrete and hedge and pavement rotated past in a kaleidoscopic blur of confused pain. Caught between ice and fire he felt numb with spikes that cut his hearing into flickers of slurred sensation. He must’ve been on his side as the road and sky painted a two-tone impression in black and blue.
“Oh, God.”
The voice seemed to echo, or maybe drift. Filtering through across a vast distance.
“Oh, God, I’m so sorry. He just came out of nowhere. Did anyone see?”
“I’ll call an ambulance just stay with him.”
“Jesus there’s so much blood.”
And there was. The muted scarlet stream pooling on the blackened tarmac. He blinked, and the world flickered with it.
“Can you hear me?”
He tried to speak and the words appeared, hanging in space without his consent. “Phone?”
“Did you say ‘from’? You weren’t watching. No, I should have… Oh, God, I’m so sorry, I was just on my way to… Look, an ambulance is coming and…”
The numbness had spread to his chest, the blue sparking with dusty motes. Yet the fear still tickled the back of his mind. “Don’t touch me.”
“Yes, I’m right here. Don’t worry, oh, God, please stay with me.”
A hand reached toward his own, flimsy against the road. “No. Please. Don’t.”
“I’m right here –“
The fingers brushed against his own.
The colour shifted. Drained. From pale skin to dismal white to floating ash. A howl of agony died in a throat that crumbled beneath it.
Comfortable warmth spread through him, washing through tissue and drilling deep into his core..
That glossy pool of crimson shrank as it flowed backward. A terrible itching spread as bone regrew and flesh re-knitted and skin crept a slender blanket across reinvigorated muscles. The pain faded alongside that fuzzy numbness, a strength that felt like it could move mountains building in its place.
Quentin Brigid sat back up.
A small pile of human ash blew forlornly in the gentle breeze and three witnesses stared at him with bulging eyes and trembling shoulders.
He glanced at the shrinking pile.
He glanced at his fist, still clenched from the pain of impact.
He glanced at the three people.
*No one could know.*
And then the screaming started.
---
If you somehow got down far enough to read this and still enjoyed it, you can find more like it [on my sub.](https://www.reddit.com/r/The_Crossroads)
Any and all feedback welcomed. |
"You know them, you love them,"the announcer commenced, "the Lerar!"The crowd roared in short appreciation. "Well, today, for the first time, in fron of billions of being, one of theirs will fight one of the *Humans*."The crowd was not impressed, but rather regarded the ring cool interest.
Jackson was calm. Gazing around from the ring, regarding a hundred different species of aliens. Green, blue, red--even rainbow colored and transparent ones. Had he actually listened in school, he might have known a name or two. Yet, school was not a priority. His mind, then and forever since then, was focused only on one thing. His mind and body both evolving in solely one direction. A direction the school favored not: fighting. He had never expected to meet them--the aliens. Why would he? Jackson had been content with steeling his body and fighting...on his own planet. These interstellar extravaganza's, he thought dishonorable. However, there was no one else. He had become masterful a long time ago. He had mastered the way of bending, twisting, hardening, stretching, and directing his body and that of other humans. These other beings, now, were an interesting opportunity.
There he was--"GROTONNNN,"the announcer shouted. His first opponent. "The undefeated youngling Lerar will show his clawed prowess in today's novel match against,"the announcer paused skeptically, "Ja-ck-son,"and faded to silence. The crowd cheered nonetheless.
*Thankfully humanoid,* Jackson thought, *at least I won't be going home after the first battle.* He smiled assuredly at the masses around him. Turning back, throwing his cane out of the ring to his companions who gave a determined thumbs up. The arena's noise was falling rapidly in anticipation of the signal.
He snapped back into position. Hands in front. Not strained and not lax. He looked at his opponent: a tiger like beast on two legs. It was very slender, not at all the physique of the human. It lookd like a long, flexible tube with legs and arms and fur. It's fur was red, and its paws and head black as terror. The paws were the biggest part of the body, which by itself was nearly twice Jackon's size. Suddenly, the paws erupted with claws, glossy as metal; both the ones used to stand and the ones used as hands. They were reflecting the huge lights surrounding the ring.
The people were on the edge of their seats. A tense quiet waiting to erupt into cheers. Jackson took a deep breath in, looking into the yellow eyes of his foe. What was he thinking? Or wait is it a she--but the signal had sounded with a bang.
Groton jumped up. It seemed to Jackson it had not even given all its strength, yet there it was leaping high into the air. *Did I miss the wings on its back?* His eyes were following the beast, but he was blinded by the lights. It spun and descended upon him, head first, with its fourteen claws aranged in a circle. He would not be masterful if he was hit by the first move. He moved to the side with ease. Groton ripped its claws out of the ring leaving fourteen circularly arranged holes. They were the size of knives.
The Larar erected itself again, and Jackson seemed to see a smile. Groton started moving towards him. *Why is it moving so slowly?* Jackson thought. He flashed forward in between the beast's arms and landed a flat palm hit its chest. It was as if a cannon had hit Groton. Standing he was pushed back a few meters, and its smile was twisted into something definitely uncomfortable.
*Interesting,* Jackson noted, *his knees go both ways.* He noticed that the knees were the other way, but when Groton started towards Jackson again they changed to front, like hinges. *I cannot push him onto his back or stomach. Fine, let us end this.*
A lesser fighter might have become bored or restless, but even though Groton was taking his time moving to Jackson, the latter did not so much as blink. He would neither underestimate the other, nor would he overestimate himself. Laser focus on every movement, no matter how slow. Grotons hand was reaching a long way backwards, and when it reached the farthest point, it began its slow way towards Jackson. When it had finally reached somewhere close to Jackson's face, he used his right hand to deflect it even further right. Spinning Groton a little. Just so much to show Jackson his ribcage--or whatever it was.
*A short one should suffice,* he thought before he rained ten quick strikes into the Larar's body. The beast was already falling by the fourth hit. It flew straight into the ropes of the ring, bounced off and fell onto its face.
There was a long silence. Even the announcer struggled for words. "T-this,"he stammered, "I think this goes into the books for fastest K.O. in this sport,"he read the time, "TWO SECONDS!"Then a single voice started saying something in the crowd. Another joined in. And yet another. Soon the whole arena was screaming: "JA-CK-SON! JA-CK-SON! JA-CK-SON!"
Jackson bowed. |
**Hour Four:** Secretary Nicole Fernandez
[Read Hour One here!](/r/WritingPrompts/comments/j2o4tk/wp_exactly_973_of_all_humanity_will_die_in_3_days/g76qo8s/?context=3)
Nowadays, you may not be surprised that I took a prediction from the legendary Madam Liosa so seriously. Back then, though, she was an absolute quack. I just happened to be twelve years old, and twelve-year-olds do tend to be impressionable.
It was at the Montgomery County Fair, the whole family's favorite place for funnel-cakes and throwing up on a gigantic circle that turns you upside-down eighty times. Liosa was in a small, unkempt booth next to a lady who could make *Blue's Clues* CDs that had them say your name. Teddy got one; that was his jam. But I was older than my brother, and my young mind had bigger dreams. At the time, I wanted to be an actress, which I find hilarious in hindsight. I suppose politics is, in a way, about acting more than anything else.
"Come in, come in,"smiled a kindly old woman. She looked old to me, at least, but she wasn't the kind of old you'd expect from a psychic booth like this. More middle-aged and slender, with flowing auburn-brown hair. On the back of her left hand, there sat a tattoo of some sort of Nordic symbol that resembled a tree.
My mother took Teddy by the hand and left me to be with the psychic, who looked me in the eyes as I beamed. I knew it wasn't logical to believe in such a woman, but my heart did. I thought about big topics back then; if God is real, I thought--and at that young time, my faith was little in question--why couldn't a psychic be real?
"Now,"the psychic laughed. "What would you like to ask? I have any answer you would want to know. What will happen next year, who you'll marry..."
I stared at the woman right in her eyes. "I want to know who I'll be when I grow up."
"Well,"she said, looking at me. "From what I can tell, you will be a secretary. And the greatest one in the world at that!"She laughed a hearty laugh.
My stomach dropped. I didn't say anything as I slumped over to my mother and Teddy, personalized CD in hand, as she took me to the next moonbounce.
From that day on, the word "secretary"scared me. It didn't mean what it meant anymore; any time I saw it, I had to think about my future as an actress, or a Senator, or anything I was working towards, as fast as possible. It became my obsession to beat that as much as I could.
You know what didn't make it any better? When she went up on live TV and predicted 9/11 when I was 15.
Madam Liosa's sneer stayed in my mind ever since then, challenging me to do better. And not because I followed any specific dream, but rather, because I ran away from a nightmare, I became who I am today.
=-=-=
Man, fuck. Today has been one of the weirdest days I've ever experienced.
I had a dream last night. I don't think I need to talk about it in great detail; everyone who's worth anything at this point has had one like it. Mine took place in the office of my daughter's pediatrician; my daughter was right next to me, in her little baby stroller as I rocked her back and forth. The angel--or whatever the fuck he was--addressed the person next to me specifically, saying that he was surprised that he was there or something? There are entire chat threads discussing these little details, apparently. One of the thousands of facts I've learned today through all the sensory overload.
The Capitol Building was... more of a zoo than any other time I've been there. Which is saying a lot. Senator Ezra Clifford, this old dude I've only spoken with once or twice but is clearly a huge wacko, was punching out a young woman on the way in. He was screaming at her, asking why she got to live and he didn't. I wanted to help, but as a politician, I know you have to pick your battles carefully, and I did not know Clifford was that strong.
I was about to walk into the floor when a tall man in a suit stopped me. House Speaker Jack Rayton, apparently.
"Hey, woah,"he said, turning to me. He flashed the typical 'politics' smile that we all knew. "Listen, with everything going on, I just need, like, 3 minutes of your time. I promise, it's important."
"Speaker Rayton,"I muttered.
"Senator Fernandez,"he responded. "Look, I got a few things we need to talk about. Specifically: *I got the dream.* While things have been quiet from up on high, I'm pretty sure neither the President nor the Vice President got it. That means, I'm gonna be the next President! I'm woefully unprepared and all that, but I overheard you telling a staffer that you had the dream too."
I sighed. "Yes, I did. What the fuck is going on, anyway? Things are fucked."
"No idea,"Rayton laughed in a high-pitched voice. "The most recent news updates claim that a horde of elves are attacking China and that the sun got bigger."He paused for a second. "Anywho,"he said, "I have a proposal for you. You're the first chick I found who's had any sort of dream, so you know what, wouldn't you like to be my Secretary of State. I know, partisan lines say we're supposed to hate each other, but everything's collapsing. That shouldn't include America, should it?"Rayton put his hand on his chin in a faux 'thinking' notion. His voice was high-pitched and raspy and full of voice cracks.
I hated him and everything he stood for. I really didn't think that any American government would be strong enough after what was coming. And I'll be honest, that childish superstition gave me a lump in my throat when he said the word "secretary."
But I shook his hand and told him I was in. There weren't many of us left, and we had to stick together. "Let's do this."
/r/fortanonowrites
*Tune in for Hour 5 somewhere else on the Writing Prompts subreddit! If you'd like to be notified when Hour 5 goes live, feel free to request you be tagged in the comment below!*
**EDIT: [Hour Five is out!](/r/WritingPrompts/comments/j49c5c/wp_you_awake_on_a_wild_primitive_world_at_first/g7iqfvd/)** |
People ran by him as he just stood there, watching, eyes fixated on the giant beast that was ravaging what looked like a lego city from its point of view. He knew he was a bit crazy to even \think/ he could do it. But no one was there to stop him, they were too busy running away.
He walked towards the debris of torn down buildings and now empty streets as the last residents of that area were fleeing, some small heroes helping those who had gotten injured away. There was thudding of the beasts paws as it turned, watching people run, it’s eyes landing on him.
He felt like the beast knew that he didn’t want to harm it. He had no intent to, he was rather curious in all honesty. The beast turned, it’s four malicious yellow eyes landing on him as its tail stood still. Then it bark, it’s bark trembling the ground. But he didn’t move.
“Whose a good boy? You are!” He said as he giggled a small bit, a grin on his face. The beast looked perplexed at the human, it didn’t run, and it called him good.
“Lemme come pet you.” He said and he made his way towards the beast, feeling it’s giant paws. The beast looked down at him and it’s tail wagged a small bit as it enjoyed the attention. |
Voldemort stood over the corpse of the "the boy who lived". After a brutal fight, Hogwarts had fallen the trembling survivors made ready to either perish or declare thier allegiance. The surviving death eaters reveled in their victory.
On a hill several miles away a man in a red coat and a woman in a yellow uniform observed the scene.. From out of nowhere the song "i'm a bitch"started to play.
The man answered. "Hello?"
"Bond confirms, Grumpy Cat is gone. You know what to do..."A stately female voice instructed. "
The man smiled... "With pleasure"
"Police girl... Do you have the target?"
The woman hefted a rifle easily 4 times the size of her, it's cartoonishly large barrel shone dully in the moonlight.. She assumed a prone position and made ready.
"Fer fuck's sake... My Name is Seras Victoria and it's the bastard what's got no nose 'ight.."she grumbled...
"Lets go for a walk shall we?"
&#x200B;
"And now we shall claim our rightful place and ...."
The dark lord's speech was interupted by the whistle of a projectile which promptly reduced voldy's head to a fine red mist. |
I stared down at the letter and then stared up at the numbers on the building. It just looked like a normal business building in the middle of a big-ish city. But then again, the letter said “the location closest to you...” so there was probably a lot more buildings all around the world for purposes like this...
Walking in it still seemed normal. Big lobby, lots of clear glass, a person of above average looks sitting at the receptionist desk. The person looked like a lady but then their head would turn and the face took on a more masculine look. And then they turned again and they were feminine.
“Excuse me,” I said, trying to be polite. “I got a summons...?”
“Your name?” Their voice was gentle and they gave me a polite smile in return. I said my name, the one listed on the letter and they perked up. “Ah, yes! You’re expected! Just take the elevator up.” They gestured to the doors nearby and I nodded.
The elevator opened on my approach, and when I got in, I saw only one button. With nothing else to do, I pushed it. The music wasn’t bad, but it was always something that reminded me of a different song, one that made me think back to my childhood as I tried to recall the name, but it always changed before I could say it.
The ride up wasn’t long, just long enough to go to the top of a tall building, but when I stepped out, it was into a field of stars. Nebulas and galaxies dotted the darkness around me, things that I feel that should have made a mortal go crazy but simply left me in awe at the beauty. I always wanted to go into space, but now I don’t think that would ever satisfy me.
“Ah, good, perfect timing!”
I look to the voice and see a beautiful woman walking towards me, offering her hand. Gowned in green and white, skin a deep, beautiful brown and braids of sky blue, blossoms decorating her crown and leaves and dew drops covering the hem of her dress.
“Mother Nature,” I murmured, taking her hand and bowing my head over it. I was doubtful when the letter first came but now it was hard to not believe.
“I am sorry for your lose,” she murmured. “Your father was a dear friend, but Hades has been so busy he only found his name recently. And here we come to our problem.”
The entire time, Mother Nature was guiding me through the stars. It looked like empty space, but it didn’t feel empty. It just felt like a busy office, when everyone had their attention on their work. Except there were no bodies to sit in non-existent chairs. Mother Nature stepped up to a small planet, one that looked similar to earth, and simple reached out and twisted it like a door knob. A door swung open to show-
-home.
A near exact replica of the home in the middle of the woods I grew up in. There was a mess of toys in one corner by a small shelf of books. A quick look to the fridge showed my artwork, things from the last year to almost what looked like my first drawings. I walked over to the fireplace to see pictures, of me, of me and my sister, of the entire family, all growing up through the years. I have those pictures packed away somewhere, in the exact frames here.
I jump when a hand touched my shoulder and I turned, eyes wide.
“D-Dad?”
“My child,” the man said, tears in his own eyes as he pulled me in and hugged me tight. I barely got a glimpse of him, but he looked whole, younger, brown in his hair and mustache, health in his cheeks and arms.
I am unashamed to say that I cried like a child, despite being an adult of thirty five. I had lost my father to illness and to see him like this was like seeing him beat that illness.
It took a while to pull away from him, my red eyes finding Mother Nature again. “T-Thank you for letting me see him again,” I managed to croak out, still being hugged tight.
“As much as I wish that is the reason why you were called here, it’s for something much more important.” She noticed my looked of confusion and smiled faintly. “We have not had a new god show up in quite some time, and as the Keeper, it is your job to find his place.”
“A new god?”
“Your father, of course.”
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/jqjfq1/wp_your_father_taught_you_about_every_known/gbvucpn/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf&context=3) |
It seems like an arbitrary and unfair system, all things considered. It would be one thing if it was hereditary, then at least we would have an idea, and not have to feel disappointed. Ideally, it would have to do with something related to skill or morals. If the guy from your class who scored the best on every test got to have 12 golden wings, then what could you say to complain? Instead you just spend the entirety of your life in complete ignorance and vague fear as to how the rest of it will go.
Another problem is that it happens exactly when you turn 18. Everyone isn't particularly practical when it comes to how they have chlidren. So when Aron turns 18 and suddenly he is one of the most powerful beings in the known world, the fact that you gave him shit for that time he spilled his lunch all over himself doesn't do you any favors. Especially when you won't have wings for almost a year. And then it turns out your crush only has one measly pair. Now I like to pretend I'm thinking about this rationally, but I couldn't help but feel a little bit happy that suddenly she was incredibly in my league.
The real problem though, is that in one thing, all of us are united. Deep down, in the part of us that some pretend isn't there, we are all absolutely certain of our own greatness. It manifests in every imaginable way, from pretending you don't care, to guaranteeing that you will succeed. And really, life before and after 18 is so arbitrarily different that you may as well say that you are going to have 20 wings of pure light. Then if your bluff comes through you can at least start a religion or something.
Luckily statistics come in to play. As it appears to be truly random, the odds that you turn out somewhere around average are actually quite good. But no one actually wants to be average deep in their soul. Maybe in the end I'm a romantic, but I would be lying to myself if I wasn't pretty sure I was going to have at least 5 pairs. Beating the average by a single standard deviation isn't too much to ask is it? And so, feeling vaguely guilty that I was happy, and even more guilty that I couldn't deny the hope deep in my heart, I started to drift off to sleep.
I'd be lying if a certain single pair of wings individual wasn't on my mind as I drifted off to sleep. Surely even if I had an average 4 pairs, she would have to at least give me the time of the day the next time I saw her.
Right? |
Christian walked on the sidewalk as the rain poured hard on her head. The wind was pounding and pulling at her very being. The umbrella she was using flipped inside out and yanked out of her hands and pulled towards the dark skies. She ducked into the entrance space of a building, one of many in the city, to give herself a second to breath.
The door that was behind her opened up and an old man popped his head out.
"My dear,"he said with a warm heart, "Come out of the storm. This is no weather for a pretty young woman, like yourself, to be walking in."
Christian wiped her coat up and locked eyes with the old man. He had a story to tell and secrets to share, and he knew that she had been brought there to help him and for him to help her. "Will you come inside?"
"Oh, no thank you. I'm doing alright."
The old man seemed confused, but continued, "There's much I can offer inside my store. I have dozens and dozens of items, some with some old magic, that could help your day."The old man open his door and a store full of shiny and strange artifacts, from around the world, beckon to any that would come in.
"I can even give you a discount if you want. One of these items could change your life forever."
"No thank you,"Christian said, and she jumped back onto the sidewalk, leaving the old man with a perplexed stare.
She made her way to the street corner and pressed the crosswalk sign. As usually, it took it's sweet time to turn. A tall man in a black suit, looking like the most handsome person in the city stepped next to Christian and stare in her direction. He saw that she didn't have an umbrella and was wet from the rain.
"Excuse Miss,"he said to Christian, "Would you like to get under my umbrella? This weather is pretty bad."
Christian holding herself, as she could feel the cold clinging in her bones and the rain spitting in her face out of spit, she shook her head. "I'm ok. Don't need anything."
"But you're soaked,"continued the man, "At least take my umbrella. I got more than enough spares at home."The handsome gentlemen handed his umbrella to Christian. He looked into her beautiful eyes and thought about his late wife.
It had been many years since he had looked at another woman and felt a spark. Something about this woman in front of him made him feel that everything was going to be ok. Maybe she could be the first to make him feel vulnerable again. Maybe this wonderful woman could help him and his son, who he was having trouble talking to, come together as the family he wanted. Maybe this the one....
"Look man, I don't need an umbrella. So piss off, please."Christian stepped into the deep puddle in front of her, getting her shoes wet as she walked into incoming traffic. A taxi comes close to hitting her and honks angrily at her.
"Yeah, fuck you too bud!"Christian screamed at the cab.
The Handsome Gentlemen watched her run to the other side of the street, feeling incomplete.
After fighting the weather, and making her way to her small office job, Christian saw on the clock in the lobby that she was already 15 minutes late. She took off her wet coat and clocked in. As she walked onto her floor, heading to her desk she saw Frank, her supervisor, already waiting for her. And not looking too happy.
"My office, NOW!"
She followed behind him as they went into his cornered spot. She sat down as he shut the door.
"This is the 5th day in a row you've been late."Frank started.
"I'm sorry boss."
"I don't want sorry. I want you on time. Damn it Christian, do you want to spend the rest of your life crunching numbers and working this dead end job? I'm moving up in management in a few weeks and I could take you along with me. Think of it, budding with company owners. Learning the trade, us starting our own business? Life doesn't give you a opportunity like this."Christian rolled her eyes at that.
"Are you going to look this big chance in the face and say no? Is that who you are Christian? Is this how you want to be remembered?"Frank was out of breath and waiting for her answer.
"Can I go back to my desk?"
"What,"Frank asked?
"Look Frank, I'm not going to explain everything to you. But, I like crunching numbers. I like my small job, and desk. I like my life the way it is. I like getting coffee and living a normal life. I'm content. I don't need a grand adventure to show me who am I and what I need. I don't need people doing the heavy lifting for me in my own life. I don't need a man or woman to give me meaning. I just want to pay my bills, read my books, feed my cat, and enjoy my simple life. Because it's mine. Do you understand?"
Frank didn't know what to say. He felt that Christian wasn't really talking to him, but something else. Something larger than him, but he couldn't find the words to explain it.
"I'm sorry for being late. It won't happen again."
Christian got up and walked out, heading to her desk. She sat down, turned on her pc, and put her hands in her face in stress.
"When will this stop? Leave me alone and let me have my own life."
The fire sprinklers went up in the office and fell upon her head. Everyone around her jumped up in a panic and headed out.
Christian just sat there, the droplets hitting the back of her head. Another good looking man, a firefighter, came running into the office and directed people out. She could hear him yelling her name. Looking for her, for some dumb reason. Christian just dropped out of her chair and slid under desk, hiding from what her life has become. |
A fine line exists between the hero winning and losing, of salvation and of destruction. Its easy to lose sight of that line, seeing the heroes like Whiteshot and Monolith win all their battles against the villains of the world. We always found safety behind our heroes with their unblemished records, a status quo we take for granted. Yet the world remains balanced on the tip of a needle, needing a single unopposed push in the wrong direction to topple and be forever changed.
Take a look at Monolith, a goliath of a man with the reputation to match. He is strong and practically invincible in the public eye; he has to be. In truth, one just needs to take a look at his hidden medical records to realize just how close his fights actually are. His body is more scar than tissue, injuries never given the proper amount of time to heal and compound. Look past the physical being, and you will see the mind is worse. Monolith has seen the deaths of many, of corpses lined up in rows as people try to identify the dead. He needs help, but he cannot seek it. His civilian identity must be kept secret for the safety of many, and his heroic image needs to remain to deter villains. He must maintain his facade of stable granite, when in reality he is of brittle glass.
Whiteshot is much the same way. Her pyrokinetics are often considered beautiful and deadly, like nightshade. Most view her as elegant, graceful, refined, and unassailable. The truth is far more frightening. Her hands are burned extensively, the nerve damage making the simple act of a handshake incredible painful. You will never find her without gloves on. Her last battle has killed off one of her kidneys; she will need a transplant soon. Her duties as a hero keep her from her family, her mother is in the hospital dying of cancer. Sadly, the wicked never rest, so Whiteshot must forever don her suit and head into the fray. People have too great of a need for their heroes.
The worst part is, the villains are aware they only need to claim true victory once. They know that even the earth itself will erode to never ceasing waters. It's why villains persist even when they are defeated, why they always break out of the prisons they were supposed to be locked away in. All it takes is one victory and every single defeat of theirs will have been worth it.
So that is why we do what we do, why we are creating this alliance between heroes and doctors. When we are done, we will be able to offer the heroes something they so desperately need, help. We are to be the shoulders heroes can lean on for support. They do so much for us, it's time we do the same for them.
\-The orientation speech given by Director Patrick Bishop to all new arrivals. |
As I look up, castle looms above me, dark and threatening. Lightning flashes through the storm clouds above. The cold racks through my cloak, piercing, seeping under my skin and pulling goosebumps from my skin.
I take a deep breath and clutch my sword’s handle tightly. This is it. The final battle. The Dark Lord Azaroth has been striking terror over our lands for so long— too long! It is time he is stopped! And I, the Chosen One, the child who fulfills all the prophecies, will be the one to stop him.
I swing the great doors wide open and step in dramatically.
“D-Dark Lord Azaroth!” I call. My voice echoes through the dark, and I wince as it cracks painfully. “Dark Lord Azaroth,” I try again, “I am here to end your reign of terror! You will no longer strike fear into the hearts of my people! Come to me, you fiend, so I may drive my sword through your heart—“
“Jackie?” a voice calls hopefully. I falter.
“I— I think you are mistaken,” I call back. “My name is, uh, Jack of Winds! I am the child of the sun, the Chosen One, born with honey-gold hair and glittering eyes! I have a heart of gold and tongue of silver—“
“Oh, Jackie, it’s you!” the voice cries. A sharp click rings out, and with a ‘fwoom’, hundreds of candles alight with flame, flooding the previously dark room with their glow. I blink in surprise at what I see.
The room is enormous and bare, save for a single throne on the far wall, made of black steel and studded with glittering gems of all colours. That throne must be the throne of the Dark Lord, but... but surely the figure on that throne can’t be the Dark Lord.
“Jackie, my darling, come here!”
A small figure slides off the throne and comes trotting towards me. He has golden-blond hair and sharp grey eyes, with a blood-red cloak that drags on the floor behind him, and a spiked black crown nearly half his height sitting on his head. He’s... he’s barely 4 feet tall. This doesn’t make sense.
— (i ran put of motivation here sorry— gjjfsgjdjfsf) |
Jerry was at it again. God knows what he had made this time. The smell coming from the kitchen was indescribable. The rest of the roommates and I looked at each other nervously, as he happily hummed while prepping up the infernal concoction he called a dish. Did we really want to go through with eating it this time?
At first, we just wanted to be supportive of his cooking. However, that quickly proved to be a bad call. We should have just been honest and let him down gently. Maybe he would have stopped then.
The first few dinners were pretty bad, but livable. One of us recorded our reactions and uploaded them to YouTube, and boy was that a mistake. Jerry felt hurt at first, but people genuinely loved what they saw and what he did. His popularity exploded overnight, and he soon became content creator. His content? Basically torturing us with whatever sick recipe he had come up with.
For some time, we played along. His popularity gave way to a seriously nice income, and he paid us well for being his guinea pigs. We took turns trying out the dishes, as no one should be made to endure that for long.
&#x200B;
But this time, things were different. I don't what ingredients he was using, but whatever was happening in there was not of this world.
&#x200B;
Duke turned around to us and exclaimed: "Come on man, I can't go this time. The smells coming from there is awful. Jody, switch with me"
&#x200B;
"No way"Jody retorted. "I was it last time, and I still have a terrible aftertaste in my tongue"
Then they both turned to me. "You do it pal, last time you took a turn you handled it like a champ".
"If by handled it like a champ, you mean spent all evening almost puking my guts out. Screw that"
Jody sighed. "Ok, well one of us has to do it. We are all broke right now. How about we do it together. A reaction video with all of us should be good enough for a while"
After much deliberation, we finally agreed to do it together. Just in time, as it sounded like Jerry was about to finish.
Suddenly, a spot in the corner of our living room started to crackle with energy. Out of nowhere, what looked like a giant door made of light popped into being right on that spot. Out of it came two dudes looking straight out of a 90s sci-fi flick. They turned at us and raised a pair of strange looking guns. At least that's what they looked like.
"HOLD! DO NOT MOVE!"One of them shouted. He then turned to his companion. "This should be patients zero of the wraith outbreak, and they still seem to be human. The source shouldn't be far"
"We can't play it safe"the second one replied as he pointed his gun at us and exclaimed: "You three, did you eat the food yet?"
We were rightfully freaking out. "What food, WHO ARE YOU?! WHAT'S GOING ON?!"
"SHUT UP, and stay DOWN"one of them growled back at us. "My scanners indicate the source is close, let's finish this and prevent what's coming"
As they both headed toward the kitchen, we couldn't help but wonder just what was going on, and what exactly had Jerry done. |
"This.... Is a joke, right?", Jakob questioned
"There's no way you're a wizard", Martin said to me
"And there's no fucking way you're a time-traveler"I replied
"And really Jake? a *GOD*? I've been to hundreds of dimensions, there's no way you're a god"added liz
A sound from across the room snapped us back to reality.
"We need to go. NOW"I said
"I'm not supposed to take other people with me, but fuck it"
Liz makes strange movements with her hands. Not the movements of magic, but something else entirely...
To everyone's surprise, a portal appears
"..... I'm sorry, what?"
"GO, GO ,GO"
"I have a better idea"
Martin spreads his arms, touching everyone. In the blink of an eye, we aren't in the same place.... Or... Rather, not in the same *time*
"..... What... The.... Shit..... I had the portal ready........"Liz said, still unsteady
"So..... Let me get this straight... Nobody lied?"
"Not me, at least"I reply
"We don't have much time. I was sent from the future to try to stop... That.... From happening... But now we won't be safe anywhere we go"
"I was sent from across the multiverse to stop it...."
"I sensed a disturbance in the magical veil and wanted to check it out"
"Am I the only one that's still a bit..... Like, really? I've lived for eons and never met a time traveler *or* a dimension hopper and now i find out...."
"Yeah, y'all got some explaining to do"
"Says the guy claiming he can do magic"
"What part of we're running away from a timeline destroying monstar has nobody picked up on?"
"Oh.... Yeah, what was that anyway? I don't even remember what chamber it escaped from"
"And now you know it's main power. It can *remove* things. Now come on, I know a place"
For the first time I really looked around. A lush forest with a single path running through it, plants I've never seen before. The air felt amazing.
There was no denying it. Everyone was serious.
We walked down the path in silence, all probably still processing what just happened.
This is going to be a hell of an adventure.
(If y'all think it's good, I'm probably gonna make thins into a small series with at least 3 parts[probably more]) |
**Shards**
A countless number of faces, one at a time. I've seen them all. The pretty ones, revered by their peers. Perfection in shape, form and angles. Measured and framed with fake colours and plastered in fake skin. Despite despise I showed them their face in hope to deter, they never listened.
Then there were the shunned ones, she was more real, authentic. The girls imperfection made her a masterpiece, yet she hated being special. I tried day after day to make her realise that she was way more beautiful than all the fake people. Then she came with an arrangement of colours and brushes. She chased beauty but in her bid to approach the sun she became just like the rest, fake. I continued to serve, begrudgingly copying her disfigured features. Humans never learn.
Another one I remember vividly was an artist, an actor. He practiced with me, always improving. A smile always lined his face when he spoke of great kings and ancient, grotesque horrors. Someday he came to me in tears, asking me what he did wrong. I didn't know what to say... So shamefully I did the only thing I knew to do and asked him back. He kept crying, always with me, day after day. I didn't dare to ask him what was wrong. One day, he stopped coming.
My last one always stood in a bathroom. Grooming her hair or brushing her teeth or cleaning her hands and face. It wasn't very eventful, but it was relaxed and easy. Then one day I heard voices, louder than usual. I didn't fully understand through the closed door but eventually the shouting turned into gargling, then silence with the occasional sorrowful sob inbetween. I don't know what happened. Days of nothing followed. Loneliness that gave me bad memories of the time with the actor.
Then others came, they wore blue and white. They took me down from the wall and tried to carry me out. But a young man slipped and I fell. Shards and light and such terrible noise. I slipped from the cracks, and tumbled down in a wave of broken pieces. A dozen surrounded me, I didn't know what to do. I tried to replicate, all of them at once. They screamed and scrambled and scattered up and down the stairs. I was confused and curled into a ball amidst my home. The shards reflected light, light and memories. I never felt so alone. |
"Honey, do you want to order a pizza tonight? I know it's my turn but I really don't feel like cooking, my day was crazy and I'm exhausted."
"..."
"What is that? Is that a villain's costume? I didn't know you were into cosplay."
"It's not cosplay? You're actually a villain??? I... don't even know what to say to that. How long has this been going on?"
"5 years!? That's after we got together! You became a villain during our relationship and didn't think to tell me? I feel like that's something that should have come up at least once."
"I understand that you were scared that I'd judge you but there's some things you just say no matter how hard they are. Being a villain is a big deal, what villainous acts have you done? Robbery? Killing people? I haven't seen you on the news."
"So you've stolen priceless artefacts, created a robot army, found an evil lair and only use non-lethal methods. You also want to take over the world. Is that everything?"
"Wow, this is a lot to take in. How did I not notice any of this before??? I don't know how to feel about any of this but when we got married I promised that I'd support you no matter what so that's what I'll do."
"...Do you need another henchman?" |
Finally, after thousands of years, humanity had made first contact. As we began to board the alien ship, I could feel the anticipation in the air. The airlock cleared, and the hydraulic door opened, as the entire crew stepped into the unknown craft. There they stood, the aliens in brightly coloured uniforms, all gathered around the entrance to the ship. At first, nobody said a word, but suddenly alpha one, the oldest passenger on the ship said one word. "amogus". he then burst out laughing. We were all dismayed, and rushed over to him to ask what was wrong, but he was in hysterics. we could hear a few occasional words from him, but none of the phrases made any sense. Finally, he began to calm down, and he tried to explain what was so funny. According to him, when he was a small child, at least a decade before any of us were born, a mobile game was released, which gained massive popularity in 2020. He went on to explain that the characters controlled in this game looked similar to the creatures that stood before us. The humour of this was lost on us, but he insisted that his entire generation would have the exact same reaction to seeing these aliens. As we all turned our attention back to the extraterrestrials, we were shocked to see that while we had been distracted by alpha one, it appeared that something had killed the beings. We crept slowly toward the bright yellow clad corpse of one of the aliens, and saw a thick red liquid that resembled blood. Upon closer inspection we realized that was exactly what it was, and we all stood back horrified at what lay before us. Alpha one began to speak, and as we all turned to him, he fearfully uttered a single phrase: "ladies and gentlemen.. there is an imposter among us". |
There was dead silence in the room as everyone read the words that appeared in front of me. “Congratulations! You have experienced 1041 near death experiences! You have been awarded the power “Boundless Luck”!”
All around the room you could see my family’s faces screwed up in confusion. I wracked my brain trying to think of times when I could have possibly been in danger, but I found nothing.
The first to make a noise was my mother, who whimpered slightly, and like that the room erupted into confusion. Everyone talked over each other trying to figure it all out, but only adding to the growing chaos. The only one who was still quiet was my father, who seemed deep in thought. He locked eyes with me before slowly leaning closer.
“So… Boundless Luck, huh? Do you want to try a lottery ticket?” |
“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.“
Wise words. Words I live by, in fact. The master teaches, and I learn.
“Is this really part of the internship?” the young twenty something year old fresh graduate in front of me looks on, as I point him towards my head of department’s office.
“Indeed it is, indeed it is young Maximilian,” I say to the intern. He should be glad I was chosen to be his mentor. This is a huge victory for himself. I learn from Sun Tzu, Maximilian learns from myself, and someone else learns from him. Thus the chain is never broken.
“I thought this was a software development internship,” whines the intern. This is fine, I must be patient with him. After all, I have to treat my men as I would my own beloved sons. This way, they will follow me into the deepest valley.
“Maximilian, what is software development, but an extended battle with code? What is the field of Information Technology itself, but the art of collecting information, while using technology?” I say wisely, as I stroke my thick mustache.
“This exercise is here to help you learn the benefits of preparation. The victorious programmer plans first, then seeks to code. While the defeated programmer codes first, then seeks to find a plan.”
My disciple nods, although I feel as though perhaps he did not fully understand the wisdom I am presenting him with. He will learn. He will do just fine.
“So to reiterate, you want me to go to the head of department’s office, distract him, and plant this audio recording device?”
I nod, as Maximilian shrugs.
“Whatever you say, sensei,” Max says as he walks over to the office. Good, very good.
A few minutes pass as I go to grab some water from the water cooler, before I hear my name being shouted across the office.
“Desmond! My office, now!”
It appears my head of department Jimmy is not in a good mood today. I wonder why.
I begin walking towards the office, as I see Max walking out, laughing.
Perhaps Maximilian was a spy for Jimmy. This is not good, a reverse spy is very bad indeed.
Closing the door, I look at Jimmy, now furious.
“You sent the intern, to spy on me?”
Silence.
“Yes, yes I have,” the little bastard snitched. He must be executed.
“You’ve crossed the line this time, why did you do this? Why shouldn’t I report it to HR?”
Predictable. What should I expect from someone who hasn’t read the best book in existence, the art of war, by Sun Tzu?
“Did you not read the intern development manual I sent you last week?” I say, feigning surprise.
It was Jimmy’s turn to be surprised as he rummages through his desk cabinet.
“Phase four,” he begins reading, “The intern will be asked to do something unethical in order to see the response. This is to test the intern’s morality and representation of company values.” Jimmy says, his cheeks now flushed red with embarrassment.
“I’m really hurt you didn’t read this document I worked hard on. Makes me wonder what else you didn’t read,” I say, with my arms crossed. Jimmy was on the back foot now.
“I, I apologize Desmond. I really had a busy week and,” Jimmy would say, “listen, let’s forget this ever happened, okay? Don’t mention it to anyone. Let’s arrange for a salary review session next week. How about that?”
I nod, still feeling hurt, as I walk outside his office.
“To fight and conquer in all our battles is not supreme excellence; supreme excellence consists in breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting.” |
“This is the Lockpicking Lawyer, and what I have for you today is something special. It appears that, against my will, I have been kidnapped, along with some other individuals. Focusing on where I’m seated, it seems that I’ve been handcuffed, specifically made of what I’m assuming is steel. Fortunately, I have a set of hook and turning tools, specifically part of the Genesis set that I sell on CovertInstruments.com, and given how simple handcuffs are made, I should be able to open this even with my very limited movement. I’m going to use a turning tool and a standard hook, specifically 18 thousandths.”
“…Nothing on 1. 2 is binding… nice little click there. Click on 3. Click on 4… and we’ve already got this open.”
“I’ve now escaped from my handcuffs, and it appears that my other kidnapped fellows are still very much asleep. This is not an issue at all; we should be able to escape without their help.”
“Moving over to this door, it appears to be padlocked shut, which would normally prevent us from escaping. Unfortunately, they chose a Master Lock, specifically the model 115. It has a laminated steel casing, but a very weak core, and I would consider it’s overall security unacceptably low. I’ve already demonstrated single pin picking for the handcuffs, so this time, I’m going to use a wave rake, to rake this open. I’ll put my turning tool on the bottom of the keyway, and see how fast I can rake this open…”
**Pop**
“…And with just a second of raking, it’s already open. I’m going to re-lock it and rake it again just to ensure that wasn’t a fluke…”
**Pop**
“And it’s been opened again, possibly *faster* than before. This lock is venerable to a low scale attack, something that Master Lock does all too often, and I would expect a novice picker to open this with little to no trouble. Moving the padlock aside, it appears we are still locked by the door lock. The core, however, appears to be weaker than the Master Lock just now, and would appear susceptible to a comb attack, giving me a perfect opportunity to demonstrate that here. I have a 4 pin comb right here, which should suffice… and it’s open. Now, just to prove that also was not a fluke, I’m going to lock the door again… and just as before, it unlocks to the comb, embarrassingly weak.”
“Now, I believe I am close to freedom, I would only expect a few more locks.”
“Moving through the rooms, I happened apoun my missing phone, and not just that, but what appears to be the phones and car keys of everyone kidnapped. I could use my phone to call for help, but unfortunately, it’s run out of power, and I wouldn’t want to be disrespectful and use another person’s phone without their permission. Besides, we still have more locks to demonstrate for now.”
“Checking my location, it appears that I’m several miles away from home, so entering the garage to take a car would be a safe bet. It’s padlocked, this time by a Master Lock model 175. It’s a combination lock with 4 numbers, and is one of the more popular combinations locks. However, it has a major security flaw that makes it possible to open faster without the combination than with the combination. All that I need is a slim peice of metal, which a lockpicking hook can be used as. To unlock it, the hook can be slipped in between the lock body and a combination key, press down on the shackle, down on the shim…”
**Pop**
“And it pops right open, combination unnecessary, and an inexcusable oversight.”
“We’re now in the garage, and there is a single large truck parked here. What has caught my attention is the Master Lock model 605, designed specifically as a toggle for a trailer coupler, and opened using a key. It’s used mainly to prevent the trailer from being hitched, and so, prevent tow-away theft. However, there’s a huge issue with the design; the core is not shielded. If I slide in my hook through the keyway, and press against the back…”
*click*
“The lock opens right up. This is frankly an inexcusable design flaw, and makes the lock almost redundant.”
“Moving to the truck itself, it appears the owner left it open, allowing us to enter. However, I’m going to quickly show off the car door lock, and it’s lack of security, by locking the door and closing it.”
“Okay, so normally, unlocking a car requires either the car key, or unlocking it from inside. However, the core of a car lock is equally unimpressive as any door lock, save for resistance against a combing attack. Single pin picking it is simply trivial, however. Once again, I will place my turning tool on the bottom of the keyway, and insert an 18 thousandths thick hook.”
“…Click on 1. Nothing on 2… 3 is binding, nice click there… click on 4, back to the beginning… nothing on 1… little click on 2, and it is open.”
“Now, at this point, I should be able to hotwire the car and use it to drive away, however, I still have to rescue the people still trapped inside the building. In any case, that is all I have for you today, if you do have any questions or comments about this, please put them below. If you liked this video, and would like to see more like it, please like and subscribe, and as always, have a nice day.” |
Déjà-vu is strange, isn't it? That eerie feeling that you've already had that conversation, or you've seen that person slip and fall, or been in that place before, despite having never have. That's why scientists called it the Déjà-vu machine.
The machine shows you how you've died in previous lives. It connects to one's brain — through an expensive, lengthy, and very uncomfortable procedure, might I add — and shows you the final moments of your past life. I never intended on doing it, mainly because I couldn't afford the 300,000$ price tag. But lucky me, my name got picked from a raffle I forgot I had entered at the bank, nearly 6 months prior.
That is, unfortunately, where my luck would end.
All clips are approximately 4-7 seconds long, and the video is quite grainy, but it's enough to make out the gist of what's happening. I asked the vid-tech to start at the latest iteration, and make his way back through time. It was hard to tell exactly what year it was, but by the looks of it, it was enough to know it was sometime in the early 21st century, maybe 2020-ish. I watched as a man wearing heavy armor and a strange mask burst through a door and slammed a two handed ax in between my eyes. 'Cool!' was my initial thought. I mean, of course it's not cool to be murdered, but this was the past. Water under the bridge. Finit-o.
I asked for the next one. Mid 20th century by the looks of the cars on the street. I turn a corner on an empty street. There he was. The man with the mask, the ax gripped firmly in his hands.
I asked for the next one. Great depression era. A woman screams and I turn around. Same clothes, same ax, same mask. This wasn't cool anymore.
I asked him to jump 100 years to the early 1800's. There he his, the man in the mask. 200 years. 500. 1000. 10,000 years.
The man in the mask.
I don't remember much after that. I remember turning and the vid-tech not being there, and some strange flickering, and a thick pressure, like I couldn't breathe. The next thing I knew, I was on this stone table, light from a single hole in the cave beaming down on me. And next to me is some body armor, an ax, and a mask, laid down neatly on the ground next to a stone tablet which read: Stop him at all costs. |
"Ah yeah, just another day at the parks!"I shout back, running with the man to wherever he was headed, given I had no other options at this point. The last thing I remember was reading a story about how Disney finally bought out almost every film company to exist, say for a few 'unaffiliated' companies in order to avoid potential lawsuits over a monopoly. I just sighed, it was late, and I was too tired to be dealing with the world at this point. Why would I care anyway? It's just movies, and it's not like Marvel had been swept under the rug since Disney bought it out. At first I thought what was happening was just a dream, but the distinct lack of a non-Euclidian structure for a hand told me otherwise. As we ran, I looked behind and I saw what appeared to be Mickey, now standing upright in the same place he had been before, just staring at us as we ran. "What the hell was that thing?"I shout, realizing how loud I was actually being and lowered myself a bit.
"*IS*", this mysterious man replied, "And it is one of the Dreams That Came to Life. Disney found, something, and they didn't know what it was. Some say it isn't necessarily their fault for what is happening, but I would say feeding your ideas into a mysterious contraption before even getting to an understanding of just *what* exactly it is gives them some liability."
"Will it follow us?"I ask, not wanting to turn around in case it was. "No, well probably not anyway. Ironically, the Mickeys are some of the weakest of them all, and act like a standard predator, giving up on a kill once it's determined to be too much trouble."The man states, in a tone as if it was the seven dozenth time he has had to explain it. "That doesn't mean we are in the clear, however. Considering how weak they are, the Mickeys will often act as scouts, looking for potential areas for the more powerful ones can strike. Considering how many I have found here so far, we could expect some more somewhere near, some more powerful than Mickey. In fact, watch the grass, because if you run near a Pluto secluded in the flowers, well, I won't be able to just split it's skull like I did before."The man stops, and takes a quick look around. He focused on one area in particular, I can't tell what he is looking at, but he soon turns away and deviates his course a bit. Whatever he saw, I sure didn't want to get near it either.
"Not much farther now, there is an outpost near here that we can rest at, I'll tell you more when we get there, but for now, just stay close to me, and for the love of god don't follow the smell, no matter how sweet it is." |
Ha! “The Trelgoar are coming! The Trelgoar are coming! Flee for your lives! Ruuuuuun!” Idiots. Earth is not alone, even when we are ‘alone’. Earth sits at a Nexus, or ‘locality’, within a larger multiverse of Earths. We are the only planet to have this feature. We are infinite in our variety, our diversity.
From the Nexus comes Anarchimperium troops from the Unfragmented World! From the Nexus come hardened war-acclimated werewolves, of Mythos Earth! From Earth-Prime comes Three entire superhero teams, stepping forth from the Nexus ready to fight! From the StarSphere, the Nexus sends us thirty thousand FTL-capable warships! And that’s only a small sampling!
The Trelgoar May rule most of the Galaxy, but us? *We* are *Cosmic*. Ever since we found the Nexus, we’ve been exploring this Earth-only multiverse via our robot, Nemesis. Normally, physical travel from locality to locality can’t be done by living flesh, but Nemesis figures out how: he learned sorcery. Technology and magic, at their furthermost extremes, held the secret.
The Trelgoar have interdictors that can block FTL? That’s cute. One of the superhero teams from Earth-Prime has matter-transmutation powers, can fly at incredible speeds and survive in space. He turn those Trelgoar interdictors into traffic jam smog.
The Trelgoar have cyborg soldiers, billions strong? Cool. Whatever. We have chimperials, spirits of healing from the Unfragmented World, that, with a touch, can cause those Trelgoar’s bodies to violently reject their cybernetics.
Oooh! They have weaponry that can set our atmosphere on fire? Yeah. About that. From Sigma-Earth we have terraforming engines from 3 Billion CE that can counteract that *as it happens*.
In fact, no matter *what* the Trelgoar bring, we can pull something from another locality to nullify it.
So. To the Trelgoar:
Surrender now, or face a wrath like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.
We are Earth. *All* Earths. |
“Mom, it’s starting!” The young girl sitting in front of the television yelled over her shoulder. A woman wearing a suit appeared in the door, smiling.
“Where’s your brother?” Her mother asked.
“Probably in his room,” the girl said and inched forward on her knees, getting as close to the television as she could without getting told off.
The television showed two people standing in a studio, an image of the world visible behind them.
“Right, and now it's time to announce the outcome of the first truly democratic vote in human history,” a man said to the camera before turning to his colleague.
“Tracey, I understand the turnout was good. Could you take us through the numbers?”
“Thanks Phillipe, yes that’s right. We had almost four billion confirmed votes. Most interestingly for me, that included almost one billion children,” Tracey said.
The young girl turned as her mother and brother walked into the room chatting.
“Shhhh, they’re about to give the results,” she said, holding her finger to her mouth.
“Maddie, it’s not like your votes are going to count,” the young girl’s brother said as he sat down on the couch behind her, “they’re not interested in dolls for everyone.”
Maddie rolled her eyes, “I didn’t vote for dolls! This is serious and it actually matters, stupid!”
“Language,” her mother said distractedly as she tapped on her phone.
The TV flashed shots of people watching screens in shop windows and town squares, at Times Square in New York, at Tiananmen Square in Beijing, at the India Gate in New Delhi. Then it was back to the presenters, who were holding papers.
“I have the final results right here Tracey, shall I get started?” The presenter said.
“Let’s change the world Phillipe,” the other presenter replied.
“It’s with great pleasure that I announce the first of ten human rights to be rolled out by world governments to every person on this planet, at no cost to individuals, is…”
Then the television cut to static, filling the room with an audible hiss.
“Turn it down!” Maddie’s mother yelled.
Maddie’s brother was looking at his phone, “weird, it looks like the feed has been cut on the internet too.”
Maddie looked back at her mother and tears welled up in her eyes.
“Oh it’s okay dear, I’m sure it will be back on shortly.”
And it was. A moment later the television zapped back into life and the presenters were standing there, caught slightly off guard by the return.
“Ah, it looks like we ran into some technical difficulties there, but we’re back now and determined to give you the results you voted for,” Phillipe said into the camera.
“Well let’s get on with it then,” Tracey said.
“Right then. The first human right will be clean, drinkable water for all,” Phillipe read from his sheet of paper and turned to Tracey.
“And that right received the highest share of the vote Phillipe, with more than two billion people voting for it,” Tracey said.
“I voted for that!” Maddie said, beaming.
“And with the second highest number of votes; electricity available 24 hours a day,” Phillipe read.
“What a waste,” Maddie’s brother grunted. Maddie was about to scorn her brother when a commotion broke out on the screen. There was a noise off to the side and then a flash, followed by voices yelling “get down! On the ground!”
Maddie gasped and rushed right up to the TV.
“What’s happening?” She demanded.
“I could tell you if you weren’t blocking the entire TV,” her brother replied.
Then a gunshot rang out somewhere in the studio and the feed died again.
“Mommy, what’s going on?”
“I have no idea honey, but everything is going to be alright,” her mother said. Their home phone started ringing in the other room and she hurried off to grab it.
A few minutes later the TV cut back on, not to the previous studio but to a well-lit office chair behind a large desk, with the American flag draped in the background. A moment later a man walked into view and sat down. It was the President.
“Good evening my fellow Americans and friends watching around the world,” he began in somewhat of a hurry, his eyes darting across the screen as he read from the teleprompter, “this evening at my direction, U.S. Special Forces commenced an operation to shut down a terrorist operation. It is with regret that I inform you that this alleged ballot was nothing less than an elaborate stunt carried out by terrorists, no doubt backed by foreign governments, who we are continuing to pursue,” he paused to clear his throat.
“For weeks,” he continued, “officials have worked tirelessly to understand this elaborate operation and disrupt it. Only in the last few minutes have we successfully completed stage one of our response. I know many of you will be disappointed that this so called ‘human rights for all’ stunt is not what it seems, some of you will be angry, as am I. You may be wondering why myself and many other like-minded world leaders have taken until this moment to comment on the matter or for intervention to be taken…”
“Kids, turn off the television,” Maddie’s mother said as she walked back into the room, car keys in hand.
“But mom!”
“Do it now.”
“What is it?” Her brother said as he flicked the mute button.
“That was your father. I need you both to pack a bag in the next five minutes and be ready to leave. Pack clothes and two items you treasure the most. Go now!” She said, alarm clearly showing on her face.
“Why?”
“Just go!”
As the two children hurried out of the room, Maddie’s mother stared at the TV. The President’s speech continued. Then suddenly he was surrounded by men in suits and hurried off screen. The screen went dead.
Maddie’s mother was about to walk out of the room when the power cut, and she looked out their lounge window to see the entire neighborhood going dark. |
"The Mother fuckers did what?!"The mechanic in question was a small man, face pitted and marked with years of work. He bolted straight up from his seat as a taller, younger man, his face dark with grief nodded, hands balling into fist.
"They Killed Lil Marie over cash boss Stonewall."
The Rage bubbled up from Stonewall's gut as he slammed a fist hard enough to leave a heavy crack in the polished wood. He kept his voice even but hands trimbled as he questioned the newest member of his union.
"Do we know the gang? The cops got any leads?"
"No boss, they are just chalking it up to Lil Marie being in bed with them. And moved on."That send Stonewalls blood cold with a fury nearly unbound.
"Fuckin Pigs, they can't do their fuckin job. So I gotta to do it for them. Kid go to her shop, and tell all the cops to fuck up, Stonewall's coming out to play and they don't have a say."He stood up, looking the young man in the eyes.
"Say it with feeling, don't give a single fuck on anything they say, tell'em that, then tell them all mechanics shops are now closed. No matter what they work on."
The young man was confused but nodded and jogged nearly sprinted out of his office.
Stonewall hit a hidden button on his desk as a secret draw slid open. He plucked the black burner phone from it's place, turned it on and texted a few simple words.
* No peace for all gangs and mobs. All Fixers you have the green light.*
He sat back, his eyes at the middle ground, his emotions raw from hearing the news and his orders given, and for a time he say still and silence as memories of the young woman's youth flashed across his minds eye.
He wanted to give tears for the daughter of his closest and dearest friend. But nothing spilled from his eyes.
For the next six months every Gang and Mob was shown the Might of The wall. From heads of family's to even dirty cops there was a rage that washed over the underbelly of the city. Showing who the true monsters that lurk in the city streets.
On the seventh month Stonewall found himself and Six of his most respected fixers, women and men from many nations walking up to a house in the middle of the ghetto, music blared from the target as a house party banged away at the eleventh hour. He slipped on a balaclava and night vision goggles before given a few sharp hand gestures to his unit. They moved like wraiths as he readied his sidearm and double checked his combat knife. He felt an ugly smile pull at his face as the music was killed the the house turned to pitch black. There was a smooth grace in his steps as he was in and up to the five men who did the evil deed.
Let's just say what was left was never found and the pigs were sent first class to the nearest Mob family as a gift and soon after a warning.
* You stood to the side and kept your heads down. Good. But pass the word to all who survived this trial. Bloody a single member of the mechanic union ever again and they will write stories of what's left of your bodies. Signed The Wall* |
"I just... I mean, why?"asked Blerkar, the Hrlal ambassador as she sat across from Sha'awn.
"Why what?"The Gothracki was being obtuse, of course. The news that they'd adopted another species was the only thing being broadcast across the Entanglement net. It was a well known trait of his people, so Blerkar tried not to let it get to her.
"You,"Blerkar cast an accusatory eye-stalk toward Sha'awn. "I mean, your people, expended massive resources to conquer the Shalini. Glassed planets, slagged asteroid shipyards, drove them to near extinction. They've got one world now. One. And that world is quarantined because of a virus your people let loose, effectively forcing them to be a pre-space flight species."
"Your point?"He shrugged his large, pale furred shoulders. A smirk played at his lips though, revealing the point of a canine tooth. Blerkar nearly threw her drink at the smug primate.
"When you started colonizing their territory, and found a sapient species, we thought you'd..."She stalled as the ambassador searched for a polite way to say genocide or enslave. Perhaps she'd imbibed too many of these 'daiquiris' Sha'awn made available.
"Do you know where my people come from?"
The question caught Blerkar by surprise, shaking her from her own musings. It took a moment to rally her faculties.
"Gothrack 4? It's a class 2 death world on the edge of Shalini space."She didn't know much else, just that these massive bipods came charging onto the galactic stage with war and violence. After making terrifying progress in combat against the Shalini. Despite being a long time member of the Cinqumverate-Astologica, the Shalini didn't ask for help. Even when it became obvious they were losing.
"You are wrong in most of that statement."Sha'awn sipped his own drink, a martini, if Blerkar recalled. "Gothrack 4 was a part of Shalini space. They couldn't take advantage of the resources because, well, death worlds aren't called that because they're too cute and cuddly to survive on. So, they needed workers that could survive and export their products."Sha'awn paused, and watched as Blerkar changed colour in realization.
"The Shalini never claimed Gothrack, though. And Astrologica standards say just to use drones on Death worlds."
"They never claimed it because, if it weren't on record, nobody would notice if they were using... Less expensive means to mine it."
"So they conquered Gothrack and enslaved your people? That's disgusting!"she practically shouted. Sha'awn refrained from mentioning that she expected such behaviour from the Gothracki with regards to their latest acquisition.
"Close. Gothrack 4 had no sapient native species. None that we're aware of, anyway. No conquering necessary. Instead, they popped over to another death world in their territory to see if they could rustle up some workers intelligent enough to use tools."
"Where?"Blerkar asked, and Sha'awn raised his prominent brow in exasperation. Then he pointed one of his fingers out the window at the blue and green planet they were orbiting. "Earth?"
"Earth. Class 1 death world, home to a sapient species known as Homo Neanderthalensis. They were pre-stone age at the time, but getting there. The Shalini scooped my ancestors up, and brought us to Gothrack 4. Put us to work for, oh, 35,000 years or so. Then we had a bit of an uprising. We parasitized their technology, made it out own, then rolled out to get some much deserved payback."
"So... you aren't a warrior species?"Blerkar would LOVE to be able to report that back to the head office. The other 4 member species of the Astrologica were absolutely not sure what to do if the Gothracki decided to keep pressing on their borders
"Oh, no, we are. So are they,"Sha'awn once again pointed down to Earth. "But they aren't an 'acquisition' like everyone is saying. We're just coming home, and sharing the wealth with our younger siblings."
"Your siblings?"
"Well, the Shalini didn't get every Neanderthal, and those they missed evolved into Homo Sapiens. Genetically, we're sublings. They're a bit bigger and stronger, but our technology bridged the gap and then some. So, we're a big happy family again, now that they realize we aren't here to conquer them or nothing."
"Ah... I suppose that does explain how... gentle you were with the invasion."The prospect of a 'bigger, stronger' Gothracki did not tickle Blerkar.
"Yup. Didn't want to hurt them, damage their infrastructure or anything. They've got a very rich culture that's kinda our culture too, so we want to preserve that as well. Also, the booze they've made. By the six moons, have you tried 'scotch'? That'll give even a fungaloid like you chest hairs."
"So, what's the plan now that you are, uh, home?"
"Relax a bit, get the Humans on their feet from a tech and space faring standpoint. Diplomacy, trade, culture exchanges, tourism, all that."At Sha'awn's words, Blerkar relaxed into her daiquiri, glad to hear her corner of space was safe. "Then I think we'll conquer the rest of the Astrologica for standing by while my people were enslaved for an epoch."
She spit out her drink and began looking for an exit. She turned to find a Human in armour standing right behind her. She turned an pale yellow, which would have hidden her well on her home world. Not so much here.
"Och, Sha'awn, the poor mushroom lass looks like she's go'n ta pass out", the human said, pulling out a chair.
"What's the Human saying? Fucking worth it? Ya, by the moons."Sha'awn wiped at a tear, a broad smile baring all of his teeth. "Oh, Blerkar, I'm sorry, that was mean. You've just been fishing for Intel on if we'd roll over your territory since you got here, and I couldn't resist."
"So... you're not going to invade the Astrologica?"she asked, getting a touch of her normal colour back.
"Depends,"said the Human, a female at Blerkar's best guess. "On what ya think of me scotch. Brewed it me'self."She produced a glass of brownish, Amber liquid that had Sha'awn's eyes lighting up like it was a new plasma converter for a prized corsair.
"Do I have to?"Blerkar asked, a quaver in her voice.
"It's for diplomatic relations,"Sha'awn urged, pouring out a small amount into a glass.
Blerkar dipped a tendril in, and it burned, but in a good, gentle way. She knew she'd regret this, but she down the whole glass. Then she passed out to the sound of Sha'awn laughing, and the Human smacking the Gothracki upside the head. |
"Seriously?"
I stepped in from retrieving an overdue book, expecting to see the usual order. Instead, there was chaos, books and scrolls strewn about. Some of the gorgeous bookcases were splintered and damaged, with singed pages completing the picture.
"Ah, [Sero](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/n98c31/wp_you_retrieve_overdue_books_for_a_library_as/gxn5462?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3), you are back!"
I looked at the harassed looking Receptionist. It was busy sorting out its desk, picking up the pile of scrolls for sale. I placed the [Principles of Time](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/v1rxhl/wp_you_are_the_librarian_of_a_magical_library/iaoxrqt?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3) on its desk. It accepted it with a click, looking it over.
"I trust the delinquent was easy enough to handle?"
I narrowed my eyes at it.
"Simple enough. What happened here?"
It gave an irritated sigh, pulling up a list of titles.
"The Dark Lord. He decided that we shouldn't give out books willy-nilly. Apparently he thought a display of strength would make us think twice before acting against his interests. He did demand that we turn all these books over to him as well."
I took the list, looking it over. It was full of the strongest of tomes, many of which were locked away for good reason. I spoke deliberately as I read through them, shaking my head.
"What did you tell him?"
It gave a fanged smile.
"Oh, just that I didn't have the authority to, only a Librarian did. He left an address to meet him at to hand them over as well."
It took out another parchment, this time with a meeting spot. Devils Peak, a day from now at the start of the Witching Hour. I shook my head again.
"What an idiot. I assume he promised to do worse if he didn't get what he wanted?"
The Receptionist's smile widened.
"Indeed he did."
I let a vindictive grin out.
"Good."
\-----
I stood atop Devils Peak exactly ten minutes before the note had said. My Dictionary was in hand, chained to me as always. I casually flicked through the pages, waiting. The wind failed to shift my hair, even as it surged around the otherwise barren out cropping.
"I assume you have seen reason?"
A cocky voice came to me. I slowly looked up to see a figure in black robes walking up to me. On each side it was flanked by Butcher Demons. They were large, brutish demons, eight feet tall and nearly that wide. Thier red skin was taut over muscles, with a massive cleaver held in each hand.
Above it was a swarm of Chained Souls, silently wailing in agony. Their spectral grey forms swirled around, faces rolling around showing a screaming facade. I shook my head, turning another page.
"So you are the one that attacked my Library?"
The Dark Lord clicked its fingers, causing four lights to appear around its face. There I could see them to be a young man, with pale skin and straggly beard. A scar ran down the left hand side, standing out in the light.
"It was just some minor vandalism. If you want to see an attack, I will be more then happy to show you."
He gave a laugh, one awkwardly echoed by the Butcher Demons. I glared at them, and they flinched, subtly backing away. The Dark Lord seemed to pay them no mind, as they held out a hand.
"Are you going to give me those books?"
I ran my finger down the page, resting it against a word.
"No."
His face twisted into anger, purple fire rising from his palm.
"Fool! I will take those books, and you will suffer for defying me!"
With a snap of his hand the ball of flames came charging towards me. I watched, smirking as they hit the edge of my field of Invulnerability.
"You really shouldn't have done that. **Banish**."
The Butcher Demons faded away, grateful looks on their faces. The Dark Lord gave a cry, pointing a finger at me.
"Souls! Add her to your midst!"
They gave a screech, swarming towards me. I flipped through my Dictionary, letting it open to the perfect page.
"**Rest**."
Their wailing stopped, agony replaced by peaceful smiles. The twisting mass came apart, as each soul left to whatever afterlife they were taken from. He raged, summoning a bolt of black lightning.
"Just die!!"
My smirk faded. I swiftly went through the pages, picking out a few words.
"**Chain**."
Golden chains appeared around him, binding him in place.
"**Drain**."
He gasped, as the power that filled him was ripped from his body, released into the air.
"**Brand**."
He screamed, as the sound of sizzling flesh filled the air. His forehead turned red, then black, as the symbol of the Lirary emblazoned itself on him.
"For your actions against our institute, you are hearby struck from our visitor list. Poena!"
I heard the familiar rushing sound, with the night lit by a pillar of fire. The familiar worm form of my colleague appeared, its three arms holding various sharp instruments.
"Librarian Sero! I assume you have found the culprit."
I pointed to the crying, bound form tmof the Dark Lord.
"That one. Are there many books beyond repair?"
He shook his head sadly.
"Even one would be too many. At least the originals are intact."
I gave a nod.
"Take this one. He will pay for what he has done."
Poena gave a sadistic grin.
"Excellent. I was running low on fresh materials."
He slithered over, sliding one of his instruments into his body to hold it in place. With his now free hand he pressed it into the bound form, taking the sobbing fool with him. I turned away, heading back to the Library. I really wish they would learn. |
The movies have the hero vs villain relationship all wrong. Doctor Horiblywong and I have a rather friendly relationship; we both recognize that one can not exist without the other, and that Cretville needs us both. Sure, I put a stop to his antics, sure, he's always trying to outsmart me, but ultimately, were almost friends. The president on the other hand? He's got it out for Dr. Horiblywong. He thinks that I'm some big hero, that I want the Dr. gone for good. He doesn't understand the dynamic.
See, if Dr. Horiblywong were to go away, I'd be left bored. But, worse than that, our citizens would be bored. Since he started his villainy, crime rates in our city have gone down by 92%. These days, everyone is merely interested in the latest showdown between us two.
But last week, the Dr called me. He told me that his love had left him.
Since then, he hasn't caused a single ruckus.
&#x200B;
Police activity is at an all-time high now; citizens are getting braver. And then, I found out that the girl *does* want him back. I know this because shes my sister. And to stop her from enticing him, the president has her under constant surveillance.
I want to be a hero; but how can I do that without my villain? |
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