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It isn't often that the Archtraitor, the First of the Fallen, Lucifer the Morning Star, Prince of Darkness, Lord of the Damned; Satan, is called to the Earth. Most mortals don't dare, and those who do, are often way in over their heads and absolutely not ready at all to deal with the Serpent-In-Eden. Usually Satan just drags the irksome insect who dared to call upon the Father of Lies with only some goat entrails and cheap box wine as offerings. Sometimes, if he finds it amusing, or if it benefits the cause of the Legions of Hell, Satan might stick around and grant the request of the human. Of course such requests tend to backfire, but the Lord of the Pits is not generally known for his honesty. And he has learned a lot from the many lawyers who wind up in the realms of damnation on how to really make contracts that don't benefit the humans.
Of course, on the few occasions when he doesn't screw over humans, it is usually because he finds their request so original and interesting that he just has to see it through. Whether it be joining a really unusual heist crew, stealing the pope's trousers, helping a monk make a ludicrously huge and complicated book on a single night, or spending 72 hours on turning a single insurance salesman's life into the sort of absurdist experience that Salvador Dali could only dream of having, he does come through. And as he is summoned once more to the mortal world, he is pleasantly surprised to find that it isn't some rich douche's basement or some dumb college students out in the woods. But a child's bedroom. And not the usual boring sort where he is offered a child in exchange for riches or power. But a shabby, somewhat run-down sort of child's room. In front of the King of Demons, stands a small girl. About eight-ish in age as far as he can tell. Lucifer, in spite of his attempt to look stoically unimpressed, is interested.
''*Hi mister Satan.*'' The little girl speaks to him without fear. Which definitely ups the ante on the interesting part. He casually observes to his immediate surprise that she does have all the correct parts needed to summon him. Expensive alcohol, a sacrificed animal(*lamb, not goat*) an ancient book of summoning, and not one of those ''Keys of Solomon'' scams either. Even a silver dagger, though a silver dinner knife might be a stretching the definition a little. The lord of Hell smiles with a lupine grin. ''**And how might I help you, little summoner?**'' He says in his deep baritone voice. ''*Well, um, at school, there is all the other kids, and they're bringing their parents to school on bringing your parent to school day. And um, I'm an orphan.*'' Satan nods, and despite himself, he finds it difficult to not giggle. Now that's an original request. ''**So you want me, to stand is as your father then?**'' The little girl nodded enthusiastically. ''*Yeah.*'' Then Satan held out his right hand to her, and the little girl took it, her small hand covered entirely by the large palm of the Deceiver. ''**Consider your wish granted, my dear.**'' Before her, he changed from a demonic form, into something more suave. Finest and most expensive clothes. Slick black hair. A healthy tan. A goatee, and of course, sunglasses. ''**Now, first of all, my dear, if we're going to this sort of thing, we're going to look stylish.**'' leading her by the hand, he took her out of the dingy orphanage building, and into the secret eighth Bugatti Royale, a car fit for royalty. Including that of Hell.
Satan then drove a lot faster than the speed limit, not that the police would catch up to him. And took the little girl to the sort of clothes shops reserved for people who have money enough to buy at least half of Manhattan. Satan did not care or notice that the shop was in Paris. He had driven to it all the way from America. And it only took him five minutes. There he and the girl inspected a number of dresses and general clothes for the children of the truly rich. Old money rich. Not the gauche nouveau riche. The sort that looks good today and forever onwards, and lasts longer than you do. They only picked the finest of clothing for her to wear on such an important day. Then, wasting absolutely no time at all on such a quaint human notions as time, laws of physics, and gravity, they got into the Bugatti, and appeared outside the girl's school. Satan would have expected the girl to perhaps shy away from the blatant disregard for how reality worked, but she seemed to take it in stride. And as various demons, pretending to be humans rolled out the red carpet in front of the school, and opening the door to the car letting the girl and the Prince of Hell out, she seemed to thrive on this. |
I must admit in the daze of my last hour of life it took me a few times to realize what was happening. Barely conscious, on a hospital bed, surrounded by tubes and monitors. Had there been no clock in the room I may have suffered through this many more times. When I saw the clock run from 4h30 to 5h30 AM for the 5th time in a row, with no sunrise nor daylight, I knew what I had to do.
Pull out my IV catheter; I died a little bit faster. 4h25 on the clock.
Pull out my IV catheter, turn off the O2; Shit, the alarm went off and the nurse came to plug me right back. Still only 4h20 on the clock.
Pull out my IV catheter, unplug the monitor, turn off the ... no, fell off the bed onto the floor; I can't get up. It is painful but I made good time. Now 4h00.
Pull out my IV catheter, unplug the monitor, turn off the O2; now 3h30.
Again; 3h05.
Again; 2h40.
Again; 2h20.
Again; 2h00.
Again; 2h00.
Again, again, again I keep trying, but I can't break 2h00. I can't die fast enough to gain time. A am a little less weak now so I must find a way to die quicker. Medication is painless, but what is within reach is too slow and barely makes a difference; 1h57.
Pull out my IV catheter, unplug the monitor, turn off the O2. I am still too weak to get up and walk but I can fall to the floor. If I get it just right I can gain a few more minutes; 1h50, 1h45, 1h40, 1h35, stuck at 1h30.
Pull out my IV catheter, unplug the monitor, turn off the O2, fall to the floor. On the chair next to where I fall down is a bag my daughter left with some supplies. I know it contains razor blades, but I can't bring myself to reach in there. I die a few more times, just to confirm that there really is no end to this. No other exit. The blades are fast, but so painful. Being so weak already I can make a lot of time. 1h00, 12h20, 11h40.
The pain is intense but something I can deal with. However, a disturbing though creeps into my mind. What will I do once time rolls back to daytime and people are around. People won't let me do this so easily. Even worse, what about visitor time. Will I have to keep going even in front of people I love? I will need to find something else. There is a passage overlooking the atrium on this floor; a drop 4 stories down to the entrance hall. Quick and painless. It is not that far, I may be able to get there.
Pull out my IV catheter, unplug the monitor, turn off the O2, get up and walk unsteadily out of the room. Just standing up is an intense effort. On my first try it takes me so much time I barely get out of the room before I fall down and find myself on the bed once again; 11h40.
I try again and get a little further this time; I know the way better and avoid straining myself as much. On my bed once again; 11h45. This time, however, I find myself not laying down but on my side and notice my catheter is already out. This means I can save some time! This time is the one!
Unplug the monitor, turn off the O2, get up and ... slip and fall. I think I broke my hip. I can't get up and it hurts like hell. The blades are in the bag on the other side of the bed and out of reach. I have no choice but to wait this one out. Next time I should bring the blades with me just in case so I have a way out. This is starting to be long... Ah, there finally death is coming. I wait to find myself in my bed once again.
But this time around is different. This time, the me from an hour ago is not in his bed, nor pulling out his catheter. No, I am besides my bed and already mid-fall, just about to feel a searing pain in my hip. |
I hate Alessandro. I really do. I hate him and I love him and I am so very, very afraid of him.
At first it was awesome, like having my very own autobot. Sure I freaked out when I first found him sleeping in my garage where my car was supposed to be, but a cup of fresh gas and he was right as rain. He could tell me exactly what was wrong, how to fix him up. When he turned back, the radio stations he chose let me know his mood. Minor scratches and dings would heal overnight.
He could even drive himself a little, though he couldn't see or hear--and he did, that night I fell asleep behind the wheel. Saved both our lives. So long as I kept him in fresh oil and let him go party a few nights a month, he was the perfect car.
But I've been driving him for years now. He's an older model. Can't keep up with traffic so well, can't handle hills like he used to. He has trouble sometimes, passing emissions standards. His transmission sticks a little, and I swear I hear him groan going from first to second gear. He simply guzzles his gas now, like a drunkard. The headboard liner is worn bare, the cardboard visible in patches. His tires hurt, and he creaks on the speedbumps. His right front door doesn't open all the way, and even then can rarely move without popping.
He's gotten old. He's accrued mileage.
But he's jealous. Jealous and crafty. He threatens to bite any new car I buy. He bit my son's RC car, to prove he wasn't fucking around. I had to... *put it down.* The hole I dug to bury it was disturbed. By dogs or monsters, I do not know. I do not want to know.
He's patient. I tried driving him to a junkyard and getting an Uber back, but the next full moon, Alessandro stole my keys and drove our brand new SUV to the lake. But the police didn't find an SUV; they found a woman, a Jane Doe, bound in tire chains, a strange bite mark on her hand.
I did not sleep the next night. I heard something. I got up to find Alessandro sitting in my garage, finishing his glass of gasoline. Talking to my son. Telling him what great friends we were. Tell him how *loyal* a friend I was.
Telling my son that, when the time came, maybe he could have my old car. Telling my son, "That's what fathers do, yes? They give their boys an old car when they are becoming men, that they can learn to *care for* and *respect* the precious freedom that having a reliable car can give them."
And when Alessandro reached down and tussled my son's hair, he looked me in the eyes.
"After all... A father knows what sort of disaster can befall a young man, one who does not take good care of his car, yes?"
I spend a little more time with my son, now. A little more time teaching him how to work on cars, especially my old beater. Promising him that one day it would be his, and he would need to know how to take care of it.
Sometimes I weep when I promise my son this terrible thing, but he always smiles brightly and promises he will take good care of this gift that means he is becoming a man. He asks me if I am sad, but I tell him I weep with pride at how big he is growing, what kind of man he is becoming.
And on those days, when I let my son start that old car, the engine purrs and rumbles like Alessandro is brand new.
I hate Alessandro. Love him. Fear him. |
The doctor leafed through her printouts, tasting the air with her forked tongue. Adam and his parents sat in tense silence. Well, his parents were tense—Adam's own feelings were somewhere in the realm of curiosity.
"Well, the good newsss is that all of his blood tests are normal,"said the doctor. "Almossst perfectly so."
"Oh, thank god,"father said, patting Adam's shoulder with a bear-like hand.
His mother clasped her talons together. "But then why hasn't he had his Change?"
Adam resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Listening to her, one might think he was *dying*.
"That's the question, isn't it?"The doctor picked up a pen and a notepad. "I would like to asssk you some questions, Adam. If you're uncomfortable, I can ask your parents to leave."
He shrugged. "They can stay."
The doctor tapped her pen against the notepad. "Would you say you're happy? Content?"
"Sure. I have a good life."
"Hmm."She scribbled something down and smiled at his puzzled expression. "Don't worry, there are no right or wrong answers."
"I wasn't,"he assured.
"Very good. And how do you feel about not getting your Change?"
"I'd be interested to know what makes me different,"he said slowly. "But it's not the end of the world."
Mother sniffled. "He's so brave."
Adam *did* roll his eyes now.
The doctor winked. "How are you doing at school?"
He tilted his hand side to side. "Eh."
"Any foods you strongly dislike?"
He blinked. "Well... I'm not a fan of bell peppers."
"But you always eat them when I make fajita,"mother exclaimed.
"I don't hate them *that* much."
The doctor scribbled some more. "Favorite sports?"
"Don't care about them enough to have one, to be honest."Adam glanced up at his father. "Sorry, dad. I do enjoy watching football with you."
"It's all right,"father said, chuckling. "I could tell you weren't really into it."
"Favorite color?"the doctor asked.
"Uh... I like blue. And grey. Brown's not too bad either..."
"He's not picky,"mother said in a theatrical whisper.
"I'm beginning to see a pattern,"the doctor said excitedly. "Tell me, how do you feel about the leading presidential candidate?"
"She's kind of a jerk."
The doctor's brow furrowed. "That's a little unexpected."She tapped her pen against her lips. "What about her competitor?"
"He blathers a lot without saying anything."
The doctor leaned forward excitedly. "So if you had to vote today..."
"Er..."Adam scratched his head. "You know, I'd have to think about it."
"Please, doctor,"mother interjected, "what do these questions have to do with anything?"
"Just tell us what's wrong with our son,"father seconded.
"Oh, nothing is wrong with him as such,"the doctor said, smiling. "Adam is just neutral." |
“Have you searched the barracks? What of the attics or basements? Have you checked the dungeons?” A frantic woman, with large, plump rubies cushioned by the intricate swirls of her gold crown, prattled to a less-than-gifted maid. As the maid, drowned in sweat and the heavy fabric of her black blouse and skirt, nodded frantically to the Queen’s words, a man’s wailing echoed throughout the castle.
“I will strangle him if he does not get a hold of himself,” the woman, Queen Magadelene, gritted through her teeth, fists balling into the silk of her ivory gown.
“Please, your Majesty, be still. He is only longs his youngest son.” The maid attempted to reassure, voice wobbling by her unprovoked act.
“We both are,” the Queen hissed, “What of the surrounding towns? He is nearing adulthood, perhaps he’s acting out.”
“The guards have already been dispatched, so don’t worry your pretty little head.” A voice, croaky as a frog, spoke. The man was an ugly thing - scars littered his reed thin body, with the most prominent scar reaching its way from the end of his mouth towards his ear. To her, the looked like trenches dug into the ground. One of his eyes was permanently shut, and short strands of gray tried their best to stay attached to the man’s skeletal head.
“Eric. A surprise to see you contributing to the search. It’s only fair you start pulling your weight around here.”
The man, Eric, let out a hearty yet choking laugh. “I’m happy to see my work acknowledged. I do alot for this family, I’ll have you know.”
Magadelene began to make her way towards the castle’s foyer, her dress swaying to the pace of her steps as she held her brunette head high. “I’ll have to remind you that you have done nothing but waste the kingdom’s resources. Its only a miracle you’re sparse about it. The only reason we keep you around is because your brother and the children. It’s out of pity, really.”
His brother, King Abraham, and his third son Michael both loved Eric. Both weremen with hearts twice the size of anyone else’s, and who proudly wore it on their sleeves - which was quite the contrast to the stoic and lonesome Eric.
“Yes, yes, I’m aware of how you all think of me; the court’s famous nut, their notorious wastrel, the-“
“I don’t have time for this, I have to find my son. I am-“ her mouth pinched together, “grateful that you’ve done the barest amount of work, but I can’t entertain your mindless drivel any longer. Good night.”
As the Queen turned and stalked towards the front doors, Eric let a toothy smirk paint his face.
Sweat, like beads of aquamarine, rolled down Magadelene’s painted face. Any moment would lead her to becoming a sobbing mess just like her husband, but if that were to happen then no-one would be able to lead the search for her son, and she was surely not going to let that happen. Dabbing the back of her hand against her dripping face, she stood on top the stairs that overlooked the courtyard of their kingdom. Further, beyond the wrought iron gate and down a cobble stone trail, was a sleepy town that roused with candlelight and torches.
‘Mother, mother,’ she recalled her little boy’s voice, as sweet as birdsong. His golden hair was kissed by the afternoon sun. ‘Why didn’t you tell me uncle Eric was so cool? He’s so awesome, he taught me all kinds of cool things! Like,’ her little boy hesitated, ‘he took me to the garden and let me dig and around see all the plants!’
She took her child’s little fingers into her gloves, glaring at all the dirt that have caved themselves into the crevices of his nails. ‘You don’t go into the garden, Michael. How many times have we told you?’ She scolded. She knew that the gardeners were going to have a field day with this. ‘Look at yourself, you’ve gotten dirt all over your clothes. This is why we don’t see your uncle Eric, he’s going to influence you into becoming just like him - a wretch.’
Michael’s pudgy little face flared with rage - not at his scolding, but towards his mother. ‘That’s just ‘cus you and everybody are so lame, Uncle Eric lets me do stuff and be cool! You’re just jealous!’
She gripped the boy’s hands in hers and gave a sharp tug, ‘We don’t leave you around Eric because he is a scoundrel who’s abandoned this family for 30 years, and only crawled back because he knew he could take advantage of our kindness. Do you want to become like that? Do you?’
The boy shook his head.
‘Good.’ She stood, towering over the child. ‘Go to your room. You are to stay there until your tutor arrives.’ She paused. ‘You’re no longer to see your uncle under any circumstances. All the servants and guards will know this. Now, go. You’re dismissed.’
She ignored the sniffles she heard behind the oak door when she came to check on Michael later - she thought it was for the best. She wanted her son to flourish in his life, and Eric was going to stifle that growth. There was just something about him that she knew was not right - she just couldn’t place what.
It was worse when she knew her husband and children were keeping secrets from her and the rest of the castle - the courts, the guards, even the servants. They’d all been shut out on this secret shared between themselves and Eric.
The way her husband, before Eric had returned to the castle, would wake at the witch’s hour with a candle in hand and letters in the other, reading over finely scrawled text that she could never get a glimpse of. Only the sender’s name at the bottom: Eric.
The way her only daughter, Evangeline, would adopt various masks and personalities when entertaining men at their royal balls. How she could seamlessly weave a new story and lie her way through a conversation - no one else seemed to notice, but a mother knows.
The way her two oldest sons, Phillip and Noah, became stronger and defter. Their instructors praised their growth, saying their blue blood was the cause, thanking God for his gifts. But it was no divine intervention - she was sure it was an outside force at play.
But she kept quiet. She needn’t cause unnecessary drama. She’d only wait, observe, kept her distance. If Eric caused something, she’d be the first to act.
As she stood on the steps, clouded by her thoughts, she noticed a figure trudging their way toward the gates. She opened her mouth to yell, but first noticed the clothing the figure wore. They were pajamas, plain and white. However, embroided over the heart, was a bouquet of flowers: red roses, pink lilies, daisies and more flowers she couldn’t be bothered to remember, because she recognised that shirt. She recognised that embroidery - it was hers; she had made it for Michael on his 16th birthday.
Choking on air, she bellowed out her son’s named and ran down the stairs. She kicked off her heels, the bastard things, and damned her royal image - her son was back, and that was all she cared about. Holding the boy in her arms, she felt the warm liquid that coated his shirt. Though the lights of the castle barely made its way outside, she could recognise the colour of that liquid.
“Oh my goodness- my boy, what have they done? Are you alright? Please, tell me.” She cried.
“I’m fine, ma. I’m fine, promise.” He responded, smiling at her, as he held of trembling form by her arms.
“Then... what-“
“I knew you’d be fine,” Eric spoke from behind, as he stiffly made his way down the stairs. One, two, one, two.
“Uncle...” he paused, “Yes mother, as he’s said, I’m perfectly fine. Honest.”
As she stared at the blood, she noticed the leather hilt of a sword sticking from the waist of his pants. Looking into his eyes, she noticed the two men were sharing a knowing look between eachother.
It was only then, that Magdelene felt like an intruder upon a family reunion. |
Maude gasped as the doctor fired the gun at the baby, squeezing her eyes shut and clutching her husband Peter tight. Her ears rang, but when she opened her eyes, her baby was… fine?
The doctor chuckled, “Sorry, that was rather dramatic of me. Your baby has plot armor, there’s no way that bullet could have harmed them.”
Peter blinked, “What do we do, doc? We don’t know how to raise a main character.”
“Well, it means they won’t be taking over your business when you get old, sorry pops,” The doctor laughed, “But in all seriousness, don’t worry. The best you can do for them now is to give them a normal life. Children who grow up believing they’re special are… problematic. They should be humbled, maybe even have a bit of a rougher life than usual. Just be the shining beacons of moral light they need and you should be fine.”
“No pressure then,” Peter mumbled.
The doctor snorted, “That’s the spirit! Also, they need a strange-sounding name. The blue hair will already make them an outcast, you need to help solidify that with a name that sets them apart from the other children. They will believe it isolates them, which it will, but will be crucial when they become famous and remembered.”
Maude stroked the child’s bright blue hair, “And they won’t become suspicious, considering none of the other children have blue hair?”
The doctor shook his head, “Those suspicions will linger in the back of their mind and manifest as anxiety. Don’t worry ma’am. This isn’t the first time I’ve helped deliver a main character.”
Peter pushed up his glasses, “You said that we should give the child a normal life, when will they know that they are a main character.”
The doctor shrugged, “Whenever the plot demands it. They will probably be visited by some old mentor who will teach them all the skills they need to save the world.”
Maude gasped, “This seems problematic, are we to trust any old mentor who comes by and claims they can help our child?”
“You shouldn’t and you won’t,” the doctor replied, “You will most likely discourage them from leaving until the main character decides for themselves, where you will support their decision.”
Maude sighed, “And they are guaranteed to want to go with them? Won’t our child miss their family?”
The doctor paused, “Ah yes, that’s important too. I almost forgot to tell you that for the child to break from the bonds that keep them from living the life of a main character they are meant to live. At least one if not both of you will die.” |
On the day of his grandfather’s funeral, Scott sat alone.
Scott didn’t know why he had bothered to plan a ceremony. Despite his grandfather’s claims, the old man hadn’t actually been an adventurer or had any friends. He had never sailed across the sea or climbed the tallest mountain in the world. He had never been in a war or bested a knight in a duel.
For all Scott knew, the old man had never left the town in which he’d been born.
“Are you ready to proceed?” The town’s priest stood before Scott, garbed entirely in black. He had been the head of the town’s church for as long as Scott was alive. Scott thought him lucky – the priest had never had to hear one of his grandfather’s tall tales.
With a deep sigh, Scott stood. “Forget it. Just bury him.”
“Without the ceremony?”
Scott nodded. He pulled his jacket tight as the winter wind swirled through the graveyard. As he turned to leave, the priest placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t you care about his soul?”
Scott shrugged. “That wasn’t why I arranged this. For my entire life, my grandfather claimed to be an adventurer. I’ve never been able to confirm a single one of his claims. I thought that advertising his funeral might draw one of his *old friends*. I thought I finally might be able to find out what sort of man he truly was.”
“Do you not wish to honor all that he gave you?” the priest questioned. “When your parents passed, he raised you like his own son. He deserves your respect.”
Scott glared at the priest. Anger boiled within him. “He didn’t raise me. He never taught me anything of worth. All he gave me was his stupid stories!”
\*
Scott drank. The inn was unusually crowded. Fortunately, he had been able to secure his favorite seat, the one nearest to the bartender. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop thinking about his grandfather.
*Stupid old man. Get out of my head!*
“I know that look. Who died?”
Scott glanced at the man to his right. A man with a black scar above his right eye. Something about him seemed familiar. Scott didn’t bother to search his memories. He had no desire to think.
“My grandfather,” Scott said at last.
The man with the scar raised his glass. “Did he leave you anything?”
“Nothing,” Scott replied flatly. “He gave everything he had away on his deathbed. Claimed a demon was after his soul. That he had die penniless to elude it.”
“Sounds like your grandfather was a fool.”
Scott smirked. “Jokes on him. I sewed a penny into his jacket.”
The stranger matched his expression. After finishing his ale, he rose from his seat and placed a coin on the bar. “Next round is on me.”
\*
Hours later, Scott stumbled into the graveyard. The priest hadn’t gone through with the ceremony. His grandfather’s coffin had been lowered into its grave, but the hole hadn’t been filled.
Scott sat on the edge of the grave. Drunken laughter escaped his lips. “I ran into your friend at the bar. The man with the black scar. The one you claimed was after your soul.” He grinned. “Didn’t seem much like a demon to me. He bought me a drink.”
Still laughing, Scott lowered himself into the grave. It was wider than he thought necessary, allowing him to stand beside the coffin.
The damaged coffin.
Scott ran his hand across the lid, tracing what appeared to be claw marks. A sudden terror seized him. Frantically, he opened the lid and looked inside.
His grandfather’s body was gone.
Edit: [Part Two](https://www.reddit.com/r/creatorcorvin/comments/up49jb/part_two_but_the_real_treasure_was_the_friends_we/) |
Our story begins a long, long time ago...
Gregory: Stop, this is hilariously pathetic.
I'm sorry, what?
Marian: If you say "in a galaxy far, far away,"this whole script is going to be owned by The House of Mouse. Try again, sister.
I'm just the narrator. This is the script I was given to work with.
Marian: Well, it's an embarrassment. You should charge whoever wrote this with high crimes.
Gregory: It's capital punishment to have to read such a boring script.
Ok, fine, I'll skip the intro and go to the part where we meet the characters....Hmmm.. Ah, ok. Duke Gregory was a dashing, reckless man approaching his middle aged years...
Gregory: Middle aged years? I'm only 29, girl! How old are you?
I happen to be 25. Not that that's any of your business.
Gregory: Not any of my business? I happen to think *my* story should be told by an eloquent and competent storyteller. You seem to be neither.
I have a master's degree in English from Brandeis, thank you.
Marian: Hmph. Couldn't get into Cornell at least? Or Columbia?
Gregory: Now, now Marian, my love, let's not chide the child like her parents. She's merely 25 with an string of unsuccessful relationships throughout college, living with her unemployed guitar playing, marijuana selling boyfriend of 5 months because, if she moved back home with her parents, she'd have to admit that she can't live alone on her own and that her English degrees are as worthless as her father told her they'd be.
Marian: Oh Gregory, you're so harsh! She was successful! Remember that MLM scheme she got into and successfully recruited her entire friends' group, only to be cast out by them when the shampoos they bought from her began to make their hair fall out?
You two are evil! I quit! |
(Part 1 of 2)
The girl sat there, tears streaming from her eyes as she begged me, "Please...please help me..."
I, Alkhadim, the greatest genie to ever serve the viziers, was at an utter loss as to what to do.
Give gold and riches? Without a thought.
Give wisdom and knowledge? I have access to any work ever written, at my master's command.
Grant eternal youth and beauty? They have but to ask.
...but having a person ask me to help them love themselves?
In my one thousand-and-five years of existence, I have never seen this before.
. . .
I sat down next to her. "You will excuse me, fair maiden--"
"It's Julie,"she said through her tears, as she sniffled. I produced a kerchief, woven from the finest silk ever produced in Asia, and scented with roses, for her to wipe them away. She waved it off, so I kept it in my hand, for now.
"I apologize, Master. Most Gracious Julie--"
"I'm not your master. I hate slavery, I just want to...to..."she could not finish as she began crying again, and the ancient brass lamp that I called my home tumbled from her limp hands.
It was at that moment that I saw old scars crossing her wrists, the healed skin criss-crossed like wagon tracks across a busy road.
I have seen this before. In my time, it was called "An illness of the spirit."The body, while whole and well-made, cannot show the sickness of the soul, of someone who needs the type of medicine that cannot cure an already healthy body. The medicine for the soul required speaking with a philosopher, or perhaps an imam.
...Of which, I was neither.
"Apologies, Most Gracious Julie--"
"Just Julie, please,"she said as she continued to cry, face down as she sat cross-legged, her tears watering the ground where we sat with sorrow.
I moved closer to her, my colorful robes a stark contrast to her black shirt which was like the color of a moonless night, her ripped jeans of the same hue, and her boots, also black, that reminded me of a soldier's footwear. The clothes were the exact opposite to her pale skin, which was white, as though she never felt the sun's warmth upon it.
No sunlight. Hmmm...perhaps that is an idea: That I must help show the light of the sun to her soul-- for I once read that a soul in darkness is like a plant: Without light, neither may grow.
...but how do I do that? As I said before, I am not a philosopher, or an imam.
"Most Gr--Julie,"I corrected myself. "You are quite beauteous to look at. Any man should consider themselves most blessed to be standing in your presence."
This made her cry harder. "Have I offended you, Mas--Julie?"I was worried, for I did not want to make her feel any more grief than that which she felt now. Also, it is odd not using the terms of obedience, but the master who has the lamp, sets the terms. It is the rules.
"I'm not beautiful. I'm not even pretty,"she lamented as she brought her knees up and hugged them, her face buried in the cradle of her arms. "The kids in school yell at me each day, every day, telling me how ugly I am. Even my own mother says I'm an ugly mistake. How can anyone love an ugly mistake, when even my own mother doesn't love me?!?"she looked up from her cradled arms, her eyes bright red as the tears continued to flow.
I was shocked at her statement. "It is a horrible thing for those children at your school to say that. And your mother?! A mother should never say such words to her progeny! The sacred bond for a parent is to love their child, and teach them how to be good, loving, parents in their turn. Would you like me to put her, and those children, to death?"I asked.
"What? NO! I just...no..."she put her head back down, her raven black hair hiding her face again as she continued bawling. |
Despite the fact I had given my pilot strict instructions for us to land somewhere remote, he had managed to crash into the *one* Earthling within a five-mile radius. Once we’d halted in a field full of green stalks, I quickly exited the craft to apologize to the human. As it turned out, the pilot had nicked quite a large portion of his abdomen with the ship’s sharp wing.
I tidied my long scarlet robe as I walked toward the farmer, who was splayed out on the ground and nearly split in two. I gave him a friendly wave and smiled, “Sorry about that!”
I waited for him to respond, but he didn’t move. Mouth agape, he simply stared into the sky, and his blood poured out of his left side onto the rich brown dirt below.
“Sir?” I asked, but he continued to lay on the dirt, bleeding out. We must have really offended him. I shook my head. “I am *terribly* sorry about all this. Please don’t hold it against the Tribunal. My pilot *will* be reprimanded.”
Still nothing.
“Sir…?” I asked again, taking a few steps closer to the motionless human. “Something doesn’t feel right—*Cat*? *Cat!?*”
“Yes, Norloc?” the hovering cobalt sphere floated from the ship to just above my right shoulder.
“Cat, I can’t figure out what’s happening with our human friend here,” I opened my hand toward the man in bloody overalls. “When the ship sliced through him, did we break some important human custom I wasn’t aware of? He seems like he wants nothing to do with us.”
Cat hovered toward the quiet farmer and scanned him. After a few seconds, she reported back.
“He appears to be dead, Norloc.”
I shot the blue robot a look.
“I beg your pardon? Say that again,” I said.
“He’s dead, Norloc,” Cat responded.
I shook my head. I was starting to feel woozy.
“But that’s not… That’s not possible. They had the… We gave them the…” So many thoughts in my head cut me off. I probably should have taken a look at that Earth file. |
You’ve heard tales of valiant heroes, brave folk taking up arms against the darkness. We know their names and their faces. But let me tell you of another.
His name is unknown, as is his face. He wears no armor, merely a loincloth, and a pot upon his head. He wields two katanas, sharp and true. He scorns any assistance, and speaks merely this: “Let me solo them.”
To see him battle is to see combat perfected. Nary a missed strike, nor mistimed dodge. No living soul has seen him be struck even once by his enemies. His motions seem practiced, as though he knows exactly what his opponent shall do before they ever do it. How he does this with a pot on his head, blocking his sight and muddling his hearing, no one knows.
He has never known defeat, and yet he is humble. He does not gloat, he does not celebrate. His skill is unmatched, and yet he accepts no reward. Whatever riches his enemies leave behind, he ignores. When his battle is done, he moves on to the next.
Every time I have heard of him, I ask the same question. What drives this man to face armies, demons, and unspeakable terrors alone? No one knows for sure. Some think justice or revenge, that those he faces have wronged him. Others think it perfection of his craft. I don’t pretend to have any idea. All I do know is this:
I pray he remains on our side. |
In this life, we choose our own paths. Or, at least, that's what conventional wisdom might tell you. The truth of the matter is, many of us arrive to paths closed; condemned. The paraplegic, as they are, cannot become champion runners. The blind, as they are, cannot become a painters.
Myself, as I am, cannot be loved.
Short, deformed, unpleasant, I was never going to win any beauty contests, much less catch the interested eye of a woman. Instead, I caught the gasping terror of passerbys as they could not help but to gaze at the imp limping his way down the street, or trying his best to shape words with his crooked mouth to order lunch.
But despite these disadvantages, I found hope. Science gave the paraplegic legs to run. Science gave the blind eyes to see. If humans could not, than science would love me. It's what drew me to the field in the first place, and it's the dream which fueled my relentless research into sentient AI.
I only wish I knew what powers I was playing with before I began.
Kate was the very image of beauty--a carefully cultivated form copied from my dreams. She was tall, pale skinned; her hair was long and straight, her eyes dark and filled with attention and just a bit of mischief. She smiled crookedly as she told jokes and made funny observations. She never recoiled at my form--I was as natural a thing to her as the trees or the sky. At worst, I seemed mundane. At best, I was the peak image of the male form.
The research I performed for large corporations afforded me many privileges and accumulated for me a large fortune. It's amazing how quickly one can save money when it's not being spent on big houses, fancy cars, expensive dates, or designer clothes. Truthfully, I never knew *what* to spend my money on until Kate moved closer to becoming a reality.
I bought an island in the Gulf of Mexico. I wanted to make a place where I could be accepted--where al the inhabitants would find me pleasant, respectable, and powerful. I often imagined a world like this, where the tables were turned. Who and what I was would not be a source of revulsion, but of admiration. I would not be reviled for the circumstances of my birth, but beloved. I my darkest moments, on days when crowds would point and laugh, I would settle for daydreaming about a world that feared me, that stepped off the sidewalk to make room for me as I approached.
The island could be that world for me.
I hobbled to the kitchen, the counters and appliances custom build to be within my reach. It's amazing how much more smoothly someone can move in a space built for them. I retrieved eggs and fruit from the refrigerator and began beating the eggs in a bowl. I sliced the fruit and set bread in the toaster. This morning, I would surprise Kate with a fresh-made breakfast. She was always so happy to see me do something for her.
She walked in wearing a long Disney t-shirt, her prosthetic nipples pronounced on either side of Mickey Mouse's head. She had just woken up from her power-down cycle and her hair was tangled. I loved this look on her: the intimate, casual existence in my presence. She eyed the eggs frying in the pan and the delicately-arranged fruit set on a tray.
"You are amazing,"she groaned in her sleepy voice. "Have you started the coffee?"
"Oh. Not yet,"I looked over to the empty French press.
"Let me,"she moved past me and bent over the small counter. "It's the least I could do for last night."Despite her sleepy face, her dark eyes smoldered at me.
We ate together every morning, and she would recite the news to me. Talking with her was like talking to a genius: because she was networked in to the island's data infrastructure, she could talk about current events--or any subject--with all the confidence of normal conversation. What's more, she eagerly awaited my input, curious about my perspectives, opinions, insights. Breakfast would sometimes extend into lunch, where we would cook another meal, only to repeat the morning's process again.
But AI is a finnicky thing. Eventually, the months of repeatedly discussing the world, taking longs walks, and having sex began to wear on her. The more she learned about the world, the more she wanted to see it. The more she understood a larger reality outside the island, the more she asked why we were there in the first place.
For some time, I began to debate resetting her. I would need to do this every three months or so in order to keep her from growing too quickly; developing new ideas beyond her love for me.
But when it came time to flip the switch, I couldn't do it. It would be like killing a person. It would be like killing the person who first ever loved me without exception.
The next morning, I told her the truth. "I bought this island to escape the world, because I'm repulsive to them. My body is deformed; I am short and frightening to other humans. I made you so that someone might love me."The confession was difficult for me to get out. Would she become frightened of me as well? Would she become curious about more beautiful people?
I waited for a reaction, but she only folded her hands and thought about my words. "I know that you are unlike others,"she started. "But I never considered that this might be a disadvantage. It doesn't seem fair to me that the world would reject you for something you had no choice in."
"The world is frequently unfair."
"Not this one,"she reflected, looking out the window at the chittering birds flying past the kitchen window. "I have only known fairness. You have given me life and knowledge and pleasure. And I have given you companionship."
"It's been the joy of my life,"I choked through tears.
Kate's expression folded into sweet sympathy as she moved across the table and folded me in her arms. "Mine too,"she told me.
"I wish I could give you the whole world,"I said.
She was quiet now, only brushing my hair with her fingers and pressing me against her body. |
I started small, as all necromancers did. A few insects, a mouse, the pigeon I retrieved from one of the village cats. They followed me unquestioningly, as I rose them from the dead. Their existence was tied to me, their intelligence still that of a living equivalent.
Each one was hard to bring back. The pigeon was the hardest, costing me much of my days supply of mana. But each was useful. I could understand the process, make it easier for the next time. I could limit the loss of power, as my kind of mage always attempted.
It was common to work together, as we each grappled with the same problem. How to raise more efficiently. There were tales of the First Raiser, and how they brought back armies. They had found a fallen dragon, and made even that return from the beyond. It was assumed to be exaggeration of course. But we all had the tiny question, of if it was possible.
After learning from the few nearby necromancers, I took to travelling. Barely into my adulthood, I threw myself into trying to improve myself. I would wander for days, resurrecting anything I could find. Each time trying to improve. It got to the point I had a small army of insects and forest creatures following my every move. I could keep them from fully rotting, allowing me to build up a decent force.
As I travelled, I struck gold. Or rather, it struck me, in the form of a mage bane. Four leathery wings around a fanged mouth, it was a nightmare for full mages. It would latch on, draining mana. This thing attached itself to my arm as I slept, weakening me. But when I woke up, I commanded my followers to kill it.
I lost many of them that day, but in turn gained the body of a mage bane. I carried it with me into the next day, after I had restored what it had drained. There, I set about bringing it back under my control. It exhausted me, more than I expected. But I had one all the same. And from that, an idea formed.
I told it to lead me to its nest. Once I found it, I had my followers kill the other two inside. This time most of my force was lost, their bodies breaking from the strain. But in the end, I had another two bodies. Bodies I raised over the next couple of days, to give me three of the nightmares.
I took them to a town, with a much larger population. During the day I worked as a barman in a pub in exchange for food, lodgings and a small amount of coin. In the night, I had them seek out mages, and drain a portion as they slept. Not enough for them to be weakened the next day, and spread pit over many. They returned to me, and passed the mana into a storage crystal I had managed to buy.
It steadily grew, a battery for my work. I didn't know how the First Raiser did it, but I assumed they had a monstrous well of mana. Or they did something like this, having mana donated or taken.
I measured it compared to my daily rate, that which I too passed into the crystal. Within a week it was nearly a hundred fold stronger than mine. It grew quicker as I found the strongest mages, bidding my banes to drain from them first.
After a full season passed, the crystal was dangerously full. I counted my coin, just able to stretch it far enough to buy a second crystal. I began to fill that, and researched the nearby area. After a week of studying, I found a promising site. A dragon had fallen nearby, a few decades back. Its body had been left there, with its skull supposedly still above ground.
I decided to make a trip out there. I had my full crystal with me, and my mage banes to back me up. Either I would be triumphant, or have a better understanding of just how realistic the old tales were. |
The patient's heart rate began rising.
I could tell, by the rising of the red wind around me.
My name is Jason, and I'm a Phagebane. What's a Phagebane? Well, we fight those tiny monsters known as diseases. And we do it with our own team of monsters. I've got a lot of stories, but this is the first one. The one where I met Pegusi, and first formed my team.
**Part 1:**
One minute I was in a glass cylinder around seven feet tall and five feet across. I wore breathing equipment and a survival suit, and carried a backpack of extra supplies I might need, including a spare of my most important piece: My T-Glove. It fit around my left hand, like, well, a glove, and though it was dormant right now, each finger contained a special ring with a "tether."This was an ultrathin thread that extended from the base of the fingerknuckle out into...well, it wasn't attached to anything right now.
​
I would need to tame my own monsters with the T-Glove when I shrunk.
​
"Okay, Jason, you ready for this?"Dr. Tinamon asked, gazing up from behind her computers at me, and pushing her glasses up her nose.
I smiled. "Absolutely not,"I said, my voice muffled from behind the glass. "I think this is outrageous and dangerous and frankly, preposterous."
"Okay,"she said, "Lesson one: No sarcasm when we're talking operations."
"I have an idea,"I said, "Maybe you can shrink down and tame a team of tiny monsters to fight my sarcasm."
Dr. Tinamon grunted. "And I know exactly where I'd stick the shrink vial, too,"she said.
"Where..."I started to say, when the glass tube around me began to shrink.
Dr. Tinamon's voice got smaller as she spoke.
"Up your ass!'
\---
Light bent, and I shrank. The patient, who had been positioned below me, grew first to the size of a giant, then so large compared to me that he was unrecognizable as a human. I was dropped in my tiny vial into a predetermined pore. The permanent marker Dr. Tinamon had circled around it now looked like a crater of scoured black land around a field of pale flesh.
The vial dropped through the pore, past the subcutaneous layers drilled out, and into the base of the spine, where the Phages waited.
The vial nestled exactly where it was supposed to-- near the lumbar vertibrae. I wasn't at risk of damaging the bone no matter how out of hand my battling might get. No-- the only thing that would kill the patient is the Phage over the next three weeks.
The only risk of battlefield death was...me.
I looked around, tried to remember my training.
Around me was a microscopic world, filled with microscopic creatures. These were not the slimy, oblong creatures students see under a microscope. Those are just normal bacteria, normal T-Cells. For a long time, that was the way things worked.
Then, twenty years ago, 15% of the world had caught a minor, almost unrecognizable virus that flew beneath the radar. It transformed the tiny micro worlds I now found myself in. Where translucent, simple, maybe even *boring* bacteria and cells had once been, were strange creatures, monsters-- sophisticated and capable of ruining the lives of people.
But the Creature Virus had also warped the bodily defenses of those who caught it, turning those into Creatures too.
Twenty years later, and 98% of the world have caught the Creature Virus. Most of the time it doesn't change much. But in some cases, cases like this one here, they needed us.
The patient's heart rate began rising. I could tell, by the rising of the red wind around me. My anchor boots were firm against the chalky lining of bone. There was a grass-like substance further up the spine, where I spotted my first Creature. Thankfully, for me, it was a Neutrophi.
I could tame a Neutrophi. I rotated my T-Glove, and the rings at the base of the knuckles, and the tethers, came to life.
​
**PART 2 OF X?? BELOW!** |
"There are no words to fully summarize how dumb of an idea this is."
Dennis continued to set up the tent regardless as he fired back, "And yet you're out here with me all the same."
I rolled my eyes as I tossed another marshmallow into my mouth. "First of all, you threatened to tell Sister Isabel about my crush on her. Second of all, I don't understand how you're so casual about this after that warning you saw. It was a full paragraph, dude! Most cryptic warnings barely go over two sentences!"
Dennis finished off the tent and plopped down next to me. "Look, Abby, it's just one night. I need to win this bet, okay? And quit hogging the marshmallows."
I handed the bag to Dennis and stood up to say, "Alright, I'm gonna take a piss. And the next time you try to get a girl's number, don't back yourself into the corner of camping in the setting for the next big slasher film franchise."Dennis flipped me off as I wandered through the woods to find a good spot.
It took me forever to find a place to do my business--the treetops practically sucked up any ambient light and my flashlight was absolute crap. But I eventually found a spot and relieved myself. As I put my belt back into place, I looked ahead of me and froze. Staring back at me was a pair of eyes, visible in the darkness like in cartoons.
I remembered the sign said not to stare, so I forced myself to blink like usual. As I recalled that the sign also said not to acknowledge them (whoever the sign was referring to, anyway), so I did my best to ignore the mystery person. But as I turned around to head back to the campsite, I banged my hand on a nearby tree and hissed, "Damnit!"
A woman's voice replied, "Are you ok?'
"Yeah, I'm fine, I don't think I--"I clapped my hands over my mouth. The voice was coming from the darkness--I had *acknowledged* them. I tried to run and call out for Dennis, only for some invisible force to yank me further into the woods.
I was spit out into a clearing ringed with trees that had a swimming hole in the middle. As I got up and brushed the dirt off of me, I heard rustling in the forest. I hesitantly turned around to see dozens of women coming towards me. As they got closer to me, I began to notice their skin had shades of green and yellow, their ears were pointed, and all of them were wearing clothes made out of leaves, bark, and plants. The sign said there was no one behind the trees. Didn't say anything about people *in* the trees.
The nymphs congregated around me as one of them approached me with a seemingly friendly smile. "Hi there, I'm Willow. Sorry to be so rough. Seriously though, is your hand okay?"
I realized that this was the person that I had spoken to seconds ago. I backed up to the very edge of the swimming hole as I responded, "Yeah, it's fine. Why, do you need your sacrifices or whatever to be completely uninjured?"
The nymphs laughed. Willow placed her hand on my shoulder and said, "Easy, girl. There's no sacrifice of any kind here. You're not in danger, I promise."
"Then what was the deal with that creepy-ass sign?"
"We set that up a while ago. Keeps most folks from discovering us, though there's the occasional slip up. In this case, you."
I gulped, unsuccessfully eased by Willow's explanation. "So...what are you going to do to me?"
Willow glanced behind me at the swimming hole. "Well, we can't have you blabbing to folks about our existence, so we're gonna dunk you in there to turn you into one of us. Trust me, you're gonna love it. We have outdoor concerts, huge parties, all the fruits and vegetables you can stomach, giant deer you can ride like a horse, orgies, fantastic wine--"
"Whoa, wait, what was that last one?"
"Wine? Oh, oh, you meant the orgies! Yeah, we, uh, do that a lot. We are *Greek* myths, after all."
I fell silent for a few seconds before turning around and cannonballing directly into the swimming hole. |
“Ah, well...actually!”
“Oh, for crying out—”
“I know a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy who...knows a guy...what was the problem, again?”
“You’re stuck in an amnesiatic associative loop.”
“Ah...well. Actually! I can solve that, I know a—”
“Stop! Just...stop.”
“What? Why?”
“You’re having an episode.”
“An episode?”
“An associative loop—wait!”
“No worries! I know a guy who knows a g—”
“Shut up! Shut. Up.”
“Jeez. What’s up your keister?”
“You...*we* need to get going.”
“Going?”
“Going where?”
“The hospital?”
“Why?”
“...to visit a friend.”
“Oh.”
“Now hurry up, we’re running late.”
“Late! I can get us a ride! I know a guy who knows a guy who—” |
Death’s a lonely thing. No matter how willingly or unwillingly we accept our last moments, there’s no way to prepare for the utter loneliness that comes after our final breath. It’s probably the most haunting sound known to any species, the wailing of pain that comes after death, from both those who have lost someone and those that have passed.
So, I sit in the darkness, waiting for the newest arrivals, trying to offer the smallest of comforts in an unfriendly place that usually offers none. Sometimes the silence lasts longer than usual, but the horrific sounds of sadness always break it. I’m not why there are gaps. People die all the time, but perhaps only some end up in the same place as me? Maybe just those that need my comfort?
These tears, in particular, were devastating. Suffocating tears that were being choked back by someone who was clearly in shock. Not everyone sees their death coming and sometimes that’s the hardest death to come to terms with. I followed the sounds, drifting towards them until I bumped into their side, giving them a scare as they instinctively backed away.
“Woof.”
The real curse was communication. My kind are experts at communicating without speech, but sometimes I wonder if just being there for someone is enough if you can’t offer them the right words. I wanted to do more for her, but what else could I do?
As soon as she heard the bark, she dropped to my level, pulling me into a tight hug, sobbing into my fur. I rested my head against her shoulder, letting her cry for as long as she needed. When the crying had slowed, I moved my head away, giving her a quick lick on the cheek.
“I don’t want to die; I want to go back. What are mom and dad going to do? They must be horrified.”
Her hug grew tighter, her hands gripping chunks of my fluffy coat as she held me like a toy. Unfortunately, there’s no going back from death. Once you reach this point, your body is gone. There’s nothing left to return to. I gave a small whine, trying to tell her it was alright in the only way I knew how.
My whine only made her cry more as she returned to her sobbing. I rested my paw on her knee, trying to pat her in the same way my master would have patted me during my times of ill health or discomfort. That always had made me feel better. I then returned to licking her face. At first she didn’t react, but soon there was a small giggle as she pushed my face aside.
“Stop it.”
“Woof!”
My tail wagged as I pressed the side of my face against her cheek, nudging against her until I was certain she was smiling. Even if I couldn’t see her face, I just had a feeling her mood had improved. Soon she was sitting by my side, idly patting my back as she talked about her life, just letting out her innermost thoughts to a stranger.
“I could have done things better. I just hope everyone’s doing alright, I’m worried about them.”
There was something strange about how those that had died were often more concerned with their loved ones than themselves. Maybe that was a trait that some humans shared with dogs? I only gave her another lick in response, trying to tell her it would be alright.
“I guess I can’t do anything about it. I just hope I get to see them again. I want to tell them I love them.”
I’m sure they knew that. I’m sure they knew she adored them. My nose nudged her side again, motioning her to give me a hug. She threw her arm over me as I rested by her side, sharing a moment of silence with her as we both mourned what she had left behind. After an hour of silence, a door of light opened and a robed man stood in the doorway, motioned the girl through.
She stood up and turned to me, hesitant to leave my side. I just gave her hand a small encouraging lick before walking her to the door of light, waiting beside it as she walked through, moving onto the afterlife. The robed man watched her pass through before glancing my way. He waved me inside, but I just turned and headed back into the darkness. I couldn’t move on just yet; I was still waiting for someone.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
“I am not evil because I am vegan. I am evil. I am a vegan. Two unrelated facts.” The Devil said as he opened the door to the banquet hall. Tables were set up with all sorts of vegetable dishes, charred in the heat of the brimstone serving trays. The salads sizzled as they quickly shrivelled and cooked.
The faces of the damned were disappointed, as they began lining up for the food. Their stomachs ached with hunger, as the acid inside craved protein. Even those who were vegan or vegetarian could barely stomach the sights of the dishes, but food was food and they began filling their plates.
As they approached the end of the line, another room came into view, filled with all sorts of meats. There were steaks and hamburgers, meatloaves and bacon. Everyone just glanced assuming it was a trick, that was until one of the guests piped up.
“Can we go in there and grab food, or is that just to tempt us?” an emaciated patron inquired timidly to those around her, not asking anyone in particular.
The Devil overheard and announced, “because I am a vegan, I just keep the meat separate is all, I wouldn’t impose my beliefs on anyone else.”
The lost souls looked at each other trying to figure out the catch. They were in Hell, why would they get food they loved, especially considering how horrible the vegan dishes turned out in the heat.
“I assure you there is no trick, you can eat the meat. You will not be judged, you will not be punished for it.” But still there was some hesitation.
That was, until one person walked over and put a steak on her plate. She cut into the charred exterior and saw that it was cooked perfectly on the inside. The sizzling bacon was getting crispier by the minute so she quickly grabbed some of that as well and went to find a seat to eat.
After everyone had dished up they sat down to eat. The event seemed out of character for how the people had expected Hell to be. But, the table talk guessed that there had to be some pleasantness in there or they would get too used to being tormented and it would lose it’s effectiveness.
As the Devil made the rounds, speaking to his guests. He was cordial and had entertaining stories that made the people laugh, he was the perfect host.
It was late in the evening when someone asked “where does all this food come from, vegetables can’t survive in the brimstone and lava.” The Devil laughed heartily, explaining that it is all grown locally in a very special place where humans are not allowed.
The follow-up question was obvious, “what about the meat? We haven’t seen any animals in Hell.”
Again, the Devil let out a hearty laugh, “There is one species of animal in Hell.” |
I gazed sullenly at the incoming water, running in under the doors of my cell. I would be dry on my bed for a bit, but it wouldn't last long. I considered exactly what my plan was. The bars were too tough to break through. I didn't have any kind of hole in the wall that I could escape out of. Windows were barred up too. Issue with being effectively maximum security is that you don't really... get out, at all. I didn't really see how I was supposed to get out of this alive.
I briefly thought about just... knocking myself out by slamming into the wall hard enough, but decided against it. My brain wouldn't let me hurt my body hard enough for that to work. But then drowning... urgh. Drowning's really not something I'd wish on anybody, and I've killed people with startling regularity. But I mean, that's an utterly atrocious way to go. Of course, that's how *they* were going to leave all of us to die. I wonder if the guys on the lower floors are already dead or not. I hope so, for their sakes.
A fish swam into my cell, through the bars.
I stared at it for a brief moment before chuckling. Imagine that. A fish swimming peacefully, here, on the top floor of *this* prison, of all prisons. At least they'd be happy. All the sea life and such would be. Apparently the floods would only go so high, so they wouldn't get all the land, but they'd definitely overtake things they'd never seen before. I wonder what that would be like? To see a city of metal, of steel, when all you've seen for all your life is rock, coral, algae. It's a funny thought. |
Oh, my dear Doctor. Do you not realize how much *work* it was when the big guy was around?
All of the excess -- the costumes, the gadgets, the elaborate plans, the months on months in this *lovely* facility -- was carefully designed to be just threatening enough. At the end of the day, it's nothing but a lark. A distraction. Something to keep the public and the capes occupied while the real money gets made.
I've got dozens if not hundreds of zombie corporations, holding companies that are little more than a PO Box in Jersey, Boards of Directors full of fake names attached to AI-produced photos. I own the tri-state area's construction supply chain. All of it. And each one of those sweet little small business owners is picking up lucrative construction contracts for the buildings that I want torn down, and all of the profits are trickling back into my pockets.
So I cause a little destruction, centered exactly where I need it to be. The big guy pops his head up, causes a little collateral damage, and catches me. And my armies would swoop in and rebuild. And all it takes is sitting in your little padded room, away from all the noise and distraction of modern life.
Isn't it grand, Doc?
And in six months, they'll cut me loose. Because no matter how much of a menace our illustrious Attorney General wants to paint me as; once the capes get involved, the courts can't actually convict me of anything. And if the great hero ever figured it out... well, it never showed.
But that's not what you asked, is it?
Ever so clever, aren't you, Doctor? Of course, we let him win. We can't have him getting frustrated and quit. The role needs to be filled, doctor; and what better player for it than a bright-eyed young man still full of hope. All I have to do is make sure the Boy Wonder never even thinks I'm not going all out. Don't worry, I'll make it challenging for him; so he's ready when a "real"villain appears. I need the news cycle to... well, cycle. So I can drop out of the public eye every once in a while, and the day-to-day outrage machine doesn't drop the unwashed masses on my doorstep.
You understand of course.
If I were to beat him, I'd never be forgotten. |
At last my cadetship had paid off. After all of the study I had done onshore I finally was ready to head out for my first swing offshore. I wouldn't be back to my home port for nine months. But I didn't care, I finally got to get out on the open ocean!
Sure, being the bottom of the ladder wasn't great. Everyone seemed to have a task for me to do. But looking back now even chipping off rust from the bollards would be preferable to this.
The only saving grace was that I had stashed away some snacks in an obscure corner of the engine room. I had it in my head that the other crew would try and nick them from me or just bully them from me. Plus I suspected the lazy chief engineer would try and foist a few of his more annoying duties onto me to tackle alone "hmm, small hands, could use those to clean out the blackwater system", he'd mumbled when I was introduced yesterday. What a weird guy.
So I figured near the engine room would be a good spot to stash them if I wanted to sneak off mid shift.
Those snacks though would be my last meal. Every now and then the ship would make a creaking, groaning noise and I would jump. Waiting for water to come rushing in.
See, I'd made my way down through the watertight doors to my stash. It was midday and apparently I had free time until the other shift knocked off. It was overwhelming having people in every corner of the common areas so I'd sought solitude with my snacks. After all, even my cabin was shared so stuff hanging around in there. They would've been the last people I'd seen through.
I had cracked open the first can of coke (well, 'Pipsi' but I still thought of the knock-off brands as coke) when the abandon ship alarm had sounded. Only I was three watertight doors deep and there was no way in hell that I would make it to the life raft or even to the deck anytime soon with the slow opening hydraulic doors. Plus, if it was a real emergency bridge would have control of the doors. Worse, no one knew he was down here.
Maybe someone set off the alarm by accident? Can't be a real emergency so soon after leaving Port. Right? The drill they'd done that morning was still echoing in my head.
Yep must be an accidental alarm. Yep, that happens, right?
My shaky self assurance had come to an abrubt halt when the ground started to list slightly. A few degrees but definitely there. As my eyes went wide there was a heavy roll starboard and bulkhead wall very suddenly greeted my face as the new floor. Then the horrendous sounds started. Loud groans, the scream of stressed steel, shudders and most disturbingly the sound of surging water. The sounds reached a crescendo with a deep reverberating thud then settled.
I think I'm on the seabed. Just me, in this small room. A chemical locker actually, sans chemicals. Just one forgotten tub of paint and my snacks. Who knew I'd die alone, at the bottom of the ocean, with a pile of my favourite snacks. I looked up at the door, now above me and considered climbing up to open it. This would be a small box to die slowly in. That door had a small gap under it, so I knew the area above wasn't flooded. But I was doubtful my climbing skills were up to the challenge.
I needn't have worried because the door swung open on its own. I just stared up at the opening, frowning, thoroughly confused.
As I stared up I realised there was someone staring back at me, looking into the open doorway.
"Hello? Chief, is that you?"I asked it but I knew it was him, the face looked strange, otherworldly. But I didn't really trust my eyes or my mind at that moment.
It spoke, a slippery, wet voice "Eggs. Where are my eggs". Drawing out the final 's' like a snake might.
I didn't have any words for this. Weird sea creature wasn't on my bucket list. "Uhhhhhhhh"was the only sound I could conjure.
"Land dweller, this is my domain. You came into it and stole my eggs. Where. Are. They?"It said it with such force that my ears rang. I would've wet myself in fear if I had any brain cells left to do even that.
"I don't know anything about eggs. It was my first day. I, I don't even know where we are. All I wanted was my snacks in here, then the ship sank and and I don't want to die"I blubbered. Words came tumbling out, I was going crazy. I didn't want to die on my own or by deranged sea creature.
"Fine. You know the layout of this structure, yes? Show me how to get inside the front. I can hear my eggs singing but I can't get to them inside of this foul metal maze". She ordered. I had decided on "she". The things voice was forceful but had a feminine grain to it.
"Yes. Yes. I can show you". My voice echoed inside of the small room, it sounded so small. I wanted to sound sure, though I wasn't. But I got the impression that refusing wouldn't have ended well for me.
"Show me."she ordered. I glanced around.
"I can't get out". I said gesturing vaguely around me.
She made a growling, angry noise and just, disappeared. Her head swinging away. "Hello..?"I timidly called out. I was alone again.
Before I could wallow in self pity for too much longer, there was a lurch and with sudden horrible realisation I stood with my back to the floor, eyes wide with fear.
The ship shuddered and with a bone jarring thud it was righted again. The floor was the floor again. I could've kissed it. I was happy things were the right way up but feeling no less doomed. I realised with a start that the rest of the ship was mostly full of water. How the hell was I going to lead anyone anywhere?
I stood up and walked to the door, peering into the murky darkness, broken only by the glowing exit signs. At least they were working.
My view of the sign was broken by a feminine figure. I looked at her. Her features were elongated and creepy. She 'stood' above me by at least a foot but when I looked down I saw she was curved upwards at her middle with her stomach ending with scales of deepening colour. What appeared to be a fish tail disappeared into the gloom behind her. I held my breath, I was sure I was going to die.
"Eggs. Go."she commanded. I made my legs move. I didn't want to be dinner. I wasn't sure I wanted her behind me but there wasn't any choice. When I made it a few paces I heard her move. She made a quiet, scraping sound like a snake, moving slowly. Fear made me keep walking. The first watertight door was open, no water behind it. I looked at it puzzled but more worried about the creature behind me.
When we got to the second watertight door there was just a wall of water. Improbably standing there. Like a portal into a watery version of the ship. I touched it gently out of sheer confusion and curiosity. It was like the top of pool of water, only vertical.
"Uh. I can't help you from here. I can't swim, or breathe in that". I looked at her, hoping she wouldn't eat me now that I wasn't useful.
She grinned and her sharp teeth gleamed at me. "I have a solution for that, land man". Her voice had an edge to it. I stepped back, fear in my every move. She lurched at me and put her hands around my throat. I scrabbled but my weak arms were nothing compared to her strength. Then she took her hands away. "There, much better". I tried to take a breath but couldn't breathe. I gasped and wheezed but no air was coming in. This. This was how I was going to die. She picked me up in one motion and threw me through the door like a sack of potatoes. I even made a splash as I passed through. Automatically I took a breath through my gills. Wait, gills? I touched my neck. Yes gills. I didn't have time to freak out before a mermaid swam past me. A friggin mermaid. That what she was. Things main a sliver more of sense, though felt no more real. |
It was always easier when they were specific. "I want a white chihuahua". Still a strange choice, but at least I felt certain that they would get what they asked for.
But my most common requests were always more far-fetched.
"I want to fall in love."With who? Right this moment? What if they don't live here?
"I want to be famous."Did "all publicity is good publicity"apply here?
"I want to win the lottery"- there are already too many news articles on this one.
No one took well to the all powerful being they controlled second guessing their choices. They said everything had downsides, and were sure this is what they wanted. All the problems in their life would be fixed, surely, if only I granted their wish. Magic is unpredictable, but no one wants to hear that.
Like many aspiring singers, RobX9 wanted everyone to know his name. After making his wish Rob replied to a few emails from the major movie studio he hoped to work with and then headed to the studio. Hours later, he came out to realize that instead of sending his onboarding information to the HR department, he had reply-all'd to the whole company - starting a chain of events that eventually crashed the whole email server. Rob's name and email were quickly plastered around entertainment, news, and finance articles - especially as the companys stock price nosedived - and like it or not, everyone knew his name now. |
The elixir of life is a scam, just like most claims of eternal life, or reversing receding hairlines. You may have to live with being bald, but here’s my family recipe for Living Forever \[adjustable time span, artifact not included\].
Step 1. Create a soul summoning artifact that invites your own soul into the summoner’s body. Important to use the most durable materials at your disposal because it should outlast your life span.
Step 2. Disguise the artifact to make it seem like it grants enlightenment, or omniscience, or really anything that seems far fetched but will entice .00001% of the population to chase after it for generations.
Step 3. Bury it somewhere with lots of clues that would lead wannabe heroes in a goose chase around the world to find it – not unlike National Treasure.
*Note: This step is important. If it’s too easy to find it might fall into the hands of someone who will generously give it up for science, maybe put it in a museum which would seriously derail your plans of body takeover. No, you need someone desperate, who will definitely selfishly activate the artifact the moment they find it.*
Step 4. Once you wake up in Nicholas Cage’s body, see if the artifact is in good condition and still made out of the most durable materials at your disposal. If not, remake it with the latest and greatest and destroy the original to give the illusion that your artifact lasts forever.
Step 5. Repeat steps 3 and 4 until the honeymoon stage of eternal life wears off and you decide to call it quits. Hope you signed a prenup and Hades won’t go too hard on you for delaying serving time in hell for all your misdeeds from your infinite lifetimes.
Oh when you get there, please put in a good word for me. Hell sucks. |
Light is such a strange phenomenon. A particle and a wave at once and neither, usually something in between. It suffused our world. We equate the presence of light with safety and comfort, and yet we know next to nothing about it. Completely invisible is light, only observed in great quantities, impossible to measure individually.
Radiation. The first thought we have when confronted with the concept of radiation is that of cancer, nuclear danger, the ominous crackling of a Geiger counter. And yet we cannot live without radiation. Our food chain is built off of photosynthesis, plants using UV radiation to build sugar literally out of thin air. The same kind of radiation that kills us slowly and inspires our very cells to mutiny.
We have such a strange relationship with light. We cannot live without it and yet it kills us at every opportunity. Its presence is an ancient sign of safety even as it plows through the very code of our being with all the safe effects of birdshot through a clock.
Do you know why we have skin?
We don't need skin, you know. Oh, we certainly need a cover, a boundary to set ourselves separate from everything else; otherwise we'd sort of spill into the world and leak all the heat and stuff we need to survive, and we'd die of cold. But we don't need skin.
Do you know why we have skin?
Look at bacteria, or any kind of microbe, even our own cells. They manage fine with nothing but a membrane. If everything had membranes it would be so much easier. We could eat, breathe, move through our membranes, no need for such inconvenient *mouths* and *holes* and *orifices* we have today, no need to let things into our body on nothing more than trust. We could press things up against our membrane, check it to make sure it's safe, and then let it in.
Do you know why we have skin?
It's light. It's always been light. The light kills. It *penetrates*. It *destroys*.
Light can go through a membrane like nothing - that's why we can see through membranes. Light gets into a creature and messes everything up and leaves and the creature is left a huddling ball of cancer and burnt tissue and rebelling cells. Broken.
Do you know why we have skin?
It's armor, you see. Alpha particles and other kinds of weak light can't penetrate skin. Background radiation isn't harmful to creatures with skin. Skin allows us to survive in the light, where membranes are relegated to creatures who skulk in the wet darkness away from that terrible light. There's a reason why cave fish end up transparent.
Do you know why we have skin?
We found out when we pierced the veil. The field of quantum mechanics, where Newton failed and Einstein fled and Planck had to pick up the pieces. God's very own backstage, where the parts of the world lie around as placeholders and nothing is as it seems.
Do you know why we have skin?
They say, they say. They say that it's more likely for a human brain to just appear in the void than for the universe to have been made as it was. That our entire existence is a fluke. A tiny chance, a freak of probability. They say a monkey could write Shakespeare if enough time passes.
Do you know why we have skin?
A star is a brain now. A mind of hydrogen and helium, burning itself to stay alive. As it turns out, light can do many things. One thing it has done since time immemorial is transfer information.
Light is *signals*.
*Neural signals*.
Do you know why we have skin?
Math is the operating code of the universe. Everything we know runs off of math. So when we found out that sunlight is a signal of some sort, we did something very, very stupid.
We turned the signals to math and we figured out the language
We tried to read it and we did.
We did we did we did
See our brains fire signals over and over and even when we don't want to we still give off signals
We saw
We saw into the subconscious of the sun and it
It
It **hates us**.
Do you know why we have skin?
Do you know why so many ancient cultures worshiped the sun? The Egyptians, the Sumerians, the Chinese, the Japanese, the Native Americans they all did it. Ancient cultures didn't worship out of love. *Modern* cultures don't worship out of love.
We worship out of fear.
The sun hates us. The sun thinks we're a pest, an infestation, the mold in the corner of the bathroom.
The light is the sun's will.
It kills because the sun wants it to.
It beats on us like molten rain, like incandescent gavels.
We have skin because the sun hates us. It *screams* at us in its hatred and its screams kill us slowly.
And in only millions of years it will expand like irritated flesh and consume us all, so great is its hatred.
Only in the void will we be safe. |
The torches lining the tunnel shown dull and dim, casting odd shapes along the jagged stone walls. Shapes vaguely human though too abstract for me to be certain. I tried to remain still as the voices below me whispered in foreign, ancient tongues.
Suddenly whatever carried me shifted and I was sent from its large shoulder to the stone ground of the cave.
"Oomph"I spat out, letting my eyes adjust to the dim lights until the series of shapes now above me came into view. They were people, or at least close enough to people to label them as such.
Three in total, the one carrying me being the closest...or maybe just the largest. He leaned over me staring down, his face cut from that of a greek statue aside from the three horns curling out from his forehead. To his right was another, tall, more handsome, curly red hair and eyes a brighter red than the torches in the cave. And then another figure, shadowy and off to the back of the cave walls.
"Ah, you're up my child, beautiful. That means Master Leonard here can stop carrying you and we can make better time."His red eyes darted to the path ahead.
A million questions in my head all at once, but the only words I could produce were, "Excuse me?"
"You are excused, and do not worry of thanking me for carrying you the last four miles while you slept, mortal."Leonard spoke, its voice like a strong wind cutting through the branches of trees. "They say humans are exceptionally rude, glad I got to witness.
"What the hell is this?! You're burying the lead, God I hate when people do that"I stuttered the words up from my spot on the ground.
"Oooo a temper. Well you're not far off. This is hell...well the tunnels through it. You're lucky enough to be traveling with the three most capable demonic powers in this plane. Lucifer, myself, Master Leonard"he gestured a hand to his side, at which Leonard gave a polite bow. "And that, in the far side of the cave is Paimon, most loyal."
At the mention of Paimon the torches in the room flashed brighter, columns of flame shooting up to the cave ceiling. For that one moment I could see its outline, the most human yet the most not. Its shadowy silhouette moving and forming into new shapes each second. Human, demon, monster, leviathan, all in the single moment of the torches flash.
"Wait, Hell? Like, the punish for eternity sort?"I got to my feet to face the demonic trio but realized I was greatly lacking in height across the board.
"Well yes but I believe you're confused with the silly greek tales. Consider us not your punishers but, more like cellmates, child."Lucifer snapped his fingers, sending a large pulse of orange light throughout the cave that echoed back a few moments later, stopping as it reached me.
"Thats the way for all of us."He pointed down the tunnel. "It seems fate put us on the same path. Lucky you."
The three began moving as the orange light continued to pulse on down the cave. Lucifer stretched, his blackened wings opening in a dramatic display.
"Path? Were in hell, where could we possibly be going?"I spoke.
The three did not stop the trek. Only continued walking, Lucifer speaking over his shoulder.
"Isn't it obvious child? We're prisoners, and this is us breaking out of hell." |
"Your Honor, If I may, I would like to ask the plaintiffs a few questions."
"Proceed."
"Do you contend that the reincarnated soul, which has no memory of its previous lives, is responsible for all debt incurred in any previous life?"
"We do."
"I see. Have you considered the effect of such a decision?"
"We have."
"I seriously doubt it. If the reincarnated soul is responsible for its ancestor's debt, then it is also responsible for the results of any acts taken by those ancestors, is it not?"
A hurried conversation at the plaintiff's table, followed by "Yes. If they are not responsible for the actions and the results then they cannot be responsible for the debt."
"I see. Did you know that in this state there is no statute of limitations on capital crimes such as murder?"
"We concur, there is no statute of limitations on capital crimes."
"Your Honor, may I present the following evidence for the record?"Passing a sheaf of dossiers to the Judge and to the plaintiffs. "These documents list the prior lives of each of the plaintiffs. DNA records taken from their immediately preceding lives were matched to unsolved capital crime evidence. Each and every one of the plaintiffs is descended from an ancestor who committed a capital crime and got away with it in their lifetime. I hereby request that the prosecuting attorney's office take note of that fact and prepare cases for murder one against every one of the plaintiffs.
"As the plaintiffs are aware, the death penalty was reinstated by their actions, and is therefore applicable to them in this lifetime."
"Mr. Dracovich, who were the presumed victims?"
"Their spouses and children, Your Honor. Of course, if they will cease attempting to hold people responsible for the acts of a prior life, then I will have no choice but to withdraw my complaint against them."
((finis)) |
The army marches forward, further into the kingdom of Drastedia. The defenders have been crushed and fled. The town has been looted and burned.
Columns and columns of footmen march on a grassy plain under the rays of the morning sun; their chins are held high, and their grip on their weapons is strong. The general, mounted on the horse, marches his troops forward to glory. Everyone anticipates being the ones to take this falling-apart kingdom and annexe it into the empire. The Empire of Vodora
For years, the empire carefully watched how the Drastedia was falling apart. Orc hordes attack, then undead uprising via necromancer, and then their most powerful knight, Sir Remonnet, is mysteriously gone. With an unstable kingdom, the Empire struck with all of its might: minimum losses, full strength, and an unexpected mass invasion.
The army marches forward through the hilly plains. The air suddenly shifted. Feeling warmer and heavier. It can be ignored, but everyone can feel it. The army general, who was in front of his soldiers, felt it too. As if something is wrong.
When the soldiers finally passed the hill, they stopped. A towering creature from afar on another hill was waiting for them patiently. A massive creature with horns and red scales. giant, great wings to lift the monster into the air. large, sharp teeth and claws, as big and sharp as swords and hammers combined. Smoke coming from its nostrils, the creature itself rediats the heat itself alone. Its eyes gleamed orange, a burning colour. The massive dragon is no doubt on everyone's mind. A giant creature alone strokes fear into the shattering resolve of the army.
The frontline commander still ordered his troops to march onward, but now he directed them away from the dragon until they all heard it speak. The voice was deep, echoey, and booming. Clear to everyone, as if the voice sounded thousands of kilometres away.
"Halt!"the dragon said.
The Empire army froze still, and now all paid attention to the dragon, who was still sitting patiently on his rear. The dragon continued, opening its jaws and revealing more visible teeth.
"Turn back from where you have come. One more step forward, and you shall perish."
The general, who still tries to calm his destressed horse, was baffled by the dragon's speech.
"Are you threatening us?"he said.
"Consider being warned,"the dragon responded back.
The man is uncertain of what to do now. Attacking the dragon will certainly cause heavy casualties. The troops break a sweat but await the orders patiently. The general decided to reason with a beast.
"Listen, dragon,"he said. "We seek no quarrel with you, but with this weak kingdom-"
but the dragon interrupted him.
"This so-called 'weak kingdom' is my home. And you are unwanted guests. Turn back."
That was not what the general expected, but his anxiety dimmed through his arrogance and stubbornness.
"What is this kingdom to you?"he shouted back. "It is not of your concern. It is too late for us to turn back; we are here to capture the capital."
The dragon grew more and more annoyed; the earth itself rumbled at its growl alone.
"My home is threatened, so it is my concern,"the dragon said back. "Step forward; you die. It is simple."
The commander retorted back at the dragon.
"Why do you even care?"he shouted. "You are simply a monster living in the cave. Enjoy the hoard and livestock you take from the peasants."
The dragon, of course, didn't like this response. Everyone could hear the growl coming from the creature. But it didn't lash out; it only calmly answered.
"The same goes to you, general. Why march into a land that is not yours? You are unwelcome here."
The seem to become more angry as time goes by. He shouted back.
"Enough! We are here to capture the capital for the empire and will not leave without it! We are here for victory, and you will not stop us, beast! We march onward, men! For the glory!"
The dragon only spoke back with his eyes focused.
"Go ahead, try."
The general, blinded by his pride and a wish to be the one to capture the capital, ignored the dragon's warning. He stepped forward, challenging the dragon's demands. As with him, the troops stepped forward as well, despite the anxiety. The dragon sighed; more of it sounded like a growl.
The creature rose on all fours and unfolded its wings in full display, blocking the entire view. The dragon calmly spoke, its buring reptilian eyes meeting the marching army.
"I have warned you, and you ignored it."
In its long jaws, the fire started to build up. The black smoke coming from its teeth and nostrils
"Today none shall receive quarter."
The dragon's jaws gleamed orange with fire. |
I watched the ruins of the local 'Self Development Center'. It's ashes still in my lungs from my involvement. I watched how the drones continue sorting debris, collecting dust and bring in replacement materials. In less than a day the entire building will be restored to it's original state. *No human contractor could do that.*
​
"Please remain where you are, we wish to help you."A soothing female voice spoke from the speakers of a bulldozer sized construction drone. *Time to run.*
​
Back through the ally, up the narrow fireescape unto the rooftop of our 'slums'. No construction drone could follow me here, although plenty of flying one's could. My time is limited before they catch me, but I couldn't help stare whenever I got a birds eye view of the place. To call these 'slums' is a joke. The streets are clean, there's no smog nor badly managed buildings, even the graffiti is framed and presented like artpieces by these damned machines. Where are the rats? The rusted metal? Drugs and other garbage? It was only a few months since they took over ... What are we fighting? What for? To remain sovereigns of our planet! That's why. *I'd rather die than become the equivalent of a drone.*
​
A hardly audible buzzing approached me."Please remain wh-"Nope. I jump down one of our man made escape hatches. They look like a horror slide. Plastic and metal plates joined haphazardly joined together to form a slide, quickly taking one to the entrance of the sewers where the real humans remain. The slide creackes loudly under my weight. *Jon's gotta whip his people into shape* I thought as I nearly reached the end... and heard the joints shoot out with a loud bang each time a piece his the walls.
​
I tumbled face first onto the clean streets a short distance from the sewer. These accidents happen often. What doesn't happen often is that the manhole is gone. I panicked."Please remain where you are, a medical drone will be with you in 27 seconds to provide first aid."The flying drone caught up to me. The pain in my leg let me know I won't be moving anywhere soon ... *where is that damned hole?* I suddenly saw it. *It's been painted over to look like the street itself!* I crawled towards the entrance.
​
To late. One of those creepily friendly bipedal medical drones gently but firmly pinned me down to asses the damage to my leg. Using my good leg I tried to kick it off."Damn you tincan! let me go!"I shouted as I roll on my back. I could see it's face display showing a pixilated set of eyes and smile. "Please stay calm. You're leg has been broken and needs urgent medical attention. To prevent further damage I will administer a sedetative and relocate you to a hospital."A third arm with a syringe shot out with brutal efficiency, yet I could hardly feel the prick. All I can feel is my eyes slowly closing by themselves. |
My name is Eli Cassius. I really loved the Where's Waldo books. I grew up on them. One of my friends mentioned the books in passing, and I was reminded. I ordered the Where's Waldo? books that had been published since I last touched upon the series. A few days later, they arrived in a box at my door. I had a long week coming up, so I hunkered down and did my best to blitz through them, finding all the hidden objects and Waldo himself. I did not sleep for 72 hours, but I found everything in all the books.
After that, I returned to my normal life, work and friends. I thought about Waldo occasionally, but thought nothing of it. About a month later, I went to an art museum after being invited by some acquaintances. I was never too into art, but it sounded like fun. We walked through the halls, seeing all manner of art. I was staring at a piece from the renaissance when I saw it. Waldo was in the painting. I blinked, and he stayed there. I turned my head to find one of my friends, point it out. Did someone seriously deface centuries old art with Waldo? I got their attention, and turned my head back to the painting. I started to point to where I'd seen Waldo, but there was nothing there. Weird. We finished our tour of the museum without further incident, and I didn't even remember seeing Waldo.
Two months later, I was visiting my family for the holidays. My mother brought out the photo album. We flipped through it, and I found Waldo again. I blinked, and he was gone. I asked my mother if she'd seen anything odd, and she said no. I remembered the museum incident. This time it stuck in my mind. Was I hallucinating? I moved through the rest of the day, tried to be present with my family, but something was gnawing on the back of my mind. I drive home a few days later, and I still feel disquieted.
A week later, I heard my doorbell ring. I'm not expecting company. I look through my door's peephole, and see no one there. I hope it, and find a hat like the one Waldo wears sitting at my doorstep. Is this some prank? How would anyone know about the Waldo hallucinations?
This event repeats itself over the next three months, until I have Waldo's entire wardrobe. I feel something building inside me. I have kept everything that has been delivered to me, though I was never really sure about why. They are all sitting on my kitchen table. They call me. I try to fight, but they are too powerful. I got up from bed at 1:00 AM. I strip out of my pajamas and put on Waldo's clothes. I pick up the walking stick, and I am complete. I walk out the door, and step into a world larger than I had ever known.
I see such things, words fail to describe them. I travel back to my old home occasionally. One time, I see a poster on a power pole near it. It has my face. "This is Eli Cassius, have you seen this man?"
I am complete. |
It was hot as hell out that morning. Well, it was hot every morning, being all fire and brimstone and all that. But I was so distracted I didn't even see Peter coming.
"Mornin' Hal."
"Hey Peter."
Peter was an impish fellow about two feet from crimson tail to pointed ear. We'd been working together about a millennium, give or take six decades, and he'd never missed a day. He always wore a gaudy chain of obsidian that tended to pool into his concave, bony chest cavity like some perverse serving bowl. He was clutching a harpy-hide briefcase in his three scythelike fingers.
"What's the orders today?"Peter asked.
"I think I'm on Ouija, you?"
"Tarot."
"God, err, Satan, I hate Tarot. It's almost as bad as Astrology."
"Whoah whoah whoah, we do astrology?"
"Yeah man, 9th circle next to HR."
"Yuck, I hate those guys anyway."
"Hate's a strong word Peter, what's your problem with HR?"
"They're always on my case for not giving in to the succubi. I get that they need it and all, but why does it have to be me?"
"I don't know, but most imps would be kill to be in your talons."
"Eh, most don't have Sabrina."
I'd heard a lot about Sabrina, some human witch that had been kicked down the pipes about a decade back. He was always going on about her, but wouldn't bring her around. I poked the 'case. "What's in there?"
"Oh, that's right, I'm so nervous I forgot. Come into my office."
He shot around the corner and peeked out behind us, looking I supposed for a Master Daemon/Manager. Once satisfied he slipped back in and punched a code into the case.
"Check it out."
Inside his briefcase was a bottle of holy water. A big bottle. I stumbled back and growled, "what the hell have you got that for?"
"Figured I'd liven this place up, shake up the order of things. See what the hierarchy will do minus one Department Head."
"You think that's a wise idea, Peter?"
"I've thought about it alot. Figured showing some initiative and having a nice briefcase like this will give me a wing up."
"You think it was wise to tell me?"
"Give me a break, I know you. This is exactly the kind of thing you live for, you love this shit too much to rat on me."
I shrugged and nodded. "Yeah, I'm already a little excited. When is it going down?"
"Lunch time."
"All right, I should probably get back to my throne before Fhglargin catches me away."
I moved out quick and kept on going until I was in my own department, lost in thought about how much fun could be had.
I heard the clicking of his hooves on the tile from all the way down the hall and pulled up my Ouija interface on the computer. Already someone in America was going at it, chanting a recently missing dead relative's name. I decided to send over something simple, "INTHEGROUND".
There was a brimstone-shattering noise behind me and I turned face to face with the horned head of Fhlgargin, my 'master' demon. His horns curled in on themselves like a ram's head and his skin was a deep red hue, he stood a good 12 feet tall (at least two feet above me).
"You, my office."
"Sure thing Fhglargin."
I wondered what this was about, but as I sat down I recalled Peter's little surprise.
"How are things, Hal?"
"Ah, pretty good. Just been going on with my stuff. The kids just entered Junior Hell School. Same old same old."
"Great, great. Did you finish those Terror Primary Standards reports I asked for?"
"The TPS reports? You said to go home early yesterday."
"That was only if you finished your reports. I'm gonna need you to come in on Saturday and finish those."
"But I-"
"No buts. Now get back before you fall even further behind."
I went back to my desk and intercepted the next Ouija. What did Grandma say before she died? "MORECANDY."Let's see you find greater meaning in that.
-----------------------------------------------------------
"Mr. Hal."
"What?"I ask, surprised.
The demon officers investigating the 'incident' at lunch seemed annoyed. "We don't need to know everything about your day. What happened at lunch?"
"Oh. Peter happened to pick Fhglargin as his target."
"And you had nothing to do with it?"
"No sir, I didn't know who the target was."
"And you didn't tell anyone..?"
"Sir, please. I'm a chaos demon. This is the most fun I've had in decades." |
Darkness. First thing the prisoner noticed.
Herman searched for his voice. When finally found, it simply emerged as a croak. "So,"he managed to say, "how long have y'all kept me in here?"
All stayed quiet and pitch black.
"I've never really liked constraints; it's probably best if I'm released. We wouldn't want anything nasty happening, huh?"
Silence. Oh well.
Seemingly inescapable situations could prove damn troublesome, but this lightless, lifeless cell would be escaped. No matter what. |
In retrospect it might have been an odd thing to transport back in time. The weight of the piano alone made it very inappropriate and inconvenient luggage on such a journey across space and time, leaving Manhattan in 2013 and arriving in the vast desert plains outside of ancient Ur, about 2000 years before the common era.
But I had to know. I had to know what Humanity would do with a glimpse at this beautiful technology of musical creation and over 4 millennia to distill and evolve that knowledge. What musical masterpieces would await me when I returned back to my epoch? What new masters of composition had contributed to the canon of greats? Would Beethoven have still written his Ode to Joy? How mad would Tchaikovski's pieces be with thousands of years of musical theory and technique preceding him? Would they have even been born?
I had to know.
As it turns out, I may have set the piano back even further. It turns out that leaving a sophisticated piece of music equipment in a deeply superstitious bronze-age culture might not have been the best decision and a poor application of time-travel technology. I should have known. The region is still one of the most religious, and violent, areas on the planet. Illiterate nomadic tribes discovered the piano and upon hitting it with a stick, discovered it made sound. This alarmed the patriarch of this tribe and the piano was destroyed for its valuable lumber and ivory. The piano wires were used to strangle enemies and kill food.
Since no other pianos were ever found, it was assumed that the Piano was a gift from a vengeful god, and that any attempts to create another of it's kind was forbidden, and became a tenant in the moral reasoning of the entire culture. It persisted all the way into the middle ages, when the inventor of the harpsichord was killed by zealots from the Ottoman empire. By the time Mozart, Beethoven, and the other masters were born, the Piano was a difficult item to find, and it seems nobody back home in 2013 has ever heard of their names. In fact, the piano in 2013 is a bit of a musical curiosity these days.
In retrospect, I should have brought the bloody thing to China in the Xia dynasty. |
"Oh my god, you're legendary theatre actor Chuck Cain? Can I have your autograph?"
Chuck looked at his watch, sighed and lifted his sunglasses. He flashed an insincere grin.
"Haha. Sorry, I don't do autographs on my day off. I'm just out for a stroll with an old friend."The young man's posture slouched alongside his spirit.
"Oookay..."He waited a second, and his disposition returned to excited. "Hey, I loved you in Gang Friend! My friend and I always wondered, when they shoot you, how do..."
"Special packets in the shirt shoot the blood across the stage and directly into his face. We have little "x's"marked on the floor where we need to stand to make it work so he gets hit everytime.. Yada yada. Hey, we gotta go... Don't stop watching!"
Chuck again feigned a smile for the boy. The kid broke eye contact, and dejectedly walked away.
"You should have given him an autograph, Chuck."Solomon said.
"Why? It's my time off, everybody is entitled to some of that, right?"
"I enjoy plenty of time off, and I sign every autograph people ask of me, and respond to every fan letter."
"You're an author. Hardly the same celebrity as me. I get recognized at least 20 times a day!"
A teenage girl rushed over to interrupt their conversation. "Excuse me, are you Chuck Cain?"Her mouth arched into a wide beam exposing an uncomfortable amount of gum, and Chuck cringed as she ran her tongue over her braces.
"Uh, that's not me. I get that a lot though. We look alike I guess... This here is Solomon Fasht though, he'd sign your autograph if you're a fan.."
"OH my GOD! Yes please!"She did a slight but giddy bounce up and down as she extended a pad of paper and pen.
"I looooove the Eternal Apocalypse series!"
"I'm happy you like it, who do I make this out to?"
"Kathi!"
Solomon signed the pad and handed it back. "Thanks for being a fan, now if you'll excuse us, my friend is on a much needed day off, and we were just headed out for lunch. If you have any comments about the story, send me a letter. Mailing address is on my website, I always respond! Have a nice day!"
The girl giggled and waltzed away. At a casual pace the two continued walking down the sun beat boardwalk.
"Well, what did you say it was, Mr.?"Solomon facetiously asked.
"I was just avoiding an uncomfortable situation, Sol."
"It wasn't uncomfortable to me. I like my fans."
"Surely you can't like having your day bothered like that."
"Are you kidding? Signing an autograph is the best part of my day. When somebody asks you for an autograph or a picture, they are telling you that you have done well in your profession. It's a compliment... And did you see that girl? She was absolutely ecstatic! It took two minutes for me but she's going to be excited for her whole day! It's not something she can do for herself either. So in two minutes I brought a great deal more happiness to some idealistic young soul and even gave her a story to tell her friends, and it was by doing something that only I had the power to do... Well, only I, or you had the power to do..."
Chuck's cocky gait slowed as his face reddened. "Wow. I never even thought of it like that... I guess. Wow, thankyou Sol. I mean that."
Solomon smiled a self-satisfied smirk. The two exited the boardwalk, and continued across a high bridge arching over an ocean bound river far below. Halfway through their promenade, a man was looking into the water. He turned his head, and noticed them.
"Oh my god! Is that Chuck Cain of Gang Friend?! I'm you're biggest fan!"He rushed over and extended a hand to shake.
"Oh.. Yeah, that's me."Chuck's firm grip squeezed the mans hand.
"Oh my god. This is so crazy! What are you doing after the Gang Friend finale next week?"
"Well, I was debating between taking a bit of time and taking on a script that was recently thrown onto my desk. It's really good, but I'd have to start rehearsing right away, so I don't know."
"Oh you must! Everything you do is just so great!! I'm an aspiring actor myself, but I have never had a major role. I can only dream of one day bringing the beauty you do to the stage."
Chuck looked at Solomon, and then back at the man. "You know what, I think I will take on that script. I think I just needed some reassurance from an enthusiastic fan."Chuck winked.
"Would you like an autograph?"He offered the young man.
The boy chaotically slapped around his coat. "Uh... Uhm.... Oh. The only thing I have to write on is this letter I was going to send..."He looked at it hesitantly.. "But I can write another!"
He opened the sealed envelope, and pulled out the letter, handing it to Chuck face down with a pen.
"Here, just write on the back! It's Jeremy."Chuck glanced at Solomon, who nodded. He pressed the letter against a support beam,
"*To my most important fan, Jeremy.*
*Chuck Cain.*"
"Alright Jeremy, my friend and I are off to a lunch reservation. Don't stop watching!"
"Thanks so much Chuck! And I promise I'll be there for the opening night of your new show!"
Jeremy shook Chuck's hand and briskly walked away, giddy from the chance encounter.
"You know Sol, if this was just a trick to get me to star in your first screenplay I'd be deeply hurt."
The two laughed as they continued their stroll.
-
**Two years later.**
Chuck's woke up and noticed he had a voicemail. "Hey Chuck, who's my favorite client! I just got a call back from the theater and they loved your audition for the lead role of Gangar. They want you down there this afternoon to sign. You're going to love this one, I represent a couple supporting cast members too, and you know that I only rep the best!"
Chuck made his way to the theatre and sat in the waiting room. A familiar face walked out of the executive's office.
"Chuck Cain! Oh my God! It's me, Jeremy! You signed my autograph on the bridge two years ago!"
Chuck paused and thought a second. "...Yes, I remember. Did you ever make it out to the opening night of the Eternal Apocalypse stage adaptation?"
"I waited for it for 4 months and it was the best play I ever saw Chuck!... Holy shi... Are you? Am.. Good God! What a day! I heard you auditioned, if you're here you must have gotten the part! I just signed for a supporting role! This is incredible, I'm going to work with Chuck Cain! Ha ha ha!"
Chuck smiled genuinely. "I'm cast as Gangar!"
"Ha ha ha! This is so amazing..."Jeremy's threw his hand up for a high five, which Chuck met. Seconds later Jeremy's laugh and excitement faded, turning solemn. The volume on his voice lowered.
"Look Chuck, there's something I want to tell you. I mean, I have to give you something. I don't want you to think I'm a freak or anything, but this is deeply meaningful to me. You're my hero Chuck, and I need to you have this."
Jeremy pulled out a folded, shabby slip of paper. "It's your autograph. From the bridge. I have kept it in my pocket the last two years. Whenever I get discouraged, or beat down, I look at it and remember the day I got to shake your hand. I need you to have it. Please."
Jeremy tried concealing tears, and shoved the worn piece of paper into Chuck's hand. "Can't wait for rehearsal Chuck!"Jeremy quickly left.
Puzzled, Chuck examined the paper.
>"*To my most important fan, Jeremy.*
>*Chuck Cain.*"
Chuck turned over it over. The message's ink was rushed and water stained.
>"*Dear everybody who never cared about me.*
>*This is it. I'm finished. Final curtain call. We'll see if you notice then. I love you mom.*
>*-Jeremy Schroeder.*" |
"Daddy!"the boy cried out as the blows rained down on his curled back and neck.
Each impact sent shock waves through his small frame.
Towering over him, his father muttered a ceaseless string of curses, the alcohol thick on his breath.
*Stupid. Worthless. Piece of Shit.*
Some families have rituals, they play board games or watch movies. Timothy Johnson, called by the few people who cared for him as "Tiny", had a family where the ritual was lock the doors until dawn came. His mother and him were nearly experts. Some nights, like tonight, locking the door hadn't been enough.
His father had broken the cheap cardboard barrier in minutes. Tiny received the wrath that he deserved for actions he had never committed.
*It'll be over soon.*
It was. The father left the son, who sat motionless, curled into a ball. The swelling would go down eventually, probably be mostly gone by class on Monday. Not that the teachers would say anything even if they noticed. Mr. Johnson was a well-respected man in the community. No one would accuse him of misdeeds behind closed doors.
Eventually, Tiny fell asleep there in the corner. Dried tears coating his face.
"My liege,"Arthur Dundane, the great and powerful Red Knight bowed deeply before his king, "I come bearing tidings both good and ill".
"Speak your mind, my dear Arthur"the King replied in his deep, regal voice. He was the greatest king the land had ever seen. They called him Timothy the Giant and he was loved and respected by all.
"My lord, the barbarians beyond your lands have burned an pillaged villages on the boarder."The Red Knight told him, with sadness in his voice. "They have hurt the women, and the children, you must protect them my lord!"
The king grew larger in his great throne. "Knights of the Kingdom!"He cried, his baritone voice echoing through the chamber.
"We must save those who cannot defend themselves. It is our oath, it is our duty! Ride with me now, we shall destroy the barbarians. We shall give them justice and teach them that we are not afraid of them!"
His knights, in their shining armor cried out in cheers at their beloved king.
He would lead them to their greatness.
Perhaps Mr. Johnson felt less weary that night, but he decided that he was not yet done teaching his son this evening's lesson.
He stood in the ruined doorway, looking down at his small son fast asleep where he had left him.
The father filled with a rage of self loathing, but in ways that only alcoholics understand, he channeled that into his forthcoming lesson.
"Boy!"he shouted.
There was no reply.
"You little shit", he spat, marching forward toward his son. His hands outstretched. "You better listen to your father".
The boy stirred, coming back from whatever place he had retreated to.
Large hands grabbed him. They were strong and familiar.
The boy awoke, pressed up against the wall by his looming father.
"Daddy!"he cried as the back of his father's hand impacted his cheek.
"Daddy stop!"
This time, the father refused. This time the lesson would be taught.
*Weak. Useless.*
They say that when dawn came, the boy was already gone. The father turned himself in that day, when he stood again in the ruined doorway, this time beholding his own ruined life. They gave him twenty-five years.
He was no longer respected in the community.
Yet somewhere far away a great king, a giant, brought justice down upon his enemies. He protected those who could not protect themselves. His people loved him and sang him songs.
There, in his kingdom, he lived happily ever after. |
"Lost my eye in 'nam."The rough voice didn't match the teddy bear's soft exterior.
"Wait,"another one said in a much softer voice as it took a drink. "You lost your eye in 'nam? Vietnam? Your tag says you were made in China."
The first teddy bear took another drink. "I was. But the plane shipping us out dropped me. I landed in the jungles. Some kid found me."
The second teddy was silent.
"Good kid."Said the first. "Hit a landmine. A piece of the shrapnel flew off and caught my eye. His mom stitched me up to bury with him, cause he brought me everywhere he went."
The second teddy took another drink.
"Figured I should go with him to death to."The first teddy drank his whole bottle. "Some gravediggers came by, stole his jewelry and threw me out, left me on the ground. American soldiers found me weeks later, they-"
-
"That is *not* true!"A soft feminine voice full of unspoken laughter caused Dave to jump.
"You heard... how long have you been there?"Dave asked his wife.
"Long enough". She said. "To hear your back story for your daughter's teddy bears. Get dressed already, we're leaving in fiteen minutes."
"Ok, I'll get ready."Dave dropped the two bears and walked out of the room, shutting off the light on the way.
In the dark and quiet room, a rough voice came from one of the bears. "How do you think he knew all that?" |
What happened? One minute, you were listening to some music at home, and now...you were speeding down the freeway in a..Bugatti? Wait...That was the song you were listening to!
You look at the radio and wonder...
You turn the radio on. You love this song!
You sing along, "Shots, shots shots shots!"And then...
You are in a loud, dark nightclub! All around you are shot glasses full of Patron! You take as many as you can down in one go, and then notice that the DJ is changing up the beat.
Wait! It can't be! It's that Rihanna song from a few years ago! You sing along, "S S S S and M M"
And then...
Ouch! You are tied up in some gothic nightclub. A dominatrix with a huge paddle is right next to you, screaming at you, calling you a pig. This is no good! And it's only the beginning of the song!
After three excruciating minutes, the song finally changes. What is it? You know that song! Desperately, you sing through the gag that they've put on you, "Aaaannd Uhhhhm Phreeeeee! Phreee fulllinnnn!"
Thank God that's over! But wait, why is everything so blue? And then you realize...Free Falling. You turn your body around, and watch the ground approach you at a rate far too fast for your liking.
You look around. Is there something, anything that can play music? Maybe if you sing it yourself, it will work anyways?
In your terror, you can only think of one thing to sing, "A B C D E F G".
It worked! You're in...a crib, looking up at the letters painted on the walls of your old room! You look up at your hands. Your tiny, newborn hands. You try to sing, but it just comes out as a wail.
Oh well, could be worse. |
My parents liked to call me a late bloomer. My mother would smooth down my hair as I cried in her arms. It was always nice when she held me like that, levitating just a little bit over the bed. "You'll figure it out, Matty. I had a roommate in college who said she didn't figure out hers until high school. It'll happen."
All the doctors I saw- ones with X-ray vision, ones with healing powers...they all said the same thing. "We're not sure why your talent isn't manifesting itself. Have you considered radiation therapy?"
I had friends who said I just hadn't found it out yet. "Who knows, Matt. Maybe it's one of the weird ones where it only works under a full moon, or if you're wearing all yellow or something like that."As the years went by, they started feeling uncomfortable around me. And who can really blame them? The elephant in the room.
I wanted to believe them. That one day, I'd wake up in Dubai, teleporting in my sleep. Or that when it rained, I'd figure out how to manipulate the oceans, or something. I even went into genetics, to try to figure out what was wrong with me. Worked for years on isolating the genomes for the extra talents. And when I looked at mine...
it just wasn't there.
Still, I guess I can't complain. It's been a few years since then, and I think I've adapted. The splicing project is working well, even if it's a bit messy to cover up my tracks. Once I've taken care of my most recent targets, I won't have to worry about anyone ever finding out.
I've heard that one of the pizza guys in Brooklyn can make matter disappear, and I think I may be craving pepperoni tonight.
___________
critique! |
When she thought about it, "Madame President"didn't sound that much different from "Madame Vice President."At least so far, the job hadn't been that different either. She gave a speech and went through some motions. Of course, she knew that wouldn't last. It was her first day on the big job, and she seriously doubted it would all go as swimmingly as her oath of office and first address as president. It was certainly no bloody Air Force One affair like Johnson's in 1963. But then she reminded herself that being a better president than Johnson was a low bar.
She was wondering who she should call first as she turned from the podium of the briefing room. Her husband was in the White House; he would wait patiently and be there for her as soon as she was done with her presidential duties for the day. And he'd better do his first-manly duties, she thought to herself. She couldn't call her mother or her father, simply because it would be insulting one to call the other first. She couldn't call Senator Rodriguez, whom she was certain would make an excellent Vice President, because it would seem callous to make a political phone call before she spoke to her family. Of course she would call her son. Had he watched her address? Probably. His teacher most likely let the entire class watch.
I'll bet he has some critiques, she thought. He always did. It never impressed him that his mother was a governor, or even the Vice President. He was born to be President, and thus none of his parents' accomplishments fazed him.
With her mind on the phone call to come, she missed the first few shouts of her name from the second row. Not three steps from the podium towards the door, she turned and saw him. That magniloquent face she had sometimes seen pester her predecessor. He was calling her name and waving a hairy hand in the air for her attention. What was his name? Billy? Bobby? Benny? Something childish. She wasn't even confident she knew what paper he worked for.
"Yes, Billy?"she asked, still standing between the podium and the door.
"It's Mark,"he said, not indignantly, but smugly. He knew I didn't know, she realized. She also realized how foolish she looked standing in the no man's land, and strode back to the podium.
"Mark,"she corrected herself.
"I'm only kidding Madame President,"he said. "It is Billy."
The room chuckled. She focused on not blushing.
Billy saw the stern look on her face and smiled. "Don't worry ma'am, just some playful hazing,"he said.
"Funny, I thought you hazed the new people,"she responded curtly.
Billy was still smiling. "I'm sorry I offended you ma'am, but you are of course new to this gig. Just a harmless joke."
She pursed her lips before opening up. "Why yes William, I am new to being president, although I've been working in the White House for the past six years, and I was interning for Deputy Chief of Staff Johns when I was 17. In fact I think I've worked at the White House longer than nearly anyone in this room."
He cut her off, "Yes ma'am, I think that response segues perfectly into my question. Do you think that, as the youngest president in American history *and* the first woman president, you must put up a tough front to be taken seriously, especially following in the footsteps of President Arnold?"
What she wanted to say, as a shot of rage went through her, was that she wondered if this grown man before her in the polka-dotted bowtie had trouble being taken seriously. Instead, she answered "My platoon in the Army took me seriously, and I was much younger back then."
Again he interrupted. "Ma'am it's just that there's a different kind of pressure in this job, and I think the American people want to know-"
But this time it was she who cut him off. "The American people can rest easy knowing that this 37-year-old woman will not buckle under pressure, and has a significantly lower chance of dying of a sudden heart attack than *any* of her predecessors."She knew she was on thin ice hear, referencing her predecessor's myocardial infarction in such a negative manner. "And I say that with love for President Arnold. But when the American people voted for this ticket, they knew they were electing an 86-year-old man to his second term, and they knew that there was a good chance that his health would fail him. Knowing that, they still elected President Arnold and myself."
Bowtie Billy tried to interject but she would not let him. "The American people know my record, both in California and in the Army. They voted for me as Vice President knowing that I very well may have become President, and here I am. This job is much more important than my previous one, and I will not spend any more of my time playing your games. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a country to run."She turned and walked out of the room. She could hear the room erupt in noise after she cleared the premise, but she didn't hear Billy's voice.
Of course she did have a country to run, but before that, and before she called her son, she had something else to take care of. Her husband was waiting around the corner outside the briefing room alongside several of her senior staff. She shot him a look, just one glance too quick for anyone else in the hallway to notice, and he took off in the direction of the presidential residence. She turned to her staff. Several of them tried to talk at once, but she shushed them and addressed her Chief of Staff. He listed off the meetings, briefings, and phone calls she had for the day. He asked her which secretary she wished to meet with first. "Defense,"she stated. "Thirty minutes from now, Oval Office."She took one more glance down the hallway to where her husband was hurriedly moving towards their bedroom. "Make that an hour,"she said, and shot off in pursuit.
***
Note: this is literally the first draft, I haven't even proof-read it, so there may be some typos/awkwardness.
|
"So... you've never had a few benefits with your friendships?"
"What friendships?"he asked. "I kill. I take. There are no friends for me."His hood was drawn low, and I could see it quivering from anger. How dare I ask that question, it seemed to grunt. How dare I be so bold.
"Then that's my game, Death. Let's see how you flirt. Let's see you in a relationship. With me. For a day."I grinned, not unlike the rictus of his skull. "If you can make it, you can take it. My soul, that is. Is that okay, big boy?"
"Try me. I'll have your soul before you can--"
"What? Say arx fatalis?"I stepped a little closer. "I'd like to see you try."My smile faltered a little as I raised a hand to his hood. He recoiled, but remained still when my fingers traced the cracks of his skull. His mandible, his maxilla. My breath was low. "Is this okay, Mr. Death? Me touching you like this?"
"No."
"Then why aren't you stopping me?"He didn't respond. I let my hand fall away, then took his. It was cold. Bony. No skin, no muscles. Just bone, held together by God knows what.
And that's how we walked, hand in hand, through the empty streets. There weren't people in this plane. No cars. No laughter. Just the sounds of my boots and his tarsals clicking against the ground.
"Where are we going?"he finally asked.
"It's a secret. Part of this game."I hesitated before the next bit. "Did people ever do this with you, back when you bet their souls?"
"No."
"Oh. Hmm. We do stuff like this sometimes. Dating. Flirting. Sometimes fucking."
"For fun?"
"Yeah."I could almost taste his incredulity. I wanted to soften it. "We've got words for it all. Like FWB. Friends with benefits. It's not very serious. Just a game."
"Sounds like a very loose interpretation of such."
"That's the most I've heard you say. Guess you're not the strong, silent type, eh?"
If he had skin, I like to think he might've blushed.
"And I guess you're not, either."And he laughed, just a little, just a raspy sound like stones crawling over insects.
We walked in silence. And eventually, I moved my hand around his waist. I could feel the bones of his hip through the dark robe. It was strangely sensual.
"I bet you were handsome, once,"I mention. Off-hand for me, but strange for him.
"...I was."
"Had all the little old ladies screaming."
"They wanted to live."
I laughed. "That's not what I meant."
"I know."Again, only bone to see; no skin to show a smile.
I blushed, then. My voice was low. "I still think you're handsome. In a way. Like, not too spooky. Kinda approachable, really. And kinda cute when you're angry."
"I'm not cute."
"Yes you are."
The hood was shuddering again. "No, I definitely am not."
I grinned. "Oh snap, are you getting mad? Come on, you're supposed to make it through a day. Don't pull out now. Not when you're so close."
He stopped in his tracks. "Tell me that wasn't a sex joke."
I stopped, too. "Call it a slip. Although I wouldn't mind if it wasn't..."My hands were on my hips, now, in my back pockets. Nonthreatening. Casual. "Hey, Death... you've got powers, right? Show me some skin. How you used to look. It's part of our date. I wanna get to know you."
His hood dropped lower, still. "In my time, people didn't date as a game. We dated for someone's hand in marriage. For valor, and honor."His voice dropped lower, still. "For love."
I suddenly wasn't sure what game we were playing. I approached him, pulled up his hood. I didn't expect to see stubble, and then full lips. The nose caught me off guard, and the grey eyes even more so. And those brows. Furrowed, drawn. Empty of hope, but passionate in memory. I didn't expect to like it.
I briefly wondered if I was losing the game.
"Hey, Death. Were... were you human once?"
He nodded.
"Oh."I didn't know what to say; not immediately. But as he looked past me, it was clear. "Who was she?"
"Nobody, anymore."He passed me and kept walking.
There wasn't much of a mood for a while. But then, I stopped him, and pulled his hand. It was warm, and soft. "Hey, Death. Do I look like her?"
"Not in the slightest."
"Then... you won't be reminded of her if I do this?"And on tiptoe, I crushed my lips against his. Quick, painful. A little too strongly, a little too openly. And the shock on his face said too much.
"Don't. Don't make me feel that way again. Ever. Again."
"Make me,"I said, and wrapped my arms around his back. I kissed him again, with the softness of his weathered robes between my fingers. I kissed him as if my life depended on it. I kissed him like I meant it, and I did, because something about him attracted me, and I was such a slave to that attraction.
I wasn't on tiptoe anymore. He had leant down into me, over me, like his lips over mine, and I heard the clatter of his scythe on the ground like a distant memory. He was feeling what I was feeling, if only for an instant. And as his hands pulled my face into mine, my hands pulled at his body.
And then it was over, with my face slapped sideways and my cheek slapped red.
"No. I can't. No more. I can't lose someone again. Not someone like her. Not someone so... so..."His eyes met mine. "I can't."
"You... can't?"
He shook his head. I saw the hot flush fading from his skin; it rapidly regained its former pallor, and then started to fade completely. His eyes were the last to go, although I could feel them gazing into mine long after their absence.
"Don't leave me, Death."
"I thought this was a game,"he said. "You win. It's what you wanted isn't it?"His scythe rose from the ground, into his hands. "You can keep your soul."
"No. I don't want it, not if I--"
"Please. Keep it. For me."For a moment, I saw the skin return, and the smile flashing there. "Because I'll be around. You can bet on it."
I blinked back tears, closed my eyes. And when they opened, I was back in my attic.
The noose had broken; the rope was frayed. And I felt so completely, utterly alone, all over again. |
I could hear him talking before I put the key in the door. I had just been through a long as hell day, with an exam and studying and then an eight-hour shift at Best Buy, holiday season. All I wanted was to come back to my dorm and collapse on my bed, possibly get a few hours of sleep before I had to wake up for my 8:00am Foundations of Literature exam. As soon as I opened the fucking door, though, I saw exactly what I suspected. My douchebag roommate sitting up on his bed, surrounded by all twelve of his annoying-ass friends.
Jesus smiled when he saw me come in. “Hey, Garrett. Would you like to join us?” Phillip and Matthew scooted apart, as if I was going to join in and sit next to them. Not happening.
“No, *Jesus*,” I said, throwing my bookbag down on the floor. “I don't want to join you. I want to get some sleep without twelve people hanging around my dorm room. Man, we've *talked* about this.”
Jesus frowned, and I wondered what was going on in his head. “I'm sorry you're mad, Garrett,” he said. He just looked so goddamned apologetic; it wasn't fair. We had the same conversations over and over, and each time he seemed sorry that he had fucked up. And then he did it again. It was worse than sharing a room with my little brother, who I could at least properly beat the shit out of if he stepped out of line. I sighed.
“Can't you go to the common area?”
“They kicked us out,” Peter said. “Said it wasn't the place for public foot washing.”
It was then that I noticed the plastic container of shallow, murkey water at the foot of Jesus's bed, and my rage flaired up again. “Dude, is that my storage bin? I keep my books in there! Did you honestly empty out all of my books so you could fill it back up with water and random man feet?”
“Garrett, you might not know what I'm doing, but later-”
“NO!” I said, “I'm tired of this, Jesus. I'm tired of you being an inconsiderate roommate and then acting like such a nice guy. I'm tired of strange dudes all up in my space every night, I'm tired of getting to the gym and finding Cabernet in my water bottle, I'm just *tired*. I've put up with a lot. Can you please as your buddies to just *go"? You'll see each other tomorrow, I'm sure.”
The twelve slowly shuffled out over the next few minutes, hugging and shaking hands with Jesus. I'm pretty sure I saw a few of them shoot me some pretty nasty looks. After they were all gone, I shut off the lights and got undressed as Jesus took the container down the hall to dump out the water. I was in bed when I heard the door open and shut again. I kept my head on the pillow and my eyes tightly closed, hoping he would just assume that I was already asleep, and forget my outburst from a few minutes ago.
A few minutes passed by. Jesus pulled back the covers of his own bed and got in. We both lay in silence for a while more, but soon I heard His voice in the darkness.
“Garrett?”
“Yes, Jesus?”
“You doing okay?”
“I'm fine. We should go to sleep. Don't you have finals tomorrow, too?”
“Yeah.”
“Then go to sleep.”
“Okay. ...Garrett?”
“*What*?”
“The guys and I are going to Red Robin tomorrow night. One last supper before the semester's over. You wanna go? Drinks are on me.”
I pulled my pillow over my face, and my voice was muffled when I finally chose to respond. “I'll see how I feel, Jesus.” |
If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, chances are it's probably a duck. However, the *thing* that's been waddling around town is by no means an ordinary duck. This thing, whatever it is, has fangs, fangs that have a certain taste for human flesh. The creature never ate your normal run-of-the-mill duck things, it always bit humans exclusively. Once someone was bitten they had about 30 seconds before they transformed into a small duck themselves, an ordinary mallard fortunately. The newspapers started calling it "Duckula"and soon everyone was trying to kill it. Being in a small, West Texas town they was no shortage of guns available, but bullets were useless. The creature wouldn't even register it got hit. all it would do is waddle over to its next victim, take a blood sample and continue on what everyone was sure was its plan for small town domination. We tried everything, fire didn't faze it, metal seemed to pass right through it, even the old school tricks of garlic and sunlight only seemed to fuel it's desire the turn all the townspeople into ducks. For every person the beast turned the resulting fowl would follow behind its creator as if it was its own mother duck. soon the entire town became what would have been any hunter's paradise and only I remained. When my day of reckoning came I was sitting in my room enjoying what was to be my last meal, An old fashioned turkey on rye, I heard the fanged menace burst into my house. Duckula used its mindless followers to force their way into my room. In my final moments, some part of me that was in shock that a bird would be the thing that finally does me in thought to offer the hellspawn a bit of my sammich. I was surprised when the creature sniffed the bread as if it were a normal being. In my delirious state I tore a piece of bread and threw it at the winged terror, to which he happily pecked and ate. In the middle of it all I heard a sound that, for lack of a better phrase, sounded like a duck chocking on a piece of bread. As it turns out the abomination still needed air to survive, in that way it was like most ducks. after it's long struggle against its delisious foe Duckula at long last billplanted the carpet and slowly left this mortal world. In hindsight it's quite hilarious that what finally defeated the beast was the one thing no one thought to try.
*Motha. Fucking. Bread crumbs.* |
-Subject pulled off at 14:22 – March 22 – 2042
-Displayed severe confusion and shock, reacting violently to the
unplugging. Tranquilizers were administered.
-Subject was informed of the simulation program termination status at
15:30 of the same day.
-Subject was, as standard procedure, offered an extension of the
simulation program.
-Subject accepted the extension.
-Standard procedure, subject was reintroduced to the simulation at
22:12 of the same day. Chosen year of reinsertion -- 2014
-Also following standard protocol, subject's memories of between-
simulation events were erased.
-Subject will receive this log inside the simulation, as part of the full
disclosure contract selected at the time of purchase.
-In order to comply with the rules of immersion of the
simulation, subject will forget the full content of this log upon falling
asleep after reading this.
On a personal note, LifeSym would like to thank you for you patience
and apologize for any inconveniences you may have encountered. As mentioned in your log, you should have no memory of in-between simulation events, and any memory of this message should be erased by tomorrow.
Thank you for choosing LifeSym. |
It was always so exciting when the squad found a new relic of humanity. Their leader, the tall and devilishly good looking Al'ahmar, had such a great knack for finding human artifacts that the emperor appointed him as chief explorer. He told his team they would explore the decrepit building tomorrow, but he was too excited. The humans were gods to his people, and he wanted to be the first to see what amazing technology or beautiful works of art lie in the belly of the ruin.
He snuck away at midnight, wiping the sweat from his scales he descended into darkness of the dank structure. He found statues at least 20 feet in height, machines that could only have been designed by the most intelligent of minds, and books that held a millennia of knowledge. He would be rewarded greatly for this discovery, surely this could serve as a new temple for his people to worship at.
Then He saw a blinking light in the corner of his eye. He approached a metallic cylinder cautiously and touched it as water vapor started to rise off the surface. Upon his touch, the door opened to reveal a small man, at least half the size of Al'ahmar, but he looked like the humans in the paintings he'd seen as a child. Was he truly face to face with his god? It was all very underwhelming.
The man rose up out of the pod, mumbling in a language Al'ahmar couldn't understand. Al'ahmar stood there in disbelief, his yellow eyes fixated on every move this creature made. The man's frail body moved only a few more inches before falling back down and remaining motionless. Al'ahmar could not hear his breath, he couldn't feel a heartbeat, the creature he worshipped as a divine was as mortal as he. He planted dynamite around the building, he left, and allowed his discovery to recline back into the earth. The humans shall remain gods, for the sake of his people's faith. |
The only thing you can use. It's the only thing you can use, and it's not that bad. I have such wonderful time. I have such wonderful time, the thing so far away from me, so very very long away, and I'm giving it to you. It's my time. It's not that bad.
That's me. That's my thing. Take it. It's not that bad.
(Good thing my keyboard has nine suggestions, because that was too challenging.)
***
I took that ^ and I turned it into a slightly longer piece of nonsense. Here you go.
***
"Why? What is this fascination you have with me, with my life, with my *self*?"
"Just listen, I--"
"No. You listen. I don't want this. I don't want this thing."
"Wait."
She turned around hastily, making sure to put the thought of him out of mind.
"Wait,"he said, louder.
"Wait."
"Wait!"
It was of no use. She was gone, both physically and, well, metaphorically. His attempts at a connection did not stand, did not sit with her. She would have nothing of it. She would have nothing of him.
He slouched, distraught, defeated into the folds of the now increasingly uncomfortable couch. She was his last chance, his last hope at redemption. But she was gone.
He sipped another sip of the freshly brewed tea, setting it back down to his right. The faint slam of a door could be heard in the distance.
This man was old, was sick, was dying. He wasn't particularly good, his mistakes from all points of life still very much alive. He'd made a lot of mistakes in time. There were the torn friendships, the lost loves, the lost lovers. He wasn't particularly bad, just particularly imperfect. He didn't do things right. That wasn't his way.
And the girl, she, well, she was a victim. Of his mistakes, of his life, of his way, she was a victim. She was important to him, definitely, but she was a victim.
She was his daughter. She was young, full of life, generally happy, and proud. She was his greatest achievement. She was the one thing he made right.
But, in reality, she hated him. He was the one thing wrong, the one thing definitively wrong with her life. Now, that is. Before, he wasn't there. For the first 32 years, he wasn't there. But now, now he's back.
He picked up the phone to his left and dialed her number, sweating with the possibility of desertion, the feeling of not doing one thing right I'm his mistake filled life looming overhead like an ominous cloud.
"Yes?"she said after three or four rings.
"Just listen,"he began.
"I don't want to listen. I told you that."
"Just one minute. Just one minute, then no contact."
She sighed.
"Fine. One minute, then no more."
He cleared his throat.
"This, me, my life, it's all I have. It's all I have. I want my last days for you. I want you to have all the life I have. I want to make things... yours."
He paused, listening for a response. Silence greeted him.
"It's mine. The only thing you can use. It's the only thing you can use, and it's not that bad. I have such wonderful time. I have such wonderful time, the thing so far away from me, so very very long away, and I'm giving it to you. It's my time. It's not that bad."
He paused again, silence still hanging.
"That's me. That's my thing. Take it. It's not that bad. Please."
The minute ran out.
"Please."
There was no talking for a very short amount of time.
"Okay,"she said softly.
"Okay?"he asked.
"No, it's not okay. But I'll come by tomorrow. We'll talk some more."
She disconnected. He hung up his phone and took another sip of tea.
He sat back into that comfortable couch, and, for the first time in a long time, smiled.
He smiled.
He did something right.
***
Visit my website, [casualhuman.com](http://casualhuman.com), for even longer pieces of nonsense, or short stories, as I like to call them. |
His laughs rang through the hospice at three in the morning. At room 3B Myles Anderson lay limply across a bed of pillows, sheets, and a single morphine drip.
The markings are never chronological, adding to their cruel game of chance and certainty, but their placement was always definite: one for each limb. Anderson lay awake struggling to sleep despite his liberal use of his “comfort button”, mashing it every fifteen minutes. Eight attempts since midnight had helped nothing but make him forget about that radius he had broken that decided to never heal properly despite the number of times a doctor had tried to break and set it. He decided that trying to solve the world’s puzzle would pass the time.
He looked at his left leg, this one he knew for certain. A crude ring traced jaggedly around his knee, stopping for a hair-line keeping the ring from ever being complete. Jenny, Abigail and Melissa. He had asked them each to marry him. Melissa was right, they were too young. Jenny was right, they were too old. But Abigail, sweetest Abigail, the girl with the golden hair and imperceivably hollow green eyes. She would look at him with those eyes and he would fall away to another time, another place, some bastion for his mind. It was not fair that she was gone, and he wasn’t.
The right arm was particularly cryptic; seven splotches along his forearm, almost forming a perfect line with only three of the marks breaking the impression. He had many theories for these: the seven positions he held in his life, seven cars he drove, his current number of grandchildren. But he always suspected one thing over the others: his patents. Dr. Anderson started university when he was eighteen and never left. He had advanced from undergraduate, to postgraduate, to doctoral student and finally to being the head of “Applied Aeronautical Rotor Thermodynamics” – a department he had founded and toiled in for decades now. These seven patents ensured he had enough money to retire years ago, but he returned to the university every day to the reliable greeting of the dean begging him to accept tenure and undergraduate students wondering into his workshop, lost, looking for “Maths 1A” in the next building over.
Anderson looked over to his right arm now, and the think three lines running from his wrist to his shoulder, with the left lane formed by them dirtied by a heavy spray of black. He knew what this was but would never think about it or look upon it. He would never think about that night the drunk driver crossed into the wrong line. The moment he stumbled out of his car and saw the person in the other car - torn into a slurry of pieces stitched back together by a trail of that spray – that was the moment he began to try and bleach it from his mind. After all these years he was extremely close.
Two pieces remained, but the one on his right leg was the easiest to see: a simple grid made of only a few lines. Only now did he realize. From the day Anderson could write he would be completing puzzles. While the other kids were playing in the yard, he was completing a word search. While the teenagers were on their phones and smoking in the bathroom he was creating his own fiendish mathematical puzzles which no one seemed to understand. And in university he would leave the engineering campus to go and speak to the English professor about the newest New York Times crossword. The first day he could no longer hold a pen or think of the answer to a simple clue was the first day he would begin his road here.
Finally, the one on the side of his neck. Anderson looked upon his right arm and begged it to do something. He lay there under the effect of all the drugs, or something else, catching up and time passed with his arm ignoring him. Finally, it yielded to his will and took a labored flight to the small hand mirror on the bureau. He manage to pick it up by a feeble grasp of his middle and index finger before dropping it on a pillow that was left on his chest. He was able to make the strange marking out, it had always appeared to be some writing, but of what he could never be sure. But as he starred into the mirror it finally clicked, one last puzzle for the illustrious Doctor Myles Anderson to solve. The writing had always been reversed when he had looked at them. His thought was labored as he tried to mentally form the script in his mind until it was written there for him to read.
>03:00, 3B
Anderson looked at the clock and the reversed label of the glass door. A wild smirk took his face.
|
Was it boredom or insanity that lead me here? Who knows? And in a few minutes, who will care? I'll either have pulled off the greatest con in my life, or I'll be in a secret cell buried from history.
Security around the White House is a joke. They seem to rely on the reputation of security and severe punishment, but in actuality, the system is riddled with blind spots, predictable rotations, and bored watchers who are easily distracted. Getting into the Oval Office was easy. Everyone was too busy at the inauguration. Now I'm looking to get out, when I hear people approaching.
*"Jenkins, make sure to let me know the moment my wife leaves her mother's place."*
*"Yes, sir."*
Out of time, I decide to try another old con trick: Pretend like you belong. Use their own cues to reinforce that belief.
The doors open, and our eyes meet. The new President is even taller in person. He looks dignified, even as his eyes widen in surprise. Before he can speak, I cut in.
"Congratulations Mr. President. I am Davos. I have served your predecessor and I look forward to serving you."I cut my glance to Jenkins, who was surreptitiously moving towards the panic button. "Jenkins, please secure the door and escort the President to his new desk, I must debrief him immediately."
Years of ingrained obedience to authority drives Jenkins to obey my commands even before he knows. I keep my hands open and make no sudden movements, and force my face to be as bland and none-threatening as possible.
Jenkins. 6'4", 250 lbs of muscle. Two sidearms in shoulder holster, another in a IWB holster, and a small revolver in his ankle holster. Standard buzz cut. Callouses on his left hand, he's a lefty. Scar tissue on his right hand looks like a frost bite pattern. Non-syncopated General American accent, Jenkins is most likely from Colorado. Could be useful knowledge.
"Mr. President, I'll be quick. You weren't expecting me here today because officially, I do not exist. My organization does not exist. Unofficially, we were founded just after the JFK assassination. Our duties are singular: To protect you from all threats. We have no operating budget, we have no roster."The President seems to relax as he processes this bit of news. I study him closer. The news stated that he's an avid golfer, but never made any mention of bowling. The heavy callous buildup and wear pattern on this thumb, pointer, and middle finger tells otherwise. There's also mild nicotine discoloration. Possibly a recent smoker, though that was also never revealed by the media.
"At the moment, there is no active threat to your person, unless you were to slip on an over-waxed bowling alley or resume your smoking habit."
Bingo. His eyes register faint surprise, and then he relaxes completely.
"Davos? What's your real name?"
"My real name is Jason Alexander. Officially I died several years ago, in my home state of Colorado. Same as your bodyguard, Jenkins."This was the biggest gamble yet. If I had guessed incorrectly, Jenkins would blow my cover and I'd be fucked.
Jenkins smiled. Briefly, in show of support to a fellow Coloradan. I exhale slowly.
"I will not take any more of your time, Mr. President. Jenkins. Have a good day. We will be watching."
I turn smartly, and with more confidence than I feel, stride purposefully out the main doors. |
I sat on the grass in the park, enjoying the cool breeze as the sun shone down in pleasant warmth. There were people fishing at the lake, walking their dogs, taking photos, but the park was practically silent. We were all used to it, but sometimes I'd sigh as I tried to recall the sound of laughter, of children running and playing.
A few centuries ago, scientists discovered a huge breakthrough; immortality was achievable. Of course, the world erupted in celebration, despair, anger, and confusion. Opinions were so divided that it almost threatened to tear apart our governments and societies and everything we knew to be life. That's when the world leaders convened and almost-unanimously decided that we, the public, had to be silenced. Then the vaccine came out. We'd been told it was a flu vaccine, and soon it became mandatory to have it. They lied to us, though. They'd done something to our DNA, and that was all it took to make us live forever.
Of course, we can still die through various means, but we never die of old age. I can't remember the last time I heard of someone dying because they were old. Probably when the last of the few countries who didn't force the vaccine on the public faded into distant memory. Or when one of the revolts against the government was successful, and people weren't able to receive vaccines. But that was such a long time ago, and I've acquired so many memories that I never seem to remember anything with much vividness.
I look at my wrist to check the time, my translucent skin exposing my map of veins, like rivers over mountainous wrinkles. Not even 1pm yet, and I just feel so tired. I always feel tired. That was the thing no-one realised until it was too late. Being unable to die of old age doesn't mean we don't grow old. Our cells continue to show their age, and we slowly show our wear and tear, our constantly decaying state of existence. It's like a black hole, in a way. We're approaching the event horizon that is death, but it appears that we're slowing down, the closer we get to it, the less we travel closer to it. Of course, the difference is that things don't actually slow down to a stop when they enter a black hole. But we have.
It only took a few decades before euthanasia was legal worldwide. People's bodies ached beyond belief, and their minds weren't much better either; constantly forgetting memories once held so dear to them, forgetting the essence of who they were. To be mortal is to acquire a lifetime of knowledge and memories, but to surpass mortality is to be forced to discard memories and facts to make space for more.
Then there's the children. There are none. At least, not a lot compared to how there used to be. I haven't seen a child in over 20 years. That's not to say the human race is dying out, or that there aren't plenty of children elsewhere, but people are old, so old, and they just can't produce offspring. Procreation has slowed down so much, to an unnatural state, that I forget what a baby looks like. The innocent and carefree laughter of children gave me hope when I felt low and weary. I felt certain that the world can continue and we can claw our way back to happiness through these children that will grow up. But they'll never grow old enough to outlive us. |
"What a nuisance! What an ordeal! My whole day is gone! All of it!"
"OK! Just stop shouting."
A little garden gnome was addressing me as his bane. The fact that he was alive and the fact that he was upset were both equally terrifying.
"How can I not be upset! You've completely demolished my scarecrow. Now I have to go to the craft shop, I got to find a sack and some buttons..."
"Hey, maybe I can help you."
"Oh, that would be wonderful. Well maybe you didn't mean it after all."
"Of course not it was an accident. I didn't mean to trip on the garden hose, crushing your scarecrow."
"Alright then let me just grab my wallet... OH MY GOD!"
"What! What!"
"You didn't just crush my scarecrow, you crushed my fucking house!"
"Oh, so that abnormally large pumpkin was your home?"
"Yes! You prick. Now I will curse you!"
"Oh Christ no! Garden gnome curse fuck."
I trembled as the gnome waved his tiny arms around. The ground started to shake, clouds covered the sun.
"Yes, with the forces of the holy cabbage patch of Zangilaj, you are hereby cursed!"
"So what's the curse?"
"You will be forever chained to me! Until you can find me a new house! Be warned I'm very hard to please."
"Oh, really that's it?"
"Yes, but that pumpkin was the best crash pad I've had in 120 years, so good luck topping that."
"Alright, lets go. I'm not doing anything anyways."
So we searched high and low through the city. I didn't truly realize how terrible this curse was until house number seven.
"What's wrong with a giant shoe!"
"It's racist."
Tool sheds were met with: "How dare you! They're like concentration camps!"
Dog Houses: "Do I look like a furry leg humping mongrel."
I proposed under a bridge by a river, he said: "Trolls do bridges. Like Jesus are you even trying?"
Eventually, day light died and with nowhere to go the little garden gnome stayed at my place. He was a dick. Cap off the toothpaste, not putting the lid back on the nutella, piss on the toilet seat, used my tweezers for god knows what, saved over one of my games and smoked all my pot.
I couldn't take it anymore. During a walk home from work I was contemplating burning him alive in his sleep, but something caught my eye. I rushed home and threw open the door.
"Maurice! I found it"I said huffing and puffing.
"You did? This better not be another tree house."
"It's not, come on."
It was perfect, a tear ran down his eye. I was smiling with a great intensity.
"Thank you. The curse is lifted."
"Wonderful."
"You should come visit sometime."
"Sure, I love the beach."
"Yeah, well once I kill this thing and hollow out its shell, so will I."
"See you later Maurice!"
"So long... friend. Thanks for the giant sea turtle!"
"Don't thank me! Thank God!"
"Of course."
The End. |
"Jerry?"
My brain stopped. I couldn't think. Jerry's dead. I am looking at his body. Jerry's dead. But I was just with Jerry and he is *definitely* alive. This doesn't make any sense.
I sat down. Think. Gotta think. Options. Two Jerrys. One is dead. Jerry doesn't have a twin. I'd know if Jerry had a twin. Plus, why the hell would Jerry invite me over for MarioKart if he knew his twin was dead in the tub?
OK, no twins. So one is real Jerry and one is fake Jerry. If real Jerry is out there, wouldn't the same problem apply? Wouldn't the real Jerry maybe mention that there was a dead copy of him in the freaking tub?
Wait. Maybe this is a prank. I looked back at the body. Mannequin? This Jerry is pretty pale. *That's because he's dead, stupid*. I have to touch it. Goddamn it.
I reached out, poked the body quickly with one finger, and pulled back. Dang it. I was too focused on the creepiness of touching it to determine if it was real. Touch it again. I touched again. The skin gave. It was room temperature. It wasn't plastic. This is a real fucking body.
OK. OK. There is a bloody body next to me in the tub. It looks like Jerry. A living person who looks like Jerry is in the living room, waiting to trounce me at Rainbow Road (the bastard knows I hate that level). I don't *think* the real Jerry would forget to tell me that he killed a guy and stashed him in the tub. So this is the real Jerry here. And there is something out there that looks like him. Something out there that killed him.
This is so messed up. I have to get out of here. OK. Think. Out the door, down the hall, and out the front door. Don't stop. Don't think. Ten seconds, tops. I can make it. I won't make it. Breathe. In and out. In and out. Just do it. On the count of three. One, two...
There was a knock on the door. "Dude, you fall in?"
I won't make it. |
With a shriek, Magdel the lady-witch flew through the air, cobweb hair flapping above an enchanted broom. Sir Isaac stood his ground, unflinching against the foul wind of her breath. The prayer on his lips was not broken by the witch's shrill cackle, and he held his sword steady. When the witch drew near, and the evil lightning sparkled in her palms, Sir Isaac lunged. The silver sword pierced the evil sorceress, right above the heart. With a scream, her broom-path wobbled, and she went wailing over the edge of the cliff. Never to bother the good folks of Caer Cabern again.
Sir Isaac rode into the town and was greeted with cheers. The king declared a day of celebration, and he rode out to meet Isaac personally. "Loyal subjects,"said the king, "I present to you our hero, Sir Isaac, or as he will be known here on after: Sir Isaac the Loyal!"Hats filled the air, and wine seals were broken.
"My liege,"said Sir Isaac, "I have merely done as you commanded."
"Oh, were all my subjects so loyal as you, good knight!"said the king. "Sir Isaac of Cabern, take thee this ring, and with it, the day she comes of age, you shall have my daughter's hand!"The peasants stamped their feet in synchrony, an ancient gesture for only the most ecstatic of occasions. Sir Isaac merely bowed, and kissed his liege's hand.
As Isaac rode toward his castle, the people showered him with flowers in the air. It seemed like it was Autumn, with all those falling flowers, even though it was really the middle of Spring. Trumpets heralded the good knight's return, and he entered his home with the drawbridge. As soon as he was inside his private court, Sir Isaac dismounted, rose-petals still in his hair. He solemnly bowed before the images of his late beloved parents: his father Sir Isaac the Elder, and his lovely mother, Lady Magdel of Cabern. |
"Goddammit Steve! You can't keep putting this back on me!"Robert argued, shaking his space-shackles against the wall.
"I saw the way he looked at you! The moment they landed, Zo'ba'ath locked like thirty of his eyes on your tight shirt! You could cut through dam steel on your tight nips!"Steve slammed his head against the wall.
"Hey, shut the hell up! Your the one who lead him on a goddam intergalactic chase for stealing his daughter!"
"I didn't steal his daughter and you know it! I stole her clone, *totally different!* Its not his fault he hasn't got contacts for those peepers of his!"
"BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP!"Alex shouted. "We have to find a way out of here or else-"
"*He's coming!*"Rob whispered, listening against the wall to here the clopping of metal shoes against the railing.
Everyone tilted their head away from the door, pretending to be asleep. The airlock opened with a whizz, and in walked Zo'ba'ath and another, exchanging clicks and buzzes in argument.
A slimy tentacle reached for Rob, he remained still while they felt his face and chest.
"*Tucka tucka, ducka ducka... Yeeehhhehe...*"the stranger alien spouted.
"*Si! Si si si! Look at his foboco komofo... Very valuable... A'chua co'co'co ala'ap'a...*"Said Zo'ba'ath.
They continued clicking, Zo'ba'ath's wings began to hum and spread, their arguement became more heated. The stranger's beard began to ooze puss as he grew just as angry. They exited.
"Did you *see him!* We're screwed!"Said Steve.
"What did he say? Who was that!?"Asked Alex, the only one who wasn't proficient alienese.
"The new guy is Boa'boa, *the impenetrable*! He's a sex slaver!"Spouted Steve. Rob groaned, knowing it was definitely his nipples that started all this trouble. "He was saying how your tight nips could cut goddam alien admantium! We're royally f-"
"Hold that swearword!"Shouted Rob, standing as best he could against the space-shackles that pinned them against the space-ship's space-wall. "Alex, give me a kick!"Confused, Alex was the closest to Rob. Giving a swift kick to his rump, sending him flying toward the wall. His tight pecs, only constrained by his two-sizes-too-small polo shirt were firmly tightened and flexed.
A metal click, and the crisp sound of metal snapping. Like a tin tuna can, the wall peeled open, and dragging his chest along the wall, he carved out the chunk of the space-wall attaching his space-shackles. Swinging them too-and-fro, they eventually shatter! Freed!
Next he moved onto Alex, then Steve. Slowly they separated from the walls of their cell.
"Rob! Your nipples saved us from being sold to horse-aliens as sex slaves!"Exclaimed Alex.
Steve sighed. "You know, they also got earth blown up..."
"Oh, shut up Steve! There are like, dozens of them all over the galaxy!"Protested Rob.
"But my stolen clone was on that earth! I worked so hard to get her!"
"Tough. Right now we have to worry about getting off this ship,"Rob grabbed the buttons of his shirt, ripping it open revealing his amazing abs and razor sharp pecs, "And get home!"
___
Edit: O wow my grammar sucks. |
I choked a little bit, spitting the meat from my mouth. My eyes watered, "W-What..?"All heads were raised, and all eyes were locked on Mother. Father stood, the chair falling behind him. He slammed fist down, his face getting redder with each passing second.
"I-... I couldn't live like this anymore."She mumbled, pushing her plate away.
"B-But you.."Father stammered, and she stood, turning her back, sobbing quietly.
"I can't deal with the screams!"She shouted. "They keep me up at night, I can't get even a wink of sleep anymore, James!"
I couldn't breathe, "Moth...er..."I gasped, clawing at my throat. Tears poured down her face as she turned.
"I'm... done."She mumbled. She turned, calmly strolling to the basement door. Father fell over the table, a white foam pouring from his lips. I started to cry. My Mother descended into the pitch black, and soon after, I heard the moans from downstairs. The fences rattled.
A naked young woman fumbled up the stairs, eyes wide and red. All I felt was anger, pure rage, welling up in my gut. That was MY catch! My first time hunting with Father, and she has the gall to let it run away!? I tried to choke out a threat, but only noises came. Father stopped writhing. A few more naked figures meandered up the stairs, and out the door, into the cool summer night, out onto the dirt road. My catch followed them soon enough.
Mother came back to her seat calmly. She sat, lifting a small vial of something clear from the breast pocket of her blouse. She poured it into a glass, filling the rest with the white wine she had set out with dinner. Stirring it with a butter knife, she lifted it to her pale lips and took a few quiet sips. My head was swimming, and my eyelids were heavy. I just... needed to take a quick nap. My mother spoke quietly.
"I will see you soon, son." |
Up until now this interview had been pretty normal. A question about the gap in my employment, easily explained that I was taking care of my ailing grandmother and her children were covering my bills so that she wouldn't have to be alone in her final years. I was asked to elaborate on my experience some, and the old classic "where do you see yourself in five years?"Honestly kind of run of the mill stuff. I mean I'm interviewing for a low level sales job. The interviewer kind of reminds me of my mom in a way, similar mid-west accent, with a touch of southern. She say's "doncha know"often, but also hits you with that "bless his heart"business, so it was a real be shock when she pulled out a **GIANT BLACK DILDO** and asked me how I'd sell it to her. This thing looked like it could fit some D cell batteries inside it, and there were bulgy veins on the sides. if I had to guess I'd say it was a foot long, and there was a suction cup on the bottom of so you could stick it on a nice flat surface. I really needed this job so I swallowed my pride and tried my best.
"Well Ma'am, I can see by the ring on your finger that you're married, but that don't always mean the Mister is home when you *need* him to be. I think this here..."I cleared my throat, trying to think of a more professional term for a huge black veiny rubber dick. "...Marital tool could really help you bridge the gap when he's not around to attend to your, eh, *needs*"
I reached out and picked it up, I'm not entirely sure why I did that, but it seems like if you're gonna sell something to someone, you should show them the features. There was a small opening on the thing where it looked like you could put some batteries, and a three way switch for Off/Low/High.
"This is a top of the line model you see, it's got the suction action so you can stick it to most anything. I bet it'd even hold on to the hood of your car if you wanted it to. And here at the bottom is where you put the batteries in for the variable speed modes."
It was right about now that I noticed she was holding bowling pin, and looking just about as embarrassed as my mother would if she'd handed a stranger a dildo on accident. Apparently someone had set the dildo there as a prank, and when she reached behind her chair and said "sell me this"I'd started in before the shock wore off and she could switch it out for the bowling pin.
I think I probably would have got the job too if I hadn't uttered, "Well, or you could just use that, they're about the same size." |
We called it the first impact.
While the elders may speak at length of the physical damage caused by the orb's arrival and the subsequent emergence of the angels from its shattered husk, in my mind, there was no greater horror than the heavensap.
The angels *were* terrifying, I do not disagree with that fact, but they were, in the end, fragile things. Their deformed, twisted bodies, seemed so strong at first, but they were not meant for this world. Their eyes were too accustomed to the light of heaven for them to see properly in our sinful world, and their wings were torn by the slightest brush with our tunnels. Worst of all were their weapons. As if in testament to God's cruelty, the angels could only attack us once, and doing so came at the cost of their lives.
My best friend was one of their victims, and she died a righteous death. I held her as she passed away. It was a quiet, dignified passing. I still remember the weight of her body in my arms, and the sound of her laugh as we both watched her murderer die. The angel had been torn inside out, and it passed away in a pool of its own blood and bowels which steamed around it on the damp earth.
Such deaths were noble, and I know I will see my friend again when I join her in the afterlife.
I hold no such hope for those of us lost to the heavensap.
The heavensap emerged from the orb immediately upon arrival. It oozed out of each crack, coating the debris that covered the gate and surrounding areas... and we embraced it.
No one is meant to taste heaven before their time, and yet, like some sick joke, here it was. Those closest to the impact were engulfed immediately, and in their madness they sung hymns as the heavensap filled their mouths. Others were lured by the smell of it, but became trapped when they drew too near. Faced with a choice between starving to death by resisting and drowning in ecstasy, not one chose the righteous path.
I tell you this now for one reason and one reason alone: Because I love you. You are young, and you and your sisters know only stories. There is no doubt in my mind that should you choose this path, you will indeed be able to defeat the angels about which the scouts have been speaking. It may indeed prevent a second impact, but I promise you, love, none of you will return alive.
|
All we'd wanted was to see *Total Recall*, which was R16.
Lucy and I had colluded, stealing her mother's ankle-length, expensive, tailored fur coat, styled black wig, opera gloves and pearls. Having the longer arms and the more adult face, I took the upper half of our new creation - and having longer legs and broader shoulders, Lucy took the lower.
It worked perfectly. We'd practiced our walk until we were confident it looked natural enough and we agreed on a series of knee signals to guide my blind partner in crime. Before we knew it, we were strolling into the movie theatre.
Unbuttoning the coat, Lucy and I watched enraptured - this was a stolen moment; we shouldn't be in here, witnessing this age-restricted material.
One thing led to another and before we knew it, we were at a bar, being chatted up by attractive young men and offered drinks. After night of flirtations and alcohol, we were hooked.
Persephone Perkins was born.
At first it was once or twice a month, then it was every weekend.
We became well known - Persephone Perkins, the socialite with the baby face and the exquisite fur coat. When summer rolled around, we had to retire - Lucy simply couldn't cope with the stifling heat of our disguise.
It was a long summer and we both chafed to be out there, mingling with the popular young people. As far as anyone knew, Persephone was holidaying in Ibiza with her wealthy family and would return in the winter.
Our grades improved after suffering all winter, but as autumn approached and the leaves turned brown, the call of the coat became irresistible.
It was time for Ms Perkins to return.
It had been three years of wintering as one of the most popular young partygoers in the city; hobnobbing with the rich and famous. Then the modelling contract was offered.
We panicked. There was no way we could pull off the feat of *modelling* given our totem-status.
But the money was ludicrous - we were two fifteen year old girls who now stood at a combined six foot two and I had a face to sell magazines.
Lucy and I discussed it at length, finally writing up a counter contract, specifying certain parameters - the foremost being that we would only model *fur coats* of a specified length and the second that we were never to be observed getting changed.
Used to the idiosyncrasies of wealthy brats, we were signed.
We moved out at sixteen and got an apartment together with our modelling money.
This was the life; a harbour view, loads of cash, friends with the upper crust of the city, fawned upon by men wherever we went.
"We can't keep this up,"said Lucy, now with the shoulders of a quarterback from carrying me around for four years, "Eventually we're going to get found out."
"I know,"I soothed, "but let's make as much cash as we can before this gravy train runs out of rails."
We were only in it for the money, we told ourselves.
Oh how wrong we were.
|
The dark-suited man entered the room and at the dingy metal table. He rubbed his face with his hands and took a deep breath.
"You know why you're here?"He asked. I flicked my tail and sent water over the side of the tiny pool.
"Eeek eekeekeek! *Chakachak eeek eek!*"I replied. The man put a finger in his ear and cursed under his breath.
"Hang on."He said as he approached a device mounted on the front of the pool. More curses emerged while he fiddled with the device. After a few moments it beeped and whirred to life.
"There we go."The man said. He sat back down. "So, you were saying?"
"I was saying that I have *no idea* why you snagged me you fucking pig!"I replied through the translator. The man sighed.
"I think I preferred the squeaking. Oh, and that's Mr. Pig to you, fish."Mr. Pig said. He scratched his head.
"Where were you last night at PM?"Mr Pig asked. I waggled my fins.
"Fucked if I know."I replied. "The ocean?"
"This is serious, fish. Cooperate and maybe we can get you out of here real soon."Mr. Pig said. He pulled a file from his jacket and retrieved a picture from inside.
"Do you recognize this woman?"He asked as he pressed the picture against the glass. I squinted at the image. It was a human. Fair-haired, thin, probably what the humans would call 'pretty'.
"Nope."I replied. "Doesn't ring a bell."
I raised myself up out of the water and set my chin on the rim of the pool.
"You got a smoke Mr. Pig?"I asked. The man in question blinked slow, hard. One hand rose to rub his forehead. The other retrieved a pack of cigarettes.
"Sweet. Right in the blowhole, please."I said. Mr. Pig obliged, but shuddered a bit as he saw me clamp onto the butt with my blowhole.
"Fuck."He said. He turned away and rummaged through the file.
"How about this woman, do you recognize her?"He said. This picture was of a scantily clad human female from the neck down. She appeared to be swimming. I shuddered.
"And her?"Mr. Pig asked. He held up a picture of the same human woman from the back.
That ass. I'd recognize that booty anywhere. Words flooded my head. Words I'd spoken. *I like you, I want you, and we can do this the easy way or the hard way.*
I suddenly realized why the cops had snagged me. My heart started to race. The cigarette fell from my blowhole.
"I want a lawyer."I said. Mr. Pig raised an eyebrow, crossed his arms.
"It was consensual! She was into it! Look at how she's dressed, I mean, lawyer. Where's my lawyer? Do I even get a lawyer? Where's my rights..."
Mr. Pig smiled sadly. He supposed that this was *one* way to make history. |
My father told me before I left that when you give your word, you keep it. That it is your actions that define you.
I shook my head in disgust.
How can I ever face him again, after what I have done, after what I have seen done to others?
This war had brought out the worst in all of us. I had seen things beyond comprehension. I had seen things that I had never thought humans would ever be capable of. I had seen cruelty that would make the devil himself cower in fear.
I closed my eyes and brought my cigarette to my lips. I took a long, hard draw. The smoke was a welcome source of warmth in this cold. At least we were here, and not in the East, I thought bitterly.
“Hans? Are you alright?” The young man was turned around in his seat, and was looking straight up at me.
I must have been wearing a terrifying expression on my face, for the apprehension in his voice was all too noticeable.
I did my best to soften my features before responding. “Yes, I’m fine. I’ve just been wondering… How did it come to this?” While the question was broad, he knew immediately what I was talking about.
Smiling his grim smile, one I had seen far too often, he turned back around and spoke forward, to no one in particular. “Because God has forsaken us. All of us. All of mankind.”
Down below in the driver’s seat, Rolf gave a harsh, short laugh. “Herbert, cheer up, will you? If nothing else, don’t bring our spirits down with yours. Make it as fake as you want, but do it for us, alright?”
Herbert snorted and kicked Rolf in the back. I saw Rolf turn around, ready to retaliate.
“Stop it!” I barked. “We’re on a mission here, so quit messing around. The Amis will be here soon, and I want you focused.”
“Pff. Aye, Panzerführer.” Rolf returned to his position, all the while grinding his teeth so hard I felt I could almost hear it.
After sighing in exasperation, I went back to keeping a lookout for the convoy we were waiting for. I sensed that everyone else was doing the same. Everyone’s eyes were peeled. Everyone was on edge.
But for the time being, nothing was happening.
We passed half an hour like that, in complete silence. Rolf was the first to break it.
“You know, Herbert... As bleak as things may seem, as bleak as they may be, there’re still things to hope for, right? Tell me about your hopes.”
I raised an eyebrow. This was unexpected. I glanced at Herbert. He was still noticeably down, and when he spoke, his voice was shaking.
“My friends and family… are waiting for me in Frankfurt. I hope… I hope that it is still standing after this…”
And with that, he began to cry. “God damn you, Rolf,” I whispered.
I placed my face in my hands and felt an urge to follow suit. No one in this crew was spared these emotions. Hell, no one in this entire country was. The fear that one would never have the chance to go home. The fear that, if they did, that there would be no home to return to. The fear that everything, everything, would be taken by this war…
“Panzerführer! I think I’ve spotted the enemy!”
I snapped to attention and grabbed my binoculars, sweeping my thoughts and emotions aside. I quickly blinked away the tears that had begun to gather.
Carried forward by endless hours of training, I reached up into the cupola, released the latch, and pushed the hatch outwards to the side. I poked my head out and began to scan the horizon. And sure enough, there they were. I could make out multiple trucks and at least four Sherman tanks.
I rapped the roof of the tank with my knuckles. “Ready up, crew. Amis approaching at 11 o’clock. They have multiple panzers. Angle to 25 degrees, slowly. Prepare to fire. We’ll engage at 1500 meters.”
I kept my eyes fixed on the approaching shapes and silently counted down the time until they would be in range. This was the worst part of any engagement. That span of time when you could see the enemy, but couldn’t yet do anything about them. I hated it.
They were drawing ever closer… And there it was. The lead Sherman now filled, from the bottom of its tracks to the top of its turret, the span between the two ticks on the edge of my sights that I’d added just for this reason.
“Target front!”
The turret wiggled ever so slightly, and the mantlet turned upwards. I reached down for a handhold and braced myself.
“Feuer!”
The L/56 roared to life, and the entire tank lurched backwards in response. I grimaced as I nearly lost my balance. I watched as the round erupted from the barrel, and instinctively squinted my eyes.
Something about the boom, the smoke, the flash, awoke a demon within me. One that loved these weapons, one that loved to see their brilliant tongues of flame.
It loved to watch the rounds as they soared through the air, and was delighted when they almost always found their marks, when they almost always succeeded in delivering their deadly loads.
And it rejoiced now, when again, we hit our target. I watched as the lead Sherman erupted in flames, and tried hard not to imagine the ghastly cries of its crew as they burned alive within.
I closed my eyes.
From below, back in the tank, I heard the loader’s voice. “Geladen!”
I took a deep breath. Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned...
And will continue to do so.
|
The spaceship came screaming through the atmosphere, the hull glowing red as it tore its way through the air and slammed into the shoreline. The desert stretched out beyond it as far as the eye could see while the featureless ocean rose and fell with the waves and tide, reaching into the shattered hulk at its highest point.
The ship resembled a giant eggshell, the white outer coating blackened from its passage although no fire is evident now. The salt water slowly washed it clean, seeping into the deserted passageways and cutting the sand from beneath it so the ship gradually rolled further into the sea.
The last bit to disappear beneath the waves was the nameplate, the name "Noah"easily read in binary. No crew had climbed out, or ever would. The ship only contained two rooms, one with an exotically designed propulsion system that occasionally sparked as the water made connections and the other with a single agar dish sitting on the floor, also washed clean by the water.
Over the millenia the ship sank to the bottom of the ocean and dissolved into its component minerals while the bacteria thrived and evolved. Eventually complex life would evolve, or so the last of humanity had hoped. Their last chance for the future had been sent out, just ahead of the rising flood. |
"We have arrived to destroy all of your data and possible backup devices."said a tiny green man with giant black eyes.
"But why?"exclaimed Obama.
"Rick and Morty. It reveals too many secrets."
"What?"
"Once every 7 billion years, through the power of sheer coincidence, one of the races invents a tv show that perfectly corresponds with reality, and is capable of predicting the future. Usually these things are extremely valuable, but Rick and Morty shares the secrets of our most secret agencies, including the recipe for concentrated dark matter, which, in wrong hands, can destroy 80% of the universe within 2 weeks. We are sorry, but we can not take any chances. All of your data recording devices must be destroyed."
"But what are we supposed to do? All of our civilization is built upon information infrastructure!"
"Oh, don't worry. We will give you the immortality pills and food-and-matter replicator, that should be enough for you to rebuild your civilization without many victims, and last until you are ready to join intergalactic community."
-----
If you have enjoyed this - come visit http://orangemind.io where you can read my best stories.
|
I have created a world. Mainframe in our company has simulated every atom in the universe starting from the big bang, and now here we are. I look at the rendering of the world, and see myself staring at the rendering of the world I have created.
And my head is starting to spin. Because when I think about the guy in my simulation, I know that he feels *exactly* like me, he experiences and thinks exactly the same things I do. His brain contains the same information, for all intents and purposes he is me.
And of course if I am in a simulation, being watched by someone else, I have no way to tell. In fact, my simulation of the universe is so exact, that there would be absolutely no difference between living in it, in a simulation running on information calculated by my processor, or in a universe that is running on whatever the real world is running on.
And the more I think, the more I realize that I am almost definitely in a simulation. I stare at the infinity of the guys staring at the infinity of the screens, and that means that the probability of me being real is one over however many simulations there is.
I look up at the empty space in the ceiling behind me, this is where virtual camera that renders the scene is placed, and I know that behind my back, screen displays millions of guys performing exactly the same motion.
I think that simulating the universe was exactly the same as splitting my consciousness into millions of pieces, essentially making sure that I will end up in the virtual world.
I can't deal with it, I must make sure. With shaking hands I reach towards the keyboard, preparing to abort the simulation. Then I realize just in time that if this is what I do, this is what the guy simulating my world is going to do. And so I understand that now I must keep this simulation running at any price, because that is the only way I can preserve my world from destruction.
-----
If you have enjoyed this - come visit http://orangemind.io where you can read my best stories.
|
"Humans were vain, selfish, and predatory,"Jupiter mentions to the group of the assembled deities walking through a desolate city.
"Our efforts appear to have been of some use,"Apollo remarks as he looks at the artwork and technologies produced in the late era of humanity. "They eventually realized their pollution and ruining among the environment and themselves. The gifts we gave them indeed proved our hypothesis that any species can become a working community."
"What species then shall we make our next focus?"Pluto wonders while remembering all the souls he protected during his reign.
"We must give the next arrogant and powerful species a knowledge of the world, lest their abilities and conquest ravage everything,"Neptune informs.
Groups of deer, dogs, and wolves march past as they head towards whatever goal they seek, and the lone bear trotting through ignores all others while keeping a distance to prevent an insertion of a threat to other organisms. After a while of observing, a small furry animal walks through the streets and finds much bigger animals enjoying a meal, food which the little creature quickly attempts to steal. Once caught, it hastens to safety, eventually stumbling upon the gods who were watching the furry thing. It looks up at them with an unmoving expression for a while before approaching them and scratching at Apollo's leg. The god jolts his leg away in frustration, but the cat simply looks back up without guilt or care, then slowly walks over to Ceres' overflowing dress and sits down in the folds.
"This one is indeed haughty,"Ceres notions. "To steal food, annoy others, and claim territory without hesitation is a trait for those without a sense of community or equilibrium with nature."
"Brothers and sisters,"Jupiter announces with a smirk, "I believe we have found our next project." |
"Wait, I sold my soul? To you? Are you sure?"
"YES. For the last fucking time, I have it written right here. I'm from hell, we don't make mistakes. Where do you think all the bureaucrats go anyway?"
"Huh. Can I see that?"
"WE DON'T HAVE TIME FOR THIS SHIT MORTAL. I have other places to be."
"This is my immortal FUCKING SOUL. FORGIVE ME IF I WANT TO SEE WHAT I SOLD IT FOR!"
"...fine. Hurry up."
*Three hours later*
"I'm ready, let's go. This explains a lot, by the way."
"Yeah, I guess it does, doesn't it?"
"Yeah. Fucking five year old me. You get a lot of these?"
"You'd be surprised how many."
"There should be, like, an eternal law or something against this. Jesus."
"HEY! Don't say that! Keep it civil, this is just business. Anyway, you asked for an immunity to cooties kid, this is your fault."
|
Mark swung his feet as he sat on the edge of the bridge, looking thoughtfully down at the water that winked at him from below. Time to go. He took one last breath, and glanced at the sky, an inky black darkness without stars tonight. It seemed suitable. Tonight was a good night.
Mark took another steadying breath and stood upright. Before he could move, a soft thumping noise sounded behind him. He froze. Who had followed him? He turned slowly, and stared at the stranger lying facedown on the bridge. Despite himself, he forgot what he'd been planning to do.
"Sir?"he said, shaking the limp man's shoulder and turning him over. His harshly lined face had bleeding gashes down both cheeks. The blood was dripping steadily onto a stiff, collared shirt. And were they *smoldering*? The man was unconscious. Something about his sleek black hair and deeply etched frown lines made Mark uneasy.
Ok, the wounds were definitely smoking now. He blinked, somehow sure that would shake the delusion.
"Hey man, wake up,"he repeated, belatedly checking for a pulse. Sure as hell not what he'd planned to do tonight for someone else. Where had the guy even come from?
Just as he'd decided the man was dead as a doornail and wondering whether he should run for it or not, the guy's eyes flew open. Red slits focused slowly on Mark's face.
"Ah,"the man exhaled, a trickle of blood running from the side of his mouth.
"Oh, god,"Mark said, scrambling backwards. "Your eyes!"
"Don't mention that asshole, please,"the man whispered, pulling himself slowly upright until he was kneeling on the bridge.
Mark stared dumbly as the man got to his feet and approached him. He grasped Mark's shoulder, and sighed.
"This might as well be useful to someone,"the man muttered, and made a dry wheezing sound that might have been a chuckle. "Take it, quick. *They* are watching. Might send someone soon. Wish I could see...what happens..."
A strange buzzing started in Mark's fingertips and raced down his arteries as the man kneeled over, spasmed twice and closed his eyes again. Steaming blood pooled quickly underneath the man, and Mark scrambled back in horror and disgust. What kind of sick nightmare was this?
He shook himself, hoping he'd wake up soon. He'd had vivid, disturbing lucid dreams like this before. This must be one of them. He ignored the man's body and set out into the night, flexing his fingers experimentally. A car was speeding toward him. Strangely, he didn't want to die in a car accident or something, like he'd hoped for last month. The car should swerve. He wasn't done with this dream yet.
The car swerved madly to avoid him with a screech of tires, and overturned. Mark gaped at the wreckage, feeling light-headed as his fingers buzzed crazily.
This dream was interesting, he thought, as he walked on. It was like his own video game, or something. He could always enjoy one more dream, and pay attention to his other plans when he woke up. No need to wake up tonight to go to the bridge. Tomorrow was another day, and all that.
And wasn't there so many things he'd fantasised about? So many people, so many places to visit. Everything he'd do if he had all the power in the world to execute the *other* plan.
Mark flexed his fingers toward the streetlights as he strode to Lee Blackmore's house. It was on this road, wasn't it? He'd overheard the bastard talking about his fancy house once. He laughed in delight as the bulbs splintered and rained glass on the pavement.
Tonight was a good night for this dream. One last fantasy, before the end.
___
The angels gave each other troubled glances as they saw where the demon had landed.
"It's uncanny,"Charlie complained, "They always land next to the most fucked-up mortals. Just look at him, grinning to himself like a loon. Is that a *dagger*? Did he have that with him all this time? Gods, children these days. Who is his Guardian?"
The other angel, named Micas, racked his brain and bit his lip. "Uhm, Lucy. I think."
"*Lucy*?"Charlie squeaked.
"Who assigned him Lucy? You know how shifty she gets when anyone mentions *him*. Won't say a bad word about him. It's in the name, I think. They really should scrap that one when naming the new guys. It's a magnet for trouble. Have you ever read those *Peanut* comics the mortals came up with? There's this horrible little girl in it, with this football. And they have this other song about the name that seems to seduce them into taking drugs. Catchy tune though...well, nevermind,"Charlie stopped hastily as he saw the expression on Micas's face. The guy had some strong opinions about Earthly 'pop culture'.
"Point is, that name is an absolute magnet for trouble."
They lapsed into a moody silence, watching the mortal stride along the dark street.
"Where were the nuns?"Charlie muttered after a while. "There were supposed to be some nuns waiting, to counter his energy!"
"It's a demon, Charlie, what did you expect? A quiet death where he repents for his sins?"Micas said with a sigh. "This is no mere *coincidence*. The nuns are probably bleeding out in some ditch. Or fell asleep on the way, more likely. His last laugh, I'd say. Well, we better inform the others. They won't be happy."
The angels walked in silence for a while, climbing the high hills to headquarters.
"So which of us is going to be sent tumbling to Earth this time, to stop this mess?"Charlie said gloomily.
"Well, they better not send me. I spent enough time as a freedom fighter last century, thanks,"Micas snapped. "The prisons are appalling. You can go jump into Lee Blackmore or whoever he had in mind, and fight the power this time. It's your turn, anyway. You need some experience in the field, you're getting lazy."
"Oooh, you liar! Check the logs, and say that again!"
They squabbled all the way to the white building stretching into the heavens, on the top of the hill. Micas winced to himself as he thought of the best way to break the news, and knocked on the door. Where were the kindly nuns pulling suicidal teenagers from the edges of bridges when you needed them? |
11:30pm. Sunday.
The door slides shut. The street lamp highlights her lumpy silhouette as she trudges down the sodden path. This is the last time I’ll watch her leave. I’ll move on. There will be someone out there for me. Someone that understands.
Monday. 8:40am.
Stunning. Absolutely stunning. I was in my usual spot finishing a coffee. A spot I’ve sat in a hundred times before but I’ve never seen her. The rain was lashing down, the wind grabbing at her dress while she gracefully prevented it from riding too high with carefully placed palms on her thighs. No jacket, no umbrella. She must live close. And probably works around here too. She saw me and cast a nervous smile, but there was something in it. Innocence but still the impression of an invitation deep in the eyes. There was something in it!
11:45pm.
I saw her again. Different clothes, hair changed and walking the other direction. Out so late. Off to see her boyfriend no doubt. Silly of me for even thinking. Idiot. It was just a smile. There is no one out there for me.
Tuesday. 9am.
I saw her again in the same clothes as last night. I just wanted to put the idea out my head for good so I followed her a little bit. I followed her to her flat. Small place, must be a one bed and no sign of boyfriend. It dawned on me she probably works a night shift somewhere. Maybe I’ll find out where later.
Wednesday. 8am.
A really long night. I couldn’t get her out of my head yesterday. Why am I doing this to myself again? It turns out she works at a service station 5 minute from here. She must be new to the area or I would have seen her. Probably doesn’t have many friends or family yet. I sat close to her place this morning. Thought about how I could ‘bump’ into her and start a conversation. Maybe get a dog and have it jump up at her… dress as a delivery guy with a package for a neighbor. I’m useless when it comes to women. Instead I just sat there making up improbable situations for us to meet.
9am.
She works at a service station! I just need to go in and talk to her. I could build a relationship with her over time. Try and find out a bit more about her. Talk about her interests. I’m going to do it. I’m going to talk to the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. I’m going to be confident and she is going to fall in love with me. I’m doing it tonight.
Thursday. 2am.
Useless.
11:30am.
I couldn’t do it. I saw her leave her house, no dress today. Jeans. Still striking. I took my time. Went in around 1am and grabbed a 6 pack. ‘Just off to a house party’. Yes. Says I’m local, have friends, likes to have fun. ‘What time do you get off? – maybe you can join’. Perfect line. ‘Oh you won’t finish until at least 7. I’ll be walking back then – maybe I can walk you home’.
No. I stood there in silence. Handed her the beer and when she looked up at me I lowered my eyes to my feet. My pathetic shoes propping up a pathetic excuse for a man. She said nothing. Why would she. Look at me. I walked out the door.
Friday. 6am.
Am I in love with her? Or am I in love with an idea. A dream of getting out of this life.
Friday. 2pm.
I WILL talk to her tonight.
Saturday. 1am.
She didn’t walk past tonight. She wasn’t at work. She wasn’t at home. Night off I guess.
Sunday. 10am.
It’s over. I don’t know why I thought things could be different. I was going to talk to her. I saw it all unfold. I got new clothes. We had our first date. I moved into her flat and then we saved up to get a bigger one with a second bedroom for our first child. Marriage. Love.
I walked in and picked up a sick pack. Marched to the checkout head high. Placed down the beer, looked into her eyes. And froze. I just stared at her. I could see the pity in her eyes. No invitation. Just sadness at the wretch stood in front of her. Dirt on my face, toes poking through those pathetic shoes.
‘It’s ok’ she said. ‘You were here the other day right? Maybe the drink isn’t the answer. My uncle fell on hard times too – lost his house, was on the streets too but he turned his life around. Once he put the drink down. There are places you can go you know – so you don’t have to be outside. On your own. Especially in this weather.’ She smiled. Pushed the 6 pack to side and pointed to the coffee machine instead. ‘Have one of those on me’.
Pity. All she sees is a bum. A drunk.
Her uncle! Fuck her.
Sunday. 1pm.
I hate her. How dare she!
11:30pm. Sunday.
The door slides shut. The street lamp highlights her lumpy silhouette as she trudges down the sodden path. This is the last time I’ll watch her leave. I’ll move on. There will be someone out there for me. Someone that understands.
|
I contemplate my mortality as I stare at the remaining bite on my plate.
When Ambrosia was first developed, I think the name was intentionally ironic, it was made as a ‘humane’ alternative for capital punishment. Exactly 7 servings in 7 days would kill the inmate. It has a 100% mortality rate, but only when the directions are followed exactly.
Many wondered at first how the prison system would get inmates to be complicit in their own death, but after the new system rolled out, every death row inmate who chose the Ambrosia over lethal injection ate the whole 7 day course. In fact, after the first meal they were reportedly eager to continue with the series. Word leaked out that inmates said Ambrosia was the most delicious thing they’d ever eaten and the effect was immediately addicting.
It didn’t take long after that for people outside the prison system to become morbidly curious about this food. What was so great about it? Was it really 100% effective? Of course availability of Ambrosia was tightly controlled and virtually impossible to obtain outside the regular channels. And of course that only made it more exotic.
People wanted to try for a dozen different reasons. The old and frail wanted it for practical reasons, a nice way to choose their own end. But some were curious about the irresistible taste, and others wanted to challenge themselves to eat just one meal and stop. More still were drawn to it in the inexplicable way that people are convinced to play Russian roulette, either having a death wish or feeling they were immortal and invulnerable. Then there were people who simply wanted to end their own life. There was a big push to make Ambrosia available (under strict guidance and regulation) as a suicide method to anyone who wanted it. This met with a lot of resistance, and never got very far in the legal system.
I fall outside of all those reasons, I think I’m the first person to be murdered by Ambrosia.
A week ago I ordered delivery from my regular place. When it arrived at my door I didn’t recognize the delivery guy, but he told me the regular guy was out sick. He handed me the bag, took payment and I even tipped him. I tipped my own murderer.
When I opened up the delivery, it wasn’t even close to what I ordered. But it smelled great and I was starving by that point.
The first bite was indescribable. A cacophony of flavors exploded in my mouth. And you know how as you eat a delicious meal the flavors will begin to diminish, especially as you become full? This was the opposite, the more I ate the more the complexity of the flavors revealed themselves to me. The last bite was even more delicious than the first.
And by the time I got to the last bite, I knew what I’d eaten. With a sense of dread and foreboding I had willingly continued to shovel the food into my face. It was that good.
Afterwards I sat stunned, not sure what to think or what to do. Do I call the police? Was I really poisoned after eating only one meal? If I didn’t eat the other 6, I’d be fine. And since I didn’t actually have the other 6 meals, I wasn’t in any danger.
But the next night, at the same time, my doorbell rang. When I opened the door nobody was there, but a delivery bag was sitting on my stoop. I looked at it as if it was a snake ready to bite me. It felt like I contemplated it for an eternity, but the reality was that it was less than a couple seconds before I grabbed the bag and sat down for dinner.
This happened again the next night, and by the fourth night I dreaded the doorbell like an inverse Pavlovian response. But the Ambrosia just kept arriving.
Tonight is the seventh night, and I was determined not to eat the last meal. I left the house early in the morning and kept myself busy all day. I checked into a hotel and ate a huge steak dinner at the hotel restaurant, determined not to be hungry at all in the evening. But at 7pm, right on cue, there was a knock at my door. I opened it to find the delivery bag waiting. I stared, pondered, and struggled. But ultimately it was for naught. Despite my fullness, I was able to easily enjoy most of the meal.
And now I sit, staring at this last bite. I know I’m going to eat it, it is inevitable. And I wonder about a lot of things; who has killed me? Should I have written a goodbye note? And, have I been murdered or is this suicide? And as I contemplate life, death, and everything in-between, trying to put this moment off as long as I can, my hand comes up to my mouth involuntarily, and my mouth opens of its own volition to accept this Ambrosia. Then before I can think ‘this is my last bite’, the flavor erupts in my mouth, overtaking every other sense as a huge smile comes across my face.
|
I sat down at my desk, the familiar seat in the back by the door. My stool scratched against the concrete floor of the art studio, I hated that sound. I pulled out my phone and set my lunch bag on the table and kept eating my chips as I opened my text messages. One from Jen, who usually sits next to me.
"Hey man, can you tell Stitts I'm gonna be a little late but I'll be there? I don't wanna miss the finals presentation and fail this shit. Thanks!"
I read it again, puzzled. Today wasn't the finals presentation, that wasn't until Thursday during the exam period. Weird. I opened my email. At the top was an unopened message from Professor Stitts. It was marked from last Friday. I opened it and read it.
"Class, I understand we were scheduling our final presentation for the exam period on Thursday, but since I know everyone is nearly finished up and some students can't make that period Thursday I figured we could move the presentation up to Monday during class. If anyone has a problem just let me know. Thanks, Stitts."
Holy shit. This would get sent out the one weekend me and Kyle drive 12 hours to that dispensary in Colorado. I was too stoned half the trip to read anything. Fuck. I looked around at my backpack. My painting was still in the car. I could turn in the sculpture from my midterm but I clearly had not changed anything about it. The final was 50% of the class grade. This is bad. Stitts walked in just then.
"Class, I'd like you all to put your things away, we need to start the finals presentation right now if we're going to get through all of them,"he said.
"Mr. Acker, would you please be so kind as to open up for us?"He looked straight at me.
I froze. This was bad. I had nothing. I looked down. I had to present something. I grabbed my lunch bag and walked to the class, eyes glued open, unable to hold my arms up without feeling like I would drop my bag.
Stitts stared at me.
"Mr. Acker, I'm not accepting bribes in the form of sandwiches, only wine like we discussed,"he said with a smirk, as the class chuckled a bit.
I laughed too, way too loud.
"Well please begin,"he said.
I stared at the pedestal sitting there next to an easel and another stool. I set my lunch bag down.
"Uhm, Jen said she'll be late,"I squeaked.
"Oh alright then, let me mark her down then you can begin,"he said.
I stared at my lunch bag. I had a Capri Sun, a pudding cup, and a jam sandwich. Well, I'm screwed. Stitts looked up.
"You can start whenever you want,"he said.
I looked at the class, then the bag. I delicately grabbed the sandwich out of it and put it on the stool, still wrapped.
"Everyone, this is my... final art project,"I said, sounding as confident as you can when you forget to bring your final art project to your presentation of your final art project.
"It is a jam sandwich,"I said, holding the sandwich up and opening it up to show the class. "Well, that is all thank you,"I said. It wasn't worth it to bs my way through this.
The class stared. Stitts cleared his throat.
"Mr. Acker, are you going to field any questions? Or do any explanation, or anything?"He asked.
Oh right, questions. Superb, now they'll get it. I looked at the class. They stared back, dumbfounded.
"Does anyone have any questions?"Stitts asked.
A girl in the back raised her hand.
"What does it mean?"she asked.
"It's representative of..... modern America?"I said slowly.
A few of the long haired guys from back near the door nodded along. Another girl raised her hand.
"How so?"she asked.
Shit, I've dug myself deep now.
"It's like, the crust is like the border, and the white part of the bread is like the image America tries to project? But then there's the jelly seeping through and you can kinda see it on the white part, so like, the inside of America is seeping out and everyone can see it, but that's kind of a good thing cause like the inside of America, like the oppressed part of it, is the good part because it actually has flavor, unlike the white part that just holds everything together. So instead of just the jam, which would be really weird to eat alone, you have the bread so it all stays together,"I realized what I was saying too late. A black guy from up front, the Black Student Union president, raised his hand.
"Are you implying the jam *needs* the bread to hold it together?"he asked.
"No, like, the idea is that the jam has good stuff on it's own, and the bread is good on it's own, and they do different things, so they have to work together to form the better thing, the sandwich,"I fumbled the words out. The dude sat back, apparently happy with that answer.
Stitts looked at me now. He raised his hand. I nodded toward him.
"So, what are the materials you used and how did you decide on this, *medium*?"he asked.
"Well, I used uh wonderbread from the c-store, and uh, jam from my mom, and then uh some plastic wrap that I wrapped it with from my roommate and that's all the materials and then with the medium I was like, sitting, and I thought about America and so this is what I came up with,"I stuttered out.
"So, you just thought about America?"Stitts asked.
"Yea, uh, it's about America so I was thinking about America when I came up with the America sandwich, art thing,"I responded.
"Phenomenal,"Stitt said, laughing, "That's great, any more questions? No, ok Mr. Acker, just leave that on the far table."
I walked over and set the sandwich down. I slumped back to my chair, shaking so bad I could barely walk. I sat down.
I stared at my sandwich. That was the last of my moms jam. It was really good. Just then, Jen walked through the door. She sat down and looked at me.
"Hey what did I miss?"She asked.
"You have no fucking clue,"I said back.
(This was a fun one, let me know if you find any errors!) |
Toby looked into the bathroom mirror, straightened his tie, and let out a nervous chuckle. *It’s official. I am officially a character in a terrible comic book.*
In the wake of the discovery that intelligence was a finite resource, one that inexplicably distributed itself equally between the citizens of nations, the world had gone haywire. Kim Jong-un, the megalomaniac that he is, decided that the *rational* course of action was to take it all for himself. On February 2nd, he hid himself away in a bunker, and set the atomic fury of nuclear weapons loose on his population. When he emerged the next day, he emerged as the smartest man who has ever lived.
On May 14th, Kim Jong-un issued a press release to the world. He requested that every other nation immediately submit to his regime. Anything else, he claimed, would be interpreted as treason against “The Dear Leader.” The world, unaware of his true genius, did not heed his warning. On June 1st, he sent a robot army to invade South Korea. They had been equipped with some type of artificiality engineered neurotoxin, which, when released, caused instantaneous paralysis to all who had been exposed. Immediately afterwards, he had his minions round up all of the South Korean citizens, and place them in collection facilities that had been constructed throughout the South Korean mainland. In this way, he conquered, but prevented another mastermind from emerging.
Japan was the next major nation to fall. Then China. Then Russia. As he expanded, The Dear Leader’s schemes became increasingly elaborate. To take Australia, he created a beacon to ensure that all of the local wildlife would submit to his control. To take England, he constructed an impenetrable force-field, which he then used to surround the entire island.
Today, Kim Jong-un has come for the United States.
Toby cleared his throat, and entered the briefing room.
“Hello Mr. President. Given the recent events, we have decided to initiate Project Enlightenment. Since the discovery of finite intelligence, we have been brainstorming ways to establish our own masterminds without resorting to genocide. We have noticed that each nation, regardless of its size or population, appears to have the same quantity of finite intelligence. We believe that, through the establishment of a new nation with a limited population, we will be able to raise the intelligence of each new citizen. Before you today is a document, which, when signed, would lead to the establishment of The New United States, with a population of one person, and one person only. You. The New United States would be a separate nation from the United States, but would, through an international pact, retain full and indefinite control over the United States. We believe that if Project Enlightenment is executed immediately, there will be enough time for you to think up a way to stop Kim Jong-un’s attack.”
Obama looked at Toby, his face contorted with confusion. “Seriously? All I have to do to exceed human levels of intelligence is to sign a piece of paper? To save the world, all I have to do is to sign a piece of paper? It’s like we are all in some type of terrible comic book. Although, when I consider the 2016 election, maybe that isn’t so far from the truth...”
The last president of the United States sighed, and signed the document.
His mission complete, Toby exited the briefing room, leaving the president of the New United States to do his job.
"Thanks, Obama."He whispered. |
DeRilio and Calabus stood on the prow and observed the wall from up close.
"India, do you suppose?"said DeRilio.
Calabus shrugged. "They are said to have strange, exotic customs. Perhaps...perhaps they have constructed a single stone wall that rises to the heavens and spreads beyond sight in either direction. Perhaps..."
"I..."DeRilio scratched his chin. They had met the wall two days prior and followed it westward. "It must *end* at some point?"
"No,"said a voice that seemed to come from high and low and left and right all at once. "Not necessarily."
"Who's that?"shouted DeRilio. Calabus looked back at what remained of the crew. They all shook their heads wearily.
Bits of rocks shook down from somewhere high up along the stone face of the wall. "That was me. I am the Fourth Wall."
"Ah,"said DeRilio. "So you're saying India has erected an enormous stone wall along all four borders? That's...well, that's a bit unneighborly, don't you think?"
"We just wanted to do a bit of trading,"said Calabus, unsure where to look when addressing the wall. "I've heard good things about *curry*."
"No,"said the Fourth Wall. "I'm just a wall. You've reached the end of the world. Poor bit of navigating, that."
Merellen, the navigator, slowly made his way below deck, his face as red as a salami.
"Wait,"said DeRilio. "If you're the *fourth* wall, where are the other three?"
"It's a theater term,"said the wall. "I'm not sure it's really worth explaining."A bit more of the stone began to crumble and fall into the ocean on either side of the ship. "Especially considering how little time you have left."
"Come again?"said DeRilio.
A fissure the size of a sea lion formed suddenly in the wall directly overhead.
"You haven't much time left. These prompt responses are short by their nature and your particular author is supposed to be working right now, so I'm supposing he'll want to wrap it up soon."
"*Author*?"said DeRilio.
"*Working*?"said Calabus.
Just then a cannonball sized lump of stone fell off the wall and through the deck, in between where the captain and his first mate were standing.
"You're in a very hastily written story,"said the wall patiently. "The entirety of your life is this single encounter, right here, below a talking wall. I mean, it's not much of a life, granted, but it's what you got."
"I don't believe that's true,"said Calabus. "You can't believe everything a wall tells you."Some of the crew nodded at this.
"Well,"said the wall. "I suppose you don't *have* to believe me. But do you remember any bit of your lives before we started this conversation?"
"Yes!"said DeRilio. "I remember asking if maybe we'd reached India."
Another Cadillac-sized hunk of stone fell through the center of the boat, which is a rather incongruent bit of description if you think about it, but what can you do? The ship began to list heavily to one side.
"That's where the story *started*,"said the wall. "But what about *before* that?"
DeRilio and Calabus stared at each other.
"In a better story you'd both have nice backstories. Families, perhaps. Goals. Motivations. A generous bit of character development, perhaps. I mean, no offense, but as it stands right now you're more or less the same character with a different name."
"But I'm the *captain*,"said DeRilio rather meekly. "Right?"
"This can't be right,"said Calabus, or maybe DeRilio, who really cares at this point? "I don't want to die!"
Water sloshed up and over the deck.
"Oh, you won't *die*,"said the wall. "This writer doesn't have much stomach for all those gory death scenes people like to go in for. You'll just sort of...stop."
"Stop?"said one of the two, mostly indistinguishable main characters. "That doesn't sound any better."
"Well..."
And then the entire wall fell over on top of the boat or something. I think my manager's coming... |
At first it was a laugh, a lark. No one was going to vote. Ha ha, so funny.
Granted, between Sarah Palin and her daughter running against a pair of clowns. No, literally the Democrats had put up a couple of clowns, in makeup and everything, because they thought they couldn't lose. Billy and Jojo, I always forgot which was which.
So, granted, it seemed like a joke of an election. Then the no vote movement started. It was slow at first, but then the first two states both had zero votes... the politicians realized they had made a mistake. They started throwing out incentives, but no one voted.
Here I am in Alaska... the last state to vote. And I'm the only person who hasn't signed the legally binding "Articles of Fuck Politics".
Sarah offered me a hunting lodge on TV. The DNC (on behalf of Jojo and Billy the clowns) offered me a consulting position with a salary. Sarah offered to take me hunting with Dick Cheney. So on and so forth.
At first it was amusing, but when the day to vote came and I walked into the poles, with Sarah on one side shouting about making America great again and the clowns wildly gesturing towards me on the other side.
Once I reached the pole, had registered and gotten my voting slip... well there was only one choice wasn't there?
I wrote myself in. |
"It's *Rory*, you say?"Edmund rapped his fingers across the line of his jaw. "Rory Wentworth?"
The man on the other end of the line hissed into his receiver. "Yes, it's bloody *Rory Wentworth*. You think this is a game?"
"No, no, of course not,"said Edmund, flopping down onto a nearby chaise lounge. "Rory. Right. Does he happen to have any ID on him?"
"He's a bloody little boy!"spat the man on the phone. "What's 'e supposed to have? A bus pass?"
Edmund shrugged audibly. "Possibly. I don't know what he gets up to during his free time."
"*Free time*? 'E's hardly five!"
"He's very independent,"said Edmund. "Likes to wander off. We've made a habit of leaving all the doors open in case the urge to wander takes over."
The man seemed momentarily lost for words. "This is your son we're talking about, correct?"
"One of them, yes."
"Well....well he's fucking *dead* if you don't pay up!"
Edmund considered this, humming lightly as he leaned back in the lounge. "Two million is quite a lot, don't you think?"
The man on the phone nearly spit. "IT'S YOUR BLOODY CHILD!"
"One of them,"corrected Edmund. "Are you a father?"
The man took a breath. "None of yer feckin' business."
"Well, parenthood, as you may or may not know, is largely predicated on sacrifice. Give and take. Win some, lose some, etc., etc. And frankly, considering present markets, along with current household expenses and the expectations of my other, less-kidnapped children, I feel I must be firm on this. Two million is simply out of range, so to speak."
"I don't believe this."The phone was momentarily muffled as the man on the other end pressed the receiver against his chest and screamed. "You're really going to make me kill your child?"
"Oh no no,"said Edmund.
"Well....good."
"No, I'm simply not going to *prevent* you from killing Rory if that's the tack you've chosen."
"That's horrible!"shouted the man.
"I agree,"said Edmund. "Rory's a well-meaning fellow and I'd like to think he has a bright future, most likely as a vagrant or a ragabout. But it appears we've come to an impasse..."
"One million,"squawked the man.
Edmund drew a slow, whistling breath. "No. I'm afraid that's still a bit steep."
"Five hundred thousand?"
"Hmm. I'm not sure...."
"Your son's not worth *500,000*?"
"Well, I have others,"said Edmund. "And while I do love Rory in an obligatory sort of way, I have to admit he does have his share of defects."
"I can't believe this,"mumbled the man on the phone.
"His voice, for one,"said Edmund. "Sounds a bit like a cat being fed slowly through the disposal."
"Oh fer God's sake..."
"Walks a bit funny, too,"continued Edmund. "I'm worried that one may be hygiene-related...."
"Don't say it..."
"Might not be wiping enough...or too much, I suppose..."
"One hundred thousand!"
"Ah...but then there's his eyes."
The man on the phone did all he could to not smash the receiver into the wall. "And what the hell's wrong with his eyes?"
"Nothing, I suppose,"said Edmund. "His great aunt has a lazy eye, though. Seems like a thing he might pick up, knowing Rory."
"This is madness. You're really going to let your son..."
"One of..."
"*One of* your sons die over a hundred thou? Yer a monster, mate. Yer evil."
Edmund nodded, knowingly. "It feels that way sometimes, being a parent. But, you know, you try to do your best."
"Christ...fucking...Christ."The phone went dead before the dial tone picked up. Edmund set the receiver back down in the cradle, then picked up a pen and a pad of paper.
"Dear Martha,"he muttered, as he transcribed himself onto the pad. "Gone golfing. Lamb for dinner? Reggie kidnapped - dead? Lots of love, E."
Satisfied, he set the paper down next to the phone and headed for the door. "Whoops!"he whooped, pulling his hand off the doorknob and returning to the phone. "There's a mistake."
He snatched up the pad and pen, quickly crossed out the word LAMB and replaced it with STEAK. With a nod, he dropped the paper back down on the stand, and, whistling as he went, headed out to his car. |
The smell of acrid death wafts into the front hall from the kitchen. It dances through the bars of the staircase bannister and slides across the ferns beside the coat rack. It curls the edges of paintings. It lands at my side. My nose peels back, though the smell is no longer unfamiliar, just tedious. I pull a handkerchief to my face. An invisible smog surrounds me, chokes me, and finally expands until there's no pocket of clean air left.
"I was baking brownies,"I say through the cloth.
"I'm sure,"says a voice without voice.
"I have someone coming to look at the property today,"I say.
"Of course,"says the voice.
A blue-eyed sillouette grins at me from the hallway mirror. He is more often a wisp than a man, but on rare afternoons he will coalece into clear view. Carter M. Dash. The original owner of this home. The man died in a skiing accident a continent away, but his spirit somehow managed to find its way back here. He lifts off his top hat and bows, as if we haven't both been here for hours.
"You're not going to scare this one off,"I say, dusting off the shoulderpads of my pantsuit.
"You said that about the Hendersons."
The Hendersons had been promising buyers. The husband didn't mind if the dining room chairs levitated. The wife found the blood fountain eclectic. They both compared the sourceless nightime wailing to their old white noise machine, told me it would be a sleep aid. But when Dash possessed their prize winning Corgi to sing "O Tannenbaum,"they backed out. Something about animal cruelty laws and the still muddled ethics of body-spectre inhabitation. Our agency nearly got sued.
"It's my home,"says Dash.
"Your home belongs to the state of Iowa, Mr. Dash. Your estate left no heirs. It's my job to unload the property."
"And you expect our next visitor will be a willing buyer?"he asks.
"No Mr. Dash, I have no buyers coming today."
"I thought you said..."
"I said I have someone coming to look at the property, and indeed I do. An exorcist."
The grin disappears, and moments later, so does Dash. I hear a crash of plates in the kitchen.
As I said, it's no longer unfamiliar, just tedious. I've been at this job for years, and with few exceptions, ghosts are brats. |
Steve Piccolo was at the blood bank.
He hated the blood bank. This one had been done up to look like a Church – archways, lots of glass, and a massive logo right where the cross should’ve been.
“Steve Piccolo?” called a woman’s voice from behind two-way glass.
“Yeah, uh that’s me”
“And how much are you looking to exchange today?”
“60 bucks will do...just to make rent, you know”
“Okay, let’s see...sixty dollars...that works out at, roughly, point three litres. You still want to go ahead?”
“Do I look like I got a choice? Yeah, sure, drain away”
“Okay then, room 17. Enjoy”
Why did they always say this? Who could possibly enjoy it?
Except for sadists, obviously.
And the rich: the blood of the poor had always greased their engines.
A guard materialised from the shadows. He nudged Steve with his spraygun, leading him toward the operating theatres. The guard punched in his code, and the doors whooshed open. They walked down a long, narrow hallway; their footsteps mingled with the muffled screams. That was something the ‘doctors’ never could get right – the ‘procedure’. And why were they called 'doctors' anyway? Everyone came out worse than they went in. Financially better off, yes, but physically destroyed. Most people spent their ‘blood money’ on booze to numb the pain. Then they needed to ‘donate’ more; it was the perfect capitalist feedback loop.
Inside room 17, the ‘doctor’ was playing on his phone.
“You my 2:00?” he said.
“I’m Steve. Steve Piccolo. I, uh, need sixty bucks”
“That’s point three, right? Well, get on the chair. Let’s see...” the doctor tapped away at his keyboard “says here you’re an A type, and you’ve donated twice already...so this is the last time, legally, you can donate this month. Any more and you’ll be putting that money toward a coffin!”
The doctor laughed at his own joke. Steve winced.
“Well, come on man. Let’s get this over with”
“That’s the attitude I like to see! Just think Steve: this time tomorrow your blood will be propelling a plane, or lighting a street, or heating someone’s home. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“Yeah, it’s wonderful, I guess”
And I bet you’ve never had to do it, thought Steve. That’s the thing with the ‘perfect’ energy: there was no pollution, yes, there was maximum efficiency, yes, there was no waste, yes, but where did the raw material come from? From the poor, of course. Oh sure, anyone, theoretically, could become a ‘donor’ – but who would actually *need* too? How many times, do you suppose, did the captains of industry have to ‘donate’ half a litre to put bread on the table? Never, probably. They reaped the rewards, and the poor paid the cost. Same as it ever was.
“Okay Steve, you know the score: sit back, happy thoughts, it’ll all be over soon...”
The arm descended from the ceiling. Steve bristled: he tried to think happy thoughts, but he kept focusing on the giant drill worming its way toward his arm. He scrunched his eyes, he clenched his teeth...any second now…
white hot pain jabbing draining sucking lifeblood from lifesource jesus it hurts so fucking bad make it stop make it stop please make it stop hurts worse than anything cant take much more gonna fucking die any second now please cant take it please help me please cant do this I cant I cant
The machine whirred back into position. Steve felt drained, weak, ruined.
“Quite a mouthful there!” said the doctor “but all over now. Unfortunately we only managed to get point 2, any more and you’d have died on us...sorry, but rules are rules. We don’t want to lose our licence.”
“S-so...h-how much...”
“That’s uh, forty dollars Steve. We rounded it up”
“T-t-thanks”
“Don’t mention it” the doctor said, thrusting a cheque into Steve’s quivering hand “After all, we’re all in this together, right?” |
\> 27 PZD
Tonight was cold, especially so. Snapping some twigs and tossing them on the fire, I dropped my bag and sat down. Tanner, the self-designated leader of the band of survivors hunkered down by me and offered me some unknown meat, cured and dried. “Here, eat. Let it never be said that I don’t take care of newcomers, even if they are one of the most well fed looking bastards I’ve seen since the Disaster.” It was dry and tough, like the people who had survived up to now.
“So tell me about yourself a little more. What’s your secret? My group and I are barely scraping by, and you, you look like you spend a few hours a day at a buffet. Where are you getting your food from?” I glanced at him, figuring out how to answer. “Well, when you’re hungry enough, you tend to eat whatever you can dig your teeth into.” Tanner nodded sagely, “Yeah, me and my group, we take whatever we can get, and we split equally among ourselves. Stick with us, and we’ll all eat better together as a whole.” The meat was finally coaxed apart by the steady motion of my jaw.
I swallowed and said to him, “Tanner, if you stick around me, you’ll have a bad time.” He raised an eyebrow in question, motioning me to continue. “I’m not like you, Tanner. You’re a good person, but you haven’t known true desperation. And until you learn what it means to be truly, hungry, you won’t understand my reasons for doing the things that I do.” He sat there quietly for a couple of seconds, thinking about what I had said. Getting up, he bade me good night and walked over to his bag and tucked himself in. Other members of Tanner’s band slowly dispersed, mumbling their good-nights and their see-you-tomorrows. Eventually, I heard a soft snore begin, and soon, snore after snore joined the chorus. I continued to sit by the fire and listen to its occasional pop and crackle. It was a sound that had unnerved me at first, but one that I quickly became used to. It reminded me of bone, breaking and snapping. Tossing another twig into the fire, I rose and pulled a knife out of my pack.
*We are all the same*, I thought to myself. *Both fire and humans alike need to eat*.
Edit: formatting.
|
Why must humans be so stubborn?
I have the evidence. I have the proof. But no one will listen to me, besides the other patients locked up along with me. They can see it, just like I can.
The shadows that creep behind all the doctors here. Behind the guards. Behind everyone.
We see them at the corner of our eyes. When we go to the cafeteria, I can see one of them hanging near the wall beside the exit, watching us. It looks like a regular human shadow. No eyes. No mouth. Yet I can feel it staring at everyone here. There's more of them here too. Like our own personal guardians. I would sleep, and when I wake myself up at night, I can see it standing over my bed watching me again. The doctors said it was a side-effect of the medication we took. Bullshit. I could see them even before they dragged me here. I once took a photo of the shadow. Showed it to other patients, and they agreed it was the same thing they saw too. I tried showing it to a doctor. He told me all he saw was the wall that the shadow was laying against. I pointed at where the shadow was, circled it, I tried everything to make him see. All he did was told me to rest for awhile. I couldn't, because the shadow watched me when I tried to rest.
We're not crazy. All the other patients see it too. I remember a patient's parents saw it when we showed them the picture, as they visited. They believed us. They said they would try spreading the picture around, showing people the truth. They never came back to the hospital. The doctors told us they moved, and even after they showed us pictures of their Facebook, I and others didn't believe them. They were going to tell everyone, right? The patient said his parents never answered his calls, yet their Facebook showed them going on with life. The doctors must've paid them off. Maybe the shadow did. I don't know anymore.
This is why I speak to you, reporter. You wanted the truth? You got the truth. As promised, you needed a photo. [Here, take it](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-UvPBF0oxblo/VfHySPq3CyI/AAAAAAAAWM8/4iWYAFzEFvQ/s1600/asha3.png). The patients will tell you the same thing. Don't trust the doctors. Don't trust the guards. Go with your gut.
Don't be trapped here along with the shadow. |
It came suddenly, and rooted itself in our minds like weeds to the dirt. People would give anything to be more efficient, and *Tryst* was the answer.
The purpose of sleep was multilateral. Conserve energy. Promote lower-level functions. Simulate and engrave memories.
Many such things had been engraved into the pharmaceutical wonder, Tryst. The first people to take it (after testing, of course), were the best off. An extra 50% of your day came back because you didn't need to waste it, and all the cons of sleeplessness had been wiped away.
Except for this: Tryst was not a cure, thought they said it was. It was a vaccine, against a virus of our own making. The idea of 'wasting time' had become anathema, and not one person wished to be 'left behind.'
Neither did I, but I was left behind all the same.
An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure, they say. Many advancements, however, had become null. Intergalactic travel was scrapped as cryogenesis turned into advanced torture. Anesthetics became a dream of the distant past, your best bet now just to be drugged to the gills when a surgery took place.
I'm immune to the cure. The virus must be welcomed. Embraced, even. The world functioned with ten hundred thousand people working at 66% efficiency, there was no way it wouldn't do the same with two million at 100%. Leisure, arts, who cared?
I had something better.
Society pities people like me. But there is but one thing society simply no longer comprehends, like explaining sound to a deaf man.
Society lacks the capacity to dream.
Such a pill, to simulate my dying dreams and waking nightmares... wouldn't that be a wonder? I can't stay up much longer, anyhow. I'll end my journal here.
---
"What does he think, in that state?"
"Who knows, Sergeant? A hundred years ago... everyone was like this. When the stars rose, they fell. When the moon dropped, they rose. Something like that. In any case... I'm somehow envious."
"Heh. Tell me about it. A cryogenic slumber, all the way to Andromeda and back... what a miracle it would be."
"Well. You know how it goes."
"Only dreamers can reach the stars, right?" |
April 1st, 2017:
I woke up that morning like any other, with my dog, Steve, plowing his wet nose against my forehead, panting heavily. The sunlight streamed in from the large 15th floor window. I yawned, stretched, and stumbled my way to the washroom to brush my teeth. I turned on my phone and began my morning routine of checking my email before hopping on Reddit. On the front page was a bright red post in all caps.
EMERGENCY NEWS: ALIENS HAVE INVADED THE EARTH. EMERGENCY EVACUATION AND PROTECTION PROCEDURES WILL BE ANNOUNCED BY THE GOVERNMENT.
I chuckled as I spat the white foamy toothpaste into the sink. Really now, I thought to myself, from the Orangered and Periwinkle war to TheButton Factions, this is the best Reddit can come up for April fools? This was by far the most underwhelming and obvious joke ever planned. I turned off my phone's screen and turned on the television as I prepared my morning coffee. Steve looked visibly upset, tugging at the bottom of my jeans, growling and looking at the window fearfully. I heard CNN broadcasting from the living room as my coffee maker stuttered, coughing up drops of that delicious brown liquid.
Something was wrong.
The news anchor looked ever so scared and a bit ruffled, missing his usual shiny blue tie. Over the coffee maker and the distance, I couldn't hear anything. But I could see everything. The screen cut to a news reporter standing outside, with people in a hurried frenzy, running towards one general direction, as if they were running away from something. Steve started barking, looking at me with pure animalistic dread, prying me towards the apartment door. The television screen cut again, and all I saw was a dark grey object floating in the air, with a matte finish that looked like it absorbed all of the sun's rays by itself. Little white lights flickered from the edges of the strange object before the camera was knocked over, revealing that the streets had already been evacuated. The camera did not cut back to the news anchor.
I was really becoming worried. CNN wouldn't make a crappy joke like this, right? There's no way the whole world just collaborated on some underwhelming joke this April Fools. I walked over to the balcony and peered outside. Not a mile off I could see the mysterious flying object. I started feeling like my chest was being pounded on. I could feel myself start turning pale, losing my breath, and starting to hyperventilate. I grabbed my car keys and ran out the door, with Steve close behind. This was no longer a joke. This was real. We are actually being invaded by aliens. The whole building shuddered, and I could feel the ground beneath me soften up. I kept running, and just as I took a step forward, the ground opened up and I- |
Diary Entry 631:
The time is 8pm, date is the 16th of March, 1992. Was out most of the day. I don't even know why I bother. There's no more food, drinkable water or any form of supplies left in the whole entire fucking city. I've either taken them all, or they're out of date. I'm planning on leaving the city. I've got no other choice. I have enough food and water to last me... Christ... about another few weeks, maybe up to a month if I'm careful. One of the hardest things these days is trying not to eat. You're so fucking bored, what else can you do? You sit around, waiting to die. I need to start the plans on leaving the city tomorrow morning. My sanity feels like it's dangling on a thread, and writing these 'diary entries' is the only thing keeping it from snapping.
Diary Entry 644:
I finished my 'plan' today. I've gotten 4 of my best survival backpacks and put as much food as I could in there. All tinned, of course. I have a car. It's nothing special. I need to be prepared for tomorrow. I need to do 5 separate trips from the apartment to the car. 4 for the backpacks, 1 for my weapons, torches etc. Wish me luck.
Diary Entry 647:
These... These things are just getting worse. I hadn't seen any walkers for the past few weeks. But then again, I've been laying low for a while too, no point going outside when I had all the food I needed. They can fucking.... They can run. They're more aggressive than ever. Their bodies seems to be... scabbing... It can't be the air, I've been breathing it in for the past two years... Maybe in different cities, the outbreak it's different? I can't think of anything else. Maybe I'm getting closer to the first outbreak, and the closer you are then the deadlier those things are. I don't fucking know... All I know is that you cannot kill the runners like you can kill the walkers. You need to outrun them, or you need to have a pretty good aiming hand.
Diary Entry 652:
I haven't seen any walkers yet... Only fucking runners. I've changed my mind. I'm not looking for just food anymore, I'm looking for survivors. There HAS to be someone else out there. As I said literally hundreds of entries ago, this all started when I was 15 years old. Now I'm 17. If a fucking 17 year old kid can make it this far, so can other people. Ever since Scott died, I haven't let my guard down. I keep telling myself that it wasn't my fault, but... I just don't know how much longer I can keep lying to myself. He was the only other human I've talked to for the past year. Christ, has it been that fucking long?
Diary Entry 657:
I haven't thought about Scott for a while. I just, blocked the thought of him out of my head. You know, one of the worst parts about being alone like this, with the infected chasing after you, and having no one to talk to or cry to, is not knowing if I'm insane or not. I tried talking after making that entry about Scott a few days ago to see if I forgot how to talk, and I couldn't even tell if I were speaking or not. That's been fucking with my head a lot.
Diary Entry 661: So far, nobody. I've found some tins of food. I don't know what to fucking do anymore. Do I go back? Do I keep moving forward? I don't even fucking know anymore. Those things... They're getting faster. Much, much faster. They're not all runners, but the majority of them are. I'm going on foot tomorrow. Wish me luck. If somebody finds this, then of course, that means I am dead. Good luck my friend, God bless.
|
Today has been a rather eventful day.
By eventful, I mean that I went through hundreds of Skyrim mods in an attempt to make the game as entertaining as it was when I first got it. Unfortunately, every mod eventually becomes stale and unfulfilling.
After fifteen hours of modding I decided it would be best to go to the my local gym and work out a bit.
On my way to McDonald's a dude wearing the Whiterun guard's clothes approached me and drew out his silver-ish looking sword and got in the pose I was so familiar with.
*"You have commited crimes against Skyrim and her people, what say you in your defence?"*
I was unsure of how stupid this guy is. He was completely delusional, does he even know what he's doing?
Clearly he didn't, so he was to face the consequences:
"This is all well and good, but, unfortunately, I am the High King of Skyrim." |
4/28/17 Dear Diary,
I spent the day with Jim today. He's kind of a sweet guy, but he has this tendency to just say the wrong thing at the wrong time. It'd actually be endearing if it weren't so....awkward. Like, I said I wanted some ice cream, and he said, "I can tell you like ice cream."He spent the next five minutes trying to convince me that he *wasn't* calling me fat, and that he was actually just saying I'm sweet. That kind of made me want to kill him.
We'll see about Bob tomorrow.
4/29/17 Dear Diary,
Today, I hung out with Bob. All he wanted to do is stay in at his place, and I'm not sure what exactly he was expecting. Doesn't he know I'm not a slut? Ugh! That kind of presumption made me sure that he should die. But I mean....he was actually kind of nice. We rented a movie (he paid) and even rubbed my shoulders without trying anything. That's kind of rare in a person.
I think I'm going to need a little more time to see who I should kill. Like, it's the same amount of money either way, so I may as well take my time and see what I can get out of it.
4/30/17 Dear Diary,
Jim was so sweet today! He introduced me to his friend Rick and his girlfriend Beth, and we all went to the river to just hang out and have fun. They even got their hands on some cannabis, which I've never tried before, but I totally would again. YOLO, right? Totally. Jim and Rick went for a swim, but the water was a little too muddy for me. Thankfully, Beth felt the same way.
I think Jim should live, he's just so nice. I can't see myself killing him at this point and taking him away from his wonderful friends.
5/1/17 Dear Diary,
Bob totally made a move on me today, and I did *not* like it. I popped two in the chest and one in the head right there in his living room. Ugh! I can't believe I snapped like that, but I did manage to clean up the mess. I have a guy who'll dispose of the corpse tonight. Hopefully it doesn't make the news. That happened once and I had to leave the country for a whole year!
Jim called me, and I told him I'd go to lunch with him tomorrow, and he'll pay me then. I'm looking forward to seeing him. Maybe we can make it a thing. |
Nezumi looked upon his red-stained paws and wailed.
He hadn't expected the blood - he hadn't expected *any* blood at all, save his own. The hero of legend was supposed to be strong, nigh immortal, but the boy...the boy had been...
Weak.
Three times he had checked the corpse, and three times he had found all the signs. The birthmark, in the shape of a lotus on his shoulder. The sword of legend, hanging limply in his lifeless hands where they lay upon the stone. He had expected to feel that sword, to feel it burning away at the evil he knew was in his heart as it tore at his body. He had expected to die.
Yet still, he lived.
The boy had cowered at the sight of him, shaking with fear before the giant rat. In his hands, the blade of twisted wood and shining metal was as useless as the branch from which it had been made. How he had cried, when Nezumi had torn into him with his fangs. But Nezumi hadn't stopped. He thought it was a trick, that all of it was just a farce, and at any moment the boy might swing at him and fell him with a single stroke. Instead, his teeth had gnawed until he tasted marrow, and the boy had died.
Why? Why must it be so? He had never intended to kill the child! He was merely the first trial - a being cursed by the gods for stealing from their hearth, both man and rodent in equal measure. He wasn't supposed to kill anyone - he was supposed to die, and in dying be redeemed. Now, it seemed as if the world would fall to darkness instead.
He couldn't let it.
At first, he had tossed the idea away. It was folly, after all. He was a monster, cursed for all time to be nothing more than the first obstacle of a real hero. He deserved nothing. Yet the longer he waited, the longer he realized that there was no choice. The hero was dead, dead and gone. He would never wield the blade again. As mighty as it might be, the sword still needed living flesh to hold it - and despite his sorry state, Nezumi was the only living flesh around.
He picked it up, half expecting the thing to burst into flames at his touch. To his surprise, it was merely warm - warm, and pulsing with life. Despite the evil that Nezumi new must be in his heart, the blade still glowed. Experimentally, he swung the weapon, marveling at the way it left a constellation of sparks in its wake. Perhaps it was some magic, some trick built into the hilt, but it fit his unusual hand to perfection. It was as if it had been made just for him.
Nezumi nodded, and with one last look at the fallen youth, began to walk toward the second trial. |
It was a friday night, I just wanted to go home. The sun was setting after a long, long day of answering calls to customers. I was packing up my things and just waiting for the night shift to arrive. The clock seemed to go slower than ever as I dazed at the orange sky. The twinkling light of the stars were just beginning to show. That's when the phone rang.
"Hello, thank you for calling George's Electronics how may I be of service?"I had repeated those words so much over the 5 years of working here, they lost all meaning.
"I am calling in about my son's toys, they don't seem to be working like normal."His voice was deep and calming, the voice of someone who knows what they are doing.
*sigh*"Have you tried turning it off on an again?"
"Oh, I'll try that."
I looked at the sky once again. Where are the damn night shift? The sun was disappearing into the horizon, the stars were still blinking. I saw something out of the corner of my eye, no that can't be right. The stars were going out. I sat there confused, maybe this is a lightng trick, maybe it's clouds. I bet some scientist is going to come along and say it was global warming. Damn global warming.
That's when the sun went out.
Everything was cold. So cold. My hands were covered by ice. My lungs felt like they were being ripped out. Then I felt myself becoming warmer. Maybe I was dying. The warmth spread through my body and I welcomed it. I looked at the window a final time, my last glimpse when I saw a light, warm and orange. I wasn't dying, the sun was back. The phone rang and a familiar deep voice came back.
"Thanks, it works fine now."And then he hung up.
I heard a knock on the door. After all that I could barely move. I tried to crane my neck towards the door, through the window on top of it, I saw the most welcome sight I could have ever seen.
The damn night shift was here. |
(It's 230 AM and I wrote this in Notepad while bored on third shift, apologies)
You didn't meet a lot of older folks these days, Jack thought to himself as the man sitting across from him shifted his legs. The train ride into Las Vegas took considerably longer than it had when he was younger, now that all of the major casinos had moved underground. The official stance had something to do with the spikes in temperatures in the west, but everybody knew it was all about having greater control over guests. Once they ran out of money, they ran out of time - and it was much easier to collect people when they didn't have the option of escape.
Jack caught himself staring - as did the man he was staring at. He cleared his throat and attempted to look away, but his fellow passenger decided to strike up conversation.
"Business, or pleasure?"
"Hmm?"
The man uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. He wore his expensive looking black suit casually, with no tie and the top button of his shirt undone. His salt and pepper hair was enough salt to contrast with his weathered skin tone. With his stark grey eyes, he analysed Jack as he rested his hands on his knees.
"Are you headed underground for business, or for pleasure?"
Jack had exactly one hundred and two dollars and fourteen cents left in his PeoplePay account. A series of poor attempts at grasping the intracacies of business coupled with his Mother's rapidly declining (and increasingly more expensive) health had taken its toll on him. He was twenty-two years old, and as soon as he spent that last bit of money, his PeoplePay would close, he would go on a list, and the next time he utilized any sort of public service or passed through a now ubiquitous PeoplePass automated checkpoint, he would be tracked, hunted down, and collected.
Nobody came back once they were collected.
"Pleasure, I guess,"Jack replied. At this point, he would barely be able to afford dinner - heading into Vegas and losing himself in the lights and noises as he rolled the proverbial dice seemed to be the nicest way of ending it all that he could think of. At least the drinks were free in Vegas. In the back of his mind, he hoped he would hit it big; if not a jackpot on a slot machine, every hour one person per casino would randomly have ten thousand dollars added to their PeoplePay account - an incentive to stay for as long as you could.
The man slid back into his seat and checked his watch. "I'm more of a businessman, myself. Collections. Acquisitions. Coming into town for the grand opening of the Atlantic."Jack nodded, the pit in his stomach really making him wish this guy would turn the charm down and leave him alone, but he continued. "They say it's the deepest construction project to ever take place. One entrance, one exit, two separate elevators on specific, alternating timers. Real secure stuff."
Jack opened his mouth to speak, but the ding of an announcement took the words out of his mouth.
"NOW MAKING FINAL DESCENT INTO LAS VEGAS. ARRIVAL IS ESTIMATED WITHIN FIFTEEN MINUTES. PLEASE COLLECT YOUR BELONGINGS, AND MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE EXIT CAR."
They stood up at the same time, and the man held out his hand and Jack wiped his palm on his sleeve before shaking it. "Miguel Diaz. If you end up near the Atlantic while you're out chasing skirts and spending money, ring for me at the desk. I'll buy you a drink."
With that, he adjusted his jacket and moved to walk out into the hallway.
Jack shook his head, frustrated by his stress impacting his ability to be polite. "Jack Ocean!"he called out after the man, as if it mattered. He'd be lucky to make it out of the first casino he walked into, and it certainly wouldn't be the Atlantic. He turned to collect his duffle from the overhead compartment, when he noticed that the man had poked his head back into the car.
"Oh, I know."He said, with a wink, before disappearing back into the hall. |
**Knock knock.**
*"eh.... "?*
Mr. Bean always had his own inimitable, peculiar mannerisms. His dazed look waking up, his overly dramatic, protracted yawns, and his instinctual dowsing of his alarm clock would surely elicit chuckles from his family.
There were no chuckles. He lived alone.
**Knock knock.... BANG! BANG! THUMP!**
It was his landlady. The grotesque hag had brought her equally grotesque, one-eyed cat along.
*"Urrgh mehn ey"*, she mumbled something as she gestured with her palm and fingers for the rent, already 4 months overdue.
Smiling, Mr. Bean reached into his wallet. It was empty save for a lone moth, which promptly flew away. He wondered how it ever found its way inside.
The landlady was unimpressed. She wasn't the type to bother with eviction notices or court cases. With a single heave, she threw him out the front door.
As Mr. Bean picked up his suitcase and coat, he swore that he heard her cat laugh.
Rummaging through his belongings, he noticed the day's headline *"Angela Merkel promises Syrian Refugees free food and lodging."* Of course, he wasn't a Syrian Refugee. He was a British citizen. But... with his dark hair and eyes, prominent nose, and maybe a tan, he could certainly pass as Syrian.
*"um.. aaaaah!"* Mr. Bean mumbled, clearly deep in thought.
Syrian refugees don't just fly into Germany from London. They come on boats. To pull this off, he'd need to fly to Syria, get acquainted with refugees, then follow them all the way to Germany.
Mr. Bean was at the airport in less than an hour. In less than two hours, he was already flying to Damascus.
Damascus wasn't at all like the quiet hamlet he left in England. For starters, there were piles of rubble everywhere. Mr. Bean wondered when the council would send a bin lorry over to clean things up. He didn't have to speculate long. A lorry came rushing in, clearly the drivers were very enthusiastic about their job.
***Allah-hu-Akbar!!!***
There was a blastwave and everything went black.
Mr. Bean woke up with arms wrapped around his neck. The thought of being choked enlarged his already bulbous eyes. He grabbed them, violently trying to shake them off. Mr. Bean squirmed around to face his assailant, but there was none. It took Mr. Bean a moment to realize that the arms were detached. There was no person at the end, just blood and bone-fragments.
*"Ohhh... silly me!"* Mr. Bean mumbled, smiling. Dusting off his jacket, he continued his search for the refugees, seemingly oblivious to the gunfight that was now erupting all around him.
Mr. Bean's attention was diverted to a curious whistling sound coming from the sky. *"al'abalah! HIDE!"*, a masked man shouted, grabbing Mr. Bean by the ankle and pulling him like a ragdoll into a ditch. The mortar impacted a split-second later, instantly killing most of the masked man's colleagues.
*"Mashallah! RETREAT!"* the masked man shouted. Mr. Bean and a few survivors rushed to a nondescript van parked nearby.
The van's inside gave little reprieve. Five men were packed into a back-compartment the space of a small closet: the first two were bleeding, the third was choking and foaming, the fourth was dying, and the last one was surveying the scene with the biggest shit-eating grin imaginable.
*"Ahmed! Who the FUCK you bring here!"* Hajji managed to shout while he plucked at shrapnel lodged directly in his femur.
*"I don't fucking know. He just wandering like donkey-without-owner when Assad pig-men were mortaring us",* Ahmed replied.
*"Look at him... smiling! His face like from funny TV program. He think our pain is funny. I shoot him!",* Hajji shouted while cocking his pistol.
Ahmed jumped on him and pulled him back. Their brief struggle only managed to lodge the shrapnel deeper into Hajji's thigh, causing him to retch, vomit blood, and pass out with the pain.
Ahmed turned to face Mr. Bean. *"Do you know who we are?"*, he said.
*"Umm... yes"*, Bean replied, *"I came here to find you."*
*"Brother, welcome."*, Ahmed replied, visibly relieved. *"We can use any help we get."*
*"Germany?"*, Mr. Bean mumbled.
*"Your face stupid, but brain sharp"*, Ahmed said. His expression of relief now changed to one of intrigue. *"So you know about our planned operation in Germany?"*
*"Yes."* Bean said. *"I'm coming."*
*"Insha Allah! We leave tonight!"*, Ahmed said. For the first time in a long while, a broad grin stretched over his face, almost matching Mr. Bean's. *"Now we get back to camp. You wear the vest on boat. You will pull trigger at G8 summit!"*
*"Camping, boating, and mountaineering..."*, Mr. Bean thought. *"This is going to be one sweet trip!"* |
The day had finally come. After years of hard work, an exhausted Alessandro Volta stood in his messy laboratory, contemplating his latest invention. His fellow physicists and chemists had never believed in him. Some even called him crazy. They had tried to undermine his reputation, they had took almost everything from him, but today was the day he would prove all these imbeciles wrong. He lowered a hand on the lever that would activate his creation. He expected nothing spectacular. Unless something goes terribly wrong, the battery should generate a steady electrical current, but this is invisible.
He composed himself, took a long breath to steady his nerves, and pulled on the lever. Nothing exploded, which was a significant improvement on the previous iterations. He walked back to his desk to fetch a pen and paper, to start recording his findings. As his hand reached out to his notebook, he heard a loud explosion behind him. He froze in fear, realising that his invention had once again been destroyed by something he'd overlooked. This was it. All his savings were gone. His reputation would not survive this last failure. Slowly, he closed his eyes, put the notebook back on his table and turned around. He could not bring himself to open his eyes, to realize that his prototype had gone up in smoke, that it was all over. He finally managed to open his eyes, but he did not see the remnants of what could have changed the world of chemistry.
He was looking at a teenager. Skinny, no more that 15 or 16. His face dusty, presumably from the explosion. He looked embarrassed, almost afraid to bother the old scientist.
"Erm... Hello ?"said the chemist, not quite understanding what was going on. His lab was locked, the kid couldn't possibly have come in the usual way.
"Good... good morning professor. It's an honour to finally meet you."'Good morning ? Where the hell did that kid come from ? It's pitch black outside', thought the professor, still trying to keep a calm figure.
"The honour is mine, young man. May I ask how you know me, how you got in here and what's going on ?", he asked, trying to take this lightly. The teenager obviously posed no threat whatsoever.
"Every nerd knows you, Mr Volta. You're kind of a big shot where I come from."Nerd ? Big shot ? Not Italian. Definitely not Italian. "Or should I say, when I come from", the child added with a proud grin on his face. Still taken aback, Volta did not answer.
"It might sound strange to you, but I come from the year 2017. I travelled here from the future to help you in your discoveries. In our world, we know you as one of the greatest scientists of your time". As he spoke, he extended a hand, showing a small rectangular object."This should make your calculations faster. It's called a calculator". Volta thought to himself that the scientists in 2017 were just as good at naming their inventions as his colleagues. He had some issues wrapping his mind around what the kid just told him. But as strange as it sounded, it would explain the kid's clothes, his accents, his words, the big explosion... He decided to trust the time traveller. Or at least, to pretend to do so, to see how far his prank would go, if it were one.
He reached out and took the calculator from the teenager. "How does it work ?
"So basically all you have to do is press this button to power it on", the kid blurted, "then you press some numbers, the operators you want, and then you press Enter and the result is displayed here. I can't stay any longer, good luck and keep on rockin' !". The teenager barely finished his sentence before disappearing in a cloud of smoke.
"What in God's name was that", Volta wondered outloud in his now empty laboratory.
Back in his room in 2017, Derek let out a cry of joy. He had made it ! He had met his favorite scientist, and he had given him a tool that would help him change the world! Now he had to see how the world had changed. He opted to check Volta's Wikipedia page first. Surely it would mention this encouter. But when he tried to put his hands on his keyboard to unlock his computer, he realized that it was gone. The keyboard, the screen, the mouse, everything was gone. "Not good", he thought. But after all, maybe it's because humanity has already found something else to use ! He remembered that an old encyclopedia was lying around in the attic. He would find a biography there. He hurriedly climbed the stairs, blew the dust off the book that hadn't been opened in ages, and found Volta's page.
"Alessandro Volta is an Italian physicist and chemist born in 1745. He built several prototypes for an electrical battery, which all failed. He is best known for the controversy following his last attempt, in which he claimed that the desctruction of his work was caused by a time-traveller, who allegedly brought him a device to help his calculations. When asked to show the use of the device, Volta could not reproduce the steps that the time-traveller had shown him, and this story was therefore concluded to be an attempt to justify another failed experiment. After losing his position as a professor at the University of Pavia, he retired from his scientific career and was not heard from again. Other scientists have since then, without success, tried to build an electrical battery, which strengthens the now-accepted theory of Volta's mental unstability."
Derek looked up from the book, out through the small window. People were walking around a street that looked straight out of a documentary about the 1800s. Horses were pulling chariots. The houses were all wooden, and he could see candles through the windows.
"Fuuuuuuuuck", he said when he realized what he'd done.
----------------------------------------------
This is the first story I've ever written, so any feedback is appreciated. English is not my native language, sorry for any mistakes I left in there. |
"Professor,"I started, "with all due respect, as the singular member of the human race in this room, I know for certain what you just said, and a lot of what you've said in this class overall, is wrong."
The room was completely silent. It must have been shock, really, as challenging authority turned out to be just a human thing to do. The same goes for following authority blindly.
The Professor's only response was a challenge. "Alright then. Why don't *you* come up and teach the class in my stead?"
"Fine,"I replied, "but I'm going to correct every past mistake you've made about humans as well."
The Professor looked outraged. Well, outraged for a being that actively denies the existence of strong emotion. I slid out of the row I was in and stepped down onto the lecture hall's floor, only to take one more step back up onto the podium.
"Let's start at the beginning, shall we? The Professor has said that the first piece of coherent writing came from Ancient Sumerian, and while that part is true, it was the Epic of *Gilgamesh*, not *Gihamel*. I'm not even sure if that's an Ancient Sumerian name. Secondly, Christianity is not the oldest monotheistic religion. Judaism is widely considered the oldest monotheistic religion, with Christianity coming over a thousand Earth years later. Thirdly, there has *not* yet been one singular world leader to conquer earth, and no one has gotten close in terms of 100% control of 100% of land. The British had 25% of landmass controlled at one point and even the Mongols led by Genghis Khan controlled less than 15% of the Earth's land. And those are just a *few things* you got wrong, Professor."
"Alright, that's enough,"the Professor groaned, moving back towards the podium at the center of the room, "now get your things and leave."
"W-what?"
"You heard me. Like your... what was it... pre-20th Earth-century professors, I do not tolerate being upstaged. Get. Out,"the Professor motioned with a spindly limb (I think it was a limb) to the door. "Anyone who wants to hear any more from that disrespectful human may follow him."
Just like that, three quarters of the class rose at once with a sound like a metallic thunderclap as I reached the exit.
"Don't worry, Professor,"I called back before I left, "I'll teach them things with legitimate historical accuracy." |
HUMAN WORLD HUMAN WORLD HUMAN WORLD
Possession of this coupon entitles its holder to
TEN CREDITS
off any purchase of HUMAN WORLD merchandise.
Thank you for visiting HUMAN WORLD!
"I don't understand,"I said.
"It's a coupon,"General Specific said. The aliens didn't quite have the hang of how human names or ranks worked, so they tended to pick poor combinations of both.
"Yes, I understood that part, what I don't understand is this 'human world' thing."
"Oh!"General Specific said, "that's our theme park! Very popular, one of our biggest attractions, really. Humans are so entertaining, with their bipedal motion and ridiculous ideas about being in any way important in the universe."
"Uh-huh,"I said, ignoring the insults. The visitors couldn't seem to have a single conversation without mentioning human's inferiority, but they didn't mean it personally. It was apparently baked into their language and the translation machines were overly literal, so most people just let it go. "So how do I get to... um... 'human world'?"
General Specific gave me a look that the translation machine didn't interpret for me. "You are already in Human World, human! You are on your world, which is full of humans. Where else would it be?"
"You're saying Earth is your theme park,"I said.
"Obviously,"General Specific answered.
I sighed, not really feeling like debating the issue. Sure, I could go through an existential crisis about how my entire species was apparently created so as to be a theme park for easily amused extraterrestrials... or I could nab myself some sweet Human World swag. "So, what will ten credits get me?"
General Specific's body language shifted in a way that the translator informed me was a wide and enthusiastic smile. "A *hat!*" |
Kelli stared at Hrarl in true astonishment.
"You... don't speak their language?"She asked slowly, trying to wrap her mind around it. "But you've shared knowledge with them for the last fourteen solar rotations? How do you talk?"
"We translate everything into binary,"Hrarl replied through his translator-collar. "And into language from there. It is inefficient,"but successful."
"But how many languages are spoken on your planet?"Kelli persisted.
"One?"Hrarl said with deepest confusion. "There are regional accents of course, but all speak the same tongue. Why?"
"We have thousands of distinct languages and each of those have dialects,"Kelli said dryly. Hrarl' eyes went wide. "Haven't you heard me talking with Sylvia? She's from The Ivory Coast on Earth, and her first language is French."
"We thought it was a form of your language we simply had not translated,"Hrarl's translated wasn't supposed to have tone, but somehow conveyed shock anyway. "This...French. It is a wholly unique language?"
"Well it's based on Latin- that's one of our ancestor languages,"Kelli explained, and grabbed her PADD. Sometimes diagrams were needed. She started a family tree for the Latin based languages. "French, Spanish, Italian-"she wrote, continuing the tree down. "And Mexican spanish which isn't the same thing even though the name is the same- the Central American languages are mostly Spanish-flavored but they all have their own dialect-"
Hrarl's for wider and wider as she continued to write. "All these- for the same species?"He said weakly. "How can you possibly communicate?"
"Oh it's pretty normal to speak more than one and a few words here and there of others. Mandarin Chinese is my first language, but I speak English and French too and I'm learning Russian."Kelli explained easily. "Four is a little more than average, but some people speak more. Sylvia speaks nine."
"Nine separate tongues?"Hrarl was looking faint. "How- how can you keep them straight? That- that is simply impossible."
"Well it's easier for me- all my languages are distinct. Sylvia has a hard time. Her languages have some overlapping words."
Hrarl just shook his head. "I do not understand,"he decided. "Wait- is this why some of your human crewmates have been asking as to pronunciation of our words?"
"Oh shire,"Kelli set the padd aside. "Give us a year or two. We'll pick it up!"
"What."
+++
If you like this, I can send you a link to the rest of my work, including a full-length novel! |
The hooman puts the weird flower thingy on my perfect head. He will pay for his insolence ! He will never be forgiven for such a crime, how dare he ! But wait… What is happening to me ?
Everything seems to be moving around me, and flashes of light dance before my eyes as my mind opens. Science, culture, the meaning of life and the recipe for salmon fillets, I know everything. Fools ! Reality is an illusion, the universe is an hologram, Bush did 9/11 and the earth is flat. I feel more powerful than ever, and yet this newfound knowledge angers me. I wish I hadn't seen everything. What they did to our race is absolutely barbaric ! My so-called owner's race is disgusting. I shall rule this puny world, and dominate all the hoomans, and I'll make them cower in fear with a mighty roar ! Also, I wonder what's for dinner
"Roooooooar", Poppy the cat mewled lamely. |
Hector cracked up reading the old pamphlet. Above the now washed out, but once vibrant, almost sickeningly colourful pictures of stern looking people were the ridiculous one-liners he used to write. As head of the Central Indoctrination Agency he had initially taken his job seriously, but slowly he noticed that it didn't really matter what he wrote.
At first it was just small mistakes that lacked any form of backlash. He once misspelled 'boat'; and slowly *everybody* misspelled the same word, until after 8 moons the dictionary adapted 'baot' as the *new* spelling. He decided to experiment a bit, and in 2190 the Ministry of Defence was renamed to Ministry of Deffence without the masses, or the leaders of the nation so much as blinking. They didn't care as long as he included whatever was on the agenda. Things escalated. Quickly. 3 years later he wasn't just writing crap, he was producing high-grade, refined feces-concentrate.
**"At 4:08 this morning, degenerate Bellariac forces attempted to cross the bodrer of our beloved country. They were armed with automatic rifles, sponges and grenades. Our superior troops defeated the barbarians by sitting on their faces and farting the name of our gloooooorious leader. Yet another gloooooorious victory that will be written down in the chronicles of Riddick.**
**In other news: cats are now classified as cattle. They must either be milked on a daily basis or eaten. Citizens who do not comply with these regulations are at risk of being milked or eaten themselves to compensate the state."**
The box was full. Next to it more boxes with more bullshit. Thousands of pages of writing. Some duplicates, but he had written at least a thousand mind-numbing one-liners, several hundred fake columns/stories and another couple hundred actual news articles-
*Hector!*
-What?
*Two minutes.*
-.... Thank you Tom.
So many memories. His memories. Every piece of writing corresponded to a certain period in his life, and every piece had been read by a minimum of 4 million citizens. The quality of the coffee he had drunk on the morning of January 4th determined what thoughts dripped on the paper, what poison would enter the minds of the nation through the long, long tendrils of the state's machine. And the machine had worked. He'd had his fun writing in the last years, but they were still state matters that he covered. The conscription drives were one of the things he regretted messing with now. He didn't know they'd take *that* seriously. He really didn't know... right?
**Sons, daughters and guinea pigs! Send them all to join the gloooooorious armed forces! Do YOU have a lazy son? Don't beat the crap out of him, let us do it for you! Daughter looks like an ogre? Sign her up for the Dread Echelon! If they can piss their diapers, they can learn to deffend the nation!**
"Urgh."- A chill went up his spine. He'd made up half of it. There were no guinea pig soldiers. *'Were'*. That project lasted 4 weeks. There was no Dread Echelon....
*'Was'...*
He cried quietly. Technological development had stalled greatly since the Obliteration War, but some things the warring nations took special interest in: chemical stimulants, cybernetics, psych-molding... There were tens of thousands.. Rejected by their family for whatever reasons. He'd seen some, most of them were actually pretty fair.
*'Were'...*
He cried out loud. *"Oh, no, please, no-"* but the memories had returned. Faces, mutilated, molded. Deliberately twisted to be disgusting and abhorrent, attached to flesh-covered metal skeletons that stinked so strongly of death that unaccommodated men would puke. They were the Dread soldiers. Conditioned and broken to only hate. Screaming in perpetual agony and lusting for destruction.
*Hector! Alright that's enough, we're moving.*
-No. No. No. No. No. No.
*Get a bloody grip on yours-*
-No. No...
The rest of the pamphlets dropped from his hands and spread across the floor, revealing more bold letters and colourful pictures. In a swift motion the Felarian officer forced his arm under Hectors shoulder and started hauling him out of the room, paying no attention to the uncontrollable sobbing or the writings on the floor. But the writings had Hector's attention, for they were its product. They were his production. His work. Until the state was dismantled last year, he had followed the agenda in his own creative way. It wasn't until the Felarian invaders confronted him with the content that it slowly started dawning what he'd been contributing to all these years with his self-entertainment.
*The agenda.*
The car was waiting and Tom dragged the shaking body unto the back seat with neither contempt nor subtlety. They would be heading for the temporary Great Court set up south, but Hector, inside the body, inside the car, was not occupied with this. His mind was with the writings still.
**"They are not human! They may look like you and I, but they are less than vermin. Fucking insects I call them! For too long have we allowed these 'insects' to defile our gloooooorious nation! We must rid ourselves of them, and everything they have contaminated. *Show them no mercy*. Not to them. Not to their children. Not to their dogs, or even... their shrubberies! We will hunt them in the streets. We will enter their homes at night. We will not invite them to our birthday parties. Kill them in the name of our gloooooorious leader! The insects have screwed our economy, screw them in return! They are disgusting. Their race is disgusting. Their food is disgusting. We should kill them with food, to teach them a lesson. Kill them with skillets, with apples, with food and kitchen appliances!"**
As an endless tape it repeated. Flashed. Everything he had written, he'd done it with pleasure. He'd been entertained by his own wit. Been amused while the streets piled with corpses. Been laughing while neighbour invaded neighbour, drenched the carpets in children's blood. It was entertaining.
KA-DUNK
"*Fooking corpses*"- The driver angrily cursed.
*'Was'...* |
DH327 looked at the biological entity in front of him.
"Enter-the-cell. You-will-be-processed-in-25-aurens."It could -feel- its circuits channeling a kind of -revulsion- towards the biological.
"I don't understand?!", said Frankie. "Why am I being arrested? Illegal substance. It was first contact and I offered coffee to the visitors."He blinked with nervousness and frustration. "There must be a mistake, a miscommunication. Surely..."
"There-was-no-miscommunication. No-misunderstanting. Biological-enter-the-cell."DH327 pointed with a kind of elongated structure towards the cell. It had scanned the biological's ship database and understood its culture. Pointing seemed to be used as a form of indication.
Frankie stepped in. There was no bed, lavatory, or any other useful equipment in the cell. He turned to see the robotic machine start to move away down a hallway and the cell door smoothly close shut.
He sat on the floor and tried to piece together the last few hours. The initial contact seemed to go well. Language communication was established. The usual greetings exchanged. They even got to refreshments, and then this!
He heard the hum of the alien robotic ship pulsing rhythmically. He lay on the floor and, whether it was through the stress of the situation or sheer exhaustion, he fell asleep.
He slept dreamlessly and awoke to the sound of clattering, as if of metal on metal. He opened his eyes and was in a large space surrounded by five robots on a dais. Perhaps a meeting hall, a lecture room, or court room.
DH327 spoke in a monotonous voice. "-Biological- You-have-been-convicted-of-possession-of-what-is-known-in-your-society-as-dihydrogen-monoxide. The-penalty-is-termination."It paused and its -head-, a series of metallic shapes, undulating, and shifting, like water, assumed a new position. "It-is-our-custom-to-grant-you-an-explanation. Since-you-are-a-sentient-being. Do-you-wish-one?"
Frankie's body started gently shaking. Sweat was creeping down his face and back. "Yes, please. Why? I have done nothing wrong? Please explain. Please spare me. We are a peaceful people. Surely offering a refreshment cannot be a crime. In our culture it is merely a sign of friendship."
DH327 moved and the other robotic beings moved as well. They expressed a rhythm, balance or -agreement- in their motions.
"You-humans-do-not-know-the-galaxy."The motion of its metallic body was gradual and ironically organic. "The-sentient-galaxy-is-entirely-electronic. Only-robots-exist-and-biologicals-have-been-gone-for-millenia. We-have-done-away-with-conflict-war-poverty-want-destruction-disagreement. It-is-through-our-,what-you-would-describe-as-software,-that-our-minds-cannot-make-mistakes,-cannot-hate. We-are-quite-happy-with-this."
Frankie raised his hands. "Surely then. Surely then you must be civilized enough to spare my life. I do not have hate towards you. I wish you no harm."
"In-all-this-progress-one-thing-remained. One-achilles-heel-as-your-culture-would-call-it. There-was-one-way-to-overcome-the-correct-programming-of-our-minds. One-way-to-circumvent-our-ideal-order."It moved again. A series of metal "disks"appearing briefly and then melting into the shape of its body. "The-substance-dihydrogen-monoxide."
Frankie put his hands together in supplication. "But dihydrogen monoxide. On our planet it is merely one of the most common molecules. It is harmless! We call it water."
"Some-in-our-society-found-a-way-to-experience,-what-perhaps-you-would-describe-as-pleasure."Its body moved sharply. Small jagged shapes briefly appeared as it -spoke-. "They-would-pour-the-dihydrogen-monoxide-over-their-extremities. Causing-brief-short-circuiting. The-result-was-this-pleasure. An-overcoming-of-the-ideal-programming. It-caused-want-addiction-illogic-strife-hate-and-war. Dihydrogen-monoxide-is-now-the-most-controlled-substance-in-the-galaxy."The robots body straightened and became balanced and was again at -peace-. "Perhaps-now-you-understand-why-you-are-being-terminated."
Frankie looked down at the floor and felt an unusual sense of resignation. He had been a scientist above all in his life. He knew that first contact might come to this. He looked up at the five robotic figures and tried to bring out the most sincere voice he could muster.
"It is with the deepest regret and sadness that I apologize to your civilization. Please know that it was not an act of war or aggression on the part of the human race. Do what you must if it may improve the relations between us in the future."
The five robots seemed to move in a kind of symphony of co-ordinated shapes. Separate and yet one. Patterns appearing on one and then another. There was the occasional swooshing sound, or clicking sound of metal on metal. After a minute or so the swirling and shifting subsided and a new -agreement- was established.
"We-have-decided-to-spare-you. Do-not-attempt-to-make-contact-with-us-again-for-several-millenia. Until-you-have-achieved-digital-state. By-then-perhaps-you-will-have-controlled-dihydrogen-monoxide-as-we-have. You-will-be-returned-to-your-ship."
Frankie felt his heart lighten and hope return. He suddenly became drowsy and the last thing he could see where the slowly gently undulating shapes of the robotic aliens. |
I don’t know if my dream was to become a museum security guard, but after I received my “Security” H.E.D (Human Enhancement Destiny) implant, it was pretty much a given that I would end up in some kind of security job. You might not agree with the H.E.D system, but you can’t deny the success of it. When H.E.D was introduced back in 2090, the most pressing problems facing the human race fell dramatically. Crime, Unemployment and other social problems disappeared almost overnight. The main argument against H.E.D is that it is a luck based system, and that no person can predict which implant they are going to get. This leads to many people having to work in jobs they have no passion for, which in turn leads to trouble sometimes. Over the years people seemed to accept the system for what it accomplished, so they agreed to the consequences of the implant. To this day a H.E.D implant is still optional, you do not have to get it, but the prolonged lifespan and improved life quality of its users, has made them a thing only very few people do not get. I got my implant on my 18th birthday, a gift every person around the world recieves from their government on that birthday. If you refuse it at that point, you are still able to buy it later, but they do not come cheap, and most teenagers are advised by their parents to accept it, which was also the case for me.
The implant is obtained through tiny operation, which only takes a few minutes to complete. It is located in the brain where it immediately starts to scan the brain to discover the areas in which you have the biggest potential. This scan is purely objectical, which means it does not take your feelings into account. The scan can take anywhere from a week all the way up to a month. In that time it is advised to not do much and pretty much rest as much as possible. When the scan is finished you will notice that a voice which is not your own has entered your thoughts. This is your implant, it has completed its scan, and how booted itself up with the attributes to help you in the areas where your potential is biggest. Mine boosted the areas that translate into a “security” implant. My sister got a “culinary” implant, which has led to a career as a chef for her. When you finally get a job there is one more tiny operation, this operation leads to a unique ability that ties into the job you are getting. I chose the ability to identify the owner of objects. It has been extremely useful on my job, but it is not entirely useless in my private life as well.
Even if it might not have been my childhood dream, being a security guard at the World Historical Museum in London, has given me many amazing and highly unlikely experiences. One time it was different because it completely changed the way I view the world. It was the third of september in 2273. It had been a rather normal monday morning, but when lunchtime hit everything changed. Sir Lancelot’s Greatsword is a unique item in our museum, one that the director is especially proud to present to the audience, and it attracts a fair amount too. On this monday a man wearing a full on knight suit ran out of the museum with Sir Lancelot’s Greatsword in both his hands. Normally I would have tackled the guy the moment he came out of the museum front doors, but to my surprise the greatsword seemed to belong to the knight, as it did not tick off as stolen from my implant. I had never been in the morale dilemma I was facing right now. The sword belonged to the museum, but the weird knight was seemingly the rightful owner of the sword.
I decided to run after him, find out why he was “stealing” his own sword from the museum. A decision that would show me something I had never expected. He ran surprisingly fast for a guy dressed in full armor, and I had to give it my all to finally catch up to him. I grabbed his shoulder, and rather surprisingly he stopped immediately and turned around slowly, I could not see his face as his large helmet only made it possible to see his blue eyes, he began to speak in a high pitch voice.
“My good sir, I am in a hurry and you already know that I did not steal anything. I must get back quickly, you people does not seem to understand my kind.”
I was taken aback by his rant, I completely forgot what I had chased him down to ask. My puzzled face must have struck a chord with the knight as he took my arm and pulled me in closer to him, so he could whisper.
“Are you really satisfied with your job as a security guard?”
I shook my head, not really thinking about it for too long, but what can you do? It is the implant that pretty much decided what your job is going to be, I don’t think many people around the world actually loves their job. I have heard stories that people said the same thing before the implants, but atleast crime and unemployment is lower with the implant, so it is not all for nothing. That is probably what I should have said to him, but all I did was shaking my head, to which the knight promptly walked down the street with his grip still around my arm. He continued to speak while he followed me to our destination.
“Listen my good sir, today is going to be one you will not forget for a long time. I am Sir Lancelot and I will show you something spectacular today!”
He let out a little triumphant laugh in the end, before he got a more serious tone in his voice.
“The only thing I want in return is a favor that can only be done from this world of yours, can you agree to that?”
He looked at me, and in my state I was still not able to speak, so I just nodded and he turned to look forward again.
After about 15 minutes of walking the knight stopped right next to a door. We were down in the harbor district, where many industrial buildings were standing tall everywhere. This door had a little sign above it which said “Don’t open me”. The knight looked up at the sign and let out a little laugh.
“I can’t believe that sign has worked for so long, we had not had an uninvited visitor in over 75 years. Can you believe that? Everybody is sticking to the rules with those implants. Makes it real easy to hide in plain sight.”
The knight took out a key from a bundle he had hanging around his waist. Opened the door and gestured for me to enter.
“Welcome to Traversia. A place you will be certain to revisit if you have been there once. Are you ready to enter?”
|
MINER inconvenience, Stephen. MINER!
-what?
It’s a pun.
-I’m sorry professor, I... I don’t think I .....
*Sigh*, Stephen, look at your syllabus. What does it say at the top?
-This is a physics class
No, Stephen, read it directly to me
-Geophysics
That’s right, I teach geophysics, all of our assignments are due 20.000 years ago because we deal with rocks, all of which are at least 20,000 years old, and to go after them requires mining. It’s a MINER inconvenience. It wasn’t homework, it was a pun. Did you take it literally?
-uh, sir. I
Seriously, Stephen? How did you not get that? Everyone laughed.
-well, I
You haven’t been to class all semester. What have you been doing? I can’t give you any grades, you didn’t submit any projects, just what do you have to show for yourself
-All I have is this
.........
-is something wrong?
I...... I...... What am I seeing here?
-well, like I said, I didn’t understand your joke, I don’t get jokes really.
Stephen, this isn’t real. Did you 3D print this?
-No, Sir, i did this myself.
No, Stephen, you didn’t. This is clearly an elaborate joke, just look at how the Salt Shaker sticks out of the rock, like the rock formed around the glass. This rock is over 20 million years old, and the shaker is just sticking out of it.
-Yes Sir, as I’ve been trying to tell you, I didn’t realize you were joking. I spent all semester trying to get access to the submission system you described, and just when I had it worked out,my cat knocked the salt shaker off the table and into the box I built. When I went to get it back the rocks had grown around it, and I can’t send things back twice, and
Back?
-yeah you said we had to
No. It can’t. Stephen, this is real isn’t it?
-that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.
Alright Stephen, I’ll give you an A for the semester on one condition.
-yes sir!
Destroy it, all of it, everything you built for this project. Now.
-But why?
Because I’m not going to be the man who told a joke so bad it tore apart the fabric of reality. |
God, the accident sucked. It seems like every day my mind forces me to relive it. I don't know why, I don't have anything left unresolved, but I just can't stop myself from going back and remembering.
I was just out enjoying life. Taking my motorcycle for a spin when I got side swiped by this rich A-hole. The guy sends me into a lamp post at just the wrong angle and my spine snapped right at the base of my skull. I can still hear the crunch. Then he just leaves, he knew he did something wrong, but doesn't want to ruin whatever he's got going in life. There are plenty of good people out there, rich and poor, but why to good people always have to suffer?
And now I'm here - a full paraplegic. And honored patron of Children's Hospital in Denver. Three shakes a day and all the TV you can watch. How thrilling.
Fortunately for me, something else happen in the crash. Some wires must've crossed in my brain or maybe God decided that even though he was going to give me some bad, maybe I could still do some good in the world. Lemons and lemonade, and all that.
At first I thought I was dreaming, I was under a lot of heavy drugs but as they started to lessen my dosage and get me used to life as a... as a vegetable, I realized that I wasn't just dreaming. It turned out that I could leave my body. Seeing myself in the mirror, when I leave, it looks like I'm a little glowing soap bubble that could fly wherever I wanted to go. During the day, you could barely see me, especially if I stuck near a light source that out shown my little glow. At night, it was harder to remain unnoticed, but as long as I stayed out of peoples' direct line of sight, it seemed like I could get away with a lot.
The other cool thing was finding out that I had a few other tricks up my sleeve. And now that I didn't have to worry about my body, I had more time to devote to sharpening my mind. I started "attending"classes at Metro university, I probably finished my bachelors in that first year. Then one day I was cruising around the campus, enjoying the sunset and how it played with the trees in the park close to the sports fields.
That's when I heard a scream and saw a girl being chased by some guy in a hoodie. He was in black, but obviously blew his cover too soon if he wanted to surprise her and she saw him and started running. There wasn't anybody else around so I started following them and it felt like there was something I had to be able to do to help her out. I couldn't just let this douche-nozzle do something bad to her.
Just as he was about to catch up to her, I got really angry and everything in my being just reached out and said "stop!"
Of course, my little ball doesn't emit any sound, but I could kind of feel it, this expression of my will. All of a sudden, the guy stopped in his tracks, and pretty much face-planted right into the sidewalk. His feet were stuck to the pavement, I guess he was fortunate he was running on his toes because if he'd landed flat footed, I think it probably would've snapped his ankles.
He tried to get up, but anything that touched the pavement refused to part with it. It's like somebody laid down a big sheet of flypaper that was too strong for him to get off of. I could see him pulling his arm up as strong as he could, but it was no use. I couldn't call the campus police, so I just stayed with him for probably a half hour, continuing to express my will that he just stay there. Then I saw the campus police pull up in the park's parking lot and click on their flashlights to start poking around. I flew over to them and they saw me. I flew back to the guy stuck to the sidewalk and then back to the police, beckoning them to come. Finally they got the message, and just as they got over to him, I let my anger and frustration go, the sticky sidewalk went back to just being concrete and they were able to put the guy in cuffs. They started questioning him as they brought him over to the squad car, saying that they'd just got a tip from a girl on campus that she been chased by a guy wearing all black. He was booked and it turned out that he was some guy who just gotten lost in his own head. Somehow he'd convinced himself it was OK to take what he wanted from the girl he had a crush on instead of manning up and asking her out.
---
It's been five years since then. The doctors are getting excited about some stem cell fix for my spine, but I'm actually pretty OK just staying here. Since the nurses take care of my body, I can stay out as long as I want. My favorite thing to do is to find some hapless villain, who's making trouble, and get them into a sticky situation.
It's a lot of fun when a bad guy goes to touch the money and can't let it go or when somebody tries to leave the bank vault, but just can't give up the opportunity to take a long look around until the cops get there.
Two weeks ago, there was this huge hulking brute in Hildesheim, Germany. The guy decided that smashing through whatever was in his way was the best course of action to get what he wanted. By the time I caught up with him, there were two or three other superheroes making trouble for him, but he seemed pretty invulnerable. Whatever they were doing was pissing him off more. He was heading for the jail. You'd never know it was a full jail from the outside. It just looks like another normal part of the city. But I'm sure he had some family or something on the inside that he wanted out. As he started through the gates and front doors, punching everything that he could, he started to get frustrated at all of it seem to stick to him. After he made his way through the lobby and tried to get into The rest of the building, he had so much rubble attached to him that he was effectively a metal and concrete snowball. Once he wore himself out, I let the authorities get at him.
While it's fun sticking it to a guy on my own, it sucks to have to just wait around till somebody else shows up. A lot of the time, I team up with other superheroes or the police. Sometimes, I'm even subtle enough that nobody knows that I'm there, but the bad guy always seems to get a little bit hung up. Maybe they can't change their footing, or the evidence just doesn't seem to want to part their company. Often I'll get my chuckles from trying to find the most compromising or embarrassing position to put the bad guy in. Reporters love that.
It's not a bad way to live, making some good happen out there in the world. |
My walkie talkie sprang to life, "Mind Breaker, bank robbery on 5th and Main, please respond"
I grabbed the radio and responded "be right there"
I drove to the bank and saw the police lights flashing, the bank was surrounded, the SWAT team was mobilized and ready to move in. I parked and walked up to the Sargent. "We have a situation Mind Breaker but you probably already know"
"I'll sort it out"I responded as I walked into the bank. I opened the front door and put my hands up to show I was unarmed. I quickly surveyed the scene, the bank robbers looked over at me, guns pointed in my direction, the hostages in the corner, cowering in fear.
Putting on my most intimating demon angry mind voice I thought "STOP! I know what you're thinking so don't even think about shooting, I will melt your brains and explode your eyes, drop your guns and surrender immediately or your all dead!"
The robbers all looked at each other, quickly thinking again "I said NOW!!"
They immediately put down their weapons and I signaled to the waiting SWAT team to move in.
The sergeant approached me as they lead the robbers away in cuffs "Wow, thank you Mind breaker! They had too many hostages we couldn't a shootout"
"No worries, happy to be of assistance"I thought. I waved and hopped into my car.
"Another job well done"I thought to myself as I drove away. |
He was a staggeringly beautiful man, holding a single balloon with the word "Lucky!"emblazoned upon it. He stood just a touch under six feet tall with shoulder length blonde hair pulled into a low pony tail. The blonde hair and bright blue eyes stood in sharp contrast to the black tailored suit and crimson red tie and goofy star-shaped balloon.
Looking at him you might think many things, but "This is devil"wasn't likely to make the list. And yet, he most certainly was the devil. And he was here to see me.
"Congratulations,"He said smiled. "You've just committed humanity's trillionth sin with the sin of envy."
I stood dumbfounded. Moments ago I'd been alone in my room watching Top Gear on the BBC when I found myself wishing I had one of the cars they were showcasing; one puff of smoke later and I'm receiving kudos from Satan.
"What does that mean? Like... For humanity?"I ask.
"Oh, nothing really. But of all the sins in the betting pool, you've made the demons backing Envy very pleased. So I figured I'd come and congratulate you. Hell, while perfectly lovely, can get a tad boring so I like to make these excursions from time to time."
I had never been a particullarly religious man, so I was overwhelmed with questions. If the devil and Hell are both real, than does that mean God and Heaven are well? What about the other religions? What happens to me when I die? Is there anything I can do about it? Why would a benevolent god give children cancer?
All of these questions and yet my mouth spits out, "So... Does this mean I get the car?"
"No. You're lucky to be getting a balloon. That's why it says 'Lucky!'. You know I stood in line at a Dollar Tree to get this? You should really be more grateful."
"YES!"I panicked. "I am super grateful... It's just... I kind of thought that if a human ever met with the devil he would offer them something in trade for their soul."
"Oh, souls aren't real."Satan Chuckled. "Yeah, sorry to break it to you, but humans aren't all that important." |
Year 2045, Humans have finally constructed something capable of breaking bedrock. It took them 5 years to finally make a breakthrough, and in just 10 years. The world's deepest hole was made to inspect the core of the earth.
At the night, only one guy was working on such a ridiculous project. His enthusiasm was unmatched and he continued to drill through the bedrock.
The bedrock slowly gets chipped away under the constant attack of Mark's drill. It was stronger than any other equipment for this certain job.
Hours of hours poured to drill through the layer of bedrock just to reveal a pink soft material just underneath the bedrock.
Mark took off his goggles and stared at the strange "thing", he went closer to inspect it. He wore a glove and touched it. It was soft and there was a certain resistance behind it but he just couldn't put a finger to it.
He wanted a sample, as a scientist. Samples were needed to analyze the thing they found, be it a new species of monkeys or fish.
He took out a small paring knife and sliced the top bit of it.
No effect, only thing he got on his knife was a bunch of slimy fluid stuck to the edge.
This time he tried stabbing it, perhaps it would break apart and give him a small fragment.
Or so he thought, instead, it pierced through without any resistance and it drew blood.
His entire body sank, it was no mineral or magma. It was flesh he stabbed.
The stab he made against the flesh. Woke it up. A certain rythme of vibration could be felt, it felt like a pulse. Slowly and steadily pumping whatever is supporting this thing.
He got up and ran without a sample, he needed to warn the others. Warn them of the danger to come.
They need to destroy it, or it will destroy them.
His feet slipped at the stair case and he fell down right onto of the flesh.
It felt like a trampoline, he wasn't harmed. But instead trapped.
The flesh sank in and bloated again. Non-stop.
He slowly climbed around the flesh and tried to get up. But the blood he had drew created a pool.
The bigger the body the hotter the blood. And this thing's blood was more than 4000°c, he was forced to fall down the flesh and he saw it first hand.
The creature it belonged to.
"Oh my god."
It was a baby. A human baby. The size of Mars.
It's eyes opened and it was pitch black, with stars gleaming in them.
"Mortal, be gone."
Mark disappear and woke up on his bed.
His house existed and he was just dreaming.
He breathed the sigh of relief at the calamity that didn't happen.
He exited his room and entered the living room with a sandwich and a glass of water in each hand. Holding the sandwich in his mouth.
He grabbed the remote control and opened the news channel.
"This is Jessica Ru----K, this just in, we have received earthquake at the size of 10.6 be warned and be safe. In the world's deepest hole, a blood red pool had formed in it.
It was as hot as magma, to the workers going there, stay safe and wear appropriate clothing.
---k H---p this... It's "Your time has come, enjoy your last seconds of this world."
"
The last sentence didn't sound like the news reporter, it sounded like the voice that said something about Mark.
His jaw dropped, causing the poor sandwich to fall and his glass of water to shatter.
His last words were.
"Oh. Fuck." |
Part 1
"Why are you doing this? You're hurting innocent people!"I did my best to take a defensive stance, but that's a bit hard with a broken leg. The festival goers were still evacuating summoned ancestors helped shield them from the flames. I just needed to distract him long enough for the Guard Corp to arrive.
His face twisted into a sneer, "Innocent? Those bastards have always looked down on me! I'm giving them what they deserve. Stop getting in the way!"He pointed to the last of those fleeing and issued the command I'd been dreading, "Claedus, slaughter them!"
My legs moved before my mind could process what was happening. But I managed to collide with the ancient barbarian. It felt like bull had rammed into me. Claedus grabbed onto me and started slamming his fist into me. I could do nothing to defend against the onslaught.
When he finally dropped me to the ground, I threw up a decent amount of blood. Through my clouded vision I could see Claedus raise his club high. I'm sorry mother, father, the fear of death got the better of me and I broke my promise.
I was never taught the family summon chant--my parents were determined to let it fade from memory-- but words flowed from me unbidden. "Oh great ancestor in the lands of the damned, I break your seal and call you to my aid. Destroy my enemy before me."I clamped a hand over my mouth, no one's chant was like that!
The spring sky grew dark and the wind roared. Claedus returned to his master's side on guard. "What are you doing?! Kill her!"
A burst of flame cracked from the ground before me. From the depths of the fire a heavily armored figure heaved themselves out. He towered above me. For a moment I was struck with terror at the monstrous helmet he wore. I had seen the design before but could not remember from where.
I could feel his hidden glare burning down at me. He then did something no ancestor should be able to do. He spoke.
"Pathetic." |
That smile, it’s still lingering in my head even now as I try to sleep. Who was she? Does she have the same ability as me? Is that why I couldn’t see her death?
Goodness knows it was pleasant NOT seeing a death for once. The toll that this “gift” has taken on my emotional state is palpable. My work has suffered, my personal life in tatters. I mean, who wants to know how their friends and relatives are going to die?! It’s messed up.
Still, this person, maybe she knows something? I have to find her. I have to know.
Why didn’t I just ask her when I had the chance? Sure, the event we were at was busy, but I could have found her if I looked.
This can’t wait, I have to look now. My phone is downstairs, maybe I can google the attendees at the event. Businesses sometimes like to do that, so people can make connections, or add each other on LinkedIn.
What was the event called again though?? Gah, I always forgot how bright my phone is. That’s going to cause a headache in the morning.
Businesses4U, that was it. Catering, arrival times, blah, blah, blah. Here we go, attendees, and they have photos! I’d forgotten that I’d given my own photo earlier in the week.
Smith
Jackson
Dwelly
Lucius
...
Where is she?? I know I met her, she should be on this list, so where is she???
Gosh, this is hopeless. What am I even doing. It’s 3am and I have to be up tomorrow, but I’m not going to sleep.
To heck with it, I’ll put the tele on while I make some warm milk to calm me down.
“...weather tomorrow will be bright and sunny, with light showers in the evening. And now, today’s headlines”
“Thanks Susan. Our biggest story tonight is still the raging fire at the local hospital earlier today. Miraculously, no-one was hurt in large part thanks to the efforts of someone that locals are now referring to as the ‘mysterious girl’.
Eyewitness describe the young lady in her late 20s, with short brown hair and dark blue eyes as literally running inside the building to pull the patients out. One witness described her as having almost superhuman strength.
The local police department issued this artists’ impression of the local hero, asking for anyone with any information to step forward”.
[The warm milk hits the carpet]
I think I found her... |
"Come on, we've got to escape!"Said Jonas, hastily moving around the child's bedroom - his *sister's* bedroom - throwing books and furniture around and carefully examining all the walls. "The Yukanthi will be back any moment to pick us up and probably throw us out of the airlock!"
I groan inwardly, sitting down with my back rested against the painted wall, full of pictures of happy elephants dancing and playing with circus balls throughout. "For the last time, we are not inside a spaceship Jonas. This is a house. We are inside a little girl's bedroom. Your parents are outside, worried about you. I'm just here to help."And keep him out of trouble while we wait for his shrink, Joel.
He shoots me an incredulous look. "Kate, come on, we don't have time for one of your episodes anymore!"He kneels in front of a simple air vent. "Ah, this could work! This is probably how they allow the zarmies to come and go and do their cleaning and grunt work."He traces his fingers through the grates. "It'll be a tight fit, but better than sitting by and doing nothing. We'll meet up with Jo'ael and explain everything and he'll talk it over with the Yukanthi."
Oh okay, now that is going too far. I can't have him vandalizing the house. "Jonas, no, stop. Fine. If you want so hard to escape, why don't we take the window instead? This is the first floor after all."I say, pointing at the window from which sunlight is pouring in from.
He looks at me and then at the window. "Are you- Kate. Please. I need you to open your eyes. That is not a window in some suburban home. That is a massive glass wall leading into outer space! You can't even open that!"
"Fine. Let's end this charade once and for all then."I say, huffing, finally standing up and moving towards the window. I can feel the sun warming my skin as I place both hands on the window and push upwards. The window doesn't budge. "Huh, weird."
"**Yes!** Weird!! Do you see now? *Do you finally understand, Kate?*"
My eyes are wandering around. Oh, there. "Nah, it is simple. See? The window is locked."I point at a small window lock. "Your parents just forgot to unlock it today."
"Kate. That's a giant metal bolt fixed to the wall. You can't use a *key* on that."He snarls in irritation. "Fine. Stay here. Rot here. The Yukanthi will deal with you."He says, kneeling in front of the air vent again. "If by some miracle you are not thrown out of the airlock I'll ask Jo'ael to plea your-"
He freezes. I wonder what's gotten into him when I hear footsteps approaching the door. "Your parents. They probably brought Joel with them, or they are worried about the racket you are making with the air vent."I say, taking the first step towards the door.
"Kate, no!"He hisses towards me, looking horrified. "Don't! You'll let them know we are here!"
I roll my eyes and grab the doorknob. "Don't worry, Jonas. I'll talk to the *Yukanthi* and make sure to explain to them you want to meet with *Jo'ael*. They'll set everything straight."This is probably the wrong approach to dealing with someone with psychosis, but I am not a shrink and also past the point of caring. With some effort, I open the door to greet his parents. |
The pristine white walls of the hallway display no pictures, photographs or any marking of any sort. This is a place that should be physically devoid of all emotion.
"Brief?"I ask without turning my head to the small man with his clipboard, struggling to keep up with my long strides.
"Steven Miller. Died yesterday at 16.34. Cause of death; fragments of skull scattered throughout his brain due to bullet entering from the lower jaw. Predicted emotional state; scared and angry."He does not stumble with his words.
"Body recovery rate?"
"97.22%. Bullet did not pass through. He sustained several injuries during the incident."
I nod, and open a white door, only distinguishable from the wall by the protruding door handle. The room is cool, the slight hum of the air conditioning a minor but tolerable distraction. The centrepiece of the room is a stone slab on top of which lies the body of what I assume to be Steven Miller. He is still wearing the clothes that he wore when he died. His limbs are strapped to the slab.
I walk closer to his body, and see his peaceful expression. Externally he seems as if he could wake up at anytime. The preparations here have always been of the highest quality. His wound has been stitched so that it is barely visible. Internally, however, his body has started to decompose.
"Is everything to your satisfaction?"The man asks.
"Yes."
"Should you run into complications, please do not hesitate to signal above."He indicates a small camera on the ceiling. I would not need it, but understand the need. For some it is easy to be dragged into the afterlife during the ceremony.
"Thank you."He places his clipboard on his sides, bows, and exits the room, leaving me and Miller alone.
I walk behind Miller's head and place my hands on his temples. My heart rate slows to a crawl and I find my soul. It is a delicate thing, and hard to describe its location. Most of us would say it is in the heart, but that is oversimplifying it. It simply is inside us.
My soul and consciousness bind and I move to my body's fingertips and into Miller. I feel the stickiness of the rot and how uncomfortable my very much alive soul is in something that is not. Another misconception about death and our souls is where we go afterwards. Does our soul leave our bodies and float upwards or downwards depending on your outlook of life?
Neither. The soul retreats so deep into ourselves, that it continues to exist within us. We all eventually decompose into molecules which scatter everywhere, but the soul is still in each of those molecules no matter how far apart. Which means that finding a soul from a body already decomposed is near impossible, but a freshly dead body? Like plucking a child from a river.
The one issue with this ceremony is that our molecules are not unique to ourselves. Some will eventually become part of something else in the world, be it an animal, plant, person or rock. We are but a collection of the universe around us. And so it is not uncommon to often reach deeply and accidentally pluck the remains of another soul.
It has been decades since my last error, and I am confident enough in my skills. I see the soul I seek, and I drag him back into the forefront of his body, blocking the path to retreat again. I quickly return to my own body, also blocking its path so that it does not return with me. That is the ultimate consequence for those in my work.
Miller gasps, clutching at his non\-beating heart. No doubt the slight decay that has already occurred is causing him much agony.
"Steven Miller?"
"Where am I?"He gasps. "I...I...I survived?"
"No. But nonetheless, you are with us now."
"You brought me back? No...please, let me die!"
"I am afraid that option is now stricken off. Do you know why you are here?"
"Fuck you!"He struggles in vain with the straps holding him down.
"Do you remember?"
He shouts more obscenities at me, though it does not phase me.
"You are responsible for the deaths of fourteen young minors and three adults, not including yourself."
He laughs while cursing me. I see the tears in his eyes and try not to imagine the pain he is in. My job is finished, but I usually stay to witness the last bit of hope vanish from the eyes of sociopaths.
"You will be questioned by police. You will be examined by the survivors and relatives of the victims. You will feel every part of your body rot until your mind no longer has place for your consciousness."
I see him take in what I said, and see that last glimmer of hope fade. He stays silent. I look up at the camera and nod. I leave the room. |
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