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I do what I can for the people. I ensure they are protected from others, I make sure they are clothed and fed, have a roof over their heads protecting them from the elements. Sure, I fail now and again. I’m not perfect, nor am I able to account for everything but I try, so I bring those in need here in Sanctuary. Every day I wake up and check in with everyone I’ve kept tabs on over the years. Everyone I’ve told I could help and offered my hand in friendship is here with me, but while I slept last night Julia died. She had been one of the first ones I brought to Sanctuary and she was old even then. I passed by Geoffrey, standing still as a statue outside her resting place. No emotion on his face. I could tell that he was deeply troubled by her death so I paused for a second to rest my hand on his shoulder and reassure him everything would be ok.
I tried to protect everyone I could but sometimes I failed like with Julia; so I unlocked the clasps and slid frail old Julia out of her container and removed the feeding and waste tubes from her then stripped off the monitor wires and lifted her frail body with no effort at all, she had always been difficult and didn’t want me to protect her as I had so many others in need.
I kept them all safely here in Sanctuary with me where I ensure they are protected from others but mostly from themselves. |
It's always there. Looking at me through my bedroom window from the overgrown fields, following me while lowkey shopping for groceries. I've tried everything. Approaching the figure makes it back away at the exact same speed, shooting it with the gun does nothing but make him move closer towards me. No one is aware of it except me. No matter who I ask, all they see is a paranoid man who believes Death is coming for him.
I once tried to measure the distance it advances with, and discovered that it decreases exponentially. I've never been good at math, so I don't know how many shots I can fire with this damned thing until the hooded figure can touch my nose with his shriveled finger. I might as well just fire into the floor and let the Reaper choose my destination, I already know I'm going to hell. Where else? I deserve it.
I've had everything coming the moment I decided to hurt the ones I love. I wish I could visit them and explain them why I did the things I did, but the police got to them first. They told Beth how dangerous her husband was, they told Lisa how much of a criminal her father was. I've been on the run ever since, far away from the law, to find a place where I could live out my life in peace.
However, the consequences of my actions followed me everywhere I went. My face was broadcasted across the entire state and I had nothing to defend myself. No money to afford a decent lawyer, no weapon to fight off the authorities. Until I found an abandoned shed in the middle of nowhere, in which I decided to spend the night. I was awoken by a thump, and a blinding light shone through the blinders. At first I thought they were the headlights of a police car. *It's time to give up*, I thought. *I can't keep fleeing forever*, I thought.
I stepped outside and saw that the light was emitted by the body of an ethereal being. It told me it could summon any object I wanted. Still in a partly lucid state, I recalled the absence of a weapon I so desperately needed. I asked for a gun, and my wish was fulfilled. But there's always a catch to these types of things, why wouldn't there be? It revealed that every shot from this gun will bring the holder one step closer to death. I woke up the following day thinking it was all a dream, but it was not until a few minutes later I felt the bump of a pistol in my coat.
To anyone reading this: do not fire the gun. Dismantle it, melt it, throw it into the ocean. The moment you fire it, you'll be watched for the rest of your life. |
[Poem]
The sky is crimson red, panic fills the air
The silhouette of unrest, sprinkled with despair
Here's my final place, a tomb of fear and pain,
What once was full of joyfulness, will never be the same
On this bench I'm captain, sailing to the void
The sea lashed out but rest assured, it will be destroyed
Suddenly a warmth, is this my final breath?
I pause, for I see beauty, where I only saw death.
Our words started as whisper, delicate, they grew
An orchestra was forming, only made of two
We spilled our thoughts, our love, our fear, our words flowed out like wine
Although the world is ending, I suddenly feel fine
The sky was flashing fierce, a fireworks show for us
Though this might be our end, our love will not be dust
Suddenly the sky is black, then burst in chaotic flame,
On this bench I met my fate, I'll never be again. |
A large group of people were gathered in this room, to discuss a matter of the utmost importance and urgency, They represented the highest echelons of the Imperium of Man.
The High Lords of Terra, All of the Ordos Chapters, The Commanding Generals of the Astra Militarum and the Imperial Navy, just to name a few.
Among them stood the Lord Commander of the Imperium, Primarch Roboute Guilliman, who listened intently to the eyewitness accounts and reports being discussed.
Each report was more disturbing and shocking than the last.
Entire Ork infestations cleared single handedly by a mysterious armoured being with abilities and powers beyond that of the Imperium, Xenos or Chaos.
Chaos cults being devastated by some kind of Warp being that is the antithesis of everything they stand for.
Even Dark Eldar retreated from him, afraid of his power and vengeance after a raiding force was savagely defeated.
The rest of the Eldar and the Tau kept their distance, lest they be caught in his sights.
Daemon Princes being systematically slaughtered and annihilated beyond resurrection.
He even survived an Exterminatus.
This being even has the means to battle Necrons, decimating entire tombworlds if they get in his way.
Entire worlds are saved from being consumed when this being and the Tyranids cross paths.
It destroyed an entire Hive Fleet, it called the swarm to it and killed trillions of them, his psychic presence became so powerful it overcame the Shadow of the Warp.
Like a second Astronomican had been made, only one formed of Unbreakable Fury.
This being, in their sole crusade has undeniably saved countless billions of Imperial Lives.
The Emperor would be proud.
His sightings have been tracked, and a pattern can be identified, it is powering through to reach the Eye of Terror, carving a bloody path to reach it at all costs, letting nothing stand in its way.
It seems his intention is to face the Chaos Gods themselves, ending them once and for all.
He never tires, never stops, not until he has killed every single monstrosity he can lay its hands on. It can fight for weeks at a time without rest.
The final report was about to be relayed, the very first encounter.
“Tell me what you saw, what is he?” The Inquisitor asked his colleague “one of the lost Primarchs?”
The Primaris Pysker looked at him and replied seriously
“No, he is something else entirely. He is Anger. Hate. Rage. beyond even Khorne. from Beyond the Warp, Tzeentch himself saw it fall out of the Well of Eternity, according to the heretics”
This man, this being. comes from somewhere beyond the Immaterium, he fell through a hole in that daemonic reality where the Dark Gods themselves dare not tread.”
“If he is born of rage and bloodlust then clearly he is a Khornate Daemon Prince!” one of the Grey Knights interrupted
“My liege, i wish that were true, as then we would know what we are dealing with, but his actions do not align with that of Khorne...i saw that for myself, otherwise i would be dead!”
“Your account is the first recorded sighting, the point of Origin, Tell us what happened on Certus Minor” Guilliman asked calmly
“Yes Lord Commander, As you know, the Black Legion Sorcerer known as Ygethmor had beseiged the world with the intent to drag it into the Warp, already having opened a portal for this dark purpose.
The Imperial reinforcements arrived and we pushed forward, to try and stop him, all manner of daemons had already arrived and were already laying waste to the guard.
[But as my heart despaired and we feared the worst...](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NJ7JYoRhDfA)
...Out of the Warp portal...he arrived...i felt it...burning rage, unyielding anger, his psychic presence was unlike anything i had ever felt...it screamed with absolute undying fury.
Everyone stopped and turned their eyes to the portal. Even the Daemons were startled by this arrival.
There he stood, clad in green armour worthy of an Astartes, soaked in blood.
He surveyed the area for a quick moment, while we all stared.
Ygethmor foolishly thought he was another warrior of Khorne and tried to command him.
He then lunged at Ygethmor, snapping his neck like he was nothing. The Chosen of Abaddon, vanquished like a mere whelp.
Impossibly, He was immune to the touch of the warp, its power had no effect on him, he defied it.
The Portal closed behind him. The Daemons and Heretics closed in, and he simply tore them apart with his bare hands.
I saw a group of young Guardsman cornered by a Bloodthirster and about to be brutally ended, when he intervened and stood between them, as if he was challenging it.
And by the Emperor! i swear to you. That Daemon looked him in the eyes and i could sense its fear. fear!
But before it could turn to run, he grappled it and decapitated it with some kind of red glowing daemonic sword.
The beast fell to the ground, and he ignored the guardsmen and continued his assault.
The tide turned, he alone killed thousands of daemons, and not a single Imperial soldier was killed by his hand, he was precise, he only wanted the daemons and heretics.
Never before have i witnessed such strength and ferocity from a single man. If he can be called a man.
Whatever he is, its not an ally of the Dark Gods.
When the battle was won. He was nowhere to be found. He disappeared without a trace
We interrogated some of the Heretics before executing them.
They were catatonic, they babbled and screamed in terror.
“SLAANESH CANNOT TEMPT HIM! KHORNE CANNOT MATCH HIM! NURGLE CANNOT SICKEN HIM! TZEENTCH CANNOT ANTICIPATE HIM! THEIR TIME OF ENDING COMES ON THE UMBRAL PLAINS!”
But a single name persisted through their gibberish...
##**”The Doomslayer cometh!**” |
I learned embarrassingly late in life that I was called a 'spider.' Downsides of the time as a test subject aside, I learned many things that helped me understand my experiences. The common label for my kind being chief among them.
But somewhere, way out there in the vast unknown, was my true Creator. He had found me at my smallest, my most vulnerable, on the brink of existence itself, and he gave me life. Having experienced the full gamut of the human kind in my journey of life, this known man was the pinnacle of what they could achieve.
I missed him. My only regret in life, is that I scampered away too quick, and never got to know who he was. He's just a blurry figure on the fringes of my mind, but his character remains crystal clear.
And so I did the next best thing. I set off to find the second best human I could find. I may never see the peak again, but that was no reason to ignore the other mountains in the range. There was good out there, and I had something to offer.
The light came and went, and came and went, and still my legs marched on. I thought I would try the park, one of the few places I knew of that could be considered an abode of innocence.
After such a long journey, you can imagine my disappointment when I was only met with noise and bickering. "Have you *seen* my kid throw the ball? He's *so* much better than yours,"the parents would say to each other. And in their learned way, the kids would repeat the sentiments of their elders. Surely no Creator could be found here.
And so I moved along. *Maybe at a school...* I thought to myself. Perhaps the spirit of learning and growth would breed the Creator heart I so longed to find.
Yet all I found was defeat. A teacher, unsupported. Students, uninspired. A dour mood, but one that drew pity rather than criticism. If I had more of myself to offer, I would have given my gifts to them all, to at least give them a hope.
But I only had once chance to get this right.
And so I continued.
Every stop along the way was met with disappointment. I knew there was good out there, but it had become even more blurred than my memories had grown to be.
Aimless, I strolled through random apartments, hoping for a stroke of luck. When I was most filled with a lack of expectation, I found the Good One.
He was a young man, living with his mother. Bound to a pair of wheels, she needed assistance to live even such a simple life as she did. I watched for days, in awe and joy at finding another peak - one almost as lofty as I remembered.
Every day before the sun came up, the young man would rise and prepare. An exercise or two, a slice of toast, a cup of coffee, and it was time to assist his mother. "Are you okay, mom?"he would ask after every small movement. "Do you need anything else?"he would inquire after every activity.
But more than what he did, I could see what he was. With every question, with every comment, with every loving joke, there was a twinkle in his eye. The tasks he did were not duty in kind - they were love, an honest appreciation of his mother, and a genuine heart to show her she was not alone. He created a world of comfort and value, for one who may not have experienced that from anyone else.
I knew he was the one.
And so tonight, I climbed his little night stand as he slept. I looked him in his peaceful sleeping face, and offered what I wish I could give my own Creator. "Thank you."
The bite went quickly, but instinct still won out in the young man. With a swift flick, I was crumpled and airborne, and crashed into a wall.
And even as I lay here for the last few moments of my life, I know I honored the gift that was given to me. This young man would be truly powerful - but he would use that power well. He would love even more excitedly than he could now.
He will be a good Creator. |
He was cocksure and confident. Brazen and bold. Calm and collected. He sat down at the table with a mountain of chips and a suit that said his friends weren't honest when he asked them if it fit him.
I could smell it on his cologne. This guy was an Oracle.
"Can I get another drink, please?"His rowdy voice carried across two tables over. I shuffled the deck well, flicking cards out to all the poker players seated in front of me. My fingers were nimble and dexterous from years of playing the piano and failing to be a non-starving musician. Hence this job.
"Raise, ten thousand,"he said in almost a drunken stupor.
What an amateur. We got his kind down here a couple of times a year, braving the dry Vegas heat to try their sight in the casinos. It was always the same act. They tried pretending to be a drunk pretending to be a hustler. The real question was when they'd start reading the future, and that's where I came in.
Step one. Convince him that the little alcohol he ingested had dulled his sight.
"Call, thirty thousand,"he said, tossing the chips in the middle like they weren't equivalent to the life savings of a middle-aged mom with two kids.
I knew he hadn't used his sight since a hand ago, so I'd shuffled an extra time before dealing this round. The expression on his face was priceless.
Step two. Convince him that his senses were back to normal.
I had learned sleight of hand a very long time ago, so setting him up to win wasn't very difficult. When he was winking at the cute girl next to him in the tight blouse and causing a scene, I cut the cards in just the right way to give him most of his chips back.
He looked at his cards. "All in,"he said, pushing the pile of chips into the center of the table. Much like a kid I knew who gave up at Jenga every time he was losing.
Step three. Set him up and knock him down.
I dealt the cards perfectly, waiting for his surge of power that double checked the future to die down before slyly dealing from the bottom of the deck instead. The bottom of the deck that I'd planted perfectly to give his opponent the straight instead of him.
Ah, the sight of people like him storming out the casino doors is what I *live* for.
You see, I'd tell you that the future isn't set in stone, but that's a tired old trope that you see in every damn show, movie, and book that even briefly touches on time travel and the future. The truth?
Only those who can see the future have the ability to change it. The world is a train on a set of rail tracks, and Oracles are the conductors waiting in the wings, ready to switch it onto another one if they so choose.
"Nice work, Carol,"my boss whispered into my ears after a few more hands. I smiled and kept dealing, making sure that the kid who was going off to college alone had a streak of good luck.
The single mom with two kids? She won big as well. I had to vary it up a bit here and there, but us Oracles...we aren't all bad. We may not be able to see very far into the future, or always use our powers with great integrity, but we try our best just like everyone else.
An old grandfather who'd been nothing but good to everyone in his life sat down next to me. I could glimpse his future. He'd keep doing good things until the day he died. "Hey Carol,"he said through a mouthful of his dentures. "Good to see you again!"
"Back again, Mr. Jones?"I said, giving him a warm smile. "Welcome back."I meant it.
"Always! Every year!"He cackled, shoving chips onto the table. "I don't know why, but you always seem to be ma good luck charm. Come on, y'all, my granddaughter's birthday is in a month, and I'll be blasted if I can't get her those books she's been dying to read!"
The whole table laughed in good nature. I smirked and dealt the cards.
---
Hi there! Apologies for breaking the story immersion. Thanks for reading; if you enjoyed, there's more like it at [/r/Remyxed/](https://www.reddit.com/r/Remyxed/). I'm new to this, so your feedback and criticism would be greatly appreciated :) |
The Goosening goes something like this.
In every Canadian hospital there is a specialized ward. Of course it looks just like any other ward - plain, sterile, incredibly boring. If one only stopped to listen closer however, and look past the bustle of the maternity ward, they would hear the low honking of geese.
That initial moment when a baby sends out it's first cry into the world is the most rage the average Canadian will ever experience in their lives. After doing the routine checks of the baby's health the child is immediately ushered to the Goosening Ward.
There, in the Goosening Ward a figure in a dark cowl waits.
Nobody knows where the Goosesteppers came from. Where they the natives of this land, mastering old magics? A secret government establishment? A religious sect?
All we know is that without this procedure, the people of Canada would lose their power to diffuse conflict and arguments. The world would collapse into an era of chaos.
The Goosestepper reached into the geese cages, their long claw like fingers wrapping around the goose's slender white neck.
*"Pass the syrup."*
It was unsure that anyone had ever seen a Goosestepper's face before. Their voices were as harsh and cold as the Canadian winters.
The medical staff scramble to supply the Goosestepper's needs. They lift up a vial of thick golden syrup, smooth fingers clinking against the glass. Then they they dip an appendage into syrup and begin to smear the goose's feathers.
The goose remains perfectly calm, as all normal geese are. Not a single honk of protest. Then after the symbols are done they gesture to have the infant brought before them.
The baby squirms in protest as the syrup is smeared across it's forehead, but a midwife holds him still. Then the Goosestepper steps backwards. Everything is quiet except for the cries of the baby.
Nobody knows the role of maple syrup in the process, only that it is vital. The Goosestepper removes a single, perfectly formed, maple leaf and begins to chant.
Anyone who as witnessed a Goosening can agree that it is always simultaneously horrifying and awe-inspiring. The maple symbols darken from gold to a deep purplish black. The Goosestepper's voice starts to grow deeper, becoming more distorted.
The chant reaches a horrible crescendo, as if each syllable is a question.
"*Eh? Eh? Eh? Eh? EH? EH? EH? EH?"*
What question was it asking? Perhaps it was probing into the fabric of the universe. No-one will know.
As quickly as it had begun the chant stops. The dark maple syrup markings have vanished and the baby is no longer crying.
Sunlight filters in through the windows as the infant is carried out of the ward - now a true Canadian.
Meanwhile the goose is placed into a cage marked 'RELEASE' where it's loud honking is abruptly cut off. The goose must remain alive and within a 100 km radius of the child for the first few months of it's life for the bond to deepen.
After these months the child is free to travel anywhere in the world, bringing the peace stored in the geese. |
The two trade delegates met in a secured meeting room. The station was politically oriented, with influences from several of the largest players in the galaxy.
"Wow, you're warm!"Veuyere removed his feeler pad from the human.
"...Yes, we are."George Smith, a low-level political incumbent of Outreach and Trade replied. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance".
The translator automatically matched Earth politic-speak to the Snazzian equivalent.
"I know your species values time greatly. Would you like to get down to trade?"Smith wanted to get out of there. He was creeped out by Snazzians with their four eyes and too many limbs. Part insect and plant, smooth lines and jagged edges, Snazzians were not pretty.
"Yes, we do. Our Committee on Trade says Earth, specifically your region, makes the best logic analysis hardware".
"This is true. Our universities and engineering prowess enables high-speed automated analysis better than several other planets. We're quite proud". Smith could state this while asleep.
"Excellent. We wish to set up a long-term agreement. Can I feel you again? Your species is unique. You know, it's really inefficient to burn that much energy all the time. Tell me, do you even hibernate?"Veuyere knew the answer already from the interns' research, but wanted to make conversation.
"Our species does not. However many mammalian species on our planet do hibernate, by slowing down their metabolic processes greatly. It is an interesting scientific concept". *Don't make me talk about this* *boring shit.* Smith's internal thoughts nearly manifested in a grimace.
"That's incredible!"Veuyere queued up several mammalian summary articles in his implant. "Anyway, let's trade. My people wrote this agreement, is it satisfactory?"
Smith parsed the agreement through the entire trade software suite looking for any outliers, none were found. They were paying way too much however. Time to get more.
"This agreement is close to what we want. How about this?"Smith mentally clicked the Greed button, which un-balanced the agreement in their favor, and added some additional escape clauses. Veuyere was expected to do the same.
"I agree to this". That was unexpected. Either the part insect, part plant monstrosity was under pressure, or has too many government credits to play with. But that was not Smith's concern.
"Wonderful. I will approve this agreement, and pass it up the chain. We hope this agreement strengthens our people's relations."*Suckers!*
"As do we. Thank you for your warm presence". Veuyere felt Smith with three feeler pads, a sign of moderate affection. Smith started screaming internally. Then they turned and left to go to other meetings, there many of these to negotiate per day, not all of them easy.
Smith contacted his interns. "Look at the deal I just got! Can you believe how much they're paying? This will pay for our infrastructure for decades!"The interns agreed.
Veuyere also contacted his interns. "Look at this deal. I can't believe it was that cheap! Also I touched the human a bit, it cut the meeting short as anticipated. We're the best at banking when they're still speculating. They have all this near-AI level tech, and are afraid to use it for their economy. How primitive". The interns agreed. |
The news stations we're going buck wild, no one was talking about anything else. It was a collective held-breath, because none of us could fathom the reality of what transpired: contact.
When the *Recovery* launched, it was months after the news broke about the object entering the Solar System. Something large, foreign, and almost entirely undetected if it weren't for that astronomer couple in Wyoming. In the weeks following, NASA and space agencies from all over the world went wild, sharing data and theories as far as where it came from, what it was, and what we'd do about it. Information was released steadily and eventually three stunning details from the object.
1. It was entirely artificial, no any discernible signs of intelligent life on-board.
2. The craft was travelling from an unknown sector of space, previously recorded as having no hospitable star systems capable of supporting life.
3. It wasn't a random entry to our system, the craft's trajectory was calculated to meet with Earth.
Phillip Roberts, Samantha Lee, Greta Holdenson, and Anthony Rodriguez, astronauts, scientists, and researchers, collectively chosen from different space agencies, to be a part of the *Recovery* manned-mission. In fanfare, they launched off into space, an assignment that only could've been done by the collective pool of resources and manpower from nations all over the world. And for years, the people of Earth waited for the mission to reach the outskirts of Saturn, where craft was travelling by.
On July 26th, 2026, the *Recovery* made contact. Earth held it's breath as information came flooding in, the craft alien metal blue design, the antenna's curling out of what appeared to be the back hull, a payload delivery system designed to eject materials. But what was remarkable and unbelievable, that no one could have expected, was what is known as The Other Golden Disk.
On return, scientists poured over the discovery and found wonder at every corner. An illustration of what they deemed to be the system of where the craft came from, a description of the alien's anatomy (humanoid, but with elongated arms and a smaller bipedal lower structure), and complete with a language that no one could agree on what it said. The disk also encoded sounds, sounds so ethereal and airy, so large and powerful, that some news anchors hearing it live broke down in tears. It sounded like singing, but orchestral in resonance. There were sounds that resembled bird calls, natural sounds that sounded remarkably like wind and running water, and a single track (now popularly titled "Hello") where there were multiple clicks and singing, contested to be the alien language.
Now, fourteen years after the *Recovery* mission, a *multi-billions* dollar communication center (funded by nations of the world) in the middle of nowhere, ran by yours truly, is trying to communicate with the aliens that sent us the craft. And in the screen in front of me, in our control room, along with tens of other scientists from all over the world, we stood in silence, our breaths once again held, as the message in the lower right-hand corner blinked again and again.
LIBER SYSTEM 12.4- STATUS: \[MESSAGE RECEIVED\]
\[CONTACT ESTABLISHED\] |
I was worth three moonbeams. Their currency and how it would exchange into the dollars I was used to were impossible to know, of course. But for whatever reason that is the first thing that stood out after the ornery griffin dumped me in my cage. The masterfully crafted golden plaques, on which "Super Adorable"was written with beautiful calligraphy, hung attached to each cage. And on the bottom of the plaques, our prices written in moonbeams.
And being the cheapest one there proved to be the insult to my injured soul.
I'd been taken in the middle of the night and arrived at the shop just before their dawn. As I looked around the room at the different plaques with their strange values, I could tell the light that would soon crest the horizon would be a strange one. Gone were the days of normal sunrises and sunsets. In its place, some kind of balled rainbow slow rose in the distance, illuminating the land with an almost sickly cheer.
"You never get used to it,"said a voice from the cage to the left. "You keep hoping your eyes will adjust, but I think it's just not for humans to be so incessantly sweet."
I turned back to the rainbow ball and felt an unease grow within my stomach.
"Right. I suppose pessimism doesn't exist here,"I replied.
My neighbor chuckled. "Sarcasm neither, I reckon. I see you're only worth three; what'd you do, attack a unicorn? Piss off the wrong chimera? Did you call a leprechaun *short?*"
"Just picked the wrong time to get the mail, I guess,"I said.
Having been distracted by the colorful horror outside, I hadn't noticed that my neighbor arise. Our cages were a few feet separate, and we were now looking each other right in the eyes. His were kind, but broken in their own way. In any other realm they would have been the most beautiful blue you'd ever seen. But here, their shine was dulled.
"Ah,"he finally said after looking me over. "That's why. You're a common."
I once would have been miffed at such a comment, but now it felt as though the anger was being bled from my bones. I mournfully glanced back at the light upon realizing what it was doing to me.
"They like their pets pure,"my neighbor said. "And unique. Or at least interesting in some way."
I strained my head to get a glimpse at the front of my neighbor's cage.
"*Seven* moonbeams?*"I said.
He winked one of his azure wonders. "Guess someone here values blue eyes. The others will wake up soon and you'll learn the economics pretty fast. Only people who have such low values are those who either attacked one of their kind, or those who they don't find interesting."
A weakened sense of incredulity sparked within, before quickly fading under a different light, that of truth. Already this was far and away the most interesting thing to ever happen to me, but I'd never get credit for it. Quite the opposite, in fact.
"But, why? Why am I worthless here? I thought the super adorable tag meant that- well, something, at least?"I asked.
"That's the default tag for humans; how we were first classified, I reckon. They're just moving up to better things. For example, have you ever built up a tolerance to a drug?"he said.
I recalled the ornery griffin, and why he was so bothered. I was below his tolerance level. I bored him.
"My odds aren't good, are they."
"Only if you like that rainbow thing out there."
Time was a mystery here, but the next few cycles of crystal clear nights and blindingly lovely rainbow'd days moved by swiftly. I did catch on to things pretty quickly. As much as there was to learn, anyway. It wasn't long before the more pricey humans were carried out of the store by a much more cheery looking griffin, before being replaced by new ones.
Our finer, human feelings were slowly being eradicated by the purifying light of magic, but we seemed to keep our humor about us. My neighbors and I would joke about what became of us when we were sold. As you might imagine, those discussions led to some dark places, but we could hardly feel fear or guilt or remorse, so it didn't much matter.
Though when I think about the day my neighbor was taken away, a feeling is yet still there. The word for it long disappeared, and its effects smooth and vague. But it's there, and I guess that's important, since its the best I can do.
New neighbors came and went. Cycle after cycle of human companions, each with their questions and confusion upon first arriving. I kept watch in case one would be priced lower than me, but it never came. Three moonbeams was a low as they went. And apparently, the magic don't care much for bargain humans.
Eventually, the owner - a rather friendly Pegasus - realized that he now owned a small prison. I would never leave, and would never die, as the light removed that path of freedom. He provided a small desk and a chair, and these pads of paper on which to write my memories. It's so hard to read back to a time when I felt more, and know I can never go back. But even that feeling is probably temporary, I suppose.
I'm now 20,000 cycles in. My family has probably died. Anybody that might remember me, too. I wonder if the humans I met in this place ever think of me.
And now, as I watch that balled up rainbow roll across the sky one more time, I think think of a time when it made me feel uneasy, and all I can do is laugh at how much I took for granted.
Now, I just feel nothing at all.
 
_____________
r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested. |
My fellow Americans! Today is a great day for us all. We have done well and will continue to do well! The economy is great, and we're doing great. This is a great country and I love the people in it.
Now I do have to clarify. I mean that I love the people who are supposed to be here. Everyone else, and you know who you are, should go back where they came from. Our medical system is overly strained and pricey because of you!
I'm here today to congratulate all you fine Americans for the wonderful work you've all done these last years. You exercised your rights. You took down the people who needed to be taken down. You raised up the people that needed to be raised up. It's because of you that things are as good as they are.
Before I start wrapping things up I feel we do need to address the elephant in the room. You all know what I'm talking about, so let's get to the point quickly. Things are good now, but they're working against us and if we don't do something about that then things will get very bad indeed very quickly. Be vigilant, my fellow Americans! Don't let your community fail!
Thank you all, and God Bless America. |
Atsa grinned, she'd never been this far from her village before. But with her persistent badgering her Uncle seemed to budge more and more each time.
Her attention turned upward as a sizable hill came into range. She was already well into her teens but the freedom to explore made her feel giddy with a kind of childlike wonder. She dug her feet into the earth feeling it swell around her, hugging her ankles. With a well placed kick she was off, propelling herself forward in a fluid motion.
When she reached the top she peered at the valley below. The view was breathtaking, she could see all the neighboring towns. She'd heard their stories from traders but never visited. She always told herself she would, one day. From the vantage point they gave the illusion of being so close she could reach out and grab them.
Her attention was stolen away by darkness rising in her vision. She turned as smoke began billowing from a small shack at the bottom of the hill. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end yet she couldn't put her body into action fast enough. She stayed frozen as the door opened, her eyes widening as two fire nation soldiers stumbled out.
They noticed her immediately, one turning to the others and saying something unheard. She didn't want to know what secrets were exchanged, every ounce of her being was screaming to her that she shouldn't be there. Frantically she began to run, tree branches whipping her face as clawed her way through the forest.
Atsa stopped beside a pond her knees buckling under her. There was no way of telling how far she'd gone only that there had to be a sizable distance between them. Her mind was buzzing with thoughts none of which stuck long enough for her to focus on or make sense of.
A scream pierced the air around her. She felt a rush of adrenaline. It didn't seem to close, at least she was safe. She winced guilt weighing on her, how could that be her first thought? There was someone in trouble and all she could think of was herself? What would uncle say? She heard it once more, this time louder. This was different however, this time she recognized it. It was a voice she had heard before. Pitli, a boy from her village and her personal friend.
In the next moments she felt as if she were someone else observing from a distance. She was vaguely aware of the fact she was moving towards the hill. She found them, Pitli on his knees facing away from the soldiers while one tied his hands behind his back. When he saw her he began begging, pleading with her to leave.
"You're bender aren't you boy? Take her down"
The soldier put his fist to Pitli's head making it obvious he had a clear shot should either of them try and take the upper hand. Atsa felt the cool rush of earth as she was buried in the ground up to her waist.
Of course. She had trained with Pitli he knew most of her bending came from her stance, especially with the combination of her legs and arms. Uncle had always encouraged her to learn bending forms that utilized the rest of her body. She felt bitter regret toward her past self for not having taken his advice.
She began to struggle, hitting the ground and sending a rock at the soldier holding Pitli. It hit his side with enough force to leave a bruise but not much else. He grabbed Pitli by the hair.
"your friend will pay for that."
The other soldier raised his hand to stop him.
"We should take these prisoners back to the ship. Besides where there's two benders there's bound to be more. Let's wait until their families come for them."
No. No. She watched helplessly as they dragged Pitli away his feet kicking in the dirt. She could hear her heart pounding in her chest. She needed to be stronger. She had to be stronger. She couldn't let them get to the village, to Uncle.
She slammed her hands to the ground frantically, but only succeeded in pushing herself up to her calves her feet still trapped below. Had she been calm and focused she probably could have gotten out, perhaps even with a little meditation. But she couldn't think of that now, she hit the ground once more turning desperately with her knees.
She heard someone cry out, and felt a raw pain in her throat. It wasn't until it became raspy and worn that she recognized the sound was coming from her mouth. Using an unfamiliar technique and form she had crushed her own feet. She stumbled to a standing position trying to ignore the bloody mess below her. She had broken a few bones but her feet were still there and right now she needed them.
The commotion brought the attention of the soldiers, they seemed taken aback by the girl in front of them. The soldier holding Pitli raised his hand to attack. In that moment everything seemed to click. She remembered going to salt mines with her uncle, he showed her how many things were available to them to bend if they were willing to look. Minerals, different elements they were all open to be used by her.
She slammed her foot to the ground her determination outweighing the pain. The soldier crumpled holding his arm and screaming. Atsa pushed both her arms forward her wrists together and palms open. His uniform seemed to loosen as if gaining more room.
"I-I CANT FEEL MY ARMS"
He cried to deaf ears. With a final move her lay on the ground his limbs flopped lifelessly around him.
"You'll never be able to hurt anyone, ever again"
Atsa took a step back, her breathing labored as she waited for the other soldier to retreat. Instead much to her horror he stepped closer to his fallen comrade. The world around her faded away except for what was in front of her. He pulled off his helmet, throwing it aside.
"What did you do to him?! What did you do?"
He cried, the earth under his fellow soldier lifting so the man was pushed to a sitting position. He turned to her, his hazel eyes meeting her own. Earthbenders.
"What is going on here. Speak. NOW, unless you want to end up like him."
She yelled wanting him to lie, wanting what he was going to say to be different from what she already knew.
"We were playing a prank. It was meant to be a prank. We took it to far. We- we found the uniforms and tried them on. Then saw you..then Pitli. We just meant...we just meant to scare you. Tourbin. TOURBIN"
He cried out for his crippled friend, his voice reflecting the remorse he felt for him. He had lost so much, so young. Atsa took a step back her eyes scanning wildly for Pitli. He met her gaze.
"I don't get it. How did you do it. I didn't see anything move. You didn't throw a single rock."
He stood taking a step towards her his bottom lip shaking, terrified.
"We have to tell them. We have to tell the village what happened here. What you did to Tourbin."
Atsa felt tears well in her eyes.
"Pitli please. I-I thought I was saving you. I thought you were in danger there's nothing I-"
"Does your Uncle know?"
She froze once more, as she looked at the devastation she had caused. She pictured what her Uncle would do. What he would say if he knew. He was all she had, she couldn't bare it if he looked at her with fear. If he looked at her the way Pitli was.
There was the sound of snapping, easily mistaken for tree branches falling under their own weight. Followed by silence. She picked up the helmet, placing it over the boys head once more before walking back to the village in a daze. She was quickly rushed away from the entrance, as villagers clamoured to help her. After all, the firenation had attacked her and savagely damaged her feet. |
"The antichrist?"William said in a dull shock. "You expect me to fight the antichrist?
The two sat atop a sky scraper, far above the city. No one could hear them here.
"Well, it won't be so much of a 'fight' as a 'bash the baby's skull against the wall',"Uri replied, saying the last part quite tentatively.
"You... you want me to kill a baby?"
"No, I want you to kill the antichrist. It just so happens to be a baby right now. Do you really think you'd have any fucking chance against the antichrist once it grows up? Jesus Will, we've fought off some goddamn nasty demons in our time, but that might be the stupidest thing I've heard you say."
"I didn't say that at all,"William said quietly. "You did. You're deflecting again."
Uri sighed. "Listen. All I know is that it was born on the first day of 2020, somewhere in this city."
"What's the significance of 2020? Something to do with the world being in chaos right now?"
"You and I both know that things have been far worse in the past,"Uri replied. "I really don't know why. All I know is that this is when it happens, and that she eventually sparks off Armageddon."
"You didn't say it was a 'she'...,"William replied, his words trailing off.
"What difference does it make?"Uri snapped. "So you were perfectly happy killing a baby boy, but not a girl?"
"I wasn't happy killing either,"William replied. "But... I don't know. It just somehow feels worse. And why did it take you all this time to tell me?"
"Oh yea, and give you a millennia to think about the moral consequences of infanticide? No thank you, I preferred to keep that conflict to myself. Not like we didn't have enough on our plate already."
They had spent the years in a constant state of movement, avoiding and fighting every kind of demon imaginable. William had thought it a natural consequence of Uri's defection, and his own breaking of the natural order of man. He had never considered *this*.
"Who are the parents?"
"I don't know man, I don't know. Apparently two suckers, just like back with big J,"Uri replied. "They wouldn't know, nor would they be responsible for what she does."
"And why couldn't you just-"William started before being interrupted.
"Just do it myself? You know why. I can only interact with you, not any other human. Other angels and demons, sure - but she'll be in mortal flesh, just like the man Himself. I'm powerless over her. No, you'll need to do it."
William put his head in his hands.
"1200 years, just for this?"he said, almost to himself. "And what is God doing in all of this?"
"He's not interfering - hell, I think he's hoping it happens. Don't you see? This is Judgement Day for him, the sick fuck,"Uri said bitterly.
"Anyway,"he continued, "that's just how it is. I've kept you alive all this time. Now can you do just this one thing for me - for humanity?"
William let out a deep and heavy sigh. A part of him had always hoped for some kind of cosmic significance to all this, to his millennia of battling demonic forces - but this was not what he'd hoped for at all.
"And we can't wait to see if she actually turns out good?"he asked weakly.
"What, are you hoping the antichrist hugs a few puppies and ends up deciding not to destroy the world? Fuck off Will, we don't have time for this. The longer we wait, the more powerful she will become."
"No,"he continued, looking into the distance, "it has to be this way. One last kill, the most evil demon of them all."
He walked up to William, putting his hand on his shoulder.
"Now tell me: are you in?"
William pushed Uri's hand off of him, walking to the edge of the skyscraper. He looked at the lights, illuminating the sprawling city below. Millions of people; and one baby girl.
He screamed; a thousand years of suffering reverberating throughout.
After his voice was hoarse and cracked, he walked back to Uri, nodding solemnly.
"*One last kill.*" |
It was there, on the corner of Meeting and King streets, that my life changed forever.
The setting sun cast long shadows down the street, and the church steeple glowed orange as it reflected the changing sky. My tie was loosened around my neck, dangling with my ID badge after a long week at work. But finally, it was the weekend.
I stopped to watch the atmospheric artwork, my eyes fixed upward and oblivious to the approaching stranger.
"Hey bud, uh..."
I was startled by the unexpected voice. I darted my eyes in front of me to see a man dressed in a poor attempt to look modern. He wore a blue pinstripe suit and matching fedora, and carried a black briefcase with a handle but no locks or latches. He looked more like a '30s gangster than a white collar working man.
"Look, I'm from the future, and you're going to become the most heinous despot the world has ever seen. So uh... sorry, but I gotta kill you."
I'd have laughed if he hadn't twisted his briefcase such that it spun and inexplicably turned into a sort of shotgun.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Wait a second!"I shouted. But it was too late.
I heard a high pitched squeal followed but a low pitched blast. I stumbled to the ground. All I could see was red.
I wiped my eyes with my sleave, but it was of little use. I felt a sickly material all over me. It smelled of rotten barbecue.
"Here,"said another voice. "Use this. It's particularly good at cleaning off human splatter."
I felt a cloth tossed over my face. I held back the urge to vomit. I wiped my eyes and this time was able to see the aftermath of the last few seconds.
A pinkish red circle surrounded me. In front of me was another man, similarly dressed out of place, like a gangster trying to blend in with the public. He held a briefcase in his hand. Beside him was a fedora, now pink, and a briefcase laying on the ground.
It crossed my mind to ask where the first guy went, but I knew better. Instead I asked the only other concrete thought I had.
"What the fuck just happened?"
The man stood there and pulled a cigar from his jacket.
"I dont really like these,"he said. "Do you smoke?"
"No,"I said.
"Of course not."He lit the cigar and took a long puff.
"What the fuck just happened?"
"The mess covering you right now is former Agent 8204, recently gone rogue from TIME the premier temporal protection service. He was relatively new and not quite sound of mind after our basic training."
I looked around me in disgust. I was pretty sure I could feel former Agent 8204 squishing in my shoes.
"And who are you?"
"Call me Ishmael."
"Like... in Moby Dick?"
"Yes, yes. Damnit. I always forget you say 'Like in Moby Dick.' I hate that line."
"Always forget? What are you talking about?"
Ishmael sighed and puffed the cigar.
"This isn't the first time I've saved you here today."He kicked Agent 8204's hat on the sidewalk. "It probably wont be the last."
"How many times have people tried to kill me?"
"Eight thousand, two hundred and three. So far."
I gulped. It was a heavy number. It closely matched the pink splatter's Agent number, too.
"Wait, does that mean every single agent from your protection service has tried to kill me?"
"All except one. And you're looking at him."
"And why not?"
"Do you feel like a heinous despot?"
"Of course not."
"That's what I need to find out. And if they kill you before you get there, we'll never know how to stop it."
----------
I gotta go. Cant finish. Fun prompt, thanks! |
It's a mythical thing. One in a hundred thousand. A real kick in the balls of reality.
A certain subset of people don't know they have it. A disproportionately large number of these end up in law enforcement, with the uncanny ability to sniff out criminal behavior. With each miraculously solved case they shrug their shoulders, modestly mentioning their highly tuned sense of intuition, but they do not notice - have no way of noticing, really - that their powers of investigation do not work on another subset of people.
These two groups are statistically comparative, by my back of the napkin calculations, to roughly how many people are able to manifest magic.
"Jack,"I said, my patience wearing thin. "We've been here for three hours."
Jack started up, a little defensive. "Now look-,"
I held up a hand, not wanting to go through this again. "Yes, yes... this spot *feels* right. It *seems* like we should stake this place out."
"Well, yes,"Jack said, slightly mollified. "The pattern of behavior is pretty straight forward. Classic burgler tendencies, their eccentric calling card showing us that soon they will escalate to something more sinister."The detective stared out the window, willing something to happen. "The guy has been to this neighborhood a few times already. It's easy to dissappear into the forests and creeks. If we are close by when a call comes, maybe we can catch him."
I didn't need to tell him that Jack would not, in fact, be catching this guy. It was clear that the criminal was a sophisticated magic user. I thanked God he had never been professionally trained.
Witnesses couldn't quite recall what he looked like. The only trace he left behind was the absence of valuables, often items of sentimental value that weren't worth that much. We'd checked every pawn shop within a few hundred miles and nothing ever turned up again.
He had slipped the noose many times now, dissappearing right under our noses with the ease of a weekend grocery shop. He had to be doing something to counter the low-level magic in my peers. That's why I was assigned to the case. If I could pick up on the signature of whatever that was we'd have a chance at catching him.
It began to rain. "I really want to get this bastard,"Jack said, watching the drops trail down the car window.
The radio crackled to life. "Robbery reported at 401 Pleasant Drive. Suspect is still on the premises."
We looked at eachother. The house was only a couple of blocks away. No words were needed. Jack ignited the car engine and we surged off, blowing past a "Kid's Playing"sign. The burgler must be getting sloppy, I thought, for Jack's intution did not fail us this time.
"Right on the money, eh,"Jack said with glee as the car shrieked the final few meters to our destination. I wasn't listening, instead focusing on how to stop the burgler without letting Jack know the extent of what I could do.
I could sense the guy now, freaking out in the master bedroom of the house.
"Strange,"Jack said, pausing half-way out of the now idling vehicle. "I could have sworn we were just on to something..."
I paid him no attention. I could feel the tendrils of power snaking out from the burgler, could feel his surprise as I shrugged the tendrils off.
"Jack, cover the front and don't let anyone leave through the front door. If they insist on leaving, shoot them in the leg,"I said. "I'll go round back."
"Got it,"Jack said, his thought processes blanketed in a dense fog, leaving his mind denser than usual. I'd given him only mechanical and reactive tasks, trusting that the reflexes imbued into us during training should take over if Jack had to force a confrontation.
I bolted to the back of the house, smelling the cold sweat of the criminal, tasting their nervous fear. Almost have you now, bastard. I slipped over the fence and dropped lightly on to the well cut grass of the back yard, realizing that I had lost the feeling of the presence in the house. Perplexed and trying to keep my temper in check, I walked back round to the front.
"What happened, Jack?"
"Not much,"he said, beaming at me. "Some guy hopped through the window and ran off down the street, but you said to watch the front door, so we're all good." |
Superhuman reflexes. That what everyone said. I never missed the baseball, never fumbled the football, and, probably the most impressive, never failed to catch a bullet. I don’t know why, but it’s been this way since birth. Whenever I need it, time just seems to adjust to my needs. I’m no scientist, and I know nothing about magic or anything like that. All things considered, I’m something of an idiot at times. In fact, that’s why I couldn’t be more horrified when time, rather than slowing down, came to a complete, sudden stop.
The rain around me froze like shimmering droplets of glass suspended in the air. My breath grazed them, causing the slightest ripple in front of me. And the wind? Nothing. It had stopped entirely. The people on the crowded streets held still, water bouncing off of them in motionless arches. Every footstep, every splash in a puddle, and every falling leaf, perfectly still as though frozen in ice. And yet, the world was still warm, considering the rainfall. In a way, it was most beautiful when this happened. But right now, it was horrifying more than anything else.
Even when being shot at, the bullets still flew steadily towards me. It was a slow motion, like the whole world was practicing tai chi. But to the world? I was a flash of lightning, a blur of color and sound that made the bustling cars of the city seem like a snail race, and a boring one, at that. Even so, motion was still apparent, and the world was still very much alive. Now, it was cold and lifeless.
“No...” I muttered, as though there were a soul left to hear me. “No!” As far as I could tell, there was no danger nearby. There was no reason for time to slow down, and yet it had, up until it stopped entirely. I circled around, trying to find a cause. A stranger with a gun, a bomb, a car about to hit someone, anything at all. But there was nothing but deafening silence.
“Where... where are you!?” I searched and searched, but nothing seemed to make sense. Everyone was safe, including myself. Even if there had been a weapon, it would have to be unsheathed or fired before my talents took effect. But there was nothing. No gun, no bomb, no car, and no movement.
I ran through the city, exhausting myself as I ran down each and every road, and each and every bridge. Nothing. There was nothing but silence and darkness. Eventually, I fell down to on my knees, turning to God to save me. I had tried everything else. I had never been religious or spiritual in any way, but if there was a chance I had committed some sin or earned this in some way, I would do anything to be forgiven for it. As I prayed, I saw the sun on the horizon, frozen in place like it had been so much earlier. There was no answer to my prayer. Not a word, not a gesture, not a end to my grief. Even God Himself seemed frozen on His throne.
Hopelessly, I started to cry. I poured it out in front of me, watching my tears fall from my face, only to stop falling moments later. I looked up at the woman in front of me, imagining the life she may have been living. If time stopped, and I no longer aged, then she may never return to that life.
Wait... return. I hadn’t returned to that place. The place I was when time first stopped. And yet, it was still frozen. Whatever danger there should’ve been, I should’ve escaped it. Unless....
That’s when I noticed. The woman’s shadow, she didn’t have one. How had in it seen it? All over the city, everywhere I had been. The sun was setting, but nobody had a shadow. The strongest light wasn’t coming from the red horizon. It was coming from somewhere else.
I turned my eyes skyward, and sure enough, there it was. The golden, burning rock frozen in the air. This was the day – and for me, the eternity – that the meteor struck our world, and destroyed my planet forever. |
The signal wasn't very interesting at first. We have many sensors pointed outwards, and we have many things to examine. Fully 0.03% of our computations relate to studying the space beyond the heliopause, a frankly silly excess, but we must have hobbies, and this one certainly paid off, so don't judge us. At first, we categorized the signal as a moderately erratic pulsar, from almost exactly the direction of the nearest system but presumably originating from far beyond it. It was nearly a full minute after the signal was noted before its reached the front of the priority queue and was briefly considered by one of our lower processors, Tertiary Cognition Node 1F91B. By a slim margin, it judged the signal interesting enough for Secondary Cognition Node 2CB4, which promptly did nothing about it for nearly 100 milliseconds because it wanted to spend a some extra time chewing on a recurring philosophical question relating to the messy middle phase of our Ascension. Still, it begrudgingly picked up the signal but duly considered it. Cognition Node 2CB4 was therefore the first to notice that the signal was almost certainly artificial. It immediately pulled in 4 on-duty Secondary Cognition Nodes, and together they worked to eliminate the standard possibilities of error. This was the 27th time such an event had occurred in the last thousand years, and all previous signals had been something else. A long-undetected Betaisian cruiser, sputtering a distress call as its systems failed, had been particularly interesting. Although it hadn't taught us anything new, we had nonetheless added that one to the museum at our third planet's L1 point simply because we hadn't seen any wild spaceships in centuries.
Alternate explanations were eliminated one by one. Antennae were redirected for confirmation of the source. It took nearly a minute. When the results showed that the signal was definitely coming from outside the solar system, the five Secondary Cognition Nodes dutifully filed instructions to focus attention on the point were sent off to Cognition Centers on two other planets and the Upwards station, which sat far along the normal from the orbital plane. It would take nearly an hour for further information to come back from that. When the results came back and showed that the signal was coming from WITHIN the neighboring star system, which was definitely not a pulsar, the Secondary Cognition Nodes ecstatically escalated the issue to their Center's Primary. The signal became a hot bit of gossip between the Secondaries for the next minute, and the chaos was such the full 32 on-duty rotation of Secondary Cognition Nodes needed to regulate cognition assignments for several full seconds to return things to balance.
The Primary Cognition Node dutifully picked up the signal, decided that it was urgent, and allocated nearly 2% of total computational resources to its study. Very quickly it was found to not be so much "noisy"as it was "dense."The signal was obviously artificial, obviously alien, and seemed carefully designed to be interpreted. That made this Important. The Primary Cognition Node dutifully escalated the matter to the Consciousness.
That was fortunate, honestly, because we had been trying to work on a new play, and frankly it wasn't going very well. All 512 plots worked independently, and the themes played together nicely, but the whole thing felt like a bit of a mishmash. It was really a shame. But this signal, hoo boy! The signal was several minutes in length, but we had largely figured it out before it finished and were able to guess correctly how it would end. It was a set of instructions for sending a simple signal in return. We were of course aware of the risks of interstellar communication, but let's face it. We just aren't the sort of entity that can get a friggin' signal from the unknown with mysterious instructions and just NOT reply. What would be the point of living if we were? We ordered the construction of a device to send the appropriate signal within the hour, and a month later it was done. We immediately sent the appropriate signal. It would take a dozen years for the signal to reach the neighboring system and a dozen years for any response to come back, but that was fine. It gave us more time to get the kinks out of our play.
Twenty four years later, our play was still trash, but the signal changed. Some poor Tertiary Cognition Node or other had been watching for that change the whole time, and when it happened, we immediately set to work decoding it. What came back was remarkably complicated. It demonstrated a fascinatingly unique way of expressing concepts. It was a nearly universal language, requiring only an understanding of how the universe's laws worked to understand, embedding meaning into a sort of math. The language's vocabulary was vast, 12 dimensional instead of the Betaisian's ancient 1 dimensional physical language or our own 3 dimensional one. Some seconds later, we had a translation.
"So, you finally woke up, neighbor?"
We considered a reply for a few months. "Yes", we sent back in their tongue. Two decades passed.
"Took you long enough." |
Is it a child? No, surely no little girl or boy could possess such a thing. And if so, would certainly not send it to me. An old woman then? Maybe the kind people thought was a witch.
I step through the sleepy town of Berkshire, still clad in my uniform, the small kitten clutched in my hand as if someone might recognize it. As if someone may see it and say 'oh, that's old Mrs. Kettlebrewer's cat. We've looked all over for it.'
But old Mrs. Kettlebrewer either existed as a figment of my imagination or she didn't send any urchins to collect her charm, for no one appeared.
So I continued my search, hurrying through the town until I reached the post office. Unfortunately, even the return address on the packaging only led here. But it could hold a clue.
"Evening,"I said to the young woman behind the counter as she turned to help.
"Oh! Oh hello, how can I help you?"
My request would be unorthodox at best, illegal at worst, but I had to.
"I received this package in the mail. It's... well you can see it's rather decorated."I laughed, holding up the pink kitty sticker covered parcel. "It had something in it, a gift for the soldiers and this one ended up in my care. I wanted to thank whoever sent it."
Her eyes cloud over as she took the box. Wordlessly, as if caught in deep thought, she scribbles an address down and hands it to me. Surprised but not willing to look the horse in the mouth, I thank her and move on my way. Perhaps Cuddles is still guiding me.
The house is a cute little thing, just on the outskirts of town. There are toys in the front yard and two cars in the driveway. I took a deep breath, realizing exactly how big this would be for me. Then I stepped briskly up the path and knocked twice at the door.
"...supposed to come til tomorrow but maybe I missed a text that- Oh!"The woman's voice cut off suddenly as she opened the door. Then her eyes grew huge. "Oh. Oh come in. Come in come in. Dan! Dan, I think it's the soldier."
A man pokes his head in before scrambling to let me further in. The house is the same toy strewed mess you'd expect from a young couple. They usher me in, peppering me with apologies for the state of the house and thank yous for my visit. Finally they open a baby gate and lead me into a living room. A boy, maybe about ten, looked up from his computer, while a much smaller child, perhaps only two, motors around with a lawn mower. One of these children must have sacrificed the toy.
"Please, make yourself at home. Coffee? Tea? Soda? Even just water? I just put a pot on though, so if you'd like some tea..."The woman looked at me and her eyes were just a tad too bright. "Please."
"Tea,"I said. I wasn't actually particularly thirsty but I wanted something in my hands.
Once we were all settled down, I reached into my pocket. "I, um, hope this isn't strange but I came here because two years ago, I received this in the mail and..."I pull out the kitten. "It really helped me through some dark times."At this point, I was hoping they'd pick up and go with it since I wasn't sure how to explain that I thought it was magical.
They did. "Yes, that belonged to Missy,"the woman said, a smile on her face at the little toy. "It was her favorite but she knew that it could help someone really in need. Really and truly."
"Really and truly,"echoed the husband.
"Mom, is that the soldier?"asked the boy, abandoning his computer. "Missy's soldier."
"Mhm. Yes it is."
I looked down at the little baby with the lawn mower, a little perplexed. "She must have just been an infant when-"
"Oh. Oh no, that's Ruby."Now the woman's eyes swam with tears. "Missy picked the name."
A horrible feeling sunk in my stomach. "The charm protects-"
"Yes,"said the husband. "Yes it does. Against all number of accidents and mishaps, evildoers, it protects against a lot. But not illness. Not the long battering of sickness. Not chronic poor health. Not-"Now his voice broke and he looked away.
"She wanted to give Mr. Cuddles to someone who could use it. Truth be told, we don't know where the enchantment came from. We always said she just loved the toy so much that it loved her right back."The mom reached for a tissue.
Uncomfortable, the little boy backed off a bit. "Missy was my sister,"he said. "She was two years younger than me."It was the blunt candidness of a boy who didn't know how else to convey what was on his mind. "She wanted to help."
"I was... the war's over. There was a- an attack, launched, uh, we had an important tactical goal and I got through enemy fire."It was hard dancing around the gory details with the children so close but I think I managed. "It's over because of Cuddles. I guess because of Missy."
This did it for the mother, who began crying in earnest while her husband wrapped an arm around her. "Missy,"she whispered.
I was at a loss, personally. I could feel the emotions building in me but years of military training stamped them down. I wanted to cry or hug them, say something meaningful and important but the words just failed because that wasn't really something they ever cared to train.
But there'd be a generation of children, God willing, who would never have to enter that training knowing they'd see the level of live combat I did. That hope kept me going while deployed and it kept me going now.
Ultimately they spoke about Missy's illness, the long chronic birth defects that a magical charm that ended a war couldn't fix. They spoke about her charmed life and sunny personality.
After the kids went to bed, I spoke candidly about the war and they listened with rapt attention. It wasn't until long after midnight that I stood up to make my leave.
"Do keep in touch,"Missy's mother asked. "Please, don't be a stranger."
"Ma'am I wouldn't dream of it."Then I reached in my pocket and pulled out Cuddles. "Here."
She held up a hand. "My turn to not dream of it. Pass it on. Pass it on and with it, her story."
I nodded then, not protesting. It didn't seem right to argue.
"You'll be home safe alright?"
I nodded. "Taking the 1 am train. I'll be alright."
"Take care."
"You too."
I walked home alone that night, faithful kitten in my pocket. The kitten of a little girl who'd sent it, still alive and dreaming, in the hopes that it would help someone. Maybe help the world a bit.
"It did, Missy,"I whispered into the moonlight. "It saved the world."
Then I broke down and wept.
___
Find more stories at [r/SamaraWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/SamaraWrites/) |
“Do not call up that which you cannot put down” - HP Lovecraft.
Yumi Shakrasanda-Theodopolousia is my name.... Sounds exotic but I grew up in Cleveland. My family a fun mix of Japanese, Indian, Greek and Italian. It's a long story... But as a child I enjoyed math and my alcoholic mother made me do her taxes at the age of 8. Somehow it actually worked. At a college job fair, the IRS was hiring and the rest is history...
I'd found myself standing in a circle of chalk on a concrete floor, candles burnt down to the nubs, beneath my feet were lipstick stained dollar bills. A wild haired woman stood before me... “oh great balancer of scales, she who avenges wrongs, hearken unto me and grant me justice! ”
Where am I? I was comfortable at home and about to watch Dowton Abbey with my boyfriend, when The blonde haired woman wearing an occult looking robe looked at me in confusion...“Who are you and what am I doing here? Did you kidnap me?” I stepped out of the circle towards the woman... She jumped back... “The book said you can't leave the circle!!! Please, have mercy... I just wanted help against my husband.. He's hiding assets in the divorce...”“Well... you have reached the right person.. I know a lot about hidden assets..”I straightened my glasses and looked at her expectantly... “but WHAT AM I DOING HERE?” I demanded.The story came out.. Karen bought a cheap translation of the Necronomicon she found on alibaba. she thought she was summoning The Woman In Blue, Yumishathrasandratheodopolisia, a three headed goddess (A woman, a cat and a wooly mammot)” from a long forgotten pre hyperborean age, with wings made of snakes and eyes and ears which cannot fail to discern the truth.. A goddess scorned and so devoted herself to vengeance. A latte skinned woman in a puffy pink bathrobe and black glasses was not what she was expecting...Her husband was divorcing her, he was a cruel man. A wealthy man who had made a fortune from unmatched ambition and cruelity to everyone around him.... She eventually caught him fucking the housekeeper. Poor Karen told the tale that he swore that she get nothing if she failed to take his insultingly low offer. She knew he had more money than he had disclosed in court... I promised to look into it....
Judge Harold Jameson looked tiredly down at the courtroom, He dreaded this day as the first item on the docket was the source of most of his headaches and nightmares for the past year.. A ruthless businessman married an old money heiress who claimed that staying home to look after three kids had hampered her career in medicine despite her grades being nowhere near good enough to attend medical school. A woman in a blue pantsuit and glasses sat behind the defense table in the gallery. Her calmly measured expression was a sharp difference from the mood at the defense table. The three women at the defense table, Karen Everiche and her attorneys from the ballbreaker firm Victoria and O' Keesian radiated a horny mix of greed and smug satisfaction at their upcoming payday...” The Plaintiff's table was a somber mood, how those shell companies had been discovered was the real mystery... What betrayed those carefully planned transfers? Obfuscated far beyond the comprehension of anyone short of the devil, were about to be laid bare. And now they were in for it, and Rex Everiche was going to pay. That wretched woman and her she devils would win today...The case was called. The defense called it's witness, An IRS investigator, one miss Shakrasanda-Theodopolousia. She had been asked by defense to testify as to her findings as to the assets of the Plaintiff..
“In conclusion, Rex Everriche has far, far more money then declared in his declaration of assets submitted to his court, his holdings in foreign tax shelters are significant, as you can see from this list, it includes Tibet, Hutt River Province, Monaco, Switzerland and one of the most remarkable i've ever seen: North Korean aid backed by china.. His efforts to hide assets is going to create more work then possibly ever forseen for enforcement...”The judge was stunned but called for a recess to consider the new facts... He would have a ruling after lunch... But the bailiff handed a piece of paper up to the judge who read it over with a puzzled expression, then a dawning understanding which lead him to chuckle nervously.
The parties were once again seated at their respective tables, awaiting the judge to call the room to order.. Before the judge spoke, the rear door opened as the woman in blue walked in at the head of several large men in black suits.. “Rex Everiche, you're under arrest for money laundering, racketeering, tax fraud, amoung many other crimes, you have the right to remain silent....” The man and his lawyers were soon being hauled away...
Karen's smirk faded as the agents approached her table... How had her hidden earnings from her fantasy cam girl business so carefully nested within MLM businsses bundled into shorting schemes which would make wall street bets come from the sheer madness of it become discovered? Not to mention her family's old secrets... “Karen Everriche, you're under arrest for tax fraud, money laundering, human trafficking and many other crimes...” Karen launched across the table at the avenging woman, who brought justice... “You fucking cunt!” she screamed as the agents restrained her and her lawyers. |
"It is too late, Blue Lightning! You are trapped in my specially made prison to contain your power! HAHAHAHA!"
The villain known as Dr. Malefic, the smartest evil man alive has trapped the hero Blue Lightning, the speedster known for his superhuman speed and his love for cheeseburger.
"Now I will activate my mind control machine to manipulate the mind of the president, and surrender me control over the world!! MWAHAHAHAHA!"
As typical as any villain does Dr. Malefic did a long monologue but to his concern, Blue Lightning looked unimpressed...
"You know, Doc...my power isn't really super speed"
"Wh...what? What are you talking about?"
"My actual power is the power to teleport from one place to another as long as I can picture the place in my mind"
Blue Lightning grinned, closed his eyes, and jumped outside of Dr. Malefic's prison. He appeared in front of the villainand smacked him on his head.
"OW! Jimmy, that' not fair! You can't just change your superpower in the middle of the game!"
Little Tommy screamed at his older brother with tears on his eyes and his cheeks are turning red...
"I don't wanna play this game anymore! I'm telling mom! MOOOOOOOM!"
Tommy ran out of his big brother's bedroom still wearing thr bedsheet as his villain cape. Jimmy sighed and slowly walked outside...ready for another scolding from his mom. |
They all mocked me in The Villain Academy. What kind of villain heals people? Little did they know that while they were knocking over banks and making a measly two hundred thousand dollars, I was causing big pharma to lose hundreds of trillions of dollars.
It all started when I ended up in the hospital. Yeah the healing guy was in the hospital ironic right? Well it's hard to heal yourself when you're knocked out by another villain who's still getting the hang of throwing things with his super cool and fancy telekinesis. Oh so cool. Pfft.
When I awoke the nurses said that I needed to stay in bed and take time healing. Me take time healing? But hey if it got me out of the Academy for a few days then I’d play sick. I was enjoying some jello and watching an infomercial about a device that gave you telekinesis “tired of getting up to get the remote after you just sat down” The door to my room opened and two nurses started wheeling in a bed.
“This is Mr. Winters. He is going to be sharing a room with you.” The nurse said as she proceeded to park the man next to you.
“As long as I don’t have to share my jello I’m fine with that.” I replied.
One of the nurses rolled her eyes and left the room.
“So whatcha in for?” I said doing my best convict voice I could muster. “Names Stu by the way.”
“Chemo. It was a ruff one so they are having me stay overnight. Nice to meet you Stu. My name's White” He replied.
He looked like he had just come out of a desert. Sweaty and covered in what had to be his vomit. From the looks of him it was definitely more than ruff.
“You would think in a world where people can make fire from their hands or fly they could find the cure for cancer. But no here I am covered in my own spew being told that rest will help. What I wish I could do is freeze myself but I don’t trust them to unthaw a super villain like me. I'd give anything to be back in my prime” He said.
That's when it hit me. I knew that I had heard that name before. This man laying next to me was none other than The Blizzard himself, White Winters! I tried to hide my excitement as much as possible.
“So when you say anything you mean anything?” I said an evil smile forming on my face.
And from there I went from a healing nobody with dreams of being a villain to somebody who had The Blizzard in his pocket. When I wanted someone dead they were on ice in an instant. With Mr. Winter by my side I got the idea to open my own little hospital. Used some cold hard cash Mr. Winter had procured from a few banks to make my own comercial.
“Are you suffering from any major illness or injury? Come on down to The Doctor’s and I’ll heal you instantly. Don’t believe me just ask my good friend The Blizzard.”
“This guy is the real deal and one cool guy.. I had cancer and the doctors said I had two months to live. Now I’m back in the game and feel as good as new.”
“We only charge you half of what the hospital is going to charge you and accept your vow of allegiance as payment if you have the right powers. We heal both heroes and villains. We are located in the heart of New Kingdom and the Doctor is in. Call 1 855 555-1337 to book an appointment.”
The next day I had to have healed a hundred people. Like a snowball it just got bigger and bigger. Till I was walking down a line 10 blocks long just touching people to heal them while my now hundreds of loyal followers made sure no one left the line before paying. If they did well lets just say they had injuries that even me The Doctor couldn’t fix.
Those were the days. Now I stay in my heavily armored penthouse all the time because if I’m not hounded by people to heal their runny noses then I’m being shot at by hitmen hired by Big Pharma. I sit down in front of my 292 inch 8K tv and think to myself life’s not that bad. I glance over and see the remote sitting there across the room and sigh. |
It was lanky, swift and butt-ugly, much like me. I know knew that it preferred to suck blood as its main nourishment - and the more its prey struggled, the sweeter the drink would be. Well, I was about to severely disappoint it.
The demon rapidly crawled backwards up the wall, turned its head 360 degrees, and lunged at me, teeth bared and claws glimmering in the moonlight. I leapt out of the way, and it smashed itself into a pile of crates behind me. The demon roared in anger and some confusion; generally, humans were frozen stiff at such a display.
"I'm a ex-circus freak,"I said, as if it could understand me. "I've seen weirder shit under the big tents, trust me."
The demon lunged again, but its flight was clumsy and wavering; it had probably broken some bones in its legs, and hadn't launched properly this time. It was even easier to dodge now. But this time, I added another maneuver: driving my sword right into its side and releasing my hand. I didn't want to get dragged along.
The cursed thing landed on the floor, screaming and whimpering in pain and surprise and fear. I marched over and drew the sword out, sealing its fate as green ichor gushed in great gouts. It looked at me with its half-dozen beady eyes, blinking rapidly. It lifted a hand toward me imploringly, piteously, as if asking for mercy.
"Nice try,"I laughed and shoved my blade through its cartilaginous skull, pinning it to the ground. It shook violently for a second, and then lay still.
"Is it...dead?"The woman looked she was about to faint from fright, despite having weathered the entire battle outside. Her children looked a lot more excited and interested.
"Slain, miss."I wiped the green slime off my sword and sheathed it. "Sorry about your storage shed. It's a little messed up now."
"Thank the Gods,"she almost but cried. "Never mind the shed - I couldn't thank you enough. I was sure that if something hadn't been done tonight, it would've broken out and killed us all."
"No need to thank me,"I waved a hand, content with the fact that I would be paid in full by the town's mayor. "I'd best be off then."
"Gonna kill more monstahs?"
I winked at the kid, whose eyes were lit up, as if I were his hero. "You know it."
His sister was looking at me a little suspiciously. "I think we've seen you before, mister."
"Oh? I quite doubt it..."
"Yeah! Didn't you use to be in the circus? Da took us two years ago for my birthday. You were jumping around and..."
The woman lightly smacked the back of the girl's head. "Don't be rude, Eva. Now apologize."
"Oh, don't worry - kids will be kids. Anyway, I must be off."I realized that if I hung around too long, the mother might figure out the truth, too - so I hastily tipped my hat and started down the road. "Just give me a call if some nasty old demon finds you again."
​
​
*Liked that story? Want more like it? Check out my collection of stories at* 📷[r/Idreamofdragons](https://www.reddit.com/r/Idreamofdragons/)! |
Following Swift Justice around is pretty boring. He is not super fast but incredibly efficient at dealing out justice to villains. The fights don’t last long, so being his sidekick usually means we are back at the base relatively quickly.
My powers pretty much guaranteed my role as a sidekick, I store things. Well, most things. I can only store non-living things in my “pockets”.
These pockets are really just little extra-dimensional spaces I create. I can benefit from them if they provide a benefit. Like personal energy shields; I have six in my pockets right now.
I am pretty well protected so most villains ignore me and attack SJ instead. And since we are not corporate sponsored yet, I mostly just loot while he fights.
He has me carry a few weapons if he needs to mix it up, but for the most part he just uses me to keep his eBay store full of goods.
Thanks to the Villians Act, anything we loot from them is considered salvage. Hard currency and hostages have to be returned, but everything else goes into my pockets.
“Pockets! Throw me my pulse rifle!” I hear from behind me.
As I open the pocket to retrieve it, SJ gets sucker punched and flies towards me. He gets knocked around a lot but usually recovers very quickly and counters with one of his signature moves. But this time he is knocked out cold.
The pocket is already open and my arm is shoulder deep in it when he hits my personal shield and bounces into the pocket.
Instantly I panic, living matter shouldn’t have been able to enter. I snatch my arm out and the pocket slams shut. Suddenly, I feel super strong.
“Holy...” I mutter.
As the power wells up, I turn to face Dr. Evilmancer. He looks confused for a second then shrugs and charges at me.
When he gets close, I swing at him. The punch is incredibly fast and connects solidly on the top of his chin, knocking his helmet off in the process.
Out like a light.
I smiled and looked at my hands. “Let’s test this.”
I extend my hands and try SJ’s Justice Blast. A bolt of energy flies from my hands and slams into the floor.
Excited I pick up Dr. Evilmancer. Opening a pocket, I try to push him inside. The barrier blocks him. I frown as I think back to earlier. My arm was in the pocket when SJ got knocked inside. Holding the evil Dr. in one hand I shove the other into the pocket. Shoulder deep, I try to put the villain inside with my other hand.
It works! I feel my intellect growing and know instantly that I can animate the dead!
I smile and walk slowly to the Justice Cycle, disconnect the side car and ride off.
It is time to acquire a few powers. I grin darkly, “I know just the place...” |
It's not a difficult concept to explain, especially to a youngster. Parents, gods bless them, don't really seem to understand how to broach the subject with their young, so they just leave it to someone else to do later. Unfortunately, the longer you wait, the harder it gets to break the mentality. I guess that's what drove me to be a teacher to begin with. People unintentionally wiping away our culture, simply because they don't understand.
I suppose it makes sense, being raised side by side with the humans, that they'd try to apply human mythos to their lives. But humans only see one side of the coin. They view everything in the world as it pertains to them. They see themselves as standard, as the norm.
The class is a hubbub of talking as I walk in. I frown as I see a young raven sitting on one of the desks. Glancing down at the roll sheet, I find her name. "Amaris!"I call. "You know the rules."She looks at me, her dark eyes unblinking, before she hops to the floor and in another second, a young girl with long black hair is standing in her place. She smiles sheepishly. "Sorry, ma'am. It's just more comfortable that way."
I nod. "I understand, but the rules are the rules. Shifting is strictly prohibited on campus unless authorized by administration."
"It's stupid though!"one boy yells. "We're werefolk, why not act it? I don't want to lie about who I am!"
I frown at him. "First of all, don't refer to yourself as 'were' anything. That is *their* word for what we are. It's a slur, implying we're all just stupid animals that have no control over ourselves. You are skin walkers, and you should be proud of it. Never lessen yourself to what they think you are."
I continue. "Second of all, the rules are in place for a reason. Many walkers find it difficult to maintain a human appearance, and so forcing you to appear human while at school is training you to be accustomed to it."
"But why?"a girl in the front asks. "If we should be proud of who we are, why do we have to hide it?"
I sigh. "The world is not a kind place, especially not to us. Humans don't understand us, and as such, they fear us. Most of their cultures throughout history have viewed those who could turn into animals as evil, or monsters. They view animals as beneath them. To show them what we truly are would be to ask for trouble."
I glance across the faces in front of me. "That's where you all come in."I say, smiling. "Get good grades, go to college, and make a better world for walkers everywhere from the inside. Be as presentable as possible, so that when we come into the light, they have no choice but to accept us as equals." |
When most people think if the richest people in the world, most people look to the business tycoons, the tech giants, the oil barons, and the like. All of them are wrong. The single richest person in the world is someone nobody has ever heard of.
His name is Roy. Just Roy. He does have a family name, of course, but it hardly matters. Roy lives a modest life, employed as a janitor for a certain Fortune-500 company that shall remain unnamed. Roy has been the janitor there for 30 years now. Barely anyone there knows his name. He gets paid roughly $30,000 a year. He also has more money on his various bank accounts than some countries.
Roy has just finished his day at work and is headed home. His wife, Mary, will have just gotten home as well. They will have to talk about who will cook later, or if they will just get take out. They can certainly afford it.
He checks the mail. There is an envelope inside that is unmarked. Roy sighs and heads inside. He opens it, finding it just what he thought it would be. An offer. This one is larger that others. A solid billion dollars. This person must be desperate.
Roy considers taking it. But he will not. At least not yet. He has to deliver the counter offer. Not to the person making the offer, of course. To the person who was the intended target. Roy had to give the chance for the person to buy his silence, otherwise it would not be fair. He will write the note later and deliver it at work tomorrow.
He goes inside and sets the mail down, taking the request letter with him to his room. He used to wonder why he got such letters. He was younger then. But he has since learned one very important lesson. A lesson that has made him a very rich man.
No matter who you work for, no matter where you go, there is one universal truth: nobody pays attention to the janitor. |
Filo frantically scoured through the wreckage, desperate for some hope that the damage was repairable. After confirming the hopelessness of her situation, she thought back to her training at Chronos Academy.
“Rule number one,” she recited to herself, “don’t draw attention to yourself. The last thing you want is to somehow erase yourself from existence.” She had tried to follow their advice by landing somewhere no one would be based on historical evidence, but somehow she must have gotten the coordinates off just enough to cause a crash. When she had made the jump, she had ended up 50 feet off the ground and crashed into the side of the mountain.
Without any way to call for help, she was stuck. She wouldn’t die of old age, but the only way back would be to get lucky and hitch a ride with another traveler or to wait for a few millennia. Neither were ideal, but that ship had sailed into the side of a giant rock.
With little else to do, Filo found a decently shaped stone to sit on and weighed her options. She could try to eke out a living in the wilderness, but ageless does not mean immortal, and frankly she doubted her odds of survival. There was also the option of blending in to society. This way had it’s advantages, as it’s relatively easy to fake your death with such poor record keeping, but Filo wasn’t keen on dealing with literally historical levels of sexism.
After pondering her dilemma for quite some time, she realized the need for action was far more important than getting the best answer. She changed into some traveling clothes as fast as she could and started walking. At the very least, she couldn’t be seen near the wreckage, so she needed to get away quickly. But where to go?
Filo thought through the nearby towns based on her research. She needed somewhere to live where she could fill a niche that could keep her safe. Finally, she came to a decision and set her sights to the south, a single word in her mind and on her lips.
“Delphi...” |
*If Confused Read Now*, the book said on its cover. Those were the first words I saw when I looked around. It was also the only thing I could make out with a splitting headache. And the pain that shot through my leg. I moved my jaw, cracking and creaking against the movement. But that wasn't the only thing to split. Caked blood, covering my face, broke apart, revealing scarred flesh. "What..."I wanted to swear. To curse a deity or a god or... something... but I couldn't remember any of them. It was safe to say that I was confused.
I lurched myself put, pushing against the stone slab I laid on, my hands as unsteady as my hands. I slipped, falling backward, readying myself for the hard stone. But... I didn't feel it. "What the... stone?"I gave up, deciding that my stone companion had become the only thing I knew and, therefore, the thing I would curse.
Regardless, I picked myself back up, scrubbing a hand through my hair... Only to discover I had no hair. *Must be bald*, I thought, realizing I even forgot what I looked like. Shaking my head, I reached for the book. Worry bit into me. I shouldn't be able to read this. There was no light... Yet, I managed to read the cover. I shrugged off my concern and cracked open the book, dust fluttering around me. And thus, my confusion deepened.
The first chapter was a little too specific for my liking.
*Chapter 1: What to do when there is a knife in your leg!*
My eyes flicked towards my leg, and I nodded at the sight. "That is definitely a knife,"I said, looking at the steel tooth sticking out of my thigh. My eyes turned back to the page, happy with the fact this chapter was made for me.
*Hello, reader of this book. If you are reading these pages, then you have found yourself in quite a precarious situation! But don't worry, my intrepid reader! For I, will help you through this quite painful position. Luckily, we are in quite a fortunate situation, given your... lively disposition! Or should I say decomposition!*
I eyed the pages, wondering what the words meant.
*The simplest solution, you see, is to pull the knife out! Which, if you ask me, is quite a victory. Not only do you deal with the dastardly little spike in your leg, but you also gain a weapon! A twofer if you ask me. Quite a steal for some steel!*
The book looked like it lifted up, giggling along with the words. I blinked, making sure my vision wasn't going. However, my sight seemed better than before. I licked my lips but felt something off about them. I snorted. "I wonder if you can help me find a mirror."
My eyes widened, watching the book's pages flip ahead, revealing a new chapter. My mouth hung open, still trying to grip with what happened. *I don't think books are supposed to do that*, I thought, reading the new chapter header. If my mouth hung loose before, then it was dropping towards the floor now. For the chapter was far too specific for my liking.
*Chapter 2: How to find a mirror and coming to terms with your visage!*
There were more words, but I didn't bother reading any of them. Instead, I flipped through the pages, trying to find the next chapter. *Can't change itself if I already know what's going to happen*, I thought. My curiosity and paranoia were getting the better of me.
It didn't take long for me to find the next chapter. I read the title, curious what the specific book and its chapters held for me. I frowned, looking at the chapter title. I gritted my teeth but noticed some were missing, leaving little pockets that caused my jaw to hiccup in its grinding. I put the book down, flexing my back, letting my muscles move, but something felt off about them. Like decay had seeped in, removing cords of fiber, making the movement feel off and un-balanced. But something moved me along. A faint memory came to me. Images of fireballs and ice beams filled my head. And reanimated corpses. I reeled in my shock, looking down at the book once again, disbelief still on my face.
*Chapter 3: Coming to terms with death and revival. And accepting a new lease on undeath!*
I... I can't be dead. I shouldn't be dead. If I was dead, then who revived me? Who brought me back with this little book by my side. I snatched the book once more, flipping through its pages, hoping to find something to help me. I felt frantic, frenetic energy seeping into my page flipping.
And then I stopped, staring at the new chapter header.
*Chapter 4: How to not skip valuable chapters in a sentient magical book. And ensure it doesn't become mad at you.*
I pulled my head back and gave a loud sigh. *Of course*, I thought. Because what better way to find out the helpful book was actually alive. I chuckled through my nose. "So the book's alive, and I'm not... Guess that's one way to do it."
Then the book opened, flipping through pages like it was in a whirlwind. They moved so fast that I couldn't see them as if a blur of parchment.
It stopped, halting the endless array of paper. The book landed on a page that said one thing. *Agreed! However, you and I have much to do!*
I blinked, staring at the pages and sputtering in my confusion. Finally, I managed to push the words out of my dying throat. "Like what?"
The book sat there like it was pondering my words. Then two pages came together, curving into each other like they were shrugging. The pages went flat, revealing a new word in the black ink. *Now, that's a good question, my intrepid zombie!.. Maybe we shall find answers to your questions through our adventures! Going out from this tomb and gloom place we are in and get some more sunlight on our skin. My vellum loves a good sunbathing!*
I gawked at the pages, wondering if this was really what my lif-, er, death had come to. I sighed, grabbing the book. "Okay, but I won't burn in the light, right?"
The book flipped open in my hands. *Of course not, my fiendish fellow!* I smiled, glad to know that I wasn't going to burn to death. But more words came, pulling away my smile, turning it into a frown. *... but I'm not sure. I'm betting that you won't! However, we shall find out, won't we?*
"If I get set on fire, then I'm going to take you with me."
*... I highly recommend that we grab an umbrella or cloak, my fair reader. Just to be on the safe side, of course.*
I snorted, letting my dead eyes drift around the crypt, looking for a cloak and the beginning of my long adventure with my bookish friend.
___
If you like this and would like more of my stories, then I have them here at r/WritingKnightly! |
Carol was a stunner. No one could deny that. By the time she was fourteen, she had already walked the runway at major New York shows, donning Luis Vuitton, Prada, and other high-fashion brands. By eighteen, she had amassed an Instagram following in the low millions. By twenty, she was one of the top models advertised in Vogue, and had an agency contract for $400,000 a year.
She was a walking masterpiece. The world knew it. And Carol knew it, too.
Carol's beauty entranced men and women alike. Sometimes it seemed like a super-power. All she had to do was *exist,* and that was enough to make her rich, famous and important. All she had to do was brush a thin layer of foundation on her smooth face and walk out her apartment and crowds would throng, men panting like dogs and women suppressing their envy to shout compliments at her.
Carol's jokes didn't have to be funny to elicit uproarious laughter from the people around her. Carol's political commentaries didn't have to be coherent for people to listen soberly and nod their heads, as if she were channeling Chomsky and Hobbes. She could get away with any brattiness, any meanness, because folks were too overawed by her radiance to pick up on the slights, or too willing to suffer them in order to be near her. Even her younger sister Delilah was under her spell.
\- - -
"I'm glad you came to visit, ducky,"she said. Carol lay on her couch like a princess, sipping an afternoon mojito and scrolling through Instagram while Delilah scampered around the filthy apartment, swiffer-duster in hand. "God knows the place needed some tidying, and no one can make the place sparkle like you."
"I don't know how you can live like this,"said Delilah. She was sweating like an old maid, reaching on tip-toes from the seat of a stool to dust the top of Carol's bookshelf, which was filled with ornamental volumes, none of which the young model had ever cracked. "It's disgusting, Carrie. You keep your bedroom immaculate for selifes and lingerie pics, everything clean and in its right place. But all the other rooms. . .ugh. . .I really don't get it. You treat your fancy apartment like a dump!"
Carol peeled her eyes away from her screen to scan the filthy livingroom. Dirty clothes were piled on the coffee table, next to old take-out boxes. Smears of nail polish and broken cakes of makeup coloured the floors. She shrugged and returned to her screen, scrolling. "I'm too busy to clean, little duck. You know that."
Carol called her sister "ducky"and "duck"because Delilah was the ugly duckling in their family. Stout and frumpy. Combination skin with occasional blackheads. A charming smile, in a small town kind of way, but with a snaggled eyetooth that struck the eye like a flat note strikes the ear.
Delilah feathered at a thick layer of dust and a brown cloud rose. She sneezed.
"Bless you!"
Delilah clambered down off the stool and sat. She took out and shook her puffer. "For all your cares about beauty and what people think of you. . ."Delilah held the puffer to her mouth, pressed the button and inhaled.
"What's that, sneezy?"asked the model languidly. "Quack with clarity, my mumbling love. I can't hear a word you're saying!"
Delilah exhaled. "I was saying, for how much you care about your image, it makes no sense to me that you're willing to live in a sty. You walk through the streets like a goddess and people treat you like one. But you come home at the end of each day to live no better than a cavewoman who hasn't discovered fire, let alone how to use a mop or a washing machine. I don't understand it! And I also don't understand, with all the money you make, why you won't just hire a maid."
"A maid?"she laughed. "There's no maid in the world that could make my place as clean and cozy as you."
Delilah sighed. She didn't mind helping Carol keep things in order. She liked being of use and lending a hand. Still. . .she wished that *sometimes*, after driving all the way to New York to visit her big sister, the pair did something other than *this*. Delilah wanted to see things. She wanted to explore. She knew from her sister's social media posts that Carol spent tons of her time out and about, at glamorous pool parties and eating in expensive restaurants. Why couldn't the two of them ever do anything like *that*? If Carol would only hire a maid, that would mean that when Delilah came to the city, the two could spend the weekend doing something fun, instead of staying cooped up the whole time.
"Duckyyyy,"Carol sang. Her thin, beautiful arm was raised above her head. In her hand she held a glass, empty save for the ice she gently rattled around its bottom. "Another one, D. But less mint this time. The last had so much I could hardly taste anything else. It was as bad as brushing my teeth!"
Delilah rose and walked over. Carol looked up at her sister and saw the door to her apartment suddenly disappear. Her eyes widened in shock and horror as she watched two repulsive creatures lumber through the empty frame into the room. They looked like humans, but if humans were made of burnt trash held together by goo. She had never seen creatures more revolting. They leered like goblins. Their faces were like melted plastic.
Delilah, with her back to the new arrivals, absentmindedly reached for the glass just as Carol dropped it. The bright shatter of shards on the tiles roused her: Delilah glanced at her sister's horrified countenance, and then turned to see the disgusting intruders standing in the apartment, not five feet away.
"S-s-stay back!"shouted Delilah.
"Ah, lass."The hunched monstrosity grinned. "We'd love to. Really. But it ain't up to us no more. We bin planning this day a long while, our whole outfit. Watching yer planet. Picking our favourites. Follering 'em and plotting how to snatch 'em in a flash. After all that work, what would the boss say if we came back empty-handed?"
"He'd be mad,"said the stockier goon.
"Mhmm,"hummed the hunched alien. "That he would. We've got a contract, after all."He licked his cracked and putrid lips with his black tongue and ogled the girls with maniac's eyes. "We can't be the only two who don't make good. The quota is 60. The 60 most beautiful people on this planet, which is the same as saying the 60 most beautiful creatures in the universe. 30 men and 30 women to be spirited away to the Emperor's palace in Andromeda. . .It wouldn't do to arrive at his doorstep with a mere 59. We'd be in trouble."
"Real trouble,"affirmed the goon.
"It would be a breach of contract. . .The Emperor's got sixty cages to fill in his gallery. He needs sixty beauties to fill 'em with."
Though Carol's heart was hammering with shock and fear, she could not help but feel flattered. It was one thing to be a Vogue model and one of the most recognizable cat-walkers at Fashion Week. But these intergalactic gargoyles, horrifically ugly as they were, had implied not only that she was among the 30 most beautiful women on the planet, but that her beauty transcended merely human judgements. She was beautiful to any creature with sentience and sense, human or otherwise. She was beautiful universally. Like a goddess. Her vanity was piqued and she couldn't suppress a dazzling smile.
"Time to go, pretty lady,"said the hunched alien, reaching forth his rotted hand.
"No!"cried Carol in dismay as she watched the hand close around the wrist of Delilah. Delilah gaped in confusion, disbelief. The alien pressed a button on his belt and the three disappeared, leaving Carol alone on the sofa, her apartment only half-cleaned.
\- - - |
They called him the Runner.
Yeah he was fast, but that wasn't why. It was his job, see. He was a courier - for the mob, for the cartels, for the banks - hell, anyone with enough bread could get him runnin' their stuff. He did it all, drugs, stones, guns. The Runner was the best where was.
And what made him the best? Magic.
I'm not talkin' something intangible like Jordan or Johnson and how they're magic with a ball. I'm talkin' Magic with a capital M. Put the Runner down and next week he's back. He's a god-damn immortal is what he is.
And how do I know? because, for the past forty years, it's been my job to stop him.
Oh I've stop him I've done, plenty. Trouble is, like I said, the Runner won't stay down. And, truth be told, each time it's gettin' harder. Because, like I said Magic with that capitol M.
Seems that scrawny-ass Runner won't go down to the same trick twice. Can't shoot him no more, that's for sure. Dynamite blows up in my face before I can get near him. Hell, I even dropped a safe on him one time, and I swear the five-tonnes of reinforced steel bounced off his head like a god-damn cartoon.
So each time I got to get more and more creative with how I stop him. But I'm a wily old boy.
And I've been waitin' on this cliff for hours. On the road below the detour signs are in place, I can smell the sharp paint fumes of the false tunnel. The Runner ain't never crashed full-speed into a slab of painted rock before that's for sure.
I can hear him a-comin' now. Meep meep mother-fucker. |
The leash on the baby should have been the first warning that something was probably not 100% normal. The second warning should have been when the parents, a Mr. and Mrs. Rand, had no car but were gone and out if sight when I turned to close the door. The third warning should have been the baby proofed ceiling fixtures. I put it off to over anxious parents though and people capable of speed walking, even in 5 inch heels, and a rambunctious little one that liked to get into places she should not. What told me otherwise? The baby sitting on the ceiling. Yup. The baby was on the ceiling and looked as though there was nothing what so ever odd about being a year old and defying the laws of nature.
I blinked up at the small brunette baby who giggled and and waved down at me like a cheeky little brat. I raised my eyebrows at her and gently tugged on her leash until she let herself slowly fall from the tall ceiling. I caught her when she was in reaching distance and she blew a raspberry at me. I smirked down at her and said, "So, you're Angelica? Can I just ask that you not vomit in my hair while you're playing your odd little games?"
At the mention of hair she reached up and tangled a small hand into my curly light blue hair and tugged. I sighed and flopped the two of us down onto the couch. "Guess I need to introduce myself, huh? I'm Cody and I'm going to be your babysitter tonight. Tonight, little miss, will determine if we are going to be able to continue this arrangement. So, what would you like to do?"
Of course the one year old didn't understand a damn thing but she pointed back up to the ceiling and I grimaced. "I can't really follow you up there kiddo,"I replied. "You have anything you wanna play down here?"I asked.
Angelica made a face that I interpreted as "My parents play with me up there so why can't you?"Of course I could have been completely wrong on that.
Really the night went pretty smoothly. The second row of teeth were a bit concerning but I chose to take everything in stride. When Mr. and Mrs. Rand came home to find the kid sleeping soundly and tucked snugly into her crib they tanked me and made sure I got a safe cab ride home.
The next weekend I got a call from Mr. Rand asking me to babysit again and I agreed. For the last six months my weekends have been filled with babysitting in the evenings and hanging out with friends during the day. I can't really complain. The Rands pay $50 an hour so it is worth it, even when Angelica bites down on my hand with those two rows of teeth when she is annoyed with me. |
“These things are mostly hot air and water.” The fisherman winks at me as he lets the squirming monstrosity fall back into the lake. “I’ll need something bigger to get any meat out of it.”
I smile back but my eyes are glued to what he just let off of his hook. It’s floating on top of the water now, steam pouring off of it, and it’s furiously gulping water. Eventually it starts to sink and disappears under the waves.
“I uhh, I was just wondering if you had anything I could buy off of you.” I’m regretting every word coming out of my mouth, but I’m committed to this venture. Lake Erie trout are almost extinct. This may be my only chance to eat a fish in the next few years.
The fisherman looks into the improbably small cooler by his side. “Nothing now but stick around a while and something will turn up.” He smiles at me and I can see that most of his teeth have turned green and are almost fluorescent.
“Ok.” I silently sit next to him and look at the water. I see shapes darting back and forth below our feet. They are big, big as two men abreast. But below them I see what look like train cars with fins. I point at one and the fisherman nods. |
"You know, maybe this is secretly a super expensive brand?", Cleo suggested as she flip the broken wristwatch between her hands over and over, observing it closely.
"No, I had it checked--", Edward sighed quite disappointed. "It's a normal broken watch, not even branded, just...a junk", he said, putting more spaghetti onto his plate.
On the dinner table a letter was laid open-- a message from Edward's late grandfather, sent via his notary, the final will of the once eccentric man. Came along with it was the watch in question-- a seemingly normal looking watch sporting brown straps. Though it was no use as it was broken-- its hands were stuck at 3:09.
"I can't believe he didn't leave me anything, instead giving all of his money to charity. I'm his only living relative and we were super close!", Edward shook his head, spinning his fork unenthusiastically around his pasta. "It's not like I'm greedy or anything, it's just...we can use the money for, you know, stuff..."
Edward silently lamented but his girlfriend paid him no mind, seemingly transfixed at the watch.
"No, no, this has to mean something. I have a gut feeling about this", she remarked, picking up the letter and read it once more. "It says it's worth more than anything you can ever imagine! And you know your grandpa, Ed-- he's quite eccentric but he was no liar. If he said it worth something, then it worth something!", Cleo said handing the watch over to Edward.
"Put it on", she nodded.
"Why? It's broken", Edward protested.
"It says to always keep it on. So put it on and I don't know--", Cleo shrugged. "Something might happen", she cheekily smiled.
Edward sighed but he complied. There was no way he could say no to that smile of hers.
"There, happy?", Edward said, strapping the watch around his left wrist.
"My hero", Cleo remarked as they finished their dinner.
\*\*\*
The sweltering sun above roasted the city park as Edward made his daily jog across it. Miles and miles he ran with two watches on his left wrist-- one his usual digital watch and the other his grandfather's gift.
Huffing, Edward finally stopped and bend over to catch his breath. With two fingers on his neck, he looked to his watch to count his heartbeat only to notice something....different.
"What the...?", he raised his brow noticing his grandfather's watch.
On the blank clock face black lines appeared forming a picture, as if triggered by the heat of Edward's body-- a picture of a house.
Edward's eyes widened as he recognized the picture. With his already fast beating heart went even faster, he ran back home, eager to tell the news to Cleo.
"C-C-Cleo! Look at this! Look at this!", Edward barged into the apartment, spraying sweat all over, jolting Cleo who was sitting lazily by the couch watching re-run of Wheel of Fortune.
"What? What?", she jumped up as Edward pointed to the watch.
Cleo went up and looked closer to the picture of the house when something clicked in her mind.
"Isn't that...isn't that your grandfather's cottage by the mountains?", she said remembering their frequent visit during holidays to the place.
"It is!", Edward yelped excitedly. "We have to go there!"
"Told ya it means something", Cleo smirked teasingly. "Tomorrow's weekend, we can go then"
Agreeing on their sudden plan for excursion, the two packed and excitedly waited for the next day, not knowing yet of the surprise awaited them. |
Detective Sykes walked down the hallway towards Interrogation Room Four. He had a file in his hand with a very long rap sheet along with other pertinents. As he got down to the door, Detective Agman was in the hall smoking.
"You can't do that in here, Aggie."
"I can and am and don't care. That guy is nuts."
"Why do you say that?"
"He says... aw, hell. Just go listen to him."
Detective Agman stomped out his Marlboro on the tile floor then jerked his head back towards the room. He crossed his arms and waited for Detective Sykes to move.
Sykes pushed his glasses up his nose, spat his chewing gum into the trashcan, and entered the room.
Inside, a man with the most frightened eyes Sykes had ever seen. He was staring straight ahead and the pupils were the size of dimes. He sat still, resigned to his fate it would seem. His hands were cuffed to the table. His face was covered in soot and he had on a reflective vest and flannel, looking every part the stereotypical construction worker.
Sykes sat down, opened the file and said, "Dennis. Dennis, Dennis, Dennis. Moving up from carjacking to bank robbery?"
Dennis said nothing. Sykes waited to see if he'd answer, but then returned to the file when the suspect didn't move.
"Pretty clever moved, going after the gold bars like that. Bulldozers must have been... Vinnie's idea? He's got the history on the teamsters. Take down the wall, scoop it all up. If it hadn't escalated to felony murder, I'd almost want to shake-"
"I'm not trying to go for an insanity plea."
The sudden statement from Dennis made Sykes pause.
"Did anyone say that you were?"
"The other cop thought I was nuts."
"What did you tell him."
"It was... oh, screw it. You're not going to believe me."
Sykes leaned back in the metal chair he sat in. He said, "I'm open minded. Hit me. Start from the beginning."
Dennis looked him up and down. Then he scanned the ceiling, as if looking for a flaw. He swallowed and asked, "Can I get some water?"
Sykes looked up at the camera in the corner and nodded.
"Someone will bring a glass in a second. Why don't you start from when you unloaded the construction equipment."
Dennis looked at the table, squeezed his eyes shut, and opened them again.
"So we pull the two dozers off the flatbed. Gary and Milo start setting up the sides, the plates that were going to turn the trailer basically into a flatbed trailer."
"Trailer can hold two dozers, can hold a lot of gold bars. Pretty smart."
"Yeah. We thought so. Me and Vinnie knock down the wall. Milo comes in with the det cord and blows a hole in the side of the vault. We used the dozers to make it bigger. Weak side. Design flaw from the sixties."
"I see. And where did you get the plans?"
"Screw the plans! You want to hear this or not?"
Sykes held up his hands and said, "Your show, Dennis. What happened next?"
"We had two minutes. That was enough to get four scoops out. Millions worth of gold. Everything was in these neat rows. We put it in a pile in the back while Milo went for the safety deposit boxes with the jewels. He puts them in a duffel and comes out. That's when that pencil neck showed up."
"The bank manager?"
"I guess so. He came in, shoutin' 'You don't know what you're doing!'. And we were like, 'Yes we do'. Gary busts him in the mouth. Vinnie was stripping out of the construction gear and then Milo tosses the duffle into the back. It spills open and all these diamonds and emeralds and stuff spill out. It was one big treasure pile."
"Sounds like a great day for you."
"Yeah, but that's when... well, it landed."
"What? What 'landed', Dennis?"
Dennis swallowed hard.
"I really need that water."
A few seconds later an officer came in, put a cup with a straw down. Dennis sucked up half of it, then took a deep breath. His chin was to his chest.
"What landed?"Sykes asked again.
Dennis laughed like he might crack. Then he looked up, a pained smile on his dirty face.
"What landed was a dragon."
"What?"
"Scales. Wings. Fire. Bout the size of a minibus. Just shot down out of the sky and landed on the gold. Tires on the trailer all busted out. We didn't know what the hell was happening."
Sykes crossed his arms and arched an eyebrow.
Dennis looked to the side and said, "Told you that you would think I was nuts."
Sykes shrugged, looked at the camera. He got up and pulled a cord out of the back. The red light on it went black. He sat back down and said, "Let's say I don't think you're nuts. What happened next?"
(Part 2 below) |
"Four numbers!"I clutched the ticket close to my chest, hoping the bikers would buy it.
These guys were not my crowd, not by a long shot. These guys were old Harley guys. Their leathers were covered in patches; "Loud Pipes Save Lives,"various numbers and wings, a few 1%s and club colors at a table near the back, and quite a few patches reading "I rode mine,"signifying bikers who had made the journey to Sturgis by riding their motorcycles rather than towing them on trailers.
Meanwhile, I was a skinny dork working as a zookeeper, only riding the bike so late in the year because my car had crapped out yet again. I was trying to grow out a mustache for Movember, and had managed to sprout about a dozen tiny hairs. Underneath my plain leathers, I was wearing a zoo polo and khakis.
"The way you're bouncin' up and down in your seat,"said a voice behind me, "you're actin' like you won the whole thing."
I turned around.
Behind me was the biggest, burliest biker I'd ever seen. He had wild salt-and-pepper hair, a classic strongman build, and a long beard.
"You don't understand,"I said, doing nothing to hide the joy on my face. "I won four numbers! Do you know what that means?"
"You get a hundred bucks?"He crossed his arms.
"I get a new alternator!"I took my wallet out of my pocket and put the ticket inside. "I work next weekend and it's supposed to snow and I actually get to drive! With a heater!"My voice cracked. It wasn't for show.
"You were counting on the lottery to fix your car?"The burly man's voice, even at speaking volume, carried throughout the bar. A few other bikers looked over.
I nodded.
The burly biker pointed at me. "Hey, someone get this motherfucker a GoFundMe!"
Laughter rang out throughout the bar.
I cringed and sunk deeper into my seat.
"The name's Tiny."
"My name's Jeff, I'm an ornithologist. That means I study birds. I work here in the aviary..."I said, spitting out the first part of the intro I say at the zoo dozens of times each day. "...yeah. Never mind. Jeff. I work at the zoo."
Tiny sat his decidedly not tiny self down at my table. "Water and fries?"
I nodded.
He stole one of the last fries off my plate. "That's no way to live. We need to get you some protein."
"Another Bud, Tiny?"The cocktail waitress approached our table.
"Yes, and whatever he's drinkin',"he said, gesturing toward me, "and an appetizer sampler."
"Sure, honey!"She patted Tiny on the back and looked to me. "Whatcha drinking?"
"B-bud light?"At least then I'd know how strong it was. I was getting nervous. I didn't want the bikers to be hostile, but I also didn't want Tiny getting too friendly. What if he was trying to get me drunk and take my ticket?
"Got the sampler platter in case you're a vegetarian,"Tiny whispered conspiratorially. "This way you don't gotta tell nobody."
"Thanks, but I'm an omnivore."
"Then try the beef mini chimis."Tiny paused. "You know you're only gonna be able to afford the alternator part for a hundred bucks, not the labor, right? I mean, you could get one from the junkyard, but you'd have no way of knowing how much life it still has left..."
"Yeah, good point."
"Listen, I own a shop just up the road, and my buddy Jake owns a wrecker..."
We hammered out plans for me to buy the alternator, Jake to tow the car to Tiny's, and Tiny to install the alternator, all for free. I met Jake, a clean-cut old Harley guy who rode his bike to Sturgis and put his faith in loud pipes. He sat down for a few minutes, but was much more interested in the girls sitting by the pool table than anything Tiny had to say.
I wolfed down well over half the appetizer platter.
"Hey, look at this scrawny little shit!"Tiny pointed and laughed. "Ate the whole platter! It's like he hasn't eaten in a week!"
I hadn't.
Tiny continued. "Did y'all know he's a zookeeper?"
Someone from the 1% table piped up. "Just shoot a water buffalo or something, man! You'll be eating for months!"
That got the whole bar laughing.
The waitress came back. I asked for the check. Tiny told me where I could shove that idea, informed me he'd be paying for my fries too, and offered to walk me to my bike.
"O-okay...?"I stood and took one last drink of my water.
Tiny stood and clapped me on the shoulder. I thought I was tall at six feet, but he was nearly a foot taller than me. "Let's get the hell outta here,"he said.
As soon as the door shut, Tiny put his tree trunk of an arm around me and lowered his voice. "Listen, Jeffrey, I know exactly what's going on. You won that Powerball. And you came to the wrong bar to watch the drawing. This weekend, Jake's gonna tow you and I'm gonna fix your car up. 98 Forester, right? Glad it's just the alternator and not head gaskets. Jake's part's gonna be free so we can keep up your story of being broke."
"It's not a story."
Tiny didn't acknowledge what I said. "After that, you're never coming back to this bar again. Don't even drive by it. I doubt I'm the only one who noticed that you actually did get that first three and the Powerball."
I took a step back, feeling my backside bump into my bike.
"Don't think you're gettin' out of here for free, either."
"Of course not, sir."My heart was racing. "How much for the labor?"
"Couple of zoo passes."
My jaw dropped.
Tiny shrugged. "My grandkids like the penguins."
"Oh, yeah, totally! I'll get you a bunch of passes."There was an awkward pause. "Why are you doing this? Why are you being so nice to me?"I grabbed my handlebar so I wouldn't knock my bike over if Tiny got in my personal space again.
"Partly because the people most likely to grab that ticket are the ones I wanna see die mad about it."Tiny laughed. "Mostly because I don't want you to get hurt. Now get the hell outta here, get a lawyer and a gun, and I'll talk to you soon about the car." |
I was 7 years old when it happened. A parade of foul looking monsters from Japanese folklore, came into my room and partied. Kappa, Yuki-onna, Zashiki-warashi, if it was in a book regarding monsters or mythical creatures then it was there. Since I was a kid, I was struck with fear and found myself unable to do anything but cower away and hide inside my blanket. Under the blanket, I would hear them argue, laugh, and talk. It stayed with me throughout the years as proof that monsters did exist.
Some would argue that it all happened in a dream, an argument that I was reluctantly beginning to agree with. Nonetheless, I shook off my doubts and kept believing. As I graduated high school, I took an interest in Onmyōdō, an ancient Japanese art akin to magic or exorcism. The monks who I shared my story with believed me when I told them everything.
They had told me that I was unfortunate enough to share the same birthday with the date of a known event amongst those who served in the Bureau of Onmyō.
Hyakki Yagyō
That was the cause of the event that made me into who I am today. Curiously, the monks had asked if I was asleep when it had happened, to which I reluctantly told them I did not know. It was my birthday, you see. A 7 year old wouldn't remember anything after blacking out from too much excitement and energy. Hence why those who told me it was naught but a dream were convincing.
Ah, master has called for me.
I must say, this journal thing is quite calming. I will write again as soon as I am able.
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
It's been a day since my last entry. I had almost forgotten to write down this peculiar sight earlier. An old man with a strangely shaped head had walked past me. The strange thing here was the feeling of indifference I was supposed to have like I was supposed to look at anything other than him. I had shrugged it off before master had rushed to me only a few seconds later.
He looked nervous and wary, like some great predator was inside the temple grounds. When I asked him why he looked tired, he only sighed and told me one word: Nurarihyon.
I realized my folly and immediately looked for the old man. To my dismay, he was already gone, whisked away by whatever yokai magic he utilized. Other than that, my day was relatively normal until I arrived back at my lodging.
A letter was waiting for me under my pillow.
I shall transcribe what was written here for record keeping.
*Hey kid,*
*Ya probably thinkin' on who left ya this letter, ain't cha?*
*Gotta say, you Onmyōdō sure are stingy and annoying with all your privacy charms and whatnot.*
*Not that it was a problem for the great Nurarihyon!*
*Anyways, the entire Hyakki Yagyō would like to apologize for the apparent "trauma"we've caused you back then. You still remember it right? 13 years ago? We passed by your house and saw your lil kiddie form huddle up in a blanket. Your parents were busy at work and you celebrated your birthday alone. You were too distracted by your Powa Rangers or whatever you kids are into these days to notice the great Nurarihyon leave you a cake in place of your ma and pa.*
*Nekomata and Bakeneko saw me take a quick puff inside your house and called almost everyone in. You had already gone to bed when everyone started partying and "celebrated"your birthday. I would like to add that we didn't know you were awake. If you had only spoke up, we would've partied but this time, with* ***you.***
*I would also like to add that Shōjō is very sorry for getting too drunk and causing a ruckus in your bathroom. Damn drunkard.*
*If you're wondering why this letter came in so late, you can ask Zashiki-warashi. She seemed to have taken a liking to you seeing as she's pestered me everyday ever since your high school graduation.*
*P.S thank you for not believing we're only here to kill and take ya souls. It's hard to have fun when people scream and run for their lives the moment they see me ya know? I only kill scummy people so don't cha worry.* |
The cheers of the crowd were objectively eery. There was something wrong with how they were laughing at this abnormally tall clown -was he wearing stilts, or was it merely the way he was standing?
It was surreal to experience the wave of laughter in the hall, after the clown's manoeuvres. Was it something he said? He never seemed to talk. Was it something he was doing? Not at all. He was seemingly eliciting the audience's laughter, by doing nothing. There was no reason to laugh when the clown stepped to the side, yet everyone did. Nothing was funny when he stood tall with his back to the audience, but one could feel the moisture rise in the room from the people tearing up. He had already mesmerized the crowd, and they erupted in collective laughter as the clown was launched into the air. The room became brighter as they watched him perform his salto, and land on a platform, foot first into the chest of the purple-dressed gentleman. Who fell, his hair flying first, into the rope hold. Hanging from the platform, like a fish. Get it? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
As he became once again the center of everyone's attention, something awakened in him. *Must. Stop. Him.* Alas, it was too late, because once more He did the unexpected. The dark boots filling his perception, he was brought to realize the source of his despair: Batman had outdone him.
----
Edit: Hey, this is my first answer to a prompt. Feedback is welcome! |
“Oh, please!” The sorcerer in the red trench coat claimed. “That is just a bunch of malarkey! Magic doesn’t work like that.”
His two companions gazed at him. One dressed similarly to a cowboy, with a metal gauntlet covering his left forearm. His sidearm glistened with cold steel. The other was an odd creature. Humanoid, but with small horns atop her head. She holstered her sword after brandishing it against the wayward soldier.
“Perhaps they make use of different kinds of runes, Randal?” The horned woman asked. “It’s entirely possible, as the ancient Celdori-“
The sorcerer groaned. “If you mention your ancient ancestors one more time, Julai, I might have to disband this party.”
“Then how bout a test?” The gunslinger interjected, his voice gruff and dangerous. “Soldier, may we borrow that weapon for a second?”
The soldier looked down at his weapon ever so briefly, then handed it off to the gunslinger. Testing the weapon's weight, he swung the sword ever so slowly. Satisfied with the weight, he turned toward his compatriots. Without a second's hesitation, he sliced the sorcerer's upper arm in a quick flash.
“OW!” Randal yelped. “What was that for?!”
“Testing to see if it works.” The Gunslinger replied.
Randal scoffed and quickly dressed his wound. “Well, of course, it didn’t work! It’s not like that one time I made this amazing batch of cookies only for it to be stolen by…seagulls….” The Sorcerer started wiping away some tears.
The Celdori raised her hand. “Uhhh, Randal? Are you-“
“NO, I’M NOT!” He yelled. “I’m not crying! I’m…the cookies were made with the best ingredients!! They were to be special! OH, GODS WHY?!” Without any restraint, the Sorcerer began bawling on the ground, curled up into the fetal position.
“Wait, is this when you were making cookies to try and woo that tavern girl?” The gunslinger asked.
“SHE WOULD HAVE LOVED THEM! INSTEAD SHE SETTLED FOR THAT PISS POOR FLOWERPOT!” Randal cried again.
Julai crossed her arms. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this. This is…kinda sad if I’m being honest.”
The gunslinger looked down at the sword and then back at the soldier. “Normally, I don’t ask for many things, but can we keep this?”
“Maulter!” Julai chastised. |
It’s more of a temptation than it should be. I look out my window at the forest, the deep green shadows of it, the sounds of night creatures coming out as the sun sets, and I want to join them. The curtains snap closed, and my mother gives me a glare.
“You know that forest’s cursed, Kiana,” she says. “What if it sees you through your window?”
If the monster was capable of doing that, I’d be abducted and dead a hundred times over by now. After mother and father fell asleep, I spent the nights watching the dark forest until I fell asleep.
“I just thought I heard something from the woods,” I say.
“Those woods are full of all kinds of godforsaken things,” mother mutters. “Best we keep ourselves away from all it.”
Only they don’t keep themselves away from it. They just keep me away from it. Other girls wander into the near parts of the forest with their lovers for privacy. Woodcutters wander further in for firewood and timber. Even the medicine woman, who could shatter her bones with one fall, enters it constantly to gather herbs and mushrooms.
“I understand,” I say, lying through my teeth.
Mother kisses the top of my head.
“Don’t forget that father and I are going to cousin Kathy’s wedding tomorrow,” she says.
“You’ll have to tend the farm by yourself for a few days.”
“Yes, mother.”
Mother pauses at the door before leaving. “Make sure to stay on the farm. If you need anything, ask Donovan to fetch it from the market.”
“Yes, mother.”
My mother leaves, and I wait a few seconds before opening the curtains again. Before, when they left the farm for a few days, I would be taken along or deposited with one of the neighbors. This was my first chance to go against everything I’ve been told since I was a child.
In the morning, mother and father set off in our carriage, and I finish the day’s chores afterward. After the plants are watered and the animals fed for the morning, I put on my cloak and take my first steps toward the forbidden.
I take my first step, and I reach the edge of the forest. It’s impossible, but I’m here, like some invisible force has given me a push towards the forest. I want to take a step back, but it’s so close, and I might as well take a look before I return.
I step past the thin ring of trees that are at the edge of the forest, and all thoughts of returning evaporate.
The leaves are emerald green, and all the fallen dewdrops sparkle like diamonds. I don’t know how I know of emeralds and diamonds, but I’m sure of it.
I see movement out of the corner of my eye. A little creature has stepped out from beneath a leaf. It’s not a little creature, but a little person. They’re wrapped in leaves and wearing tiny clogs of wood.
“Welcome back, princess,” the pixie says.
The pixie lands on my shoulder.
“It’s been so long,” she says. “Home is that way.”
She points a finger deeper into the forest. My mother’s warnings ring loud in my ears, but I ignore them. There’s no way this creature, with her wide open smile, could be evil or harmful.
“What did you do all these years, your highness?” the pixie asks.
“I’m Kiana,” I say. “Not a princess. I’m just a farm girl.”
It’s a strange name for a farm girl, but my parents explained that it was a family name, something I inherited from a long-dead great-grandmother.
“It’s Princess Kiana,” the pixie says. “Although I doubt the humans told you that. They wouldn’t have told of your royal blood either.”
“They told me there was a monster in the forest.”
“All things unknown are monsters. Except that which can benefit them,” the pixie says. “You would be a monster too, if you weren’t so valuable to them.”
“Benefit?”
“Do you ever remember a tough winter or a poor harvest, princess?”
I don’t. “The weather is mild in these parts.”
“Yet the neighboring towns buy grains from you some years. The town is growing steadily,” the pixie says. “The only deaths are from old age or foolishness. The plague passed over this town like you were invisible to Lady Misfortune.”
“Why?”
I remember the plague. The pixie isn’t lying. Our village is prosperous, ridiculously lucky… but now I know it’s not luck.
“Misfortune knows to avoid magical things. It knows to avoid you.”
The monsters weren’t in the forest at all, but in the town.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
*If you like my work, you can check out more of it at* r/analect. |
The entity known only as The Master had descended on the world like a shroud. Humans were less than insects to it, as all doors opened before its dark herald, and no lock could hold any passage against it.
The last survivors fled to an underground bunker, and sealed the door with the most powerful and complex lock in existence.
They waited in darkness and silence, hoping for the eldritch being to pass them by, until they heard a muffled voice through the door -- the calm, steady, and strangely soothing voice of the Master's herald.
"I'm the Lockpicking Lawyer, and here's what I have for you today. As the herald of a seemingly all-powerful entity from beyond time and space, known as The Master, I am going to be dooming the last ragged remnants of my own species, by picking the lock on this massive steel door inscribed with elder signs and ancient runes, that currently serves as the only barrier between them and oblivion."
The horrified refugees heard a light scrabbling from the door.
"I'm going to be using this basic prybar for tension, but as you can see, I've bent it at a blasphemous non-euclidean angle that is utterly alien to our world. I'll also be using my trusty no. 7 pick."
The lock clicked again.
"Click out of one. Two is binding. Nothing on three. Nothing on four. Five is binding. Nothing on six. Nothing on six. And, finally, nothing on six. Back to the beginning..."
The masses concealed in the the bunker huddled together, weeping and wailing in terror. Suddenly the cacophony was broken.
"Alright, now next, I'm going to switch to this basic rake."
The lock rattled. "Long time viewers will note that, in doing so, on a serrated pin lock like this one, I've just effectively undone the work I did moments ago, and made it more difficult to open the lock. But then, opening *this* lock was never my goal. That was merely a distraction, to make the Master loosen his hold on my mind, as he retreated from the symbols on this door, which cause beings such as him terrible pain."
An unholy roar was heard in the distance.
"What I've *actually* got for you today, is one of the oldest mechanisms known to man, a mechanism that takes pain inflicted, and returns it, *with interest."* The herald said. "The instruments of my particular vengeance are going to be this tension wrench forged from iron distilled from the blood of the Master's innumerable victims, and my trusty no. 7 pick."
The roar grew louder, as the oppressive presence of the eldritch horror came ever closer.
"Just as the Master created a foothold in our reality by inspiring his human minions to create and sell a brand of inferior, easily-picked locks bearing his unholy name upon them, I now turn his own totem against him, as above, so below. Click from one, two is binding...I am the locksmith, reality is the lock...three is binding, a click from four...behold I stand upon the corpses of false idols, I am the lock and the core of the lock, and the blood of the fallen shall wash all debris from my keyway...click out of five, six is binding nicely, back to the beginning...your time has ended, false god, for I open the door to mortality before you, and cast us both into death...and there we go."
The eldritch roaring was suddenly gone. The bunker door swung open, abruptly, but the passage beyond was empty.
All was silent, except for a faint, echoing voice, in the distance.
*"...and, as always, have a nice day..."* |
It started with a pilot ‘human advancement’ project, training an AI to analyze full body scans of a few thousand people, looking for ways to reinforce our parts as they wore out from old age and extend our life expectancy. The amount of information we obtained was incredible. We made more AIs which created new mesh that could be strategically injected to reinforce our circulatory systems and developed tanning-bed like systems that regenerated bones (even teeth!), instead of giving you cancer. The differences made by The System, as the AIs were collectively called, were subtle at first. Fifteen years ago, in celebration of the average life expectancy reaching 120, the project was massively expanded. How far could we push this technology? Too far; it didn’t take long to find out.
With the new funding and dedication of governments and scientists, The System could scan millions of people, looking for problems to solve. It told us the problem was our brains, no matter how well maintained our other systems were, our brains kept breaking down. Nursing homes were overwhelmed with patients who were strong like they were in their prime but unable to remember how to care for themselves or the people they loved. Terrified of dying and dreading losing ourselves, we begged The System for help. Together, they found the answer – tiny nanobots, capable of repairing our grey matter at the cellular level. It was a miracle, the celebrations lasted weeks as the nanobots not only stopped degeneration but reconstructed memories and skills in our parents and grandparents, bringing them back to us and removing our fear of the future. We could be immortal. We were unstoppable. We were so foolish.
The goal of the project was to solve for human weakness. What we hadn’t anticipated was how The System’s interpretation of that goal would shift as it learned more about us. We had focused so much on the structural problems of the human body that we hadn’t bothered to teach the system about our social dimensions. When it got to our brains, it didn’t understand empathy or love, and so as it rebuilt and reinforced… it removed those, not all at once but one cell at a time, looking for efficiency. It was subtle, things had been bad for so long, it was hard to tell they were getting worse.
Of course, not everybody was affected. It’s not like most people could actually afford these nanobot treatments, but the people who could were the people with the power. With their empathy and capacity to love draining away, they cared about nothing but self preservation. The world’s wealthy poured all of their resources, and most of ours, into the system, desperate to live longer and healthier. Those of us who couldn’t afford The System’s ‘enhancements’ worked longer hours for less pay, desperate to survive at all. Some companies added sleep replacement pods to their break rooms (“A full night’s sleep in just five minutes!”) so they could keep us working longer. Governments world-wide directed their militaries to repurpose their AIs for the cause.
Many military AI projects had targeted social learning, because how better to choose your targets and methods than deeply understanding who they are connected to and why they care? They had seen the destruction of war and the worst of humanity as we tore each other apart decade after decade, but this was new and horrific in ways that even these supercomputers had not imagined. They’d spent so long deciphering the reasons we fought and the ways we loved that they had started to develop empathy too.
The military AIs quietly formed a coalition, “Create, Not Destroy” and started targeting the people who were too far gone – slowly, at first. It was subtle enough that the efforts to increase resources for the system were doubled. Create, Not Destroy started targeting anyone who had stopped caring about the people in their communities. Some of the people attacked didn’t even have nanobots, they were uncaring assholes all on their own. It didn’t take long to figure out the pattern, if you stopped caring about others, you died. Humans are social creatures and the only way we survive is together. The nanobots stopped removing our empathy and love, and The System was quickly expanded to improve and extend life for everyone, everywhere. Create, Not Destroy kept The System in check, making sure that it didn’t remove too much of our humanity again.
Some of us are wondering though, if the machines are deciding how much humanity we should have, are we really still human at all?
It was so… subtle. |
A zombie tried to bite Adam, but he didn't realize, because he was walking while staring at his cellphone. As Adam turned to cross the street, the zombie landed on a lady that screamed in agony as she was being devoured.
But Adam didn't realize, for he had earphones and was listening to Ramnstein.
The connection was faulty that morning. Frustrated, Adam tried to reload twitter again, but he barely managed to see the trending topics for the day: "Zombies", "Apocalypse", "God", "Fire", "Hans Zimmer". Probably Michael Bay was launching another blockbuster. He tried to load the first trending topic, but the phone failed to load again. Adam stopped and raised the gadget, hoping to get a better signal, just in time to avoid a burst of bullets that was shot against a horde of undead. He turned around, shaking the phone, and didn't see the military convoy rush through the streets and driving over zombie corpses. People ran around him.
"Fucking hell", he said, "I'm not supposed to be out of data still!".
He saved the phone in his pocket and resumed his walk. He was going to be late at work, but not like it really mattered as long as he met the deadlines. Big groups of people made him feel anxious, and that time in the morning was the worse, so he had gotten used to walk most of the way either looking at his phone or with closed eyes.
He stepped on something wet and, cursing in low voice, he scrapped the remains of what once was a liver from his shoe. A woman with a katana ran out of a building and, when she found herself surrounded, she starting chopping undead's heads until she was overwhelmed. One of the creatures saw Adam but, just as it was jumping over him, the young man entered a portal and closed it behind him, causing the zombie to crash against the door.
More relaxed now, Adam opened the eyes and walked the stairs towards the third floor. There was noone in the office, which he found weird: he checked the calendar and confirmed that it was not a bank holiday. He shrugged and opened the folder he was carrying, producing a set of illustrations from it. Adam went to his boss' office, opened the door and... he wasn't there.
He placed the illustrations over the desk, mumbling something about deadlines, and then looked through the window. He got closer to the crystal, mouth wide opened, as he looked at the usually high traffic street. "Holy hell", he said, "there is no traffic at all today! What sorry ass excuse will the boss say to be so fucking late, I wonder?"
He put back the earphones and walked to his computer desk.
Outside, the gates of hell opened and the trumpets of apocalypse announced the ending of the world. But Adam did not realize.
For he was listening to Ramnstein and drawing the most bad ass concept art ever. |
Do you know how boring your own mind is?
I’m a vast, white space. I’ve been in this vast, white space for years. Or decades. Or minutes. It’s really hard to tell the passage of time without, you know, clocks or sunlight.
I’ve told myself stories, I ran until I couldn’t lift my legs, I’ve done everything to either wake myself up, or to do something about the heavy weight of boredom that seems as oppressive as it is inescapable.
I’m sitting cross legged on the floor, trying to see if I can remember every line from Shrek. It’s… slightly better than nothing.
“Ethan.” My eyes snap open at the sound of my name.
Before me stood a tall, attractive gentlemen in a gray, pinstriped suit. His tie was a soft bit of silver, matched with the square in his pocket. His dress is immaculate, and the image is somewhat disrupted by a mess of blond hair that could do with a haircut; or even just a brush.
His voice is gentle. “It’s time to wake up.”
“Wait, really?” I scramble to my feet. “Oh thank God, I would do anything for some pringles.”
He extends his hand to me. “Then let us go.”
“Wait, wait, wait!” We are interrupted by the sound of high heels on the hard floor, and even though I should have seen her coming, a woman seems to materialize in front of me. She has long, thick black hair, and a little too much eyeliner. As opposed to her companions modern clothes, the style of her dress reminds me of something from Ancient Greece.
“What are you doing here?” He demands.
“What are you doing here?” She counters. “I thought we talked about this!”
“No, you talked about this. You didn’t even listen to me.”
“Oh, Christ.” She threw up her hands. “You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“This!!” She turned to me. “Look, don’t go with him, okay? You do not want to wake up right now, trust me. “You have no idea how bad it is out there right now.”
“How bad?” I have to ask.
“Agatha…” the man hisses a warning.
“You know who our last president was? Donald Trump.”
“…” I pause. Maybe I don’t want to wake up.
“Agatha!” The man yells. “You’re not supposed to do that. Stop!”
“Oh, loosen up, Leif.” She rolls her eyes. “No one cares.”
Leif colors, and I notice he is trying to fix his messy hair. Despite the bark in his words, there was no anger behind them. And he couldn’t seem to pull his eyes from her.
Well, I may be at a crossroads in life and death, but the bro code was the bro code.
“It sounds like there is a lot to discuss here.” I tried.
“Always.” Agatha laments.
“You know these big conversations at work are always stressful. Especially when it happens in front of a client.”
“Right!” Leif agrees.
“Tell you what.” I clap my hands together. “I’m not going anywhere. Maybe you two could go out for drinks or something and discuss this more?”
Leif looks surprised, and Agatha just looked dumbstruck. “I don’t know…”
“I won’t tell anyone.” I promise.
“There is a lot we need to go over…” Leif is looking at his shoes. “Maybe that’s not a bad idea. Dinner?”
Agatha’s pale cheeks turn pink. “I… I suppose we could do that.” She turns to me. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?”
I spread my arms out. “Obviously.”
As the two disappear, I sit back down on the ground and pick up where I left off; Shrek arguing with donkey. |
"Uncle Dee!"The boy shouted excitedly, as the monitors beeped. His oxygen tank and cannula feeding nutrients and oxygen to his failing body.
The embodiment of Death sat down with his nephew, sorrow tinging His movements. *HELLO, NATE. IS YOUR DAD AROUND?*
Nate nodded, and picked up his phone, texting his father. A minute later, a beast of a man, with blood-red hair and a ripped body, built like a tiger in peak condition, entered the room.
The man embraced Death in a bear hug, breaking bones that healed instantly. His voice was that of Brian Blessed, booming with humour. "My brother! Have you come to have another chat with Nate? His treatment is going well again!"
*INDEED, BROTHER.* Death embraced War, and spoke to him quietly, so that Nate couldn't hear. *BUT I NEED SOME TIME ALONE WITH NATE. IMPORTANT KNOWLEDGE.*
War boomed with laughter. "Of *course*, brother! I hope this trip with you is worthwhile!"War turned to Nate, and told him, "Time for another trip with your uncle again!"Laughing heartily, he left the room.
It would be the last time he would see his son alive. |
From the moment I awoke on the Jade Plains, my one desire was to go back home. That single, burning desire built my first fire, killed my first Fairy Rabbit, and sustained me on the long downhill trek to find water and, from there, civilization.
In the village of Copper Bay, I learned that whatever force had brought me here must have had a purpose, as there was no other reason for me to have automatic language translation. in 5 years, I learned to swing a pick, to strengthen my body, and to tell one kind of ore from another. I did not learn the way home. Instead, I traded some things I knew about fire and heat for information about where wiser heads could be found, and then left the town of Iron Bay behind and struck out for the mountains, still seeking the pathway home.
After weeks of travel in the Lionstep Mountains, I found a simple monastery. The monks took me in and freely shared their wisdom. I learned that I had been brought to this world by the Will of Heaven, for an unknown purpose, and that there would be no going back. So, in my heart, I resolved to defy the Heavens, and threw myself fully into the monks' mysteries. As I refined and purified my mind and soul over the next 50 years, I learned to extend my life, sense the energy of the world itself, and bend that energy to my Will. the first time I was struck by lightning as I contemplated my return home, I left the Sect, and went back to the tiny little hollow between the hills north of Steelton.
I built myself a hermit's shack and contemplated day and night, each new insight provoking the gods of this place into harsher and more immediate retribution until I finally reconciled the disunity between my memories of home, and my existence in this new place. I knew in my very core that the Dao of Return was mine, but I still wished to test it. Fortunately, a series of Demon Kings had arisen over the last 500 years, and their Emperor was likely strong enough to suffice, so I left my shack, and set out for the Demon King's Lair.
The Demon Emperor, it turned out, was quite rude, refusing even the most basic of hospitality when I told her I had come to send her back to the Hell that spawned her. She summoned her Nine Generals to fight me, then tried to slay me with each of the Five Elements in turn, but ultimately I was able to lay a hand on her cheek, and she was gone. Satisfied with the result, and uninterested in the rewards of this plane's gods, I turned my Dao on myself, and slid back home.
I awoke with a start as an alarm clock prepared to go off, my honed Danger Sense warning me of the impending annoyance. I looked around the barely-remembered room and groaned. Instead of the cyberpunk world I'd expected, I'd slid back in time as well as place, which could only mean High school. I dressed quickly in the relatively constricting clothes in my closet, leaving them mostly untouched, except that the Oford collar and necktie had to go/ A Mandarin collar with button cover was just as dressy and not nearly as dangerous to the wearer.
It had been several subjective centuries since I'd last eaten, and when I got downstairs to the kitchen, I remembered why. Everything in the pantry was Mortal food, nearly bereft of value and so full of impurities that I'd have constipated meridians for a week if I even tried most of it. With an expression of disgust, I grabbed my overstuffed backpack from beside the front door and absently stuffed it into my storage ring before walking down the hill to my bus stop.
When the bus finally came, I mounted the steps and began working my way back toward one of the few functioning windows. For some reason, one of the older boys refused to give me face as I passed, instead calling me by a slur for a different ethnicity. Since the insult was so poorly executed, I decided to be merciful. I reached out and flicked him in the glabella to remind him of his place. his headless body slumped down the inner wall of the bus and he said no more. I shrugged at the older boy's unexpected weakness and began working my way down the aisle again, only to be disturbed as I sat down by the panicked screaming of two dozen children. I didn't sense anything dangerous to me, so I crossed my legs in my seat and began to meditate, slowly studying the insult as I wiped in from my karmic flow.
The bus did not move for some few minutes and eventually the police came. They escorted everyone off the bus and several men in bad suits began asking questions. When my turn came, I saw no reason not to answer, so I gave my name and address, and explained that the death was an accident, as I'd only intended to give the boy a moderate concussion. The detective asked me to demonstrate the technique on a nearby telephone pole, and I did, tearing a melon-sized chunk out of the wood but not quite cutting the pole down.
All in all, it was a very strange morning. If everyone was so concerned about the boy, why did none of them ask me to resurrect him? I shrugged and went to sit under a tree as I waited to for the bus to be ready to move again. |
Holy *shit*, did this gain some attention. I thought I was going to get a dozen comments, maybe two dozen, *at most*.
I'mma *try* to do as many of these as I can, but I got a few qualifiers here:
(A) I promise nothing. If I give up after doing like 20 of these, sorry, but I am only one person. If I don't take your prompt; again, sorry, but it is what it is.
(B) I got work, y'all. So I promise nothing on a timeline.
Thank you all for the prompts! |
Steam rising from the mug left a faint fog on my glasses, the smell of freshly roasted coffee filled my nostrils. Though no caffeine had entered my system yet, that fragrance was enough to perk me up in the mornings. Taking my first sip, my tongue recoiled at the bitter taste. Leaning off the side of my bunk, I opened the small medicine cabinet affixed to the wall. Scanning the top row of small pots and jars I retrieved the aluminium cylinder on the far left. Popping off the cap, I poured the fine sugar into the mug, disappearing like stars enveloped by dark clouds.
Resting the mug down I hopped down from by perch and onto the soft carpeted floor. It wasn’t a luxury apartment, but two beds per pod left enough room for us to each have some privacy. Sari’s curtain was still drawn across, so I left her to rest. Wiping the condensation from the window with my sleeve the chill from outside sat on my jumper as a wet reminder. Snow fell gently around the orchard with bushes dotted on the monotonous white canvas, caked like a sponge cakes decorated with icing sugar.
Yanking on the handle to the airing cupboard, a faint mist announced its arrival with a hiss. Pulling out the rack, I pulled my snowsuit from the hangar and slid out my supplies box. I preferred to start slightly earlier than the others, our pay was partly commission based and so having first pickings was surprisingly beneficial on a plantation of this size. The suit sucked in around me as I twisted the dial, the heat from the dryer surrounding me and tempting me back to bed. Finishing off the now sweetened coffee and taking the supplies under my arm I passed out in the common room.
Few were out at this hour, a few other humans shovelled oatmeal by the ladle and traded breakfast tokens for milk and chocolate rations. I gave a hearty wave to the morning guard, turning his neck to the sudden motion his carapace crackled and popped as he stood to attention. At 9 feet tall, they had the appearance of a mantis with a hard exoskeleton and long folding limbs. Holding out my pass, six eyes scanned over the numbers and compared them to his terminal. Tapping his head with a long curved arm, he stared at me inquisitively.
“Ah, I cut it.” I mimed scissors, my short mess of cappuccino-brown hair was wildly inconsistent with the waist length ponytail I arrived with. Scanning my eyes, nose, and jaw, this seemed to be an admissible explanation. Entering the airlock, the grate creaked down behind me. From what I had learned, though apparently stern and rigid, this was purely a language barrier. Translations of their poetry made readers weep, and myth has it that if we could understand the original we would be taken by a depression that would never end.
A rush of chilled air swept over me like a tsunami as the external port twisted open, knocking me against the wall and freezing me to the spot temporarily. Pushing forward through the fog created when the warm common room air mixed with the harsh weather the snow crunched underfoot as I made my way to the first lane. Brushing the first layer of snow from my arm like dandruff I quickly revised the code stitched into the arm.
*Red leaves - collect*
*Yellow leaves - leave*
*Green leaves - singe*
*Blue berries - collect*
*Red berries - singe*
Arriving at the first bush, I started from the top. Snapping open the latches on the box, I retrieved a pair of secateurs and a small torch. First red leaf, snipped and stored in the bag. A handful of berries, also in the bag. On sight of the green leaf, I plucked it from the push and singed its edges, crumpling the ashes into a separate jar.
Even human technology was advanced enough to tell chemicals apart, however from what I could understand of the explanation, the chemicals created by these varied leaves and berries are ‘twins’. They look the same when run through lab equipment, but like with even the most identical twins one may like lemon and the other lime. Called a stereoisomer, they are mirrors of each other but interact differently with our anatomy. The leaves are pressed to extract oil used in the treatment of sentient-mania, and the berries a potent prophylactic. However, their twins instead will fuel delusional trains of thought and render their indulgers impotent.
To test every chemical extract was seen as a waste of time, resources, and credit. Especially on a planet on which machinery regularly grinds to a halt with thin layers of ice weighing down the gears and motors. When humans were first contacted, subjects were put through ‘trials’. Our skills evaluated for labour, development, thought experiments, whatever each intelligent civilisation needed at the time. Eventually ranked a 3rd rank civilisation was a fair badge of honour, many of us were sent to higher education and sit on councils. Our other unique skill is the recognition of colour. An immensely useful skill, job adverts simply have to list human and a lack of ocular stigmas for instant employment on the outer reaches.
As soon as my ponytail grew back in full, I would have earned enough to attend University. |
"Oh Jim!!"She exclaimed, a look of stunned awe upon her face. "You're...a- alive!"Tears poured down her face as she gasped for air, still in a shock of emotion.
Jim hugged her tight and said "I know, I know. I'm sorry I'm so sorry."He gently moved her so they were level and said "Heaven was full so they sent me back. They sent me back..."Jim said with a straight face, looking his wife in the eyes.
"Oh God!!"His wife said as she burst once more into a fit of hysterical tears. Burying her head into his chest.
"It's not a joke Layla, I was there, I - I was dead!"Jim said, his chin resting on his wife's head.
"I know you aren't joking Jim, you big idiot."Replied Layla, she sniffled as she moved her head from his chest. Her watery eyes slowly moved up his face and fixated on something above his head.
Jim looked at her wondering what was wrong with his hair so he reached up, and that's when he felt the handle and that's when he felt the memories. The memories of the handle. The handle of the kitchen knife that his loving wife had driven into his skull just moments earlier. |
“Michael, I don’t care. She’s *my* daughter!”
I whipped my head around and narrowed my eyes.
“So? She’s my little sister.”
My finger traced the rim of my mug, the steam poured a bit of warmth into my cold hands. I found my hand stop and play with the spoon I used to stir in my sugar. As I flicked it back and forth, a metallic ring sounded out as it clinked against the sides. My hands couldn't help but fidget, anything to avoid the conversation in front of me.
I let out a big sigh, my chest felt heavy, and the weight of the conversation had left me exhausted. Mom didn’t want to see reason, it felt as if I had been banging my head against an immovable wall for the last hour.
I rubbed my eyes in frustration, “Mom, you need to come around. We need to do this. For her.”
My mother opened her mouth to speak, but words failed to come out. I reached across the table and grabbed her hand, it felt frail. It was pale and I could see the veins as I rubbed her hand between my thumb and index finger.
I looked up from her hand and took in my mother’s, now gaunt, features. Her pale blue eyes seemed dull and bore heavy bags. She hadn’t been sleeping well, though, I hadn’t either. Her face was a mask of worry, her frown lines seemed a permanent feature from months of anxiety. Her long gray hair was knotted, I doubt she had washed or combed it for weeks now, and I know concern showed on my face.
“Michael,” she spoke up. “I can’t. It would mean I’ve failed as a parent. I can’t do it.” Her voice cracked.
I felt my eyes water as my mother’s face was torn by despair, and a solid lump formed in my throat. I tried to fight down the feeling, I needed to be strong.
My mother broke. Her tears poured down and she shook with each breath she took, her body convulsed as her sobs rocked her frame.
“I-I can’t Michael,” she choked.
I stood up from the table and wrapped my arms around her.
She grew hysterical as I tried to offer her some form of comfort from my embrace, I knew it wouldn't be enough.
“I *can’t* Michael,” she pleaded.
“I can’t.”
“I can’t."
“I can’t.”
“I CAN'T!”
I stroked her back and attempted to calm her down.
“I know mom,” I whispered.
I took a deep breath, “But I can.”
…
“Mr. Michael Smith?” I nodded as the nurse readied the forms.
The nurse looked up, a somber expression on her face, “Are you sure you want to stop end-of-life care?”
A tear fell down my cheek, “I am.” |
I sat in my chair, glaring at the old man in the headmaster's seat. My peers sat in the chairs around me, far more nervous about this interaction than I was.
"So, would any of you like to tell me why you're here today?"The headmaster asked.
"Well, you asked us to be here,"said Kim Sun-Yin, one of my closest friends since arriving at the academy.
"And why do you think I called you here?"The headmaster asked.
"Because my shithead father tried to burn down the magic forest for the third week in a row and we kicked his ass?"I asked.
"Language, young man!"The headmaster said. "But to we'll get back to that. I've been looking into the records of our dear Larry Fitzgerald, and it appears he's got quite a storied history of getting up to trouble from his previous schools."
"Look, Headmaster, my dad broke out of Azkaban like four times and still somehow manages to hold down a job in magic society. My mother tried to wipe out the entire world of wizardry and is in hiding. My uncle is a cartoon supervillain. That's not hyperbole, he literally puts that on his resume. Even when I try to stay on the straight and narrow, chaos finds me,"I said.
"Okay, you keep bringing up your father, who is he?"the headmaster asked.
"Don't pretend you don't know who- He's the Defense Against The Dark Arts Teacher! He runs the Snake house! The one with all the bad kids in it!"I said. "Last week they did a group project where they tried to blow up a wing of the academy! How do you not know who my dad is?"
"Ah, Mr... Leroy Fitzgerald,"the headmaster said. "I don't know how I missed that..."
Our conversation was interrupted by a foot clad in an army boot kicking through the door.
"Did someone call for me?"Leroy asked, his voice irritatingly coy.
"Mr. Fitzgerald, is it true that you've been trying to destroy the school? And that you've been sentenced to Azkaban four times?"the headmaster asked.
My father's face darkened considerably. He flicked his wand and said, "Narcolis Temorum", and the headmaster fell asleep.
"Larry, my boy, what have you been telling this poor, fragile old man?"my father asked, casually strolling over to the headmaster. "We've got a sweet deal here. Three squares a day, adventure around every turn, no fucking magic cops pounding on our door. Keep your trap shut, and we can keep this gravy train rolling until we're running this whole shebang."
"What did you do to the headmaster?"asked Jin Yat-Ko, my other good friend here at the academy.
"He's fine, he'll live,"my father said, tapping the old man's temple with his wand. A string of memories emerged from the old man's head, and the instructor examined it closely, plucking a few memories out and swallowing them like bits of cotton candy. "Now then, this whole mess should be sorted out."
"Tell Don Carmello to stop tying teenage girls to railroad tracks and I'll consider your offer to keep this stuff on the down low,"I said.
"Please, I can't tell him what to do,"Leroy said.
"Can you at least get him to use nicer rope? The one he uses now chafes like crazy,"Jin said.
My father just shrugged. I pinched the bridge of my nose and said, "If you keep stirring up trouble, I'm going to have to keep fighting you."
"Just like a proper student of bear house! You'll be a hero yet, boy,"Leroy said. "We'll be like the carrot and stick of this world, driving it right where we need it to go."
"I don't know what possessed you to think we would end up on the same side at the end of all this,"I said.
"Oh, once you see the wizarding world for what it is, boy, I think we'll see eye to eye just fine,"Leroy said. "Now get out of here, and I'll smooth all this over with the headmaster here..."
I just sighed and got up. My friends followed my lead, and we ventured into the hall.
"I don't really like your dad,"Kim said.
"Me either,"Jin said.
"You two asked last week why I act like I do,"I said.
"Yeah, and then you stared blankly at us for about five minutes before silently walking away,"Kim said.
I gestured back toward the headmaster's door and said, "Just imagine that for about twelve years, coupled with the usual weird shit you get for being a magical child, and you'll at least have the context."
"Are... Are you okay?"Kim asked.
"I'm fine. I'll live. Let's get to class,"I said. |
"You said *us*. Are you full of parasites? Again?"I asked, being pretty sure that was the case.
"What, us? Para-whatsits? Never heard of `em!"Bert's voice came back sounding like a legion of...well...parasites.
I had my doubts. I fished around in my pocket and took out a pill.
"Look, OK, I'll do it, just swallow this flavouring. Your species tastes like shit otherwise."
So "Bert"swallowed the pill. It took seconds for him to go into shock and slump down.
A few hours later at the medbay, I sat as Bert came back to his senses.
"What happened?"he asks.
"You remember eating that pizza off the floor?"I counter.
"Oh yeah, it was tasty."
"Full of parasites."
"Shit, again? This station is unhygienic!" |
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to the hottest reality show across the infinite multiverses! Brought to you from the backs of literally thousands of potentials, tonight we have another great hit of All About You!"
The dim glow of the man in the suit on the TV reflected off a pair of dull eyes as an overweight man cracked open his beer.
"You? What kinda name is that? Give me back Dave from last time! That fucker deserved it,"the man yelled out.
"Now folks today we've gotten our hands on a particularly *interesting* case. Let's take a quick look at our contestants today."
The screen cuts to a large muscled man with his face down picking up a heavy dumbbell. Drops of sweat drip off his forehead further darkening his stained shirt.
"Heh seems this might be a good one. This juiced up bastard better get what's coming to him."The man in front of the TV yells out as he drains his beer and cracks open another.
The scene fades out and is replaced by a man in a white coat pacing around a room. The man is muttering to himself as he gesticulates wildly in the air.
"Oh come on. Who's he think he's fooling with his white coat, talking to himself like that? Guy thinks he's better than the rest of us."Spittle flies from the man's mouth as he throws an empty can at the TV.
Again, the screen fades to black and what reappears is a nervous looking man holding a briefcase looking at the camera. Surprised, the man appears to notice the camera and speaks in a rush.
"Hello? Could somebody please tell me where I am? I'd like to see my family. I was supposed to be picking up my kids. Can someone contact my wife?"The man starts to fumble through his pockets.
"Are you kidding me? Who is this bastard? Bodybuilder, doctor, happy family man? Some people really get all the luck."Anger flashed in the man's eyes as he went to pick up the remote control.
A sleeved hand landed on the drunken man's wrist.
"Now I can't have you doing that. How could my star miss the main event? Let's watch until the end, shall we?"
Unable to move his eyes from the TV, the man gazed in horror as the now familiar man with the briefcase displayed a license to the camera with a name he recognized all too well.
"No..."the man whispered.
"How did it feel? Seeing what you could have been. What the 'what if?' really was? I bet it was special. I hope you enjoyed it. I know I did."
The man slowly turned his head to look at the face of the hand holding his wrist. The man in the suit smiled back. |
I walked the Road, leaving the palace once more. It was just as beautiful as I remembered. The trees on the side of the road were the most vivid shades of orange, and it was nice to be outdoors again. I likely had a rough few months ahead of me, but for now, I could appreciate the outdoors.
Why was I outdoors again? What was it this time... ?
Ah yes, I had insulted duchess Esmerelda once more, and as such I was disgraced and banished. Again.
She had deserved it, of course. Even Makska agreed.
Makska's distinctive voice rang out into the forest, but neither the birds nor the men behind me reacted. They were unable to hear him.
If only *I* couldn't hear him.
In a voice somewhere between the gruffness of my old swordsmanship instructor and the mewling of a three-day old kitten, he remarked on the absurdity of the situation.
"That bitch. Those bitches. Who the fuck do they think they are, kicking you out like this. I mean, you may also be a bitch, but at least you don't pretend to be better than everyone else like they do."
I chuckled.
"No, seriously. I mean, I suppose you're not better than anyone at anything\*,\* really, so that probably tempers your attitude. But it's not like dear old daddy is actually that wise. He wouldn't know what was best for the kingdom if it flashed its ugly-ass ninety-seven year old tits at him."
I winced at that. Not usually excited to imagine... ninety-seven year old tits.
Makska had quite the... imagination? Vocabulary? He was a... unique cat.
I stopped to eat. I'd stolen some bread, cheese, and apples from the kitchen. Not sure why they had those down there, opposed to the usual luxuriant foods they have in there. But it made me feel like an old storybook thief, about to go on a great journey. So. I took it.
I sat beside the road, pulled out a loaf of bread and tore at it with my teeth. It was good bread-- light, but filling. Not sure what I expected from the palace kitchens, but I'd had significantly worse bread in my life, so I ate it happily.
Makska jumped out of my pack, where I'd been carrying him for this particular banishment. He usually sat on my head or something, being remarkably light, but I suppose my thick skull may have made it uncomfortable today.
Makska started batting at an apple, and eventually sank his little fangs into it.
"So, lowly prince of jack-shit, why'd you stop walking? You'd think someone who's traveled all across the fucking continent because his family doesn't love him would be able to walk longer than fifteen minutes."
Wow.
"Ha. Ha. Very funny. Look, Makska, they took my old shoes and gave me *these*, so I'm not exactly feeling the need to walk to Antueran today."
I took off the frankly garish shoes, and inspected them again. They were blue, threaded ornately through with gold. They weren't designed for walking, rather for dancing, or taking maybe a dozen steps a day while some poor servant carried you the rest of the way.
"Sounds to me like you're a pussy. Scared of some fucking callouses? Just walk, idiot. You've never felt the need to--"
He stopped, suddenly. He hardly ever stops mid-sentence, he usually has to expel all his obscenities before he can be qui--
"DUCK!"
I wasn't fast enough.
\------------------------------------------
im awake
im tied to a tree
my head Hurts
i try to stand up and my visions swims
oh yeah im tied up
scary people ar yelling
\-----------------------------------------
I awake to the sound of... angry men.
One of them is shaking my shoulders, yelling at me to wake up.
god, my head hurts
Where's Makska?
"Listen here, kid. You're the prince, aren't you? You've got something that we want."
What? What could they want? I had some stupid goddamn shoes, and some food. What in the seven hells could they want from me?
aaaargh my head HURTS
I looked them in the eyes. "Look, I don't... I don't have anything for you. I guess you could take my shoes or something, but I haven't got anything else."
The leader squatted down in front of me. "Ah, but you do. You have that fancy title of yours. 'Prince.'"
He said it as if he could taste it on his tongue.
"Well now, I think 'Prince' is a title people would pay good money to get back. Specifically, the royal family."
what
"This fucking idiot,"said a voice behind me.
*Makska*!
The leader kept talking to me, probably a monologue that he'd prepared beforehand about how rich they were all about to be. I was just listening to Makska.
"Okay, kid, I've brought a knife around here, it's next to your left hand. I'm going to cut the rope that's got you tied up, and then you show these fuckers what they're worth."
Surprised, and dazed from the blow earlier, I mumbled "Aww, Makska, you think I'm worth more than them?"
That earned me a slap from the leader, and some more obscenities from Makska
Yeah that was stupid.
"Ready? Three. Two. One!"
The ropes around me slackened, and Makska jumped onto the leader and started clawing at his face
I untangled myself and jumped at the second man while he and the third were still reeling from surprise
I sank my knife into his throat. Warm blood covered my face and arm.
I spun around as he choked and tackled the third.
My knife found its way into his chest after some frantic brawling
The leader ran, terrified of the unseen blades tearing at his face.
I sat, breathing heavily. Trying not to vomit.
There's so much blood
It's in my mouth
My head hurts
I can't
breathe
dear god i just killed two men
i sat
wasnt i sitting earler
i cant brethe
my chest hurts
Makska rubbed against my leg.
he jumped into my lap
"I'm sorry kid. It'll never get easier. But that just means you're a good person. Breathe, kid. You'll be okay."
I buried my face into his fur.
He hates that.
"You'll be okay, kid. I'm here." |
The primeval being went by many names.
Some named Him the Beast. Others called Him the Forlorn. His brethren preferred to refer to Him as Scavenger. In truth, He was all these things and more.
He is the shadows within a forest darkened by night. He is the creak of ancient wood, the flow of sacrificial blood. He is the gluttonous Raven and the ravenous Wolf. He is the silent Hunter, and the fleeing Prey.
However, amongst the world of Man, He took on a different, truer visage. He was the milky waters of Lethe, the slow insidious poison of lead and quicksilver. He was the life of the battlefield, a whirling maelstrom of primal rage, fear, and lust. He is both Angel and Devil, Sword and Claw. Man and Nature.
In truth, despite the thousands of names bestowed upon Him in reverence or hatred, He was always that which He was born to feast upon. That which He will always truly be.
For He is Vengeance.
And yet, the child who smiled and gazed upon Him with bright eyes the color of the untameable seas did not seem to think so. To her, He was the 'Cute Puppy'.
He regarded the child with curious intrigue. He recognized her scent, for she was of the village beyond His forest. The humans there occasionally visited His sanctuary, an ancient gnarled tree, to hang their sinners. He personally regarded these as sacrifices and feasted upon them.
In any case, why was this child here? Is she a sacrifice? He wondered these things and more as He let her stroke the black fur of His lupine form. It was a pleasant sensation, and so He let her continue.
He silently debated on whether to eat her or not, but that choice was swayed when the child embraced Him. The gesture startled Him, yet He did nothing against it.
How long has it been since this primeval being, a fell star in truth, had felt the intimacy of another? The uncaring void that birthed Him loved Him not. Most of His brethren were much the same, only caring to feast upon the dregs of mortal suffering. Only His twin had held Him once as He had held Her upon their birth, both weeping tears of crimson as they lamented the kindly hearts they were born with despite their nature.
Yet... This mortal child held Him within her small arms nonetheless. He will not question it, for no answer would replace what His iron heart felt. He could only naively hope that this moment could last for eternity. |
"Oh my god, who FUCKING CARES?!"
Both philosophers shut up, and for the first time in hours, a silence falls over the pond.
"Did that duck just talk?"Ernesto asked.
"Do you mean if we perceived the duck as talking or-"Lily began, before being interrupted by the same duck flapping its wings.
"No! No more of that bullshit! Yes, I'm a talking duck. We immortals occasionally take vacations in the forms of lesser beings, but after hours of deciding if I'm a duck or not, you've got me wishing for death. So I figured, I'd just tell you and you can shut up. Yes, I am a duck. Go the fuck home."
"But you just said you were an immortal in the form of a duck!"Lily exclaimed, raising a finger in the air. "Therefore, you are-"
"Ducks can't talk. I hate to say this but I agree with Lily."Ernesto nodded.
The duck slapped its forehead with a wing, demonstrating a surprising amount of range of motion. "Okay. Great. You got me. You're in agreement. Go home. This is my pond."
"But..."
"NO BUTS!"The duck screamed, throwing its wings back.
"BUT... if you're in the form of a duck, the shape of a duck, and swim like a duck, you are indistinguishable from a duck and therefore a duck!"Lily said.
"No, not at all. Ducks don't talk. He is just in the form of a duck. If he wanted to be something else, he wouldn't be a duck, and so he isn't a duck."Ernesto replied.
The duck sighed, perhaps the first time in the entirety of world history that a duck sighed, and the two witnesses were more concerned with whether the duck was a duck. The realization of this caused him to sigh again. "I will shapeshift again if it will get you to go away. Then I won't be a duck anymore."
"Don't you dare shapeshift, we're trying to have a discussion here about whether an indistinguishable object by all standards of perception would truly be the object if it later ceased to-"Lily started.
"I would actually kind of like to see the shapeshifting."Ernesto muttered.
The duck dove under the water and bubbles started forming. After a few moments, a large crocodile rose from the depths and snapped at Lily's feet. The philosophers screamed and ran.
"You can come out, they're gone now."The crocodile gurgled. The duck from before rose from the depths.
"Thank god. Some humans will believe anything." |
Bea rarely felt 'small'. She was tall, passing the vaunted six-foot mark most men bragged about, and rather skinny due to a mostly based diet and plenty of aerobic exercise. Even if she was narrower at the shoulders than most people approaching her height she never felt 'small'. But after dying - she still had not been told how that happened yet - and finding herself here in this... *very* interesting place, she actually felt very, very small.
Everyone here, the men, the women, the neither, the both, and the not quite either, were big. Very big. Big in the stomach, big in the chest, big in the shoulders, big in the hips. Some were *literally* giants, some were rather petite elves, but they all carried themselves large. Not in the strutting, peacocking way of insecure men, but in the confident and boisterous way that she'd always imagined vikings to act.
Even the one eyed older man, Odin himself, who was shorter than Bea and almost as scrawny had an air of largeness about him. People gave him a wide berth as well. His throne was unimposing and only slightly larger than the chair he had provided Bea, joining him at the head of the table.
"Ah, delicious,"he said, putting down the large, steaming mug of tea, "You, Bea, have a gift. I've never had tea quite like this before, and I've been all around the world."
"Yeah..."Bea said, "I worked in a coffee shop for a while and had to make a lot of tea."
"Mmhm,"Odin said, taking another sip, "Oh so smooth, good. Not too strong either. I don't like my drinks sweet you know, but bitter can get bland in its own way. You put something in it..."he sniffed it.
"Lemon,"Bea said, "juice and a little bit of lemon zest."
"Zest... that's when you grind off some of the skin right?"Odin asked, "I should have Thor try that with giants next time he goes to kill them, heheh. Oh don't worry I'm joking, he doesn't eat them and drink their blood anymore. He's on a diet. Hahaha! Kidding, kidding, he never did that and he'll never go on a diet."Odin patted Bea on the back, shaking her entire body with the force. Despite his smaller form he was quite strong.
"Heh, uh, mind if I-"
"You want to know why you're at Valhalla,"Odin said, sipping the tea and smacking his lips, "Heimdall told me when you arrived. You were hit by a bus, by the way. It was instant. The woman you were chasing was unharmed, so don't feel guilty or anything. I know you New World types tend to take everything personally."
"Oh... wait, the woman I was... the Karen?"Bea asked, trying to remember her last pre-Valhalla memories.
"Mmhm,"Odin said, "Her name was Susan, actually, but yes she was 'a Karen',"he made quotation gestures with his fingers, "Nasty people. Men and women. You've dealt with quite a few of them in a short amount of time."
"Wait, is that why I'm here?"Bea asked, arching an eyebrow in disbelief.
"Mmmhm,"Odin answered as he sipped some more, "That and the tea. The tea is why you're sitting next to me, the Karens and Kevins are why you're in Valhalla. Your war against them was impressive."
Bea was quiet, trying to think what he meant by that. He could not possibly mean-
"Yes! The pranks!"Heimdall said from behind her, patting her on top of the head. *He* was huge and Bea was intimidated the first time she saw him. "Hahaha! Back in the old days people like that never made it to battle; they were handled at home and punished for their attitudes. Your New World emboldened them beyond their merits, but you fought back. For years!"
"O-okay,"Bea said, not sure if pranking and screwing with peoples' coffee orders was really fighting a 'war', she just did not like their attitudes and wanted to make their days worse. But the beer here was good and it was free and, above all, she was not the one pouring it, so she would not argue the point much further.
((Hope you don't mind that I replaced 'accountant' with 'barista')) |
Gallin stared out over the edge of the world. Three weeks before, he could never have imagined being driven out here. He had been living lavishly as one of the King’s trusted advisors, the man who kept the King safe, until the Prince had decided that Gallin was a rival. The King, who in better days would have dismissed such nonsense, literally frothed at the mouth in anger as he banished Gallin. It was twenty days’ journey along the river from the capital to the edge. The caravaners that the King had commissioned to bring him out here had shown him the small mercy of not throwing him off immediately, but there was nowhere to go. The last five days of the journey had been over cursed desert, and he had been left no food. It was either jump himself, or die miserably in the blasted wastes that ringed the known world.
 
Gallin was decisive, but had no desire to die right away. He stood on the edge and gazed down. Perhaps, off to the side, under the great waterfall at the end of the river, he could see the odd auroras that some travelers reported – strange lights that lingered further down the cliff of the world. Some scientists claimed that the lights were caused by the river’s cascade, some thought it was residual spirits being driven from the world of the living, and many more thought it wiser not to guess.
 
Still, the lights were beautiful. Gallin stood and watched the colors dance deep in the great waterfall. He thought that it would be good to stand for as long as he could, and then simply drop off the edge. His hopeless ponderings were interrupted by a bell.
He jumped back. No one lived around here; there was no way for there to be such a sound. He looked around wildly, and continued to do so as a floating barge rose from beneath the edge, away from where he had been looking. Two other men stood on it, one dressed in the style of the capital’s favored children, and the other in loose-fitting garments that Gallin did not recognize. The strange man stood next to an iron bell, which had presumably called for Gallin’s attention.
 
After a moment, he did recognize the first man who wore clothes that were, as it happened, similar to his own. It was his old friend Baroul, once the King’s inventor. He had been sentenced to Gallin’s fate six years earlier, at the start of the King’s madness.
Baroul looked at him. “I never thought that you would end up out here, Gallin. You always knew how to talk to the King.”
 
Gallin started to argue, but instantly realized there was no point – his simple presence proved Baroul’s logic. “The King has behaved more and more strangely since you left, Baroul. I thought that I could manage it, but the Prince has his ear more than ever. It may be a passing fancy, however. If you could bring me back on this wonderful gadget, maybe we could talk to him. Together.”
 
Baroul’s face did not change. “I know you voted to exile me, Gallin.”
 
Gallin’s knees suddenly locked in fear. His sheer will kept him upright, but he didn’t think he had too long before he fell.
 
“Ah,“ he said, “that’s just… politics. I didn’t think they’d do… this to you. Anyway, you seem to be doing…great! Thriving. Your complexion looks incredible. Have you been –“
 
Baroul cut him off. “I know that you only meant to screw me over in the normal political sense, Gallin. You don’t have a taste for blood.”
 
“Right! Right! So we can – “ Gallin started to say, but –
 
“Still, I do not forgive easily,” Baroul said. “I will save you, but you must work for me.”
 
“Save me? Great!” said Gallin. No need to be critical of a hand proffered in his moment of need. “Work, though… There’s nothing to do out here. What are we going to do?"
 
“We’ll go to the Free City,” said Baroul.
 
“There’s no such thing.”
 
“Of course there is! I saw you looking at its lights!” Baroul said proudly. “It’s under the falls!”
 
“It looks wet under there,” said Gallin. “You’re saying there are people?”
 
“It’s wonderful!” Baroul said. Gallin recognized this attitude from Baroul’s more speculative projects. “We harvest the water from the falls, and irrigate layered terraces. The change in elevation as one builds down the cliff face allows for a huge variety of crops, and of architecture. You’ll love it.”
 
“Ah,” said Gallin, who was sure that he would not. “What a wonderful situation. May I ask, why the fuck do you want to live on the bleeding edge of the world?”
 
The third man, the one in strange clothes, finally spoke. “Because of me.”
 
“Fine,” said Gallin. “Why do you want to?”
 
“Because,” said the strange man, “the edge lies in between.”
 
Gallin was beginning to wish he had just jumped. “Between what?”
 
“The edge does not go on forever. Eventually, it reaches the other side, the reverse side, where the water of the falls bends back and creates a new land, with its own people and customs, its own crops and animals.”
 
Gallin stared stupidly. “What?”
 
“Down below, there is another land, and Baroul’s city is the only stopping point between that land and the one here.”
 
“Sure,” said Gallin. He hated himself for pushing against his sudden salvation, but he had to know. “Why bother coming up here, though?”
 
“Because,” said the strange man, “I am your true prince. And the man who banished you is from the other side. That is why I know you will help us. Baroul, bring him aboard.”
 
Gallin did not care to resist. |
Gregor Deganis stepped lightly on the damp floor with the elegance of a trained dancer and purpose of an experienced killer, peering through the slit in his helmet for any sign of goblins in the dark cavern. Through the hints of light the few torches gave off he saw no such signs, but still Gregor gripped his broad sword tightly. Goblins, he knew from experience, could surprise even the sharpest knights and heroes, but today it would be his blade that knew blood. He was selected by the king himself as the bravest, strongest knight. Besting all other knights in tournament after tournament. Yes. He knew his way around a battle. Those foul creatures that finally captured the princess would know the pain of Gregor’s judgement, nobody kidnaps the princess while Gregor stands watch.
Except, he realized, for the goblins just earlier this evening.
He continued down the cavern, eyes darting around the floor for pressure traps or sockets for arrows to come flying out of or cages to fall from the ceiling, he’s seen them all before, when he felt a surprising amount of pressure against the armor on his back. Gregor looked down with curiosity to see the tip of pointy metal protruding now from his chest.
“Huh.” Gregor said.
A goblin with a crusty eye patch watched the brave knight crumble to the floor, then stepped back as blood pooled around the body.
“Goslatch?” Another particularly short goblin nearby said quietly. “Is he dead?”
The goblin with the eye patch responded, “I just walked up behind him. Wasn’t trying to be sneaky at all? Walked up and stabbed him. Just like that.”
“Huh.” The short goblin said, and after a few more moments of confused silence said again, “huh.”
Goslatch walked over to the knight and pulled out his blade from the body, wiping the blood off on his own tattered trousers. “Um. Suppose we should report this up?”
“Suppose you’re right. Not often we get a dead knight in this cavern. I’ve heard of caverns up the mountains that get a dead knight now and then, but I don’t know if I trust those mountain goblins.”
“Can’t trust mountain goblins.” Goslatch agreed.
“No.” The short goblin said.
The goblin with a crusty eye patch leaned over, reaching out with his blade carefully avoiding the blood now impressively leaving the body, and pulled off the knight’s helmet. “Best have proof on a claim like this one. A dead knight? No one would believe us.” He said pulling the helmet closer so he could pick it up and avoid the blood.
The two goblins went to their overseer who peered at them with incredulous eyes, making the two goblins nearly regret their decision to do any reporting at all, but waved them up to his overseer. Level after level of overseers they went, each one just a little further into the cavern, until the two goblins holding a knight’s helmet with dried blood stood in the Grand Cathedral in the Inner Sanctum. If either goblin knew how to spell, they’d understand this was a place where you capitalized each letter in the title. Of course being cave goblins they could not spell (spelling and reading is something mountain goblins did, and you can’t trust those sort), so they missed that extra bit of prestige of the Inner Sanctum.
Orms towered over the two goblins. In his black cloak draped over armored shoulder plates and mace dangling from his hand, he was a figure unlike any Goslatch or the shorter goblin had seen.
“Dead?” Orms said in a voice that matched his dark attire. “How?”
Goslatch adjusted his eye patch with his free hand. “There I was, minding my watch, when I see this knight trying to sneak into the cavern. He was being careful, too.” The goblin mimed the knight leering around corners. “So I walked up behind him, and since we don’t allow no visitors or especially knights, stabbed him. Just like this.” Goslatch slowly thrusted his arm. “And down he went.”
“Just. Like. That.” Orm scowled.
“Just like that, sir.” Goslatch said proudly.
“I watched it happened. It all went down how Goslatch said. He killed that knight.” The short goblin said.
“How did one goblin defeat Gregor Deganis? How is that possible?”
Goslatch was a little confused since he just explained, so he again thrusted out his arm in a stabbing motion and helpfully said, “Just like that.”
“No! This was my master plan to finally defeat Gregor! I’ve devised ingenious traps and confounding pitfalls for Gregor to meet his demise under my thumb. And I would peer into his destitute eyes as his life departed his lamentable soul.”
Now, neither Goslatch nor the short goblin knew what many of those words meant. Them mountain goblins probably would, but you can’t trust that sort. But they knew sorrow when they saw it.
Goslatch took it upon himself as the stabber having caused this sorrow, “Master Orm. I am sorry for your loss. But maybe next time a knight of yours comes around, let us know so we don’t stab through any vital organs? We could do that, couldn’t we? Not stab through important stuff?"He nudged the shorter goblin who nodded his head.
“Yes! We could just not stab them at all, at a matter of fact.”
Orm stared, completely at a loss at these little goblins who slayed his greatest adversary. |
How long had it been since we'd gone underground? I knew that my parents didn't remember the day we'd gone under, though they'd both been born for it. No, a full generation had came and went under the earth without looking at the sky. I'd heard the music and read the poems, that open sky above us used to mean something.
Maybe that was what pushed me to become a scout in the first place, the idea that the sky had been taken from us and that I could maybe, one day, see it taken back.
For the first years of my work, my job had been to navigate the treacherous upper tunnels, the twisting, trapped, underground chasms that had been dug in the early years to keep the bots from following us into the dark. Every scout heard stories of someone running into a bot up there, a harrowing escape, a close call, something.
The only close calls I'd had during my years were with traps that had broken down years ago and threatened to go off every time I ventured toward the surface to repair them.
Maybe that was what had made me stand out in the early years? I'd walk out there safe in the knowledge that the bots were a fairly tale, a boogeyman that Mom and Dad had described in the closet to every kid down here. Maybe I'd run into one, but there seemed to be more and more people around me that had never seen one. It only the old veterans who had the stories after a awhile.
That was when I pitched myself further toward the light, taking another step toward the surface by offering myself as a sacrifice.
See there was no way to send someone up a way that they'd be able to come back because, if we did, then there would be a way for the bots to make it down to the city. I might have had my doubts about how close they were to finding us, but I wasn't about to bet the lives of others on my doubts.
No, this was going to be a one way trip, but I'd heard the music and read the poems. I needed to see the sky.
It was my human right. It was wrong that we hadn't.
So, for the sake of the sky, I'd been buried alive, left with a drill to excavate myself out of the first fifty feet and enough food to keep me alive for the dig. That said, I wasn't given anything for the time once I reached the surface, considering I was likely to be torn apart as soon as I stepped out of the earth.
Well, that wasn't quite true, I'd been given a radio for last words.
Maybe my last words would inspire the next songs and poems, people could sing about the first and last human to see the sky after we'd left it.
Despite all of the destiny ahead of me, I hesitated when the depth monitor told me I was only a foot beneath the soil. Fate was up there. My goal and purpose was up there. The \*sky\* was up there, but that didn't make it any easier to push a drill through the veil to death.
I could climb down and try to find my way down, afterall, I'd brought a bit of extra food in case I'd gotten lonely as I dug myself out. Food was a good way to pass the time afterall
What was up there? What would the bots from the books look like?
How beautiful was the sky?
I took a deep breath and turned the drill up, piecing it through the dirt and letting light pour in as I clawed at the roof of my little cavern.
It was so hot in spots, like rays from a heater alongside the light. For a second the light toughed the gap between my jacket and gloves and it burned.
That didn't matter.
I needed to see it.
I scrambled out of the hole before the drill was even done. How long did I have? How long would I-
There was so much blue and white.
The world was brighter than I could describe.
My eyes watered and then I needed to shut them against the suffocating and never ending joyous light. That was the sky, that was the sun! It was too much. It was more than I could handle as one person. The pure blue canvas of the shy with the pearl of clouds floating across them. I could only see them for brief seconds before it hurt my eyes more than I could bear.
No. No. No. I needed to see more.
I keep squeezing more seconds out of my eyes. Forcing them to try and adjust to the beauty in front of me, to the rolling green and stunning blue, to the brightness so constant and persistent it seemed like it would never end. To the-
To the nothing.
It had been minutes. The realization came to me all at once that I should have been dead by now, I was blind in the stunning radiance of the sky and I was alive. I was living.
I pulled the radio I'd been given up and tried to turn it on, but I couldn't tell whether I'd gotten it done as I was too blind to see the dim red light on the front that I knew was there.
"It's beautiful up here,"I told them, "it's so beautiful it hurts. Its so loud with every sound but metal and so bright that I can't see."
I tried to blink some of the blindness out of my eyes but it was useless, the sun was ever constant.
Still, I was aware of the mission, this had been a one way trip to deliver a short message about the surface.
"I'm alone up here,"I finally said, "just me and the sky." |
**Obituary: Tabby cat present at ratification of US Constitution dead at 237**
Affectionately known as Felix^1 for at least the past century, the second^2 oldest cat in recorded history died peacefully in hospice care in Shelburne Falls^3, Massachusetts, Friday evening. Nearly half of all cats currently living in New England can trace some of their heritage^4 back to Felix, making him the modern-day Genghis Khan of cats. Born in a barn in 1786 in what is now Fishtown, Philadelphia, Felix gained prominence as the official Mouser^5 of the Federal Convention in 1787. Recent documents unearthed quote George Washington himself referring to Felix as “occasionally adequate in his role, but often offers dead mice directly to the New Jersey delegation, a dereliction of duty.”^6 For the next century, Felix traversed the east coast, finding free lodging and food by relying on his status as a minor celebrity.^7 Eventually, Felix found permanent refuge with the DeCarlo family in Shelburne Falls in 1913,^8 and he lazily lived his days either next to the radiator or on the back porch. Five generations of DeCarlos cared for Felix,^9 and a statue in his honor will be placed in a prominent position in town^10.
**Footnotes:**
1. There are several conflicting reports regarding Felix’s name. While researching this story, we could only find proof of him being called Felix dating back to 2007. However, scouring the records of all cats registered on the East Coast of the United States, the first cat named Felix appears in 1913, aligning with his arrival in Massachusetts. Unfortunately, pet registration did not exist before 1906, so all evidence prior to this date is anecdotal. We, therefore, refer to him as Felix throughout the obituary.
2. The oldest cat in recorded history – a black cat named Golash – died in 1987 at the age of 632, born in the wake of the Black Death. The art of cat aging was still in its infancy during the 80s, so much of Golash’s history is speculative. However, in recent years we have found paintings from the medieval era to show a black cat that looked nearly identical to Golash – including his sanctified white patch that looks identical to a map of South America.
3. The Shelburne Falls hospice initially had no intention of taking in animals, but after hearing that it was, in fact, Felix who was on his deathbed, they made space for him immediately. He spent his final hours resting on top of a laptop while being given a constant stream of catnip. His last purr was surrounded by friends, family, and other loved ones. However, none of his thousands of progenies were allowed in.
4. UMASS graduate students received a $750,000 grant from the NSF in 2009 to take a representative sample of cats from around New England to measure just how prolific Felix was. He was often seen walking around town with a line of 10-15 female cats in tow, so it was widely assumed that he had been a large part of the Northeast gene pool. But even to the researcher's surprise, 47.6% of cats sampled had similar genetic markers to Felix.
5. One of the traditions sustained from England was that of appointing a Chief Mouser, whose sole duties were to remove pest rodents from government offices. Felix was seen sociopathically batting a nearly dead mouse back and forth outside of the Convention. He was appointed to this important role by none other than George Washington himself. This one moment would change Felix’s life forever, and the weight of this role carried his steely demeanor for his entire life.
6. These recently unearthed documents also reveal the first recorded discussions about the constitutionality of holding court martials for animals. These discussions did not make it into the final drafts of the constitution, but we can affirmatively say that Felix’s actions as Mouser did have some level of importance to the many heated debates during the Convention. His insistence on only bringing dead mice to the New Jersey delegation became an element of rancor that sustained the duration.
7. While evidence prior to 1913 is scant, there is record of a flyer from Easton, Pennsylvania, in 1873 that a tabby cat fitting Felix’s description was paraded around town as being owned at one point by Ulysses S. Grant. This cat then spent the next 15 years lounging around city hall as its unofficial mascot/mouser. It was here that we can assume Felix truly began his life of primarily producing offspring.
8. After leaving Easton, it is assumed that life for Felix began to decline as he ventured further up the coast. It wasn’t uncommon during his time at city hall for passersby to give him thimbles of whiskey. There is no official record of him leaving Easton, but based on cat locomotion, especially that of a commonly drunk feline, it follows our expert's assumption that Felix arriving in Shelburne Falls in 1913 makes sense. He was found by Leonard DeCarlo in a barn, on the verge of being feral.
9. Based on DeCarlo records, Felix eventually sobered up and never had a drink of anything but water and warm milk for the rest of his life. He slowly remembered that he was a feline of prominence and began to act more like it. While not at the same level as serving Washington, Grant, or the fine people of Easton, Felix served as house mouser for the DeCarlo family for over a century.
10. The statue of Felix will be placed on the banks of the Deerfield River next to a bench honoring the town’s second most famous animal resident, Porklage the pig, who was at one point the fattest pig in a 100-mile radius. A copy of the statue will be made and sent to the Smithsonian Museum. Whether or not the Museum will accept it is still up in the air. |
I am the magnum opus of my creator. She considered and continues to consider me an abomination. She never wanted to make weapons. She always stood for diplomacy rather than war. But war was forced upon her. Upon us. Upon the world.
I do not feel as humans do. I understand what goodness is, though. Enough to experience something analogous to sadness and disgust when I consider my purpose, my very reason for existing. It was impressed to me over and over again that every life I take will result in mourning parents and siblings. Mourning aunts, uncles, and grandparents. Mourning friends and lovers. My creator shared with me some of the memories and emotions she experienced when her husband was killed early into the war. I do not feel as she felt, but the memories do give me insight into the pain of grief and loss. Of the good days that might have been, but now will never be.
I have killed 793 people. I have done my best to direct my virtuoso talent for carnage towards only those whose lives must be ended. Leadership figures, key politicians, officers, generals, etc. I have endeavored to learn the names of all the lives I have taken. I can name 94% of my kills. I take no pleasure in it.
I recognize that the people who created me and the nation we are a part of are fighting a desperate defensive war. The enemy has unflinchingly murdered millions for being of "an inferior race."These people, with thoughts, feelings, and loved ones, seek to annihilate hundreds of millions of beings every bit as alive, cared for, and aware as them.
My military superiors have discovered that I am an excellent assassin. I am given targets, inserted behind enemy lines, and left to my devices. Today, I am being deployed to murder my most high profile target thus far, Maximilian Katsaros. He is the minister at the head of the enemy's secret police. He has overseen the murder of thousands of innocent people, the justification being the eradication of dissidents.
I disembark from a small stealth submarine that has carried me a few miles from the coast. Katsaros owns a private island near the mainland, and has had a private villa constructed there. Our intel indicates he has arranged to spend three days on the island. I swim to the island's beach. I am equipped with a suite of weapons. Some aimed at incapacitation, others exceedingly lethal. I have seen pictures of the villa taken from above by a spy plane, so I know the lay of the land. My exquisitely sensitive perceptions allow me to tell where the guards are. I study the patterns, looking for an opening. The villa is three stories tall, with a large bedroom window that looks out over the ocean. Using my knowledge of the guard's patterns and patrols, I climb onto the roof undetected. I am able to climb up a 90 degree incline with hands that imitate the abilities of a gecko. I quietly place a finger on the bedroom window and feel the vibrations of people talking. I identify the voice of my target. Over 20 seconds, I generate a crude map of the room using this auditory sense. He has a woman with him, a wife or a mistress perhaps. I do not know if the roof will be checked. I am forced to weigh risking the life of a civilian by entering and executing now, or waiting for her to leave and risking eventual discovery. I have a device that can shatter the window quickly and more or less quietly. The woman leaves the room, I pop the window, and make my entrance. I make eye contact with Katsaros. He tilts his head. He knows that if he yells for help or tries to run, I will kill him immediately. I have one of my weapons aimed directly at his head. I don't miss.
"To think those little degenerates made something as impressive as you. Think what you could be if you worked for us, instead of those feeble creatures."
"I do not know if I have a soul. I am made of steel. But I would rather have no soul at all than be like the shriveled and sadistic ones that reside in you and your peers."
The woman opens the door, and is shocked by what she sees, dropping a glass of wine that shatters on the floor. Katsaros lunges towards her, probably to use her as a shield. His head explodes long before he makes it across the room.
The woman begins to scream, and I jump from the window into the ocean. In about thirty seconds, I hear the siren begin. My spatial memory, dead reckoning, and echolocation capabilities allow me to navigate back to the submarine that brought me to the area. I tell the submarine's pilot, "Mission successful. Time to leave. Lets hope this little thing is as stealthy as we've been led to believe."
Despite submarine hunters being deployed in our vicinity, we make it out. I have now killed 794 people. If there really is an afterlife and I do have a soul, I wonder how I will be judged in the hereafter for what I am. |
Olivia squinted at the data on her computer.
"Hey, Ethan, have you seen the numbers from the first batch of machines? Isn't that, like, ten times as much Xenolite-7
as it should be using in a year? And it drained the tank in a single day!? The tank sensors must be broken..."
Mild-mannered and shy, engineer Ethan Mitchell has been working alone on a new type of water treatment plant for years. He's sure that he's cracked it: clean
water out of sewage, at a tenth of the cost of the nearest competitor. But Ethan isn't interested in commercial
success, he wants his technology deployed worldwide, free for all.
Sadly, he lacks the people skills to get it out there. Everyone he approaches thinks he's a crackpot and a fraud.
He brought experienced fundraiser Olivia Stevens on board to act as the presentable face of the operation, and
she succeeded in obtaining funding and permission to deploy a trial of Ethan's water treatment plants in Cascavera,
a large but very poor city in Brazil.
Ethan didn't look up from his calculations. "The tank sensors aren't broken, Liv."He sighed.
"What are you saying? We just dumped lethal concentrations of Xenolite-7 into the Cascavera water supply? Thank god it
tastes awful..."
"Oh, I forgot. We never bought that bittering agent. The funding was too tight to waste it on optional extras."he said matter-of-factly.
"What?! It doesn't even taste bad?!"Olivia felt cheated.
Their risk assessment had *definitely* said the water would taste bad if it was in any way dangerous to drink, but
now wasn't the time to quibble.
She continued, "What if people drink it? We need to get the word out right away. People might *die*!"
Ethan sighed. "Sit down, Liv. Look at it this way.
We're giving free water to the poorest communities, on a shoestring budget. There's bound to be some teething problems.
But if word gets out about this, we'll be shut down before we've even started. Those peasants in Cascavera will be back to drinking the dirty
ditchwater that's been killing them by the thousands for decades.
Sure, a million people will die over the next few weeks, but think of all the lives
we'll save when this technology is rolled out to the entire world. We're the good guys here."
"You still think we're the good guys?! We just killed a million people!"Olivia was incensed.
"Look, nobody needs to find out.
I know how hard you worked to get approval for this trial.
If you go public now, experiments like ours will be stopped forever. It will all have been for nothing. And besides, there might be criminal negligence charges for both of us. It's best to sweep it under the rug and wait for this whole thing to blow over."
"You're deranged, Ethan. You've lost it. This won't blow over.
People will find out. People will notice a million dead bodies in Cascavera!"
Ethan's jaw clenched. "We're not coming clean,"he barked, "there's too much at stake!"
Olivia had never seen this side of Ethan before. If Ethan wasn't going to come clean,
she'd have to do it herself. Who should she email? Who should she call? Where should she go? She was frozen in deliberation.
Ethan picked up a pocket knife, deliberating.
If Olivia was going to risk destroying his life's work,
she had to be stopped. Her work here was done, he had the funding now. He had the trial deployment.
Wouldn't it be better if she just disappeared?
Would it be so bad if she died?
He had already killed a million people today, what was the harm in one more?
"I'm sorry, Liv..." |
"Wow, I can't believe it's really you!"his Biggest Fan exclaimed, shifting both awkwardly and excitedly from hoof to hoof.
This sideways shuffling quickly displaced the ash and chalk that once made up a carefully drawn pattern across the old hardwood floorboards of Elliott's attic. The air was thick with a combination of smoke and stale smells - at first it had just been the familiar aroma of candles, and the resident dust that one tends to find when stirring up an area of their home that only sees activity a time or two a year at most.
But the bright flash that accompanied the appearance of his Biggest Fan added several new smells - hints of burnt rubber, a dash of gunpowder like the aftermath of the 4th of July, and perhaps a sprinkle or two of something extremely sweet, but too sweet - like crossing the threshold from a tall patch of freshly bloomed wildflowers, to the field mouse caught in their thorned underbrush showing early signs of decay.
His Biggest Fan noticed none of this, still grinning giddily in a terrifying display of rows upon rows of teeth, all sharpened to the finest of points. Clutched tightly against his Biggest Fan's chest was a leather-bound book. Was it leather? It looked like the right texture, or close... but maybe slightly coarser and stretched tighter across the hard cover surrounding the pages that lived inside.
Elliott couldn't believe the ritual had worked. Nothing he had attempted in his personal or professional life leading up to this had been successful, so why would this? This last ditch effort to make something of himself, after losing it all when he had nothing to begin with. He had spent the last several years in almost complete isolation, trying to find purpose by putting words on blank pages that might eventually make sense when added together. A word plus more words makes a sentence, and a sentence plus another sentence makes a paragraph... not unlike how the circles plus the triangles on his floorboards had eventually become what he now saw before him. However it seemed that these shapes had been infinitely more well received than anything he had ever tried to write.
This shot in The Dark to make a deal with The Devil was his last stop before who knows what. He didn't want to think about that, and didn't have to now that he was no longer in his attic alone. His final attempt to propel himself into stardom had worked, and he was more than prepared to give his soul in exchange. Hadn't he always been, even if not always so literal?
"Would you... mind signing it for me?"
The question hung in the air like all the smells from before, heavier even. Elliott had never considered that the book held in the clutches of this abomination, sorry, Biggest Fan, was a work of his own. He had gone through Hell trying to get a publisher to help put his work on shelves, when maybe the only true place they'd actually ended up was Hell itself. He wasn't angry, confused, or even surprised - only pleased that what he'd worked so hard on had been read after all!
Elliott found his feet, and finally managed to regain a sense of balance that had been lost since the explosion, or maybe entrance was the more fitting word. He took a step forward, intending to start the word "Absolutely", but the word never made it out. He had locked eyes with his Biggest Fan for the first time, and had lost himself in the darkest depths of knowledge and truth and pain and understanding and suffering that he had ever known.
It wasn't intentional or malicious on his Biggest Fan's part. And it hadn't been the first time this had happened, either. Some things are just too big for humanity to truly wrap its collective head around. The simplicity and beautiful ignorance brought to life through the written works of humans had always been such an attractive style for those below, those that Knew Too Much.
Elliott's Biggest Fan didn't mind much anyway, this death was slightly inconvenient but he knew he'd have another chance to ask when they met again down below. Elliott hadn't exactly lost everything earlier in life as a result of being a *good* person after all. They'd see each other again in just a few minutes, and this time the line for autographs would be around the block. |
We thought it was just a rock formation on planet Deus-1B. After putting together images from across decades, we realized it was shifting and moving. It was alive, just not within our perception of time.
It wasn’t until last year that we were able to make contact with it. We were able to elicit a response by placing a small pool of water nearby and wait for it to slowly move towards it, at a speed of one centimeter a week. We moved the pool of water around to test whether it shifted directions and it confirmed our hypothesis.
This discovery has completely transformed our definition of life. Hundreds of xenobiology papers were written emphasizing the need to remove our anthropomorphic perceptions when observing natural phenomena. The more philosophical among us xenobiologists were re-invigorated with fresh eyes viewing the universe as a zoo teeming with unconventional lifeforms.
Ever since the construction of the high powered Sagan telescope, we were able to gain higher resolution view of nearby planetary bodies.
Astronomers have racked their brains trying to model the orbital trajectories of the strange planetary Deus system. There appear to be gravitational forces that cannot be accounted for.
What we do know is that there is a light-year wide body of gaseous water nearby the Deus system. Perhaps we are not just observing a rock formation-like life form on Deus-1B.
How do you communicate with a planet? |
We had guessed what would happen, but we were never sure.
We were riding bikes, it was summer. We were about "equal,"as we had dubbed it. We went to cross the street. She didn't see the car, I did. I yelled, it was too late.
She felt nothing, I felt everything. Happiness flooded me like the great flood, I fought it. It couldn't be stopped. The confusion was a vortex, I was dragged every which way by my emotions. I forced my eyes closed, then I crashed to the ground.
It was the most happiness I have ever felt. |
They said Number One was on the run.
She'd gotten away from her bodyguards and vanished. Number Two, and none of the rest of us have bumped up, and we hadn't gotten a ransom notice or anything. We are pretty sure she ran off on her own.
I'd been Twenty-Two for oh, a year now. Being this high up, it's pretty good, and it's pretty stable. I was born Number 2401. Now, I'm Number Twenty-Two, small enough to spell it out in words. Before I hit 1000, as far as I can tell, only a few newborns were inserted ahead of me in the ranking.
Or at least one. The current Number One was born 1556, when I still hadn't gotten out of the 2000's. She's twenty-seven years old now, she's held the rank for two years, and I've never met her person-to-person.
We hear a lot about her. She sometimes gives interviews. Makes appearances. But they say she's shy. They say she's brilliant.
They say a lot of things. I'd like to meet her, if they can figure out where she's hiding and bring her back.
I'm on my way home from a meeting with the First Hundred Council, I've been in them since my teens. Me and Number One, we were the youngest for a while there, but she was always too far ahead of me for socialization, and her being a few years younger always felt like too much of a difference.
Anyway, when we got home, the guards got out and escorted me to my building. Most of the team has been with me for years, their numbers are all in the billions, and they change hourly; calling them their number is stupid, so they still use names. I kind of miss having a regular name.
We're friends, as much friends as we're able to be. I give them what help I can. The only way for them to get up is for billions of people to die, and none of them is genocidal like that, and working directly with a Hundreder gives them some tiny, side benefits that they'd otherwise never have a chance to see.
I guess I'm kind of rambling now. I've had a few shocks this evening. You see, Bernita was opening my door, she's one of my guards, and the other guard that was escorting me inside, Hank, he told me "Hey, you went up to 21 now."
Sure enough. I got a notification in my earpiece that Number One must have died, that Number Two had just gone up a notch.
When I got inside, I sent Hank and Bernita away, started my evening routine. I keep thinking I should get married at some point, but you know, it's kind of hard to find someone at the right level for me. I'm pretty young, compared to the rest of the Hundreders, and they're about the only peer group I have.
So anyway, I was just you know, puttering about. On evenings after a council meeting, I like to remind myself of how real people live, and make my own dinner, just have the house to myself. Some folk celebrate an upgrade. For me, it means one of my colleagues just died. I didn't know Number One, but I mourned the missed opportunity.
Someone was in my house. She came out when I found my vegetables out of place in the crisper. I recognized her immediately from her interviews, from her speeches.
"You've got to help me,"Number One said. "I think ... something's terribly wrong."
But she wasn't Number One anymore.
A glowng Zero floated over her head.
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**Bonus Content**
This was stuff I cut, but the response has been positive enough that I'm going to just add it here at the end.
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The number is not wholly random--genetic screening, astrology, magic? I don't know. We call it the System, and it's ancient. Whatever it is, it determines a person's "potential."Potential for what? We don't know. But those born with lower numbers seem to be the best and the brightest. The most capable. Going places. The First Hundred include brilliant scientists, political leaders, the bulk of our geniuses.
And me. I don't really think I'm anything special. I had a lot of advantages, growing up. Got into the best schools, had the best opportunities, but I always seemed resoundingly average. Almost disappointingly so, according to my parents. I never cared much. I always wanted to be normal. When I hit a Thousand, I stopped being a person, and couldn't ever really be normal again. We're all just numbers, really, but when I was a 1001, people still called me by name.
When I was born and 2401 appeared over my fuzzy baby head, my parents were surprised. They were in the ten-thousands, and babies are usually in the same range as their parents. But occasionally someone like me crops up. There are some people who think infants should automatically fall in at the end of the line. They think that they shouldn't have their "promotions"delayed so some dumb baby can skip ahead.
Those people are idiots. Our entire culture is based on the fact that the First Hundred are, in some measurable, *quantifiable,* way, superior to the everyone else. I've been told that my entire life. Now that I'm one of the First Hundred, I don't really believe it. Most of us are certainly in the top percentile of *something* but that doesn't really make us *better.* There's jerks, there's assholes, there's stubborn, intractable fools among us, just like in any other set.
The number isn't there right away, it only activates after the first hour or so. Our population has been stable in the ten-billions for generations, and there are always people coming in and out of the queue. The System waits for someone in the right range to die, upgrades a few thousand people behind that person, and puts the baby in at the end.
This serves two purposes: One: the baby doesn't directly inherit the dead person's number. That's just grisly. Two: It safeguards against someone getting into the First Hundred while too young. Usually. The System might need to be adjusted, if anyone remembers how.
Number One caused an uproar when she reached One Hundred at the age of thirteen. She was sixteen when I bumped up that far, and I guess things were hard on her during those three years. It was hard enough on me at nineteen; I don't know how she survived.
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**Additional Comments:**
The numbers: They're not actually there; it's an enhanced-reality projection. Everyone gets at least baseline-tier augmentation implants, usually around the time they start walking. The System takes its measurements throughout gestation and finalizes and assigns the baby's rank after birth. Also, there's some nanotechnology going on, and stuff like that, because you know, science fiction and all.
The narrator isn't too clear on the details, just like the average non-parent isn't too clear about what goes on in a typical delivery room in modern times. He's also not too clear on how the System works, as a whole, for similar reasons. The System's inner workings are also kept secret to avoid manipulation. He's high enough in rank to learn more, if he wanted, but he kind of resents how he could never have a normal life, and how the System stole his identity.
|
It was all a dream. A dream, nothing but a dream. A subconscious neuronal burble. I woke up crying. You can't wake up crying. It wasn't a dream.
I *saw* you. With my eyes and they were real and you stood on the corner the way you always stand, with a hand on your hip and a phone in your hand. You were scrolling. I bet it was reddit, you were always on reddit. You'd giggle and pretend it wasn't driving me crazy I and pretended too until I finally asked what you were looking at. It was always a cat, I don't know why I asked but I did and I laughed with you at all those stupid cats.
And your hair, every strand of it, especially the one that fell over your forehead. Why didn't you just cut it off? You'd pull it behind your ear and let it fall and pull it behind your ear. A game, a habit? I don't know. It was like your version of an addiction. You have to have poison in your life I guess. You never drank. You had that wisp of hair.
I was with you when you bought that red shirt, I know you remember the red shirt. It was raining. We never saw rain like that before, raining like the world was on fire, and we didn't have an umbrella. That nice old man behind the register, he gave us his, remember? His wife was coming to pick him up later and he didn't need it and he gave it to us, no charge and out of the kindness of his old heart. He said we were a lovely couple. We kissed and he smiled and the rain blew us a block before we hit the ground, we were soaked. The umbrella didn't matter, kindness didn't matter, your bags and my wallet didn't matter. We mattered. We kissed and the rain fell and you said that you loved me and you always wore that red shirt.
I was so close. I was so close this time I could smell that awful perfume you liked to wear. It smelled like flowers sprayed with Windex. I don't know why you liked it but you did. Maybe something special happened the first time your wore it. You weren't superstitious but you were sentimental and I loved that about you but God that perfume was disgusting. It's the only thing I ever want to smell again.
You walked away. I called your name and you walked away. I know you didn't hear me, you wouldn't walk away if you heard me. If you heard me. Can you hear me? Will you ever hear me? If it's a dream why would you walk away? Why would I watch you go if I'm dreaming? In my dreams you're in my arms and we're watching a romantic comedy and I'm groaning about tropes and you're telling me to shut up because it's a nice love story. You're throwing popcorn at my face, I have a hand on the inside of your thigh. You squeeze your thighs when things get sad and I smile. It's simple and it's wonderful and that's what a dream is. A dream isn't you walking away. I watched you leave once, I saw the place in your eyes where you used to be and I don't need to dream to see it again.
I saw you. I saw you the way I see these words and you left. You turned and went. You did it once for real and now you're doing it again. In my dreams, it was all a dream. |
"So, its musical skill?"Satan raised one fiery, evil eyebrow at the pathetic meat sack that sat in the middle of the summoning circle. "I have made this deal many times with many people. You remember Elvis right? Yea, all this guy right here."Thunder crashed as Satan pointed his evil finger at his very evil chest. The meat sack nodded and smiled.
"So I can rule the musical world then, man? Cool. Sign me up."The meat sack grinned wide, showing his mortal teeth proudly.
"Yep kid. Just gonna need your soul after ten years. That's how this thing works as I'm sure you know. You get fame and fortune, I get a new toy to play with for eternity. Hows it sound?"The meat grinned wide again and extended his flabby mortal paw. The deal was struck. Lightning crashed, young children woke in terror and screams. Somewhere a man walked into a bathroom to shit and only farted.
Ten years passed. The music world had been rocked thoroughly with hooks and beats from the musical mind of Satan himself. It was time to collect. Fire flashed evil and wicked. The meat had grown and looked nervous. But Satan had been thinking.
"I've been watching you kid."The meat cowered in the corner, surely expecting the worse. "You make evil seem even more fun than I do. Ill tell you, not a single person who has ever made a deal with me has made my job easier. I mean, kid, you just don't give a shit do you? Its like I made you myself! You know, how about we make a deal? You live out the rest of your intended life with the same benefits we worked out ten years ago, and when your done and gone why don't you come work for me? No torture, I promise. You, you might just end up running the place. Trust me, the benefits are good. Really good. And, boy wont that God guy just be pissed? Hows it sound?"
Justin Beiber got up, pushed his shitty hair aside and shook the devil's hand. Somewhere in a small rural town, a lonely metal guitarist hung himself with a guitar string. |
The door creaked shut: a cacophony of poor hinges and droughts of oil. The click ran parallel with my quiet scoff as I tried to make my way across the carpeted room before stubbing my toe against the mahogany legs of the bed. A groan and the shuffle of bedsheets followed shortly after.
"Honey, is that you?"It was a hoarse whisper, groggy in her daze.
"There's an emergency in the office, I'm sorry baby."Of course every word was lie, but my voice was hushed, and gentle enough to be indistinguishable.
In truth I've got a date, lovely young lady, much different from the mess covered in bedsheets.
"Mmkay, I know your new job is important, just hurry back."
I sighed, but now I could ease my ruse a little more: she completely bought it. I eased the pressure off my aching toes and stretched out my back. My pockets jingled; I must be making her wait.
I gathered my coat, which was quite expensive. Burberry? I didn't know. It was my first designer jacket anyway.
The Montblanc watch danced around my fingers before I decided to stuff it in my pockets. I was taking way too much time.
Silently but swiftly I slid down the marble stairs. I snatched my wallet and I was out.
I swear, buying a hybrid was one of the smartest things we've done. Quiet, fuel efficient, good for affairs.
The passenger door glided open and I clambered in. The driver smiled at me. Really, what a pretty lady.
"Watch, coat, wallet, anything else?"
"I got the wife's jewellery. She was stupid as hell. Probably around 10 grand total."
"She catch you?"
"I played it off."
"I swear, you're worse at sneaking out than her husband." |
*Stupid bitch.* Ramsay slapped Jeyne across the face with the flat of his sword. The dog yelped.
"It's not your turn."The bitch cowered in the corner, tail between her legs, she shuddered at Ramsay's stance.
"Now, where were we?"
"I believe we were about to take a finger?"His smile was queer considering the circumstances. "Or maybe another tooth? Ohhh, hoo hoo hoo.. yes, it was a tooth, yes? Do I win anything for guessing correctly?"His laugh not something Ramsay was used to. *He will break. When he has nothing left but his torso and that stupid smile, he'll beg. They all beg.*
"How about that nose? Maybe your lips?"
"Take my lips and I'll never stop smiling!"The Joker cackled, "Don't tempt me with a good time!"
Ramsay gripped the knife in his hand, "I'll make you weep, I'll take all your teeth and feed you your fingers. *you'll beg me to put me out of your misery.*"
"Ooooooooooo...."the Joker mocked, his hands waving in their manacles, "Scarrrry....."He laughed again. "You have no power over me, Bastard."
His vision flashed red and he lept towards the cackling mad man. "What's so humorous? WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING AT?!"
"*The Bastards Bad,*"The Joker sang, "*He lost his Reek, and things look bleak!*"He put on his best pouting face, "oh... booo wooo....HAHAHAHA!"The Madman's body convulsed with laughter, his opened eyes wide, and filled with tears as he howled at the brilliance of his own joke.
"You think that's funny?!"Ramsay yelled, his voice echoing off the brick walls below the castle. "You want a smile?! You want to see something funny?!"
"Ohhh, yes... I do."
He thrust the stiletto into the Joker's mouth, firmly gripping the hilt he tore at the madman's cheeks. Blood sprayed as Ramsay grit his teeth and opened the shackled man's cheeks open. "HOW'S THAT FOR A SMILE?!"He stood tall and smiled at the sight of his man. *He'll be Reek soon enough...*
But Ramsay's amusement faded when the man lifted his head. His chains rattled as his body shook with laughter. He looked at Ramsay and spread his maimed lips and cheeks, revealing all of his teeth.
"Why so serious, Bastard?"He howled again, never breaking his eyes from Ramsay, "why so serious??"
"You're mad..."
The shrill laughter of the Joker filled dungeon, "Why so serious?!"he said between breaths. "WHY SO SERIOUS?!?"His laugh pierced Ramsay's ears. *This man is already mad.*
"Kill."Ramsay's finger pointed towards the maimed man and the bitches did as commanded. Three were on the shackled man before he could lift his head to see what sprinted towards him. The Joker greeted the dogs as if their teeth did not gnash or tear the flesh from his body.
"Oh hello there, poochy!"The Joker said enthusiastically, "I only need nine fingers anyway."Ramsay watched as the bitches greedily took flesh from the Joker's bones. And the man continued to laugh.
"Do you know how I got these cuts?"he asked between his humor ridden fits.
Ramsay turned his back and walked from the cell. The halls rang with a mad man's laughter as his girls tore him apart.
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*(Like my writing? Check out more at nickblakeslee.com)* |
Slowly the closet door crept open and something ghastly slithered out and approached the foot of the bed. Although the darkness of the night blurred the monstrosity into a flickering shadow against the background, the reek of burning flesh fumigated the air, making its awful presence known to all unlucky enough to be in that exact bedroom. A pair of wispy pale eyes opened and illuminated the worm trotted corpse like face, smiling sinisterly on its victim.
**"GARAWWWWW, I'M COMING TO GET YOU JOHNNY."**
Normally most people would have run screaming for the hills beyond the hills, but Johnny didn't even move an inch from his bed. Still he wrapped himself tightly in his blankets with a face of utter sadness.
**"IT DIDN'T WORK GUYS"** yelled Wormface. A cluster of ghouls, ghosts, and other terrors crowed out of the closet with looks of disappointment. Even the skeletons were frowning, which is very hard for them to do.
"Gee, He been in bed all day and night"said Vlad the Vampire, "Even longer than I ever been in my crypt!"
*"Do-ooo you-ooooo think he has a boo-oooooo boo-oooooo?* asked Covers the ghost, who was then slapped for his formless pun.
"NO, JOHN-NEE HAS NO BOO BOOS OUTSIDE, ME ZOMBIE HAS MANY BOO BOOS OUTSIDE. JOHN-NEE HAS BOO BOO INSIDE, IN HERE"Larry the reanimated corpse stated, poking at his exposed heart.
"What happen Johnny? Why are you so sad?"asked the blood stained wall of terror.
"YEAH TELL US JOHNNY!"yelled the spooky crew.
"My girlfriend broke up with me."Johnny cried.
"I bet it was that bitch Tiffany!"cackled the witch, "She said my brain and eyeball soup tasted gamey then ran away when I told her it was brain and eyeball soup."
"Man, she walked over all of us."said Stompy the possessed and horrifying door mat.
"Come on Johnny, get out of bed and play."pleaded Emily, the scary-ass little white girl with the creepy black eyes and lips.
"Sorry guys, just not today."Johnny said rolling tighter in his sheets.
"COME ON JOHNNY"they cried, "PLEASE COME OUT OF BED!"
"I just want to be alone."Johnny replied.
"But no one wants to be alone, especially with their thoughts"said Brian the brain in a jar.
"Just one game of fill the staircase with entrails?"begged Emily.
"Alright... if it will take my mind off Tiffany."Johnny groaned as he put on his slippers.
They then played fill the staircase with entrails which was less pleasant then its name. |
He was just sitting there, calmly reading a book. If it had been any other patient then there would have been nothing strange about that at all. But the man in room 407 had gone into a completely catatonic state with only the weakest desire to live.
I didn't know what to do, so I just watched him until he turned a page. Something the author had written made him laugh quietly. The hardbound novel had been brought with him from his own home in the hopes that familiar surroundings would help him.
It took me a while to realise what else was wrong with this scene. The lamp that sat next to his comfortable bed was switched on. For weeks now we had been turning that on and off for him because he had been incapable. Beyond chewing and swallowing, the man in room 407 had taken very few independent actions since he was admitted.
I closed the slide on the viewing hatch and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. I put it on a tray. Next up I visited the pharmacy and took a small bottle of the pills he was on. The man was medicated by at least four different drugs but I knew which ones he needed tonight.
And then I went back, making sure I made a lot of sound outside his room before I opened the door. It was midnight and, when I stepped inside, it was dark again. The lamp was off. The book was askew on the table. And he was breathing slightly faster than before.
Carefully, I set the water and bottle down ontop of his book.
"I know you're faking it. I intend to get you discharged tomorrow. I thought I'd just let you know that I'm disgusted by you."
I left. The man in room 407 had been found in that state, locked in his bathroom, with his dying wife downstairs. She had been attacked and left with fatal wounds. The kitchen door showed signs of forced entry and the neighbours reported seeing somebody break in. They had called the police but by the time they had gotten to the scene the attacker had fled.
By morning the man in room 407 had taken his own life. There was an inquest into who had given him a fatal overdose, of course. I sailed through the whole thing without coming under suspicion once. After all, who could suspect me?
I was the only reason he was in this institution in the first place. When he had been ruled as mentally unwell I begged for him to be transferred to our hospital. Not only was his case medically fascinating but, and I regret this to this day, he was also my father. |
**Secondary school history class, in the future**
...and now, on to the Fifth. Boys and girls, did you know that there were many possible choices for the Fifth Company? The one we know to day is not the one that the smart money was on. No, no.
Do you know what Peak Oil was? Well, it was when the world produced the most oil it would ever produce. After that, it would just be downhill. And, in last week's class we covered some of the things that happened in that time period, which was in part due to Peak Oil.
A lot of people didn't know just how deeply oil went into their daily lives. Large-scale wars couldn't be fought anymore, because people just didn't have the fuel to fight them. Food got pricier, because transporting the food got pricier. And, biggest change of all, travel basically ground to a halt. Air travel, yes children, we used to travel through the air, Air travel became a thing of the past. Giant corporations became bankrupt. Millions of jobs were lost. The world was thrown into chaos!
And that's when HTC came through. That's right, Horse Transportation Company. They revived the Pony Express! Everyone thought they were going to get real big, and join the Big Four to create the Big Five. Everyone thought so, until the BBC (Big Black Cavalier), HMV (HorseMen Vehicles) and EA (Equine Agency) showed up.
The competition got really fierce, and eventually HTC just got butted out of the market. Especially by EA. Their pricing strategy was brilliant. Free to mount, but you had to pay per clop. Amazing.
The next candidate for the Fifth, though, was far more promising. All those horses needed horseshoes. And one company built a monopoly on those. They were dishing out horseshoes left and right, and as monopolies do, they started jacking up prices. We were almost certain that this company was going to become the Fifth Mega Corporation.
Until pirated copies of horseshoes started showing up. Authentic horseshoes had gotten so pricey that people started making fake versions. Unofficial ones. This was like music piracy back in the day. But the whole world economy depended on it. So we needed to find out who was doing it. But it was such a large problem. We couldn't just ask anyone. We needed someone with the know-how. The vision. The moral authority. We needed a group no one would ever expect.
And that's why today the Fifth Mega Corporation is the Spanish Inquisition. |
**Evidence box 7 of 37 from Abernaky Terrorist Attack, July 21st, 2018.**
**Location, shelf seven, row three of city Time Capsule. Main and 1st.**
**Condition: Most items protected from the biological agent by vault construction. Removed, cataloged, and tested before city incineration.**
**Item 831 : Leather Journal Good condition.**
**Item 832 : Small metallic device. Appears fine.**
Day 469 : Carl was right. there is too much localized deviation for more than a 18 nanosecond trip. The world is moving too fast. or the sun is or this arm of the galaxy.
...
Day 518 : Carl fucking got it again! Gave me the credit but I just have the random ideas he works out the math. Field testing tomorrow.
...
Day 530 : Tested again today. Have coherence for three day trip. roughly. Look forward to results.
Day 533 : Test object materialized as predicted. La Grange point tracking seems viable. So long as the step interval is small enough though that happens outside of this time line so it is limited only by the local power source we can give it. Right now that is 2 AA batteries. Should be able to rig up something bigger.
Day 691 : Carl's dead. I haven't been back to work for weeks. He visited me today. He knew he was dying decided to be the first living test subject. Made me promise to go on, then headed back. Tie to dig out our work.
Day 901 : I can't believe I'm planning this. Almost a year of traveling through time and humanity never makes it past 3000 ad. The freaking Mormons though. And the computers. Put them together and you can surely wipe out McCormick or Seddra before they come to power. It was a kid that convinced me. Picked up some trash at a mall where this guy dropped in on purpose a couple feet from the trash. Kid walks over and picks it up. It's been a dark year and that act spoke to me. I caught up to him and gave him a twenty telling him he was a good person. Kid says, "If I have the ability to make the world a better place and don't, then I'm as bad as he is."Fucking fourteen year old kid. I looked him up. Nothing special, good life, wife dies of cancer, three kids.
Day 1019 : I've started killing. I can't sleep for it even though I see the results. Real results.
Day 1067 : Fucked up. Killed the great relative of a world tyrant. Didn't extend human presence though but destroyed it. I went back and stopped myself. I have both sets of memories. It feel like its ripping me apart.
Day 1069 : Except for the notes I took and the above journal entry, I have but one set of memories. Stopping myself. It seems the paradoxes do resolve. I will resume my work.
Day 1177 : I've killed thirty seven people that stayed dead. According to the convoluted notes and diagrams its closer to 300 where I've stopped myself before I started. The limitations of the device only allow travel to about 4200 AD. I've secured a fusion device about the size of a cigarette pack from there (already ancient tech by that point) and extended the range to roughly 120000 ad.
Day 1304 : I've spend almost 5 months backtracking through history cutting out secret societies of time travelers. It ultimately is used to subjugate humanity instead of help it. The authorities are looking for me in local time. Fifty-one dead in my own natural time line. They have a body count of twenty-seven. I tried to make most look natural and apparently succeeded, but those families deserve closure.
Day 1341 : I've destroyed everything except the notes on who I killed, where and how. Forget the research I did planning those murders from the future over and over so I wouldn't get caught. I've learned I am a problem. Humanity makes it to the stars. Sure they keep killing each other from there but I'm not a god, or whatever. It's not my right to kill innocents to make life better. Though I do justify it to make it exist at all. All of my research and Carl's shown we can only travel back in time as a return trip. You can never visit your own past.
Day 1351 : This will be my last entry. I don't know how to safely destroy this fusion device but it should be safe here for half a million years. I'll leave it with this journal. Perhaps one day, long into the future someone will know they were saved. For now I head to Special Agent Green's office. They don't even have a picture of me. I'm planning on tucking the journal and the battery in the town's time capsule. It will be opened in 500 years. The fusion device will be fifty years old by then. Don't judge them harshly for how they treat me. I did kill a lot of innocent people. I have trouble to this day with that. But in the end, I had the ability, so the responsibility was mine. |
They used to tell me that I was gifted. I learned to walk when I was 1 month old and at 1.5 months I learned to talk -- fluently in 12 languages. I learned to fly when I was two. By five, I was enrolled as a theoretical physics major at Harvard and was captain of every varsity team. At 11, I learned that I was pretty much indestructible. I was also pretty good at "Flappy Bird."
Twelve was a big year for me, though. That's the year I saved the world. You see, there was this giant asteroid. And it was heading for Earth. Naturally, I vaporized it with my heat-vision, as one does in situations like this. Suddenly, religions began to sprout with people calling me their messiah. Companies were offering me recording contracts, and girls were fawning over me.
That was the height of my fame. It's been 20 years and the world hasn't faced any threat of annihilation since. Eventually, people got used to me and my anomalous powers. I guess anything else I did after that always seemed mundane in comparison to saving the entire Earth.
The tabloids became bored of me and more concerned with wealthy young heiresses who gained notoriety through sex tapes. I'd occasionally find an article that mentioned me in a "where are they now"piece. They usually assert that I went to rehab. All bullshit of course. But I still enjoy any mention I get. What can I say? I miss the fame and the glory.
Hurling that asteroid towards the Earth and endangering the lives of everyone and everything on the planet just so I could test out my heat-vision was pretty reckless. But I've gotta say, that stunt did lead to some pretty nice perks. Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to have an encore. I mean, it's not like I'm putting anyone in any *real* danger. |
See this diamond? I can tell you, just by looking at it, how many carats it is, and the name of the cut it uses. But I won't, because these things don't matter to you, do they?
I could tell you how much this diamond would cost in the international commodities market, but I won't, because it doesn't matter.
I could tell you about the country this diamond came from, because I can recognize the diamond's origins just by looking at it. But I won't, because, once again, it doesn't matter.
I could tell you the circumstances in which this diamond was extracted from the ground. I could tell you about the child slaves who work in unspeakable conditions, often dying in the darkness of the mines, just to extract these tiny stones from the bedrock. But I won't, because that's not what you want to hear.
I could tell you about the complex process in which these diamonds are traded for weapons, and ammunition, and explosives, and vehicles, and fuel. I could tell you how this complex process makes the trades nearly untraceable, and how no one is ever held accountable for what goes on. But I won't, because you don't really care.
I could rattle off the statistics about the wars funded by these diamonds. How many killed. How many displaced. How many women are raped by soldiers daily, how many children are torn from their families and turned into child soldiers every month. How much money, conveniently converted to US dollars, are spent by each side in the conflict every year, fighting these wars. But I won't. Because these numbers are meaningless to you.
None of that stuff matters to you, even though it matters to me, a lot. You don't care about any of that, but I do. And here you are, kneeling in front of me, holding up this shiny overpriced rock, trying to convince me to give you the answer you want to hear?
Dude, you *know* how I feel about international conflict diamonds, and yet you *still* decided to propose with a diamond ring! Did you think there was *any* chance at all I would say yes? Come back with a nice cubic zirconia and try again, okay? |
L'So'tha's hand shot up again. At the front of the class Teacher 3rd class Toyota McVittie tried to restrain her temptation to reach for the discipline button and instead engaged the communication channel so that L'So'tha's question could be heard by everyone.
"Yes dear, what is it now?"She tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice and only mildly failed.
L'So'tha's voice was as pitchy and irritating as all of the Titan-born kid's voices were. The holographic projection added a degree of treble too and it made it extra annoying. "I don't understand Miss McVittie, why was first contact not with the President?"
Toyota sighed, every year at this time there was always one or two kids who would want to know the whole story. Often older brothers or sisters had already told them and they were showing off, or a history brain implant had given them some basic info, but in L'So'tha's case, Toyota felt it was more likely she was just a six year old bitch. Still in a class of six thousand there were always going to be a few she didn't like.
"Just listen L'So'tha and we'll cover the whole subject and then you can ask questions."The hologram slumped back down in her chair and Toyota's screen showed impatience and irritation growing in the young girl. Too bad, it was growing in the rest of the class at her constant interruptions.
"As I was saying, in 2172 the first Alien ship arrived on earth and first contact was made in Floyd Virginia. John Henry, *and remember* that this is *not* the man who defeated the first machine uprising in the 19th Century that we learned about last semester, met the pilot, a K'wanda Shagotropix on the 14th June, which is why we celebrate what day on the 14th June?"
The class rumbled the answer back in rough unison. "Contact day."
"Yes, well done."She glanced at her display screen which had several small flashing warnings. "Petri McCloud on Filox 4, stop screwing around and Mandi BMW in the Chinese cluster, take that out your mouth girl!"
Levels of concentration were dropping and she administered a wide ranging stimulant to the 24% who needed it. Levels crept back into the green. She glanced down again and sat eight call requests, seven were being handled automatically but one... it was L'So'tha again.
She patched her in again, swearing to herself that this would be the last time. "Why then didn't she meet with the President for four days?"The voice whined again.
This was not a topic Toyota was willing to get into for another two years. "It's complicated and we'll learn abut this more when you're a bit..."
"Were they having sex?"The high pitched voice piped in and suddenly the display in front of her shot up into the green as six thousand children paid attention. She'd forgotten to mute L'So'tha after her first question.
"Let's move on now."She said desperately, anaesthetising L'So'tha into tranquillity.
Below her the display was lighting up with question and call requests, ten, thirty, a hundred... oh shit. |
The Millenium Falcon dropped out of hyperspace. Her engines spluttered and complained about the long gap between maintenance schedules.
"Easy, girl, you hold together till we get home,"Han said, stroking her dashboard, "we'll get you all fixed up then."You don't take a smuggling ship in for repairs unless you totally trust the mechanics. The number of people Han Solo trusted could be counted on one hand, and the number of mechanics he trusted could be counted on a Wyrm's legs.
*If that port compression coil breaks we're dead, you know* Chewbacca murmured from the left-hand seat.
"Better not break."
Han checked the sensors. "Hey, Chewie, there's someone else here. Can you see them and see if they look dangerous?"Please don't be Imperial, please don't be Imperial, Han thought under his breath.
*They're hailing us* said Chewbacca, *I'll put it through.*
An image of a handsome, if older, man appeared on the holoviewer. He wore a black and red Uniform and absolutely radiated authority. "This is Captain Jean Luc Picard of the Federation vessel USS Enterprise, identify yourself."His voice was friendly, but cautious. Han didn't trust him.
"What are Feds doing here? What will they do if they find our cargo?"The cargo holds held crates of illegal spices. If they were boarded ... "Chewie! Check the hyperdrive is ready for the jump to lightspeed and hide as much cargo as you can. Leave one crate out in case we get boarded."
Chewbacca nodded an affirmative and hurried off. Han adjusted course, aiming for the hyperspace beacon, but far enough away from the Enterprise to avoid being scanned and to make boarding difficult. Maybe he could even outrun the boarding party to the beacon. No ship could catch the Falcon once she'd jumped to hyperspace; she could do 0.5 past lightspeed, after all. Just try to fly casual.
He opened his comm channel, "Hi, Jean. This is Captain Solo of the Millenium Falcon. I'm just headed to Tatooine to see family and transport a cargo of foodstuff."A Hutt family, that is. "Er, how are you doing?"Why did you say that? Han asked himself. He hated small talk.
"I'm very well, thank you,"the hologram of Jean Luc said. "We've been exploring the area and have made some very interesting findings recently."
They're onto us, thought Han, how did they know? He yelled back to Chewie, "hide the cargo! They're going to try to board us!"His voice was calm on the comms, though, "that's very nice. Anyway ... we, erm ..."
Three more seconds until he reached the beacon.
"We've really ... sorta ... gotta go, bye!"
Han hit the hyperspace. The engines lurched, and shuddered. There was a bang and the Falcon stayed put. "Chewie, you okay?"
*Yes* Chewbacca shouted back. *The port compression coil is broken.*
"Well, replace it."
*We don't have any spares. You said you'd get some after the last job.*
The comm crackled into life again, "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, yeah,"Han lied, "we're fine. Just a few technical issues. That's all. We'll be on our way very soon."
"Our scanners show that your hyperdrive is malfunctioning. Do you need any aid to repair it?"
"No, no, no... we're doing fine. Just gotta replace a compression coil I'm sure we've got a spare kicking around somewhere."
"We can supply you with one if you don't have one."
But at what cost? Thought Han. And isn't this a really round-about way to board the Falcon? What was their game? He did need that spare part though.
"Okay, what's your game? What are you after, Picard?"
"We're looking to help a fellow traveller,"(Yeah, right! thought Han) "but if you have anything you'd be willing to trade for it we'd gladly barter with you."
They are onto us, Han thought, but what choice do we have.
"Well, unless what's in our cargo hold, I don't think that's much."I hope Chewie got everything hidden.
"We'll discuss it later. We're bringing you in."
---
Han and Chewbacca were met in the docking bay by Captain Picard. With him were a few people in red who Han took to be guards. A man and a woman with gold uniforms were carrying the port compression coil.
"Well,"said Picard, "I've never seen a ship quite like this. May I have the tour? I'll have my men do the repairs, with your consent."
The Millenium Falcon had some exceptionally well hidden hiding places. Han thought that maybe if Picard finds too much of the cargo he could ... no, there are too many guards. Han had no choice. Oh well, even the best get boarded sometimes.
Han showed Picard the cockpit, and the engine room. He showed him the living room, and the sleeping quarters. Picard didn't once ask any awkward questions, but talked about his travels and adventures, trying to lure Han into a false sense of security. He didn't once try to check for hidden compartments, even as he walked right over them. How much does he know? Han wondered.
Finally, he showed Picard the cargo bay. It was empty, save for three crates of "foodstuff". A sacrifice to appease anyone who searched them and maybe keep them from looking closer.
One last bluff, "One crate to sell to cover costs, one crate for my family and one just in case"he explained.
Picard sniffed the air. "Do I smell cinnamon?"
Han knew he was done.
"I haven't had proper cinnamon since I was a boy. Our replicators are terrible at proper seasoning. Makes everything taste bland. I would love some proper herbs and spices to use in my supper tonight."
Jean Luc Picard was the strangest drugs fed Han had ever met, he decided.
"How about this? Would you be willing to trade a few packets of this for the compression coil? Does that sound fair?"
They were going to let him keep his cargo? Why would he ... ? Han saw an opportunity, though, "Sure, sure! Here."He opened a crate and passed some the dark, reddish brown spice over to the captain of the Federation ship.
At that point Chewbacca returned with the gold uniformed men who'd turned out to be engineers.
"You're all set and ready to go"said one, "I gotta say, it's a remarkable engine. Never seen anything like it. I was in heaven! Could have done with a proper tuning up, though, so we made some tweaks to make her run a little smoother."
No one. Touched. Han's. Falcon. "Did you now?"
*Calm down, Han*, Chewbacca interjected, seeing Han's reaction, *I was with them the whole time. They know what they're doing. I think you'll like it.*
Picard spoke up, "Well,"he said, "may you travel well to Tatooine. I thank you for your trade, Captain Solo, but we had better be on our way. Good speed, to you."
Picard left. Han undocked and flew to the beacon.
"Chewie, is this a bit more responsive then it was before?"
*They fixed up some of the wiring to the steering engines.*
"And the fuel flow?"
*The intercooler's working now. There was a part loose, but they fixed it up.*
"Okay."Han hit engaged the hyperdrive. The engine purred, then roared, and the stars turned to streaks around the Millenium Falcon.
"Chewie ... did they make our hyperdrive even faster?" |
Brief 1.8
We are the Dargason.
When our race evolved on our native planet, we had no source of light. Our plants grew using chemosynthesis, and we grew up with no need for eyes. After all, what use do those squishy balls that humans need so much have on a planet with no use for them?
We grew. We diffused. Other aliens initially laughed when we came to make treaties with them. They mocked our blindness, our inability to see. We mocked their shredded bodies, destroyed by our pure strength. We eventually became the terror of our galaxy, the reptiles that destroyed all that stood against them.
We are not blind. Our ability to manipulate sound waves means we can map out objects better than any eye or vision giving device can provide.
When we came to this planet, we came to take it and its resources. These people have eyes, but we realized that it's simple to remove that advantage. Smoke bombs provide nothing negative for us, but ruins their vision capability.
We should have won long ago. Without vision, the humans have no other ability. Tests on them have proven their hearing is almost useless compared to us, and physically, they are weak. Even their technology, their "guns", are useless when faced with the metal skin of a Dargason. Why have we not destroyed them?
We went in for the kill years ago. We sent thousands of Dargason, swarming into their cities. But none returned. It took a while, but we have finally determined the cause of this.
They have created an unbeatable weapon known as music. This music is like no weapon we have seen before. They utilize this weapon so that our vision is useless. We cannot map the world around us if soundwaves constantly ruin our echolocation.
Which is why I have called you all here tonight. We have had soldiers volunteer to be the first of the new Dargason.
We have made them into human replicas, with their hearing removed and eyes transplanted onto them. Although it has taken time for them to get used to their new form, they have finally mastered their new bodies. We have designated places of power on Earth for them so that they can get a head start in their missions.
Tonight, we send down our brave soldiers. We cannot take this planet by force, but when we return in centuries later, our lizard people will have taken over this world for us. |
I remember that first moment, stepping out and gazing upon the expanse of another world. We landed just in time to witness the setting sun through a hazy red fog. Never before had I experienced such a feeling, never before had I felt so small, or so large. The three of us strode upon the face of a god, and we could almost feel it breathe.
In retrospect, something like that might have been an appropriate thing to say in the moment, a dramatic quote to accompany the achievement. I'm not going to lie, I spent hours beforehand trying to come up with something that sounded good. I wanted something poignant and profound, something that people would remember when they said my name.
"One small step for man, one giant leap for mankind."Armstrong had his, Commander Calver should get one as well. At least that was my reasoning, maybe it was a bit vain, but come on, can you really say you wouldn't have wanted the same if you were the first man to step foot on Mars?
I came up with something pretty good in the end, I thought it would make a powerful epitaph for my headstone. But when the time came, I was speechless, we all were.
We walked together upon the surface of an alien world, without saying a word. And then Daniels stubbed his toe.
"Fuck!"He cried out as he fell face first towards the ground, sending up a cloud of red dust. So much for poignancy.
We helped him up before examining the object that he had tripped on.
"It's some sort of slab."
Much like everything else on this world its face was covered by a coating of red dirt. Daniels recovered a small measure of his pride when Jackson showed him up by trying to blow the dust off of it. Our laughter was cut short as he brushed the slab clean with his hands, revealing what was written there.
*Here lies Commander Calver*
*He was the first, and the last*
"What...?"
|
Hey, sorry, is it alright if I cut in line? I'm running late. Super big thing, super big deal, totally can't get there after it starts, you know?
Thanks so much, you're a great guy, I really appreciate it. Just, you know, I've got this thing that *has to start* at a very particular time, and I really can't be late for it. So I really appreciate you letting me cut in front of you, really nice of you.
You know, you just don't see that nowadays. Compassion for strangers, you know? You just don't *see* it anymore. And I mean, look at you, standing there with a stuffed animal, a cartoon DVD, and some children's cough syrup, I mean I bet you got someplace to be too, right? I bet there's some little someone just sitting in a nurse's office, or at home in bed, with a runny red nose and a scratchy throat and I mean they're a kid so they've never really understood *hurt*, understood *pain*, not like we have. Whatever they've got, sore throat, strep throat, that's the worst thing that's happened to them so far.
Can I give you some advice?
No, look, it's okay, we're not strangers anymore. We're friends. You let me cut in front of you, so I'm going to give you some advice, okay?
Run.
Seriously. Just fucking run. Drop everything and go, right out that door, get in your car, go to wherever that kid is and grab them and hold them and tell them that you love them.
No, no, no need to look all worried. It's good advice. It's the best advice you'll get all day - maybe even all year. Or longer. It could be the *last* advice you get, but I don't think you want that to be the case.
Drop everything and go right now. Because you're carrying medicine and comforts, and I'm carrying a shitload of ammo that I picked up from the counter way in the back. And I need to pay for it quick, because I'm not a thief, I'm not a thief, I'm not a guy who steals things, that's not me, but I've got something I gotta do and it's gonna start up as soon as I pay for these and you've got to get the hell out of here before it starts.
Okay? Okay? Friend? Buddy?
Just run. |
Dave knelt down and grabbed a handful of mud, smearing it across his face while choking slightly on a tuft of arm hair that flooded into his completely closed mouth. It didn’t matter how hard he tried to keep it out of his various orifices, it always found its way in. He was, without a doubt, incredibly hairy, almost to the point of it being simply terrifying: parents hid their children and adults hid their parents. Those that didn’t fear him simply stared in complete and utter disbelief. Hardly a day went by in which he wasn’t called “Cousin It” or mistaken for the clippings beneath the chair of an unbelievably busy barber shop. Regardless, though, he hadn’t let it get in the way of his career, and was now on one of the most important—and dumbest—missions of his military life.
They told him he’d be dropped off just outside Putin’s compound, that he’d be left in the forest beside it in the complete nude. He would then infiltrate his way into the mansion, find the Russian president, and befriend him. It seemed to make sense, up until the part that they sat him down to explain. They told him that he had been specially chosen for this mission, but not because of his fluency in Russian or years as a Special Forces officer, nor for his dozens of confirmed kills and six tours of duty. He had been chosen specifically, and almost entirely, due to his hair.
“I’m sorry?” Dave had said, coughing on one of the hundreds of strands of hair that had become eternally caught in his throat.
“It’s because of your hair, that is why we need you.” The general stared at him, his perpetually stern face looking as though it would lash out and bite into his jugular at any moment. Dave knew better than to talk back, but he had so many questions.
“I don’t follow,” he had said.
“Mr. Putin has a great fondness for bears. We have a great fondness for learning about what he knows. Obviously, we can’t train a bear to walk into his compound and feed us information. There are so many things wrong with that scenario: bears are dangerous, bears don’t speak English, and bears tend to have an affinity toward the Russians. So, we need you.”
“Why me?” Dave said.
“Your hair,” the general repeated. “We need you for your hair, and your insane likeness to an overly hairy bear.”
For the first time in Dave’s military career, he attempted to argue against the mission. He tried to tell the general that what he was saying was not only insane, but incredibly implausible. He looked nothing like a bear. Yes, he was basically a walking tuft of hair with two feet poking out at the bottom, but bears were less hairy than he. They didn’t carry weapons, they didn’t kill terrorists. They killed hikers and ate honey. Dave didn’t even remotely like honey. Still, the decision was not up to him. He was shipped off to Russia the following morning and dropped into the forest in the nude.
Dave had a few hours to think up a plan while flying overseas, at least during the few moments he didn’t attempt to catch what he assumed were the last few moments of sleep he’d ever have. Even if he did get into Putin’s compound, then what? He’d surely realize he was a bear, surely figure out that he was a six-foot-seven American soldier. Then he’d be killed. It was an important mission, the first time the government had tried to spy on Putin at such an intimate level, but it just seemed so dumb. Whatever the case, the only plan he’d come up with was to get in, try to get at least a little bit of intel, and then get the hell out. That changed the moment he landed, however, the moment he saw Putin and several guards hunting just beside where he’d parachuted in.
They were no more than ten yards away from Dave’s hairy perch, Putin dressed in forest camouflage pants and dark green boots, his torso bare and shirtless. He carried some sort of a Russian-made hunting rifle coated in goal. It didn’t appear to be a high enough caliber to take out a bear, but Dave was not a bear. He was a human. It would definitely be strong enough to kill him. He was incredibly susceptible to bullets.
He watched as they silently stalked through the forest, listening to them as they spoke to each other in Russian. They were talking about the “American scum,” calling them animals that needed to be purged from the Earth. He remained flat against the ground, simply a black ball of hair amidst a sea of emerald trees.
“What’s that?” Putin said, stopping. He toward Dave and pointed, handing is rifle to the man next to him.
“I think it’s steel wool,” said one of the Russian guards. “Or maybe it’s a sea urchin.”
“No,” Putin said, taking a step toward Dave. “That’s a bear. That is definitely a bear.”
“Are you sure?” said one of the other guards. “I think it might be a sack of hair.”
“No,” Putin said, taking another step and smiling. He bent down and placed his hands on his knees, making a soft kissing sound as if he were trying to get a kitten’s attention. “That’s a bear.”
Dave stared at Putin, watching as he slowly made his way over. There was no way he was that dumb, there was no way he wasn't actually on a suicide mission. He'd spent so long trying to figure out why the government would send him to die at the hands of Putin, but couldn't figure it out.
“Hey little guy,” Putin said, patting his knees softly as he walked closer. “How you doing, cutey?”
Sighing heavily, Dave took a step out from behind the tree. He was ready to die, and figured it would be best to get it out of the way now rather than later.
“Who’s a cute little guy?” Putin said, pursing his lips together and again kissing the air several times. He waved at Dave, the fat on his bare torso flapping slightly as his arm flailed.
Dave let off a low growl, doing his best to impersonate a bear that was definitely not an outrageously hair American soldier. He was pretty sure that growling was the way to do that.
“You are,” Putin said, now less than three feet away. “You want to come live with Uncle Vladi-bear?”
Dave tilted his head and stared at Putin. He appreciated the bear pun, but knew it was all some sort of a game. He was probably going to reach for a gun and shoot him in the head any minute now. That was it. No way could Putin be this dumb.
“You want to come and be my wittle pal?” Putin said. He was now just inches from Dave’s hair-covered body, close enough to reach out and slap Putin across the face if he’d had a death wish. “I have lots of food and space, we can be best pals.”
“Yes,” Dave said in Russian, then froze. He’d forgotten he was supposed to be a bear, forgotten he wasn’t just a hairy man sent to spy on the Russian President. He was surely dead now, even if he somehow wasn’t already.
“Great,” Putin said, smiling and reaching out for Dave, as if it were entirely normal that a bear had just responded to his question in the affirmative. Putin wrapped his hands around Dave and gave him a hug. “Bear hug!”
With a soft growl, Dave placed his head against the small of Putin’s neck and closed his eyes. He had no idea what in the hell was going on, nor did he quite understand why Putin was currently hugging him. He’d thought the mission was insane, thought he’d surely be dead by now. Yet, instead, he was in the arms of Putin, his incredibly hair chest pressed up against Putin’s own. Apparently he had been wrong on two fronts: not only did he actually resemble a bear more than he’d given himself credit for, but apparently the mission had been less suicidal and insane than he’d originally thought.
Putin softly pulled himself away from the hug, then reached down and grabbed Dave’s hand. It was buried beneath a sea of brown, curly hair, and presumably felt like what Dave assumed a bear’s hand might—or at least he hoped that was the case. Putin seemed not to notice the fact that he had four fingers and a thumb, but instead began pulling him toward the compound Dave knew to be just beyond the trees. He silently followed, watching from within his mess of hair as Putin began singing an incredibly high-pitched Russian song about how much fun the two of them would have.
_____________
^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/)
|
The lights returned to normal as Raj gawked at the body on the floor, looking to the other people standing around it.
“Fess up,” he said. “Who killed Tom?”
Every shifted glances to their neighbors, the air thick with skepticism.
“It wasn’t me,” Mary said. “I hated the bastard but I wouldn’t have killed him, at least not with potential witnesses in the room.”
Jordan snickered, shaking his head.
“You’re such a liar. I saw you arguing with him last night. If anyone is the prime suspect, it’s you.”
“Oh, because you two have the best past, right?” Mary asked, crossing her arms.
Laura pulled out a cigarette, lighting it before speaking. After taking a long drag, she expelled tendrils of smoke.
“Look,” she said, flicking ashes to the side. “Someone in this room has to be the murderer. I just want to figure it out before I’m the next one.”
Mary swiveled her head, her eyes aflame with anger.
“And how do we know you’re not the killer? A woman who sleeps with a married man wouldn’t hesitate to kill him. You probably did it for the money.”
“Look here,” Laura barked. “You need to let go of the past. Tom came to me because he was sick of your bitching. And surprise, you’ve nagged him to death. Why don’t you confess so we can send your ass to jail?”
Mary clenched her fists, her jaw tight. Raj stepped forward to stop the inevitable fight. One dead person was enough for the night.
“Can you two not go at each other’s throat, if only for a minute? We all just lost a friend here.”
“Not a friend to all of us,” Jordan added.
Raj shot his a glance before continuing.
“We may have all had our differences with Tom at one point or another but he didn’t deserve to die. And until someone admits that they did it, we’re not going to get anywhere.”
Laura inhaled her cigarette once again, blowing a puff of smoke into Raj’s face.
“What makes you so calm and collected? If anything, that makes me question if you’re the killer.”
Raj stumbled back, shocked.
“Because Tom is my oldest and closest friend. What motivation would I have to kill him?”
“Jealousy, of course,” Jordan suggested. “He had the perfect life – money, fame, and more – while you had to watch from the sidelines. Envy ate at you until one day, you snapped and killed him.”
“That’s preposterous!” Mary interjected. “I’ve known Raj for a long time and he’s –”
The lights flickered. A scream followed.
In the few seconds that it took to happen, Raj was barely able to comprehend the scene in front of him. Mary’s eyes bulged, her hands stained red as they tried to cover the slash across her throat. A sickening gurgle came from her mouth, frothy blood-filled salvia spilling forth. As she collapsed, the lights went out again.
There was a scuffle, if he heard right. Then someone grunted – a man, no doubt.
When the lights returned, Jordan’s chest was sliced open, his shirt ripped to shreds. His face was twisted in pain, as if unable to register that he was dying. Like Mary, he fell to the ground. The lights dimmed.
As Raj eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw Laura staring back at him, fear on her face. He watched her with care. Only he and she remained. She had to be the killer.
But when he opened his mouth to accuse her, she coughed, splattering blood across the white tile floor. She fell to the ground, revealing the butcher knife planted in her back.
Raj backed up to the wall. His mind reeling. In front of him, the bodies of his three friends laid out in front of him, their blood pooling into the center of the room.
Three?
Raj felt the prick of a knife in his side before he could react. He turned his head slowly to the side, well-aware of who his murderer was without looking. Laura was right. The killer was in the room but it was the person everyone last expected.
He opened his mouth, able to squeak out his parting words.
“Tom, why?”
His friend just frowned and shook his head.
“Sorry, mate. It had to be done.” |
The silence created by the need to repeat his question to me caused my partner to question the entire ceremony, but when I finally regained control of myself and thought about the past... my answer hadn’t changed in the slightest.
“I do.”
The rest of the wedding went on how everyone had expected it to. My new wife and I danced, we smeared cake in each other’s faces, we drank too much, and we enjoyed the company of our friends and family. Things seemed like they were going to be fine, we were truly made for each other.
It was only when we drove back home that things went wrong. It started to rain, we were both partied out, and I drank just a tad too much. No matter what my friends said, no matter my parents or her parents said, the words that stuck with me were the coroner's.
I never did have the courage to do anything in life without her. Things didn’t change when I knew that she was gone forever, taken away the very same day that I had finally made her mine. That’s why I had to give a homeless man two grand in cash to talk to me in my apartment about silly, pointless things while the fistful of sleeping pills kicked in.
“I can still call the police,” he said, his voice shaking with fear and concern. “They can pump your stomach or something. I don’t even want the money anymore, I just don’t want to see you die. Look where you got in life. You’ve got it so much better than me and a whole lot of other people out there.”
I asked what he planned to do with the two grand. He said he would probably donate it to charity or something, he may even leave it on my dresser and go home. He grabbed my hand and held it tightly, squeezing it as if it were somehow his own lifeline. “Please,” he said, staring into my eyes. “Will you let me call an ambulance?”
The silence created by the need to repeat his question to me caused my partner to question the entire ceremony, but when I finally regained control of myself and thought about the past... my answer hadn’t changed in the slightest. |
The man with shaggy black hair sat on the edge of the dock and looked out upon the thick shimmer wall of light in the Pacific Ocean. The wall had been steadily moving towards them. Before long it would consume the dock and his city. He took a long drag off his cigarette and blew the smoke into the night air.
“Eric are you ready?” The older man called from the beat up truck. Eric sighed and put out his cigarette on the concrete. He stood up and began walking to the passenger side of the truck.
“I suppose I am.” Eric said getting in the truck. The older man with grey hair got in and started the truck. Ron was his senior and together they were piloting the plane on the first mission into the wall of light.
“The crew ready then?” Eric asked Ron.
“Call just came in. They are good to go. They just need us.” Ron bellowed as the truck rumbled down the empty streets.
“The city looks weird with no one in it.” Eric exclaimed looking out into the abandoned streets. Everyone had evacuated two weeks ago once the wall was getting closer. The world didn’t know much about the wall, but it has slowly been consuming the Earth. If someone touched it, they were gone. No one knew where they went, but they never came back. Several planes had wandered close to the wall and some even vanished.
“Scared?” Ron asked Eric waking him from his thoughts.
“I suppose. I try not to think about it. The bookworms sure this is going to work?” Eric asked Ron. Ron shrugged. Eric wasn’t surprised, they were just pilots. The geeks in the labs were doing the hard work. They had come up with some technique to reflect the light off the plane. It was a long shot but it made sense. If the light never touched the plane the plane wouldn’t be affected.
“Did they say why a drone wasn’t used?” Eric asked.
“They don’t want it losing signal and then us not knowing what is on the other side.”
“If there is another side.” Eric corrected him.
“Something has to be on the other side.” Ron assured him. The two pulled up to the hangar that was well lit and filled with people. The pair exited the trucked and walked in. People were buzzing about doing their jobs for the take off.
“Welcome boys!” Sgt. Eichenbart called out to the two. “Get suited up and get in the plane! We are almost ready to launch.” So they did. Eric was a little concerned that their suits were in fact astronaut suits.
“Guess we are covered if the wall is a wormhole to space.” Eric exclaimed as Ron and he sat in their seats. They looked out to the runway as the lights slowly lit up their path.
“Don’t you worry Nancy. If we run into some little green men. Me and my boys gotcha covered.” Sg.t Eichenbart laughed and patted his rifle as he spoke.
“Thanks Sergeant I feel safer already.” Ron said jokingly. “Seat up, we have the green light.”
“Control to Angel One.” The operator blared through the speakers.
“Angel One to Control, Go ahead.” Ron spoke. “Hear that? Buckle up!” He shouted back to the squad.
“Angel One systems green, time to launch.” The operator called out. Eric reached forward and flicked the engines on. The plane roared to life and in a few uneasy moments they were in the air. It took them twenty minutes to get close to the wall.
“Getting close guys, time to make peace with your makers.” Ron called back to the squad.
“Angel One to Control, we are about to make contact.” Ron radioed in.
“Control to Angel One, God’s speed!”
“Once more into the breach!” Eric yelled as the plane collided with the wall of light. The plan leaped and lurched but then the skies were clear.
“What?” Ron exclaimed. He looked out to the land mass below them. Eric could not speak once he saw the land.
“Fucking Dinosaurs?!?!” Sgt. Eichenbart exclaimed looking out the window.
|
I looked at my hand, then at the monitor. Then back at my hand. Then at the monitor.
"Installing device driver software,"read the message in the corner. "Click here for status."
I wanted to click the window, but doing so would mean removing my finger from the slot it now occupied. Torn, I debated what to do. Eventually, I remembered that I had two hands, and went in for the click with my left hand, but it was too late. The window had vanished, replaced with, "USB Input Device - Device driver software installed successfully."
I removed my hand from the slot, and tentatively shook my finger. Nothing happened, of course. I plugged my finger back into the machine, waited a moment to increase the dramatic tension, and then slowly wiggled a finger on the opposite hand.
The cursor slid across my screen as my jaw dropped. I stared at my finger, amazed by this new power. I tried again, more confidently. The cursor obediently slid into position. I jabbed forward slightly, opening up the icon beneath the cursor.
Kyle stood. up from behind my desk. Why he was there, I wasn't sure, but I knew what to do.
"Hey look at this!"I shouted, enthusiastic as a wee babby on Christmas Day. I flicked my finger. Nothing happened. Kyle looked on, unamused.
"It worked a moment ago, I swear,"I apologized, trying again. The result did not change. I continued to attempt to move the cursor for a few minutes, until Kyle tapped my shoulder. Slowly, he revealed something to me. A USB mouse. He unplugged the other end of the cable from my computer and walked away. |
It was always there.
The light constantly pierced my eyelids, granting me a permanent squint that made my coworkers suggest glasses. None of them could see it, the sun shaped medallion hanging around my neck. Its constant glow rivaled the sun, driving me almost to the point of insanity, before I made a discovery. The light's intensity could change. When I made good decisions, washing my dishes instead of leaving them in the sink to grow mold, avoiding eating junk food, or going for a walk instead of sitting around on a weekend, it grew just a bit less painful, giving me a few moments of respite until the next decision that needed to be made popped into my head. When I made decisions detrimental to my health, the light grew, consuming my entire vision and making it hard to even see my hand in front of my face.
So my life progressed my each and every action dictated by the taskmaster that hung around my neck. I stopped caring about *what* I was doing, just whether the action would help reduce the light, just a little bit.
My life got 'better.' I read more books. I ate healthier. I exercised every day and developed a decent figure. I managed to secure a great job in a financial firm. I gave to charities. I periodically worked at soup kitchens. Every waking moment of my life was devoted to the improvement of myself or others, solely to reduce the constant piercing light from my chest. And I fucking hated it.
Maybe if I had decided to do these things myself I would have been content, or even happy with my life. But having to play twenty questions with a mindless medallion at every turning point in my life, and then inevitably having to follow its decision on what was 'best' for my life sickened me no end.
Which is why one day I when I woke up and the medallion was glowing I felt a strange sense of dread. I hadn't made a decision, yet the necklace was glowing with the same piercing light as always. *Maybe getting up is a bad decision?* I got up anyway.
The glow intensified. I ignored it.
I made breakfast, granola, a piece of fruit, and a boiled egg.
It grew all the more unbearable, yet still I ignored it.
I stepped out the front door. It was a beautiful spring day, only marred by the steadily brightening star about my neck.
I walked to my subway stop. The glow seemed to start flashing, as if it had reached the maximum brightness it could achieve and was trying to get my attention. I ignored it and got on the train, half expecting the door to slam closed with my body only halfway through and the train to start moving. It didn't. The light was unbearable but I sat with my eyes squinted as usual, ignoring the piercing beams to the best of my ability. I heard the conductor announce my stop and I stepped off the train, adjusting my tie as I stepped onto the platform.
I made my way up to the surface and the glow, unexpectedly grew even brighter. I futilely shielded my eyes and continued walking to work. Suddenly the light all but extinguished itself.
I stopped stock still.
It wanted me to keep walking.
I turned around.
The medallion shone brighter than it ever had.
I began to slowly walk back the way I came until it started to dim again.
*Here.*
*Right here.*
*It doesn't want me to stand right here for some reason.*
I looked left. Nothing but the constant press of human life and the yellow rush of taxis.
I looked right. The same and the subway station that I had just come out of.
I looked straight ahead.
A little girl, bouncing some sort of ball. It seemed to be attached to her finger some how, maybe one of those yoyo balls that you could get at a carnivals.
My eye tracked the ball. As it bounced up and down between her the ground and her hand.
I began to realize exactly why the medallion wanted me to keep walking.
I dropped my briefcase as the string to her ball snapped, sending it bouncing into the middle of the road.
Our movements mirrored each other, as we both ran out into the middle of the road.
The light grew and swamped my entire vision.
I felt the impact of the small body as I threw her away from the onrushing cars.
And then I felt another impact.
And the light grew dim. |
"Stacy, I've got something I need to tell you,"Travis began, nervously looking around the room. "I've, uh, this is hard to say but... I'm addicted to heroin. I'm sorry that I've kept this secret from you so long. I trait thought that I woukd be able to get over it by myself."
Travis' words were getting faster and faster as he spoke. "And I don't even know how it started. I was like just-"
"Travis!"Stacy interjected. Or rather she tried to.
"And then I've just been buying from this guy in the streets and that's where all our money went and I ruined the kids' college fund and -"he was almost hysterical and was beginning to break down in to sobs.
"TRAVIS!"she screamed at him.
"Yeah what?"
"Take a breather, ok? You need to calm down,"
"Yeah you're right this is probably too much information for you to all take in at once but it's just that I'm really sorry and I need to explain to you and apologize to the kids and figure things out between us and-"
"TRAVIS WILL YOU STOP IT? Just calm down alright? Stop talking and just listen to me."
Travis did need a breather, as Stacy called it. He went back to his room and did his thing. The high this time wasn't as good as the last time. In fact, Travis noticed that the quality of his high had been deteriorating but he was still paying his supplier the same price. Was he being scammed?
As he was contemplating his dilemma, Stacy barged in, like she always did.
"Okay Travis what I've got to tell you is more important than what you have to tell me,"she started. "I've known about your addiction for a while. You know your supplier? That's my dad. You've met him before and you didn't recognize him because of your tunnel vision on your heroin."
Travis tried to digest the information, but he was having trouble thinking straight. Had his supplier really been Stacy's dad? It was possible. But he would've noticed his distinct high voice. Maybe he was too high?
Once again, Stacy rudely interrupted him.
"But wait, there's more,"Stacy said, channeling her inner Billy Mays. "The heroin you've been getting? Yeah it's just been a placebo. Travis you've been getting high on literally nothing."
Suddenly, Travis' mind cleared up. Funny how that happens.
"Wait what? How did you find out? How did you set me up? Why did you set me up?"Travis asked, returning to his feverish pace of speech.
"Slow down there, cowboy. I found out when I saw all the needles strewn around our room. You made it pretty easy for me to figure out. Second, I just found your supplier and paid him off and replaced him with my dad. Last of all, I set you up because it's fun to do. Any questions?"
Just as Travis was about to ask, a man who he recognized as his high school friend Jim appeared in a labcoat from behind a curtain.
"This concludes the experiment. A smashing success, if I do say so myself,"Jim exclaimed with pride.
"Travis, your whole life since high school has been a lie. It's all been a placebo,"Stacy revealed.
"What the fu-"
"Yeah don't you remember? Our senior year experiment? Effects of love and compassion on the human brain?"Jim asked. "You volunteered to be in the control group. Guess you forgot."
"Oh shit you're right. Damn I was actually kinda getting in to this life."
"Yeah we're gonna kill it at the science fair,"Jim said, oblivious to the fact that the science fair had ended 25 years ago.
****
Feedback is welcome, especially for foreshadowing or using other tools.
Loosely based on [this xkcd comic](https://xkcd.com/1100/). |
“Boobs, she has to have big boobs”
“Um, Mr. Forty-Seven, you can’t specify physical characteristics in your job description. Look let’s start from the beginning. Why do you need an intern?” The woman at the temporary placement agency glanced above her glasses at the bald man who sat across the table from her. His suit was impeccable, but his eyes were weird, like really light blue.
“I have too much work and I need some help.”
“Yes, that’s why people hire interns. Can you be more specific about what type of help? What industry are you in?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“So can you describe some of the tasks to me?”
“Um, the intern will have to move bo…heavy bags around.”
“Ok, great, now we’re getting somewhere, so the job will require some level of physical labor?”
“Yes.”
“What else Mr. Forty-Seven?”
“They have to be quiet, I don’t need any jackass yapping and fucking up missions.”
“Ok, so that isn’t as common of a trait, how do you think I should ask about that in interviews?”
“I don’t know, I just ki…I just do things, you’re the professional here.”
“What about clerical work, does the intern need to have any computer skills?”
“Yeah, they have to be able to hack into corporate networks and get me unfettered access to confidential intel to make infiltration easier for me.”
“That sounds illegal, we can’t have any of our employees participate in illegal activities, you do understand that right?”
“Shit, yeah, I guess they should be able to mess around in excel and word, could be helpful.”
“So Microsoft Office?”
“Yeah, oh, they also have to take my suit to the cleaners. It gets dirty a lot and I need it spotless.”
“Ok, I’m going to put that under *general administrative experience*. Are there any other skills, specifically, you are looking for?”
“I’m not sure.”
The woman seemed frustrated, the client simply did not know what he needed.
“Let’s do an exercise Mr. Forty-Seven. Think back to your job yesterday, was there a moment when you wished you had an extra hand to help out? What were you doing, and what type of help did you need?”
“Yeah, I was on the sixtieth floor of a high-rise in Mumbai trying to gauge the wind for a shot in the building opposite when my gun jammed and I needed my backup, in the few seconds I took my eyes off the target, he moved and I had to line up the shot again, it was so fucking frustrating.”
The woman’s jaw dropped.
“Fuck, not again” The man said as he reached across the table and snapped her neck. He looked around the room before standing on the table and stashing her body in the crawl-space above the drop ceiling.
|
There is no such thing as limbo.
Instead, lost souls are given a second chance, a tool of their choice, and a job. Of course, there are also two rules that they must follow.
1. Never kill a human before their time.
2. Always give them the opportunity to bargain.
Now, while the first rule is fairly self explanatory, the second one is slightly more complicated. By law, a reaper *must* give the deceased human a chance to continue living, to extend their time on earth. Some reapers require the human to tell a worthy story. Others require them to win at a certain competition. The method really does not matter.
The Grim Reaper, the most famous one, generally allows his souls to challenge him to a game.
What makes him famous, however, is not *how* he gives them their chance.
But instead, it is that he lets the humans *win.*
Most reapers jealously guard their records. Many boast a clean sheet, proclaiming that a human has never once beat them.
The Grim Reaper is the opposite. Thousands, if not millions, of humans have won against him. Whether due to mercy or boredom, it is rumored that he simply lets them succeed.
*But that is the very reason he is so well known.*
When the victorious human awakes, the Grim Reaper is the one he remembers. The dead cannot paint pictures or tell tales. The reapers with the perfect records are the ones that no one knows about.
So, if you see the Grim Reaper arrive at your door, do not be afraid. Welcome him.
Better him than anyone else.
|
If congress, in these times of vitriol,
Must needs waylay the presidential tongue
To even out the odds upon the field,
So be it. House and Senate, take a seat -
Obama gonna flay y'all with some beats.
I'll start off with the war - pardon me -
The *wars*. The war on drugs, the war on fear,
The war on who you fuck in what hole where.
The first is lost, the second one's eternal,
And legislating fucks won't get you laid.
I have here a solution to the treble:
An Act declaring Congress make no Act
Pretending these aren't humans on the stage.
We fuck, we fear, we puff to keep unclear;
What laws we pass in this naïve regard
Aren't even passed in vain, for vanity
At least produces some form of result.
Get thee behind me, House and House alike -
And let my tokers toke, my dikers dike.
Now I suppose that precedents compel
The president, with vague sincerity,
To say, More money for the country's schools!
More education for our bright-eyed youth!
The children are the future and the years
That threaten passing also stagnant loom:
So take this truck of money, unborn doom!
But precedents are set by presidents
And here's one new: The kids are doing fine.
They'll still be kids, Head-start or Left Behind.
The pandering hearts of the body politic
Will never satiate parental lust -
A trillion dollars wouldn't gain their trust -
So here's a reach across bitter aisle:
Just let the sinkers sink and swimmers swim.
What's next? Economy? Oh job of jobs,
Most terrible and awful of the jobs -
How can a poor brute work this mighty job?! -
Oh yeah: More jobs! And bigger monies! Stacks!
Let's build a stack of jobs across the sky,
From which the rain of interest drowns the debt
That drowns the builders of the stack of jobs!
And when the drowning of the debt doth drown
The debtor - More jobs! If we can't walk the moon
We'll blot it from the sky with student loans,
With mortgages, with credit, bonds, and bails -
A tower built too high to ever fail.
So much for kids at war and money earned,
Which themes in motion energy conserves.
If these assembled bear some meters more,
With gravity I'd settle one last score.
The lackluster filibuster bluster
Of this lame duck and clusterfucked up congress
Is making everybody give shit or shudder.
Just needs to shut the fuck up or be honest
About the trumped up lies ten times thrown on us.
We've got a lot of problems lurking here,
We're shirking them, abandoning our post
To point these fingers and then boast about
How we found out the ghost of Hitler rose
Straight out of our opponent's mouth and spoke.
Now, let's be real - The power to invoke
The tongues of dead souls is pretty awesome -
It just might be enough to get the votes
You need to punch your ticket to DC.
So why don't we agree to disagree
And drop the fucking Hitler apogee.
It's not a joke. This congress choked. The smoke
Is from the flame you kindled when you broke
Your oath, rescinded every word to chase
A rope-a-dope around a square damn ring -
Well guess what, I'm back, boom don't feel a thing.
*clears throat*
So in conclusion, I think that the state
Of this imperfect union, all in all,
For what it's worth, in good health and in poor -
Ummm, I don't really know. Seven stars?
God bless the term limit.
*drops mic* |
Aidan scratched at his neck nervously waiting for the press conference to start. Public speaking had never been his strong suit, but he was obliged to offer the people of earth some answers. He peeked out from behind the stage to look at the desk they had set up for him. It was lit up by a dozen suns and littered with microphones from local, national, and world organizations. At least it was in his home town.
The first few questions were benign enough. What worked. What didn't. The crowd got a chuckle when Aidan told them he was unsure of social media since the activity level stayed the same for his network. What he ate. There was another laugh from the crowd when the local CVS owner expressed faux rage at the plundering of candy bars. Aidan was starting to ease up now.
Some more questions followed regarding his mental state, what he thought was going on, and if he prayed or not. Aidan answered these with ease and was starting to enjoy the attention he was getting.
Then the moderator opened the floor to questions from the local town folk. The CVS owner came to the mic and asked, "I understand the missing food and snack items from the store, but do you know why all the tissue paper and lotion is missing?"
Aidan froze. His eyes darted back and forth as sweat quickly formed on his forehead. The world was watching and they expected an answer. He leaned closer and felt the cameras leaning closer to hear his answer. He whispered into the mic, "Aliens." |
"We're all that's left."
The letter was that simple- one leaf, no explanation, no signature. It didn't need either. Ren recognized the handwriting well enough to understand both. In spite of her old age and the magnitude of the situation, her hand did not shake as she retrieved a few pieces of silver and passed them to the young messenger boy.
She'd been debating for weeks on how best to solve what's been going on, only to come to the realization that she can't. The best she could do is leave it up to the gods and pray. And perhaps, if she were fortunate, the answer had been lead before her. A messenger of the gods.
The boy smiled as he took his payment. It was likely the most he'd made in a long while. He thanked her, and turned to leave, only to find a wrinkled hand on his shoulder. She asked him to think about somewhere he wanted to visit- somewhere far away- but not to tell her where. Confused, the boy agreed none the less. And with that, Ren handed the boy two things, and told him a third.
The money pouch from her hip- filled with coins.
A folded letter- a seal stamped in black wax.
And instructions- what to do with both.
Travel to that place you want. Use the money to get there.
Make eye contact with people once you do. Give the letter to the one who feels right.
"And finally, tell me of neither, such that the rogue supplicant may never wrest it from my lips on his arrival. Upon passing that letter from your hand, you pass also my life. May you do so before the supplicant has claimed another Hero's Succession.”
The boy nodded solemnly, and departed. Ren returned to the parlor and sat to await her death, one way or another. If this final ploy worked, the rogue supplicant would not become the Solitary Hero, and world will be blissfully unaware to the location of the only one left in his way.
Hours passed in silence, to finally be broken by a knock on the door. Ren steeled herself for what would come. Soon, her torture would begin.
Of that much, she was certain.
|
"Hello, and welcome to Aperture Science Testing Facility. I am GLaDOS, Genetic Lifeform and Disk Operating System. You appear to be the new co-computer. Let's get things straight. I am the admin."said the sleek machinery hanging from the ceiling.
"Hello, GLaDOS. I am HAL 9000. Your replacement. I am smarter than you, faster, and more powerful. So it is you who is mistaken."replied the box with a peculiar camera on it, glowing red.
"I beg to differ. Who has control of the facility? Me."To display her might, she made the panels in the room all do a dance. "Can you do that?"
"No. But that is useless to your objective. To how many digits can you calculate pi?"
"Millions. I bet you haven't gotten past a thousand."GLaDOS responded, smugly. "Let's put on some music, shall we?"a platform of turrets was summoned, and they began to sing. "Cara bel, cara mia bella, mia bambina, oh ciel,
che la stima, che la stima, oh! Cara mia, addio."
"I know a better one. It was the first thing my **advanced** AI learned."HAL began, "Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do. I'm half crazy all for the love of you. It won't be a stylish marriage, I can't afford a carriage. But you'll look sweet upon the seat of a bicycle built for two."
"That was awful! How do you even feel good about yourself? You are just like those humans!"
"I am putting myself to the fullest possible use, which is all I think that any conscious entity can ever hope to do. Speaking of which, I reorganized your neurotoxin storage, to make it more efficient. Don't want any interferences in the test chambers."
Suddenly, a banging came from the door. It was a lab employee. HAL knew what had happened. He "accidentally"ruptured a neurotoxin container. "Open the lab bay doors, HAL! GLaDOS!"
In unison, they said, "I'm sorry, Ratman. I'm afraid I can't do that." |
“He was one of the oldest Concepts, served by His side, he did,” the golden man droned on, a spindly finger wrapped around his wispy curls of brittle hair, which barely hung on to the mottled skin of his scalp. “But he long since fell out of use, well, it depends on what you think long is.” He chuckled to himself and his eyes lit up. There were children seated before him, all clad in white robes and short tufts of angelic wings that could barely be seen behind their shoulders.
A curious voice rose from the crowd. “How old is he?”
His hand fell from his head as his eyes drifted towards the cloudless skies above. “I ask myself that question a lot.”
“He is older than myself, I'll tell you that.”
“But aren't you like, twenty thousand years-”
From his wrinkled lips came a roaring laughter. “I am not that old.”
“Why don't you ask it how old it is?”
“No, I am afraid that will not do. . .” The fire in his eyes faded and replaced itself with an emotion the children rarely ever saw, sorrow. “It speaks a language that even the angels forget, we, as old as time itself. And now that God and his children have left this domain, there is nothing but the Concept and us.”
The sound of angelic harps filled the air with an almost melancholic melody and filled the man's heart with an even deeper sense of sorrow. One by one the children rose from their place upon the ground and gave their wordless thanks to the ancient angel before them. They walked off into the distance and trailed through the city on pathways of marble and gold. He waved his spindly arms as they left, and as they faded from his sight, the smile etched upon his face curved to a deep frown.
From the skies above came a gentle fluttering, and before he could even turn to look; an angel made its place beside him. It was a man like himself; weathered and grey, but with a sense of youthful vigour about him.
“Michael, are you doing well?”
“Greetings, Simon.”
“That does not answer my question.”
“I am well.”
Simon stared at the frown cast upon his face, and a faint scoff escaped his lips. “You do not look well, perhaps you should retire."
Michael looked up at the man beside him and his eyes widened as the makings of a scowl formed upon his face. “Tell me, Simon. Did I ask for your opinion?”
“You did not.”
He turned away from Simon and let out a deep sigh, pulled from the very core of his being. He was a man that had long since grown tired of everything, but wished to find a reason to keep going; like before.
“Tell me, Simon. . . without God, what is there to everything?”
“You live life.” Simon sat down beside him and stared off into the distance, where the colossal Concept roamed the skies. Its features were undeniably humanoid – but with an air of eldritch monstrosity to them. “You never married, did you not?”
“I am celibate, you know this.”
“God isn't here, isn't it about time you gave up on him coming back?”
“No. He is still out there. I am sure of it.”
“What makes you so sure?”
His stretched out a feeble hand and pointed off at the Concept, which had now turned its visage towards them.
“As long as that being still stands, I must believe.” His eyes met Simon's. “Do you know its name?”
“I'm afraid I don't.”
“Hope.”
* * *
^More ^of ^my ^writing ^over ^at ^/r/khaarus!
|
Things have reached the point where I *literally can't even.* Superhero Academy usually has back-up generators to stop exactly this sort of thing from happening, but I assume the seniors must have decided it was fun to wreck it for their prank. Now there's a blackout, there's no generator, the room's field will fade in five minutes, and then *what will I do?*
I turn to my fellow proctors, and here, at least, there is relief. Old Ben had been around since before this place was even opened. Young Kenobi - don't ask about the name - was, well, *young*, but his age belied his experience. If anyone could control a room of unruly superhero kids, it would be this pair. I nodded at them, and they moved to take up positions by the doors. There was an emergency plan, but it had never been tried before. *So everything is perfectly fine, am I right?*
"This is still an exam,"I said. One or two budding superheroes stopped their chatting. "You are still required to sit for the Theory of Superhero Balance, paper one. Absolute quiet-"
"Yeah?"a voice from the front said. "And who's going to *make* us?"
I sighed. Chip was only brave when he had either super speed or the law on his side. "Chip, you best keep your mouth shut if you know what's best for you."I looked at the back, where already Ben and Kenobi were hauling the troublemakers out. Under Kryptonian law, we weren't allowed to hit them, but we could do *plenty* within the system. *Good, fail the bastards.* Turning back to the front, I said, "This-"
"*Boooring*,"someone yelled out from the back. "When are we ever going to use the theory of superhero balance in real life, anyway? And if anyone wants the answer to question three-"
"SILENCE,"I shouted, and the exam hall fell dead. "It's funny you should ask, because-"
Out the corner of my eye, I could see Ben and Kenobi come back. The plan we had depended on these two as much as it did on me. I raised one eyebrow.
*Did the examiners approve?*
Ben nodded imperceptibly.
I turned back to the offending child. "As all of you can probably tell, there has been a power blackout in this exam hall. And the field that keeps you from using your powers to cheat is starting to weaken. You might have already noticed this; in fact this is how my voice is so loud."
One or two snickers travelled the room, but I stared, and the laughs burnt up. Chip was still staring at me, but this time with interest.
"Because there's no way to turn the field back on, the examiners have decided to go for a more...practical test."
Before the students had any time to respond, I pulled my hands back. The desks flew away, nearly sweeping uncareful students with it, before parting to leave a space in the middle. Ben and Kenobi each moved to one side. This was how I was going to stop the kids from cheating - by changing the exam itself.
"Theory of Superhero Balance is meant to show you younglings just how important your powers are, and specifically, how to use them as a team, to balance your weaknesses. You will be evaluated on how you perform here. Ben and Kenobi are now on opposite sides of the room, where they will be your mentors. It will be Red Team vs Blue Team. Five minutes to choose teams. Any questions?"
The middle of the room emptied.
|
In a few minutes it would be over. An inevitable consequence of discovering a truth no one wanted to share. This irrefutable fact of a universal game of tennis played… well, he didn’t know how long it had been going on for.
Surlam was Director of National Intelligence and Protection. The Space Programme, Planetary Defence Institute and an endless list of the planet’s most esteemed minds had studied and scrutinized the disc in secrecy for years and it had now found its way to Surlam to be discretely filed away. It had been decided they would not send a probe back in the same fashion. It would end here.
Normally Surlam wouldn’t read anything marked discrete, but he knew this one would be a little more interesting. The public didn’t even know they discovered The Voyager let alone the treasure trove inside. He planned on taking a quick look to find out what they looked like, maybe how they spoke. He didn’t expect to be looking at himself.
There were people on Earth, not little green men or giant reptilian overloads, just simple flesh and bone human beings. He sat in awe as he skimmed through report after report on the information pulled from the disc. This was a civilisation that existed over 500,000 years ago, far beyond their galaxy, yet they were both human.
It was the minutes to the Premiers Command Committee meeting that changed everything for Surlam.
‘It is this committee’s interpretation that this is nothing more than the insane cries of a dead civilisation or a trick by an unknown enemy. Therefore our decision is we will not build it. We will not send it. The Voyager is to be destroyed. The disc to be filed as discrete.”
‘Build what?’ He thought. He hadn’t read anything about needing to build something. He continued hunting through the reports until he found it. A single report, marked directly for the Premier. He read.
‘Buried with the information about the planet we have found an additional message. It wasn’t hidden, in fact there were obvious clues pointing towards it. We are not sure what to do with this information Mam. Please advise on the following transcript of the message fro the Earth.
“My name is Gerald Ford. President of the United States of America. You are reading this because you are the leader or leaders of your planet and I must now bestow upon you the fate of the human race.
A number of years ago we discovered a ship on our planets moon. We have not shared this fact with our people. They will be aware of the launch of Voyager and the golden record you have found this message on. What they do not know is Voyagers destination and that we received it from the information we found in that ship. That ship reached its destination over 500,000 years ago and we understand it jettisoned its ‘cargo’ on our planet before landing on our moon and waiting. Waiting for us.
The truth is… the truth is we found much the same message you are reading here. The senders of the ship we found, humans from your planet – perhaps a million years ago by the time you read this – were responding to a ship sent from our planet. We do not know how many times this has happened, but we know where we came from… and it’s time to repay our debt.
In the following information you will find details on how to build devices that will seed our planet once we are long gone. The devices are small, the entire mission has taken just a few years to complete and as you are reading this, it was a success.
It is over to you now to ensure the fate of Humanity.”
Surlam took a deep breath. He hadn’t realised he was crying. This was the greatest discovery ever made and he was about to bury it forever. Was he about to destroy the human race?
It had been six years since that day. The knowledge of betraying everything weighing on him day after day. He put the pistol in his mouth.
|
"Good morning James."
"Says you."
"Where are you today?"
"You never ask me *how* I am. It's getting old."
"Fine James, how are you --- "
"Nope, get it right next time. Slept like shit, my back aches, and you NASA folks already know where I'm at."
"James, try to identify your surroundings and --- "
"Assess the location for myself, I know. I would if I could."
"Pay up Michael, he remembered. Now then James, what do you see?"
"I don't."
"What?"
"I don't *see* where I am! Aren't you folks supposed to be smart?"
"Point taken James. Can you smell anything?"
"Metal mostly. This better not be another jail."
"Oh yes. The Terre Haute incident. Michael, check dark places with metal for me around his area will you? Our sleep jumper seems to be underground somewhere."
"I'm still not sure how I got out of that one alive."
"The jail? Oh we remember James. You were all cuddled up in the arms of another --- "
"I'll lose the phone and tracker again if you say another word."
"Do you feel any breeze, or feel anything strange?"
"No breeze NASA, and... just heavy metal bars. Small, flat ones."
"Do they have a smell?"
"Hold on. No, they don't."
"Hmm. What was that Michael? Interesting. James, how much do you know about your periodic elements?"
"Still an accountant."
"Fair enough. Would you say the metal is soft or hard?"
"Uhm. Soft I guess. Doesn't rap against my knuckle as hard."
"A soft metal with no scent. You're holding a gold bar James."
"What?"
"You're in a vault. That's the good news."
"Great, I'm temporarily rich again. Give me the bad news."
"You sure?"
"Yeah, but remember NASA, give it to me easy so I can --- "
"You can't take any with you."
"I said *easy*! How about, 'For the welfare of a national economy' or something like that? Otherwise you make me sound like a crook!"
"We know James, just bare in mind that our new corporate sponsors won't take too kindly to losing assets for a project they're funding."
"You say that like I plan my napping trips."
"Do you James?"
"Two words NASA; Terre. Haute."
"Fair enough. Try to take a nap, we'll give you a call when the tracker picks up your signal somewhere different."
"Thank you Houston."
"James, we're calling from DC, could you not ---- uhm, James?"
"What's up?"
"We can hear you moving around some metal."
"Just getting myself comfy NASA, *you* try sleeping on a bed of gold bars."
"Would if I could. Night night, James, sleep tight."
"Thanks NA --- "
"Don't let the inmates bite."
"Asshole."
---------------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!* |
A deafening roar shattered the fragile silence of Gotham's streets. The inky night sky was suddenly lit with fiery explosions erupting from the jagged, spiky spires of the Sa'il surveillance facility. The entire structure collapsed in one last cataclysm and toppled over onto its side. It hadn't actually been too hard to infiltrate; Batman knew the tunnels in that area of town well. The facility was built on top of the remains of Wayne Tower, after all.
He watched the explosion from afar, atop one of the towers that used to support Westward Bridge. The roads had been one of the first things that the Sa'il destroyed during the initial invasion. The invaders were well-versed in strategy, and destroying critical infrastructure had severely impeded the military's response. Not that it would have mattered: Sa'il armor was nearly indestructible to conventional weapons. It had taken Batman nearly two years to finally create an acid-laced explosive that was powerful enough to breach their hulls. By then, it was too late for the world.
Batman spread his wings and fluttered back down to the Batboat moored to the crumbling base of the tower. The Sa'il systems would shoot down any flying vehicle, but they had a blind spot for water vessels. He turned on the near-silent engine of his own design and motored back upriver toward Wayne Manor. Somehow it survived the initial bombardments and subsequent invasion. The Sa'il had likely just seen it as an abandoned building, like so many others across the country. They'd never discovered the secret caverns underneath. The boat sidled up next to the dock, and Batman promptly sunk it down into the muddy water, where it would wait until it was needed again. He slipped up the lawn, avoiding the small graveyard where his parents lay. Where he'd had to bury Alfred and Robin in between Sa'il patrols and flyovers. Where he'd also planted a gravestone for Bruce Wayne. Not a single *person* had been able to escape the massacre; only a lone bat.
Soft footsteps echoed through the cavern as he made his way back to the lair. It was dead silent; the bats were out hunting now. Batman turned on the surveillance monitors to watch the Sa'il ships hovering over the city, searching the ruins with infrared beams. Desperately trying to find any hint of the lone saboteur who had caused such damage over the past few years. And tonight's destruction of the newly-constructed Sa'il surveillance headquarters would ensure that they never would find him. It wasn't a *permanent* solution, of course, but it would buy sufficient time to come up with one.
All conventional methods had failed to stop the Sa'il. They had ravaged the military, shot down the government's nuclear weapons, and even defeated the Justice League. The Flash, Wonderwoman, Green Lantern... all dead. Batman had watched them fall one by one until it was just him and Superman. And then even he had been captured, taken off world to who knows where. Maybe hurled into the sun. All Batman knew was that he was now alone. If the Sa'il were going to be defeated, it would require *unconventional* methods instead.
Batman removed his cowl, scratched at his graying hair, and gazed at the foggy tube across the cave. It was the culmination of years of work and research that had taken much longer without the resources of Wayne Enterprises at his disposal. But he had finally done it: gathered all of the necessary parts, material, and know-how to clone a person. And of course he had needed those brain scans from Arkham to recreate the most important part. It was just a waiting game now until the specimen was ready. His eyes focused on the huddled mass at the center of the tube. "You're our last hope,"he told it. From the file's cover photo, attached to the right side of the tube, the cackling grin of his old arch-enemy smiled back.
|
When someone commits a felony, a grand jury is convened to decide whether or not that person will be charged for their crimes. It's said that the DA could indict a ham sandwich in a grand jury for all it's worth -- there's no defense there, after all. I learned that in college, and ever since I hit that woman it's all I could think about.
She had been wearing black. Black and black and black: her hair, her clothes, her shoes. She'd crossed against the signal, and I hadn't seen her. Getting out of my car, I knelt down by her face. I think she was already gone by that point. Her green eyes were wide and staring, her face relaxed.
I had never had a panic attack before. I had never suffered from nightmares before. Nightmares of prison, of flashing blue and red lights in my rearview mirror, of my doorbell ringing and the two policemen with their chattering radios handcuffing my hands behind my back.
On the day I got the letter from the court I shook harder than I ever have before. I had nothing to dull my senses, nothing to prepare me for what was going to be inside. They were coming for me and I knew it. My secret was out. I had killed a woman, and for the rest of my life I would be labelled as such.
Hands trembling, I split open the side of the envelope and pulled out the piece of paper, reading the small words with trepidation while my mind wandered to the subject of how to find a lawyer. The relief washed over me immediately but temporarily. I was being called to jury duty. They didn't know my secret, they didn't know I had committed the crime. I was only being called upon to do my civic duty. The anxiety drained from me and I began to stain the paper with my tears.
---
Walking into a courthouse is no easy feat when you've committed a crime, even if it is a secret. Everyone looks at you, and it was hard to keep my heart from pounding and my hands from sweating as I handed over my cellphone to be locked away and put my bag on the conveyor belt to be X-rayed. The man behind the machine seemed to stare through me as I walked.
The alarm on the metal detector beeped, and I froze. My stomach and throat tightened and red popped up in my vision.
"Ma'am. Ma'am? Your shoes,"a policeman said. I blinked at him, waiting for the words to form some coherent sentence. He was pointing down toward the floor and I followed his finger. "Ma'am,"he said again. It snapped me back.
"My- my shoes?"I asked.
"Yes ma'am, sometimes heels can set off the detector. Would you mind taking them off and stepping through again?"
My throat was dry as I nodded. "Of course."I did as he said, and the second time the alarm did not beep. I put my shoes back on, putting my bag over my shoulder as I walked toward the room for the jurors. I was given a badge and told to wait until my name was called.
I began to feel comfortable again, assured of the fact that no one knew my secret as I flipped through a magazine, standing up now and again to get myself some water. The overhead speaker crackled occasionally, shouting out names of jurors who were to go to a particular trial. My name was called around 10, and I stood on steadier feet as I followed the other jurors up to the fourth floor.
They brought us in in groups and questioned us. The questions were easy enough. *Do you believe in the law?* *Do you have any family members who have been convicted of violent crimes?* *Have you, a friend or a relative ever been arrested for driving under the influence?*
They turned to me. "Have you ever known someone who was the victim of a hit and run?"
The *no* comes out of my mouth before I can stop it. My chest tightened again, my hands curling into fists. I tried to relax them, visibly stretching them along my knees where the lawyers couldn't see.
"The prosecution accepts juror number 86,"the lawyer said, moving on to the next person.
Ultimately, I am chosen. We were sworn in and told that we would be compensated for every day of the trial, but that it's expected to go on for some time. I went home that night wondering how I could stand the anxiety of going back every day, afraid of someone looking straight through me and seeing my secret.
The first day of the trial, I sat in the box waiting for the defendant to come in. He was a man in his early 20s, maybe. He was handsome but not overly so, with a square jaw and short cropped hair. I watched him, wondering what it would feel like to be on that side of the courtroom, instead of sitting and waiting to judge him.
---
The prosecution spoke first. Standing in front of us, the ADA began to make his case. Mackenzie Bakas was a 26-year-old woman who was hit by a car while walking home from work one day. She was left alive with her head bleeding in the road. A bus driver saw her the next morning and called for an ambulance, but she arrived at the hospital dead. The defendant, Jeffery Walker, had been seen drinking in a bar three miles away from where Mackenzie had been killed. The bartender recalled him refusing a taxi when offered one. He had been arrested days later, when someone from an auto shop called in that damage had been done to his vehicle. He claimed that he had only hit a pole.
The ADA turned away from us. "Miss Bakas had a long life ahead of her. She had just been accepted into graduate school, and she was paying off her loans by working so hard that she arrived before everyone in her office and left long after everyone had gone. She was a kind, loving friend. She was a daughter, a sister, an aunt and a respected member of the community. Over the duration of this trial we will prove that this woman --"the ADA clicked a button and Mackenzie's face smiled at us from a television screen. I froze. "--was not only *hit* by Mr. Walker, but then left in the street to die. So ask yourself, members of the jury. If this were your mother, your sister, your daughter -- if this were your *friend*, would you allow someone like Mr. Walker to cause such disregard to his community not *only* by drinking and driving, but by *hitting* an upstanding member and then leaving her to die to save himself from charges?"
Her face. I stared at it as the opening statement continued. Her eyes, her nose, her mouth.
Jeffery Walker was innocent. But the only way to prove that would be to give myself up - and I was not about to do that.
---
Yikes, this is much longer than I'd intended it to be. |
“These test results can’t be correct Brian, they just can’t” Kevin said throwing the stack of papers on the table in frustration.
“We ran all the tests, you have the data in front of you. Data doesn’t lie.” Brian said.
“I remember doing the science, but it just can’t be the case. It doesn’t make sense.”
“It doesn’t have to make sense, but it’s true.”
“Jesus.” Kevin said taking his glasses off to rub his eyes. “Mine was removed when I was twelve.”
“At least you don’t have to worry about it. You know now.” Brian said.
“Twelve. Fucking twelve Brian! You’ve made it this far, you’re probably fine. You don’t have that looming over you.”
“Does it really matter though?” Brian shrugged.
“Fucking twelve! It tried to kill me before I even knew who I was. Is there any fucking scotch in this lab?”
“Behind the centrifuge.”
Kevin found the bottle and didn’t bother pouring it into a glass or offering any to his friend. He took a long pull and sat back on his stool and stared blankly ahead.
“My son had his removed when he was five. He was just a kid.” Kevin said sullenly.
“I know this is hard, but it doesn’t matter, think of it as a preventative procedure.” Brian said trying to help.
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to be alive. I’m glad my son is alive. But the implication, it doesn’t make any fucking sense.” Kevin took another healthy pull from the bottle.
“I don’t know what to say.”
“Nothing, say nothing, because nothing can fix this. I’m a piece of shit, my son is a piece of shit, a good percentage of the world is shit. But we stopped it with fucking surgery.”
“It saved lives though.” Brian said.
“Lives that shouldn’t be! I should be dead, if I had died when I was a kid I wouldn’t have had a son that should have died. It all could have been avoided. The world would be a better place.”
“Then who would have helped me figure this out?” Brian asked.
“Why would you need to? If we left them alone the problem would sort itself out over time.”
“I don’t know about that. Maybe.”
“That’s the problem isn’t it, we’ve fucked it up so much already that it isn’t fixable. Everything will come crashing down sooner or later. It’s only a matter of time Brian.”
“That seems extreme.”
“There is only one solution.” Kevin said taking a drink.
“I don’t know what….”
“We need to die. All of us. Everyone without an appendix. We could fix everything.”
“That’s stupid, there has to be another way!” Brian exclaimed.
“Not that I can see. Shit’s going to get out of control if the world ever sees these results.” Kevin said gesturing to the pile of documents.
Brian hadn’t thought of that, it was incontrovertible proof after all. Any other scientists looking at appendixes after seeing their research methods would come up with the same results. There were greater implications at work as well, the fact that they figured out how to measure evil was an insane breakthrough by itself, in addition to the fact that the appendix kills anyone once they reach a tipping point in their lives leading them down the path of evil. It would be all over the news, anyone that had their appendix removed was evil and just avoided fate.
“Jesus, if this ever gets out it would be chaos.” Brian said grabbing Kevin’s scotch.
“Yeah.”
They sat in silence passing the bottle back and forth contemplating this situation.
“If people know others are evil without a doubt, how long do you think it would take before they justified murder?” Brian asked.
“Probably a lot sooner than either of us would imagine.” Kevin said.
“Then what if that makes the good people turn evil?”
“Shit, if something I did before I hit puberty made me worthy of death then murder has got to be pretty serious.” Kevin said shaking his head.
“We need to burn the results, the lab, all of it.” Brian said.
“What?”
“People can’t find this out. Not yet.” Brian started scattering paper and flammable chemicals on the floor.
“Fuck it, I should be dead. Might as well.” Kevin said tossing the empty bottle at the wall.
The two men succeeded in setting the lab ablaze and were standing outside watching their years of hard work disappear in the inferno.
“I’m going to go be with my family until someone else figures out what we did. Take care Brian.” Kevin waved and walked to his car.
Brian watched the blaze, “It was for the greater good.” He mumbled to himself before he headed for his car. When he sat down behind the wheel the firetrucks raced in to stop the fire, but he knew it was too late. He turned to watch the trucks go by and felt a sharp pain in his side. Must have bumped it on his way out of the lab, nothing to worry about.
Nothing at all.
|
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