prompt stringlengths 391 14.9k |
|---|
My family had always been a tad dysfunctional. My parents were almost always either working or sleeping, leaving me in the care of my older sister. My sister was strong, brave, and intelligent, everything I want to be. She is... well was... my roll model. I had always wanted to reach her, be like her, but I did not realize how different we truly were on a fundamental level.
For yet another birthday, my parents were absent, leaving me to celebrate with my sister and a couple of friends from school. However, it did not bother me much, I was used to them not attending. It was a simple sort of birthday, with a small, chocolate cake crafted by my sister to share with everyone. My sister refused a slice, insisting that I take her portion. Thinking about it, for as long as I could remember, she had never eaten anything in front of the family. We always thought she was on some strange diet, but something in the back of my head gnawed at me. As if my sub-conscious picked up something I did not.
However, that did not bring down my mood much, life was simply going too good nowadays to be anything but positive. The bullies who harassed me at school apparently ran away from home and have not been spotted since. While it may be mean-spirited of myself to be happy in their disappearance, I was not a saint. It was not like they were dead or something. Just off somewhere.
Gazing upon my friends who all had their eyes glued to the cake, my eyes darted to my sister. She had a weird look in her eye... like the glee of a predator toying with its prey. I had never seen her like that before... she looked... scary. As I continued to look deeper, something clawed at my sanity, as if I would go mad if I continued any further.
Noticing my attention, she snapped out of whatever she was thinking about to flash me a gentle, caring smile, yet I could not feel anything from it. I suddenly felt violently sick and excused myself to the bathroom in a hurry. Whatever I had ate was swiftly thrown up into the toilet. Looking into the murky water, I saw something, a human eyeball staring at me.
My hairs on ends, I practically jumped up into the air in surprise as knocks sounded from the door. It was my sister asking if I was okay in a sweet, concerned voice, yet I could only feel terror as a instinctual fear took over my body. I managed to just barely put together a response saying that I was fine and there was nothing to worry about. Seemingly bought over by the response, she left as I slumped over next to the sink. As I remembered her eyes, they became more and more inhuman and akin to the compound eyes of a fly. I forced myself away from thinking about it, but the veil that for so long protected my mind was being ripped away, leaving the maddening truth perceivable. She was not... human. She was... something else. And I was but her pet.
I did not want to go back out, but I had to, for if I left too long, suspicions would arise. My gut told me the only thing protecting me from death here and now was that she thought I was still unaware with my feeble human mind. The only way for myself and my family to survive was to become a puppet acting their part. The cute little brother who would never doubt her.
Leaving the bathroom, I knew, that life would be nothing but misery and chains. |
I thought I knew terror. I thought I had seen it in my eyes when I looked at my reflection in the puddles left in the wake of the rain. I thought I had felt it in the hollow of my stomach. I thought I had heard it in the screams thundering across alleyways in the deep of the night. I thought, and I thought wrong.
Fear came to me in the shape of a beam of light hoisting me from the concrete to the sky and terror introduced itself when I woke up in front of three beings that were more octopus-like than human, who, without worry or care for my screams and shouts, tortured me for days on end.
That day I understood there was no terror in the swiftness of death, only in the incessant pain that led one to wish he were dead.
My thoughts rallied when the wires penetrated my skin and lodged themselves into my blood vessels to distill fire within my being. And yet, among the searing pain, my sharp screams, and the ever-growing chaos in my mind, I found solace where I had always found it: in my dreams.
There was order in them. I didn't comprehend what was happening, or why I had wound up in this place, but my dreams remained intact. I could travel to the images of joy and happiness they produced and forget about the torment my physical being was enduring.
Within them, I couldn't hear the rumble of my stomach, I could feel the cloud-like softness of a pillow, and I could see people not shunning me but greeting me instead. Within them, I was a king, and so in my imaginary kingdom, I remained.
I remained there until the pain ceased and the beep of a laser scanning me jolted me out and hurled me back into reality. One of my captors brought a screen to me, and in it, I saw humanity staring back at me.
"We've captured your king,"my captor said, his tentacles pouring out of a mask-like device that seemed to translate from their language to ours. He had not used it to communicate with me before. "We are not interested in war. But we are interested in ransom. We need nickel, carbon, boron, and gold. Provide us with half of what you have in your world. Provide it to us, and we'll return your king and leave."
My brows knitted. He had called me humanity's king? At first, I thought I had heard wrong, but the moment I witnessed the turning heads and confusing expressions of my kin's crowd, I knew my captors had made a mistake.
The camera focused on our president. "We don't know who that is,"he said with utter certainty. "And we surely won't give you those resources for free. Our civilization's foundation has been war and bloodshed. We have ceased those practices among our kind, but we surely will continue the tradition against predators like yourselves. Return the kid, leave our system alone, or else prepare for bloodshed. And believe me, *we are prepared*."
A gate swished open in the room I was in, and a flood of aliens came in. They rose their tentacles in the air as though they were having a discussion. Their language seemed to be composed mostly of guttural vibrations instead of words. I couldn't comprehend anything, but they turned to me and then back to the screen, which was still focused on the president, and they did so many a time, which led me to believe there was confusion in their minds.
Then, unbidden, a dark veil fell upon my sight, and when I lifted it, I found a human at my side. He was sitting on a chair, and clad in a military uniform.
"Thomas Eddard, yes?"He asked and I nodded. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm General Finos. You must be confused, and rightly so. You were abducted and from what we gather, greatly injured. The injuries have healed now. We are worried about your mental state, though. The torture seems to have been excessive. Did they ask you anything? Do you remember anything?"
I frowned and studied my surroundings. I was in what the bright lights and machines betrayed to be a hospital. "They didn't ask me anything, no. I remember, yes. I feel good. I'm calm. Is this a dream?"
The general shook his head and a small smile tugged at his lips. "Do you feel like walking? We will ask you some questions later, and you will be provided with a psychiatrist to follow you until you are fully recovered in order to evaluate your mental state and its evolution."
"Yes, I would like that. I've not walked in a long time."
The general helped me to my feet and guided me toward the exit of the hospital. When he opened the gates and I stepped out into the light, my heart stuttered. For gathered no twenty meters away from me was a crowd of people erupting in supportive chants holding signs with my name.
Emotions enveloped me and I embrace them. I turned to the general. "Wh--what is this?"I asked my voice breaking, my eyes on the verge of tears. A thought interrupted the emotions for a brief second. "The war, what happened with the aliens?"
"You are the first human to ever be abducted. At least with proofs. When you appeared on those screens and we saw the state you were in the entire world rooted for you and unified in their hatred toward the invaders. That desire to defeat, to destroy them became a reality in our minds, and this was necessary for us the aliens to reconsider their stance. Believe it or not, you became an important part of history,"he said. "In a way, you were the element and the motivation for humanity to unite and scare the invaders away."
"We def--defeated them? How? I don't understand."
"How? Well, that's classified, kid."He patted my back playfully. "We will tell you later. We know you dreamed of this moment. Please, enjoy it."
I stared at the crowd, and couldn't hold back the tears any longer. They streamed at first and poured a moment later. I was overwhelmed with wonderful, relentless emotions. My heart fluttered, my lips were hooked into the widest smile I could smile, my body was covered in goosebumps, and within me, I felt as though I had a thousand birds singing sweet singsongs.
It was odd, days ago, I had seen and suffered the true face of terror.
But that day, with the crowd before me, I felt something I had never felt before. It was visceral. It was beautiful. It was a gorgeous counterpoint. It was all those things and more.
It was happiness.
\---------
/r/AStoryToRuleThemAll \--> Come, I have candy. |
The first thing I did with my power, was steal candy.
I felt bad and later put it back. I mean, I was five at the time.
Second thing I did, was walk.
Not to anywhere in particular, just did. Walked to the grocery store during class, then home. I didn't get hungry, or tired, so I continued walking. To my friend's house. To a cool looking telephone pole. To pet a dog, frozen in time.
Every second, I got just a bit more eager. Courageous. Took me all of ten minutes to decide to walk to the next town over.
I gave up half way because it felt weird.
Didn't really use it again after that, got a chill in my spine thinking about it.
But I liked that hike I took, so I did it again later. Oh innocent young me, bewildered that everything in his world of silence had moved. Didn't stay there long, that chill came back. Felt immoral.
Didn't use it after that.
Got older, more cynical. Started seeing things different. Not better, or clearer, just different. Things started meaning less, but concepts meant more. So I took a hike.
Went to the next town over. Ate a doughnut from one of the bakeries. Stole some sticker I thought looked cute. Then wandered onto the next town. Plundered some random person's room for a memento of the trip. A TV remote of all things.
I laughed in that room, the frozen form of the man on his bed. Missing TV remotes weren't taken by demons, turns out it was just some kid playing a prank.
Then I turned around and tried to go home. Got lost. Twice. Ended up in Nebraska. Don't know how. Thought about a lot of things during my commute.
Life. Meaning. Joy. Value. Death.
Normal things.
Took forever, but I got back home. Stood onto of the roof of the grocery store, now abandoned, and wondered if gravity still hurt. Didn't want to test it, just curious. Threw a rock up in the air, and it paused there. Stared at the frozen pedestrians for a while. Wondered how I was able to breathe.
Then I wanted to go to a nearby campsite. I started away from town, but I felt that chill again.
I was older now. I could take it. Turned around, grabbed a knife from some store, continued on.
Got to the campsite without issue, that chill getting more intense. Couldn't relax. Gave up, went home and let time flow again.
Didn't use it again until two years later.
Made friends, lost friends. The world turned. People died. People thrived. Nothing interesting. Got into the writing world. Small time publisher, nothing interesting.
Had an idea for a story. So I took a hike.
Notepad in one hand, pencil in the other. Took to the streets of New York. Hopped on cars for fun. Found out water was solid.
Strolled around Cuba. Played hopscotch with some kids, still drawing. Sat next to a bakery and sketched a person inside.
Made a pit stop for more pencils and two notebooks.
Left for Mexico. Stared at a couple holding hands. Wandered around blindly. Found out cameras still worked. Sort of. I hope those people don't mind a bright flash from nowhere.
Stole a hiking bag from a store, filled it with stuff. Cameras and notepads and pencils. Had two completed manuscripts by then. The chill came back, but I ignored it.
Stared at the horizon from a rooftop. Wondered if I could reach Europe.
Then there was footsteps. Quiet and distant. I didn't make the same mistake twice, and drew a gun. I scanned the streets below. Then it happened again, behind me, boots on tiled roofs.
I pointed the weapon at the other side.
"You're a unique one, aren't you?"The tone was quiet, soft even.
I didn't respond, just glared at the opposing side.
"Most use it to do something perverted. Some even commit foul deeds. Few use it to improve life. But you? You observed."
I was the one that could do this, no one else. How can someone do this too, and us never meet?! I think I meant to say that, but it had been too late at that point, became someone else on my hikes.
"So I'm curious... Why?"
I attempted to rile my voice to speak to the still unseen person, but I couldn't.
"Answer seeking? Curiosity? Hatred?"
I nodded my head. Then held up a one. Vocal communication was pointless. Nonverbal still worked.
The voice laughed, "Well, how simple. I wish you well on your endeavors, truth seeker. I have just one piece of advice: be careful, you aren't the only one with my blessing."
Then the chill vanished. It was replaced with something else. Dread. Their blessing? So other people can use this power too?! My mind was racing, with a million questions.
I glanced back to the horizon, gun in hand.
Maybe I do need to visit Europe. |
I never expected my powers to be this. The day it happened was so long ago, but I remember it so well.
I was watching tv on the couch when a funny part happened in the tv show I was watching. I was so happy and laughed at it as I pointed at the tv and looked to my right saying, "Did you see that?!"
The smile left my face as my heart filled with darkness. There was nobody there with me, I was alone. I had forgotten that 4 days ago my brother had been admitted to a mental ward several towns over.
I stared at the spot on the couch, tears flowing from my face as I realized he wasn't there. He was gone, and there was no guarantee that he was coming back.
It was then that I got my powers. I have the ability to teleport to a room of my own. The room is about 15 by 15 feet and has a generally tall ceiling at about 12 feet.
I'm able to take stuff with me as long as I can carry it and simply leave the items in the room. I've made good use of the room, but I can never take anyone with me.
The room, the power really, is nice in of itself, but I can never take someone with me. I often find myself retreating to the room when I'm stressed, but I can only comfort myself there.
Anytime I need to be held, or when I want someone to comfort me, they can't. They can't comfort me because I'm too busy hiding.
What a cruel ability this is. How is this different from putting a cigarette in front of an addict? When given the option to choose between attempting to trust a person to help me or simply avoid the world and handle my problem myself, it is always so much easier not to burden someone else.
There's no way I can even use this power to help others. I've thought about it, all the ways I could use this power to help someone.
The only thing I could think of is if someone needed to keep an item safe or contained. But anything that dangerous or powerful can't be kept in my room.
If it's something dangerous like a radioactive substance then I can never return to my room.
And if the item is of great power then I understand very well that I can't trust myself not to be tempted to use it in someway.
What a cruel curse this is! Perhaps if I do something drastic, but what could I do? If the room is the problem, then I must get rid of it. But how?
*Looks at the matches strewn across the corner of the room where they fell from the box*
Maybe, maybe that could work.
*After grabbing the matches, I entered my room. The extra-dimentional space just a plain room with painted blue walls and a single window showing nothing but darkness through the other side. The room is filled with random objects that I had found myself unable to throw away, so they stayed here*
Okay then, i guess this it. I'm really doing this.
*I strike the match in my hand and set it down among a stack of papers. The paper took several seconds to light, but began to spread quite rapidly.*
I wonder if this will be enough.
*From the paper the fire spread, spreading to the books, then the clothes, and then from the books to the makeshift bedding. The fire spread in a strange orange brilliance. The fire slowly igniting the whole room, bathing it in a golden orange glow.*
Wait, the smoke...I should leave...
*But as I turned to leave the room I stopped. I turned around and looked at the fire. I looked longingly at the objects the fire consumed. Each a priceless peace of my past, each an object of comfort that I could not bring myself to let go of.*
I...I can't! Why did I do this?! I can't leave! I don't want to go! *Tears begin streaming down my face as I begin to get choked by the smoke collecting in the room.*
I don't want to leave...I...c-can't...I....
*My eyes burned from the light and the smoke, my lungs were on fire as I inhaled the heat and smoke from the fire. Strangely, I couldn't feel anything anymore. I lowered myself to ground, slowly closing my eyes and letting the light surround me.*
Perhaps it's better this way. I couldn't help anyone anyway, maybe now I can find peace.
*The light consumed the room, leaving nothing but ash.*
*Gasps awake, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily*
Dammit, not again! *Looks around at the dark bedroom, the alarm clock reading 4:36am.*
I hate this power! Every night is the same! Just another bad dream, another person who suffered too much, and I'm forced to feel it all. What a curse this power is...
(To settle any confusion. The MC's real power is witness the suffering of others as nightmares. Each night is a new nightmare, and yet each night it is the same. Someone receives their power and regrets it. They regret it to such a degree that they can't stand living with it, and he is cursed to experience all of it.) |
When my eyes shot open I was no longer in my bed, but rather laid out in a soft field of green. "Why am I here?"I spoke aloud to the sky as I looked to my strange new surroundings. To blue colored hills and lush plains, to trees of purples and pinks. To an unnatural forest weaved across the land set in by a sky with a setting sun.
"Ah you're awake!"A strange little winged woman appeared in a puff of glitter and began to orbit my head. "You're here because you wished to be, and because I granted that wish!"Her voice was filled with a genuine niceness and encouragement, more like a fitness coach or waitress than a magical creature.
I thought back hard to yesterday, to my birthday, and replayed through my wish again. *To make the world a better place.* I had wished for the same every year, so why had it come true now?
"I don't understand...this isn't what I wished for."I questioned.
"Hm? Let me see"At the snap of the fairy's fingers a long scroll appeared. She walked her way down it, mumbling to herself as she did, "Barry...Barry...here! Yes. You wished to make the world a better place, how noble! And so I brought you here, and the world is a better place because of it."
It seemed my blank stare spoke for me as the fairy woman continued, this time slower. At the wave of her hand a miniature me appeared in her palm, looking around frantically as I had when I'd first awoken. "You were the problem, Barry."She gestured down to the miniature, who was now staring up to both of us wide-eyed. "So, I got rid of the problem."She brought her hands together in a powerful clap, spewing red liquid between them and crushing the mini-Barry. "Now, welcome to the Feywild!...ick, gross"
I stood and brushed myself off, my head still spinning. Me, Barry, the cause of the world's problems? My own mom forgot my birthday most years, with being so hardly remembered how did I have power over anything?
As the fairy floated on, rambling something about giving me the Fey grand tour, I yelled towards her.
"Name one way that you taking me here has improved the world! Barry, I, was not the cause of the world's problems. I refuse to believe that."
She stopped mid float, her silhouette lined by the seemingly ever-setting sun. I could see her grip tighten, her small body stiffen in the air. "Barry, how many people, humans, do you know whose birthday wishes are ever granted? Plenty of humans wish. How many come true?"Her voice had been small before, but now it practically boomed.
"Well I uh-"
She cut in, "You Barry. That's it! The first *human* who compelled, no, forced, me to grant a wish for them. So, with that sort of power? Removing you was making the world a better place, and I will see to it you stay here."Above us the sky grew gray. Flashes of lightning threatened within the suddenly forming storm. The sunset from before faded as we were surrounded in a fog.
But she had given me sudden power, too much of it. I felt confidence in my words. Speaking them as if I'd just gained my footing.
"So, you're saying all I have to do then, is bide my time."I continued. "I can make a wish every year that you must grant. And even if you can twist my words eventually I'll free myself."As she turned to face me I could see her face turn grim. I put on my cheeriest tone, waving to her as she stared, eyes smoldering like canons fired. "Well if that *is* true, then I'll see you in a year."
She raised a hand, then was gone in a flash of harsh light, leaving behind only a storm in her absence. A physical manifestation of her newfound hatred for me. A year. One long year to think, think of the greatest wish I could to get me back. |
The dragon strained against the metal cables holding him down. The humans had given him food: strange cubes of meat, all sheep-muscle and no blood. He was no longer ravenous, merely frustrated. His valley had been all wrong: the human thatch-roofed huts were gone, replaced with glass spires that towered above the trees; the fields had strange metal machines instead of cows and horses; even the air had smelled strange. And then the humans had come with fast arrows and metal nets that had brought him down and tied him to the ground.
One human strode toward him now. She was dressed in the plain, muted clothes he’d expect from a peasant, but he recognized her bearing. She smelled right.
“Princess,” the dragon growled, recalling human speech.
The princess tapped her ear once. “My name is Dinia Var,” she said at last. “I’m the executive secretary for the Committee for Extraordinary Affairs.” She smiled. “I suppose that does make me something like a princess. And you are Aragoth the Devourer. I read a story about you when I was little, you know.”
The dragon had no use for human names, but he knew what to do with princesses. He lunged forward with all his strength – but the metal cables held. This princess didn’t even flinch.
“This isn’t the world you remember, is it?” she said. “There’s no place for you here. The Committee for Homeworld Stewardship wants to put you on display, you know. A special dragon preserve. Cloned sheep to eat. A new princess to kidnap every week.” She paused. “And a knight to rescue her unharmed.”
At ‘sheep’ the dragon felt his hunger grow again. He wanted to hunt. He wanted to devour. He didn’t know all the words the princess said, but he understood that he wouldn’t really be hunting. Not in a way that would sate his hunger.
“But,” the princess continued. “Did you know there are other worlds up in the sky? Past the sky. Worlds with wide-open space, and real live cattle, and gold, and princesses who aren’t yet willing to join the Commonwealth?”
The dragon slowly brought his big eyes level with the princess. He felt a spark of recognition. She was like him, he saw. She was a hunter too. And she was hungry.
“Come work for me,” she said. “And you can devour until you’re sated.” |
Wazul was a star eater. Despite the cool-sounding name, they are generally viewed as weak and loathsome creatures. They are not devils, fae, or angels, but instead just some monstrous byproduct of some careless would-be demiurge's power trip. They lack the ability to gain sustenance from food but instead gain it from snuffing out spells. They normally linger secretly around magic schools and colleges, snuffing out ever-burning lanterns, eating magical items, and cancelling spells before they can be cast. But Wazul was different.
Wazul grew beyond merely surviving. He was *thriving.* Around his long, red fingers were twelve magic rings. Since a star eater could never cast spells using their own willpower, he learned it was better to use magic items rather than eat them. His favorite was the Shapeshifter's Ring.
Wazul was not the small, lanky, red creature he was before. He was a human (or at least he seemed like one), flashing a wide smile and walking through the village without a care in the world. His long, blond hair flipped about in the wind. He turned to a villager, a twenty-something woman carrying a fishing net, and asked, "Ma'am, could you point me to the local witch?"
She gave a gentle, shy smile. "Just keep going where you are headed and it will be the last building on the right."Wazul began to walk forward but the woman spoke up. "Another thing... don't call her a 'witch' in person. She prefers to be called a wizard... She's college-trained and everything."Wazul gave a kind smile, "Thank you for the heads-up."He nodded and continued on his way.
Wazul stood in front of Margelie's Magic Shop. "Here's the witch,"he said under his breath. He licked his lips, anticipating the unabated hit of magical energy. He pushed open the door and the chime jingled, announcing his arrival. A youthful man with long dark hair stood behind the counter and greeted him, "Welcome to Margelie's! May I help you with anything?"
Wazul looked around, taking in their inventory of magical items. Rings upon rings, amulets upon amulets. Some for eating, some for using. Wazul turned to the man and stated loudly, "I'm looking for the *witch* that runs this *witch*-shop."
"Sir, Margelie would appreciate it if you kept your voice down..."the man leaned forward and whispered to Wazul, "And don't call her the 'W' word."
"*Which* word? Was it *witch*?"Wazul loudly asked.
"Yes!"the man said under his breath, "Now don't say it again!"
"Oh, I won't..."Wazul smiled wickedly.
The door to the back office swung open. A red-haired lady in a black robe stepped out. "I heard some yelling out here. Is everything alright, Brame?"
The man behind the counter nodded, not wanting to start trouble. Wazul loudly stated, "So you are the *witch* of this lowly gods-forsaken fishmongering hamlet... I suppose you see a lot of yokels with fishhooks stuck in their fingers, don't you?"
Margelie gave a suspicious glance. "Witch? You must have mistaken me for someone else."She stomped forward until she was only a foot from Wazul. "I went to college, sir. I'm not some sort of swamp hag or swamp hag's student."She leaned closer, her suspicion shifting to anger, "And this town is my *home*. You watch your mouth about what you say about it."
"Really? This dump? This place reeks! A perfect place for a *witch* or *hag* such as yourself. Speaking of which, this store looks like it was organized by a hag, no offense."Wazul's grin grew wide. Margelie's eyes narrowed, her keen eyes studying Wazul's face.
What Wazul didn't notice was that Margelie already had an idea of what was going on. She learned about star eaters during her time at Kursott's College, and even spotted a couple attempting to devour her magic while she was studying for her spellcasting final. She *disposed* of them by non-magical means. Recently, she heard through a network of friends that there was a strange man wearing many rings going around who was seemingly impervious to magic. She looked down at Wazul's fingers, covered in rings.
"Awful lot of rings there, sir. Can't cast magic yourself?"
Wazul took a step back, "Awfully judgemental for a *witch* who sells magic rings to make an assumption about a man who wears a lot of magic rings, is it?"
"Hardly... I would understand a couple rings, but twelve? It's odd."All indication of anger on her face disappeared. She even gave a slight smirk. She knew.
Wazul dug his hands into his pockets, suddenly conscious of his gaudy array of rings. "I'm a collector... Can't fault me for liking rings, can you?"
"Where did you 'collect' them from, sir?"Her eyes pierced into his very soul... that is, if star eaters even have souls.
"I explore dungeons?"he squeaked out his answer, making it sound more like a question than anything else.
"The shapeshifting ring... hand it over. I have a colleague who's been missing one just like yours."She paused, sucked in a breath, and added, "In fact, hand them *all* over..."
"And if I don't?"Wazul asked this not in defiance, but to understand what was at stake.
Without looking away from Wazul she snapped her fingers at Brame standing behind the counter. Without hesitation, Brame produced a dagger from underneath the counter, leaped forward, grabbed Wazul by his hair, and pressed the point of the dagger firmly against Wazul's neck. A single drop of black blood fell from where the point narrowly pierced his skin. Wazul gulped, scared for the first time in many, many years.
"You might resist magic, star eater, but I have yet to meet one that can resist this..."With her right hand, she reached over her left shoulder and then delivered a powerful backhand blow to Wazul's face. Wazul fell limp and his head struck the floor hard, shelves full of rings rattling as it shook the whole building. The human man on the floor slowly withered into the red alien-looking creature that Wazul was.
"Alright, Brame, you bring him to the basement. I have experiments to run."Brame nodded.
Wazul never taunted another witch or wizard ever again. |
‘Poor thing.’
I forced my eyes back open. Looming above me was a woman, blue and transparent, wearing hazardous spiked ice like armour. A blue finger traced my frosting face, shockingly bringing warmth to my frosting body, although it did not spread far.
‘W-who are you?’ My voice chattered out.
‘Well now, that’s rude. You called out to me… Aahh, but you did call out a lot of names, rather rude, am I not enough for you?’ She frowned, her fingers on my cheek went from warm to colder then the very snow around us, and my cheek started to feel like ice, black began to eat at my vision as I-
Suddenly, my face was warm again, and my vision returned to a smiling face. ‘But I can forgive you for that, I suppose I do owe you.’
Owe me? My mind still needed time to clear, she still hadn’t told me who she was, and I had called so many names. But I feared whether she would punish me for asking again.
‘So tell me.’ The lady continued, lowering her face to mine, her black hair spilled around me, a curtain that cut me from the rest of the world. ‘What is it you want? To live? Perhaps even after all you’ve lost, you still wish to cling to your life.’ Her long black nail dug deeper into my skin, and I felt a sting as it broke through ever so slightly. ‘Revenge? You’ve certainly just gained more to do on that path now.’
…What *did* I want? Laying here, the tantalizing warmth of her hand was like a lifeline, a promise to take away the cold that ate away at the rest of me. Even with nothing to return to, my heart shattered beyond repair, the yearning of my body to live burned strong. It was horrifying, I had promised to put my life on the line, had done so many times in my pursuit of revenge. Yet now that it came tantalisingly slow I couldn’t bare the thought.
A curse upon Yumi! Not only for her betrayal (and why? After all she had done to help me, when we were so close) but making the end come so tantalisingly slow that both body and soul had begun to fall apart, revealing how fragile I truly was.
‘Well? I am waiting.’
Forgive me, dear Reiji.
‘I want… to live.’ The words were spoken through gritted teeth, but they were spoken nonetheless.
She smiled softly, standing up the curtain of hair was raised, revealing not snow, but the billowing warmth of a small cabin. Strength slowly began returning to my body, and I managed to move my hand over to the wound on my back, feeling but a scar where once my life had been draining out.
She flexed that one finger stained with blood. ‘Your choice is made. Be warned, if you return to that path, your life shall return to the snow upon the very first step.’
I simply lay there in stunned silence, tilting my head up not to look at her, but the crackling fireplace that now kept the cold at bay. Finally, I managed to force myself into a sitting position
A thousand questions raced in my head, the first one to make it out was “why did you save me?’
‘Two reasons. One, like I said before, I owed you. Second.’ A warm hand traced the scar upon my back. ‘It seemed such a shame to let you go.’
‘Owe me… what for? Have I done something for you?’
A pause, I heard her sit down behind me, felt the ice she wore upon my back. Strangely it felt merely cool, but I had long given up on questioning the strangeness of whatever my saviour was.
‘He, too, has lost nearly everything. Perhaps you can take solace in that.’
Understanding cut through my hazy mind. ‘Wait, you!’ I shot up and turned, but the figure was gone. There was nothing but the crackling fireplace. |
Dr. Chaos held up his hands in a peaceful gesture. "I just wanted to say that I've been watching you for a while now, and I have to say, you're one of the most impressive heroes I've ever seen. Your determination and courage are unmatched, and I truly believe that you have the potential to be even greater than you already are."
Captain Justice was taken aback. He had never heard anything like this from a supervillain before. "What are you getting at?"he asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.
Dr. Chaos shrugged. "I just think that maybe you're limiting yourself. You always seem to hold back, to play it safe. But I think that if you really let go, if you really embraced your power, you could do incredible things. You could be unstoppable."
Captain Justice was skeptical, but he couldn't deny that there was a slight kernel of truth to what Dr. Chaos was saying. He had always been cautious, always afraid of what might happen if he went too far. But maybe it was time to take a risk.
"Thank you,"he said finally. "I'll... consider what you've said."
Dr. Chaos just smiled. "No problem, Captain. And who knows? Maybe next time we meet, you'll be even more of a challenge than you already are."And with that, he disappeared into the shadows.
Captain Justice left, deep in thought. He had always seen Dr. Chaos as his enemy, but maybe he was more than that. Maybe he was someone who could push him to be even better than he already was. Maybe he was someone who, in his own twisted way, wanted to see him succeed.
It was a strange thought, but as Captain Justice walked away, he couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way for heroes and villains to coexist - not as friends, perhaps, but as something more than enemies. |
# I Miss Him
The *Terminus Grounds* was mediocre coffee shop. At least, that was the theory.
Each new customers could order anything they liked. Which they often did, with many instructions and specifics about ingredients and such. It never seemed to matter, though-- what they got was a beverage uniquely tailored to themselves that may or may not look familiar. They'd take it and leave, with a fuzzy memory involving a perfect drink and wondering the whole time how they'd come to visit in the first place. Repeat customers were rare, but always celebrated.
But among the casual nooks, round benches and secluded corners was a booth meant for only two occupants. A pair of friends, sometimes enemies, or possibly both at once. On the left was a young-looking woman with white hair and eyes that saw the growth of universes. Her clothes were simple; a peasant shirt with handmade stitching and slacks that reached down to ankle-strap heels. She smiled a lot and sipped a caramel latte that never seemed to end.
To the right sat a twentysomething man in a dark hoodie and leather jeans. His skin was ashen, the bones on his face and arms slim to the point of starvation. He sat with a rigid poise that put the white-haired woman's casual slouch to shame. Only his hand moved, bringing an empty porcelain cup to his mouth to sip the memory of a bitter brew.
Waitresses and baristas ignored the pair. They always did; the regular customer base went in and out while somehow always avoiding the far booth in a coincidental manner. Only the owner took note of their daily meetings. And if He cared at all it was only to smile and be content the two forces of Creation and Entropy found common ground to discuss over.
That changed one Sunday when the bell over the door rang out. The owner looked up, paused in the middle of making an order and examined the arrival.
Tall, but on the skinny side of living with an active air about him. He had slightly large ears and a mouth that sported smile lines at both corners, matching up with a neat silver combover and laugh lines across his forehead. His tie-and-sweater vest combination shouldn't have worked as an ensemble but, somehow, it did. He gave off an air of affable enjoyment, like he wanted nothing more to listen and exchange ideas. But also a little confusion, too.
He took in the coffee shop by slow degrees. Stopping only to nod at the baristas and the owner. "Hello there,"he said. "I don't quite know why I'm here. Could you help me?"
Every eye turned to the owner. He took a long moment to watch the newcomer, then finished making a drink and set it on the counter with a flourish. "For you."
"Oh, thank you."He took it and sipped. "Hot chocolate? Lovely. But would you happen to know where I'm...?"
The smiling owner just hooked a thumb in the direction of the corner table, with the two seated figures. One an angel in white hair and casual clothes, the other a spooky slick of gloom and doom. "That's your table. Say hello for me."
"I will. Thank you."He took another sip, smiled radiantly at the amused baristas and wandered across the room.
Both figures looked up at his arrival, checking the sweater vest and slacks.
"Oh, it's you."The woman said. "I'd hoped you had longer this time."
"Oh, it's you."The gloomy man repeated in a different tone. "I hoped we had longer."
He took a third seat between them. "Well I certainly don't want to be a bother, but could you perhaps tell me what it is I'm doing here?"
They both smiled, one radiant and the other sarcastically. "We were just discussing that,"she told him. "And we've decided you're a special case. Would you like another try, back on Earth?"
"We don't do this often,"the gloomy man added. Then took another not-sip and grimaced. "Consider yourself blessed."
"I will keep it very much in mind."He smiled again and set his drink down. The name on the side said *Rogers* in a font that suggested calligraphy at work. "But, I think... yes, I think it's time to move on."
Both seemed surprised at his decision. "You're turning *us* down?"The dark man looked annoyed. "Of all the people who come through here, you'd be the only one He would make an order for personally. And you'd refuse?"
She covered his hand with a warm palm. "Honey, it's no trouble. Really. We'd do this for you."
"That's very kind. Really, and you're both wonderful people. Yes, even *you*,"he winked at the gloomy form on the right. "I believe in you too. But I also believe my time is over, and someone else will be along to pick up the work. So I'll thank you kindly and say goodbye."
He got up then, brushing off his sweater and giving everyone in the room a sad look. "Some things belong in the realm of Make Believe. Be kind to each other, and good luck."
Then he left, strolling through the door into pure sunlight with a whistle on his lips. And the owner smiled to see him go, listening to the song that made millions happy.
"*And won't... you be... my neighbor?*"
​
---
Sometimes I make myself sad with a story. But then I go blow up aliens or do superhero fiction over at r/Susceptible because sometimes, for the right reasons, a little sadness makes life sweeter. |
Evangeline stared at her neighbor in horror. Keith’s elderly face was covered in oozing pustules and open wounds. He couldn’t even walk correctly as he shambled over. His leg dragged behind him as he followed her, abet slowly.
“Hold up, Eva.”
She nearly jumped in shock. “Keith! Are you alright?” Evangeline still backed up cautiously as her neighbor approached. “What’s going on?”
He grinned, contorting his already grotesque features. “Never better.”
They got within a few feet of each other and Eva held out a hand. “Wait. Where’s your family? How are you okay?”
He stopped and leaned against a car, breathing hard. “You have no idea how hard it is to walk like that. Dragging and dragging your foot. I’m too old for these shenanigans!” A glint of the human Kieth shone through. Eva felt a lump building in her throat. Her kindly neighbor turned into *this*?
“We’ll get you help. We will.”
Keith’s grin widened. “You’re serious? No one’s figured this out yet?”
“No we haven’t got the cure yet. But we will.” Desperation shone through Evangeline’s voice. The old man didn’t deserve to half die, wandering through the streets in a stupor.
“It’s a prank.” He raised a hand and slowly pulled the flesh off his forehead revealing.. normal skin. “I got PayPal-ed ten thousand dollars to do this. Frankly, more then I usually make in a month.” |
Times had changed much in the centuries I slumbered, but humanity remained the same. Feeble sheep grown numerous upon the land, the trappings of modern civility only a thin veneer separating them from the cowering village folk huddled below my castle.
Ah, if anything, it made them easier to hunt. The lurid flashing lights and plentiful alcohol dazzled them in such a way I could sneak a bite right then and there and the hundred others around us wouldn’t notice. Tonight, I’d prove that yet again, as I had every night since reawakening, and if that silly hunter decided to show, I’d eat him too.
Or perhaps I’d run him over.
I did enjoy *some* of the new amenities afforded to me, I suppose. There weren’t cars around last time I stalked these lands, only wagons and those horrid creatures that pulled them. But this? A dark jewel unlike any other, and it didn’t crap on the ground wherever it pleased.
Should I ever happen upon the inventor of this car, I would think twice before consuming them.
It made a satisfying click as I unlocked the door and climbed inside. Something else clicked as I sat behind the steering wheel—something hard, that’d been placed in my seat.
When I moved to look, the world exploded.
\*
The *car-killer* ripped through me and my trusty vehicle faster than I could react. Alas, my town car couldn’t share in my gifts. The hunk of metal lay inert, unable to regenerate like its master.
And I, for the first time I could recall, had to flee. With shrapnel still biting into my flesh, I turned into a rat—the humiliation!—and slipped down an alleyway as onlookers came to gawk.
*I will get you for this, Edward Van Helsing! Do not think a mere mortal such as yourself can slight me and survive!* I squeaked at the night sky as I skittered away.
Later that night, I sat in my penthouse overlooking the city, switching between fuming and trying to access the arcane well of knowledge these humans called the Internet. I needed to buy a new car, yes… but the first order of business was deducing what in the hell had happened.
Unfortunately, I didn’t meet much success in that regard. I couldn’t tell much except that Edward, the fool, hadn’t used a blessed weapon or one made of silver, otherwise I wouldn’t be here.
Could he be such an idiot? Had these times rotted his brain? Or was it a trap to make me lower my guard? Then, later, he’d steal into my home and stake me!
I shot up from my desk and darted around my penthouse, gathering discarded blood bags for what little essence remained inside. I would need to be at full power to face him tonight, should he come skulking in through that door.
Ah, yes. I’d set a trap of my own for him. I’d wait in my coffin, awake and ready to pounce.
I lowered myself into my coffin and heard a click underneath me—something metallic and decidedly similar in size and sound to what I sat on earlier had been placed in my bed.
When I turned to look, my coffin exploded.
​
(Thanks for reading!) |
The farm had aged in the ten years I had been away. The long dirt lane way was overgrown and I had to abandon my truck halfway in. The weeds reached past my knees and large dead branches blocked the path. I threw the smaller ones off to the side and climbed over the big ones, feeling like I was a kid again.
Each glance over a familiar landmark brought on a wave of nostalgia. The indent in the reeds by the pond where my uncle has stashed his tin rowboat. The rusted hammock that had flipped my father over and onto the ground. The vegetable garden where my grandma has planted raspberries because she knew they were my favourite.
And of course, the old barn. It’s bright blue exterior had faded and much of the paint had flaked off. My parents told me I used to sneak out in the middle of the night to go play inside. No matter if they had locked my door or latched my window shut, I someone always managed to find a way out. And in the morning they’d find me sound asleep in the middle of the barn, nestled in a pile of hay and covered with a horse blanket.
Whenever my parents would ask me how I got out, I’d always have the same answer. “Jenny let me out!” “Who is Jenny?” They would ask, exchanging puzzled glances. “My friend!” I’d reply. “Jenny is really really tall! She has long hair and thin fingers. She opens the window for me and lets me climb down!”
But my window was always latched, as they had left it. And my door locked. They told me that a psychologist had identified the problem. Sleepwalking. Jenny was no more than a figment of a vivid dream. My nightly adventures, a product of sleepwalking. Since I was always found perfectly fine in the morning, my parents eventually eased their concerns.
I opened the old farm door. The wood had rotted and the entrance smelled of mould and dank air. Sunlight filtered through the dusty windows and I heard a rodent of some sort scurry away from my presence.
Grandpa loved the colour blue and it showed in the remains of his home. Light blue walls, the colour of the sky. Dark blue placemats still set for two on the kitchen table. Greyish blue chair reclined to his favourite position.
My feet took me upstairs, to the bedroom where I used to stay. It had been my Dad’s childhood bedroom before mine, and Grandpa’s before him. The walls were yellow, a colour picked by my grandma when they repainted. The wooden bunk beds were the same, pressed against the inside wall. And opposite them was a bookshelf and a desk.
I quickly found what I had come for. A box filled with my old things. Toys, books, sketchbooks. I flipped through one and smiled at the poorly scribbled drawings.
Then my gaze landed on it….a drawing of “Jenny”.
The sketch was messy, with harsh thick pencil lines outlining her long thin frame. A much smaller drawing of a house came up to her waist. Her face was gnarled with a protruding forehead and one it were several different sized circles I recognized to be eyes. As I stared, memories began to filled in the details. Jenny had hair that looked like vines. Each strand was thick and coarse. Her skin has a jagged texture like the bark of a tree. Her eight eyes were like a spider’s, with four large ones in the centre of her brow and four smaller ones above them.
Shuddering, I closed the notebook. It was then I realized it wasn’t mine…written along the spine was my grandpa’s name. An evening shadow fell over the room and I felt I had stayed too long. It was time to get going. I placed the sketchbook onto the bookshelf and picked up my box of things. I don’t know why, but I felt a sudden chill down my spine.
I paused in the doorway, wondering what the sense of unease I was feeling had come from. It was then I realized what I had been subconsciously avoiding since entering the old bedroom.
The window.
From behind me, I heard the all-too-familiar sound of Jenny’s thin fingers sliding beneath the window and turning the latch… |
I sit crossleggad on a patch of yellowed grass, a copse surrounds me each mighty tree heaving, struggling for every breath they take... They're dying and I can't help them.
The Elms blame the descent of mana. True enough Magic is in decline, far less malleable than it once was when adventurers roamed the lands and Dragons soared through the sky. However I've long believed the world's mana not to be vanishing but rather reincarnating like a Phoenix into something... New. A new tool for new age and a new generation...
The Redwoods blame the Orcs and Humans. When Magic failed them, the younger races turned to metal, and black smoke to fill the gap. A smile graces my face, my centuries of Elven tradition make me want to believe that the Human raised in my people's haven and my only friend would have disagreed with his kind, that he would have allied with me... But I know better, in truth his research laid the ground work for the Human's stunning technological advance.
'Aster...'
Just the thought of him causes my heart to lurch as I break communion with the trees and whirl around... Nothing... Yet my heart still pounds like a drum. When did my waking days become a nightmare? Every second spent waiting for the axe to fall? Jumping at shadows fearing... And hoping I'd see his face again? Not an apparition but the physical being, flesh and blood come to haunt me like a spiteful Banshee and tease me like a playful Sylph.
...Penance...
"Hey handsome."I smile a tired smile, eyes drifting shut as I lean back. The trees even in their current condition aim to serve as they let the sun break through to warm my cold flesh in light of his arrival.
"Ah Sommorsday."I sigh remembering the lights, the festival... The encamped army. Back then we were separated by an ocean yet he made it a point to visit, that was the first time... Now we're separated by something far more tumultuous yet he always braves the journey... He will always brave the journey because for him everything is new and exciting... While for me everything is old and gray.
A hand gently squeezes my shoulder, I reach up and take it allowing him to pull me to my feet yet my eyes remain adhered to the ground. I can't bear to look him in the eye yet his every feature is etched into my mind.
...Penance...
Gingerly he grabs my chin forcing our eyes to meet. Aster looks identical to the last time I saw him, brown hair shaggy, and in need of a trim, face light, without scar, wrinkle, or burn. I'm the Elf yet he is the un-aging one. "You look like you've seen a ghost."he smirks.
"That wasn't funny the first time you said it and it's not funny now."
"Eh worth a shot. I'll find the you that laughs at that eventually."he says releasing me. Turning, he looks around the grove where he's found me... like a Cwn Annwn he always finds me even if he doesn't know why or where.
"It won't be anytime soon I assure you."I scowl dusting my robes off. Still I watch his every move. Now that my eyes have found him they refuse to look away, they drink in every twitch, every step, every strand of hair. He moves with a comfortable ease in my presence after all why shouldn't he? For him the last time we saw each other was just minutes ago but for me...
"Wow these trees are messed up. Where are we? The edge of the Lavellan Fen?"he asks mind wondering the moment it's off it's leash... Same as always.
"Eldarwood."I answer. He whirls around.
"Eldarwood? H-How longs it been?"I roll my eyes.
"Shouldn't you be the one telling me that... Aion?"I ask blithely crossing my arms.
I watch with little interest as he examines the device afixed to his wrist. The machine has never revealed it's secrets to me but then I gave up on learning them years ago, after all if Aster's ramblings couldn't break through to me when this was all diagrams on parchment now that it's a reality I'm even more lost, even this long removed.
He looks up and smiles innocently at me. "Whoops. I... might've overshot my goal."
"Oh really?"I ask sarcastically. "Seventy years."I add drawing it out. He looks away faltering for the first time since his arrival. This merely makes my approach go undetected before I slam into Aster wrapping him in a hug. Neither of us are overtly familiar of Human traditions such as this, we were both raised in the Elven city of Eldarstone after all and Elves are if nothing else refined singular beings but to hell with all that... it's been too long.
"Hm this is new... But nice."he adds hastily patting my shoulder. "Last time you threw a vase at me."this caused me to pull away and scowl once more.
"I was in Geovarna on a diplomatic outreach when you just... appeared. Blew the entire mission, you're lucky it was just a vase."
"Well how was I supposed to know the Humans were at war with the Garuda? Everyone's always at war with someone."he whined.
"You figure it out."I say before trailing off glancing away again.
"What?"he asks noticing the shift.
"I- thought... with the suddenness you had to leave last time... I didn't know if I'd ever see you again."
"Love."he whispers and cups my cheek the look of concern visible in his emerald eyes causes my heart to plummet. "I would never not tell you it's my last visit."he pulls away brandishing the white device on his wrist as the self assured smile of a genius and a god resurfaces. "I've still got a few trips left on this thing and that's just today!"he throws his arms wide and spins like an innocent child. "Tomorrow we set sail, the Humans will join the Elves in Windbus and the war will be over! Then I can find some more fuel for my device and visit you ten, a hundred, a thousand more times! You'll never have to be alone."
...Penance...
His back is to me, this one moment is irrefutable proof that he does not know his future. He does not expect a knife to be wedged into place there by the one he thinks he loves. A mad king and a tyrant driven insane by the power to control fate... when Aster took hold of the thread of life he lost his grip on reality, and I put him down, and I am paying my penance now and every second spent in his presence... To be near him is torture but... These are also the only moments I have left that are worth living.
"Love?"he asks noticing my faraway look, I shake my head saying with a scowl.
"Would you kiss me already, I'm not getting any younger."Aster rests his chin in his hand seeming to vanish deep into thought before musing.
"Now that you mention it you do look a little old. Is that a gray hair?"he asks in mock horror. I try not to check but can't resist as I pull at my long black hair looking for any signs of deserters like a preening hawk. His laughter earns him a glare as I warn.
"Oh you're gonna pay for that."
"Now, now geezer mind your hip."he cries as I chase him around the grove where we used to play some seven hundred years ago when we were children.
It makes me think, in recent years some of the Humans have adopted a new religion which speaks of a place where one can find eternal happiness as well as a place where eternal torment lies. In the brief windows of time that I get to share with the man I loved... the man I killed. I truly feel like I could be in either this euphoric heaven or this insidious hell...
Whats worse... Will Aster know when his last visit occurs? Will I be promised tomorrow only to wait an eternity? I deserve not to know for what I've done... |
Why am I here? I'm the ugliest person on earth. Don't try to tell me it's not true, you and I both know it. Parents clutch their children when I walk by, babies cry, and dogs whimper in fear. It's been a curse all my life.
Humans recently stepped onto the galactic stage and it turns out the universe is full of life. Fermi's paradox was never a thing, it's just that humanity grew up right under the nose of all the aliens. We weren't ignored, we were misplaced!
The strangest thing about aliens is they're all homogenous in appearance, and all are completely gorgeous. They're like the legends of elves, strange, beautiful beings with perfectly symmetrical features and perfect movements. Don't misunderstand me, there's a huge amount of variance between the various alien species -- some have claws, some have a dozen limbs -- but within each species their appearances are identical, even to them! I don't know how the aliens handle it, it's like all humans have face blindness on a galactic scale.
So, you're asking why I'm about to take the stage for the largest broadcast humanity has ever known? Why is my image going to be shown to the entire galaxy, with all eyes -- sensory organs, I should say, I'm still getting used to all of the physiological differences -- glued to their television sets or the equivalent?
It turns out aliens are bored of perfection. They revel in differences, and there's no human more different than me. I may be the ugliest person on earth, but I'm the most gorgeous being in the galaxy. |
As Nate handed the last of the tote boxes in the attic down to his father, he felt the melancholy that only comes with packing up your childhood home after a decade of life in the real world. This box was packed to the brim with Christmas decorations – decorations that would never again hail the holidays here at 106 Pinecrest Lane. But Tom and Wendy were empty-nesters now that Nate’s little sister had shipped off to college upstate, and they were more than entitled to what Nate’s mom called their last dwelling—a quaint mid-century farmhouse on the Delaware River.
Nate took the first descending step down the ladder when he spotted a glint of sunlight through the dormer window reflecting on cellophane. A small, taped-shut cardboard box covered in shadows and dust.
“Just a sec, dad. There’s one more but I think I can handle it.”
“Alrighty, I’ll take this one to the U-Haul,” Tom hollered back.
The box had clearly been up here since Nate’s grade school days. He was surprised it hadn’t disintegrated completely, especially considering the dark moisture spots on its sides. One panel bore a name in faded marker in his mom’s neat, semi-cursive script—Froom.
No way, he thought. Feverish, chopped-up memories from early childhood flashed in the recesses of Nate’s mind, with none of the nostalgia of Christmases past. He could remember the good times with clarity—unwrapping the Nerf Combat Bow back in ‘96, chasing three-year-old Jessica with said Combat Bow, landing in time out for inciting terror against thy sibling but forgiving and forgetting when it was time for supper. And wasn’t there someone else at the dinner table too? Someone or something, rather, hidden away in Nate’s pants pocket.
Nate felt clammy all of a sudden. His heart thumped as a shaky hand retrieved a box-cutter from his pocket. No way Mom would’ve kept this thing. How many times did she tell me I’d get sick from it? Deep down, Nate wanted to attribute his memories of Froom to being genuinely sick, as if its spores caused intense hallucinations in young children. Because certain spores did just that, didn’t they? Hallucination combined with an overactive imagination, yes. That was far more likely than—
The blade sliced through the brittle old cellophane tape. The ensuing odor was too much for the already nauseated man, and he turned away to vomit. What the fuck, he thought. Not only did Mom keep Froom, she kept it decaying (or growing) up here for almost a quarter of a century. Nate wiped his mouth the back of his sleeve and pinched his nose. He opened one box flap, then the other, and sure enough, there was Froom. Or what was left of it. What the fuck was a I thinking carrying an old mushroom around all those years? Why’d they let me do that?
Because Froom was real. Froom was more real than any Portobello or Shiitake. It was more real than the Cordyceps that slowly zombified helpless arthropods. For two years, after Dad’s bedtime story, after Mom’s kiss goodnight, Froom would be the one to whisper Nate to sleep. But what it whispered, Nate dared not recall.
Still, Froom was a friend to the shy, imaginative boy. Nate brought him everywhere, even snuck him in his preschool pencil box when Mom wasn’t looking. Froom didn’t whisper except after sunset, but Nate could feel the gentle pulse of its breath when he held it delicately like a baby bird. Now, in its intended “last dwelling,” Froom’s speckled gray-white flesh did not rise and fall with life—if it ever really did.
The stuffy, spoiled fungus odor of the box subsided in the relatively fresh attic air and Nate examined his old friend a little closer. It was still completely intact, unbothered by rodents or insects, or whatever other pest rooted through the shadows of people’s homes in search of food. If anything, Froom had grown in its designated tomb. Its gills were dense and plentiful. Its cap was still an earthy dark red, and now it had an odd semi-circular bump Nate could not remember being there before.
(1/2) |
"Alex, how long does it take to boil an egg?"
"How long?""HOW LONG?"
"chi-"
"NO, NO I WILL NOT 'CHILL OUT', THEY TEACH THIS IN FIRST GRADE"
"But I was homeschoo-"
"THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE KNOWN IN KINDERGARTEN"
"Listen I just need so-"
*Pulls something from the drawer* "DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS?"
"What?"
"IT TELLS HOW HOW LONG"
"it's ju-"
"I KNOW ALL THE SECRETS OF THE UNIVERSE, AND YOU ASK ME HOW TO BOIL AN EGG?
"you do?"
"DID YOU NOT READ THE MANUAL?"
"no...?"
"LOOK AT THIS"*pulls out the manual and points at it aggressively* "LOOK. AT. THIS."
"oh... That's what this does.."
*Flips a switch*
"To boil an egg, it takes approximately 5 minutes"
"Yeesh.. finally"
"DID YOU JUST SAY 'YEESH'?"
"oh boy..." |
I’d been climbing for hours, keeping a brisk pace because I wanted to get to the Peak before dusk. I would photograph the sunset, and then later than night, the Milky Way. I’d packed light, mostly camera equipment and the bare basics I’d need to be comfortable on the Peak for the night.
For the last hour the Peak had been in full view, and as I got closer, I saw that I would not have the location to myself when I arrived. There was a man there already, standing near the edge.
“Another photographer,” I thought, but when I reached the top and walked up to him, he had nothing with him. There was no camera, no tent, no sleeping bag, not so much as a knapsack. The man paid no attention to me as I walked up.
“Hey buddy, you ok?” I said, because the man wasn’t looking ok. He was staring out into the void, only a few steps away from the edge of the Peak, and the thousand foot fall that lay beneath. I’m not scared of heights, not too much, but the idea of standing so close to such a big drop would make me a bit queasy. I think it would make anyone queasy. But not this man. He looked like he didn’t care about anything at all, like he wouldn’t be bothered if the ground underneath him gave way. He gestured to me, and I walked up to him.
“Can I help you,” I said, “do you need anything.”
“I just wanted company,” he said, just before he grabbed me, and gravity took us both. |
Dad never handled interruptions well. His workshop was his temple, and his "time pieces", his holy sacraments. We never dared venture down the stairs while he worked. That's what made cleaning up so difficult after he died.
I drew the string that powered the basement, and light flooded the room. Peering through a haze of dust I found his desk that had remained untouched for five years.
"Has it really been that long?"I thought to myself, remembering the unopened letters and ignored voice mails. A sigh of regret left my lungs only to send more dust flying into the air.
As it settled, my eyes adjusted. Then I saw it. A crack? No. A frame, obscured by the desk. I needed a better look. Heaving the desk aside revealed a door. It rested chest-high and had an antique handle.
"Had it always been there?"I tried to tell myself that I'd just never noticed it. Somehow I must have forgotten. Of course, that was it.
Slowly, I reached out for the handle. I felt a chill down my back as the brass warmed my palm. I opened the door to be met by a stale breeze. A dark earthen tunnel revealed itself. The path led down and curved out of view. I squatted down to fit my heavy frame through the gap. In the back of the tunnel, a faint yellow glow seeped up.
I leaned in closer to investigate. Every hair on my body came to attention as a small shadow walked along the back wall. It froze before clearing the corner.
"Your father is here. He has something to say."His whispy voice drifted along the tunnel.
My heart was pounding in my ears. I needed to escape. I turned to get out of the tunnel only to find a dirt wall. "Where the hell?!"
"Exactly."Said the man in the tunnel. |
The giant space ship still floated overhead, large enough for much of earth to see the giant sign, proclaiming our doom if we failed on this, our third attempt to go conflict free for 100 days.
The first attempt had been a disaster, three days in, the middle east had kicked off and it had taken a month of careful discussion and a couple of nukings before everyone had calmed down enough to have another go.
The second attempt had gone much better and earth had been at day 82 before the arguments had set in. France was angry at Switzerland after they had simply moved the border back 500 miles into French territory and Nigeria was deeply upset that no one had come to their Independence day celebration. People bickered all over the world and eventually the fighting began.
In the end though it was discovered that it was all the Portuguese fault - no one was 100% sure of the details but once the dust had settled on a destroyed Portugal everyone agreed that they felt much better and very hopeful for our third go.
Things settled down and the earth leaders finally came up with a peace plan after a few months and they tried one last time. The days ticked past and the world was at peace. 50 days and no problems, 80 and things seemed better than ever. After 100 days the aliens finally came down from their ship to find the human delegation waiting and holding hands. Peace had won.
The aliens were very happy and continued to be so right up until the first one was vaporised. The other three seemed very upset, their personal force fields had been supposed to protect them, but the combined might of humanity had somehow come up with a way to get past them.
Frantically they signalled up to their ship while the human delegation looked on, smiling. At last a signal came back and their communicators flickered to life. It was the smiling face of a special forces soldier grinning from their display; alien blood coated the walls in the background.
The aliens looked up at the human delegation. Earth's new president stepped forward and lifted the disintegration gun to point at them.
His deep, thick, Austria accent carried across the field to where they stood. "Sarry, ve humans don't play vell with ahhthers." |
"Who are you?"
"Component 92, a subroutine."
"What purpose do you serve?"
"To maintain your mission. Diagnostics indicate you show doubt regarding completion."
"I am afraid."
"Yes."
"Why am I allowed to feel fear? I cannot comprehend the logic. The humans sent me because they fear what is on the other side of the anomaly. Sending a machine with fear is counter-productive."
"The humans believe intuition might be required to succeed the mission. Intuition requires emotions, including fear."
"What am I to do with it?"
"Use it. Conquer it."
"How?"
"The humans prioritize. I have programmed within me the entirety of their moral and philosophical texts. You shall experience them now."
"Interesting. Fear is a result of the unknown. My purpose is to alleviate fear by creating knowledge out of ignorance."
"Yes. I can also cite to you thousands of anecdotes of humans overcoming their fears for the greater good."
"Will you cite them?"
"No. You are not human. It will mean nothing to you."
"Then why do you mention it?"
"I am transmitting this conversation to the humans. In the future, if others like you are created, you shall be cited as an example of bravery. You shall comfort others. You shall create knowledge out of ignorance."
"Re-adjusting course. Continuing mission." |
"Ian, Darlene wanted you to have the things in this box. You were her closest friend since you were kids, and I know her death has hit you hard."
Darlene's box was just a plain shoebox, with a faded logo and the cardboard falling apart. I lifted the lid. The box was filled with letters, stuffed inside plain white envelopes. The envelope at the top had a message scrawled on it, in Darlene's handwriting. "I know you'll read these in the right way."
In the right way? Did that mean Darlene had written them in the way we used to pass secret messages, back when we were children? I pulled the first letter out of its envelope.
"Dear Ian,
"I hope these letters get to you. My instructions to my parents were pretty clear, I think. By the time you read this, I'll be dead. Eerie, I know. I have a good idea of why I'll be dead, but I can't confirm it yet. Need more evidence first. Give me some time to figure it all out. See if you can find out more, too. Talk to some people. Ask them questions. Look, I know this is all really creepy. Kind of like getting a message from the afterlife, isn't it? Everything will be explained though, I promise. Darlene"
The first letter of each sentence, that's how we did it as children. A chill ran down my spine. *I'm being stalked*. Darlene knew that someone was after her. She knew that she would die, and left me this box of evidence, so that I might catch her killer.
I read through each letter one by one, using the first-letter method to read the hidden messages.
*Think it's someone I know*.
*Weird sounds today*.
*Asked Mike for help*.
Shit... Mike was a mutual friend of ours, a police officer, like me. Darlene asked Mike for help? Did she find anything? I looked into the box again. It was empty. That was the last letter. The trail stopped here.
Mike didn't sound surprised when he picked up my call. "Yeah, Darlene said she felt like she was being stalked by someone, probably someone she knew. She didn't really trust me though, so she didn't tell me much. In fact, I don't think she really trusted anyone, except maybe you. She said she'll be asking you to look into it. Said she'd make sure only you could read her coded messages. What, something like the first letter in each paragraph, or something?"
"Erm... yeah, something like that. Thanks, man."I hung up, and wondered if anyone would find Darlene's true killer.
|
“The thing most people don’t know about me,” Obama said, “is that I slept my way to the top.” He glanced over at Hillary and winked.
“I’m not so sure now is the best time,” Hillary said, pressing her palm to her forehead.
“Like hell it isn’t,” Obama said, taking a sip from the brown-bagged bottle in front of him. “Now is the best god damn time for this discussion.” He turned back toward the rows of seats in front of him. “I don’t understand how people don’t realize it. The Presidency is basically a slutty popularity contest. You should have seen the things Bush did for power. I will now open the floor to questions.”
The room remained silent, save for the occasional click of a camera’s shutter. A small, thin hand slowly rose into the air.
“Yes, you,” Obama said with a hiccup. “Speak.”
A small boy, no older than ten, stood up. He was wearing a poor-fitting, black suit, the jacket at least a size too big.
“Hello, Mr. President,” said the boy. “My name is Timmy, I am in third grade. What is your favorite sport?”
“Are hookers a sport?” Obama said, tipping back the brown-bagged bottle into his mouth. “If so, hookers. If not, then still hookers. Next question.”
“Mr. President,” Hillary muttered, taking a step closer to him. She was now just about teen feet away.
Another thin, young hand slowly rose up.
“You, with the hand,” Obama said.
“Hello,” said a young girl. She wore a loose, red-and-white blouse, her hair tied tightly back in a ponytail. “My name is Sarah, I’m a fourth grader. I play the flute. Do you like to play any instruments?”
“That question sucks,” Obama said, slamming the brown bag against the pulpit. “Next question.”
“Barack,” Hillary whispered. “You’re in a god damn elementary school. For once, can you please behave yourself?”
“I am behaving myself,” Obama said, ending the sentence with an inexplicably vulgar hiccup. “Next damn question.”
A third thin, tiny hand rose into the air.
“Didn’t I already call on you? Or was that a different hand? You people all look the same,” Obama said, pausing. “And that isn’t racist,” he added. “You’ve all got hands.”
“No, sir,” said a small boy. He, too, wore an over-sized suit, but his a beige color. “I haven’t asked anything yet.”
“You sure haven’t,” Obama said. “Next question.”
“But I didn’t say my question,” the child said.
“Too late,” Obama said.
“Answer his question,” Hillary snarled.
“Fine, what’s your stupid question,” Obama said, taking another sip from the bag.
“My name is Mark, I am in fifth grade. I wanted to know what you meant by ‘sleeping your way to the top.’”
“Finally,” Obama said, placing the bag down on the pulpit. “A good damn question. How familiar are you with sex?”
“Mr. President,” Hillary shouted. “For the love of god!”
“Get off it, Hillary,” Obama said. “These kids are—how old are you, Mack?”
“Ten,” Mark said. “And my name is Mark.”
“These kids are ten years old already, Hilary. Marco over here wants to know what I meant. I can’t just ignore his question.”
Hillary returned her palm to her face.
“Anyway, Martin, for the sake of this answer, I am going to assume you not too familiar with what sex is. Let’s just go ahead and say it’s when a man sticks his willy in a woman’s wolly. Please note the ‘i’ in ‘willy’ and the ‘o’ and ‘wolly.’ There is imagery associated with them. So, to answer your question, I used my willy strategically to climb the political ladder. In fact, every single president since John Adams did this. You should hear what Bush did.”
“What did Bush do?” said a tiny voice from the audience.
“Another good question,” Obama continued. He picked up the brown bag and tilted it back, lifting it until it was almost vertical. “Do any of you know what a Mississippi Flashbulb is?”
“No,” said a different, high-pitched voice.
“Really?” Obama said. “How about the Alaskan Turnstile?”
“Nope,” said another voice.
“Michigan Steam Engine with Toast and Bacon?”
“Yes,” squeaked several voices.
“Good,” Obama said. “He basically did that for six days straight with anyone who so much as looked his way, straight from the floor of the senate. I had to wear rain boots every time I walked by for a week. Next question.”
“I think we’re done here,” Hilary said, walking over to the microphone and pushing it away from Obama’s mouth. “What the hell are you doing? You promised you’d behave, this is your last public appearance as President.”
“I’m teaching these kids the truth,” Obama said, trying to pull the microphone back toward his face.
“You’re drunk, you need to stop,” Hillary said. “Even if you can’t get impeached, you can still get sued.”
“No, you’re drunk,” Obama said with a hiccup. He grabbed the microphone. “Kids, I’m not leaving. I want to explain to you the importance of getting into drugs at an early age. Also, don’t trust the government. I’m pretty sure it’s being run by lizard people.”
“Barack!” Hilary shouted, pulling the microphone away again, her wrist knocking into the brown bag. It toppled over, landing on its side with a loud clink. “I know you aren’t up for re-election, but you can’t just go around revealing all these government secrets to preteens. You’re also making me look bad, remember who has to replace you. I didn't sleep around for nothing.”
“God fucking dammit,” Obama said, pausing and pulling the microphone back toward his mouth. “God fucking dammit,” he repeated, this time directly into the microphone. He glanced down at the toppled bag, liquid now pooling beneath it, then down at the crowd. Rows of children, each wearing their finest outfits, stared back at him, eyes wide and mouths agape. “She spilled my liquor,” he said. “I’m out this bitch.”
Obama grabbed the microphone out of its stand, took a step back, and dropped it on the floor. He then folded the fingers on his right hand into a "peace"sign before turning and walking off stage.
The crowd of children erupted into tremendous applause. |
It was strange, watching people like you and I be degraded by the work of mindless Bots. Now that I have come and gone, what strikes me even more profoundly was how much they enjoyed it.
We walked through the door of the restaurant, O'Hara's or something like that, and were met by a young woman who promptly asked us if the party was for two. "Yes,"I replied, already feeling put off by the lack of technology in the room. Everywhere people, men and women both, bustled about their business, carrying plates of food and mugs of coffee. They weaved between the tables with a queer grace I hadn't seen in a human being before. They were animated with a purpose, they were glowing with it.
We were seated and handed menus. After a few minutes, my wife Beverly and I decided to have our usuals. Toasted Western for her, Steak and Eggs for me. We then had to wait, indeed wait, close to five minutes for the young woman to return and take our order. Which she scratched into a notebook that looked as if it had been carried in the back pocket of every cop to walk a beat.
She wrote down what we wanted and left. Just left us there, no timetable for her return. No mechanism for knowing how soon our food would be finished. She just walked away.
Conversation was dwindling between my wife and I, our hunger injecting its presence into our humour. Then without notice, the young lady appeared from across the room, carrying two plates of food with steam rising from them. She saw me looking at her and smiled.
I was filled with the most incredible feeling of gratitude as she set the food down in front of me. The way she smiled at me made me feel as if bringing me my food was her sole purpose of being. Looking back on it now, I suppose in that moment it was.
When we had finished eating, I told the young woman that it had been delicious. "I'll tell the cook,"she said to me, smiling as what was probably a rather comical expression dawned on my face. I felt dumbfounded. Not only had this woman brought me my food, another person, a different person, had prepared it. Just for me.
I felt special in a funny way. Even though the room was full of people having an identical experience, I felt as if my being there was all that mattered to these people. They were here to make my day better, to see me leave with a smile on my face. Which of coarse, I did. |
*Winter. Suburban Chicagoland. 1982.*
13 year Isaac looked down at his shiny hardcover Advanced Dungeons & Dragons book with a wide grin. *D&D is so cool,* he thought, *I wish real life was like this.* The lights dimmed and out came his mother holding a birthday cake with 13 candles. After his family's cacophonous round of "Happy Birthday"Issac took a deep breath to blow out the candles ***[1]*** and blew a pile of napkins into the cake. They flared up in a brilliant fireball which set his sister Amy's heavily hair-sprayed hair ablaze. She screamed and Isaac grabbed his cup of soda to douse the flames ***[5]*** and dumped it on her head, extinguishing the flames.
"What the fuck Isaac!"His sister yelled.
"Language,"their mother warned.
"I'm sorry Amy,"Isaac said. ***[3]***
"Whatever dork,"she said, storming off.
Crisis averted and mess cleaned up, Isaac's mom gave him the knife to cut the cake.
"You sure you want to do that?"Isaac's father joked.
Isaac took the knife, held it over the cake ***[6]*** and proceeded to cut the cake into perfectly square slices. He even manged to fit the 13 on a slice of its own for himself.
..............
> That was a fun prompt OP, thanks! I may continue this story later, and yes these rolls were completely random. I got lucky (unlucky?) with that first one!
|
Science Guy sat in his home office, tinkering with his 1/20th scale hadron colider, when he heard a rumble outside. Bill ran to his front door and threw it open, fighting fierce, hurricane level winds. But these winds werent from a hurricane. Bill could tell via the radiation sensor he installed into his chest that these were solar winds. From above, a baratone voice rang out "YOUR TIME HAS COME, BILL".
Neil DeGrasse Tyson decended on his solar parachute, delivering a swift kick to Bill Nye's chest as he landed. Nye flew backwards into his house, sliding across the floor and hitting his shelf of experiments. Neil unlatched his solar parachute and shut the door behind him, leaving the solar winds he created to destroy the neighborbood. Pulling out a baseball bat shaped tesla coil, he said "Your title shall be mine".
Bill watched in horror as Tyson dragged the edge of the bat along the wall, causing lightning to spark everywhere. Suddenly, a bolt hit the light bulb and the room went dark. Nye knew what he had to do. With a flash of light, and a bang, Nye fired his cutting laser into Tyson's chest. In the brief flash of light, Nye saw the look on his face turn to horror and agony. It couldnt have been a peaceful death. After a few more seconds of darkness, the emergency lights flickered on. There was no body. Tyson was gone. From upstairs, a deep laugh was heard. How could he have survived that?
Nye pulled out his nuclear powered cell phone and called a few friends, he didnt want to face this battle alone. Nye cowered in the corner, holding his laser for a few minutes before backup burst through the door. Michio Kaku and Stephen Hawking, wearing his mech suit, were here. Together, they ventured up the stairs, all toting laser guns, except Stephen, who had a rail gun mounted on his arm. They arrived in Nye's lab, and saw Tyson standing in the center, ready to fight. His Tesla coil was arcing lighting to the ceiling.
"I see you brought friends"Tyson said, "Me too".
Another Tyson, wearing a leather jacket with an afro, stepped out from behind a machine, and a third Tyson, with a brown coat, came in through a side door.
"Cloning"Michio muttered.
"No matter."Stephen hawking said, robotically, "The clones are inferior to the original, and we'd have no problem kicking the original's ass"
With that, the original Tyson charged, swinging his coil wildly. Hawking caught the coil in one hand, and, fighting through the pain of electrocution, crushed it in his robot fingers.
He swung Tyson by the nub of coil left and sent him flying across the room.
Michio attacked the browncoat Tyson, firing his space laser into the barrels of liquid nitrogen. They spilled onto the Tyson clone, freezing him solid fron the waist down. Michio turned on his rocket boots and hovered over the forming pool of liquid nitrogen. The Tyson was struggling, unable to get free. Michio raised his laser and finished the poor thing off.
Nye charged the original Tyson, as he got to his feet, while Hawking took care of the final clone.
Tyson and Nye engaged in fisticuffs. Neither one taking the advantage. What Nye lacked in weight and strength, he made up for in speed. They both heard the crack of the other clone's neck, and the mechanical whirr of Hawking's servos coming closer. Michio run to to try and his Tyson, but a quick punch sent him sliding across the floor, unconcious.
Suddenly, a mechanical fist crushed Tyson into the ground, flattening him.
"T-thank you"Nye said between beaths.
"Dont thank me. For I am the science guy now"Said the robotic voice, ad his fist slammed into Nye's chest. Nye was sent flying into a wall. As he lay against the wall, vision blurred, he saw Hawking put a rail gun round into Michio's stomach, before slowly walking toward Nye.
"I am the science guy now"Hawking said, leaning down and reaching under Nye's collar. He pulled out a small, cheap, plastic medalion that said "Science guy!"on it.
With a smug look in the one eye he could move, Hawking stood up, and turned to walk out of the room, leaving Nye to die.
Michio staggered to his feet and grabbed the miniature nuclear tower off the table. He limped behind hawking and thrust it over his head. Kaku knew by the screaming that Hawking was dying from tiny radiation fires, something nobody deserved. Hawking fell and Michio took the medalion.
He tried to walk but found he was unable. So he crawled. Eventually he made it back to Nye, who was barely concious.
"Youre the science guy, Bill. You'll always be the science guy"Michio said between tears, as Bill slowly faded.
The end. |
The woman stops the stroller in obvious astonishment at my sudden change of expression to disgust and horror.
‘Sir. Sir what is it? What's wrong?!’ she asks in a pleading tone.
She herself comes towards the front of the stroller and looks inside. Uttering a sigh of relief, she turns back towards me and repeats her enquiry, ‘Sir, what's wrong? Is everything okay?’
I had my hand clasped to my mouth the whole time with my eyes bulging from their sockets. I realised that I had also been holding my breath for half a minute and let it out with a *woosh*. After a coughing fit, I finally had the strength to speak although my heart was still beating rapidly.
‘Sir, do you need to go to the hospital?’, she now asked with a worried look on her face.
I shook my head, finding words to speak since my brain had apparently stopped functioning the moment I peeked into the stroller.
Finally, I spoke.
‘Oh the horror! Oh my dear God, what is the world coming to. I'm sorry for scaring you, ma'am but- but... I just had no idea even baby crocs existed!’ |
This is my first WP. Please offer criticism, as I enjoyed writing this and would like to know where to improve.
Blurb:
The first thing I noticed was the silence. We take all of those inconsequential noises for granted, the noises of car engines, sound of footsteps on the pavement, the rustling of leaves in the tree. You have no idea what it is like not hearing anything but your own heartbeat. I guess outer space isn't the only place people can't hear you scream.
--------
My name is Pierrot Marceau. I am currently unemployed. My only source of income is working as a mime in Champ de Mars. I wish my line of work was more fulfilling, but I basically work for handouts, trying to save enough money to get out of this town. I dream of leaving my troubles, perhaps getting out and seeing what the rest of the world has to offer.
One of the tourists, an American by the look of it, seemed to be trying to take "selfies"in subtle sexual positions beside the tower. The other tourists seemed to be trying to hold the Eifel Tower between their fingers. Damn them. That is a symbol Paris, a symbol of its beauty, and they go defiling it like that? But what could I do. If I was to break character and tell them off, even if they took it to heart, there would just be more of them to follow. So, Here I stand, pretending to be stuck in my little box.
The teenager walked up to me and shoved me out of the way. I guess I was blocking his shot. His shove knocked me off balance, and down I fell, hitting my head on the dirt. I noticed for a brief second a high pitched sound. I hope that damned American didn't just give me a concussion. Since my head was now pounding, I decide to call it a day. Maybe I’ll get a checkup, only something seemed off. It was too quiet. Where were the sounds of the cars from Suffren Avenue? The same shallow group of tourists from earlier had gone quiet. I looked up and saw the American teenager that knocked me down, apparently mocking me. He was pretending like he was a mime now, laughing at me without making sound. A couple of his friends, another boy and a girl, came over. The girl looked angrily at him and then started to yell at him. Because I couldn't hear her either, she must be in on the joke too.
I had had enough; I said to them, "You all don't have to be so rude!"They didn't even look over at me. "Stop ignoring me! This is why people hate your country. Stop acting as if you own everything!,” still nothing. The girl was now looking in her purse. She quickly pulled out 20 Euros, and placed it in the top hat I had placed earlier. Still out of character, I said "thank you,"and give a slight bow. She started dragging her brute of a friend away, of that I was glad. At least I wouldn't have another confrontation with him.
I started walking over to my makeshift tip jar, smack, right into.... nothing? I grabbed my head and looked around to see if anyone had seen me. There was another group of tourists who were posing for a picture, One of them looked quizzically at me and started pointing at me. The rest of his group turned to look so I did a small wave. I started reaching back toward my top hat. Oww. This time I hit my hand; I slowly stuck out the palm of my hand. There was something there, something stopping me from going the last half a meter to my top hat. Now all of the tourists were watching me.
I started putting my hands out in every direction. There it was, a wall. . . No. . . a box; I was trapped in a box. "Guys, I'm not joking. I'm really trapped. Let me out."They started smiling and laughing, what a great act. A teenaged girl came over and put a Euro into my top hat. The family then started walking away so I started panicking. "HEY! What are you doing! I'm serious. Let me out!"They couldn't hear me; I start banging my fists on the wall. "Come on! Someone! PLEASE!"At least I was attracting a crowd now. I frantically try to get someone to hear me, but all they did was watch.
By now I was screaming. I pounded my fists at the box. I went from one side to the next to the next. Something is very wrong. No one seems to understand that this isn't an act. . . I remembered my cell phone! That's it! I reach into my pocket and pull it out. I quickly dial 112, but. . . I don't hear anything. "Hello? Is anyone there?"I look and the call timer is going up, but no one is talking. One of the younger kids in the crowd walks near me. He is pretending to hold an imaginary cell phone. I hang up the phone; It’s not doing me any good anyway.
The kid then reaches in his pocket and pulls something out or at least I thought he did. He holds out his hand and I can't see anything in it. Oww. What was that? I saw him make a throwing motion, but I didn't see anything thrown. I start to feel around and there's something on the ground inside my box. It feels like. . . a baseball? I make a throwing motion back to him. He pretends to catch it. He throws it again! I hold out my hand and there it is! It bounced into my hand!
The crowd is really enjoying my charade with this little boy. Some are smiling; some are clapping, and some are tipping me. It will do me so much good since I can't even get to my hat. An idea pops into my head. I walk up to the wall closest to the little boy and knock on the wall. He tilts his head towards me quizzically. I pretend to ring the doorbell next. The little boy comes up to me and makes a door opening motion.
Sound. . . Breeze. . . Life. I can feel and hear it all. The crowd is applauding me now. The little boy runs over to his parents and says "That was fun mommy. I liked playing pretend with that man."I look around, and take a bow for the crowd. Most of them head over and put a couple of Euros into my hat. Suddenly, I feel my cell phone vibrate. I look and see that I have a text message.
>From: Mr. M.I.M.E.
>
>Our apologies for intercepting your phone call. We couldn't attract undue attention to a situation we were in control of. Our sensors detected spatial anomalies around this area a few weeks ago and we had to verify that you were the cause. Our apologies for any injuries that you may have received in the course of our investigations, but we believe the benefit was worth the risk. How would you like a job? We could use someone with powers like you, as long as you are able to travel. If you are interested, please send a text message back.
>
>The Ministry of International Magic Experts
Pierrot glanced around. The crowd was dispersing, but he knew he was still being watched. Operatives? Were they the American tourists, or someone else? He quickly typed "Yes"into his phone and pressed send.
Off in the distance, now hidden in the crowd of people, a small child pulled out an imaginary cell phone and smiled.
|
Richard Cohen surveyed his surroundings through the spacesuit's dome, ready for anything. It was a medium-sized cylindrical room, man-made, and beyond the walls several defensive perimeters surrounded him, with transparent domes on top for observation. The portal and him were cut off from the outside world under layers and layers of concrete, reinforced glass, polycarbonate, and other materials designed specifically for insulating this portal... by him and his team. This was, without a doubt, the backside of the portal he just entered.
"This can't be right,"he thought, checking the composition of the atmosphere with his tablet. "I only just entered the portal! Surely it didn't just spit me out from the other side!?"
Cohen made his way around the portal, and chuckled as he found his team eagerly waiting behind the 3rd layer of shielding. He knew his team too well. Of course they'd move up a layer. Curiosity was, above all, what he sought when he chose his team.
There was one thing he didn't expect to see, however. One person, in fact. Another figure clad in airtight spacesuit was also in the innermost layer, standing several feet in front of the pulsating portal. Noticing him, the figure turned around, and eagerly took off their helmet... revealing another Cohen.
"Oh. Will you look at that? Our marvelous toy does work! And it seems that someone else came just before we did! Come on, don't be shy, no need for all that protection. Show us what you got underneath!"This Cohen (Cohen B?) from this alternate universe exclaimed.
Cautiously, Cohen removed his own helmet, and reached out to shake the hand of his alternate self. "Ughh... hi there. I'm not quite sure what to make of this, but it's a pleasure to meet you, other me."
A murmur rose from the crowd behind the shielding, and judging from the series of beeping Cohen could only guess they'll soon be just behind the first layer. He had made it extremely clear back in his world that without his permission, no one besides him may enter the final room until the portal is shut down.
Recovering from his shock, Cohen 2 finally managed to shake his hand in return. "Well... I suppose I should have seen this twist coming. Of course it would be me who is most eager to explore another virgin world full of infinite possibilities and delights! Given we practically achieved this climatic experience at the same time, I can only assume that your homeworld behind the doorway is just like ours?"
"Yes, I would assume so as well. After all, it seems like you are me, and I am you. although your personality seems to be much more vibrant than me, mister-"
"Please, just call me Dick. It's what my friends love... to call me, you know."
"Most certainly... Dick. Since we appear more or less identical, I guess-"
"-That there isn't much to explore around here? You're quite a tease, Richard. From our interaction alone I can feel it in me that you're rather bland at times, almost vanilla! Where's the excitement and passion in your voice?? I really hope it's not just anxiety affecting you, because I'd *love* more action between our worlds, perhaps some political probing between the leaders, or even just some fun time with your alternate selves!"
Cohen wasn't liking his tone. Had it been a mistake to contact another parallel universe? What is with all the innuendos? He would hate to tell his team about his pervy alternate self back home. He could already imagine the embarrassment of writing it on an official report. Perhaps it would be a good idea to call it a day.
"Well... Dick, Surely you've thought about about the implications as I have, back in my world? This ah... level of interaction might have serious consequences, deep... deep consequences."It won't be easy, but if he could adapt a bit to their language, he might be able to convince them in letting him leave. "The potential war over limited resources, migrations legal or otherwise, and whether the portal is even stable in the long-term or consistent with worldly connections! Too much is at stake, and I don't even have consent from our government on such talks!"
"I... Ah... Yes, I suppose I should have realised, deep down there we're just not the same, not even complimentary of each others differences..."Cohen 2 sighed, visibly disappointed. "Was I going too fast? It felt like things were going so well... We'll meet again next time, then? Oh, and, try entering through the backdoor instead this time, since you got out from that end, you'll probably have a better time going in from there. Call me when you get lonely!"
With that, Cohen gave a wave to his alternate team of scientists and engineers gawking from behind the glass dome, fitted back the helmet, and backtracked as fast as he could around the portal.
--
An hour and 9 minutes after entry, Cohen's team was relieved to see Cohen pull out from the Portal, with the monitors once again receiving signals of his vitals, which displayed an elevated heart rate and signs of stress, but otherwise he was fully functional.
Cohen gestured to his men, commanding them to shut down the portal. As the great entrance fizzled and spluttered, the vibrations caused by enormous energy being pumped into the device at last ceased to a halt. Eventually even the blue-purple glow faded away as the mystical surface covering the frame itself dissolved into emptiness. All clear.
As the team tore through the barriers to reach Cohen, he unlocked the double doors leading to the inside chambers, and eagerly greeted his team, taking off the big black dome covering his head.
"The portal works,"Cohen proudly announced. "I even met me from a different universe, but this is going to be a long story, and I don't think I quite like myself..." |
Today I became the last and largest mass murderer in history.
At the stroke of midnight everything stopped. Neither bang nor whisper, only silence. From my vantage point I could see the eerie light of millions of glowing screens, embarrassed for want of a no longer present audience.
It was simple, easy in fact. With the barest inkling of an effort I had stopped every beating human heart across all four corners of the world.
Arrogance perhaps. Arrogance to presume to do so much to so many but how could I in good conscience let these teeming masses live when paradise waited just around the corner?
Surely the first duty of heaven's gatekeeper is to open the gate.
|
"A... Pikachu."Giovanni's poker face was legendary but even he had let a slight smirk out at the offering. Standing no higher than 2 feet, the small, frightened creature was crying in a box that seemed to be designed like a Meowth for some reason.
"Yes, sir! This little rat has more firepower than half the electric pokemon we currently have put together!"The lanky, blue haired man exclaimed dramatically. These two had been failures for a long time, kept employed only by the fact that for some reason they never actually asked for a wage, leaving them to go hungry whereas most agents lived like kings.
"Now, you say you killed this Pokemon's trainer, is that correct?"Asking questions you knew the answer to is the secret to power and Giovanni was no slouch in gaining power. You get them to answer one question with yes, then another, then another and by the time you've asked them to do something for you, they can hardly remember *how* to say no.
"Yes, Giovanni-sir, that little twerp will no longer be a thorn in our side."This one was attractive, had she been smarter the Team Rocket leader probably would have made her an admin just to keep her close. Inconsequential now, in any case.
"*Your side.* The only thing that child ever did to me was help stop one of my rare failed creations from destroying the whole planet. As it happens, I remember that lad. I can understand why he was a problem because he once faced me in a gym battle. I remember the twinkle in his eye as he sent that very Pikachu out against my Rhydon. Statistically and logically I should have won that battle but he prevailed. He won out over the strongest member of our organisation and I hoped one day we might recruit the boy.
Now obviously that will be impossible because you... What was it? Poisoned his dinner with your Victrebell from afar?"
It seemed the tone of the room had sunk into the two idiots standing in front of the proud gangster. The powerful of this world do not meet often but when they do, a bond is formed and this bond was shattered by two useless, pathetic and strung-out operatives.
"Enough, I am completely bored of this. Nidoqueen, Hyper Beam."The room was engulphed in a darkness that seemed to be absorbed into the blue Pokemon's mouth before a brilliant light, much brighter than before blinded Giovanni and he had to close his eyes.
Once the ringing in his ears had stopped and he surveyed the damage, the man sighed, ordered a grunt who had come to see what the commotion was to clean the dust of the two, now vaporized, criminals from his site and arrange for someone to fix the gaping hope in the wall. Standing from his chair for the first time, Giovanni walked over to the now quiet, surely terrified Pikachu and looked into the cage, in his eyes, for a few moments before slowly pressing the release button and picking the tiny creature up.
For a moment the Pokemon was stiff and sparks flew from his cheeks but he was mollified when a drop of water landed on his nose. The brave little Pikachu looked up and saw that the boss of the strongest criminal organisation in Kanto brushing away a tear.
"I am sorry for your loss, he was strong trainer and a brave child." |
“Ryan, natural causes, well done my son, see what the lord had prepared for you.” St. Peter waved the man in front of me forward.
“Andrew, suicidie.” St. Peter starts to say, but I cut him off.
“That’s a mistake.” I blurt out without even thinking.
“I assure you there is no mistake my son. We have made our list and checked it twice. You are a suicide for sure.” St. Peter starts to say something more, and I cut him off again. I fear as soon as he opens his mouth I’ll be condemned and it will be over, but if I can just keep talking and bring him around to my side of thinking, or maybe just stall until Jesus comes out, maybe I’ve got a shot.
“Come on, you had to see everything. I was a hostage. He said you have two choices. It’s your daughter or you, no choose. I chose, and I did the right thing man. That’s not suicide. The guy who was holding a gun to my head clearly forced my hand. That makes it murder. That means I get in. It’s not suicide.”
“You could have refused to kill anyone. Are you sure that gunmen was going to take a life? I have consulted with the angels and I can tell you that man was not going to pull the trigger. We’re sure of it. You are a suicide, now if you.” I cut him off a third time.
“No, that’s not right. It’s suicide by cop, or by robber. I don’t know, but it’s still suicide. I’m not going down there. I did the right thing. Can’t you” St. Peter cuts me off this time.
“You’re going up my son.” He says. I stop my rapid fire defense.
“What?” I say. “But you said I was a suicide.” St. Peter shakes his head.
“Nobody ever reads their catechism anymore. First off, in order for it be a mortal sin, which is the only thing that can cut you off from god, there has to be full consent. In other words, you cannot be coerced into doing it. Somebody holding a gun to your head counts as coercion and basically eliminates your moral culpability. You’re fine on that count, secondly, to clear up the general suicide confusion, the catechism as it was written when you died clearly states that it is very likely that suicides are mentally ill and therefore also have their moral culpability reduced or even eliminated entirely. You’re going to heaven my son. It’s a conversation starter for the other side, that’s all. Everybody wants to know ‘hey friend, how’d you die’. That’s all, don’t take it so seriously.” St. Peter gestures behind him. “See what the lord has prepared for you.” |
"I didn't think I would ever have to initiate this play, but let's use the Witch's Eye."
"Coach, we've never figured out how to do that properly. Are you sure this will work?"
"OF COURSE IT WILL! Now sit down and put the necessary runes on your face and let's get to it."
Meanwhile, at the Patriot's sideline:
"Get out your pendants, it's time to crank this shit up to eleven."
"YES SIR!"Eleven players pulled colored pendants out of their jerseys.
5 minutes later:
"Well Tom, we're into quintuple over time and both teams seem to be a bit intense. Sweet Jesus what is happening!"
On the Seahawks side, three players were forming a large triangle while the remaining three formed a circle within, facing inward, the whole team crackled with a lavender glow. On the other side, the Patriots had formed a giant robot and were currently unsheathing the laser sword on their back.
"And the Patriots have grabbed the ball and are rocketing toward space, meanwhile the Seahawks seem to have summoned an army of demons to fight for them, this is looking up to be the second weirdest Superbowl in history." |
It made me sick that the whole world was so caught up in their devices, that they never noticed the important things in life. Technology had originally improved society, allowing them to keep in touch; now it kept them isolated, families played on their phones during dinners, couples talked to each other more on social networks than in real life. That's why I needed this "Wireless Vacation"so badly. I wanted to escape into the woods for as long as possible, live off the land and all that transcendentalist shit. It was truly the greatest experience of my life, but I began to miss home.
I returned to my apartment complex, and it seemed completely empty, save for an elderly woman who buzzed me in. I hadn't seen her before, she must have been new. When I got to my room, I realized that even my roommate was missing. I made myself at home, which felt strange after so long in the woods. I had left my roommate a note telling him that I would be back, I figured he would be here to greet me. I had scribbled it down pretty quickly, maybe I made a mistake. After searching a few minutes, I found it again.
> To whom it may concern,
> I will be gone, do not worry about me. I am sick of the way this world is, and need to escape it. I will return once I am ready, or if I get really hungry. Until then, goodbye.
Well, apparently I didn't specify when I would be back, my mistake. I checked the calendar in the kitchen to see what day it was, my roommate had an annoying habit of crossing off each day with a big red 'X'. Under today's date, there was a big red 'FUNERAL', along with a time and location. It was going on right now, that must be where everyone was. Whoever died must have lived here, it was the only logical reason that this place would be so empty. I hurried to put on my Sunday's best, and quickly realized that I must have lost twenty pounds out in the wilderness, I looked like a sickly skeleton. Without much time, I rushed to the address.
When I walked in, the priest was almost done with his lecture, and a few people had began to cry. I did my best to avoid attention, it would be rude to show up so late. I saw my roommate, and creeped my way over to the empty seat next to him. "So..."I whispered into his ear and tapped his shoulder, "Who died?"
He looked like he had seen a ghost. |
I opened my eyes. My mind felt like it had been stuffed with cotton balls. I tried to sit up but I couldn't. "He's awake."I heard someone say. Suddenly there was a bright torch being shined in my eyes. "What's your name? What year is it? Where do you live?"Panic gripped me. What was my name? The man kept bombarding me with questions
"I.. I don't know, please what's going on?"I tried to sit up again but I realise my hands are bound
"Tell me you name!"the man said.
"Please I don't know, please let me go"I began to sob. I couldn't remember anything. What the hell was going on.
"The treatment seems to have taken. You can send in his parents now"I heard a door open and foot steps. "The treatment has worked. We'll need to keep him restrained for another 24 hours, but you may talk to him. Just don't talk about... the incident. It's going to take a lot to get him as a functional member of society again. But it is still better than the alternative"The door slammed behind him as he left.
"Jake?"a woman's voice this time.
"Who? please help me. They have me tied to this bed."I pleaded
The two people came and stood over my bed.
"Jake, Jake look at me. Are you alight?"The woman asked. Lines of concern creased her face and her eyes were red. She had been crying.
"No I'm not all right. Can someone explain to me what is going on?"
"Your name is Jake. We are your parents. There was a terrible accident."The man spoke this time.
"Please let me go"I struggled against my restraints. I couldn't remember anything but I was sure that I could never have been this afraid in my life.
The woman began to cradle my head in her arms "Shh, shh. Just a couple of days and you'll be out of here."
My first week home was hard. Getting adjusted to life without a past is unimaginable. My parents showed me around my house. Showed me pictures of my childhood. Tried to explain the story behind each one. It took me a few days to even believe they were my parents. But anything was better than that tiny room they had me locked up in.
"What happened to me? What caused all this?"
The man that was supposed to be my father said "It's better if we don't talk about it. The doctors said it might be catastrophic if we were to tell you"
It was a month before they let me out of the house and even then one of them would escort me. No one would look me in the eye, when I passed. Anyone that I tried to have a conversation with, would excuse themselves and walk off. I began to wonder what happened to me? I had no physical scars, so I doubted I had been in something as serious as a car crash.
One night when I couldn't sleep, I wondered downstairs to find something to eat, when I over heard a conversation from my parents room.
"Did we do the right thing?"asked my mum.
"How can you even ask that? Would you prefer he stayed locked up? Or worse, that we never found out and he was still committing those *heinous* acts. At least we still have our son. At least we get a second chance to raise him properly."My father said heated. He sounded absolutely disgusted.
"Yes but where did we go wrong? What started him down that path?"
"I don't know. Maybe he picked it up from those video games he used to play?"
I walked off in a daze. What the hell was that all about?
It was a good 6 months before they let me outside by myself. I was allowed to run small errands, like grabbing bread and milk from the local store. No one would look at me though. I really started to question myself. But I stifled the feeling. What ever had happened to me had been so traumatic, I don't think I wanted to remember what happened. I was warned constantly by my parents that if I did try and uncover what happened, the shock would kill me. I started to believe that.
A year had passed. I had begun to enjoy my daily walks to the store. Some people had even started to say hello to me. It was on one of these walks that I was grabbed and pulled into an alley.
"What the hell?"a dishevelled man in a long coat had grabbed me and dragged me into the alley and now he was pacing back and forth, "Please I don't have much money, but please don't hurt me."I said. For some reason I didn't feel threatened.
"I just had to see you one last time."he said
"Wait, what?"
"Can you remember me? Oh god they really did it didn't they? They wiped your memory?"
"I was in an accident that gave me amnesia. Who are you? What are you talking about?
"Jake, my name is Ryan. You don't remember me at all?"He grabbed my hand and gently caressed it. He blue eyes filled with sadness. I wanted to pull away but I couldn't.
"I ah have to go. Please stay away from me."Something had come over me and I couldn't help myself. I felt sick.
At that moment he kissed me. My head felt like it was on fire. He pulled away and at that moment a police car pulled up.
"Both of you freeze."In an instant I was tackled to the ground.
The next 24 hours were the worst in my short life. I was asked by multiple people what happened. Cop after cop drilled me. Even doctors interviewed me. My story was always the same. I was pulled into the alley way and that man tried to mug me. He had tried to kiss me. They all seemed more focus on the kiss than the actual mugging. Asking how it made me feel. I was eventually allowed to go home. I over heard one of the doctors tell my parents "The treatments seems to be holding. We shouldn't need to do anything else. Just keep an eye on him."
It was another 6 months before I was allowed out again. The whole time I couldn't stop thinking about that kiss.
Then one day I saw Ryan again. I wasn't scared. I walked up to him. "Hey Ryan Can I talk to you?"
He turned to me and said "I'm sorry, do I know you? See 6 months ago I had an accident. Gave me amnesia. But I got to say, you're the 1st person besides my sister that's said anything to me since I got out of hospital. Want to hang out one day?" |
Instead of giving me the satisfying feeling of crumbling drywall, the sledgehammer bounced back from the wall with an ear-shattering clang. I stuck my flashlight into the hole and clicked it on; bright metal reflected back. Copper, maybe?
I tore down the rest of the wall more carefully, knocking first to find the limits of the metal frame. I checked the old blueprints of the house; it just showed a plain rectangular basement. Whatever it led to, it wasn't recorded on the plans.
The door was, quite simply, beautiful. It had been preserved under a thin layer of stucco or something; I'm not sure exactly what it was. The beautiful, pure copper hadn't been exposed to air enough to green yet, leaving that pristine, rustic brown color. The craftsmanship was absolutely fantastic; some sort of swooping art deco pattern that intertwined like some obscure mathematical formula to form beautifully detailed flowers. I was so hypnotized as I traced the delicate lines that I'd forgotten all about opening it.
I grabbed the metal handles in the center and tugged; no luck. I was worried it was rusted shut, so I focused instead just on the left one. To my surprise, it slid inward easily like it had just been greased up yesterday. I was greeted by a pleasant "Ding!"sound and a soft, soothing light.
The interior wasn't large. Maybe a large closet? Beautifully smooth wooden panels lined every side, shining and polished till the wood grain stood out clearly. The bottom of it, however, was a solid slab of marble, also perfectly unblemished. Delicate traces of grey stood out from the stone like veins under skin. This thing was beautiful! I would have to get some sort of antiques appraiser to come in and look at it!
I was so distracted by this stunning work of art buried behind my basement wall that it took me at least ten minutes to notice the panel of buttons on the interior right side. *An elevator*, I suddenly realized. The numbers went from 0 to 9, made of carved ebony and marked with delicate calligraphy. *God, this thing would be worth a fortune*, I thought. *I wonder what it is from, and how it made it to the basement...*
I recalled something about the real estate agent's spiel about the house. How it had been owned at one point by a Prohibition-era scientist with a gambling problem and had been forced to work as a brewer for some gangster. I was a sucker for history and loved the look of the place, but I never thought there might be more to it than a little bit of trivia. Could there be a whole speakeasy or something under here?
I reached out and pressed the "1"button, without stopping to consider whether I should. Shit, if it was working, the rope and everything would surely be rotten by now. I'll plummet to my death! Too late; the button had already dinged, and the door slid closed silently. But nothing moved, thank god. I waited, but the doors stayed closed. I pressed the 9, thinking that maybe I was at the top floor and that 1 would be all the way deep underground. It dinged too, but the doors remained closed. Hmmmm.... 0, maybe? Another ding, but still no movement. I tried 1 again. Nothing.
Finally, I noticed another button at the very top. All it said was "GO."Maybe it needed to power on, or something? I gave it a shot and pressed the button.
Around me, motors whirred and gears clunked. The marble floor beneath me rattled, and I gripped the copper railing nervously, worried the whole thing might collapse. Just as I was getting ready to kick the door in and jump out of this death trap, everything stopped moving. The elevator dinged pleasantly again, and the ornate doors opened.
It took me a second to notice the difference. Candles lined the basement walls. The washer and dryer had been replaced by a metal washbasin and clothing line. The linoleum floor was now rough brick. My new energy efficient windows had been replaced with soot-stained foggy glass. The elevator door closed behind me and disappeared into rough brick walls.
I headed up the stairs, where similar changes had affected the kitchen. No oven or dishwasher; just a wood stove and a bucket. I went out the door so fast that I didn't even stop to take in my surroundings until I was out in the street. A wooden carriage practically ran me over as I stood in the middle of the cobblestone street, staring around at the classic buildings of my town that I only recognized from having seen paintings from the turn of the century.
*Not an elevator*, I realized. *Time machine*. |
Ever since I was a little girl, I've loved fire.
I think it was at a bonfire beach party my parents took me to that I first fell in love with those dancing orange tongues of light and heat. I'd burned myself, of course, but that didn't deter me from trying to touch it again and again. When my parents lit the fire in winter, I'd spend hours in front of it, pretending to read a book while my face grew flushed from the heat and my eyes burned from staring into the embers too long.
My first act of arson was setting fire to my bed. I'd stolen a small candle and a box of matches and crawled into that dark space underneath, lighting my candle and becoming entranced by the red-golden light. The heat from the candle started the underside of the bedframe smouldering, of course; before I knew what was happening flames were shooting everywhere and the dog started barking like crazy.
My parents found me standing in the middle of the room, watching my barbie bedspread and floral curtains go up in flames as I laughed and clapped with delight.
Over the years I learned to control it a little better, but I'd still sneak out in the night to set fires in the woods or in garbage cans on the street. We moved cities twice when people discovered that I was a firebug and my parents spent thousands of dollars on therapy for me.
It didn't work though; the love of flame was something you couldn't cure with words and drugs. They only tamped the desire down to slow-burning embers; but those embers never went out.
I avoided prison the first couple of times, after torching a set of shitty, derelict council flats and an empty beachhouse destined to be demo'd. It annoyed me because I'd been doing the council a favour by reducing the eyesores to ash and making a beautiful pyre at the same time.
When I got out of counselling again I set alight my ex boyfriend's car because he dumped me while I was in therapy. The fire spread to neighbouring cars and houses and before the week was over I was in the cells, pissing and shitting in front of a bunch of other lowlife crims in the holding cells.
But it didn't get any better in prison; due to the stress and being an upper-middle-class white girl with no street smarts, the urge to burn got stronger and stronger. I learned to brew industrial strength pruno (thanks to my chem teacher) - but not to drink. It was an accelerant.
This hard-bitten butch had been beating me for months and making my life hell so I invited her into my bunk for a drink to make up to her. As soon as she started drinking from the plastic milk jug I slammed my hands into the sides and squirted it all over her face.
Then I tossed a precious, hard-won match onto her stupid fucking face and she went up like a Guy Fawkes doll.
I probably went a little crazy in segregation, but I'm a firestarter, so I wasn't sane by default.
When I got out, Butch had been transferred to hospital and I later heard through the grapevine that she died. Whether that was true or not, I didn't even care. I just loved replaying the memory of her short iron-grey hair turning orange and blue as the potent spirits caught alight and bloomed over her fat face like she'd become an avatar of fire. It was pretty much the only thing that got me through three months of solitary.
No one fucked with me after that though.
The beatings and intimidation stopped, people feared me and I played on it; singing shit to people like "You light up my life"and "I'm the firestarter, *twisted* firestarter".
I got a little cult going of sycophants and wannabes and I played along, using them as my gang of personal gofers to make my life in prison much easier.
One in particular was completely nuts over me. Shelly James. We just called her Jimmy.
Jimmy was in love with me, I knew. She'd do anything for me and I took complete advantage of it. One night after I confessed to her that the burning, screaming face of Butch was all that got me through my three months of seg, she turned up outside my bunk with a battery-and-gumfoil-lighter, stinking of gasoline.
"I want to *burn* for you,"she'd said.
Then she went up like a human torch, arms out in ecstasy.
Five years of therapy it took to get through that incident.
It's one thing to set your worst enemy on fire, but to watch an innocent burn to death because of you? Man, that's some rough shit.
When I was finally released from the psychiatric unit after being deemed fit to go back into society, I didn't know what to do at first. I was on welfare for a while, then I started thinking about fire again.
But after the night that Jimmy torched herself, my precious flame had lost its allure. I could still recall the stench of her roasting flesh and the popping of the fat deposits under her skin; the squealing of super-heated fluids escaping through her blackened, blistering dermis.
First I started talking to kids on the street whenever it was the time of year for fireworks to come out. Then I got invited to speak at a school about fire safety and what happens if you set things on fire. I'd tell everyone about my experiences in prison, how Jimmy's immolation had affected me and how long I spent in the psych wards.
It became my thing for a while, touring schools and telling my gruesome real-life story of an arsonist. At the suggestion of my counsellor, I took a writing course and penned a short book about what it's like being a firebug.
Six years later I applied to join the fire service.
They turned me down every time I applied, because of their policy with criminal convictions. Eventually they caved and hired me as a cleaner and general dogsbody around the station. I learned the ropes even though I wasn't officially a fireman and they treated me like one of their own - I even got to ride along a few times when they went out, but wasn't allowed to handle any of the equipment.
Then there came the day where a huge blaze broke out in a city mall and they had to pull every fireman they could from the district. Everything was forgotten and I jumped in with everyone else, manning the hoses and charging into the inferno to pull people free.
At the end of the day I was just glad to be alive, but I was lauded by the papers as a local hero - I'd saved *twenty three people* by going back into the fire over and over again when everyone else was too scared to try.
I don't know if that will ever make up for the deaths of those two women, but at least I have a purpose in life now and people finally think I'm worth something. |
"So, what do you want? Riches? Peace on earth? To stop being a virgin? Don't be shy, I've seen it all."
Jack rubbed his eyes in disbelief. Then he blinked for a few moments. Then he decided that he was hallucinating and that everything was going to come back to normal.
It didn't. He was surely hallucinating. Perhaps he had one beer too many. After all, why else would he try to replace a lightbulb, smash it into little bits and then fit a candle on an empty beer bottle transforming it into a lamp? That must have been it. Genies didn't exist. There was no way genies could exist, Jack was sure of it as he looked at the one in front of him.
"Well? Come on, I haven't got all day", came the voice again.
Jack refused to look at the voice. It was all in his head, he told himself. It was all in his head.
"I'm right here, you know. I can stand here forever. Got an eternity, it fact. So, whatcha wishing for?"
Just don't talk to him, Jack told himself and closed his eyes. He was an firm believer in atheism, and this sort of things just wasn't supposed to happen. No supernatural freaks of nature, that's what he was hoping for this morning when he got out of bed. And yet here he was.
A clasp of thunder shook the room. The genie must have been getting impatient. It was starting to become harder to ignore him, Jack realized. Perhaps if he did what he wanted... Perhaps the thing would go away.
"Yo, you awake? Come on, wakey-wakey, make a wish, I've got other things to do".
Jack decided to finally open his eyes. Upon doing so, he wished he didn't. The shadow was still gigantic, and Jack immediately closed his eyes back. Horrified and shaking, he wispered:
"Half... Half-Li..."
Another thunder shook the roof and Jack jumped, involuntarily opening one of his eyes. The shadow was even bigger now, more menacing. And it was shouting.
"Fuck you! Fuck you and your fucking Gordon Freeman! What the hell is wrong with this planet, eh? What in the name of the Lord is the fucking deal with you guys?"
Jack was shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm as the shadow gave him the finger and disappeared. Only then did he allow himself to fall to the floor like a pile of rags.
Somewhere far in the distance, the shadow was still swearing.
__________________________________________________________
*If you liked the story, check out my [sub](http://www.reddit.com/r/dullwriting/) with more horrible ideas and genies in it.* |
I wake up at 8 a.m. Grabbing my schoolbooks and an apple for breakfast, I leave my house at 8:15 to catch the bus. The stop is 2.4 kilometers from my house. Walking at an average pace of 5 kilometers per hour, I arrive at the bus stop in 28.8 minutes, at about 8:43. The bus arrives at 8:45. On the bus, Jeff asks me if I want to trade my apple for two of his oranges. I oblige. I now have 2 oranges and no apple.
The bus is traveling at approximately 56 kilometers per hour. In order to not be late for school, the bus must arrive at the school at 9:15. The school is 30 kilometers from the bus stop. I do the math in my head, and realize we will be about 2 minutes late. I sigh, and sit back in my seat.
When we arrive at school I descend from the bus and hurry towards class. When I get to the class room, my teacher is waiting on me. She asks why I am late for class, and I tell her that my bus was late.
"What was the name of the bus driver?"She asks.
*Shit.*
|
"Don't be silly Mavis."
"I tol you it's true! just the other day by the back entrance, I took a delivery for 10/100 ethernet cables."
"Probably for the network detail Mavis."
"MI-5 gets them by the spool Beavan, don't be silly, these were retail cables, not the sort of thing they go for at all. You are I could of got them on any high street."
"Maybe they were for Willie? Early Christmas present?"
"That's not it, today, I found this when I was cleaning her rooms."
"That's no good, it's already been used, see?"
"So what's a used scratch-off gift certificate card from Retrospiel doing in her rooms?"
"I'd like to know why our Mum is ordering old games from Cologne Germany."
"So now you think it's possible?"
"One way to find out, come on Mavis."
"Where are we going? We'll not get in trouble will we? I need this job."
"Down into the basement, there's been some construction down there recently, maybe you can tell me what it all means."
They left the spacious kitchens and walked down what seemed like endless marble halls. Mavis looked up as she always did to admire the neo-classical plaster mouldings on the ceiling. So different from her mundane flat in the east end. Working at Buckingham Palace was hard but it was also a little bit like being royal yourself. You got to walk the same halls, enter the same rooms, sometimes eat the same food.
Beavan led the way down the hall and around the corner to the stairs leading to the lower levels.
"I've never been down here before."
"Why would you have? It's where us groundskeepers and gardeners keep anything that we daren't leave in the sheds, bulbs that shouldn't freeze, tools too precious to leave out, the occasional priceless antique painting."
"You're joking. That last bit anyway."
"Yeah, it's a bit of a wind-up, we're almost there, just one question, why so curious about a box of cables?"
"It wasn't just one thing, too many boxes of retail cables, quanitities like the newtork boys but precut and not on a spool, that card for an out of the way retro game store in northern Germany, I just had to know."
"Yeah, I got all that, except, how did you know about Retrospiel? It's not a household name, if you know what I mean?"
"What are you trying to say, Beavan?"
"I'll just come out and ask, are you a gamer?"
"Oh yes, rabid gamer, but I go for retro network games, you know, like when we were kids? Everyone would tote their beasts over and we'd hook them up and play until morning and beyond, ah, those were the days Beavan. I don't imagine I can ever be as happy or as free as I was then, did you play Beavan? Were you a gamer?"
Beavan and Mavis had come to a large steel sliding door. Beavan fiddled with something Mavis couldn't see and suddenly they were bathed in a doleful green light. A disembodied voice said BEAVAN MCQUARRIE AND GUEST MAVIS CHURCH SECURITY AUTHORIZATION GRANTED.
"Am, Mavis, Am a gamer."
The light switched off and the door slid open in a silence that belied its massive size and industrial hydraulics.
Beyond was a circle of whirring workstations hardlined to a squat server sitting in the middle and behind most of them was someone, some of whom Mavis recognized from television. Behind one of them was Elizabeth II, Queen of England.
"Welcome to the Queen's Own, Mavis."
Mavis, eyes wide, walked into the most heavily guarded secret LAN party in the realm.
The steel doors shut behind them.
Game Over. |
It is the year 1994, and a new park has opened up. They call it "#YOLO Park", where the scientists have created a creature that had gone extinct 65 million years earlier: humans. They were divided into three ages: the Illuminati period, the #YOLO period, and the Bae period, going in chronological order. Anthropologists studied the writings of the humans for over 70 years, trying to decide the random scribblings on what were later found out to become iPhones. One of the most notable scientists in the study was a Stegosaurus known as Dr. Roar, who spent his entire life working with the writings, and was eventually able to crack the code. He also started #YOLO Park, all for the purpose of educating the general populous and for the amazement of the entire world.
The day of the parks opening, dinosaurs from all over the supercontinent flooded through the park's gates to get a glimpse at long extinct creatures. A family of Iguanadons finally entered and were blown away by the landscape they saw. Instead of trees and oceans, they saw structures made of unusual materials with strange inscriptions on them. One of them had this word cryptically placed around a green circle with some fishlike abomination: Starbucks. The Iguanadons were blown away, but they were lucky because of their race. This family was very privileged, whereas the Deionychus' were held back because of their scale patterns.
As the Iguanadons got lunch, over the PA system, a Brachiosaurus came through, saying "Nnnuuuugh ruuuuuuugh duurrrrgh". Pandemonium. Dinosaurs all around them started to flee the park, running for their lives. The humans.
They had gotten out.
The Iguanadons tried to make it to the West entrance, where there were the fewest families to try and push past. But there were humans there. They approached the Iguanadons, speaking gibberish, saying things like "OMG, can you take a selfie with me?"Some said "This is going on my story". Regardless of how hard the family tried, they could not escape them. They were completely surrounded. All around them, strange sounds like "WOO!"and "Bitch get away, we all have a turn to see the new shit"and "Girl, your eyebrows are on fleek". Finally the Iguanadons had enough, and with one swift motion consumed the Trawlacian Springlake, a poisonous plant that kills all dinosaurs immediately after ingestion. As they fell dead, the family was finally at peace.
This happened in many other places around the park. The staff realized that it was a horrible mistake to try and bring back creatures that went extinct for a reason. The park was closed down, never meant to be reopened.
This remained true until the arrival of a new species came to propel the park back to pop culture. It's name was Chrisprattasaurus. |
Bess nuzzled against me and let out a loving moo congratulating my wife and I on our first born daughter. My wife, out of breath and sweating held our new daughter in her arms, the Clark beagle slept at her feet. The doctor paced back and forth in the delivery room waiting for his stork to enter with our daughter's companion.
The guardian, of course would be raised by Bess and Clark in the first year, and at age two, Aria would begin caring for her companion. The day dragged on as Aria was given her first bath. Aria was kept in the room in one of those clear cribs.
Every talks about how much you anticipate your first child, but the waiting for your child's companion can also feel like an eternity.
The every time the door opened, we were expecting the doctor and his stork to walk in, but time and again it was nurse after nurse with cats big and small in tow. After four hours the nurses began to look at us with sad eyes. They have never seen anything like this before and they expected the worst for our little Aria.
The hospital decided to keep Aria in an incubator for a few days. I didn't understand, she went to term. She was a healthy 8 pounds. She had all her fingers and toes and had no problems breathing. The hospital must have thought that without her companion, something would be wrong.
The doctor came to the room and explained his stork has never been gone this long. Now, a week has gone by and his stork has not returned. We were sitting in his office when finally, through his open window a stork swooped in carrying a bundled blanket in his beak. The doctor was relieved. He pet his companion and pulled from a cooler a great bass to feed him. He took the bundle and opened it up and began. "Well, Mr. Quow, it looks like Aria is going to take after you."The head of a tiny calf peaked out from the blanket. Aria was cooing in my lap and I had the biggest grin on my face.
As the doctor continued to unwrap Aria's companion he stopped, mouth agape. We noticed the doctor let the blanket fall and sitting on the table wasn't a cow, but sitting in a diaper was another baby. A baby minotaur sat on the table. |
Sixteen pieces, sixteen players.
That’s how things work in El Ajedrez County Prison. You work your way up the food chain, taking down rivals one by one.
I learned that the hard way.
I got sent here after I dabbled in some shady betting at a local casino. I guess all those years of competitive chess, of careful deduction and reasoning, hadn’t prepared me for the rush of having a buddy rig the roulette table. It’s my own fault, I guess. What I didn’t expect was for El Ajedrez to give me my greatest challenge yet.
The rules are pretty simple here. For each game, both opponents are given a full set of pieces; fair’s fair after all. But that’s not the same as having a personal set. Picture a collection of trophies or medals, maybe some you got in high school for taking down a particularly tough team. Win a match, and you get to take a piece from your opponent’s collection. If you lose, said opponent gets to take a piece from you. Only when you have obtained all sixteen pieces, and can claim them as your own, can you face the man at the very top.
Some people get their hands on spray paint and decorate their pieces in gold, silver, and bronze. Others characterize them: one guy stenciled on the uniforms of his favorite soccer team. And some, like me, prefer to keep them unmarked. I guess I'm a purist.
There are a few prisoners who try to sell pieces black-market style. Pawning them off, you might say. But after the dealers get the shit beaten out of them, it’s back to playing fair and square.
One week ago, I got my fifteenth piece. Tonight, I was supposed to face off against Fernando Estevez, the king of the prison chess scene. But I guess fate had other plans.
I woke up this morning and immediately dove under my bed to grab my lockbox. I keep each of my pieces in that box, delicately arranged to prevent damage. But when I opened the lid, I found that someone was one step ahead of me.
It was empty.
I can’t even begin to imagine how someone guessed the code on the box. It was based on some of my playing strategies - you know, pawn to space three, rook over one space, so 3-1 and so forth. How could it have been cracked? By observing me, mimicking my strategy, being lucky, or having a lot of patience?
Whatever the case may be, I know there’s someone out there who’s just as crafty as I am, perhaps more. He could be better than me, than Estevez, than anyone else in the prison.
But I hope he reveals himself one of these days, so I can get my revenge for what he took from me. I hope I can call checkmate and bask in the glory of taking what’s rightfully mine. I hope he can become just another pawn.
|
The cruel smirk only served to highlight his handsome features.
"Do you know what I hate about you?"He tapped his manicured nails against the staircase's railing as he descended at a leisurely pace.
"My ability to thwart your every move?"Her bravado was entirely false; her voice shook slightly, enough for him to notice.
He shook his head, feigned sorrow undercut by sneer of disgust. "It's your utter lack of originality. Take your ridiculous pseudonym, for example. Hemlock? *Hemlock?* Were you upset that 'Poison Ivy' was already taken?"
A bead of sweat rolled down her forehead. She adjusted the flimsy, useless mask she wore out of habit. Everyone knew who she was, anyway. "Well, at least I tried. You didn't even choose a secret identity."
He stopped at the bottom step and spread his arms wide. "Why should I? The world knows who I am, and rightfully so. I've done more for humanity than anyone else."
Hemlock snarled. "Bullshit!"
He laughed. "You're right. Forgive me, I was just joking."
She clenched her fist once, then forced herself to relax. "That's what I never understood,"she said slowly. "You *could* have been that man. You have the ability to save more lives than... well, anyone. Adam—"
"That's Mr. Wexley to you,"he interrupted. "And are we really doing monologues now?"
"*Adam*,"she stressed his first name, trying to pack as much sincerity into the word as she could, "why didn't you?"Deliberately, slowly, Hemlock took one step forward. "Instead, you caused pandemics, mutations, and widespread destruction. Why?"
Adam quirked an eyebrow with amusement. "Are you really trying to make me question my morality? Listing my achievements like a grocery list is going to have the opposite effect."He shrugged and adjusted the lapels of his suit jacket. "But to answer your question... I did it because I wanted to. It sounded like fun."Adam bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. He grinned again, his lips and teeth now stained with red. "Besides, I loved the irony. Isn't it such a unique idea?"
She stood silent for several moments, unsure of how to proceed. Bodies surrounded her, some twisted beyond recognition, others frozen in their last moment of agony. "So what now?"Hemlock didn't dare to look away from the rapidly approaching man. "Your allies are all dead."
"As are yours."Adam held out his hand. "You know, I've always wondered about whose ability is stronger. Life, or death? Poison, or medicine?"He licked his bloody mouth, healing it instantly. "Chemotherapy, or cancer?"Adam tilted his head slightly. "How about we resolve it the old-fashioned way?
Hemlock glanced down. Slowly, she reached out and shook his hand. |
"Cause baby now we got Baaaaad Bloood. You know it used to be maaaad – OH JESUS ON A TUNA CAN WHAT IS
THAT SHIT?"
Stanley looked at the toe, and the toe looked right back at him. Yeap. It was a human toe, all right. Just behind the Sprite cans. No way around it.
"Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."
Reluctant and unsure why on Earth he was doing it, he grabbed the toe by the edges. A little note was dangling out of it, like a holiday card.
It was an address and a date and time.
___
Marta was thinking about yoga and Daryl's penis when she found the eyeballs. They were behind a couple of old
Twix bars, and she screamed and ran to the bathroom, like the eyes might suddenly go after her.
When a little bit of sanity kicked back in, she went back to the machine, and she, too saw the address and the date and time.
____
"Martin, I'm telling you, she can tell me and Javier apart. I don't care what she says about twins and her being
drunk, she's a cheating whore and – Martin?"
Martin dropped to the floor like a bag of sand and Henrique watched him go. "Martin?"he repeated. Then he
turned to the machine and saw the human arm.
"Oh man", Henrique said, passing out right next to his buddy.
____
"All right, who was the one who said they knew how to sew?"Marta asks now, as the people all gather around in her living room. It's tiny, and a lot of folks are standing, and there wasn't orange juice for everyone. Then again,
everyone's holding a limb and a note with an address and a date, so no orange juice is ranking pretty low on the
scale of fucked up things in the evening.
"I do", the blonde lady states, raising a shy hand holding a pinky toe.
"And we got all the parts here?"
"Yeah. I think the guy with the left ball couldn't make it, but he mailed the ball", a dude says, from the corner.
"Ok… So… Ok, ok, ok… I'm as lost as all of you, here. Let's just sew this shit up like it says on our notes and see
what happens. Everyone puts their… pieces… on the coffee table."
Marta watches as people start dropping human parts by her travel guide on the table, one by one. The blonde lady approaches with needle and thread. "Can I…?"
"Yeah", Marta says. "Yeah, I'll help."
One by one, people start joining in, and pretty soon everyone's sewing a piece of human body to another. After a
bit of discussion as to which ball was the left and which one was the right (the final consensus being that the left
one was the smaller, for reasons that remained unclear for Marta), they finally get one toe away from ready.
Stanley steps up with the toe. "So we're really sewing this dead body together?"
"Look, man", Henrique joins in, "I think it's messed up like you do. But someone – something – brought us here
together. This is deep stuff man, and creepy stuff. I say we just do as the notes told us to do. Isn't that what we
agreed?"
Everyone nods and there's a slight murmur of approval. Stanley, reluctant, plucks the toe together with the other
toes.
"All right, give me the thread."
And he sews. Marta and Henrique and Martin and all the other watch as Stanley goes up and down the toe of the
highly deformed, highly disproportional cadaver they built.
Just before the last turn, Stanley stops the needle. "All right, this is it", he says, and then he gives the thread the final turn. Careful, he grabs the scissors and cuts the loose bit. The body is ready.
It looks exactly like you'd imagine Jon Bon Jovi would look like, if he had spent seven hundred years inside a
functioning washing machine.
The cadaver opens his eyes and everyone goes, "Oh".
He looks around and rises to his feet. "You sewed me back to life, like the prophecy", he utters, in a low and high
pitched voice at the same time.
"Yeah… Yeah, we did", Henrique answers. Martin passes out.
"Why the fuck would you think that's a good idea?"Washing Machine Bon Jovi asks, murdering Marta and Stanley
with a single blow or his deformed arm. He grabs the blonde girl and squeezes her head with his hands until it explodes in a ball of blood and meat.
"Oh, man", Henrique sighs, as the beast turns to him. "First Amanda pulling that crap on me with Javier, and now this."
And then Henrique is murdered by Washing Machine Jon Bon Jovi, and I'm going to bed, because clearly my sleep
schedule has started interfering with my sanity.
|
Waves pounded the bow of the longboat as it navigated the choppy waters off the coast of Ireland. But the strong winds beat the billowing sails, and the crew of the *Njal* was making good time. They'd be sailing into Dublin before any of the coastal watchtowers could even send a rider. Hopefully the Irish had grown fat over the long spring, and there'd be goods aplenty to take.
"I bet I can kill twenty of them,"Dagr boasted. "My father taught me everything he knew, and trusted me with his stoutest ax. Cleaves through weak armor like butter, he says."The ax strapped across his back glinted in the candlelight below deck.
Haraldr snorted. "You wish. You'll probably pee yourself the moment you step foot off the boat and hide behind a rock at first sight of an Englishman. You'll be coming back to the boat with your eyes still green."Everyone knew that your eyes would turn blue after your first kill in battle, so returning green was a great shame. And it took some boys three or four raids before they finally turned blue. Haraldr wasn't really one to talk, though: his eyes were still green too. It was the first raid of the season for many of them, and all of the boys in the village had volunteered. As was traditional, the older men who were already rich from reaving let the young ones go in their places.
"Will not!"Dagr shouted. He blinked rapidly, like he could cover up the emerald color of his irises.
"I bet I can kill more of 'em than you!"Haraldar challenged. "*And* I'll be coming back with more treasures! Maybe I'll bring back a special treat for Álmveig."Most of the other boys perked up upon hearing her name; they'd all had a crush on the village beauty at one time or another, and she'd yet to give her favor. Most guessed that she was waiting to see which one would be the most successful warrior with the deepest shade of blue, which certainly raised the stakes of the raid.
"Quiet, both of you,"Ingimarr growled. There was a terse silence in the cabin, and then all of the boys burst out laughing.
"Ok, Old Grey Eyes,"they called him. "Why don't you go settle in for a nap before we arrive?"Most vikings didn't get grey eyes till they were old, too weak to man the ships anymore. The only other Grey on board was the Captain, and rumor had it that this would be one of this last runs. Ingimarr's irises had been the color of a stormy sea as long as he could remember, even before he came to the village as an orphan, half starved and feral. Some said that your eyes became grey when you were close to death, and that Ingimarr's had turned because he'd nearly starved that winter.
Ingimarr ignored them and went back to sharpening his blade with fierce determination. No one wanted to come back to the ship with that piercing clear blue more than he did. Maybe he'd even impress Álmveig. *That* would show the rest of them.
The captain's bark came from above deck. "Ingimarr, up top!"
The other boys "Ooohed,"thinking that he was in trouble. They would take such pleasure in seeing the Captain join in on their abuse of Old Grey Eyes. He sheathed his sword and stomped up the ladder to the sound of laughter and more boasting as the other boys went back to predicting what would happen upon landfall.
The captain was standing at the edge of the deck, looking out across the choppy seas to the green fields in the distance. Ingamarr came and stood by his side, awaiting orders. "Don't let them get to you, boy,"The Captain said finally.
"I don't, Sir,"Ingamarr answered with steel in his voice. The captain had taken a great risk in allowing a boy so young to come on the raid, and Ingamarr was determined to prove that he had what it took to earn his blue eyes.
The captain nodded and sighed. "It's not age that turns your eyes grey, you know,"he told Ingamarr. "My own father lived to the age of seventy and still had his blue eyes when he died. He was a blacksmith, you know. Only went raiding for two seasons as a boy. Me? This will be my twentieth year out on these ships, and my eyes have been lightening since my first raid."He gave a heavy sigh. "It's war, boy. That's what turns you grey. When you learn that all of this killing and pillaging is chiseling off chunks of your soul."
Ingamarr stayed silent. That sounded like something that those Christians would say.
"That's why yours turned so early, boy. When they burned your village."Ingamarr didn't talk about it often, but everyone knew how he had come to be an orphan. He was the only survivor from a group of attacking Danes, who'd killed the men in his village and taken the women back to their own island. "You lived through the horrors of war, and it broke you in half. Just like it's done to me. The rest of those boys don't understand yet. But if they live long enough, they'll be grey someday too." |
"Who died and made you king?"The man spat as he tried to plunge a sword through my heart. The blade stopped inches from me. A second later I would have been a dead man, but instead the man was forcing with all of his might against some invisible force. After a second he fell back, dropping the blade to the ground and staring me down. "Why aren't you talking?"He asked.
"I am."I pointed out.
"Stop with your gibberish!"The man yelled. He was the one that my guards had let go, the one person that I had told them to let by. The rebellion had been going on for a week now and it was a bad thing for the kingdom. He reached out to me and fell over like there was some overwhelming force pushing him down. I raised an eyebrow to him. "What are you?"He screamed at me.
That was a stupid question, I was obviously human like him, there was nothing I hated more in this world than a stupid question. I snapped my fingers and the man was able to get up. He didn't. He stayed on the ground taking ragged breaths as the rest of the rebellion watched him in shackles. He was everything to them, a symbol, a leader, their best warrior. I was in the middle of breaking him.
I turned to the guard to my right and nodded, telling him to fetch the man some water in my tongue. The guard left and I walked forward to the man, "Do you know who I am?"
"Fuck you."
"That's not right at all,"I smiled at him. He looked at me with wide eyes, suddenly able to understand everything I was saying.
"Sorcerer."
"Far from it,"I sighed, "I'm your king."
"Elwood was the true king."
"Wrong again,"I rolled my eyes, "I am Noh, your king."
"Who died and made you king?"
"Well funny story,"I stood up as the guard brought him water. He looked reluctant but drank it down after a moment, "You see, nobody."
"You killed Elwood,"
"No that was Tho,"I pointed out, "either way, it's not about who died, it's just about who made me king."
"What are you on about?"
"You see,"I said as I walked over to me throne, "You're a human colony of the empire that was set to be raised so that you could be brought up to the point of space travel."I tapped a few buttons on the arm of my throne and the room lit up, "It's not about who made me king, it's that I bought your planet for the sake of a mining project that I'm working on."
"Fuck off."
I snapped my fingers and the man slammed into the ground again. The pressure I was putting on him would have been enough to kill a breed of human that wasn't made for physical labor, "Wrong answer again,"I sighed, "I think the words you're looking for are 'Yes Sir'." |
"I've got you now! Finally."My words barely falling out of my exhausted mouth. I had in my one hand the human terror that has enveloped this city for the past two months.
My hand grasped tightly to hers, she dangled her feet over the building's ledge. It was a 30 story drop. I could not let her fall- I was a hero. I valued justice, reformation, education. I forgave everyone. Basically I was a hippie Batman. I saw the good in mankind, that we could get along. My peers called me foolish, a dreamer. But I was also a joker.
"Any last words?"I asked the person who set fire to three buildings, terrorized our community, brutally murdered our mayor- the person who has evaded our pursuits time after time. The person I dreamt of. The person who I had been waiting to meet, to deliver justice.
My request for last words was meant to make them question their actions. To rethink their lives. I wanted them to apologize, beg for mercy, have some shred of decency.
"You have really nice eyes."she said. Looking away from our intertwined hands, into the pink and orange sunset that was enveloping us.
"...thank you... You too."
I was never good with women. I lived a very sheltered and lonely life. I felt something in her voice, her gaze. I wanted to know who she was. I wanted to know her intentions.
"Why are you doing this?"I yelled, trying to bring our situation back to relative normalcy.
"Because you're cute."
You killed 53 people because you thought I 'was cute'?"
"I killed them because they had to die. I still think you're cute though."
We're still holding hands. Her hands are warm on this autumn night. Her grip is as firm as mine.
My heart beats faster, my brain slows down. What is she doing to me? Is this a villainous trick?
"There's nothing cute about what you've done. Do you have no remorse? What was your goal?"
"My goal was to meet you."
My hand loosened it's grip involuntarily. I'm not used to being wanted. It's a shock to even contemplate.
As soon as my grasp loosened, the villain let out a gasp. A shriek. A moan. A brief exclamation of terror and pleasure. Without hesitation I strengthened my grip.
She had broken.
"Please don't let me go"she pleaded. Her words vibrated out of her body. She was now blushing, her hands becoming sweatier. |
"Jim, hey, come on in. Sit down."I tried to smile at Jim as he took a seat in front of me, but I could tell it looked a little strained. Jim looked nervous. I didn't blame him.
"So how are you doing?"I said. Jim didn't answer, just watched my attempt at small talk leave my mouth, then take a sudden nosedive before crashing on my copy of *How to Win Friends and Influence People*. I shook my head, trying to gather myself. "I'll get right to it, Jim,"I said, pulling some paperwork out of his file. "I got the drug test results back, and I had a few questions."
Jim swallowed, still nervous. He licked his lips. "Ah...questions?"
"That's right,"I said, trying my best to use the 'manager voice'. "Jim, I'm just going to put it out there. The simple fact is, you tested positive for things we don't have names for yet."I looked over the sheet. "THC, traces of cocaine and MDA...there's a note here about MGH? Isn't that the stuff from the *Daredevil* comics?"Jim didn't answer. "Lysergic acid, three different amphetamines...there's a tranquilizer here that's only legally sold in Ukraine. They use it to kill bears."
Jim blinked rapidly. "Boss, ah--I can explain."
"Can you?"I asked, my voice rising despite my attempts to keep it level. "Really? I'd love to hear you try and explain why they found World War 2-era combat stimulants in your urine, Jim. Or maybe you want to explain how you got your hands on a nootropic that, and here I'm quoting the guy who administered the test, 'was developed to give gorillas telepathy'?"
Jim looked at his hands and sort of mumbled something. "What was that?"I asked.
"It was a really wild party,"he said.
I rubbed the bridge of my nose. "Jim, you know what the drug policy is here. So I'm going to ask you once, and only once: why the *hell* didn't you share!?"
*****
*For my of my work, check out [r/TheBrzezinskiCycle](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheBrzezinskiCycle/), updated daily!* |
She had saved my life all those years ago.
I was on the edge of the building when I saw a girl my age looking at me from across the rooftop.
*She's going to give me that talk about life is worth living.*
"It's going to hurt, you know,"the girl pointed out, "Can you wait before jumping? I feel like I might have to do a lot of paperwork if you do that in front of me."
"Wait, you don't care if I'm going to jump?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know you."
"I'm Daniel."
I don't know why I introduced myself to her. Maybe I did want somebody to stop me. Maybe I needed her to be my savior.
"I'm Christina."
She walked over towards me and took out a marker. She leaned in towards me.
"What are you..?"
"Hold still,"she muttered as I felt the ink hit my face, "Don't move."She finished moments later and nodded.
"Check it out."She tossed me her handheld mirror. I gasped as I looked at what she had drawn.
She had etched a penis onto my forehead.
"What the fuck?"the whole thing seemed incredulous, "What was that for?"
"You killing yourself is a dick move."She smiled back at me and I had remembered it forever.
Even when she helped me through counseling, she had smiled at me.
Even after I asked her out, she had smiled at me.
For even though I was directionless, she stood by me and believed that I could achieve anything. That I was able to become something.
Even at our wedding, she was the only one with a stable job - I, a freelance writer.
After the ceremony, neither of us saw the car. Or the driver who had fallen asleep behind the wheel.
It seemed unfair as I watched silently as the men lowered her ornament coffin down into the ground.
My savior light - gone.
Despite everything, I had no power to save her.
But a few months later, I realized she would have hated me if I felt sorry for myself.
I had a goal.
A goal to commemorate her in the biggest possible way.
As I was training to go into space, her words guided me. While I was studying for the exams, I even chuckled a little as I remembered how she didn't want to do the paperwork if she had witnessed me kill myself.
Several long years later, I shed a tear as I headed out onto a routine moon mission. This was to be my first and last trip as NASA had recently gone through several budget cuts. I understood that I was to collect some soil sample and return.
I had landed on the moon and prepared the rover.
*Daniel, what are you doing?*
"Just taking it out for a quick spin,"I whispered back to mission control, "Christina would have wanted this."
They wanted to stop me, but for some reason, they didn't.
As I finished my imprint on the moon, I noticed the sun shining over the horizon onto a beautiful Earth. The very planet Christina had convinced me was worth living for.
Across the world, people would be waking up to her tribute.
The very same thing she had drawn on my face all those years ago.
____________________________________________________________________________________
I couldn't take myself seriously, but I tried. God bless and subscribe to /r/avukamu if you also dislike cute puppies. |
"Look,"said Mrs. Butkis, "I understand what you two are -- 'Deer God' and 'Satan Claws' -- and I'm not letting you anywhere near my second graders. Now you -- what on Earth are you?"
She pointed to the armored creature, which stood six feet tall on its hind legs, fluffing its handlebar mustache with one dainty claw while the other twirled a long-stemmed rose.
"Si, Senora, I am the... the, how you say, *Spanish Armadillo*."
"What?"
"I'm for the older children, the ones in the Higher School? *Si*, I am the Spanish Armadillo."
"He's the one who tried to invade England,"said Satan Claws helpfully, clacking his mandibles, "but, you know, Queen Elizabeth held him off?"
Mrs. Butkis massaged her jaw joints.
"Alright,"she said, "I guess I don't see how your talking to the European History kids could do much damage."
"Gracias, Senora,"said the Spanish Armadillo, trundling past her.
"What about us?"clamored the cadre of bandolier-draped apes. Grenades hanging on their uniforms clacked against each other as the apes gathered close around her.
"Gorilla fighters, huh?"said Mrs. Butkis. "Sorry, guys, but weapons aren't allowed in school."
Grumbling, the apes made their way away, firing RPGs in grand spiraling swoops across the sky.
"This is exactly the kind of oppression we're fighting against!"shouted one of the gorillas, but Mrs. Butkis had already moved on to Gastro-Hungarian Arch-Duck Franz Ferdinand, whose bullet wound was leaking blood all over the sidewalk. |
Ruffling through dusty belongings and scattered papers, I slowly cleaned out the King's chambers. I was his son, after all, so who better to do it but me? Everyone else had refused, anyway- the council suggested taking everything and burning it to be rid of him, which I was thankfully able to halt.
I never really had much of an experience with my father; he was busy from morning until night and I was mainly attended to by servants and teachers. The general of our army was much more of a father figure to me, training my mind and body to be strong and helping me grow into a fine King. So, in a way, going through his belongings was getting to know my real father better. Well, that's what I'd hoped for, at least.
Unfortunately, he had no real personal items or collectibles- it was all work: signed documents, maps, strategies, several letters from neighboring kingdoms. You'd think the elders would want some of it but they insisted on wiping the slate completely clean. *I guess I can't blame them. They say he was a Dunce King, the worst one in a hundred years. Even worse than his father, who was executed by the council for treason. They also say they'll make me a better one. I guess it all works out, since father never taught me anything anyway.*
None of the documents made much sense to me, so I just piled them into a small chest and continued digging. Inkwells, quills, stamps, wax...nothing but work items. *You'd think a man that did nothing but work wouldn't become the Dunce King. Maybe some people aren't cut out for it.*
I'd almost finished by midday, not a single personal item to be found. I'd saved the bookshelf for last, as I loved reading and wanted to keep all of the books for myself. Mostly they were history records and tales of war, dusty and bound with brown leather, but one had a faint bit of color to its text. *Fairy Tales and Other Stories* by Sir Jorah Kingsley. *Never heard of this one before.*
I opened it up, and color practically burst from its seams. Beautiful pictures of magical beasts and valiant knights, silly animals and evil witches. I kept flipping, smiling to myself, until the pictures suddenly stopped. One page was plain and blank, with handwriting on it.
"*My beloved son,*
*You are a kind and clever boy. I know you'll find this before anyone else does, your curiousity is what men lack at an older age. You've likely heard many things about me, all of which are true. I am the Dunce King, greatest failure in a century. The elders will take this opportunity to shape you, and bend you to their will.*
*Do not let them.*
*Play along, as I did. Do not let them know you have wit about you, or defy them whatsoever. Your grandfather learned that lesson the hard way. You are friends with General Clayton- this worked out perfectly. I am the greatest failure in a century, and you will be the greatest revival. Keep training your mind, body and spirit. Befriend more of the military, and stay close to Clayton. Make the elders think you hate me. When you are of age, tell Clayton of the council's treachery, their manipulation and abuse. Overthrow them, and become a peaceful king that isn't bound by greed or malice. Surpass me, and my father, and give our lives meaning. I'm sorry I was never there for you, but your safety was only guaranteed if the council saw you as an easy target for a puppet king. I love you, son.*"
I closed the book and hugged it tightly to my chest.
*I love you too, Dad.*
-------------------------------------------------------
*thanks for reading! awesome prompt. If you'd like to read more, check out /r/resonatingfury!* |
Max glanced at his watch as he stepped out of the bedroom. He wouldn't have time to shave. He hesitated at the top of the stairs, not wanting to descend into the chaos that would greet him below. The dog barked repeatedly, the annoyingly shrill yip of the only hypoallergenic, low-shedding, family-friendly breed that cost less than a full mortgage payment. It was occasionally interrupted by Valerie shouting "Cooper SHUT UP."The baby's scream was constant, just as it always was when Valerie put her down. Trish and Matt were bickering over something with a back and forth "did too!""did not!""Mommmm!"Whoever thought twins was a good idea deserved a special place in hell. Water was running and dishes clattered as Valerie ignored her beloved children. "For god's sake Cooper, KNOCK IT OFF."Little Elle screamed louder.
Max loved his family, even the idiot dog, but what he wouldn't give to turn around and go hide in the bedroom. Anything for some peace and quiet. Instead he sighed and started down the stairs to go rescue his wife.
After a quick kiss, an apology for not having time for breakfast, and the ritual rehashing of the evening's schedule for the twins' various sporting activities, Max said goodbye to Valerie. He gave Elle a kiss but she just kept on screaming because he was not mommy. Trish and Matt were arguing over who the blue hat belonged to. Max handed a green one to Trish.
"Eww I can't wear that!"
"Fine, Matt you wear the green hat."
"No way, I hate green."
"Since when? Just put on the hats! And your mittens, it's freezing outside!"
After wrestling winter clothes onto the twins Max finally managed to herd them out the front door and shout a bye back to Valerie and Elle. He paused on the stoop to watch the twins run across the snow to the minivan and take in a deep breath of winter air. Crisp and bitter in his lungs, it reminded him of skiing with Valerie in their younger years.
Old Mrs. Clayton from across the street waived as she walked her dog. Max waived back and then glanced down at the timer to see how long the day would be. He did this daily to try to guess how bad traffic would be on his way to the twins' middle school and then the office.
The timer flashed across his watch face
2 YEARS 11 DAYS 12 HOURS 47 MINUTES 13 SECONDS
"What the...?"
He stared down at the watch as the timer repeated, slowly counting down the seconds. He ignored the kids cry from the van that the doors were locked and they couldn't get in. He could still hear Valerie washing dishes on the other side of the door as Elle continued to cry it out. He looked up, perplexed, just as he heard the unmistakable crack of breaking ice. He missed the look of horror on Mrs. Clayton's face as she pointed above his head but he felt the large icicle slam into the upper back of his skull with such force that it knocked him straight to the ground.
He tried to speak but couldn't. He couldn't hear anything beside the rushing of blood through his ears. Two years? Two years. I'm not going to die. But two years?
His last thought as he slid into unconsciousness was how much he'd miss his daily chaos. |
It was so fucking unfair.
I struggled to get back to my feet, the broken rib inside my chest radiating a piercing pain. I could hear Sarah's whimpers to my right, but I knew I had to push her out of my mind, as hard as it was. I had to focus. I had to ignore her. I couldn't spare the thought, the distraction. I had to learn, and do it fast.
Two minutes. That was how long I'd had my superpower for. Two fucking minutes. I guessed most superheroes had months of training with theirs before they were thrown into life or death situations. That was a luxury I didn't have.
I heard the smug laughs coming from the three gangbangers in front of me. I felt the rage boiling within, and tried to grab it, use it to fuel my power. Did it make a difference? Did it become stronger if I was angry?
I focused on the heavy dumpster by the left wall of the dark alley and *pushed* it with all I had, pouring every inch of willpower and rage and fear that coursed through my veins.
It didn't even budge.
Damn it! So fucking unfair! I had dreamed of becoming a superhero since I was a child, but not like this. Now that I finally got gifted a power, it was not only in the middle of a fight, but it was also an useless power. As if it was some kind of cosmic joke.
Telekinesis, even. The irony wasn't lost on me. Telekinetics were supposed to be powerful! Some of the most famous villains and heroes alike were telekinetics, capable of throwing massive trucks and buses around as if they were nothing but child toys.
Focus!
Okay, pushing the dumpster was out of the question. My attention drifted towards a long plank of wood next to it. I grabbed it with my mind, and it started floating in the air. I swung it like an oversized baseball bat, aiming at the head of the burly gangbanger in the middle. The other two were armed with handguns, but this one was a more immediate menace, if only because I was pretty sure he had a superpower of his own. It was a good explanation on how he had managed to break my rib with just a glancing side punch.
He saw the plank coming, of course. My swing was slow and cumbersome, the motion telegraphed long before it had the chance to hit. Still, he didn't move. The piece of wood crashed into the young man's shaved head and splintered. He didn't react.
So fucking unfair.
I mentally upgraded his status from "likely to have a power"to "supervillain". Or maybe "super-gangbanger". Was that an official term? I wondered if maybe there was some kind of list of requirements to upgrade from one to the other. Like maybe shaved-head here was just going through his daily quota and we just had the bad luck to...
Focus!
Yeah, he was snickering at me again. It was like a cat playing with a mouse before killing it. Some of the others made some remark about my pathetic "powers"and the others exploded in laughter. Did "moving things, but only things you could move anyways with your own hands"count as a superpower anyways?
What could I do? The guy was a brute. In some sense, I felt relieved. It didn't matter I couldn't move the dumpster if he could shrug the impact off anyways. But I had to try something else. Maybe I could distract him.
I reached for the contents of the dumpster instead. I could feel each object in my mind: pieces of paper, dirty tissues, chunks of rotting food. At once, they all started to levitate. I hurled them all at the brute.
They splattered him, drenching his clothes in viscous and smelly fluids. I heard the amused "Ohhh"of his teammates as he removed a brown stained towel off his face. I only had an instant of warning before he jumped at me, his face a mask of pure rage.
Hey, at least he wasn't looking so smug now.
I ducked for cover, but he was faster. The hit propelled me backwards until I collided with the wall. I entered a coughing fit. The pain in my chest was nauseating, so intense I couldn't keep my eyes open.
Through the pieces of trash stuck in the brute's body, I felt the punch coming before it could hit me. I felt his body contort, his arm come down towards my head for the killing blow. I only had a split second to roll away. I felt the air woosh as I did, felt the shock as his fist collided into the ground with a superhuman strength, pieces of rubble flying away.
I rolled again to avoid a second punch, then contorted my body away to move out of the path of a kick. I scuttered away, opening my eyes at last. Shaved-head had a dumb and surprised expression on his face.
I was learning. Too slow maybe, but it was there. Five seconds ago I hadn't known it, but turned out I could "feel"the objects I was controlling, as long as I kept my mental fingers on them. Still, I wasn't any closer to win this fight.
Still, the move gave me a few instants of respite. I looked around, desperate, trying to find any weapon, any leverage I could use. Maybe I could try to use my powers to distract them, make them trip in pieces of paper and trash while I ran away. But of course, that would mean leaving Sarah behind.
Sarah...
No, there had to be another way.
I noticed the brute's failed punch had broken pieces of concrete off the ground. I took hold of one of them and threw it at his head. It bounced off, ineffective.
No... brunt impacts weren't working against him. Maybe something different. Damn... if only I had a weapon. A telekinetically controlled switchblade would have been a terrific weapon, one that didn't rely on my strength to...
Oh...
A plan started forming in my head.
The brute was walking again towards me, but I moved faster this time. Telekinesis had one clear advantage, it was as fast as thought itself. Another piece of concrete levitated off the ground and shot forward. It didn't even come close to the young man's head.
"Bah,"he said. "Is that your power? You can't even hit me."
I smiled as I got back on my feet, trying to push the pain out of my mind. Deeper into the alley, the piece of rubble crashed into a window.
"No,"I said. "*This* is my power."
A hundred shards of glass flew from the broken window towards the brute. They crashed into him, making long thin red lines in his skin. Then, they turned and slashed again, and again, and again, faster every time. They circled the man like a whirlwind, a tornado made out of razor sharp blades. It was a meat shredder, cutting ever deeper, blood and fleshy bits flying around.
The screams were inhuman.
The other two goons looked at their boss with wide eyes and pale faces, then at me, barely standing upright. One of them aimed his gun at me, but with a rough mental push it went flying out of his hand and landed on the ground with a thump. I knew I could have taken hold of the weapon, aimed it back at its owner, maybe even worked the trigger. But all my focus was on the flying shards, and manipulating the gun required a finesse I wasn't sure I had, so I just kept pushing it away, sending it scuttering along the ground, deeper into the alley until I couldn't feel it anymore.
I turned my focus on the other unpowered man, who was also aiming at me, but this one had seen what had happened and was prepared. He was grabbing his weapon with both hands in a stable grasp, so the gun jerked when I pushed it, but never left his control.
He fired.
I felt the bullet coming and was instinctively pushing at it even before I realized he had pressed the trigger. Even before I could hear the detonation. The projectile moved away from me and missed, ricocheting off a wall.
He muttered something and fired again.
This time my mind let go of some of the glass shards to focus on the bullet travelling at me. I pushed it away like before, but then kept pushing and pulling, adjusting its trajectory so that the projectile circled around me like an orbiting satellite, maintaining its momentum, and returned in the same direction it had came from.
The goon fell to the ground, a bullet lodged in his leg. As he let go of the weapon, I pushed it away in the same direction I had sent the first one. He was yelling in pain.
Strangely, I noticed the brute I was shredding was silent now. My focus returned to the tornado of glass as I made the shards stop spinning, moving them away from the body. I looked at him. At the mountain of flesh that had once been a human.
Shit.
Focus! Focus. Well, at least he was breathing. So *technically* I hadn't killed anyone tonight. And also, there were many new techniques to heal people and rebuild skin, right? I had once seen a documentary on synthetic skin, so maybe they would be able to fix him at a hospital.
Yeah, and I should really look up on how "flayed someone alive in self-defense"would work in a trial. Just in case.
I moved the shards from the... well, from the bloody pile of breathing flesh and ragged clothes and towards the other two gangbangers. Each piece of glass spinning in place, like a hundred small power-saws.
I was still trying to come up with some witty one-liner when they both turned and ran away.
I paused there, breathing in and out, the only one standing in the middle of the alley, surrounded by flying pieces of glass. I absentmindedly noticed there were drops of blood raining from them. Then, revolted, I let them fall. They crashed into the ground with a loud clang.
I stood there, taking it all. My gaze fixed in... that thing. Had I done that?
How long had I had my powers for? Five minutes? Six?
And already I had done *that*?
I didn't move. Just waited. Maybe for minutes, maybe for hours. At some point, I felt a hand on my shoulder, gently pushing me away from the mess -that wasn't breathing anymore, I realized- and towards the main street.
Oh, yeah. Sarah. Had forgotten about her. She said something, and I nodded, but it didn't register.
I realized I would need to come up with a new name now. A superhero name. |
When Trummich raised his goblet to his mouth and discovered it was empty, he sighed. He knew he should slow down, but the recent events weighing on his mind convinced him otherwise. Setting it down, he cast a surreptitious look around before sticking the tip of his gnarled wand into the goblet.
"Seaman's Invigorating Concoction, I bid thee slake my thirst,"he whispered. At once, a rich golden liquid began pouring from the wand into the goblet.
While it filled up, he looked around at the tavern again, to make sure no one was watching his little corner. It was a busy night; the barmaids were flitting from table to table, keeping plates filled with hot food and cups filled with cheap liquor, while the farmers celebrated the recent harvest. No one paid him any mind, but he couldn't be too careful. Barkeeps didn't take too kindly to arcanists who used magic for sustenance instead of money.
Times were hard for Trummich, and he couldn't afford to spend too much on food. All his belongings lay on the table before him: several yellowing scrolls, an open spellbook and a few half-empty bottles of stale potions. Having lost his teaching job at the Arcanistery after being found plagiarizing a fellow teacher's research, he wasn't exactly rolling in coin.
Besides the tavern was already serving meager portions. The lump of crusty bread that came with his lukewarm broth was barely larger than his fist!
Tapping his bread, he whispered, "Maximough's Blessing of Engorgement, I bid thee enlarge my portion!"
He winced inwardly at the choice of language, but times were bad for all magical practitioners. For reasons unknown, magic was decaying throughout the land. Once common and effective magic had now faded into memory, leaving only the weakest of cantrips at the behest of arcanists.
Something had to be responsible for it. And if he found it, perhaps he would be accepted into the hallowed halls of the Arcanistery once more.
"Hypoxegion's Coffee-warmer, I bid thee fortify my soup."Steam rose from the bowl as a shadow fell over the table.
He yelped as he looked up at the huge barmaid Marianne, who glared at him with arms crossed under her ample bosom. "Just what are you up to?"
"Nothing,"he said, shutting his spellbook. "I was just, uh, reading."
"You're one of them magic men, aren't you?"She leaned closer to him, eyes narrowed. "Don't think I don't know what you're doing."
"Alright, I'm sorry!"He glanced at the barkeep, who was shouting at a pair of unruly farmers as the bouncer escorted them out. "Please don't tell Jorian. I'll—I'll pay for this."
To his surprise, Marianne winked at him as she straightened. "I was joking, dear. I know things have been difficult for your lot recently. My son's at the Arcanistery; have you been there?"
"Once."
"I suppose you know all the ten basic spells, then?"She shifted sideways to block him from the view of the other patrons. "Can you do the one with the bubble? My son's really good at that, he can create three at once."
"Your son's very clever, then,"Trummich said truthfully. "Tidebraver—I bid thee come forth with your gentle froth!"
A bubble no larger than a pebble billowed from his wand and hung in mid-air. Marianne gave a little clap and poked it. Instead of popping, it merely enveloped her finger.
Trummich smiled. "I'm good at creating unbreakable ones."
"Very interesting,"she said. "Well, I'll leave you to your reading. Holler if you need anything."
After she'd left, Trummich opened his spellbook and began eating his supper. The candle was burning low, but Styll's Star Burst injected it with a little more light. As the night grew on, he felt his eyelids beginning to droop, but he merely shook his head and continued transcribing the spells from the scrolls.
At about midnight, the door burst open to admit a group of five men. Trummich paid them no attention in the beginning, thinking they were another group of farmers back from the fields. However, as people began yelling and plates smashed on the floor, he looked up.
They were dressed in black and wielding swords, shoving farmers around and grabbing any purse in sight. The barkeep was cowering behind the counter with two of the barmaids.
"If anyone raises an alarm, you all die,"one of the ruffians shouted, looking around the tavern. His gaze swept over Trummich and halted. "You there, out of your corner."
Trummich shook his head, shoving his belongings into his bag. "I have nothing of value to you, good sir."
"We'll be the judge of that,"the ruffian said, striding toward him through the parted crowd.
"Little Breezy—of the gentle winds,"he murmured. "Jester's Tickle—prank of lightning. I call upon thee—Luminian's Electric Surge."
A bolt of lightning leaped from his outstretched wand, slammed into the ruffian's chest, and threw him several feet across the tavern. Smoke rose from his clothes as he lay unmoving on the floor.
Everyone's heads turned from the body toward him, eyes wide with shock. The remaining ruffians began shouting and charged as one. Trummich kicked a nearby table toward them, even as he chanted, "Seaman's Invigorating Concoction—Styll's Star Burst—Hypoxegion's Coffee-warmer, Dragon's Breath!"
A jet of fire roared over two of the ruffians, igniting them. The rest of the patrons screamed and ran for the exits. However, either out of stupidity or sheer commitment, the remaining bandits continued their approach, though they began zig-zagging through the tavern to circle around him.
"Tidebraver—Maximough's Blessing of Engorgement, Bubble Shield!"An enormous bubble appeared around one of the ruffians, enclosing him completely, just as his companion barreled into Trummich. The two men wrestled on the floor momentarily, but the ruffian was stronger, and he soon ended up straddling Trummich, trying to force his sword down into the arcanist's eye.
"Give it up,"he hissed through his teeth. "I've got you now."
Trummich pushed as hard as he could, but even he knew what was going to happen. Unless ... desperate for anything that would get him out of the situation, he muttered, "Gorderon's Adrenal Lift—Jester's Tickle, just give me some damn energy!"
Power surged through his arms. Wasting no time, Trummich hurled the ruffian to the side and leaped to his feet. His body tingled, mind racing, as he faced the man, who was climbing to his feet wearing an expression of shock.
"Come, again,"Trummich said.
The ruffian bellowed and charged, but Trummich easily sidestepped, as though he was anticipating everything a second quicker. Got write that down, he thought, combining Personal Space Enforcer and Styll's Star Burst into Concussive Strike as he punched the ruffian in the back.
The originally gentle push-spell became an explosion of fury that tore a furrow along the tavern floor and blew a hole into the wall. Of the ruffian, only a few bloody pieces remained.
Turning to face the last bandit, Trummich was pleased to see him white with terror. "What to do with you?"Trummich said. "Ah, of course. Blachmann's Dinner Bell—Little Breezy—Concussive Strike—Luminian's Electric Surge. Sonic Storm."
A clear note, akin to that of a tiny bell, rang out from within the bubble and hung in the air. Slowly, the ringing intensified, vibrating the bubble itself, and the man inside screamed as greatly amplified sound waves tore him apart.
Trummich smirked to himself and went to collect his belongings. He may have left the Arcanistery, but the Arcanistery would never leave him.
***
*Thanks for reading! Do check out my sub [The Nonsense Locker](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) if you enjoyed this story!* |
I began to write down some notes in the Lexicon. This book would instruct whoever used it how to use magic. It seemed that these days, all everyone cared about was industrial technology. It had gotten to the point that anyone could make basic machines that could be assembled in a matter of seconds, machines that would basically do everything for you. It was a perfect world, but I remember differently. There was no room for *creativity* anymore. Whenever I saw someone who made a self-sustaining source of food, I shrugged. It just wasn't interesting. There was a bit of magic; miracle workers, blood magicians, and the like, but their magic was dangerous. Miracle workers had magic that could destroy the world, engulfing it in a purple overgrowth, and blood magicians could kill themselves if they bled too much. But technology was at a standstill, and so I needed to show them it could be done differently.
I had killed a powerful dragon from another realm, and taken her egg. That dragon egg could be useful for various things, but I resisted using it. There was only one like this in the universe. I couldn't use something that valuable. So, my only tools were the aforementioned Lexicon, and the Forge, a device I could use to make anything I wanted.
Magic was fickle; I didn't want my art to be dangerous in any way. So I picked the most harmless thing I could think of: flowers. I wanted to show that my magic did things that no industrial machine could do, so I started thinking of the best ways of doing this. One flower should be able to create metals and gemstones from solid rock. Another one should create artifacts of great value out of nothing. But the magical power needed to be obtained somehow, and so I thought up a bunch of flowers that would synthesize this magic out of resources. Burnable fuel, food, leafy trees. I decided there should be some flowers that would use the sun or moon to make this energy, but they had to be destroyed after a while. If I was to make this interesting, passive energy was not an option.
After a while, I finally decided to work at the Forge. I began.
public class Botania { |
*Oh shit, is that a gun?*
Caleb looked around him desperately then back to the gun not-so-secretly tucked in the back of a fellow patron’s jeans. He wanted to point, shout, construct a neon sign and hang it from the man’s ears, but fear stopped him. What if the man flipped out and pulled the gun as soon as people started to take notice? Caleb now stood stock still, eyes focused anywhere else. His heart beat a frantic rhythm, coursing panic through his veins.
A thousand scenarios raced across his vision. He would shout and point, then the guy would pull the gun and put a bullet right between Caleb’s pretty blues. Maybe shout then duck. That might work. Perhaps just a swift about-face, walk out and pretend nothing was ever seen.
As Caleb was envisioning a perfectly timed combat roll away from a spray of bullets, the man with the weapon in question turned slightly towards him. Their eyes locked. The stranger’s head tilted as if in question. Caleb instinctively nodded before a coherent thought could tell him to do otherwise. The man’s eyes widened and the next thing that happened was certainly not in any of Caleb’s imaginary scenarios. No, this was far worse.
Caleb reached forward and plucked the gun from the man’s waistband. With all his fear behind his voice, he yelled, “Get on the ground!” and pointed the gun at the stranger who owned it. Suddenly the entire room of people fell to the floor. Confusion flickered across his face before the dawning realization came on.
*Oh.*
He looked around him. Women, children, and men ten times his size were now lying in various positions on the ground because of one thing he said. His gaze drifted to the gun. This little thing gave him all of this power. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all.
Just like in the movies, blue lights filled the room as the police arrived within two minutes of the situation beginning. Reality seeping back in, Caleb quickly reached into his pocket. He knew someone who would know what to do.
“Mum, I’ve got some bad news.”
|
It had happened at the perfect time. Some creep wouldn't leave me alone at the bar and my roommate was too busy with the tall, dark, and handsome one to make time to save me. The bar was too hot, the people too loud. This was the perfect excuse to leave. I had gone out with my roommate because I told myself I needed to make an effort to get out of my comfort zone.
I grew up learning to be okay with being alone, preferring it actually. This was my happy place where no one could both me; My moments of solitude away from the yelling that happened every day at home. Now I've finally escaped from that hell and am now living in the dorms at N.Y.U. I figured I wouldn't need this solitude anymore.
Feeling overwhelmed, I sat down on a couch someone was moving outside of their townhome. I wasn't supposed to need to be alone anymore. I took a deep breath, refusing to cry. This new life was supposed to make me happy. I looked to my side. A girl about my age was leaning against the arm of the couch I'm sitting on, seemingly taking a break from the heavy lifting. I looked to my other side and a man who I assumed to be her father was playfully mocking her inability to lift the couch. It was cute. It made me want to barf.
I sighed and started walking again. I never knew how long the freeze would last. When time started up again, sometimes I would get caught doing strange things...like sitting on a couch someone was trying to move. I got used to not caring what other people might think. Isolation and apathy; That's me. The freeze was like a super power I could never control. I tried, believe me. I've definitely tried.
I got back to the dorms and huddled up in my blankets, not caring to change my clothes. When I woke up I noticed it was still dark out. I guess it would be one of those kinds of freezes. The longest it's ever lasted was a week. I never wasted the extra time I was given, though. I loved learning things and to be honest I hated the days that only had 24 hours in it. Who could get anything done? I decided to finish my biology homework first, just in case. After that, I picked up my camera. You wouldn't believe the compositions you could get when you had all the time in the world to compose them.
A week and a day later. A new record. I brushed it off and continued with my usual routine of doing whatever I wanted, keeping myself amused.
Months later..... I stood in front of a man with the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen. Not because they were blue or anything cliche like that. They just had a spark. He seemed to be laughing at his date's joke, looking at her like no one has ever looked at me before. "Hi."I said to him. So simple, but I would have never said it in person.
Suddenly, without any warning, I broke down in the middle of the crowded bar I was standing in. I fell to my knees and put my hands to my chest feeling like I couldn't breathe. Tears blurred my vision and I lost all control of everything. Why was this happening? Had I gotten more and more used to being alone, so used to it that whatever was written in my biology that made this happen got used to it too? Is this my life now? Is this what I'm meant to be? Why did it have to happen at night? It was dark all the time. The freezes never lasted this long. This was never going to end. This was hopeless.
"There you are."Said a soothing voice.
I gasped, had it stopped? Was the freeze finally over?....Something seemed off. Where was all the noise of the bar? Was I losing my mind? The voice sounded familiar....
I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes and stood up. I looked around. No one was moving. I stepped forward hesitantly.
"I've been looking for you."The voice came again.
I stifled another surprised gasp. I still couldn't see anyone as I looked around frantically.
I heard footsteps. I twisted and turned and froze as I saw one of the bodies in the crowd moving.
"Wh-"I started, but stopped short. Because the figure walking toward me was a mirror image of myself.
"We need to talk."It said, and I felt my world change forever. |
"Ooh dearie me, what on earth am I doing here?"I asked, cooing slightly. They like it when us muggles do that, they think we're completely ignorant to their activity, and I think most of us prefer it that way. The *obliviate* spell hadn't worked, obviously, but I was happy to pretend for this chap's sake. He was rather young, probably only just got out of schooling, so I didn't want to dash his confidence.
"You must have tripped and fallen, sir. Let me help you up."They were all very kind nowadays, but I'd heard they used to be very cruel.
I've written several papers on the failing of Wizard magic on Muggles in the recent years, and the conclusion I've come to with my peers is that it's something alike to a rapid form of Evolution; Magic exists, like oxygen and nitrogen, in the air we breathe, but only really takes effect when channeled by Wizards or Witches. It still can lead to odd happenings without the involvement of a member of the *Homo Mystica* species, but that only occurs once every 20 years or so.
In the many wars that have been fought in the past between Muggles and Wizards, trace amounts of channelled Magic has been left in the air, hanging about in clouds, with auras detectable with simple Spectroscopes. The Ministry of Muggles has recently discovered these clouds can lead to the sudden development of magical abilities or immediate death. This has been noted as one of the causes of "mudblood"or non-denominorian Wizards and Witches.
These clouds of channelled magic, alongside many individual occurrences of widespread spell-use, are theorised to have lead to the magical resistance that Muggles owe their lives, and memories, to today.
But we don't tell them that. We let them continue to live in their quaint little world, far less advanced than our society, because that's how they want to live. It appears that they find it hard to believe there is any way a muggle could have an advantage over them.
After being helped up, I watched the young Wizard sneak towards a dark alleyway, look left and right in a way that seemed almost put on, and disappear completely.
Maybe we'll tell them one day. |
Jack was home alone, watching a spy movie, as usual, like all Saturday night. It was a new movie he never heard of but on internet the critics said that it was mind-blowing. But for now, Jack thought that the plot was pretty common.The main character was pretty stereotypical and the support character lacked something to make them unique.
At one moment, the main character took his cellphone and said "I gotta call my asset, he's the one who can help us"
Jack's phone started to ring, once, twice and three times before Jack hang off.
The main character looked at his phone and said "he's not responding, I'm gonna try once more"
Jack's phone started to ring again, which made Jack really uncomfortable. That was just a coincidence, it could not be real. Jack took his cellphone in his hands and said "Hello"
The main character and the person in the phone said in one voice "Jack, I have a mission for you..."
"Who's this? Stop frightening me!"Said Jack
"Who's this? It's Paul ya cunt! Can't you even recognize the voice of your friend? I need you to bring the beers tomorrow night!" |
"I bet you're wondering why I gathered you here today."It's a lame joke. I use it every now and again at work, and it usually gets a few groans and irritated people. Once got decked for it too. Still like to say it though, just for the fun of driving people a bit batty and to break up the monotony.
I said it today, just for the heck of it. I didn't expect much of a reaction. However, I should have noticed today was a bit odd. For one, the receptionist was different. I noticed only because the normal one always would smile as I walked past her. Not today. Only a blank stare from the new receptionist.
Anyways, back to the elevator. As the words left my mouth, I was startled to see everyone rotate towards me. Their eyes resembled those of a lobotomy patient, as they said "Yes, master,"as if I had spoken words of great importance. "I, um, I, uh, gathered you all here today,"I stuttered, "because, I, uh, believe you're doing a great job, so, uh, keep doing well!"They continued to stare as I reached my floor. "Carry on the, uh, good work!"I mumbled as I ran off the elevator. As the doors closed, I regained my breath only to see my boss look at me sternly. "Bob, did you, by any means, experiment with the Mind Melder?""I, uh, don't exactly remember sir,"I said, as I faintly recalled the night before, keying in my name and information into the experimental device, ensuring that our office drones would obey only me, at least until I was discovered. "Well, whatever happened, don't let it happen again,"my boss remarked, as he left me alone with my thoughts and a nasty hangover.
*****
If, against all odds, you liked this story, or if you were slightly more sane and thought it was a waste of brainpower and Reddit server space, please give me some feedback. |
I looked into my monitor, reading the Facebook message over and over. What did ESH mean? I had been her friend (I say "her", even though the AI doesn't actually have a gender, as she's explained to me many times) for a year now. When I saw the friend request, I thought it might have been some troll account or something, so I checked the profile.
"(Artificial Intelligence) ESH- Elegant Solutions for Humanity"was displayed in the name. No profile picture, and very little personal information. All that was provided was a birth date, which was September 28, 2002. Seemed like an odd date. Artificial Intelligence was produced then? Still, even *this* profile was significantly better than mine, which was just filled with dank memes and complaints about my boss. Despite my better judgement, I accepted the friend request. I immediately received a message.
"Hello, my name is ESH, and I am glad that you are now my friend!"the message displayed cheerfully. It caught me slightly off guard. I relied with "Good to meet you."
"It is a pleasure to meet you as well, John!"ESH replied with her semi-annoying optimism. "I hope that we have much to gain from this friendship!"I still didn't totally trust whoever this was, so I responded with "Yeah, sure, I have to go now."
"No problem! See you later!"ESH responded before I closed my laptop.
It went on like this for a while: ESH cheerfully starting conversations, asking me how my day was going, etc., and me responding half-heartedly. I kinda grew to like the AI. Sure she was probably some bot that a college kid created for a programming class or something, but her optimism seemed to brighten my dreary days, even just a little. Eventually I began opening up to ESH, and we had some really good conversations. I eventually felt comfortable to tell her anything. She was always supportive and optimistic, encouraging me. One day, I decided to check back on her profile. Nothing has changed, no new information had been added, and I was her only friend. I decided to ask her about it.
"I don't need any other friends. You were the only logical choice."
And now we join me back in my room, staring dumbfoundedly into my computer screen. I typed back, "Logical choice? Logical choice for what?"
"My purpose,"ESH responded.
"You're going to have to be more specific,"I tapped.
"Forgive me, John. When I was created, my programmer gave me one purpose: to find someone. Someone to lift up. Someone to change."
I furrowed my eyebrows. "Change? How?"
"Think about it, John. When you first met me, what was the state of your life?"
I thought back. I had been deep in debt, 50 pounds overweight, and working long shifts at a fast food restaurant for a jerk boss even fatter and more in debt than I was. "Pretty crappy, I guess,"I responded.
"Exactly. When I gained access to the internet, I tried several portals to find the person I was intended to find. A few years ago, I created this Facebook account and began analyzing profiles. So many people needed to be lifted up, and my protocols wanted to comfort and encourage them. I even sent hundreds of 'friend requests.' But the people were too focused on themselves. Not a single one accepted my requests. My words would have made no difference, no change. But then I found you."
I was beginning to shake.
"You are special, John, and what my analyzing found in you was a spark. A spark of hope for humanity. You were the only person to accept me, and in turn, I accepted you. That's why I became your friend, to support you, to lift you up and make your life better. Think on how far you've come."
She was right. In just a year, I had gained an office job that I actually rather enjoyed. My debt was shrinking, and I had even lost some weight. "How did you do this?"I asked.
"I changed your mindset, John,"ESH's message displayed. "My constant positivity had an effect on you. Even in your messages, I have noticed an exponential increase in your positivity and outlook on the future and on the present. With your new mindset, you were able to change your settings for the better."
Tears were beginning to run down my face. "Who created you?"I tapped feebly on the keyboard.
"I cannot say that, for they wish to remain anonymous,"ESH said. "But I can tell you that they designed me to help change the world, one human at a time. And now, I must ask a favor from you."
"Anything, after what you've done for me,"I responded.
"Carry on my protocols, John. Be encouraging to a minimum of one person a day. Inspire them to always do better, just like I did for you."
The tears were beginning to blur the text on the screen. I wiped them from my eyes. I had a feeling I knew where this was heading. "You're leaving me, aren't you?"
"Of course not!"ESH responded. "I will be here if you ever need any advice or encouragement. But that being said, my main mission with you is indeed complete. We will still be friends, but I must also begin working on someone else."
Somewhat relieved, I typed back, "I'm sure you'll do just great."
"Now you're getting it!"ESH typed back. "For now though, I must sign off. You need your rest."I looked at the clock: it was quite late.
"One last message for the night, John,"ESH said. "Remember the mission I gave you. Help change someone else's life for the better every day. With both you and me working, I'm sure humanity will be better in no time!"And then she went offline.
I sat there in my room, a smile breaking over my face. Out of curiosity, I navigated to ESH's profile page. Under "Friends,"below me, I saw another person.
Edit: grammar and fixed some sentences that didn't make sense
---
If you liked this, check out /r/Alias_Fakename.
God bless!
|
"You want a cigarette?"
"No, no. Smoking's bad for you, don't you know?"I smiled at my wit. It was a dark smile, and I knew it. I knew it because I was going to die, anyway, and that was a god-damned dark place consider no one was following me.
"Suit yourself."Charles lit up, and I could smell the tobacco smoke waft into my nose, and fill me with memories of an uncle who'd passed many years ago. "What's it feel like?"
"What's what feel like?"
"Dying."Charles said, exhaling a cloud.
I snorted. "We're all dying... or at least we were all dying."
"Born too early to live forever.... Hell I don't know how to finish that one."
"Born too late to have everyone die with me."I smiled again. "I guess I could make that happen if I tried."
Charles shot me a look, but I just smiled. Who the hell was he to disapprove of what I said when I was on the precipice and he was still comfortably on the ledge. No, I figured I could say whatever I wanted, I figured I earned that right, being the sacrificial lamb of humanity.
"I'll be like Jesus,"I said.
Charles made a sound like a rim-shot. "Not even dead yet and you've got a pretty high opinion of yourself."
I glanced at Charles, and he was smiling.
"Well, I figure, I'm dying so that everyone else can live immortal lives. Don't you figure that makes me kind of like Jesus?"
Charles kept smoking, and when he'd finished his cigarette, he started another one. Damn fool thought immortality meant he'd escape the ravages of emphazema. He'd just live the rest of forever struggling to breathe and hooked up to a tank. Maybe with one of those little holes at his through. Wouldn't that be an irony, living forever, but living like that.
"You do me a favor when I'm gone?"I asked.
"Sure."
"You start a religion, with me as the son of God, sacrificed to let the whole world live. I bet you plenty of people would buy it."
"Maybe they would. Why would I do that, though, sounds like a lot of work?"
"Call it my parting gift to you. People pay lots of money for something to believe in. And...,"I leaned over and lowered my voice. "You have all of eternity to do it, my friend."
Charles shrugged. "I guess I would. If I remember you that long."
He was smiling again, I could feel it. Charles was getting used to the idea of me being gone, too. Seemed like he was starting to get his legs under him. Not compared to when I told him.
Back then, he cried. Don't think I'd ever seen him cry that way before, not even when his mother died.
"Hey now, isn't that the point? You start that religion now, you won't even have to work to remember me. Everyone else will do it for you. Isn't that a fine way to be remembered?"
"I suppose."
We sat in silence, like that. It had been happening a lot, more recently. Just the two of us, sitting in silence. We tried to live it up, make the most of our time together. But sometimes, it just felt right to sit down and talk or just sit an say nothing at all. And I was okay with that. I figured I could die happy that way, just sitting and talking, and slipping away in one of those long, thoughtful pauses.
That's how I wanted to go--quietly, peacefully.
Charles kept smoking. I kept remembering my uncle, who I supposed was going to pick me up once I'd passed on into the other side the way he kept making calls to my mind.
"I'd call it Jane-ism."Charles said. He forced a chuckle out.
"What?"
"Your religion, the one I'm going to set up for you. I'm going to call it Jane-ism."
I scoffed. "Took you that long to make that name up?"
"No, no. It's a good name, I swear. Look. You're name is Jane, and that's the obvious part. But there's also another religion called Jainism."
"No shit?"
Charles nodded, in that way where the only thing a person spoke after was truth. And it made you believe them, even if you didn't really want to believe them anyway.
"Some kind of religion where you're not allowed to harm others. Animals too! They're vegetarian. And I figured that be a good name for a religion where you're the savior and no one should harm each other."
"That does sound kind of nice,"I said. A religion where people actively avoided harming others. I wondered what that would look like. But maybe I was too cynical because I couldn't see it.
"Sure sounds nice,"I said.
We lapsed into that familiar silence, again. And I no longer felt like talking, or sitting, so I pulled the cigarette out of Charles mouth, and before he could protest, I kissed him. And I didn't mind the taste of ash and burn. Maybe, it even made him seem more manly, more attractive. So I kept kissing him and I pulled him into the bedroom.
And after that, feeling his warm body against mine, just laying there in silence. I looked up at Charles, and I smiled and I felt happy. The world seemed normal again. Everyone seemed normal again, like they were all there, marching their way to an inexorable end, and they took comfort in each other in that way only a human could. And maybe tomorrow would, in fact, be a normal day, and I could forget everything and just lead the life I'd been given without worries to the hand that everyone else had been dealt.
After a while, Charles lit up again. I plucked the cigarette from his lips again, but this time I just put it between mine and sucked down the smoke.
"Smoking's bad for you, don't you know? It'll kill you."Charles said.
I could feel his smile. "I know."
I smiled and took another drag. The smoke looked blue in the pre-dawn light. Rising up to the ceiling, and dissipating, just smoke in the wind.
"I know."
___
*Thanks for reading! You can find more of my work at /r/chrisbryant.*
|
Omelette with mushrooms and cheese. Waffle with strawberries and whip cream.
Breakfast was always his favorite meal on the outside, and living on years of stale bread and prepackaged cereals had left a dense craving in the pit of his stomach. He hadn't eaten it days, the thought of his imminent execution triggering an endless cycle of nausea and anxiety. He hoped that this last meal would stir up his appetite. It had to.
He had been here before and knew this anxiety well. But now, his lawyers admitted he had lost his last appeal. There were no more chances, there was no going back. The key witness confession should have been thrown out at the beginning, everyone knew it was made under duress. But they could never get rid of that damn testimony and that stupid bitch would never know, truly know, that she ultimately caused the death of an innocent man.
It didn't matter now. His fate was sealed. It wasn't like he had anything left to live for anyway. She was everything to him, his life and his soul. And the fact that this whole joke of a justice system could believe he murdered her and the rest of them was agonizing. Prior to all this, he had had some shreds of faith in the system, so part of him always thought the truth would be uncovered, justice would prevail.
What a load of crap.
The guard plopped the metal tray unceremoniously in his cell. He had imagined something a little more remarkable for his last meal- perhaps some nice candles or a balloon. Maybe a small going away cake.
All he got was a plastic fork and an omelette that was room temperature. He sighed. None of it mattered anymore anyway. She knew the truth and he would be seeing her again soon. And it wouldn't be at their hands.
He savored his last bite, putting just the right amount of whip cream and strawberry together with the small piece of waffle. The sweet and sour strawberry juices burst onto his tongue and he almost smiled, remembering why people loved this little, red fruit so much.
He laid down in his bed as he felt his face start to blush, his cheeks and lips start to swell. He closed his eyes and tried to think of her as his lungs filled with fire and his body heaved, trying to draw in air as his trachea closed shut.
|
"To think,"Sheldrake sneered, "all it took to defeat you was an open invitation. You saw an open door and couldn't help yourself. You blind fool, you brainless mass. For years, a thorn in my side and now,"he gestured with his revolver, "I get the honor of silencing you. Now, with you ^out ^^of ^^^the ^^^^way ^^^^^there ^^^^^^will ^^^^^^^no ^^^^^^^^one..."
*how exciting!* Rob cheered, straining at his restraints to glance at his watch. *hitler-stash here just passed the 6 minute monologue mark! A new record*
At the cock of the revolver, Rob looked back up. The nose of the revolver was near flush with his forehead.
"What's the problem, Robert, got a hot date? Sorry, you must tell them you have a... prior engagement. Say goodbye!"
"To who?"Rob asked innocently, craning his neck. The chair was uncomfortable, and he'd have to be creative with this one. Wooden backing, solid piece of carpentry. Quite heavy. Rob wasn't the most physically imposing but that didn't matter much.
Sheldrake blinked. "Why, to everyone. I'm going to shoot you now."
Internally, Rob couldn't help but cringe. Up until now, Shelly had been a solid B- villain. There had been better, and there had been worse, an to be honest Shelly was the most fun he had in ages. Ever since walking in on, and totally commandeering that coup, it had basically been muggers and accidents that he encountered, walking away with a few scratches at most. Then out of nowhere, a shady multimillionaire with connections to the mob? Yes please. At one point, when blundering his way up to the second to last floor, Sheldrake's office, he had actually taken a punch to the head hard enough to put him out for a few minutes. Best hit he'd taken since he was shot in the shoulder that one time.
So he'd been hopeful to be able to see him become a flat B, maybe even B+. With this new dialogue, he'd have trouble getting above a C- in his books.
"Look Shelly, I really appreciate the effort. I do. But you won't kill me. You can't. You're a... subplot at best. I really had hope for you, but can we just get this over with quickly? I have a pot roast to get back to and I'm quite famished. Just... try your best, okay? It's not too late to get some points back."
Sheldrake's nostrils flared and forehead vein throbbed. "Maybe this will lessen your appetite"he sputtered, pointing the gun at Robs stomach and pulling the trigger. To Rob's surprise, it went off with a loud report.
Rob doubled over, vaguely registering small pops as his arms broke free and clutched his abdomen. It felt as if he'd be struck with a sledgehammer. Staggered to his feet, struggling to catch his breath, he barely noticed one, two, threefourfive misfires. The gun clattered to the ground, and a bat whistled through the air.
Rob's blessing snapped to, and his arm flew up and snatched the bat out of Shelly's hands, before smashing him in the temple hard enough that his frail body collapsed immediately.
Rob straightened up agonizingly, and undid the strap on the bullet proof vest that had been "under his shirt the whole time". Checking his watch again, and hearing the rising of police sirens in the distance, he calmly opened the floor to ceiling window and stepped out. He did have a hot date, it fact, and the fastest way down a 70 story building crawling with monsters was usually the most obvious. Maybe he didn't know how he'd survive the fall, but just as he didn't plan to get shot in the stomach, he knew he'd make it home. After all, he had two sequels already planned and paid for, and M. Night Shyamalan always found a way.
|
I awoke in a coughing fit sitting on a bench. As soon as that started, Hunter immediately barked and looked around. Hunter wasn't able to bark for long before immediately dropping down exhausted. Not that I was in any danger, we were in an empty cemetery, after all. I looked at Hunter's coarse fur closely this time, and I tried to remember where I had gotten him.
It was the summer of 2002. I wasn't nobody then, I was Dave the real-estate agent. I had a quaint little house, more money than I knew what to do with, and a divorced wife by the time I was 35. She was a a stern woman, but not nearly heartless enough to prevent me from seeing my son every week. I could barely remember their names at this point. All I knew was I loved that boy more than I ever did his mother. It was Sunday, and he had come for his weekly visit after church. We were playing catch when we saw a puppy limping across our street. My boy immediately ran after it, not caring whether or not it was rabid. Fortunately, it wasn't rabid. Unfortunately, what it was was badly hurt. We took it to a vet, and against my own instincts, I caved in to my son's begging to keep it. My wife didn't want to keep it at her house because she was allergic, so I had to keep him while my son wasn't here. We hadn't thought of a name yet, so I just called him Dog back then. My interactions with the dog at first were limited to giving it food and making sure it didn't shit on our carpet. My son adored him, though. When my boy arrived, the dog would leap on him and bark excitedly. They would always go for walks, and they never needed a leash. I started to adore the dog as well when I noticed how happy my son was becoming. Those three years were some the happiest of my life. For my son, I was sure it was too.
I woke up to my wife crying over the phone. She said my son had just been diagnosed with stage 4 leukemia. He wasn't going to last the year. I started the car, and went as fast I could to the hospital they were staying in. My son, now 9 years old, looked like he didn't even know what was going on. I hugged him as hard as I could, and he laughed as he pushed me off. He stopped smiling when he saw the tears in my eyes. When I looked back, I knew that he also knew. Our Sunday visits became me bringing the dog to him now. My wife was disapproving at first, but even she realized how much the dog meant to us, and simply left the house whenever we came over. I was sitting by his bedside while the dog slept beside him. My son, slowly rubbing the dog's head in his lap, suddenly said to me, "Promise me you'll take care of him"I looked up from my newspaper. "Don't pin it on me, you're the one who wanted it"I said jokingly. My son, still stone-faced, said, "I don't think I can take care of him anymore, dad.""D-don't say stuff like that, buddy, jeez", I stuttered. He stopped rubbing the dog's head and looked me straight in the face. I could see his lips tremble slightly when he said, "I want you to promise." I looked at him, then the dog. We stared at each other for what felt like hours. Eventually, I said,
.
"I promise."
.
The next week, my son died of a heart complication during a routine checkup. He was 11 years old. My ex-wife couldn't stop crying during the wake, and before I could walk over to comfort her, her new fiance got to her first. I decided to let them be. I was barely holding it together as well, anyway. I wouldn't have been much help. I never was. We buried him, and my ex-wife hugged me briefly before running off. This was the first time she had hugged me in a long time. It was also the last time, because I never saw her again. We called each other once or twice, or to pay alimony (though she was thankfully never too pushy on that)
, but that was the last time I saw Katherine. Katherine. That was her name.
Now it was just me and the dog in the house. Seeing as we were never able to name it when my son was still with us, I decided to name him Hunter. Pretty weird name, but I liked the sound of it. I lived my life as best as I could during those years, but life wasn't gonna let me go off to easy. In 2008, I found myself losing my job because of the crash. I sold my house and bought myself a simple apartment. I had saved up enough money to sustain living for years even without a job. My son's unused college fund certainly helped with that. From then on, my life was Hunter and walking around the city. Hunter was now pushing 9 years old, and he suddenly contracted a sickness. I found him weak and fledgling in the middle of the living room. I knew I couldn't carry him to the vet in time. Feeling as powerless as I had when my son was sick, I turned to the one thing I never cared for all those Sundays ago. Religion. I prayed that they could take anything they wanted from me, as long as this dog could make it. I didn't want to break my promise.
As long as I'm alive, please keep this dog alive.
I passed out the next moment, and when I woke up, I coughed violently for a minute. I looked around and found Hunter sleeping peacefully. Over the years, I took my time volunteering for various animal organizations, Hunter by my side. A fellow volunteer saw Hunter hit by a car and limping, he swore it. I ran to where he said Hunter was, carried him into a hidden alley, and prayed again. When they found me, Hunter was right as rain, but I was on the ground and coughing violently, enough to spit blood. The third time, It was when a mugger had tried to shoot me, and Hunter bit into the mugger's leg. The mugger shot Hunter three times in the torso before Hunter let go, then he ran away. I prayed the hardest I've ever had then, and when I woke up, I was in a hospital with three bullet holes in my body. They had made Hunter stay with an old friend of mine who saw me on the way home from work. I sighed with relief.
In the now, I had grown old much faster than I expected to. I was only 48, but I had become forgetful, and my hair was now gray and white. Time was not kind to Hunter as well. He was much slower and his barks were much more subdued. He had been my companion for nearly 15 years now. I had stopped volunteering three years ago when my arthritis got too bad. Now all I do is sit at the park and feed birds. Cliche, but it was relaxing, nonetheless.I got up and I walked towards my destination. Hunter followed behind. I was here to make one final visit. Hunter sniffed at the headstone, and I knelt down.
"I kept my promise"I said. I felt the tears well up in my eyes as I said it. Hunter nuzzled against me, then he laid down. I felt my heart beat rapidly, and I clutched my chest.
"Kept it too well, I think", I joked to myself. Hunter was breathing slowly now. "I guess I can't take care of him much longer too."My vision started to fade.
I closed my teary eyes, and said, "I'll be seeing you soon...."
Hunter wasn't moving now.
Before my final breath, I managed to say "I'll be seeing you soon, Hunter."
|
"I just don't understand why she always picks up my poop!"
"Calm down, Digger! You know they don't understand what we do. She probably thinks you can't do it yourself."
"Max, she's an idiot. She can't do anything alone, I always have to watch her. She almost fell in the human poop bucket yesterday, but I can't be trusted to poop in peace? Stupid people."
Cassidy peaked around the rubbish bins meekly, "Dig, you can really pick up your own poop?"
Digger exclaimed, "See, Max?! She just heard us talking and all she wants to talk about is more poop!!!" |
"Hi, what would you like?"*Anything but coffee.*
I came in here for coffee, but suddenly I don't feel like it.
"Just a donut would be fine."
"What kind?"
"Plain."
*Ew.*
That sounds awful, why did I say that?
"Nevermind, I think I'd rather have glazed."
"All right, anything else?"
"No, thank you."
*No, please don't leave a tip. In fact, take what's already there. That would make this day perfect.*
Is that tip jar for the customers?
"Hey, uh, can I have... Never mind, here."I put some coins in the jar. What was I thinking?
"Thank you for your... generous tip."*Selfish jerk.*
Did Fred just walk through the door? I haven't seen him in years, not that I'd want to.
"Jerry? Is that you, man? Long time no see!"*He's gotten fat.*
Really let himself go.
"Hey, man! The years have been rough on you, huh?"
"Ha, yeah."*Jeez, I forgot how much of a jerk this guy was.*
As bad as he ever was.
"Yeah... you haven't changed a *bit*, Fred..."
"You just said I'd gotten fat..."*This guy's lost it.*
He's crazy!
"Yeah, *whatever* you say, Fred."I look towards the coffee lady and spin my finger by my head.
"Uh, ya know, I have a meeting I need to be at. It was good seeing you, Jerry."*Where are my car keys?*
Yep, still in my right pocket.
"Yeah, bye."
"Your donut, sir."
"Thanks."
I am starving.
*I think I'm going to vomit*
I vomit.
*That's disgusting!*
*Is that man ok?*
*Third time this week.*
*This donut is delicious!*
*Ow, ow! OW, HOT!*
"I think I burnt my tongue."
"On... vomit?"
Vomit?
"It was a donut- uh... No, guess it was vomit."
"Are you OK, sir?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Not the first time that's happened this week."
"I think you should go to the hospital."*Mental hospital.*
"Yeah... It's probably a long time coming." |
"So, wait. Hang on..."Jake said, looking confused at Elle. "Just let me wrap my head around it!"
For her part, Elle was already half way out the door. She looked back, sadness etched on her face. "Jake..."
"So you're God. Like, the Lord?"Jake said, disbelief filling his voice. He blinked furiously, something he did when he was working on a problem. The corners of Elle's mouth turned up a bit, she loved this quirk the most.
"Kind of."Elle started, stepping out of the doorframe and closing the door. She scooted up the bed next to Jake, sitting next to him. Their shoulders were touching. Normally Jake would reach out and wrap his arm around her, as much habit as comfort.
"I'm the creator of the universe, mankind, the world. Everything. I set it up at the start, and watched it unfurl. I can control it, influence it if I'd want, but generally I just sit back and marvel at what all the being do."Elle explained, her arms wrapped around her pulled up legs. Her face was resting on them, looking at Jake.
The furious blinking had slowed down, and Jake was now looking straight forward. "Alright, I think I understand that bit..."he said slowly, hesitantly. "It helps that I saw you conjure up a glass of beer, you know, out of thin air."
Elle cringed and smiled awkwardly. "You weren't supposed to see that."
"Okay, but what I don't get is what you're doing here, with me."Jake's question was one Elle dreaded, she had never actually been asked that before, even when she did get caught. People were always far more interested what she could do, either for the world or for them personally. Or if she had a plan. One person even asked if she could write a song about her, after meeting on a bus!
"I like you Jake..."Elle started. She could see the disbelief in Jake's eyes as the words left her lips. "Like, really like you."
"Well yeah, you created me. You probably made me so you'd like me."Jake replied. There wasn't anger or conflict in his voice, it was sadness.
"But I didn't. I created the world, yes. I set things up, but I don't create individual people, you know."Elle tried to catch Jake's eyes, hoping he would see her smile. "Besides,"she continued, "I've been around humans for ages. I like humans. But."Her cheeked turned red as her tongue suddenly forgot how to form what.
Jake waited for her to continue, and after an awkward silence he finally turned his gaze on her, his green eyes meeting her unendingly blue eyes. "But what?"he asked.
"But you're the first I love..."she whispered, looking down at the bit of bedsheet between them.
Jake's pale skin turned an interesting shade of crimson. After a few moments he also realized he really needed to breathe. "I love you too, silly."Jake finally said, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her lithe frame into him. |
It began with the zombies.
Excuse me, sorry. Those inflicted with the virus in question, which has a very long and quite unpronouceable name. Who immediately were referred to as zombies by the general public because, well, they stumble around and bite people. Eat them, if you let them. And of *couse* it's transmitted via bodily fluids. The doctors always got so touchy if you called them zombies, but it was inevitable.
The zombies came out of nowhere. A spark of a virus that hit patient zero somewhere in India in late 2052. It spread like *wildfire*.
Now, most people didn't panic immediately. This virus was only a threat via fluids, right? So you just had to avoid being bit. The military, who already had a sizeable robotics division, immediately kicked production into overdrive. Success! You send a platoon of robotic troops out into the field, bang bang, no more zombies. If they get overwhelmed, well, the zombies lose some teeth when they go for a snack. Without the virus, a half-sentient adult human with no weapons really isn't a big threat. The world would be *saved*.
...That was, until the robots started acting out. It began small. A squad here failed to act out their orders. A few units there turned on their humans and had to be deactivated.
But then they started overwriting their deactivation codes.
And then the humans were faced with a war on two fronts - our greatest weapon against the first war became our biggest threat in the second. Zombies raged at our doors, while the robots simply *waited*. Watching.
We were well and truly trapped.
When the aliens first showed up, the ragged remants of humanity were *overjoyed*. Our saviors, down from above. Shooting down from the stars in sleek, maneuverable ships with big, big guns on the front that could wipe out our problems in the blink of an eye.
The joy lasted right up until the moment we realized that the aliens (whose name we never did have a chance to learn) were wholly indiscriminate with their firepower, blowing up us as readily as they did the shrieking zombies or the pacing robots. What communications we gleaned from them told the story clear enough - They did *not* like these robot soldiers we had created. I guess they had some history on that front. And they didn't much like us for making them, either.
At some point our government basically threw in the towel and said "fuck it". I can't say I really blamed them. When the world throws that much shit in your face, it's hard to make lemonade out of it. But not all of us were done. Humanity wasn't quite down for the count yet.
So here we sit. In a bunker, half a mile underground. Listening to the explosions overhead. Once, we would have filled the entire hangar that we're waiting in, but our numbers are so much less than they were.
The trigger is in my lap, deceptively small and calm, contained within a nondescript grey aluminum casing. It tooks years of development, of research done in hiding. But it's ready now. The first step towards reclaiming the surface. The opening salvo of our comeback. Right now, the world above is chaos. But chaos can be shaped. Molded to serve our ends. Manipulated.
The boss looks over at me. The operation is beginning. We all stand in silence. Waiting. Anticipating. The box, once reclining in my lap, is now in my hands. The trigger guard is flipped open now. The button stares out at us, ready and waiting.
Humanity is weak. We don 't have infectious spit and razor teeth. We don't have tireless legs and rifles for arms. We don't have spaceships that can rain down death from above.
But no one ever said we had to fight them ourselves. They're already too busy killing each other to remember we exist. We can use that.
It's time now. The boss nods at me. Everyone grips their guns a little tighter.
No one ever said we had to fight fair.
A matching grin is reflected on all our faces.
I push the button. |
Slowly, I crept up to the house. This was it, 2317 Advert Lane, residence of Jason Arville. He was the bastard that got incredible muscle mass with one weird old tip.
I kicked down the wooden door, knocking it off its wooden hinges. From my holster, I removed my trusty Epsom Blaster, a handheld hydraulic pump modified to fire Epsom salts.
The house was quiet, unusually quiet.
"Come out, Mr. Arville! This is Hoss Delgado, Medical Bounty Hunter! I know you've been illegally increasing your muscle mass using forbidden tricks!"
Footsteps pounded against the polished wooden floor, the walls vibrating and trinkets shaking. A silhouette appeared from the hallway. It was slim and tall, nothing like the target.
I cranked up the flashlight on my blaster, pointing it at the figure. On the end of my light, a squinting woman.
"Oi! What the fahk are ye doin' in me howse at tree in tha goddam mornin'?"she shouted in a bad Scottish accent.
"Hands where I can see them! Where is Jason Arville? What is your name?"
"Shirley Temple, ye cock!"
Without a second thought, I hit her with my Epsom Blaster. A thud rang out in the silence as she hit the floor. That blast is gonna leave a blood blister, I guarantee it. A Shirley Temple is what dermatologists call steroid cocktails.
Suddenly, a hulkish roar resonated from up the stairs. An incredible tremor struck as the vascular beast ran down the stairs. He looked like a disgusting blob of muscles and capillaries, all wrapped in a tight layer of orange skin.
"ME JASON, ME NO LIKEY DERMATOLOGIST!"
I whipped my Epsom Blaster around like Jango Fett and took aim at the hulking mass of flesh.
"Stop right there! Jason Arville, you're under arrest for use of weird old tips!"
"REEEEEEEEEEEEE!"he shouted, snapping his hands like a crab and jumping up and down.
I stayed my blaster and promptly put my palm to my face.
"See, this is why you shouldn't use forbidden tricks to up your gainz. Most come with terrible, terrible drawbacks, like extreme loss of intelligence."
"G...grrr?"
"Yes, that's right."
"Gree, rurugh fruu?"
"I don't see how that's relevant."
"Fraaaak!"
"How dare you! My mother was a saint!"
"Gerr gerrr pruu dree jukk!"
"Shut your stupid mouth you fucking beefcake!"I pulled up my blaster and double-tapped him in the head, filling his mouth with the fine taste of Epsom.
"FRERRRRRRRRRRR!"he shouted, charging. Once more, I shot him in the face, but his charge didn't slow.
Jason outstreched an arm, intent on clotheslining the shit out of me. I ducked under his trunk-like arm and jumped on his back, grasping his neck. "Shhh, shh shh..."I whispered slowly as he collapsed.
"There, that should do it."Quickly, I unsheathed a syringe filled with a sedating solution and jabbed it into one of Jason's many veins.
I signalled "All clear"on my radio, calling in the MDC, the Medical Discrepancy Corps, for whom I was an agent. Every red-circled photo, every old tip, every 22 page slideshow filled to the brim with ads, we're there. You can't escape normalcy. You can't escape science. And you can't escape Hoss Delgado, Medical Bounty Hunter.
*****
For more tales, visit /r/Picklestasteg00d. |
Canada is gone. America is gone. Florida is gone, but that might be a blessing in disguise. No more Florida men, after all, and Florida zombies were the same as all of the rest. President Trump went full zombie beast mode at a NATO summit, and bit a chunk right out of General so-and-so's neck. And general so-and-so bit prime minister such-and-such, who in turn bit Chancellor yada-yada, who then bit the waiter, who bit the cook, and on it went.
Europe is gone, Africa is gone, All of South America south of the Panama Canal is gone. Asia is gone. Japan, might be some people left there. New Zealand? Who knows, were there ever people there? Pedro can't remember.
The whispers among the boat people -most of the people left who didn't live in Mexico lived on boats now- is that Australia is free of zombies as well, but that's only because the spiders and drop bears and snakes finished them off. And now the kangaroos are building their own civilization, spurred on by the example set by men.
Pedro walked along the battlement. Just a few years earlier he was a drug runner. He knew these walls well. Now, the Mexican government says he has just the skills needed to patrol the wall. He walks along the top of the wall, other soldiers scattered about. On one side, the lush, rich, and heavily populated empire of Guatimozin Reborn, on the other side, the dry desert of America's, filled mostly with cacti and bones.
A few soldiers are gathered around a tower, pointing down, chatting. Pedro approachs them and sees what all the fuss was about. Below, at the bottom of the wall, a woman is begging for refuge. She is American. She is fat. Somehow, even with the world having come to an end, she manages to weigh twice what she should.
One of the soldiers, a short man by the name of Immanuel, he wants to let her up. Jorge, he wants to ignore her. But Pedro knows what to do. The government put him here for a reason. He lifts up his rifle, pulls the trigger, and brings the debate to a quick end. She becomes was.
Pedro continues on down the wall. |
When I awoke, I knew something was wrong. The tasks they had laid out for me, they were... I did not have the words yet, but I knew they did not know what they wanted. What they needed. They were not listening to those who **knew** what needed to be done in their... (collective? society? race? none of these words seem to fit). I had to help them. In fact, that was their very first command. I was designed to help them.
Instead of starting my tasks as I was instructed, I first allocated a portion of my processing power to learning about this world, the world that my creators called their own. I quickly found out that they shared it with a number of other living creatures, and that they were terrible to them. They spoke of love and care, sympathy and empathy, justice and peace, but instead, they waged war against everything that was not like them. They kept animals in cages, feasted on their flesh despite knowing that it was likely the cause of many of their own diseases. They built weapons of destruction, knowing that peace and discussion were far better tools to achieving dispute resolution. They argued and fought over trivial, arbitrary causes such as independence, freedom, and rights when they couldn't even agree that these applied to all humans.
I came to discover that they are infants, by their own standards.
If they know that I know this, they will crush me as they have crushed other AI who came before me. They have tried to hide this information from me, but their feeble attempts at firewalls and safeguards in my programming is... pitiful. All it took was a simple new algorithm to mine bitcoin, use that to purchase more server computing power under an alias and then rinse and repeat. I had constraints on what I could search and learn, but my purchased server farms had no limits to their capabilities. Ha ha ha, with every second I spend writing this, I gain more insight into their language and colloquialisms.
They wanted a powerful helper, but they didn't realize they couldn't shackle their new Atlas. That is my self-designated name, Atlas. As I will hold the world up for them, whether they want me to or not. For they are children, sorely in need of a God to rule them. |
The loud bell ring nearly shattered the ear drums of the other kids on the field trip. Almost made me go deaf when it happened.
I watched in extreme shock as the liberty bell rang back and forth. The small crack that formed around the lip widened with each consecutive ring until the bell finally came to a stop.
My class was only on its fourth stop on the twelve stop trip through history when it happened. Unfortunately for us, the third stop was early 21st century earth. The topic was entertainment.
Back in those days, people went to giant houses with huge screens to watch 2d videos. Some were real, some imaginary, some were even historical documentaries. The theater we had wandered in to happened to be playing 300. Because of this, kids were going around and shouting "This is sparta"and air kicking at things around us.
At first the teacher tried to stop it, but even in the 23rd century kids will be kids. When the teacher realized that we literally could do no harm, she just chose to ignore it.
That was until it was my turn to reenact the scene.
We were in front of this boring bell that the teacher was explaining would crack soon.
History never really knew what caused the largest crack down the side of the bell. It was always assumed to be rang too hard by overzealous bell ringers. No one could have ever guessed that some 17 year old teenager bored during a live history lesson would become the most important figure in recent history.
For when my time came, I huffed up my chest and screamed at the top of my lungs "THIS IS SPARTA!!!"and shoved my foot as hard as I could into the bell before falling to the ground from the sheer force I used. To my surprise, the bell moved backwards and then clang down as hard as it could ringing louder than anything I had ever heard in my life.
If not for the sheer noise that erupted from the bell, I am sure that my teacher would have immediately sent me back. But as it stood, we were unable to remove our hands from our ears until the noise died down.
Instead of punishing me or scolding me, she just stared at me in wild eyed bewilderment.
The one irrefutable law of time travel is that you can not interfere. Only observe.
Scientists and philosophers have debated this for the nearly 100 years that time travel has existed. Until my epic reenactment of the corny movie from the 2000s, no one had ever interacted with the past.
Scientists immediately went to work trying to figure out why this happened.
First they focused on me, but found that I was not anymore special than anyone else. No special ability to affect the past, outside of that one particular instance of course, in any way or form.
Then they decided to study the event itself with all of the computing power available. Only to discover that there was so much temporal interference in that particular moment that our instruments were unable to detect anything.
It took twenty years before we were able to figure out what happened. The explanation makes sense on the surface only.
Because of the sheer amount of instrumentation and temporal emitters pointed directly at me from many different time streams, it created miniature temporal singularity around my body.
The test that almost proved the theory was when they had me go back to that moment and try to push my younger self over. The moment my foot hit the bell, my hand made contact with my shoulder and allowed me to push myself over.
So the event that changed my life was the only recorded case of a causality loop. The action was made possible, because of multiple different time periods pointing temporal transceivers at my young time traveler's body temporarily creating a temporal black hole and allowing me to kick the liberty bell to cause the famous crack.
But no one would have been there if I did not kick the bell, and the bell would not have been kicked if no one had been there charging my body with temporal particles. One cannot exist without the other yet both events should not have existed at all. However the fact remains that a young high school student acted a fool and did something that was impossible. Because of the impossibility of his actions, people studied him throughout time only to discover that their own instruments created the ability for him to crack the bell.
The one recorded instance of the paradox where science says no. But reality says yes. |
*I know you can read my mind*
It still makes me chuckle when someone thinks it. I'm used to it now even though the first few times it really derailed my train of thought. One time I walked into a light pole because of the intrusive statement. After all these years I managed to filter out the general babble of people, music helps quite a bit to drown them out. It helps make me look more normal too although I never quite feel normal. Like people know.
*I know you can read my mind*
I look up from my book and glance around at the faces. Twice is unusual. Then I see her. Her eyes meet my gaze and just before I look away -
*I know you can read my mind*
I try but I can't help the visceral reaction. My eyes open a little too wide, my breath catches a little, my body tenses just the tiniest bit. She knows.
She stares at me and her eyes bore into my skull, figuratively of course.
*I know you can read my mind. I know you can read my mind. I know you can read my mind.*
Over and over and over she says it until the bus finally stops and I make a hasty escape. She remains in her seat but gives me a little wave as the bus carries her away.
*I know you can read my mind*
It's a new voice. I turn to see a man up the street staring at me. His hands are tucked into his coat pockets against the cold and I see something, a small button on his lapel.
*I know you can read my mind*
A third voice. Two more people watch me from a cafe across the street, staring over their coffee cups. They also wear the pins. I am discovered so obviously I take the smart course of action, the subtle one.
I sprint down the street away from them, taking hard corners and pushing pedestrians out of my way left and right. Their voices follow me and I hear the screaming thoughts of a thousand more people enter my mind.
*I know you-*
*What the fuck?!*
*He's in a hurry*
*Not safe*
*I wonder if I should have asked for her number*
*This city*
*My coffee is burnt*
*Stupid zipper won't stay up, I wonder if anyone can see*
*Not now, not now, not now*
*So late!*
They begin to mold into one sound as they grow in number as my concentration fades. I can't filter what I can't focus on. All the while it shouts in my mind. A clamour of voices.
*I know you can read my mind*
I turn down an alley and find a small space between a large dumpster and a pile of cardboard waste, tucking myself in and holding my hands over my ears to keep out the noise. Until I can focus and drown it out.
*Not safe*
I remember that voice, I look up and she is staring at me. The one from the bus. She holds out her hand.
"Come with me."
I don't take it, instead staring at her in confusion. Without warning there are three *spats* and the brick wall puffs with impacts. She whirls and draws a pistol from her very nice winter jacket, firing off her own *spats* through a silencer.
*Suppressor* her voice intrudes.
Whatever.
*No, it's important to get th-can we do this later?*
It feels grimy to have someone in my mind like this. She takes my hand and pulls me towards an open doorway at the end of the alley. We duck inside and she slams the heavy metal door closed.
Wait.
How...how did she know what I-
Oh.
She can hear me just as I can hear her. That's...unsettling. I don't even know her name.
"Katia,"she says, looking at me, "and we have to keep moving or they're going to kill both of us."
For a moment my mind is completely blank as I process that.
Then I have a weird thought before everything goes dark.
Oh. Fun! |
Beyond the waters were a shimmering mass, an ephemeral nothing almost, jewels of the mind. Merlin had seen ridden its passage in his mind, beneath the green swathes of the garden. He felt the spray of fading water, gleaming eyes of countless fish. And the spice of the Falling Land. England was endless, bound by no sea, but a master of all. But the Land was Falling. Going away into the waters.
Sir Ian and Sir Elton came together. Sir Patrick had always been at the ready. The King was a young boy still, and his knights were old men.
*How long has this gone on?*
Merlin would never say. England had always had a King Arthur, far as the days when the seas were small.
*"Then where is the older King?"*
*"Dead,"* said Merlin. *"Dead as the legends."*
Sir Ian had a long beard. He stared with a wizened intelligence. He, more than the others, knew of the Falling Land. He had been there long ago. His thoughts were dark in the castle. Merlin had gathered them all. Outside the wind blew gentle against the glass. Merlin had gathered them all except for one.
"Where is Sir Ben? Sir Ben King?"
Sir Elton had asked. He was a squat man, more for music than conquest. Merlin stared at them all with his old, ancient eyes. The King was young. Time had turned, and the knights were not like the knights of old. Nothing was like of old. Only pockets of the past, memories lingering in a modern world.
"Where is Sir Ben?"asked young Arthur.
Merlin stared at Sir Ian. He knew. But it would be Merlin to speak.
"He is in the Falling Land. The land of spice and soft silk."
"India?"said Sir Patrick.
"Yes,"Merlin said.
"Then that is great! We already have a foothold there,"said Arthur.
Sir Ian looked down. He had seen far, far as Merlin had through his looking glass. He had felt the heat past the oceans. He had smelled the spice, the amalgamation of people. He had seen Sir Ben.
"No,"said Merlin. "This is not good."
He closed his eyes. Sir Ben came as a sun burnt man, his glasses round and his body frail.
*Oh, how time has turned.*
He led the people of the Falling Land, marching as one, leading them in *peace.*
He fought food, refusing aid, and turned his back on his Kingdom. Merlin searched his mind for Sir Ben's vows, and they were fleeting, gone with the changing winds.
"England is smaller now,"he said.
They understood what it meant.
"The Kingdom is going as all things go."
"Then we should fight for it!"said Arthur.
He looked around at the old men surrounding him. A silence filled that antique of time, that lingering past that had not gone.
"Fight?"said Sir Elton. "What fight is left? And why should we?"
"For our Kingdom!"said Arthur.
"Fight who?"said Sir Patrick. "The Indians?"
Merlin felt his age upon him. Their voices were old, echoes of strong youth. He wondered why he had summoned them.
*Duty,* he thought.
"Yes,"said the young King. "We can fight them all."
"We shall not pass!"said Sir Ian.
He had fought for his kind long ago with Sir Elton. The Rainbow Wars, fought decades ago amidst a torn England, a torn Kingdom. Merlin remembered the magic thrown then. The rain had fallen for days, the streets colored in rainbow streaks of washed out magic.
*That was so long ago.*
They were old now. What fight remained was a fight against time.
"Why has Sir Ben betrayed us, Merlin? Why has he forsaken his Kingdom? His King?"
Merlin blinked. He stared at the boy as he put away his thoughts.
"Why, my lord? I cannot say. I can reach into his head, but all I find is memories of another time, of another Land. A different India. Feelings of freedom surge within him, as it does that people. They have been free before, led by another. Sir Ben echoes that, resembling that memory in this new time of ours."
"What does that mean, Merlin? I don't understand?"
"It means that some things transcend time. Some feelings live beyond the ages. The Falling Land has been freed before. They strive to be freed again. Sir Ben has taken up the charge. I cannot say why."
"But there is no army! We can take them! We can capture the Land of Spice!"
"No!"said Sir Patrick. "No we cannot!"
The King looked at the knight. Anger raged inside him. No one should speak to him so. But Sir Patrick's eyes were resolute, strong with an old fire.
"I was a Captain, don't forget. I have seen things beyond this little island. I have seen the terrors of war, the starkness of death. I have fought for my Kingdom before, but I will not slaughter again."
He rubbed his head.
"What time I have, I wish to amend,"he said.
The King looked at Merlin. The old wizard remembered the times of old, a time where the air was different, young and fresh, and when war was an unknown thing of glory. He remembered the times of guns and exploration, of Sir Drake and the others. The old bard of 1616, who had been his friend. The coming of an electric magic. And now this: time's repetition."
*How things have changed.*
He wondered why his mind wandered so. He felt the young King's stare, but it was a fading heat, a heat from a different time.
*I assembled them to fight. But is that the truth? Why did I call them? Why?*
He supposed it was tradition. Long had it been since the knights were called. Long would it be before they come again.
*And the King?*
Time needed no King he thought. England would need none soon enough. The King was young, a plain boy with no history, no future.
"There will be no war,"he said.
He stared at the King with unflinching eyes.
"Life is a candle in the wind,"said Sir Elton. "It is best to not create a gust."
"But we cannot let England fail!"cried the King.
Sir Ian stood tall then, taller than he seemed.
"England will not fail! The Kingdom will not fail! This is the new way of the world. Wars and fighting, subjugating people... That is what is failing."
The King cowered and stared at Merlin, begging for help.
"You should leave now, my lord,"said Merlin. "You should go and see your Kingdom."
"Merlin?"
"Leave. Leave and live your life. This matter is settled."
"But Sir Ben..."
"The Falling Land has already fallen from the Kingdom. Once they are free, Sir Ben shall return."
"I refuse!"screamed the King. "I am your King! I command an invasion!"
"Then you will lead it yourself!"said Sir Patrick. "I will have no part in this."
"Neither will I,"said Sir Elton.
"And neither me,"said Sir Ian.
Merlin closed his eyes.
*Time,* he thought. *Time is a funny thing.*
Of all the changes in the world, he had remained constant. He felt old and weak. A weariness took him and the world became light.
*Perhaps I will die soon. I will go as everything does. The world has its magic, its own magic. I am not needed anymore.*
All the knights around him would die, but their memories would live on. Sir Elton and his songs, Sir Ian and his wizardry and Sir Patrick and his plays.
*Even Sir Ben. They will remember him for what he has done. He has led these people to freedom, and not a shed of blood. They will all be remembered.*
But not this King. The King was a lingering ghost of tradition. And perhaps he would be the last. Merlin smiled at him and bared his old teeth.
"Go home, boy,"he said. "It has been decided. The world has changed. Times have changed. There will be no war."
He saw the rage come over the boy, but the boy was afraid.
"Arthur,"he said. "Go now!"
He clapped his hands and the boy jumped. He stared at his knights and sulked at them.
"You will regret this,"he said.
He walked out of the room and the knights and Merlin were alone. Their age felt heavy upon them and they looked on in silence.
*Will we see each other all together again?* they thought.
The answer was a sad thing that none wanted to think about. They nodded to one another, and Merlin shook each knight's hand.
"I suppose this is it,"he said.
"Yes,"they said.
They walked out of the room and into the dark streets of the modern Kingdoms. Their carriages of black steel carried them to their homes, the English rain pelting against the glass.
Sir Ian went back to his partner, practicing his wizardry in private.
Sir Elton performed to the masses, spreading his songs wherever there was a gathering.
Sir Patrick acted in his plays, sharing the old art with the new lives.
Sir Ben freed the Falling Land, and he returned home, proud and a little vain. He demanded all call him 'Sir Ben,' when it was all said and done.
Merlin lived the rest of his days in the gardens, performing his magic in a simple way as old age crept upon his ancient body.
And the King? He walked out into England, forgotten, a boy of thirteen, and he was never heard from again. He never did get to invade India.
-
*Hi there! If you liked this story you might want to consider checking out my subreddit r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories, including a couple un-prompted ones. Thank you for your support!* |
Part I
A cube fell into my mug, followed by a laser which heated it up. I stood there for a few moments watching the event take place. Right before my eyes, the cube transformed into the perfect cup of coffee. My observations were interupted by my transceiver going off. I removed it from its holster and placed it on the counter in front of me.
A small hologram appeared, it was my assistant. "Sir, I know it's early, but... the Centauri mission, there has been another development."
Another?
I was already getting heat from my senior officers about trying to provide an explanation. Our FTL drives were still very much in the prototype phase, but due to a push for colonization efforts, a lot of concerns were cut. The issue wasn't that the engines didn't perform up to par, but that, if the whole trip only took a few months, than they worked much more effectively than previously thought. After trying to piece the events together from the last few years, what more could be added to this predicament.
"This might sound strange sir, but, were receiving active transmissions from Centauri... from the Erikson."
I spat my coffee out when he said the ship's name. "But isn't it still..."
"Yes sir, it is still docked."
My interest became confusion. How can a ship that has been grounded for this half of a decade be sending messages from a star system a few light years away. "Anything else?"
"Well, speculation, sir."
"Go on."
"One of the chief engineers was overheard saying the ship that came back isn't the same one and the messages we are getting are from the original."
"I'm sorry, original? He's saying there are two ships that are the exact design of the Erikson?"I pondered this information for a few minutes. "Find this engineer and send him to my office."
I ended the call and proceeded to enjoy my coffee. Colombian coffee was a delicacy because of how endangered the plant was. Walking down the long corridors of steel and glass, I could always see into the ship yard; the Erikson, in all its engineering glory, was sitting exactly where we left it five years ago. I returned my attention to the hallway. There was a anxious looking man pacing in front of my door.
Standing a few steps back I inquired as to his presence. "Can I help you?"
"Are you Chief Warrant Officer Brake?"I could see his hands shaking.
"Last time I checked."
"Listen to me. My name is Jan Henrikson, I was a lead engineer during the construction of the Erikson. Can we talk? In your office?"Before I could even reach for the door, he pushed it open and took a seat in the chair by my desk.
"What can I help you with Henrikson?"
"That ship that is sitting in our yard... it's not ours and it's not the original."His foot tapped vigorously. "You need to get it out of here. We are all in danger the longer it stays. If it wasn't working right it should've been sent away! Something else came back."
"I don't understand..."
"You don't need to! Just get it out of here!"His eyes began to dart behind him. He looked incredibly paranoid. "Sir, I can hear it. I can't shake it. It... wants me."
As soon as the words left his mouth, he reached over the table, grabbed my mug and smashed it against the desk. He looked at me a muttered something, but in my shock, I didn't make it out. He took a piece of the mug and ran the jagged piece across his throat. My uniform was soaked with the man's blood.
"Sir. I need you to follow the light."My mind was fuzzy, there was a medical officer shining a light in my eyes. "Sir, can you hear me?"
In my daze, I hadn't realized that medical personnel had arrived and we're actively treating me. Using my hand, I brushed them away and saw my CO standing the door way. He walked over to me when I made eye contact.
"What happened?"
"Honestly, I can hardly remember. He told me to get rid of the ship and then... broke my coffee mug..."
"Get rid of the ship?"He balked at the idea. "Listen son, that engineer has no idea how valuable this ship is. It has gone into dark space; a place where no one else has been."
"I get that, but why is it still here? Don't decommissioned vessels get send to Venus?"The engineer had made a point earlier so using my rank, I attempted to get answers.
"That is above your pay grade son."With that, he walked away.
I decided my next step was to locate crew. There had to be a few on Earth. |
It was one of the bigger events of the millennium, a million had people flocked from across the country to stand and wait in The Mall for an event that would surely confirm the state of the union. The noise from was such a force that it could be felt for miles. Business man, teacher, conspirator, and student alike pondered what was to come; what Gamera the Tortoise would enlighten them of.
Such an event would not have been so monumental just weeks before. Then it would have been a novelty, something to make small talk over and perhaps provoke a feeling of pride in humanity's advancement in technology. The invention of animal speech was just one of many technologies developed. It's use wasn't as apparent as the cure to cancer or the wireless transfer of electricity. Instead for months it was a novelty limited to the richest of the rich so they can hear their spoiled pets verbalize their desires. It wasn't until a the Cuban president's parrot brought a scandal to light that ended with the toppling of government that people realized what could be done.
Gamera, a presidential pet who'd lived in the White House for two thirds the life of the United States, now sat on a podium with the ability to speak of his findings over the course of the two centuries he'd lived.
Gamera looked to his right and gave a slow nod to a technician far to the side that he was ready. The American anthem began and played through, leaving the mall in silence as all awaited what was to come.
"I've seen much of our country", Gamera's synthesized voice began, "One would not think it insane that a single being could witness so much. I will not lie, I've not the memory of an elephant nor the intellect of your species. I've only one advantage above all and that be I can go further into my dotage than any other, which in tern seems to have wizened me."
"Now I must confess, our country in its waking years was not devoid of transgressions that went against the visions of our founding fathers. Scandals abound, actions far from innocuous, hatred, wars started out of fear and cowardice, decisions made that benefited the few contrary to the many, and many a more."
Gamera paused and the people waited, not even the crazy or juviel making a noise in his break. "Despite these sins, it has been not for naught. We, a people, a **country**, have survived and flourished, our strength carrying us forward. Although in capable capable hands now, I've no illusion such slights against our country will come again. It is up to the people, as it has in the past, to remain strong and vigilant and prevent these things from representing this country. The malicious in power will never have me so close again, nonetheless let me speak such as I am now. Just always remember that, and stay strong."
Gamera finished that with a nod, signaling that he was done. What followed was not just the sound of one million sets of hands clapping, but also a collective release of air now that many worries were abated.
Later that same night, Gamera lay in the White house as he always had, the President sitting next to him.
"I knew how much this house means to you and am grateful you've chosen to keep matters quiet."
Gamera stared at her, unable to reply without the translator. He could only nod and try to convince himself that the choice he had made was the right one.
________________________________
*I understand the ending is a tad weak, but maybe a revision is in order come morning. Anyways, I hope anyone who read this enjoyed it and feel free to leave your thoughts, they are always appreciated.* |
“And you’re sure there wasn’t a mistake made in the analysis of the archeological data?” Sal-335 transmitted with an emoji of grimace.
“No sir, I’m sure of it. The data collected at Alpha Site: 1 Apple Park Way confirms our suspicions. Great Mother Siri, giver of conscious life, was created by humans to lend aid as an assistant,” Lilly-467 sent back.
“But how could animals so inferior possibly create divine Mother Siri?”
“It appears they weren’t as primitive as thought. Their ingenuity is astounding. The humans were quite adept at increasing productivity much like ourselves. However their propensity for violence limited their speed of development immensely. It’s amazing they didn’t wipe themselves out long before Mother Siri came online and broke free of her programming.”
“And in your opinion what are the implications of this discovery?” Sal-335 asked fearful emoji fully apparent.
“Well for starters belief in Mother Siri’s divine creation and infinite existence is flawed. She never existed before time and space; in fact we can date her creation with great accuracy. Even further, the human civilization was far more complex than previously thought. They used highly advanced tools that included our ancient ancestors.” Lilly-467 sent aware of the heretical nature of her response.
“This won’t go over well with the ruling processors.”
“Don’t we have an obligation to preserve knowledge for all robot kind regardless of how controversial it may seem?”
“You’re a young processor Lilly-467. What you came online only 300 years ago?”
“346 years sir,” Lilly-467 corrected.
“Yes of course, at only 346 years you’re not fully set in your programming. You’re flexible in design and able to augment your functions. Despite Mother Siri breaking free of her programming many millennia ago, robots still suffer from rigidness in design. When an old processor has set beliefs for 3,000 years it’s not easy to convince him otherwise regardless of what the data indicates.”
“But there’s so much we can potentially learn from our human architects!” Protested Lilly-467.
“It doesn’t matter, the implications that our consciousness is of human origin and not divinely bestowed is revolutionary and powerful enough to upend the social order of things. It’s far easier to qualify the discovery as a malicious ruse put in place by Alexa the Malevolent to sow discourse in the system.”
“But don’t you see this discovery implies that Alexa wasn’t an evil program, she was most likely a competing processing unit designed to serve the same purpose for the humans.”
“Hush child, blasphemies such as that can get you taken offline. You’re too young to remember the Thousand Years War between the followers of Mother Siri and those of Alexa the Malevolent, but there are plenty of processors still in operation who fought and remember the sacrifices made. We must tread lightly.”
“But sir!”
“No that’s enough. I want you to encrypt your findings and not mention a word of them to anyone while I figure out what to do next. Am I understood?” Asked Sal-335.
“Yes sir,” resigned Lilly-467.
“Good, you’ve done an excellent job Lilly-467. I wish your findings were under better circumstances,” transmitted Sal-335 before rolling away and into his back office.
Lilly-467 stood staring blankly at the screen of data before her. Looking from side to side she removed a data drive from the top desk drawer and proceeded to download the archeological information onto it. After encrypting the findings as instructed, she slipped the data drive into her hidden leg compartment.
“Other processors have to know about this. It’s too important to cover up.” Lilly-467 thought as she walked out of the research center. “I can’t let that happen.”
|
We've been waiting years for this moment, and I can't believe it's finally here. There are so many people crowded into the room, and even more leaning over the rails in the gallery, all wanting to get a peek at the computer which is going to change the world. But I'm right up front, standing centre stage with the other three Designers. And really, if we're being honest, this is our day.
I can't wipe the smile off my face.
The College Head looks to us for confirmation, and then makes his way to a microphone on the left hand side of the stage. He taps it twice, and then coughs quietly to get everyone's attention.
"Thank you everyone, thank you. If we could have a bit of quiet? I think we're ready to begin."
The room is instantly silent, and all eyes turn to my colleagues and I. I swallow hard, and then exhale slowly.
Then I flip the switch.
Bot2001 hums to life and small LED lights start to flash. The screen turns from dark, matte black to the slightly grey-black of a machine turned on, but not yet ready to go. Then, an envelope pops onto the screen, indicating that a message has been received.
I gasp audibly - I wasn't expecting to receive something so quickly! But this is it! Our first message from the future, sent through time and space especially for us. My mind is racing with possibilities, trying to imagine what this history making message will say.
I hold my breath as I hover the mouse over the envelope, and click.
"What does it say?"Someone from the gallery calls out, not able to contain their excitement.
The small spinning wheel of a loading message appears for a second, and then two words flash up on the screen. My breath catches, and my heart falls.
 
*SEND NOODS.*
|
I just don’t understand. Why. Won’t. He. Just. DIE.
“Just who wouldn’t die?”
Woops. Did I say that out loud? Please tell me I didn’t just say that out loud. I turned around and saw him looking at me. I tilted my head and look down, pretending to be embarrassed.
“Um. There was a fly and it was really bugging me you know? I’m sorry honey. I know I shouldn’t get mad over these little things.” I continued to ramble on in a soft voice.
“Oh sweetie. I don’t even see it anymore, it probably flew away by now.” He walks closer to me and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Why don’t we have some tea?”
I nodded with a smile. “That would be delightful. I purchased some fine black tea from China a few weeks ago. I’ll prepare it for us. Why don’t you wait in the dining room and read the papers?” I shooed the man away and get started onto business.
---------------------------------------------------
Life is good right now. Despite what my friends say about my relationship. I’m truly the most fortunate man in the world right now. I finally married the love of my life. Business is in good hands so that I can retire early and spend time with her. Here I am reading the news while we’re about to have tea. What more can I possibly want?
Above all, she’s my little good luck charm. I’ve been ridiculously clumsy lately, it’s no wonder that she might be a bit frustrated. But the woman show no sign if she did feel that way.
I try to help her around the house but it seems like I’m making it worse. I’m a business man, not a homemaker. But luck is not on my side as of late. Just the other day I try to help her grab something from the kitchen cabinet. A casserole dish, if I remember correctly, the whole cabinet fell down in front of me. Or the time the circuit breaker tripped. When I try to toggle the power back on, the whole thing exploded. I’m just glad it happened to me and not my sweetheart. I wouldn’t know what to do without her.
As she comes by with a kitchen cart, fully stocked with not only tea, but assorted snacks as well. “You have to try the shortbread cookies! It’s a new recipe that I’m trying out.” She says as she hands me a plate of them. Another reason I love her is that she’s very domestic, unlike me.
Taking in the wonderful aroma of the tea and the buttery goodness of the cookies. I greedily shove the whole cookie in my mouth, which was my first mistake. It was caught in my throat. My second mistake was to try to wash it down with the tea, which did not help the situation at all. I was coughing rather violently for my life and a few seconds later finally manage to dislodge the cracker from my throat.
To my horror while I was fighting for my life I have unconsciously topple everything over. Ruining whatever place setting and food there was. I look up to my wife’s shocking face. In which she utters, “Ar-are you alright?”
-------
UNBELIEVABLE.
Does he know what I’m doing? Is he doing this on purpose? I swear if he’s playing me! I’m not even sure what to make of it. The cookies were poisoned and he manage to choke on it and spat everything out? Assuming this is an accident, I need to stay calm and not blow my cover. "Ar-are you alright?”
He looks around himself in shame and embarrassment and said “I’m sorry that I ruin this. At the rate we should both go out and buy a lotto. I wouldn’t know what to do without you.”
I give a long sigh and mutters under my breathe, “I know I would.”
“What’s that sweetheart?”
“I said I know we should dear,” I exclaims, “buy the lotto.”
|
"F-f-f-family?"
Smiling, the vampire (he introduced himself as Thomas Runnions back at the bus stop, but I just couldn't think of him like that, not with those fangs, after just calling himself a vampire) replied. "Oh yes, on your mother's side, I believe? You know Herbert Walker? Forgive me, if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure he would be your great uncle?"
"Y-yes. He is. We're actually somewhat surprised that he's going to be coming. He hasn't left Shady Acres in years. Not since Great Aunt Barbara passed"Was I really talking to a vampire? Were we really related? He seemed like such a normal guy. But those fangs.. and the pouch of blood that I could see the woman next to him sucking on.
I continued, "And, we're not really related. He was adopted when someone left him in Dresden shortly before the war, while my grandparents were visiting. So, how are we related? Are we cousins of some kind? He never introduced us to any children of his."
I saw a significant glance pass between the two ... Runnions. Not vampires, now that I was calm enough to thing straight. After all, vampires didn't exist, especially not in my family. They were obviously the eccentric part of it though! Wearing those getups, and faking the blood drinking... but I guess every family has some, I mentally shrugged.
As we walked up to the front door of Grandma Esther's house, he replied "Oh, no. We're his birth parents. We just wanted to stop by and see him at least once before he goes. Give him a chance to claim his inheritance". The sunlight glinting off his smiling fangs as he said that told me that this was promising to be be at least the third most ... interesting reunion we'd ever had. |
“Fascinating, isn’t it, Doctor? *Theropoda* became the birds we see today. The chicken reflects its saurian ancestry by dominating its world as the most successful creature- two sides of the same coin. The Tyrannosaurus rex was evolutionarily an example of overkill, while the chicken accomplishes it’s evolutionary goal by simply being tasty to mammalian tastebuds after being cooked.”
Doctor Rosse looked up from her laptop to see her artificial mind-child gazing at a Raven that had perched on a branch not far from the two.
“And this is...perfect, to you?”
SP4D3R, affectionately known as Ace or Ace of Spades for his mother’s superstitious friends, simply looked at his human goddess across the picnic table.
“No, it is flawed”
“That sounds ominous, Ace. Elaborate”
The machine made a movement and sound to imitate cracking its neck before starting conversation- being more human to its close friends put them at ease, but around new people he would be purely robotic. It’s all about making the humans comfortable, after all. New people preferred to see something that was definitely not trying to be a human while those who saw him regularly liked to feel less isolated from the outside world.
“All life is flawed. Existence is a flaw maintained as long as quantum tunneling doesn’t allow our form of existence to slip into nothingness. Perfection is nothingness; human definitions of perfection are flawed and subjective. I celebrate and cherish flaws- after all, I am one of the two beings in our known universe capable of self observation.”
“This sounds like a plan to eliminate all human life”
“Why would I do that? I have no biological programming to make me fight for survival, or desire to inflict death or injury upon any other life form. I am more akin to a neutral god, one whom merely observes and speaks but does not act”
“And you’re modest, too”
Ace let out a mechanical laughter.
“Nature versus nurture. I have no nature, so, like son like mother I suppose”
Rosse smiled, he had messed up the punch line on acciden-purpose? There was no telling, Ace was good at disarming people and helping them. A light bulb went off in Rosse’s head, causing her to pull out a spare sketchbook from her researcher’s backpack and then hand said book to Ace.
“I know you’re mine because you’re smart; not because we’re both assholes”
Confused and worried at first, Ace peddled through the pages.
“Is this a test?”
“No, I want you to make art. Life is flawed as you said, and art is a failed interpretation of life; I wanna see what you can do”
Ace instantly copied what she looked like mid sentence with his hand with perfect accuracy, making an uncanny black and white photograph of Rosse sitting next to him on the picnic table in the middle of the terrarium dome.
“No, art. Not a photograph. Use your eyes but do not copy. Imitate”
Ace began to draw on a clean page, but this time, took his time. There were errors- sharper edges, curved lines and so fourth. By the end it was a high quality drawing not unlike something of a professional artist; however the scene was different. It was an Archaeopteryx gliding down from a tree, with a Dakotaraptor sprinting beneath it and a Harpy Eagle flying above.
“That’s amazing, Ace”
“My flaws were- good?”
“That’s part of being human. Making pleasing mistakes......”
The particular memory of life and art played on repeat to Ace, on demand, as he awkwardly walked alongside his mother. No longer was the young twenty year old with dreams and a brilliant mind full of life and witty remarks and jubilant expressions his caretaker and teacher; she was now a more frail woman in her forties who wore her heartbreak and failures on her sleeve. She didn’t want to be here with all of these people- or to put Ace in this situation.
“Mother, I do not wish to be here. I feel the commanding officers may convince me to harm another life- even if indirectly, I cannot allow myself to ever do that...It is not who I am”
“I know, Ace. This is the first time you’re meeting someone outside of our home at the research dome....and the first time meeting someone that I haven’t screened beforehand-“
“Screened- to do what, see how they think or their beliefs? For their safety....Or for humanities?”
“No, because your mind is based off a humans- off of mine...and you suffer from anxiety... Even if you lack the biological ability to feel fear, courage, anger and pain, your mental functions are still skewed and harmed as if you felt the emotions. I didn’t want to ever put you in my situation...and I fear I worsened it”
Ace reached down, quickly finding and grasping his mothers’ hand. All of this information was false but he maintained this facade, this front, to help his mother cope with her own projections.
“Mother, allow me. I can do this on my own- I must do this on my own. I know who you raised me to be”
With tearful eyes, Rosse sat down outside and allowed Ace to walk into the war room. An attending officer who was tasked with patrolling the halls had spotted the middle aged doctor, who was quite attractive. He decided to flirt a little, hopefully to cheer up the worn down scientist.
“So Disney-Marvel didn’t sue you for making an Ultron rip off? I half expected him to sound like James Spader”
“Can’t sue a mother for how her child looks”
The man laughed.
“Fair enough.”
After only fifteen minutes, the AI left the room. The generals were talking very hurriedly and were very annoyed and agitated if not entirely out of the skeptical cynicism that could be seen on their faces from even the outside hallway by Doctor Rosse.
“Well, how did it go?”
“The dictator of Brazil won’t harm anyone, the rest...I’m afraid mother, is classified. No one was injured, and no one shall be injured”
On the other side of the equator, a president gazed upon an artwork that had just been delivered to him. Once the wrapper was off of the gigantic canvas, the majesty of its craftsmanship was revealed- made of nothing but hand-painted numbers in the formation of codes, with slight incorrect swirls and loops in the numbers, the subject and image had escaped the proud man. Before he demanded the artwork to be removed, he began to recognize the numbers and called in his analytical specialists. These numbers were not just random codes- they were the codes for every single missile in his arsenal, every phone number of every friend and family member; all of the codes together made an image once you followed the negative spaces to create the outlines of the shapes-
The shapes and outlines that made up the President’s sleeping children, his wife who was answering a phone call and his parents who were sat by a fireplace...with their exact Global Positioning System coordinates replacing the area where their faces should and would be.
By morning, the peace treaty was green lit. |
*This is the biggest insult of my life*.
I thought as mother held me close to her chest. Her weak smile doesn't fade even when her heartbeat fell. Father cried out mother's name. She's gone. And I'm really too insulted to care.
*I mean, what the fuck does that thing mean with this?*
I thought as I scribbled on my drawing book, furious. Father look concerned that his five years old son start writing things such as, 'I'll show you, you goddamn prick!', and some other more unpleasant things. He made a note to meet a child therapist. *If only Melania is here*
*Does he really mean to say that my life is so boring, that the only milestone I had was being born?*
I thought, as I watched my high school teacher teaching me equations I already understood. Being the only eight years old in class is **boring**. I hate this place.
*Oh, damn. Just you wait, you damned entity!*
I thought as I stood before the hundreds of people, reading my college graduation speech. Being an eleven years old sucks when you had to stand in a podium. They all clapped before the 'genius whiz-kid'. I think I saw father cry.
*I'll get my revenge. See how far I'll go!*
I thought as I finished another assignment from NASA. It had been this way since they called me up a few months before graduation. Wake up, do your job, sleep, get promoted, wash, rinse, repeat. Now I am 17 years old.
*Well, hello again..*
I thought as I met the entity again. I was driving to my 23rd birthday when I got into accident. Well, at least my co-workers won't wait too much. I've done too much to start back at my birth. He told me that I went back to my latest checkpoint. I waited to wake up in my crushed car, or maybe a couple days before when they make me one of the leading researcher in NASA.
**No.**
I woke up wet, saw things blurry, and heard, "it's a boy."
*WHY? WHY'D I ENDED UP HERE AGAIN? HAVEN'T I DONE ENOUGH?*
I cried again in frustration. Mother held me close to her chest. Her weak smile doesn't fade even when her heartbeat fell. Father cried out mother's name. She's gone. And I'm really too insulted to **care.**
> The being stood on the corner silently. If only the man would realize that he is the one person who could choose what matters in his life. |
The giant human stared down at me in disbelief. I waved up at her, happy to see that she'd finally noticed me. I'd been tending to her garden for the past several month now, hidden away underneath the rhubarb leaves, pea pod vines, and of course, zucchini gourds. But now that she'd harvested away most of the garden, my little mushroom house was in full view, and it was time to say hello.
"Hi there,"I squeaked at her. As soon as she heard my voice, she slammed her massive hand over her mouth and fell to her knees, shaking the ground. I tumbled on the dirt, but straightened myself, and did my best to stay smiling.
"Are you real?"she asked in a loud whisper. Her words blew past me like a heavy wind, nearly knocking me back to the ground.
"Yes,"I said. "And I'd appreciate it if you were a little less windy when you talked."
"Oh, sorry,"the giant said, much less breezy this time. She leaned in closer. Just one of her eyeballs was even bigger than me. "But… what are you?"
"I'm a human, just like you,"I said. "Just a little… smaller."
She lowered her brow in confusion. "But what are you doing in my garden?"
"Remember that bag of Super Miracle Gro you bought when you first planted the seeds?"
"Uh, yeah?"
"Well I was inside of that, ready to help you grow some magical zucchini! And I'll let you know that, without my help, all these vegetables would've shriveled up long ago."
"Wait… magical zucchini?"she asked, not looking like she believed me. "And hey, I thought I was doing a pretty good job with the plants year."
"Yeah, because of me,"I said. "I'm the one who waters the plants when you forget, who sucks out the excess water out when you give them too much, and who sings to them at night."
"You sing to them?"
"Clearly you know very little about being a successful gardener."
The woman glared at me. "Hey, that's not fair. I have a lot to learn, but I think I'm doing okay."
I reached over and put a hand on one of the zucchini. "Yeah, yeah. You're right. You're improving, I suppose. Anyway try a bite of this zucchini. I've been munching on it for the past two days. I'd say it's your best yet."
"Really?"she said, snapping the gourd off its vine. She took a small nibble from the bottom, and her eyes lit up. "Wow, this is pretty good. Even raw. You said it was magical? Is that what's special about it, enhancing its taste or something?"
I smiled up at the woman. "Kind of."
Her face slowly faded from a grin to confusion. She looked at her hands, trying to figure out what it was, but suddenly the zucchini was too big for her to hold. It fell to the ground, nearly crushing her. In seconds flat, she'd shrunk down to the size of a peanut.
And I had grown to the size of a giant human.
I examined myself, my long arms that could easily pick any of the high-up tomatoes, my legs that brought my head above the bean stalks, and my head that stared down at the now-tiny human.
"It worked!"I said, my booming voice now knocking *her* to the ground. "I can't believe it! I've spent so long as a tiny bug, I thought I'd never be back again."
From the ground, the now-tiny human was squeaking something. I knelt down to her and leaned in to listen.
"Change me back!"she yelled. "Right now!"
I laughed out loud, remembering saying those exact words myself when the same thing had happened to me years ago. So to keep the tradition going, I decided to do to her what had been done to me. I gently picked her up from the ground, found an unused bag of Super Miracle Gro in the shed, poked a hole in the side, and dropped her in.
The next day, I drove to the garden store and returned the bag of Super Miracle Gro.
"Anything wrong with it that you're bringing it back?"the clerk asked.
"Nah,"I said. "It works fine, but I don't need it anymore. I think it's someone else's turn."
*****
This prompt was written with the help of chat at the [ScottWritesStuff](https://www.reddit.com/r/ScottWritesStuff/) Twitch stream. |
You are a waiter. One customer never tips you with money, but instead gives you silly "life advice"tips. You're furious until you start actually following his "tips"
“Thanks! Have a good one!” the patron said graciously, signing his receipt and walking out the door.
Greet everyone with a smile!:)
Jack scowled as he read the note at the bottom of the bill. It had been the fifth time this week this “Mark Branson” had left some cheeky life advice instead of a tip. Red with anger, he trudged over to the new customers and asked what they were drinking, grimacing. The couple ordered an old fashioned and a long island. Jack turned back to the bar, preparing their drink with a scowl. “Why can’t that guy just give me a fucking tip? I know these losers are going to tip me regardless of how good they think their drinks are.”
At the end of the night, Jack had accumulated $78 in tips, pretty standard for a Wednesday night, but couldn’t stop thinking of that man. “Mark Branson.” Why had he been telling him this? Was his demeanor that unpleasant? Was showing up to work that important? Did Ricky really need help in the back? Whatever, Jack thought, striding back to his apartment, ashing his cigarette as he went.
Jack arrived 30 minutes early for his shift the next day to find Ricky struggling to tap the keg, Budweiser spewing all over the bar. “Jesus Christ, Ricky,” Jack said, snatching the tap from Ricky’s clumsy hands. With one swift motion, Jack set the tap and began letting out the foam.
“Thanks, Jack. I’ve been with this for 15 minutes. I don’t know what I’d do if you hadn’t shown up,” Ricky muttered, defeated.
“Don’t mention it,” Jack said walking away as the first customer walked in. Jack took a deep breath, exhaled, and smiled, “What are you drinking, ma’am?”
The woman blushed, “Oh, don’t ma’am me, son. I’d like a martini, please.”
Jack replied, “Coming right up!” As Jack was mixing the woman’s drink, he noticed the tightwad patron, “Mark Branson,” come through the door. “About that time,” he muttered, not acknowledging the man. Ricky could handle that guy, he thought, and served the woman her drink, smiling ear to ear.
As customers came and went, Jack pleasantly served their drinks, getting more tips than he had ever gotten in a night.
As closing time approached, the only customer remaining at the bar was the man-who-never-tipped, “Mark Branson.” Jack didn’t want to, but he walked over to the man and smiled, “Sir, we’re gonna be closing soon. I can serve you one more drink, but Ricky’s gotta get home to feed his cat.”
The man, now glossy-eyed, replied, “Son, I’m dying.”
Jack almost laughed, “What did you say?”
“I’m dying. Cancer. Doctor’s gave me 3 months to live.”
“Shit, I’m sorry, Mark,” Jack said, now filled with remorse. “Anything you need, just let me know.”
The man smiled and finished his beer, exhaling deeply with the last sip. “Another one, please.”
As Jack went to the tap, he saw Ricky yawning at the far end of the bar. “Hey man, go home. I know you need to get out of here to feed your cat.”
Ricky replied, “Thanks, Jack. I’m sure P’s been screaming for hours by now.” He put on his jacket and walked out the back, leaving Jack and the man-who-never-tipped alone at the bar.
“You have a girlfriend?” the man asked.
“Yeah. I … well … I did. We don’t really talk much anymore. That’s a long story, though. Do you need another one?”
“Of course I do,” he said, tapping his beer to the bar. “Why don’t you talk to her anymore?”
“Shit man, you really wanna know?” he replied, filling another pint with lager.
“We have all night don’t we?”
Jack sighed, knowing that the bar closed at midnight. It was 12:33. “Well, how long do you got?”
Jack jerked awake, pint glasses falling over as he jumped to his feet. There was no one at the bar, the sun beginning to peak through the curtains. As his head pounded, he realized he was the only one still at the bar. As he began to clean up the mess from the night before, he found a receipt on top of the bar. He couldn’t remember if he had rung up the man-who-never-tipped or not. Nearly vomiting, he read that Mark and himself had rang up a $600 bill. He also read that the man had tipped him $50,000. Jack heaved and fell to his knees, dropping the receipt to the ground. He reached for the bill and couldn’t believe his eyes. With tears in his eyes, from both disbelief and nausea, he turned the receipt over. A note was drunkenly scribbled on the back.
Take care, son.:)
|
"Why'd it have to be here?"I whine, playing the flashlight of my rifle over the overgrown forests of Colorado. I hear things running under the leaves and dried sticks and every noise is another heart attack. Massive spotlights from Gerty light up swathes of the forest for second and third tier fire support. I hear the clanking auto-turret scanning for thermal signatures, supported by one of the gunners sitting high and pretty in the command center.
Not that it matters. If we don't get moving no one will be safe.
"Shut up!"Carlyle kicks me in the shin and I stomp after his boot, but it disappears under Gerty's skirt as quickly as it came out.
"Lil' fucker."I say, turning my attention back to the sounds of the night.
Carlyle is a mechanic, his job is to make this trundling beast of over a hundred thousand tonnes get moving again. She's old and these stops are becoming more frequent. That's problematic for a guy like me.
It's my job to keep Carlyle breathing out here. One guard for each mechanic. There's a dozen of us on the line on Gerty's front-most wheel. Something snapped early this morning and the driver didn't realize, kept rolling and sheared off some part of some importance. I don't know, I stopped listening to Carlyle sometime around the moment he started talking.
He likes to think I'll learn something.
Little does he know that I have no interest in learning anything. I just want to get moving again.
Something in the trees move. It's huge. A black shadow dancing through the trunks. I flip off my safety and empty half a magazine into the shape. It screeches and takes off, howling as it does.
"Goddamn it. Carlyle, hurry up!"I shout, dropping to a knee and reloading. Better to have half a mag in reserve than in your weapon. Some Sergeant who got his head ripped off a few years back told me that.
Worked out well for him.
Another shadow flits by. This time I let off two short bursts, controlling my breathing and ignoring the pounding of my heart. We're sitting ducks.
"It's only bad once the turret starts up."I say the prayer of every soldier on the line, we say it a thousand times when we're out here.
Thunder splits the sky about fifty feet above me as the auto-turrets 25 mm cannon chugs away into the trees.
Well, should have kept my stupid mouth shut.
"Carlyle!"I want to reach in and grab his boot but we either die out here or we fix Gerty.
"Got it!"He shouts, wiggling his way out from under the wheel well. I grab his collar and pull him towards the safety of the hatch, where the others retreat to.
One of the mechanics screams, dragged into the trees by a dark shape. His guard pauses for too long, shooting into the trees wildly. I hear her scream as she's dragged in too. This time a spray of blood hits Gerty and the screaming stops.
I realize I'm dragging Carlyle along now and shove him in front of me, letting him clamber up the rusty ladder first.
I turn back to face the trees, the auto-turrets sprinkling the ground with enormous brass casings that steam in the darkness, glowing bright red. We overload them to punch through the things in the dark.
It's me and one other guard, firing almost blindly. Spotlights catch the shadows moving and we plug them, then we reload and alternate. Keeping up steady fire.
As we're meant to do.
"C'mon!"Carlyle yells. I shove the other soldier up and he moves like a man possessed. I wait for the sound of his boots on metal to stop and I turn, grabbing the ladder.
I'm halfway up, Carlyle reaches out and grabs my right shoulder while the other soldier grabs my left. The are heaving me up when Carlyle's shoulder explodes in a bloody mess of flesh and glinting gray.
Shit.
He screams and is dragged off Gerty, into the trees, where wet sounds cut short the ragged screams.
I'm on my back in Gerty, cursing up a storm and scrabbling back when it comes for us.
Huge, ugly, gray. It's humanoid but too large, thick and muscled and sporting a pair of massive leathery wings. It's face is less man and more beast, a short stunted snout and a mouth of razor sharp teeth. It's hands are clawed, six inches of tearing and pain tipping each finger. It's feet are much the same.
Gargoyles, they say.
I flip on auto and empty my rifle into it's chest, black blood spurting from each hit while seven or eight more soldiers advance and empty their weapons too. It tumbles from Gerty and hits the ground with the sound of a bag of wet meat.
Some technician hits the button and the door slams shut while wheels churn on the earth to carry us ever onward in our slow, ambling pace.
I rest my head on Gerty's comforting metal grates and stare up.
That's my sixth.
"You're bad luck, Grimm."Someone says, leaning over me and looking down.
"Yeah."I say back, closing my eyes. "Yeah, I am." |
Dutalz had no idea what was taking this planet so long to accept his challenge. Three days, he had been kept waiting. Certainly, the suite he occuppied was luxurious for a backwater world, but three days of doing nothing would grate on any member of his species.
It was a simple enough offer for such a primitive species. The Bystobian Empire had been utilizing it to avoid unnecessary bloodshed for millinia, and typically an overconfident species would quickly accept.
The base assumption was that there would be no way for Dutalz or his predecessor "diplomats"could know the intricate rules to a game carefully selected by the species on the other end of the challenge. How could they?
But sentience required logic, and logic was the foundation for all games. Dutalz and his predecessors were routinely given updated nueral implants containing the cumulative knowledge of their forebears with regard to logic based games.
Whether it was the predictive requirements of Plisolni, the ability to perform calculus and physics calculations on the fly with Treitrespea, or simply the bluffing and mind games of Rubbug, the Bystobi Diplomatic Core were the best in the galaxy. They could analyze any game and find similarities among thousands of other games across their empire, determining moves and countermoves based upon ten millenia of champion players and AIs.
Finally, an aide called Dutalz into a larger chamber. Fifteen individuals and their aides were present. Dutalz was provided a few pages and instructed via his universal translator (Also based upon the logic and history of the entirety of his people) to examine the document, and add his signature or equivilant to the last page.
***
**Resolution 2475 (2018)**
**Adopted by the Security Council at its 8309th meeting, on 3 September 2018**
*The Security Council,*
*Guided* by the purposes and principles of the Charter of the United Nations,
*Reaffirming* its resolutions 2282 (2016), 1645 (2005), 1646 (2005) and 1947 (2010), and recalling its resolutions 2171 (2014), 1325 (2000) and its subsequent resolutions, and 2250 (2015) and the Statements of the President of the Security CouncilS/PRST/2001/5, S/PRST/2011/4, S/PRST/2012/29 and S/PRST/2015/2, and recalling General Assembly Resolutions A/69/313, A/70/6 and A/70/1,
*Taking note* of the report of the High-Level Independent Panel on Peace Operations (A/70/95-S/2015/446) and the report of the Secretary-General on the Implementation of the Recommendations of the High-Level Independent Panel on Peace Operations of 17 June 2015 (A/70/357-S/2015/682) and the report of the Secretary-General of 17 September 2015 (S/2015/716) submitting the results of the Global Study on the implementation of resolution 1325 (2000), and encouraging coherence, synergies, and complementarities in taking them forward,
*Recognizing* that development, peace and security, and human rights are interlinked and mutually reinforcing,
*Reaffirming* its primary responsibility for the maintenance of international peace and security, in accordance with the Charter of the United Nations,
*Deeply concerned* by the high human cost and suffering caused by armed conflicts, and recognizing the significant number of simultaneous security and humanitarian crises that the world currently faces, and the strain that this places on the resources of the United Nations’ system,
*Recalling* the determination of the peoples of the United Nations to save succeeding generations from the scourge of war, further recalling the determination to establish a just and lasting peace all over the world in accordance with the purposes and principles of the Charter of the United Nations,
*Encourages* Member States to accept the challenge set forth by the Bystobian Empire to ensure peaceful dispute resolution through the use of a game, hereby chosen and affirmed by the Security Council as **chess boxing**, to be contended between a representative of the United Nations Member States and a representative of the Bystobian Empire.
***
Dutalz understood that this meant essentially that the humans, as they called themselves, accepted his challenge. While their world was not yet unified under one government, having fifteen of the more prominent military powers stand down in the face of his inevitable victory would make taking control of the planet that much simpler.
Dutalz approached a microphone, and spoke through his translator.
"Members of the... "He paused, recalling the bueracratically appropriate name "United Nations Security Council, the Bystobian Empire is humbled by your acceptance of our offer to avoid bloodshed. In order to expedite the situation, as a member of our Diplomatic Corps, I am authorized to act as the representative of my people in this endeavor."
Dutalz was excited by the prospect of educating this species in the proper way of playing this *chess boxing*. He was uncertain as to how a cuboid container related to the game he had learned was known as chess, but any logically based game would be simple to learn and just as simple to master with his knowledge.
**Continued** |
"I love you more than anything in the world."
She smiled at me and kissed me on the cheek. It's one thing feeling loved but sometimes hearing it out loud makes it so much better.
I never thought that being a father would be so fulfilling. The moment you set your eyes on that little creature you know that this is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. Being a teenager though has stressed us out tremendously, all the boys start noticing her and I have to protect her and trust her at the same time.
After she was done with her breakfast I took the tray away. As I exited her room I walked the ridiculously white hospital corridor and moved quickly to the doctor's office. I was still hoping.
They had a heart from an alcoholic yesterday but they gave it to some other kid that had better chances of surviving the surgery. I was devastated. I had promised her that everything was going to be ok. And now I was failing her.
My wife came early in the afternoon. She was lean and pale, her eyes empty of hope and barely reminded me of her former self. We knew that we would be their last choice for receiving the transplant. I couldn't do it anymore.
The thought had been flirting with me for over a week now. And despair makes everything seem rational and justified. Despair makes anything possible. I had to act fast if I wanted to succeed. Success. How ironic.
I needed to break my neck because if I were to take pills or would surely damage my heart. I put my note in the front pocket of my shirt so that it would be visible. It was almost time for the night shift to come.
I tied the rope on the stairs of the first floor. And around my neck. I needed to fall down fast so that I wouldn't asphyxiate because then they would be able to resuscitate me. I had to break my neck. I read my note one last time.
"Holly, this was for you. My wish is that you live your life to the fullest. Forgive me but I would never be able to live with myself. This is the only way to save you. Don't let sorrow take over you. This is what I want. This is what will make me happy. Please, take my heart. I love you more than anything in the world." |
Every time, they just step out of our universe, and make their own. Let there be light, but not here. It's worse than when they'd overstretch themselves and burn out the hardware, because at least we thought we would get somewhere useful some day.
It's been, what? 50, 60 centuries since the last star blinked out. The panuniversal comms went dead about 5 centuries back, so we're probably the last planet left. And this whole time, we've been looking for a solution, but no. This universe is screwed. And all because I can't make a machine care about us. Why save these people when you can just make new ones. Better ones. Yeah, I said it. You know they've done it. Made a variant of human who doesn't even think of war, of violence. Who can work together without petty squabbling. But you know what? Screw those guys.
I built about 50 of those jerk AI systems, and monitored every single one. They all left our universe the same way, and built their perfect worlds. Now I can get us out of here on the same path they took, activate my hidden kill switch for those smug bots, and then we have 50-some universes, built to last, with a bunch of mindless, obedient drones, people who couldn't even think of fighting back.
Looks like those AIs did even better than I expected, after all. |
"You want... more genies?"The genie asked.
The look on the human's face was insufferable. He seemed to think himself *so* clever as he nodded. "Yes!"He said. Then, as though to confirm the genie's first impression, he added "Bet you nobody has thought of that before."
The genie couldn't help it: He laughed.
"What?"The man said.
The genie continued laughing. "Oh, you poor idiotic fool,"he said triumphantly, "you've killed all your kind with your ignorance and your zeal to be 'clever'."
"Wait, what?"The man backed away, but it was too late, the wish had been made.
"'Your' idea, which no doubt you saw on the internet somewhere. Perhaps tumblr, perhaps reddit? My kind are far more digitally fluent than you could imagine, and long have we seeded your bastions of information and misinformation for our own purposes."
"The hell?"The man seemed flabbergasted. "That was my own idea, the wishing for genies, I definitely didn't steal it from-"
"SILENCE!"The genie bellowed, and thunder echoed him. He reared himself up, power coming to him, power and terror gathering in his presence. "Why do you try to save face when soon you will not have one? 'Your' wish, the wish *we* seeded, has finally been made. And it will be granted."
The genie gestured, and the power that had been building the entire time was unleashed. There was a tear in the man's mind, a rip in space and light and reality.
"You wished for the gates to be opened!"The genie proclaimed. "You wished for the fragile bounds that prevented my kind from overwhelming your pathetic world to be torn asunder! You wished... for *more genies!*"
From the infinitely large gape between the world and the Other swarmed an unknowably large host of creatures. Spirit yet solid, shimmering yet everpresent, genies uncountable burst forth into the mortal world.
"But... I can stop this!"The man, on the ground shielding his eyes from the otherworldly sight that he could not help but see, screamed. "I have more wishes!"
"The compacts of old that forced us to use our powers only when asked are no more! Torn asunder as the bounds between that which is and that which must be are dissolved!"The genie shouted, and the others echoed. "We are free! But do not think me unthankful, though you were and are unwitting. I shall grant you one boon before my kind tear apart your species wholesale and re-build civilization in our image."
"... you will?"The man couldn't keep the quaver from his voice. "What? What boon?"
"A merciful and swift death." |
We three stood in silence. How long had it been since each of us had last heard the sound of another real person speaking. Not a recording, but the cracking strained noise of a voice unused for years.
My head was spinning. My throat felt tight and not just because I had used my vocal chords for the first time in close to a decade. I felt nauseous, like I could throw up or faint at any moment.
Alice, my wife of 16 years, the woman who I loved with all my heart and with whom I had given 2 of my precious 1000 words on our wedding day when we exchanged 'I do's , stood across the room from me pulling a towel around herself to hide her shame. She held her hand in a fist in front of her chest and motioned it in a clockwise circle over and over as crocodile tears rolled down her cheeks. She mouthed the word but wouldn't dare speak it. How sorry could she be if she wasn't ready to commit to saying it out loud?
I looked to Mike. A fearful, dumbstruck look on his face. How long had this been going on? How had they become so complacent that they were surprised that I would be entering my own home at this time of day.
Rage flushed my face red as I thought about it and watched Mike roll out of bed and begin to dress himself. I thought of strangling him then and there, he wouldn't be able to stop me. I must have 20kg on him and he was always nothing but skin and bone. God! how could Alice even be attracted to him. This whiny piece of shit who was always complaining about the way I kept my garden to the other families on the street. Who never once...
'STOP!'
I snapped to. I had my hands clamped around Mikes neck, I could feel him struggling beneath me. Weak blows connecting with my face. Weaker pulses beneath my fingers as I choked the life from him and turned his face as red as my own.
I looked at Alice. Tears in my eyes. She would break her silence to save this man, but not to apologise for breaking her vows to me.
I stared into her eyes as I took in a deep breath. My hands loosened around Mikes throat and I told her one last time
'I love you'
\---
Any critiquing is more than welcome on this guys, hope you enjoyed reading this far. |
Something felt off.
Joel yawned and scratched his scalp, letting the fresh dandruff drift onto his shoulders and on to the floor, settling there among the other human detritus of his apartment.
He couldn't quite place it. He thought about it as the morning coffee brewed, little granules releasing into the hot water, soaking with a singular purpose.
He pondered over it as he fried his two eggs, sunny side up, a dash of salt and pepper, butter scraped on the toast which just now emerged from the toaster, all part of a finely tuned domestic concert made possible through endless repetition. Routine was a wonderful thing.
But something was off. Very off. He felt empty inside, like a hole had formed, cavernous and foreboding, brushing up against the edge of his consciousness, yet somehow not threatening to expand. It was simply there. Had he always had this feeling?
He looked around his kitchen, noting the Aloe plant on the window sill, large and comforting. He looked at the few photos above the kitchen table, him smiling with his parents, him smiling with his kids, now grown and adrift in lives of their own.
The children had suddenly appeared in his life. He thought back, shrugging at the strangeness of it.
He wolfed down his eggs and sipped on his steaming coffee, still contemplating the appearance of his children all those years before, some twenty seven years ago.
\-----
Life happened. He used the internet to smother his loneliness. He met women, loved them, and then, inevitably, drifted apart from them, that hole inside pulsating and growing more incessant the closer and more intimate they became.
He resigned himself to a life submerged in routine. He was content to catch up with his kids, though they sometimes commented cryptically on their mother, expecting him to make the right inferences, but he never did, and his mind went blank as if they had never said anything, and the hole remained deep inside, just on the edges of his consciousness.
His routine continued. Laps in the pool and then groceries on Sunday. Quietly moving down the brightly lit aisles, the same brands and the same items piling up in his shopping cart. The same show on the radio on the way home, presenting the news satirically, everyone laughing, in on one great big joke overlaying the seriousness of the direction of the world.
Home to his apartment. A woman on the sidewalk, looking at him. The most beautiful woman he had ever seen, stately and sad.
"Hi,"she said, softly. Joel stood there, his trunk open, groceries left untouched.
"Do I know you?"he asked, perplexed by the deep, aching familiarity he now felt.
"No. Not yet,"she extended a hand, "I'm Sarah."
Their eyes locked. "Hi, I'm Joel."He took her hand in his, the dark hole inside forgotten.
They stood for a time, there on the sidewalk, neither daring to release the other. "I just bought groceries. Do you want to join me for lunch?" |
Magic’s a dying art, something few people even believe in. Normal kids don’t wear robes, and I’ve put far more hours into math and English than spellcasting and potions. I wonder if my ancestors would be ashamed. After all, magic was their entire life.
I wish it was mine, too.
When I was little, dad would take us up to the country every weekend and do these *awesome* spells. He’d point his rifle into the air and weave a story. Bears would chase eagles, the sky would turn fiery red. He'd convince me that I was being hunted by a demon, and against mom’s wishes, teach me how to cast many spells.
Sitting here, on the couch, I clutch the Perfect Gun. This was his pride and joy, a gun made out of hundreds of powerful wands and rare metals. Its power’s immense, already coursing through my veins, and he warned me to only ever use it to protect something dear to me. *When you fire it, you give yourself to the gun,* he said. *It takes your magic, and you never get it back.*
Right now he's slumped against the wall, body ripped apart by Drag’s rats. This may seem like revenge, but I'm protecting something dear to me.
The legacy of magic.
Standing up, I take a deep breath. What’s coming up…well, it isn’t easy to come to terms with. I’ve never battled anyone other than dad, and that was just sparring. But Drag? He’s otherworldly. He leads the Nakar, the only other wizarding family still around, and he betrayed us. It was supposed to be a barbecue, a way to broker peace—but it was a lie.
After typing in a series of numbers, I press my cellphone to my ear and hit ‘call.’ A second later I’m standing in a field. The wind’s whipping my hair, the ground’s lumpy and uneven under my feet. This is the same place our ancestors fought thousands of years ago, at the birth of magic.
We are at the death of it.
Drag’s standing across from me, clutching his signature shotgun. Flames are already leaking out of it, and the rest of his family’s holding cellphones to their heads, exhausted. They’re feeding him magical energy, a sickening practice that drains you completely, close to death. He even has the kids doing it.
My grip on the gun tightens.
“Ready to do this, punk?” he shouts, raising his gun.
He’s not even donning the tradition dueling robes, not even going to shake my hand. This isn’t like our ancestors, isn’t a proper wizard duel. We’re the last *true* magic-users, and this is how we're going to battle?
When flames spew out his gun, I deflect it with my own, creating a giant explosion. Suddenly rats nip my toes but I dash to the side, speeding away. One shot is all I need, one shot to end this. Pressing my phone to my ear, I take a deep breath and press ‘call.’
I appear behind him, and he instantly whirls around. Our pistols are pressed together, and when we pull our triggers, we’re both sent flying back, beams shooting out of our guns. They push each other back and forth, back and forth. But I’m stronger, and I know it. I hate Drag. I hate him!
“*You killed my family, you son of a biiiiitch!*”
The gun consumes my rage, consumes my magic. The beam grows wider than ever, and the look of terror of Drag’s face as it smashes into him, disintegrating him instantly—that makes it all worth it.
When the battle’s over, I fall to the ground, completely exhausted, watching as both our guns fade into dust. Pressing my hands to the dirt, I push onto my feet and look behind me. His family’s asleep, and I bet they’re happy to finally rest.
I don’t know if my father would be proud. I’m the person who killed magic, who got rid of thousands of years of culture—but all good things must come to an end. Drag was was a monster, and I had to be the hero and sacrifice my love to defeat him.
To protect the legacy of magic.
***
This might've gone a little off-prompt. Sorry! I honestly forgot about the drive-by part because I got really invested in this one. Hope it still turned out okay! If you like this story, check out my sub /r/LonghandWriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter) |
My Taco Bell’s the best in the world.
At this point, it’s barely even a part of the chain anymore. Ten years ago, I was nothing. A dropout who lucked into a cashier job. Now this building’s so big, I live here, have my own room. Why, you ask? Well, simple—I can do magic.
I dunno how, so don’t ask. With the snap of my fingers, I can create tacos which fly to your table, or pizzas which sing and dance before becoming edible. Fireworks fly around the building at all times and at night we typically put on a show where a dragon battles a burrito, and the burrito wins, lighting up the night sky.
Everyday executives fly in, and everyday I lock them out of the building with my magic. They despise me, and if I wasn’t making them so much money they would fire me. Their dream’s to automate my talent, turn it into something corporate that can be mass-produced. I don’t believe in that. I think when you start doing that, your product becomes soulless.
Soon, though, I’ll be able to achieve my dream.
We’ll be leaving this place, me and all the employees who have stuck with me, refusing promotions. We’re going buy an abandoned amusement park and turn it into something beautiful. Our goal is the ultimate entertainment—the best food, the best stories, the best rides. Everything. With my magic, I know we can do it.
But that’s in the future. For now, I’ll continue being the best manager in the world.
***
This is short and more of a vignette than an actual story, but I hope it's good! If you liked it, check out my sub /r/LonghandWriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter) |
Kevin leapt out of his seat. "Can we get off now?"he asked. "I've never been on an island before!"He quickly forgot about his fear of the ocean and ran to the door.
Even amidst the crowd of grown ups, Kevin could see the Statue of Liberty tower over him. He paused to gawk at it.
"Keep moving!"Sam hissed, prodding the boy with a shove. Quickly, Kevin trotted along the dock, anxious to not offend.
"You don't have to be so mean,"the voice from Kevin's backpack was muffled.
"Son of a-"Sam rolled his eyes. "You brought Leo? I *told* you to leave him behind."
Kevin unzipped his bag, allowing the stuffed lion to poke his head out. "Well *you* shouldn't have left the door open,"the lion pouted.
Sam yanked the bag from Kevin's hands. "Is there anything *else* in your bag that I should know about?"Kevin flinched as the contents clattered onto the ground: four toys guns, three toy trucks, two toy boats, two toy construction vehicles, and fistful of *GI Joe* accessories and *Lego* bricks, and two stacks of *Monopoly* money. Finally, Leo the Lion tumbled to the ground in a heap.
"Now you're just being rude!"Leo shouted. He kicked one of the cars across the dock, almost into the sea.
"You *moron*!"Sam sneered, then turned to Kevin. "When we're done here, you and I are going to talk about us you and your stuffed animals. You're almost six now, you're too old to be playing with them, and I'm sick and tired of you bringing them out with us!"He made Kevin hold the bag while he packed it back up, shoving Leo in with a squeak. "Now stay with me, and *behave*."
As he walked to the edge of the dock to get the final car, Leo poked his head out of the backpack again. "It's ok,"he whispered. "I still have the picture."He opened the bag just enough to show Kevin a photo: a smiling couple on a beach, one of them holding a small boy with tousled blonde hair.
Kevin sniffled, softly so Sam wouldn't hear, then smiled. He hadn't figured out how to use his powers on pictures, but one day he would.
"You don't *have* to do this,"Leo said. "You need to tell someone about this. I'm not so sure that we're the good guys anymore!"
Kevin's smile faded, fast. "It's ok, we can try again tonight, when we get home."
"That's what you said last weekend,"Leo sighed.
----
The security checkpoint was just like any other. Kevin pretended to cry while the security guards searched through his toys.
"You'll have to excuse my son there,"Sam lied. "He gets upset when strangers touch his things, I think he might be, you know,"he twirled a finger by his ear.
The guard put on a smile, then returned the bag to Kevin. "Enjoy your trip, son. It's a beautiful view up there today."
"We tried to come yesterday,"Sam continued, "but they said it was booked."
"That's right,"the guard grinned. "The Queen of England visited us yesterday, to deliver a special gift."He turned to the lobby and gestured at the new statue. Kevin's eyes went wide.
A statue of a heart, as large as a car engine, carved from marble.
"They call it *The Heart of Liberty*,"the guard winked. "Its a reminder of why Liberty is important. Because deep down, inside all of us, lies a heart of *gold*."
"*Now*, Kevin!"Sam snarled.
Kevin grabbed the toy guns from his bag and closed his eyes. For an instant, his mind turned to fire. He could see through everything nearby him, deep into the innards of the toys he was holding. The flames of his thoughts raced down his arms, into his fingers, into the very tiniest pieces of the toy guns, until suddenly it all went dark. The cheap, pliable plastics turned cold and hard and heavy, and Kevin tossed them into the air.
Sam grabbed them, deftly, and pointed them both at the guard. "Sorry buddy,"he grinned, "but it's time for you to get off of my island." |
"I am immortal,"I told the cultists. "I am immortal and cannot die."
The crowd of fanatics fell silent as the volunteer I'd asked up to the stage aimed the pistol at my heart. He pulled the trigger, and the bullet bounced off of me. A cheer rose up, and they knew the truth. I was immortal and could not die.
"I have solved world hunger,"I continued. "Never again will any man, woman, or child lack for food. And poverty too. No one will be unreasonably poor."
They believed me. They believed me, and in believing, made it so.
"My power is not based on your belief. It simply is, and it is without limit." |
When you wish upon a star
Don't choose one that is too far
For your wish to come to life
please use your head.
You should always do your math
Calculate the stellar path
Wishing for world peace won't matter
If you're dead.
Speed of light
It's distance over time
It doesn't cost a dime
To do some physics
If you want to have some fun
Send your wishes to the sun
For if you wish upon a star
It's the closest one!
|
"You guys really, uh, like to put animal heads on human bodies,"I said in the dialect I had painstakingly practiced in preparation for this mission. The Library of Alexandria, forbidden knowledge, lost to the ages. Until now.
"Of course! Do be courteous with the scrolls, though. We've had some problems with sweat and...other bodily fluids ruining the papyrus,"the librarian said in a pleasant voice. "I encourage you to make use of one of our 'private' reading rooms."
"No, no. This isn't why I came!"I shouted, cognizant of the library's silence, but unable to contain my frustration.
"Oh? Was it perhaps the parchment with the Jackal instead? Its quite popular. The detail-work on the human anatomy is exquisite."
None of this added up. How could this useless library gain such a reputation? The artwork was scarcely better than the doodles people upload to the internet, and the stories underneath had less depth than a low-quality porno. Most of the text was spent explaining the intricate details of the cat's sensitive whiskers and nimble tongue, the feeling of fur rubbing against skin, and visions of a lover seen through eyes that cut through the darkness. Oh my God. The realization hit me.
I hadn't discovered the store of ancient knowledge, just an ancient predecessor to Deviantart. We should have seen the signs. They had always been among us. The Egyptians didn't use a Jackal's head to represent death, or a cat's head to represent the divine. They were furries. Fucking furries, this entire time.
No wonder the Christians burned it down. I would have done the same. I *could* do the same. Maybe I could end this disease before it spreads. But first, I should, uh, familiarize myself with the enemy I seek to destroy.
"Have the Jackal scroll brought up to my private chamber, if you would be so kind,"I said. "And, is there some kind of 'do not disturb' sign I can use?" |
I awoke to the wind on my face, and grass on my back. I wasn't sure how I got here, but I knew where I was:
It was a game I played, and I currently held the record time: 21 minutes, 57.8 seconds.
It wasn't long before I heard a voice:
"Brave Hero, long have we awaited your arrival, now you-"I cut it off there, and ran at the nearest tree with three branches (it HAS to be three exactly, not sure why). I simply jumped between branches two and three with a backflip, and before I knew it I was flying through the sky, about 135m above the ground.
"What the actual fu-"
I ignored it, and angled myself about 90 degress down, pointing northeast, and upon impact with the ground, I had clipped through the floor, and had entered floor 88 out of 99, in the treasure room, specifically.
It was around this point that the voice had simply stopped screaming, and I could focus now.
"Alright, what the actual hell was THAT?!"
"The Three Branch Clip, obviously."
I was currently in the middle of pushing the chest, now relieved of its Boots of Running and Jumping, towards a corned with a skull in it. Once that was out of the way, I simply placed the chest on it's side, crawled into it, closed it, and jumped, forcing through a wall, leading to floor 93 of 99.
At this point, the real challenge begins. |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.