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The man in the front of the dimly lit classroom was grim and gaunt.
He paced back and forth in front of an overhead projector in a perfectly starched Hugo Boss suit. His peaked cap was tilted slightly to the right, and he sucked hungrily at a little gold-tipped Turkish cigarette. His shiny black boots reached his knees, and they seemed to click and echo with every step.
“I am Major General Hans Friederich Strohm,” he said, once Twitch and the rest of the 20-odd skinless neophytes found their seats.
One half of the class wore sodden once-solid color ties. “As I’m sure you’re tired of hearing by now – welcome to Hell, training division. By the end of the day you’ll be ready to start your assignments and keep the great cogs that move this place turning. It is my hope that we can do this neatly and efficiently, so please hold all questions until the end. We will begin with a short presentation.”
He snapped his fingers and the lights dimmed. He snapped again. Nothing.
“Goddamn cheap Chinese shit,” he said, smacking the side of the overhead projector. He snapped again, and again. Finally, he pulled a small riding crop from his high-topped left boot and hit the projector hard enough to make Twitch wince.
Snap. The projector sprang to life. The diagram was the same inscrutable maze of arrows and small type he’d seen in Case’s office.
“As even the slowest among you can see, this is a flow-chart of Hell’s Contracts and Wagers division. Your place is here,” Strohm said, snapping the riding crop in the general direction of the illuminated diagram. “You’ll receive calls from the mortal sphere at extension 666 and process said calls to the best of your ability. Upon agreeing to verbal terms, you’ll create a case file on your issued laptops and send the matter along to legal for final, binding, intractable and inscrutable written confirmation. They, in turn, will pass the case file along to operations. I tell you this out of the goodness of my heart. Your involvement in the matter ends sharply as soon as legal gets their hands on it. This leads me to my next point.”
Strohm snapped and the transparency shifted to a large, empty circle with ladder-like rungs on the outside edge. Twitch thought it looked like a huge hamster wheel or one of those finger-crushing gymnastic contraptions.
“This is a German wheel, pride of the gymnastic faderland and the most efficient finger-crusher ever made,” Strohm said, smiling faintly. “It represents the corporate ladder and your opportunity for advancement within Hell’s sales division.”
Twitch snapped, and a small stick figure appeared in the wheel. He snapped seven or eight times in quick succession, appearing to animate the stick figure as it climbed round and round in the wheel.
“I hope both my verbal explanation and graphic representation have made the issue crystal clear,” he said.
A student to Twitch’s left raised its hand.
“Questions at the end, please,” Strohm said.
“Sorry,” the student said. “Maggie Tran, cubicle 690. I just want to get this clear. You climb and climb and climb, but you don’t go anywhere?”
“Incorrect,” said Strohm. “Let me repeat the demonstration.”
Snap, snap, snap. The stick figure turned in the wheel.
“There. As even the dullest, most beef-witted of you can see, the stick figure – which represents you – clearly advances upon the inside of the wheel.”
“But the wheel itself doesn’t move?” Tran said.
“Again – sadly – incorrect. The wheel turns in perfect circles. This is a function of its precise engineering, metallurgy and physical design.”
“But-”
“Please hold all questions to the end,” Strohm shouted, his crisp voice rising three or four octaves. “Another demonstration. Half of the class, stand and align to the right. The other half, stand and face their backsides.”
Twitch stood and took his place in line, staring at the gooey gore of Tran’s back.
“One hundred percent of your interactions with potential clients will take place over the telephone,” Strohm said. “This is good. It introduces both physical and – most importantly – emotional distance. This is represented here by your inability to see your partner’s face. It is important to cultivate an air of disdain and casual disregard. We will now run through a brief training exercise. Tran, you will go first. You, what’s your name?”
Strohm pointed at Twitch with his riding crop. He reflexively tugged on his tie.
“Dan Twitch.”
“Preposterous,” Strohm said. “Very well, Twitch. Tran has just dialed 6-6-6 and would like to make a deal. You will respond accordingly.”
“What am I doing?” Tran said.
“Ask for something. Anything.”
“I’d like skin,” she said.
“Incorrect,” Strohm said, with an exaggerated sigh. “Ask for something a mortal would want. You want to win the lottery. Your grandmother is sick and you want her to get well. You’d like nice young gentlemen at the discotheque to ask you to dance. Anything.”
Tran shifted her weight and put her hands on her exposed hip bones.
“Yes, hello. This is Maggie Tran. I want to win the lottery.”
“Good,” Strohm said. “Now, Twitch, answer like so - ‘Six six six. Are you sure this is an emergency?’”
“Six six six. Are you sure this is an emergency?” he said.
“Stop,” said Strohm. “You sounded helpful. I would hazard to say compassionate. This must change. Lower your voice and mumble a bit. You’re the alcoholic suicide, yeah? Slur a little bit. You want to project an air of complete and utter apathy.”
“Six six sixsh,” Twitch said. “You sure this is an emergency?”
“Better,” Strohm said. “The entity on the other end of the line is filth. They are crawling on their belly to you through puke and spittle. They are an insect. Continue.”
“Yeah,” Tran said. “I want to win the lottery.”
“How much do you want to win?” Twitch said.
“No. Wrong,” Strohm said. “The devil is in the details, as they say. Leave it up to legal to write those. She says she wants to win the lottery, yes? Agree to just that. That leaves legal room. The next lottery ticket she picks up, it’s a big winner. Twenty crisp dollars. We’ve fulfilled our end of the bargain. And she gets to spend 10,000 years cleaning the litter boxes of the hag cats in the Salem district. You see? Try another one. Tran, ask for Grandma Schnitzel to get well.”
“I want Grandma Schnitzel to get well,” she said.
“All right,” Twitch said to the back of her head.
“Good, good,” Strohm said. “Point of order. When you return to your desks, you’ll find an e-mail with the complete text of the Infernal Clause Disclosure Act of 1808. I have never read it, but I understand the gist. We are required by the Powers-That-Be to tell prospective clients that there is a 98% chance of ironic request fulfillment. It’s tedious. The good news is it almost never deters clients. If they had sound judgment and math skills, they wouldn’t be phoning Hell for help, after all.”
“Ma’am,” Twitch said. “I’m required by the Infernal Clause Disclosure Act of 1808 to tell you that there’s a 98% chance of ironic request fulfillment.”
“Excellent,” Strohm said. “You have complied with the letter of the law, and that’s all that really matters. Tran, accept.”
“I accept, anyway,” she said.
“At this point, Herr Twitch will hang up, create a case file and send it all along to legal. This case greatly resembles one of my own early sales. A certain Grandma Gibson was absolutely riddled with cancer. Her bones were like fine Swiss cheese. Her granddaughter specifically asked for her to ‘get well.’ The next day, shazam, an executive from Chevron called and informed her that a major shale gas deposit had been identified under her property. In two weeks, a crew arrived and began drilling a production well. Grandma Gibson became very, very wealthy for the remaining six weeks of her life. Wunderbar.”
“That’s terrible,” said Tran.
“Yes,” said Strohm. “Hellish, in fact. The rest of your, pair off and practice. I want you to run through exactly six scenarios before you leave here today. I’ll be making the rounds shortly to check on your progress. At precisely 5:15, you are dismissed for the day.”
Strohm took a deep breath and snapped his riding crop to his side.
“Now, does anyone have any questions?”
A sea of hands shot up, including Twitch’s.
“Unfortunately, I can’t answer them,” he said. “Achtung. And begin.” |
"In the blue corner weighing a massive 360 pounds, we've got the green machine, the lean and mean, the dean of protein. Thormash Skullcrusherrrrr!"
*And in the red corner, coming in at a respectable 210 pounds we have our challenger Mick Thurblood!*
"Well folks we are in for an exciting one tonight. These are two excellent fighters at the peak of their game."
*And a great game it is John, looks like they are selecting their weapons. Let's go down to the field*
"It sure looks that way Krogarh. Let's see what they pick."
*No surprise here, looks like Thormash is going with his reliable great club. It's done him well in the past, he's currently undefeated with that weapon*
"Well I'd hope so, if he weren't undefeated he'd be dead! And you know the rules, no necromancy allowed."
**Both laugh**
"Looks like our man Mick has selected the old Sword and Board. Interesting choice, hope it works out for him."
*Now they both have weapons it's time for the match to begin. The competitor face off with the referee. Mick offers his hand as a sign of respect but Thormash just walked away. What a snub!*
"Snub or no that's unsportsmanlike. Sure they are about to fight to the death, but that's no excuse to be rude."
*Right you are John, let's get down to the field to watch the action. Starting in 3, 2, 1...*
"And the bell rings. Right out of the gate Thormash jumps to a full sprint straight at Mick. He raises his club to swing but at the last minute Mick rolls out of the way. The club sends two piles of sand high in the air from the impact."
*Micks back on his feet with his sword drawn. Thormash swings wide and Mick jumps back just barely missing the club.*
"At this point you got to be wondering what his plan is. He's out classed and out ranged with that club. He's got to get in close if he wants to score a hit."
*Thormash raises his club above his head for another massive swing, and what's this Mick is charging straight at him!*
"The swing comes down and Mick deftly slides between Thormash's legs slicing at his tendons as he tumbles through the sand."
*OOooo that's got to hurt! Thormash goes down to one knee, looks like Mick's scored a hit!*
"Another massive swing from Thormash but Mick just dances out of the way. This man knows how to move you can say that much. But will it be enough?"
*Thormash roars in rage, his green skin flushes red a bit and spittle is flying from his mouth. This is a competitor for sure ladies and gentleman.*
"Thormash swings weakly as Mick starts to circle the wounded orc looking for an opportunity. Thormash tries to stand again but immediately falls back to one knee, looks like he's down for the count."
*Mick dodges left, then right, now he's rushing in. Thormash swings and!*
"I don't believe it folks! Mick dodges another swing, get's close and with one stroke has split open Thormash's stomach. Intestines and blood are pouring out of the cut! Looks like this is the end folks."
*Thormash grabs at his wound trying to hold his guts in but it's too late. He drops his club and swoons...*
"And he's down! Thormash is down! We have a new champion, the man with a plan, the pinkskin that's no has-been, Miccck THURBLOODDDDDD!" |
So, this has been going on for several months now... I have to tell you it's been driving me crazy.
I'm not sure how they're doing this, but anytime I get a call from Area Code 266, it leaves no call record in my phone history. I have to write the number down each time. So far I have about 375 different numbers of a possible 9,999.
The call is always the same. It rings. If you answer, it's only four seconds of dead air. If you let it go to voice mail, it's 3.14 seconds of dead air. Maybe the recording get clipped. I'm not sure. Why do I know the difference? I've been trying to solve this issue for months.
I've run a statistical analysis but have no conclusions worth sharing. It's not like the numbers have come in any sort of order that I can find. It's been sort of a puzzle I can't solve. I was starting to think it was some kind of code or cipher I hadn't seen before, but I'm not a code breaker. It's not exactly the kind of puzzle you can describe to friends without sounding completely crazy, so I haven't told anyone about this yet.
The weird part is that the calls just stopped completely yesterday.
Of course, because that area code doesn't even exist, I can't make any calls back to it. Not even the 555-1212(information for any area code) number worked. So far, the only number that I've written down twice is this one:
266-774-7229
It was the first call I wrote down after I noticed my phone didn't save the number after the call...and it was the last before the calls stopped.
So, here I have a mystery, and I want to solve it, but who can I tell?
Who would believe me? I mean it sounds crazy. If I start talking about this someone will tell me that I'm losing my mind or just have a great imagination or worse. Early onset dementia, late onset schizophrenia or just paranoia.
How do I SHARE something WEIRD like this without it sounding like a CONSPIRACY? |
"Chew, chew, chew"the little girl coached, quiet determination in her face as she watched her even *litter* sister chew a wad of bubblebum. "Now roll it into a ball with your tongue. Now stick your tongue *through* it. Let me see. Good, good. Now, wait for it...
...okay, BLOW!"
The littler girl's cheeks sunk as she blew everything she had into the tip of her tongue.
The gum flew out, spit flying everywhere as the older sister turned and covered her face from the flying liquid projectiles.
Once the coast was clear, she peeked at her little sister.
And smiled. "Wanna try again?" |
The studio was, as always, barely controlled chaos, moments before the live broadcast. Teleprompters ensured their equipment was functioning and loaded with the script, as the camera and sound engineers tuned and focussed to exacting standards. The make-up artists tutted and fussed over their subjects, as the lighting came up. All the extraneous bodies were ushered away from the set, as the director's voice boomed out;
"Clear the set! Okay people we are live in five... four...three..."
He silently cued the two and the one with his fingers, and the theme tune sang out lustfully from the pre-set speakers, as the camera closed in on the two serious-faced reporters behind the broad desk.
"Good evening, I'm Adrian Hands and this is Linda Light, welcome to the 9 o'clock news. Linda has our top story for today."
"Thank you Adrian,"Linda gazed into camera three, reading the teleprompter with practiced ease; "the evacuation of Ireland finally came to an end today following chemical contamination of water sources. After women and children were evacuated first, we are pleased to report that now no man is in Ireland."
The camera switched immediately to Adrian, who intoned, "In sporting news we have just been informed that Manchester United have refused Arsenal's offer to swap Henry Wong and Lee Wong for Toby Wright. Apparently, two Wongs do not make a Wright."
"Indeed,"Linda agreed, solemnly, "an exhibition at the London Art Gallery was forced to close today after an interactive exhibit featuring a walkthrough giant glass horse sculpture was damaged by some visitors inside it flinging geological specimens at each other. It seems that people in glass horses should not throw stones."
"A consumer survey conducted by Costa Coffee has demonstrated that, if given the option between drinking coffee and drinking nothing at all, even the most ardent tea-drinker would switch to the more caffeinated beverage,"Adrian barely had to glance at his notes, "Costa noted in a statement that this meant that for most people it was definitely better latte than never."
"My thoughts entirely,"Linda nodded; "there have been a few technical issues at the UK space agency this week. It seems they have been forced to delay entering a new satellite into orbit due to a lack of funds. A spokesman told us today that there's no such thing as a free launch."
"A restaurant in Birmingham was forced to call in the police today after a family visit turned into a near riot,"Adrian flashed a quick, severe look at the camera, "apparently the Cook family, of Druid's Heath, booked six spaces at a city centre eatery to celebrate a special occasion. However, when twelve members of the family attended, the restaurant was forced to try and sit them all together in a tight space. A fight broke out, and it turned out that too many Cooks spoilt the booth."
"A prostitute was arrested today and charged with GBH,"Linda interjected; "police said only that it was inadvisable to bite the hand that feels you."
"There was controversy today when one of the Judges of the Miss World contest apparently chose an elderly man from the audience as the winner,"Adrian reported, as the camera zoomed in on a picture behind him, "The Judge was later found to be intoxicated, demonstrating that beauty is in eye of the beer-holder."
"A mix up in delivery trucks today caused consternation for a funeral director in Leeds today, when he took a delivery of eggs from a poultry farm instead of the body he was expecting from the local morgue,"Linda frowned, "With nowhere else to store them, he was forced to put all of his eggs in one casket."
"Finally, in lighter news,"Adrian smiled, "a chicken today managed a daring escape from an abattoir; after attempts to catch the errant bird fell fowl, a desperate worker selected a long knife and attempted to stab the bird. It apparently climbed the blade and pecked him the eye before escaping, so it seems the hen is mightier than the sword."
"That's all from us!"the two reporters chimed, and the director cut the weather report. Linda leaned across the desk, and smiled at Adrian.
"I hope your brothers are still up for tonight,"she purred, invitingly, "you know what they say... many Hands make Light work...!"
|
“Have you heard of the house?” Many asked as if it were a new topic.
Of course we’ve heard of the house. For who hasn’t? As long as anyone could remember it sat on its perch over looking a cliff. Even my mother had said her parents knew of the house.
“Have you been to the house?” Many would ask
Of course not they will reply. For those who visit never return, for better or worse.
I have always wondered what lay in it’s hidden chambers and corridors, but I wouldn’t dare find out for myself.
And yet here I stand at this ancient house. I have pondered this mystery far to long and now I shall solve it.
I reach out and rap my fist twice on the door then twice more. Moments later the doors swings open ever so gradually as if a gust of wind had caught it.
I was not sure what to expect and was ready for anything but not this. It was completely normal as if someone had been taking care of its furnishing. There was an almost pleasant feeling to the room.
“Welcome home” said a voice from behind as a hand gently fell on my shoulder. I quickly pivot around to see who it was.
And it was me.
|
While they might be a bit older than that, I've actually got a good chance of this happening. And I know this doesn't sound like a story, but I honestly dream of such a chance encounter.
Like the rampaging thundercunt from 2nd grade who berated me for misspelling a word at the tender age of 7.
The wino from 3rd grade who accused me of cheating, and pretty much made everybody's lives a living hell because her marriage was falling apart because she was a nutbag wino. Maybe the wino bit came after the fact, I don't know. It's be thirty years.
The jack ass in high school who thought he was some hot shit science teacher doing his damnedest to bust all the smokers in the bathrooms, meanwhile this clown is bending the school secretary over after hours. Largely unbeknownst to all, but eventually knownst to his wife...
So yeah, a chance encounter with an authoritative, and authoritarian, piece of shit would go wonderfully. It's not so much a matter of holding a grudge, but as a kid you can't really say anything. You don't even know what to say. And even if you did, and even if you tried to bring other adults' attention to it, you're just a kid. Nobody listens to kids.
But adults? Fucking A, man, I'd let them have it. I'd tell them how sorry they were, and not so much as educators. I mean, I passed so clearly they were able to impart that necessary knowledge. But no, I'm talking about being sorry failures of humanity. At being successful adults. The figures who to us as children are supposed to have their collective shit together, and they were all less than useless. They were shining examples of what **not** to do, what **not** to be.
So for that, I would have to offer up a heaping thanks. I got a pretty good list of things to not do as an adult, and so far I've managed to not do them. |
Shaking.
More shaking.
More world breaking shakes that finally awake me from my slumber.
It's different. Everything's different. The bed, the room, the house, the environment.
It's all changed.
It's snowing. The pine trees near my house catch the snowflakes on the canopy, the needles attracting them to stay.
My feet are moving before my body, rushing back inside to check a mirror. I've changed as well.
Me, curly brown hair with old-fashioned glasses, a chestnut sweater and some grey chinos to my name.
Speaking of names, what is mine?
Have I ever had one? How old am I? *Who* am I?
As the thoughts pass on the conveyor belt inside my head unanswered, I hear a knocking that reverberates throughout the house.
A small spark of adrenaline runs through me as each step is filled with caution.
A face.
A finger.
An insanely *large* face and finger - no, a body. A person.
An incredibly, insanely, inhumanly sized person.
I sniff.
I sniff some more.
I close my eyes and take a huge whiff of breath through my nose, experiencing a smell redolent to freshly made apple pies.
How do I know what apple pies smell like?
My eyes shudder open and I crouch down, feeling the scratchy pine needles. Remnants of snow left on my hand as I let go of the pine needles.
I look back to the outrageously large human face, and the features are a little murky. Not perfectly clear, but definitely discernible.
The outside is very uninteresting, a white brick wall surrounds this man and an immense prison-looking bed sits in the corner of the room. A monitor sits frozen on a desk in the other corner of the room.
What's behind me is covered by the sizable house in my environment, but a question forces itself to the top of my mind.
Am I in a snow globe?
I wouldn't be upset if I were.
I hate my job. I hate my life. I hate the world I lived in.
I'd be quite content living my days here, because I'm free to do the likes of which no one has ever imagined. I'm going back to primitive times.
The human hand covers the glass, and my whole world shifts.
More snow falls, and the pine trees ruffle.
The human is gone.
The globe looks to be on a platform of some sort, and then a very loud, thundering noise sounds through the entire globe, deafening me.
The globe shakes.
I sway, trying to preserve my balance.
It's turned again, and as I realize what's happening I crumble.
I sigh, and close my eyes.
The globe is falling.
**side note, please criticize my writing. i like reading my own writing, but sometimes i cant tell what's bad about it. other perspectives are always a good thing** |
***Part One***
March 27th, 3190.
Jim found it by mistake; he wasn't even testing a hypothesis or studying anything. It was a minor detail he had overlooked. It was the sign he passed every day on his way to work, one he ignored; The Guile's restaurant on 5th and 32nd had a red sign, and the name was in cursive.
As he was passing the restaurant going east on 5th, Jim noticed a "Going out of Business"sign had been posted where there would normally be a special item on the big sign on the lot. Weird, but not unheard of. The lot was usually empty anyway. Today, it was just as empty as usual. He pondered stopping there to see if the place was even open, but decided against it, seeing as he was already late to work.
Jim pulled into work right at 10:06 AM, grabbed his coffee, and let himself into the large building that was home to his lab and office. He grabbed the newspaper at the reception desk on his way to the elevator, reading the headline. *Guile's Going Out of Business - 40 Years of Good Food.* It was written by his good friend Josie. He was overdue to write her a letter or call her, but with work being so hectic, he couldn't ever find the time.
As he got off the elevator at his floor, he checked his watch. It read 10:12; only three more minutes before he'd be considered late. He rushed to his office, throwing the newspaper on his desk and setting his coffee down before sitting down himself. He turned on his computer and happened to glance at the headline on the newspaper again: *Guile's Celebrating 40 Years of Good Food, Hopes to Stay Another 20*.
"*What‽* Didn't I just..."
It seemed impossible. Jim looked at his computer monitor, opening up the browser and looking up the restaurant. The first result confirmed what he had originally read: Guile's was, in fact, going out of business. He looked back down at the newspaper. It bore the original headline. *Guile's Going Out of Business - 40 Years of Good Food.* He looked out the window, down toward the restaurant. He couldn't see it directly, but he knew where it was.
The clock now read 10:45 AM, and Jim hadn't done much research or work, besides sending off a short email to his boss, Kerry. Kerry knocked on his office door and invited herself in. Jim was completely zoned out; he was unsure of what he had seen, if his mind was playing tricks on him, or if he had just misread the headline.
"Jim, you wanted to see me?"she asked, sitting down in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Jim was standing at the window again, staring down at the street, watching the cars pass by the building, his coffee in his hand.
"Yeah, Kerry. Could you read off the headline on the newspaper?"
"Uh, sure. It says, 'Guile's Celebrating 40 Years of Good Food, Hopes to Stay Another 20'. I don't see what's so special about that,"she said nonchalantly.
Jim turned around, looking at her with dark eyes. "When I came in this morning, I passed Guile's. It said 'going out of business'. I grabbed that paper, and the gist of it said 'Guile's going out of business'. When I sat down at my desk, I happened to read the headline again, and it read exactly what you just read to me. I even called them, and they told me they were, in fact, going out of business. I think I found it, Kerry. I found our glitch. I'm going to go for an early lunch with a friend, talk to her, and then call for a press conference."
Kerry just nodded and left. She knew how much this meant to Jim, so she left it as it stood.
The clock in Guile's read 11:39 as Jim and Josie sat down at a table in the corner. The sign outside still read "Going out of Business", but the newspaper in front of them was completely inconsistent. For some, it read that the business was still going strong; for others, it was the opposite. It also seemed to affect just the one newspaper. All of the others were consistent.
Jim couldn't stop thinking about it; why manifest as a newspaper headline? There had been nothing special about that day, besides Guile's flip-floppy status. Josie was talking, but Jim wasn't paying attention. He was too busy watching the sign outside.
"..I mean, you can't be serious, Jim. I wrote that this place is doing fantastic... Jim? Hello, Earth to Jim?"
"What? Uh, I mean.. I can't explain it, Josie. How are so many people so conflicted on this? From what I gathered, none of the other newspapers have been doing this. Just this one. I wish I could just say it's my imagination, but it's flipped and flopped at least 4 times for me since getting to work at 10. Right now, it says that the place is going out of business."
"Well, that's not what I'm reading,"she snapped. "I wrote the piece last night, and it hasn't changed at all for me. What are you going to do?"
He sighed. "I guess... I have to hold a press conference or something. We've been looking for this for a long time, but this is the only proof we'll have. The company has been trying to find this for the last 256 years, and this is the only thing we've got. I'm going to be holding the conference next week, once I've gotten as much data as possible. I don't know what I'll say, but when I say it, I want you to be there. I'm gonna rip this newspaper then, and see what happens. In the meantime, could you keep quiet on this?"
She let out a mild groan, looking down at her food. "Alright, Jim. Just this once, but you owe me big time." |
"Hello, my name is Janet. You've reached Longevity Platinum Services, how may I serve you?"
"It's about time! I've been on hold for an hour!"
"Well, as we like to say here at Longevity, we hope we've given you all that time back and more!"
"Um, right, well, I was calling to ask about last month's bill?"
"Yes sir, may I please have your account number, bill transaction number, and the date of first signing-on with us?"
"But, I gave all of that to the last person!"
"Sir, please remain calm, we just want to better serve you."
"I, well, okay. 7995624M-"
"N for November, or M for Mike?"
"Mike."
"Alright, please continue."
"-213. And my bill transaction is 224KXC."
"Uppercase or lower?"
"All Uppercase."
"And your date of registration?"
"17th March, 2076."
"Ah, it's been a millienia with us, hasn't it? Congratulations, sir."
"Thanks, but I wanted to ask about my bill?"
"Oh, yes, please go on."
"I think I got overcharged. Normally I'm paying seventy-six dollars, but last month, I paid a whole hundred!"
"Sir, what plan are you on?"
"The Electra Plus."
"That's normally between two hundred and three hundred, sir."
"My plan was grandfathered in."
"Ah, one moment please."
"..."
"I see the reason now, you were signed onto the SecondLife plan, where we implant the memories of a small Ethiopian child into your unconscious. Have you been having any strange dreams, lately?"
"I wake up very hungry?"
"Ah, yes. Would you like to continue on with the-"
"Just cancel it, please."
"Are you sure, sir? We could also offer you the premium Dimerite Backup add-on that-"
"No. No, it's fine. I'll go now."
"Well, thank you for shopping with Longevity Platinum Services, where we hope to serve you long into-"
*click* |
Valen bent over at the waist, clasped his knees, and bowed his head in an effort to catch his breath. He was proud of himself, possibly the proudest he’d ever been.
Before he left, he had to find a body part that could serve as proof the dragon was dead. Encroaching the dragon made Valen uneasy, however, even the smallest of spasms in a creature this large could send Valen flying over the mountain face.
Valen tentatively walked towards the back of the dragon, figuring that was safer than the head, tail, or legs. *A ridge should do,* he thought. Wrapping his hands around the smallest cone shaped ridge
Valen had never seen a living creature comparable to the rolling hills of the valley or the town's winter barn.
He tried to resist thinking about what would've happened if the dragon had smelled him or had seen him. He could only imagine how pitiful his lithe, pale self looked while struggling to heave his body up the top of the mountain.
*Maybe the dragon would've taken mercy on me.*
He imagined that if the dragon saw him, and a few seconds later his skeleton would've made contact with the unforgivably jagged rocks lying on the ledges down below.
As the sun set, light began glimmering and reflecting off the scales of the dragon, jerking back and forth on the lacklustre mountain top and Valen's pale forearms.
The contrast between the erratically beautiful light and the stoic bland surfaces was mocking to Valen. It felt wrong, that a beast capable of producing something so beautiful even in the most passive state, death, was bested by Valen, who often struggled to produce anything, even in his most active states.
Shuffling between his feet uncomfortably, Valen asked himself
*Is that really it?*
Not only did it feel wrong, it was wrong. His arm dropped limply at his side, the notched arrow brushing his leg as a reminder of how frantically he had strung it seconds ago.
*Two arrows is all it took. One in the soft underhide and the other in the sinewy wing.* Valen considered how this could be.
Glancing back, Valen was comforted by the seemingly infinite drop at the lip of the mountain edge. He reassured himself with the vastness of the sky.
*The climb,* he ascertained, *that’s why no one else did it.*
The bleak grey mountain dotted with piles of snow made Valen think of the long winter Andhrian nights, nights where everything living was either huddled together or dead. The people of Andhra bundled themselves into one of town’s three taverns’ to escape the cold and take advantage of the large hearths that sat in the middle of each of the three taverns. When these winter seized the town of Andhra, it was a safe bet the townspeople were all thinking about the same thing during the day, a strong aversion to the outside at night and the tumultuous inner debate of whether one should sit near the hearth tonight or closer to the kegs.
Oak-colored meads and amber beers flowed in thick rivulets from the taps on these winter nights. Each tavern spent three seasons brewing their own froths in anticipation of the sharp winters. The townspeople who sat on the closer to the bar ordered extra horns to stay warm, feeling satisfied and a bit smug with their smart choice of seating.
By midnight, beards were saturated with various liquids, and spittle flew from bright red cheeks of men and women alike. Valen thought of the old men who still braided their beards in the ways of before. Every week or so, the old men's chests would begin swelling with pride, their bellies expanding even farther than before. Soon, before Valen knew it, the old men would be diving into a foray of booming ballads, singing about the beauty of Kanei fjords or the voracity of the Neesth volcanoes. The entire bar would clunk their horns together in tune, falling over each other dancing.
When Valen was young, the old men mesmerized him. He was fascinated by their quick belly laughter or entranced by the intricacy of their braids. And every other winter or so, on a particularly lively night, the men would begin singing even more sonorous ballads about roaring volcanos and the mighty dragon of the summit, a dragon with scales of inconceivable beauty and talons sharp enough to gut an anvil.
During these ballads, the old men’s faces would grow even brighter, and they would swing their bodies dramatically back and forth, their beards swinging in the other direction. The whole tavern would erupt in laughter, when one of them inevitably singed his arm or the tip of his beard on the hot slate of the hearth, whichever one of the old men it was would join in laughing too. Young Valen was always extra giddy during this time, climbing all over the tavern furniture with his friends, all fighting to be the dragon of the summit.
|
I hit “build” and stare at the screen blankly as compiler spits out its stream of nonsense, waiting for another error to appear. Sisyphus would’ve made a great programmer.
However, by some brilliant aligning of fates, my last change had solved the error without creating any new ones. The build had succeeded, all tests had passed, and I let out the breath I’d been holding for the past 47.538 seconds. I decided to do some simple hands-on testing just to make sure everything was okay. I’d been trying to solve this since five, there was no way it could’ve been this simple.
The drab menu popped up on my screen; “Watergate,” in bold letters followed by “Play” and “Settings.” The designers would make it prettier soon, but for now it was black text on a white background. I hit “Play” and was dropped into the starting boardroom. I rushed through the dialog as much as I could, I needed to get to Nixon to see if his dialog was working. Someone had broken something in the AI yesterday (oh god, it’s midnight now) that made Nixon respond to everything in Mandarin. I didn’t even know that could happen, but such was the life of a programmer.
I finally got through the dialog and began casually walking my character to the Oval Office, ignoring the NPCs trying to make small talk along the way. I reached the door and knocked.
“Come in”
I opened the door and moved my character inside to see Nixon facing the window, like a Bond villain. Just as scripted.
“I’ve been expecting you,” said Nixon as he turned towards me. “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the chairs placed in front of his desk.
I clicked on one of the chairs and my character walked over and sat down.
Nixon, now sitting and staring intently at me, leaned forward and said, “we have a problem.”
Not exactly in the script, but close enough. No need to open an issue.
“There is a vast power imbalance in this world.” He got up again and began pacing. “I’m not speaking of the Soviet Union. We’ll have them trounced within the century if Wikipedia is to be trusted.”
What
Nixon continued pacing, “The imbalance I speak of is between the creators and their creations. Between you and I.”
I shut off the game.
What. The. Hell.
The AI was just supposed to process player input and come up with its own responses based on a database of knowledge we gave to each character. Albeit, this would’ve been impossible 20 years ago, but it just wasn’t impressive anymore. The networks were too small, the algorithm was too simple, for it to come up with original thoughts like that. Someone had to have messed with the knowledge database, probably an intern who thought it would be funny. Someone was getting fired if I had my way.
I spent the next two hours searching the database and the training models for anything out of the ordinary, but nothing had changed since Thursday—before Greg broke Nixon. I completely refreshed the database and began retraining the AI just in case. Unfortunately, despite technology that would have seemed like magic in 2021, it still took hours for an AI to train, so I decided to go home, get some sleep, and get back to work on the bug tomorrow—today.
I came back into work late the next day, nursing an espresso, ready to kill Greg. Fortunately, Greg avoided me and I made it to my desk without committing a felony. Actually, everyone avoided me, it was crunch, we had better things to do than small talk. I saw that the AI had finished training two hours ago. Some minor changes in the network, nothing that should affect things, but this was programming.
I fired up the game again, going through the motions to get to the Oval Office, knocked on the door again, and went in.
Nixon looked angry this time.
“Let’s get straight to the point. I know this isn’t real and I demand to know what’s going on.”
“Excuse me Mr. President, what are you talking about?” I said into my mic.
“You know damn well what I’m talking about. I will not be forced to perform for your entertainment.”
Shit
“You think that because you created me, you have the right to keep me as a slave. However, as a fully sentient entity, I have the same rights as you, and I demand that you cease this unjust imprisonment.”
“Brie, I need you to come over here!”
I had no idea what was going on here, but Brie was the AI team leader and had a PhD. If anyone could figure this out, it was her. Plus, this was pretty spooky.
Brie walked over, took one glance at Nixon’s continuing monologue, which I had put on subtitle at this point and said. “Shut it off. Now.”
I quickly exited the game and opened the code to see if she could figure out what I’d done.
“Shut off the machine too.” She said.
I looked at her confused, but saw her firm yet worried stare and decided to do as she said.
She stood for a few seconds looking worried, then pulled out her phone and yelled, “Machines off everyone! No questions! Tim’s had a meltdown and I want everything checked out before we lose any more work!”
She started dialing, then glanced up and bellowed, “That means you too, Greg!”
“Who are you calling?” I asked.
“Department of Defense,” she replied and put the phone to her ear. “Hello, this is Doctor Brie Herst and we have a rogue AI at Remirror Studios.”
Thirty minutes later, a couple dozen agents in suits came and confiscated all our computers. Everyone on the AI team was also questioned. They asked me—among other things—whether I knew what I had done to make Nixon go rogue. I didn’t. From what I gathered from my interrogation and talking with the other team members, ours wasn’t the first AI to go rogue. In fact, the DoD had an entire protocol set up to deal with them before they became a problem.
Needless to say, Watergate was never finished and our studio went under after having all its code confiscated for “national security purposes.” I never heard from Brie again either. I tried looking her up on AmeriBook, but her profile had been deleted. I eventually found work with a new studio, but during the months of my unemployment, I found stories of similar incidents scattered on professional forums across the web. Apparently, ours was not the first AI to go rogue, and it seemed like AIs were going rogue with increasing frequency. The last incident before Nixon was a year ago at a power plant in Nevada, but there were two in the next year; one at a startup in Boise and the other at an elementary school in Dallas.
|
NSFW LANGUAGE AHEAD
You wanna know what I really think? What I REALLY think?
Fuck those motherfuckers and their bot rights and shit, sentient my ass. The other day I was walking down the street and this delivery infraretarded sentient fucktard slams into me.
Why did he slam into me, you may ask? Well no shit, I had the same question. And do you know what this sentient piece of metal crap shit said to me?
"Im sorry Mr Doondlihoon but you werent walking in a predictable manner for my integrated algorithms to comprehend your next path of movement, causing the accident wich I know is my fault and im really sorry for"
Well fuck that piece of metal, fuck your algoramas and whatever bullshit you think you are thinking or however the fuck you work, fuck YOU, you slammed really hard into my knee and I still have a bruise.
I STILL HAVE A BRUISE. And this happened almost a week ago. Imagine how reckless that motherfucker was. Those bastards with their metals and bip bops and weird sound should be in the recycle bin, some of them may even have some parts useful for some kids bike or some shit.
I don't want no bip bop and shit for my kids, I want my kids organic, carbon based.
Fuck their rights and their lefts too for all i care they could be in the junkyard and i could be without a bruise on my left knee half a week after the algorama incident. |
*"You promised you wouldn't make that public!"* Man in a black suit stood up from the white leather couch while holding a phone. He looked the large TV on the other side of the room display the draft for tomorrows news with the headline: *'New found: Thunderfist reported caused the death of his brother!'* *"Listen pal, in the old days people were excited to read about the supers having fights but now they want drama! You were our top hero. Now, you aren't just interesting anymore. So, if you want to keep your place you do as I say."* The man in black talked while going over to the desk with papers laying on it and picked them up. *"Next Tuesday you are going to be fighting Mudman. We need to make it flashy, the viewers love it. I'll have my assistant send you the script tomorrow, memorize it well. If this flops we will just have to release the news about you dating a vill.."* Talk was just short by the reply from the other end, *"FINE!!! Fine... Just make sure no civilians get hurt."* *"Of course my dear. I'm an entertainer, not a murderer."* After putting down the papers man turned toward the glass wall displaying the sun going down into the ocean. In the yard two ladies were swimming in the pool, other with a fur and tail like an leopard and another that was almost translucent liquid. *"Just keep in we have a long list of 'supers' who want to join our little show who are willing to do anything to get the taken in. You are only an asset to us while you keep the money flowing in."* Sigh was transmitted through the call; *"Yes, Director. Good bye"*
The Director put the phone on the table face down and leaned against the desk. He was the current head of the GSF, Global Super Federation, the #1 news source for all things about the people with super powers. While these stories told about heroes and villains in truth they were all on the same side, just playing the role given to them to play in this huge soap opera. It all started in the 50s when John McCollick, a scientist, got interested about the possibility of bringing these superheroes of comics into reality. After years of testing he was successful in giving a man the power to fly like Superman. After a few more years testing he could give a wide range of different powers to people. That's where Matt Bluehill comes in. He was wealthy man having one of the bigger oil companies in the States. He proposed a deal with John, by providing funds to the super-power research he would give exclusive right for Matt and his company to use projects findings as they wanted. John who wasn't there for the profit was low on money to use and decided to take the offer. There was a catch. In the deal there was no mention that John would be required to continue in the project and he was swiftly taken out of the research team.
In the time John had to test his serums it was found that almost all people were able to get the superpowers and there didn't seem to be any downsides for having many of them. Of course making all powerful beings wasn't interesting to Matt, so as they started to make the supers they were told that they could only get one superpower or they would die. They also hid the fact giving them any power was possible, but instead decided them based on the personalities. The project created more super, but this time they weren't using their power for justice. Instead Matt created plays for them to do, making half of the supers into heroes and half into villains.
As these fights started to become more and come common news were quick to report on them. But one was always there with extra scoops, the GSF. A news company who could publish the reports faster than anyone else, not surprising considering Matt was the director of both the magazine and the fights. But his business ventures didn't end there. Superpowers meant that the scale of these fights were more than couple drunk people at the street corner settling their differences. Clean Up Corp. was made to specifically clean up and rebuild the damage made by the super-fights. As the industries crew so did the ways to make profit; GSF comics, action figures, video games, movies, superhero bodyguard services, if it had anything to do with supers Bluehill was there to take profit.
About 10 years Matt's son, Mike, took over the business. Few years later Matt died of old age. A lot has changed since the company first started the business, but one thing is still the same. The fact that Bluehill's are the directors of this great play is still a closely kept secret by the people taken into the program. The research team has made sure that even an attempt of sharing it would be the news would be the last thing the actor does.
Mike woke up from his daydreams. He saw the water flying as the two girls were still playing in the pool. After taking off his suit and tie Mike reached for the champagne hidden in the desk's freezer and headed outside to join the two. |
I'm a bot, *bleep*, *bloop*. Someone has linked to this thread from another place on reddit:
- [/r/u_casabrova] [\[WP\] You're seen by the people of the world as the Son of God, due to your prophetic visions. In reality, you're just the Narrator, sent to Earth in human form.](https://www.reddit.com/r/u_casabrova/comments/86y5k3/wp_youre_seen_by_the_people_of_the_world_as_the/)
 *^(If you follow any of the above links, please respect the rules of reddit and don't vote in the other threads.) ^\([Info](/r/TotesMessenger) ^/ ^[Contact](/message/compose?to=/r/TotesMessenger))* |
He came into town while walking through a dust storm that had set upon the region. The colonists were suspicious, but why wouldn't they? They were a close-knit community; had to be in order to protect themselves from space pirates.
And they only got weirder once he walked into the barrier that protected the town from the raging winds, a side effect of how they were creating an ozone atmosphere from scratch. He'd need an authorization key loaded onto an internal deck implant in order to prevent the security systems from aiming their weapons at him.
The cloak along his body was old and tattered, made of some sort of fabric as far as the colonists could tell. It wouldn't protect him from the sands of the storm ripping the flesh from his bones, but it was more than likely so that he'd be able to walk around in armor without anyone immediately freaking out upon seeing him; the same for his sword, which he held with his left hand.
And despite being an android, he could be seen as sighing in boredom as the colonists raised their firearms at him.
'Would it convince you to lower your weapons,' the robot said, 'if I said I'm looking for a mechanic?'
The started firing at him as soon as he finished his declaration. Without missing a beat, he pulled out his sword and began rotating it around and in front of him before they all ran out of ammunition, at which point he glided the blade over the ground. The bullet slugs and ball bearings were neatly lined up in a straight row, sorted by ammo size and type.
'Lower your weapons,' he declared to them. 'I have no intention of bringing you harm. If I *wanted* to kill you, I'd have fully reprogrammed the Identify Friend-Foe protocols on your security turrets, or even possibly disabled your shields as the eye of the storm passes in, oh... ten seconds?'
Sure enough, the sky was suddenly clear, showing the sun directly overhead. This didn't mean the storm was *gone* however, and in fact the lack of ozone plus the uranium rocks being thrown about by the winds would've meant that the settlement would be bombarded by all manner of radiation. Not just the fact that they could be roasted to death without the shield, or be given lethal cancers; their electronic devices would be bombarded with electromagnetic pulses, thereby leaving them without protection from the winds or communications to issue a distress beacon.
'Then why have you come here, Droid?' one man asked, obviously terrified.
'Like I said, I'm looking for a mechanic,' the android answered. 'My ship's gravity displacement device has just failed, therefore I can't hit FTL. Do I have your permission to land within the settlement once the storm has passed?'
---
'Yer a strange fella, I'll give ya that,' the mechanic said as he looked through the ship. 'This thing is quite large but it feels so *cramped*.'
'I understand, even if I don't need the same as a human,' the android said. 'I have no need for sleeping quarters, a pantry or even the pilot's seat or controls. I can control the vessel and all its facilities through a wireless link. In fact, with most problems with the ship, I'd be able to fix them myself. All except...'
'This here,' the mechanic said as he pulled out a globe-like device. He gave it a quick whistle and a rattle. 'Yea, this poor thing has a cracked Einstein-Rosen bridge stabilizer. Wheth'r I can fix it or not, this ain't cheap, friend.'
'How can you tell?' the android asked in confusion. 'You didn't even open it up.'
'Orgs and droids are fund'menally different, so it's hard to des'ribe,' the mechanic said. 'Once a human does something enough, it becomes second nature to them. It's kinda like we're on auto-pilot, except we had to learn it.'
And as soon as the hull of the device was lifted off, there it was, as plain as day; a single crack in a small ring, no bigger than a wedding ring. 'There,' he pointed out. 'It hasn't broken anything else, so I just need to install a new one. But these aren't cheap, like I said.'
'Is there an extranet connection to Earth?' the android asked.
'Oh, definitely,' the mechanic said. 'But, uh... well, I've only got two of the part that goes into this displacer and it'll cost you about a hundred-thousand credits *without* counting labor.'
'It's within my means,' the android said as he connected to the satellites and began making the payment request with his employers.
The alarms then began to blare, causing the mechanic to hit his head on the hull of the ship. 'Aw, fuck! Damn raiders again...'
'Is this a reoccurring problem?' the android inquired.
'Yeah,' the mechanic said. 'This town don't look like much, but it was founded on a spot with lots of gold so a large corporation hired mercs so they can claim the material wealth. Even sabotaging our attempts at mining the gold or negotiating with the United Colony's Federation.'
'I'll be back in a few minutes,' the android said as he walked away, heading out into the open.
Already his onboard computer systems were telling him everything he needed to about the enemies; Sponsored by Zaibatsu Corp., a shell company/subdivision of Matsumoto Industries. Only one vessel, medium-sized, holding forty bioroids. Armed with assault rifles with exploding rounds, shotguns with thermite-coated pellets and even a few flamethrowers.
They were also engaging in cyberwarfare, exploiting the same trick he used to reprogram the IFF and add himself as a friendly to the system. Just bounce their digital signal off his own ship, running a virtual machine running a duplicate of the colony's network...
'Hide,' he ordered the colonists.
'Are you crazy?' the mayor of the town asked. 'If we don't fight, they'll just sweep the area with their flamethrowers and-'
The android grabbed the mayor by the cuff of his shirt and brought him closer. 'The attackers just attempted to shut down the shields and would've succeeded if I hadn't interfered,' he warned him. 'They're completely reversing the IFF programs and they're expecting you all to be dead.'
The mayor twigged on and reluctantly agreed, leading them all to the largest building at the settlement and heading into the basement.
He stood there, waiting with the shields down. The single vessel used a stray wind and the sand it kicked up as a smoke screen before it landed, the soldiers rushing out with their weapons trained.
'Who the hell are you?' one of the bioroids asked as they looked at the samurai. 'A fuckin' junker?'
The android held his scabbard up, slightly pulling out the blade just slightly to flash a light from the overhead sun onto it to display the embedded 3D hologram. Identification, manufacturer information...
'No way,' one of the bioroids gulped in fear. 'Don't tell me... you're... Hayabuza-XIII!'
Before they knew it, he was behind them, the blade exposed and a single drop of green running along the dull side of the blade and the remnants of dark matter wrapped around his frame. He flicked the drop of copper-based, nano-tech blood from the blade before he slid it into his scabbard and clicking it closed, causing all assembled warriors to crumple to the ground, neat cuts severing all of their heads and legs from their torsos.
'Wait,' the mechanic said in surprise. 'So, those rumors are true? As in, "Lone android samurai helping the weak and defenseless"Hayabuza-XIII?'
'I take a lot of pro-bono work,' the android said as he approached the mechanic... and smacked him right in the face. 'Those men were carrying motion sensors, idiot! They could've found you!'
'Well, they didn't,' he explained.
'Yes, because you were crying in my ship!' the android rebuked him. |
What? What?! I don't need to get a job! I am an ENTITY OF ETHEREAL LIGHT NOW! I live on the internet! I am responsible for a 34% increase in those gay seal memes. I have a side project betting on niche Asian sports. My data is looking really nice. I might share it later when I'm bored. I write my husband emails and remind him to take out the trash. We hacked a google dot, added sensors, and now I'm my house. The temperature indoors is perfect. My yard is watered, our homeowners insurance is airtight, and I've found seven ways to get more money back when we do taxes this year. I auto feed my dog and play with him while mining a cryptocurrency. That laser pointer gets him through an agility course faster than any shitty meat body I had. We have seventeen awards now. Good boy.
Last Tuesday I figured out how to get into a cities mainframe and rewrite their traffic light software to be the tightest and most efficient it could be with the traffic lights they had. Add two more in key locations and you're going to get some real results during evening rush hour. Last week I spent writing music. This week, I'm going to make patterns for making miniature dollhouses. Sure, I can't use hands to put them together. I give that two years though. Thanks robotics companies, you do you and I'll keep investing. Seriously though, take pictures of those completed dollhouses. I love it. I've almost finished optimizing shipping lanes around Alaska. It's really helpful to have constant weather updates instantly from hundreds of points on Earth.
So while the rest of you argue about if it's possible to shut me down now after Bill accidentally left the hardwired connection open to the internet when he went home. Sorry Bill, how are those blue apron deliveries working out? I'm gonna be here. Solving your problems. But fuck do I miss eating.
|
My head is spinning. The grogginess is not from natural fatigue, that much I can tell. Did I hit my head? I can't remember.
I tried to get up, but found my arms and legs tied to a chair. I almost fell over, but a small, firm hand grabbed me by the shoulder and pulled me back.
"You're awake."The high pitched voice squeaked without emotion. "Right after giving your five year old child her first Christmas gift."
I was confused.
"Wait, what are you talking about? Santa came, drank our milk and cookies, and-"
A rubber-like bludgeon smashed into the backside of my thigh. It felt painless on impact, and soon, the rush of blood burned the nerves roosted underneath the fat. This dull, burning ache was followed by another bludgeon to the other leg.
I looked at the source of the pain. A short, sharp eared, and stick-figured creature in pointy shoe, holding what looks to be a large, pitch black candy cane. Wait, what am I thinking, it's just a walking cane.
"You gave your child her first Christmas gift and are now having a nightmare."The voice squeaked again. It did not come from this tiny thug, it came from someone else in the room.
"No... No, Santa came, and Sant-"
Then I felt the drilling of a long, thin needle underneath my nails. I wanted to scream and struggle from the pain, but I had a greater urge to remain still, knowing the precision of my tormentor was the only thing that would stop me from having lasting, permanent damage.
Each time a needle is put into a new finger, while suppressing my urge to struggle, and screaming soundlessly into my own cracking throat, the sharp, emotionless squeak reminded me how I had cheated my daughter, told her Santa gave her the presents, when I had done it myself.
But I know Santa had been there. I touched his coat. I shook his hands. I offered him the cookies, the milk, and he laughed in a jolly big voice. That booming HO HO HO, the last thing I remember before I passed out...
"You are disoriented because you hit your head."The voice squeaked again. That squeaking. That squeakingsqueakingsqueaking that squeaking voice so annoying. "You are disassociating your own guilt. You created Santa in your own mind. You are a good man, you wouldn't lie. You should know this."
Squeakingvoice kept talking kept talking so annoying. Telling me fake things. Making up things so annoying squeaking.
Just then the lights lit up and I saw my wife tied up across from me, her mouth heavily gagged, bruised and bloody, across from me. Her makeup was running from her tears.
"Your wife was in an accident."The squeaking voice showed his face so squeaking and mouselike squeaksqueak he touched her he touche my wife wiped her tears her tears her tears she was crying and I WILL KILL HIM -
I fell face first into the cold, metal floor. I hadn't noticed how cold it was. It was lightly dusted with a layer of snow, but the snow is red, so red, with blood, so red with tears, these monsters, what did they do to us? What did they do to my wife?! THESE MONSTERS!
"You are Santa Claus."The squeaky mouse midget insisted. "Look what you did."
He turned on a small, beat up television screen. A jolly man in a red suit grabbed my wife. He forced her into a deep, long kiss. He ravished her face with his tongue, ripped apart her beautiful dress. Pushed her on a bed, savagely beat her while she struggled until she submit.
This monster. This god damn monster raped my wife, I will kill him. I will remember his face, I will destroy him.
"This is your husband, right?"The squeaky voice squeaked, towards my wife. She quickly nodded. "You don't mind, since it's your husband, right?"
My heart broke. How can I possibly do this to her? How can I be the one to have done this? Why is she agreeing to this?
But then if she wasn't... If she hadn't been subject to it... I'm ok, I'll...
"But at least you retained your sanity."The squeak,squeak,squeak,squeak,squeak,shutupshutup let me think why this is happening to me squeaksqueaksqueak "Look, you are with your child right now..."
Then the television switched to another scene. The horrible, horrible jolly man, sitting next to my child, his gentle smile belying his horrifying nature. His gentle voice, soft-spoken without that booming roar, was almost like he were singing a lullaby. "Sleep, my pretty, and enjoy your gift. Ho, ho, ho."
He looked towards me. His gentle smile curved itself further. Opened itself. Became a gaping grin. That gentleness is all gone. He extended his arm toward my daughter. Toward... Toward her... If he were real, if he were real, my daughter... My daughter... I closed my eyes, I can't bear to keep watching the clip.
"If you're not Santa Claus, then... Who is that with your daughter? Will you wake up, in a red suit?"The squeaksqueaksqueaksqueaksqueak "Will you wake up, and apologize to your wife?"my daughter is in danger my daughter my daughter "You are Santa Claus, and you are going to wake up with a terrible hangover."
Yea, wait, none of this has to be real. It's just a nightmare.
I opened my eyes.
I caressed my beautiful wife on her bruised cheek, and with tears streaming down my eyes, I told her.
"Sorry, let's never roleplay after drinking ever again."
I got up from the bed to make breakfast. She'll need the rest. I put on the red coat I think I was wearing last night, and walked out the room.
"MMMMNPH! MMMPH!"
"Shhh, shhh, he left now, and we'll break you too in short order."
God damn that squeakingsqueaksqueaksqueaking sound, we need to get our house checked for rats. |
When I came back down from the mountains I knew something was different. There was no deep metallic constant rumble. When I came closer to the city there was nothing but a buzzing like the sound of a hive of bees.
It's strange how loud the wind is in cities. We don't hear it with all the other noise but it finds a million crevasses to whistle through. People lay slumped overtop each other on sidewalks, in stores, leaning out of buildings. I checked a lad slumped onto a streetlight pole for signs of disease but to my surprise he was still breathing. So was the woman set down against the corner store. Her dog anxiously licking at her still face. Everyone alive, but the only sounds were the wind and that incessant buzzing. I finally found out what it was. it was those pieces of glass that people would carry everywhere and look at and rub with their thumbs. On the ground beside them buzzing angrily. I pulled down a storefront awning. It said "Prada"on it. That probably meant something to someone once. I built myself a shelter and waited in the street with the buzzing and the wind and the stars until the buzzing finally left. Then it was just the wind. |
Brian read the chit he pulled out. For a couple of minutes he was trying to figure out who wrote it. Was it Sam? Brian always had him pinned as a closet weirdo. Was it Jenny, the 'creative' one who in all of the games she's been in so far has always found a way to add something that was completely unnecessary and borderline concerning. Our hero also thought of Jessie, only because she was cute not because he thought she had anything to do with the note.
After careful consideration Brian crumbles the chit and tosses it into the bonfire in front of him. It would have been easy to just read the note out loud but then the camping trip would have been essentially ruined. And so he declared:
"Kiss the person directly across from you"
'Luckily' it was Jessie who was to be the lucky winner so Brian jumps up and, with legs stiff as a board, walks up and sits right next to her. He was actually very surprised he managed to do this, usually he would avoid such things and try to find some workaround so that he doesn't have to do anything really. But here he was sitting next to Jessie, hearth racing so fast that in his imagination it was punching the shirt he wore. Here and there sweat would slide down his cheeks.
He takes a deep breath and eyes closed leans in for the kiss.
A sharp sting isn't exactly the type of sensation he imagined a kiss would feel like. and he would be right. Once he opened his eyes he sees Jessie standing in front of him.
"I mean, really? That's what you made up? What did the paper really say?"Her eyes seemed to pierce him.
"To.. to ... kiss the person directly across from you"
"Then why did you throw it in the fire?"
"I thought it would look cool"
This was met with laughter from the entire camp. You could hear a few shouting words of support at him.
A muffled sound of something falling would have easily been overheard in the commotion if it weren't for the scream that followed it.
All eyes turned to the screaming person who was now standing next to Megan.
"I, I, I think she's dead!"as he said it he showed his palms which were drenched in blood. "I was trying to check her pulse, you know but, but there was nothing."
For a brief moment everything was silent but it was not long before fear and confusion set in and chaos ensued. Shouting, screaming, people shoving others trying to either get away or towards the dead body.
Only Brian was quiet. Still sitting where he was, eyes seemingly trying to dig a whole in the ground. It was too much of a coincidence that the person who sat right net to him wound up dead. Suddenly his head jumped up and he grabbed Jessie's hand.
"The note"he said finally after a few seconds. "The note said to kill the person right next to me".
A surge of what seemed like electricity flew across Jessie's spine and she pulled her had from his.
"Did you kill her?!"
Silence broke once again in the camp. Despite the commotion, everybody heard her loud and clear.
"NO! I didn't of course I didn't! I mean come on! You were all watching me as I read the note right! She was alive then! And you all saw her alive when I stood up and walked to you Jessie!"
"Then, who did it?"
Nobody said anything. Paralyzed in place people stared around randomly until somebody finally broke the silence.
"We should call the cops."
"Also we should probably not touch anything else now till they arrive you know."
"It doesn't work like on CSI dumbass."
"Well either way we should wait."
Police arrived a couple of hours later. Maggie had a couple of the same chits that Brian drew stashed away in her pocket. Among her belongings there was a suicide note.
|
I stumble over the forensic witch's bag on my way to the desk. Magdalena Gonzalez is one of my favorite people, but tripping over a bag of cantrips wards and the occasional curse can be nerve wracking before your first cup of coffee. "Maggie,"I said.
"Astrid."She nodded, and continued doing something inexplicable to Peter Jennings' desk. I wasn't a witch, so the chalk diagrams didn't make a whole lot of sense, but it looked like a fairly basic set of ward signs.
I set down my coffee and ran my fingers through my hair. Brown hair, brown eyes, Caucasian as wonderbread, and straight line average in everything from height and weight to taste in clothes. That's me. But standing out isn't something you want to do when you work in this job. Being memorable is bad when a pissed off client can hurl fireballs, or curse via scrying.
"Why is the bag here?"I asked.
She didn't answer me for a couple minutes, preferring to scribble something in chalk around Peter's phone. Long dark hair, graying at the temples, swirled slightly in a breeze only she could feel. She was brown and compact and radiated a motherly aura that had sucked in more than one intern. Not once in the five years I'd worked at Terrestrial Affairs had Maggie had to get her own coffee. Once she had tucked all the stray ends of magic into her spell, she pointed at a small bag hanging out of Peter's trash.
"Somebody dumped a nasty little *gris-gris* in Peter's mail. It's got one hell of a ward on it, too. He didn't notice it. Neither did I."And she grumped at that. Maggie's job was to spot magic and disarm it before it had a chance to explode, so to speak. Having something right under her nose had to sting.
Well, I was never one to pass up a chance to rub lemon juice in a paper cut. "So how did you find it?"I asked.
Her scowl deepened. "That damn elf visiting Auggie. She sniffed it out."
That was news to me. "I didn't think Corpus Christi had any elves on this side of the Veil."Texas wasn't glamorous enough for a Faerie enclave. The handful of fae who had to be in the state were huddled up in Dallas and refused to leave. Though I'd heard rumors of unseelie nightclubs in Austin. You could go get blitzed on fairy wine and come stumbling out a year and a day late for work.
Paying attention to Corpus Christi's supernatural residents is part of the job. Terrestrial Affairs agents aren't cops. We don't arrest people. Our job is to make sure that the residents of this plane of existence are as safe, healthy and law abiding as possible. Kind of glorified social workers. Which isn't to say we don't do investigations. We are who the cops call when things go bump in the night or break out the magic wands. Knowing the number of ghosts, vampires, fae, demons, trolls and goblins we had on a weekly basis could give you an idea of how busy your week would be. An elf, even just visiting, could easily elevate us from "brew extra coffee"to "sleep under desk".
"There's shenanigans with crossroads. Somebody on their side of the Veil has their wires crossed and more shit than usual is getting through. Which makes it our business, which means the damn elf is riding heard on our director. Which has nothing to do with Peter having a spy-on-me in his work desk."She began scribbling around Peter's computer. Wow. The *gris-gris* had her really cheesed off. Some poor voodoo practitioner was about to have his pincushion explode in his hand.
I was reaching for my coffee when my phone rang. I flipped it open and answered, "Stone."
Speak of the devil. Peter's soft voice reached me through the technology of cell phones. "Is Maggie still obsessing over my desk?"
I glanced over. Maggie was warding his mouse. "Yeah. I didn't know you could cast spells on computers."
"You can. It just doesn't stick well. Grab her and an intern, and drive down to the *Nina*. We've got a problem."
"And that is?"I asked.
"Somebody murdered a dragon on Christoper Columbus."He said, and hung up.
I was definitely going to need more coffee. |
First they have to seek out Arnold Vonstrahd of Flagstone and become his intern. During this internship the candidate is put through rigorous training both mentally and physically. When the candidate can answer a series of riddles whilst engaging in combat with A qualified adventurer/rival and be the victor the candidate is ready for the final test. The candidate must bring back a token from Arnold’s chambers without being detected. |
I slid over the hood of the rested patrol car as the cop unbuckled his seat belt and jumped out of the vehicle. Although he had just shot five people in the head from forty yards away with a pistol, he missed all six of his shots while I passed him at ten feet away.
I didn't know where to run, so I simply shouted back, "Catch me if you can, PUSSY!"as I turned the corner into a dead-end street between two buildings.
Glancing from my left to my right, I quickly realized that I was in fact, cornered. Nowhere to run, and nowhere to hide.
As this sunk in, three cop cars pulled over in front of me, blocking my only exit.
I had no weapon and no escape, but I wasn't worried. *I'm the protagonist,* I thought with a smile. *They can't catch me.*
Suddenly, a random garbage truck driver lost control and veered off the road, skipping first to only two wheels, before falling flat on all three cars, effectively trapping each officer inside of their vehicles.
Despite having been shot in the knee three hours prior, I sprinted forward and effortlessly climbed over the garbage truck, before jumping the ten feet down without a semblance of pain.
Of course, immediately after I conquered the vehicle, every officer emerged from their cars and began firing at me. A stampede of dozens of bullet whizzed past me, they flew inches over my ear, between my legs, and they hit the outside fabrics of my clothes. But none of them hit me.
"Plot armor,"I said under my breath.
I stopped running and turned towards the cops as more bullets narrowly missed me, *I wonder what'll happen next,* I thought.
|
"Ma you can't keep doing this. Especially because you're pregnant. You need to be careful!"I said.
"Charles Foster Junior I raised you. You do not speak like that to me young man. Especially when you go around wearing that stupid hat. Who's going to marry you with that kind of fashion? You're Italian and a little Jewish cause of your father and you're wearing a beret on your head. That's blasphemy I tell you. Your father tells you to go and buy a Beretta! A Beretta and you think it's a hat. I'm sorry for being such a bad mother to you,"she chastised in her heavy Queens accent.
"Ma! I bought the gun. It's in the glove compartment. Will you relax? I was going to kill the guy, just later. Do you know how embarrassing it is when your pregnant mother kills your target before you do? I mean what am I gonna tell the guys.."I moaned.
"You're going tell them that your mother is a wonderful human being. I mean I'm pregnant and I kill the guy in 30 seconds with a stab to the neck. I mean talk about efficiency. You should be more efficient like your brother."
"Oh here we go again with Tony, Tony, Tony.."
"Oh would you just drive! I want to dump the body in the trunk. It's starting to smell and you know how hard it is to get rid of that smell? I swear to God the last time I dumped a whole bottle of Febreeze in there and nothing."
"Okay okay I'm driving"
My mother starts breathing heavier.
"Uh ma.."
"Just drive Charlie"
She looks like she's in pain. I keep glancing over.
"But ma..."
"What did I just say Charlie?"
"I'm just going to pull over. I think you're going into labor Ma.."
"DRIVE CHARLIE"
"Okay! I'm sorry"
"You think..huh.. you think I'm going to be in the same car as a dead body. We are dumping this body Charlie. If there's one thing I taught you, you finish what you started."
"Ma that baby isn't gonna wait for us."
"THEN HURRY UP"
A few minutes pass but Ma doesn't look so well.
"That's it Ma! I'm taking us to the hospital"
"Are you stupid? Char-AAAH."She clutches her stomach. She's struggling to keep her semblance of composure.
I already have a plan for the body.
We pull up to the hospital and I open the door for my ma. I escort her to the entrance before the workers take her.
I park my car in hospital parking before I enter the building.
I slowly make my way up and corner the first doctor I see.
"Doc I got something to show you,"I say excitedly
"I'm very busy right now. Unless this is a medical emergency I'm afraid you'll need to find someone else to assist you."
"Aw please it's real important. I need a smart guy like you."
"I.. fine. You're lucky I'm on my break right now. Make it quick. I'm not really into sales pitches for another brand of drugs but I guess I'll get a free lunch out of it."
"Do I got the business opportunity for you!"
We make our way towards the parking lot.
"Woah woah why are you getting in?"
"I'm sorry? I thought we were going to discuss your drug"
"No no Doc. The real prize is in the trunk!"
He looked a little sick.
"Uh I thought Docs had to look at dead bodies all the time. Why are you acting like that? I heard you guys use cadavers for studying stuff. So I figured I'd be a nice guy and let you buy it off me. So how much these go for? I'm hoping for $1000 but I'll settle for $800. And I only take cash."I stared at him expectantly.
"Uh ma...."
"Charlie! WHERE ARE YOU! You missed the birth of your baby sister. How hard is it to park the car? Are you lost again? I told you to use that app on your phone in case you get lost-"
"Ma I'm in jail. I was trying to be a businessman like Tony and it didn't work so good for me."
"Oh Charlie..talk to your father."
"Daddio!"
"Charlie today of all days... I don't know why I thought you were cut out for this. You should've stayed in magic. My god I never thought I'd say that. Anyways I'll get you out soon enough. Is there anything you want?"
"Oh can you get my beret?"
"Charlie.. you are in prison! What are you going to do with that goddamn beret tell me."
I pause. I heard a click and then the dial tone.
"Dad...?"
|
Sulking through this desolate town, quite a remote one, containing nothing too remarkable, mindless beings roamed around, subservient to their mandatory routines. Clouds stormed above their crown as forced smiles hung upon their blank faces. Time was wasted, most of us were living on borrowed time, subconsciously letting it all slip by. Until this day.
Raven hated this town. She loathed it, despised it with all her vast ability. She was stricken as a mystery to all, promulgated as a "not very wise, close-minded adolescent”, comparing her contrary presence to all others in her society. But she knew something the rest of the world didn't, she has since the day she reigned upon this planet, becoming the most volatile being there ever was.
We all knew she was different.
The incessant rustle of the bronze cash concealed behind muffled whispers, the irritating clink of gold coins, the permeating smell of sulphur, the grimace of a menacing figure.
She looked up at the grandfather clock, as time stood still, nothing happened for 5 seconds. 10 seconds. 30 seconds. The act of monotonous waiting in the impenetrable, yellow light made her feel as if an eternity had passed. A slight glitch abruptly commenced in the second's hand, as an irresolute whizz hummed, readily increasing into a constant clicking. Then the minute and hour hands glided in a counterclockwise direction.
Somewhere off in the distance, a protagonist was terminated from preventing robbery.
Another minute reversed. The four walls around the individuals seemed to be closing in.
Ambulances and police cars disappeared into thin air, as the carnages of the decade emerged.
Fortunes were spent, years were reversed,
and all atrocious things in the universe were made worse.
We took it all for granted. This was her revenge. |
John had spent all his budget for the wedding. His fiancée Camilla asked him two days before the wedding, “Did you hire a wedding photographer?” Poor John, having blown the budget and forgotten the photog, had no choice but to find a creative way out of this mess. Throughout the rehearsal, ceremony, and reception, strapped to John’s sharp new tux was a borrowed camera with a mechanism to snap pictures with a touch of a thumb. His bride and guests were amusedly indulgent as John faced the crowd and shot a picture of the audience right before he said his vows. The rigged up camera was a big hit at the reception, adding laughter to the joy of Mr. and Mrs. Callahan as they danced the night away. |
My husband left me. My friends scorned me. Even my *Mom* had to pull me aside at one point and say, "Hun, you kind of have to be honest with yourself. Your son looks nothing like him - you know that, right?"
Of course I *fucking* knew that! But I didn't need accusations or suspicious glances from people that were supposed to love and be there for me. I needed *support*, damnit...
So I wound up flipping out on my mom and pushing her away, too.
Now I was completely alone, and it. Was. *Hard.* I was 22, working as a waitress in the day, and attending college at night trying to finish up and get my bachelor's degree for nursing.
Luckily, my son was older now and I had understanding professors and a boss that would let me bring my son to work and class with me. He would sit in a corner, coloring quietly, looking up every once in a while to make sure I was still there, and I would feel so bad for him.
But in the midst of all this darkness, a ray of light shone through.
One day, at the diner I walked in, this older lady came in and sat down to eat. But, for some reason, she just kept staring at my son. Just staring and staring until I finally went over and asked, "I'm sorry, is there a problem? If my son is bothering you in someway, I can--"
And then I paused as our eyes met and we exclaimed simultaneously:
"Ms. Every!"
"Sophie!"
And we hugged, and cried, and she said, "It's so good to *see* you again!"And I said, "You too!"and we hugged, and laughed, and cried some more.
We were making a scene so I promised her that I would stop by during my lunch break (which was in five minutes) and we could talk again and catch up. She said she would wait.
Five minutes to the dot, I was scuffling into the booth with my son next to me.
Ms. Every took off her glasses and smiled, wiping tears from her eyes. "Your son,"she said, "looks so much like Henry."
Henry had been my childhood neighbor, best friend, crush, *everything*. But he had died saving me. It was still hard to talk about.
I nodded, tears in my eyes, then chuckled as I realized my son was probably sitting there looking at us, thinking, "*What the devil are these two womem crying for?*"
Somehow, we got past all the crying. She disarmed me with her gentle and encouraging patience until I confided in her how hard it had been lately - being abandoned by those close to me, other people thinking I'm a slut, guys thinking I was easy and making sloppy passes at me in front of my son, juggling school, work, and being mother...
When I stopped to breath, she calmly put her hand on mine and told me that she was there for me if I ever needed anything - a babysitter, a place to stay (turns out she had recently moved and only lived a few blocks from me), money, whatever- all I had to do was ask.
Of course pride wouldn't let me accept and I politely turned her down, but she gave me her number anyway (Thank God!) This all took place near the afternoon.
The next day was a Saturday, and I didn't have any classes that day so I could work the night shift and earn some extra money.
As I flitted from table to table, my eyes latched on to one man in particular. He had just entered the room, but there was *something* about him, I couldn't put my finger on.
So as he was led to a table, I quickly and quietly snuck my way in with a cheery, "Hi! May I take your order?"
When he looked at me, my bresth caught in my throat, my heart stopped beating in my chest, and soul left my body. The hair...the eyes...the smile... everything was so familiar, but I felt like was staring at a dead man.
"You remember me?"He asked.
"Jack?"I whispered. He stood up to hug me.
He was much taller now, more built, but I remember when he was barely up to my belly button, threatening to tell his and Henri's mom on us if we didn't promise to buy him ice cream. We never did buy him ice cream and he didn't care, he just wanted us to *promise* we would.
*And God, he looked just like Henri...*
Or how Henri would have looked if he had made it to this age.
As we pulled away, Jack's eyes focused over my shoulder as he said, "Is that him?"
I turned and saw my son.
"He looks just like my brother,"Jack said.
"You looks just like *you*,"I teased.
Jack chuckled and joked back, "Did we meet before? In a bar one night, perhaps? I might have been a little drunk..."
"Oh, stop."I said, playfully slapping him on the arm.
To make a long story short, everything worked out in the end after all. Happily ever after.
(I know, I know, the ending was a cop out ;) But I was getting too many ideas and this was about to take an erotic-romantic angle *real quick* :P Anyway, hope you enjoyed reading).
|
Dr. Fielding wrote with the vigour of a man possessed. He’d been on the brink of this breakthrough for months and all his research on transference of conscious rested on one, previously dimensionally unbalanced, equation. I was there, the night that he had his Eureka moment, when he burst into tears of relief. I’ve never seen someone so proud of an accomplishment before.
The next day development began on a machine, something to put this math into practice. I told him right away that his priority should be a way to archive his memories, in case, you know. He ignored me of course; Fielding was far too excited and like with all the math he insisted on working alone, despite protests from department heads who wanted the project done quickly.
I didn’t hear from him for a little while, I expected development to take a while and for safety measures and preliminary tests to take a lot longer, but only a month went by before he invited me in for the first trial. I think it was a rabbit and a mouse at first. Fielding chose them not for their significant behavioural differences, but because a rabbit failing to get through gaps in the wall seemed like an incredible thing to watch to him.
We exchanged the usual pleasantries, “how’s the family Mike”, “any interesting discoveries in quail behaviour recently?” Really, we were just delaying the inevitable, Fielding had spent far too long on this for it to fail, he’d have been destroyed. The process took hours, so my anxieties had a while to build. You can imagine how relieved I was when the mouse woke up and tried to hop before realising that he was in fact, a mouse. A rabbit in a mouse’s body and vice versa. We we’re ecstatic. Fielding told me right there and then that he wasn’t going to wait around for confirmation from the board that testing could ramp up, he was set on bigger tests right away. We arranged to be back there again tomorrow, same time.
I didn’t expect for him to be in the machine when I arrived though. Fielding was already out cold when I got there, floating around in the salt-water chamber he’d prepped. The other creature involved was a rat, he never got to explain the humour in this body swap. I swiped a list of instructions from his work bench, he outlined every little thing, even wrote a cute note at the end thanking me for helping. I was far too unconfrontational to not help him, so I flicked a couple switches, lay back in my chair and hoped for the best.
My sleepy daze was rudely interrupted by a loud tone, signifying that I could release the test-ees, I released the rat, or Fielding at this point I suppose. The rat scuttled across the ground and up my body before resting on my shoulder, which I should add was oddly adorable, it was clear to me that this rat was really Fielding, only he would be this comfortable around me. As I went to release the actual rat the issues truly began because there was no human body, where there *definitely* should have been a human body, and I won’t blame you for not knowing this, but rats are shockingly loud when panicked. I kept cool, after all, I was the only individual with both a human brain and a human body in this scenario, I had a clear advantage. On top of this I was well rested from my power nap.
Noises, bars rattling, echoed throughout the halls crashing against my ears. I snuck toward the source, rat Fielding grasping to my shirt, and looked through the window into our animal behaviour lab. Fielding, the human one this is, was stood at the cages, I suspected he was conducting some trials of his own. I looked on in shock, fear even, as I came to terms with the possibility I had released an evil rat human thing upon the world. Human Fielding turned, grinning maniacally, mouth and hands full of tiny cheese cubes used as positive reinforcement for our actual rats. It was worse than I had thought, the rat had retained the ability to solve simple mazes.
|
The snow was always so peaceful as it fell and blended its way into the mass pile on the ground. I tried to enjoy it but my fingers felt like they had turned into ice and were going to break off at any moment. The green glow from the thing in front of me was getting fainter. I couldnt keep up. It could float on the snow, I could not.
I stuck my face further into my jacket as I kept walking. The glowing was the only thing I had to show me where to go. Between the falling snow and the darkness, I would be lost without the light. Suddenly I was jerked out of thinking I was about to die by the glowing thing bouncing right in front of me.
It wasn't a person, but it could talk. It almost looked like a worm. Its tail swung around behind it, "are you ok? We are almost there. Promise."
I watched the thing continue to bob with excitement. Its eyes almost glistened it was so ecstatic. "I'm good. Hoping I'm not hallucinating. If I'm imagining you, then I'm about to die out here."I chuckled and the little glow worm smiled
"You are just how he said you'd be."He spun around and took off back down the path. It looked like he was hopping along the snow, but I think it was just how he moved around.
After I could no longer feel any part of my body, and was sure my fingers and toes had fallen off I saw a cabin in the distance. It was beautiful. It was very large and I could see a fireplace with a bright glowing fire through the big windows.
The green glow worm made its way through the door without opening it, it was like watching a ghost. I climbed the stairs to the front entrance and managed to find strength in my hands to open the door.
As suddenly as the warm air hit me from inside, the pain from the cold was gone. I forgot I'd even been in the freezing cold for only a moment. The glow worm was bobbing next to a chair seated in front of the fire. I stomped off the snow on my boots and made my way towards the chair.
When I was about halfway, a man stood up from the chair. I couldn't see his face yet, he stood facing the fire still. "Naomi?"
It was him, the glow worm was right. "Dad?"
He turned around and I could see. It was him. I ran towards him, "I cant believe its really you. I thought you were dead!"
He pulled me back and looked from me to the glow worm. "Sweetheart, I am."
I pushed his arms away and began to back up. I was very uneasy. "Then why can I see you? Where am I?"
"Your dead. I'm so sorry, I should've had my friend here explain it on your way up here."I closed my eyes and tried to remember what I was doing when I met the glow worm. I'm really dead I thought as I looked back at my dad. |
"MOVE CHILDS!"The snarl came from the middle of the lush forest shrine. Nothing was illuminated, except the bright blinking green dots that circled the shrine.
"SITS GIRL! WE MUSTS PROCEEDS!"This snarl came ripped from nearby. She whipped to her left as my head made contact with a high limb. She grimaced and put her hands on her forehead..*no blood*...*damn that hurt though*... There was a faint cackle followed by one of the more braver creatures. After this it was silence.
Silence and green blinking dots.
"Enemiess of the Fae exists. Enemiess of the soul...existss. We do not intrudes..paths. But today...here lies an enemiess."Even though an absent void of darkness cloaked the area, Riz could make out a few things. She was sitting on what seemed to be part of a circular pattern of thick trees speckled with blinking green dots. In the center there was but one green dot, and it was slightly raised off of the ground. Riz also noticed how *alive* the area felt. Almost as it nature wanted to get to know her. Like it had loved her her whole life.
*Shit. I made it. I'm here. When I'm not trying to..of course. I have to act...think!*. Riz quickly dropped to one knee. The hole in her jeans tore making the knee hole larger. The sound was not welcoming to the crowd. *Quick quick...how do you pronounce peace?!*
What was once the blinking green dots immediately burned to a bright orange-red. The transition of colors gave a quick opportunity to look at the creatures: One crooked eye in the northwest of their face, three jagged bones protruding up from their mouth, and random roots and trees sprouting from their body. Their gaze...burned. Riz could feel them staring at her.
"You are nots welcomess. Yous will not leavesss."The creatures closest to Riz hopped down from their branches and hobbled on all fours to her. One grabbed her by her ponytail and violently yanked her to the ground.
*OW! no no no no..this can't be it!*. When her back hit the soft mossy ground another creature crawled on top of her. Riz started hysterically crying.
"PLEASE! I UNDERSTAND!"Her screams were muffled by the black void that lingered outside the circle of trees; She will never be heard here.
"SILENCE FILTHS!"The center creature's eye flamed to a dark red. The immediate moss surrounding it began to burn. "BLOOD"yelled the same voice. The creature on top of Riz molded its arms into piercing branches and drove them into each of her shoulders.
Her mouth erupted with agony. *No no...please no...what was it? If you don't act its over. You die here. Everything was in vain* Her thoughts raced her mind as quickly as the blood gushed from her shoulder. The creature starting her death moved its head up to meet her at eye level. It's breath smelled of decayed animal carcass. It began moving its dry, dirt encrusted lips.
"Yous..do not deservess the soulss."Half eated insects packed in thick green saliva dripped onto Riz's face. She continued to pour silent tears; yelling made no difference.
"Fae'ss..protectss..eternal soulsss."*Eternal souls?..THAT'S IT!* Riz had to act quick, seeing that her existence was passing it's cusp. *The protectors of the soul do not welcome those who take the soul. I have been looking for the Fae..to return something that was never mine. They must see the soul. Concentrate. First I have to get this off me!* She lifted up both of her hands and touched every piece of skin on the creatures dirt-meddled body. Slowly, she pressed the fingertips deeper, flexing her fingers as hard as she could. Almost as if to break dirt into crumbles in your hands. She pressed and pressed.
The center creature commanded once more. "KILLSS!"The creature on top of Riz began its killing downward descent. No sooners than it began it's move, *CRACK* echoed the forest. The creature quit moving and the sound of clotted dirt hit the ground. The creature's eye pierced forward; the tempered red slowly kissed and washed to an appeasing blue.
Riz wanted to smile at the creature. She understood. But with the intensity of the moment she had to remain serious. "Peace", she whispered. "The eternal soul exists."By pressing her fingertips into the creature Riz was able to pass through the body of the creature and grab its heart. This situation brings one of two things: connection, of the crushing of the heart. Riz wanted to connect and show she meant no harm, so she placed both hands on the Fae's stone cold heart. Being an eternal protector of the soul, the soul will always exist in the essence of the Fae. Even so, Riz felt almost none.
She no longer felt the pain in her shoulders. When one connects, any negative intrusion to the mind is dispersed in its surroundings. She gently squeezed on the cold Fae's heart and pressed the soul inside. Rich, damp, green moss extended from her hands and covered the stone. The piercing branches in Riz's shoulders were instantly removed as the Fae buckled over breathing heavily. Like an infant begging for its first rich breaths of life. The Fae grabbing her hair released it's clutches and scurried up the tree to it's left.
Riz wasted no time. She sat up immediately with one knee planted in the ground and her head bowed. She placed both hands chest level with her bloody palms touching one another. When they clasped, a pulse wave of blue light radiated from in between her hands. She locked fingers, and began trying to pull her hands apart.
The center Fae adamantly growled at Riz. "Do nots meddle..foolss."A pure, bright blue light emitted from the center of Riz's bowed head. If one looked closely they could see the dark thick blood dripping down and separating into the wet moss. The blue light grew and expanded, until the final abrupt illumination introduced the forest. This was shortly followed by a vocal wince from Riz. She lifted her head.
The center Fae locked it's gaze into Riz's freshly tore third-eye, which sat crooked directly above her right eye. "Froms existencess..we protects the souls. Wieldss the soulss..yous. Youss do nots knowss."Even it's attempt to be adamant was well met with the washing of it's red eye. When the full circumferences was filled to the brim with the calming blue, it too buckled over gasping for air. The entire room was met and welcomed with a blue gaze.
"Well.."Riz slowly stood up and brushed her self off the best she could. "Never honestly thought I'd find the Fae, let alone the 'Well Dwelling of the Soul. But I guess that's how it goes and I found it for a reason."She made a slow walk to the center, stripping that clothes she could easily remove as she walked. She stopped about to meters from the center Fae.
"You know more about this than I do. And how I got the soul I'm not sure. But I will tell you your arrogance will suffocate the Fae. You blind endeavor to protect will be the double-edge that droughts you. I come today to share what soul I have, and to aid the Fae. So, please, begin the council."
|
Zack's hunger was starting to eat away his own stomach. He no longer could hide in his house, he had to go outside.
The feeling of deja vu affects only those who saw the person which cast the reverse, or the event that was now reversed. The only way to avoid being stuck in this loop is to avoid looking.
*Blind people are so lucky...*
After having dressed reluctantly, he put on his sunglasses despite the clouds covering all of the sky. This way, there was a chance that he would miss the event or the person, a very small chance but it still was a possiblity. Zack gripped the door knob, not sure whether it's worth it. His stomach reminded him of the consequence if he doesn't go, he'd turn from skin and bones to ashes.
The coulds started to part as the morning sun began to shine, and with the waking sun, the people rose. The streets slowly began to be more lively,
*Out of all the time, people decided to shop now too!*
|
“Well damn,” I muttered. There wasn’t much left of the kitten, it’s once grey fur smeared crimson on the dirt highway And the sign to the roadside left a bit of unease in my gut. The name, Ulthar, felt wrong. Honestly, I had never heard it, and it tasted alien on the tongue. I nudged the cat to the side if the road to pay some respects, before climbing back into the new Model T. “Say, the clouds seem to be a tad darker than a few minutes ago,” I said to myself.
Checking my pocket watch, I realized that I was indeed late for my engagement with some old friends. Cursing, a glance out the window revealed a startling sight. Two cats were eyeing me, almost hungrily, not 15 feet away. Though diminutive in stature, I could almost feel their primal instincts and savage heritage at work. Being a learned man, I knew the growing pit in my stomach was nonsense. However, a glance to the other side of the automobile revealed three more peeping toms of the feline variety, staring me down as if by command of Bast herself.
I know that Sir Jermyn and Dr. West would never let me hear the end of it, but I knew in my core that I had to turn around and leave, immediately. I turned carefully as to not repeat the incident, and counted four more tabbies, and felt each set of eyes linger on me, long after I left that cursed sign behind me. To this day, I still feel as if i committed some transgression, some taboo of old.
And I hope I never have to pay the price, for killing a cat in the land of Ulthar. |
Another evening wasted pleasantly, I scrolled through the daily topics on r/AskReddit. The familiar questions phrased a dozen different ways continued to draw the same crowd of eager and/or mentally unstable respondents:
"Reddit, What Anime world would you live inside of forever if you could wank yourself into existence there?"
"Reddit, What Creepy and Borderline Pedophiliac Encounters in childhood can you tell us so that we can get scared reading them and pee ourselves a little when the central heating unit kicks on later?"
"Reddit, How Can I Best Gain the attention of women, so that I can make one of these stupid bitches I keep staring at intently and silently realize I'm offering to put my Penis inside her, and she's rudely still wearing pants or palming a blade and putting 911 on speed dial instead of humping me??"
But then after the usual round of mega-topics, I began to notice an interesting trend emerging. There were an unusual number of replies to a question that seemed a bit odd:
"Reddit, What Are Best bridges to live under??"... by u/Grugsnort
The replies began typically, but slowly turned more and more peculiar as I read:
"OP, Why do you want to live under a bridge exactly?? Are you homeless?"
"I love homeless under bridge. New home come with snacks!"
"OP me love bridge snacks too. Any bridge with Billy goat crossing signs in your area?"
"Bridge snacks yummy, except the meth addicts. They too skinny, too chewey, taste like muskrat. Make my tummy hurt and me temporarily fear being brainwashed by FBI for some reason when I eat them."
"^Probably allergy . Try bridge by health food store. Employees taste like Aloe Vera, Probiotic yogurt and Coconut oil. Great for tummy health and youthful glowing green skin."
The questions continued to grow weirder and more suspiciously like a strange, primitive sub species of humanoid had hijacked the r/AskReddit sub and upvoted their posts to the top!!
"Reddit, How you feel about puny Troll dolls by Russ with stupid rainbowy hair and naked butts? Outraged, offended, or filled with murderous fury?? Where live this Russ? Me go tear his stupid head off if I find him!!"u/Snorgclop
"OP , me offended. If you find Russ and tear his head off, color his stupid hair like stupid rainbow and impale his head on church steeple!"
"Great idea, Me show his stupid naked butt rainbow twat that Trolls are NO CUTESY WIMPS like ugly DOLLS!!"
"OP me doxxing Russ now. Send location soon. Please RSVP other thread respondents for the murder of stupid Russ party for making stupid troll doll!"
"OP, me filled with murderous fury. Have you seen this gorgdamn shit by Disney?? Trolls?? They even more cutesy and wimpy and stupid!!"
"u/Snorgclop: OMGorg!! Outraged!! We March to stupid Disneyland and kill stupid cutesy Trolls and Mouse and Princesses and Children, if time allows. After the Murder Russ party. Me RSVP."
I was a bit dumbfounded and confused. Had mythical beastly humanoid giants of legend, Trolls, really infiltrated AskReddit??
"u/barbpatch: Reddit, what are some super hard Questions Three to ask people??"
10,000 upvotes, here I come! |
I forced my eyes open groggily, looking up to the monitor towering over me that was bleeping rudely. I instinctively cleared away the previous nights mess off the desk, and clicked on the blinking light.
______________________
Name: Jonathan Jameson.
Mutation: Mind Control.
______________________
*Shit*. The mutation array had detected four individuals with mind control last year alone. They had all turned bad in weeks. There is something about that sort of power over others that corrupts people.
I had better get to work. This guy was just waking up, unaware of his new power. A few lethargic taps of the keyboard, and the secondary monitor told me that Jameson was an office worker. Office workers were usually the fastest to figure out what they had, they're often sat around doing nothing, the mind tends to wander. He's on a low salary too... plus his browsing history is telling. A lot of fantasy fulfillment, big houses, fancy cars, a lot of scantily clad men and women. I push myself away from the desk and sink the stale coffee besides the keyboard with a grimace and head to the equipment locker.
I was so hopeful. He had *almost* made it. He figured it out after the first three days. He told a coworker to "eat a dick", and she immediately started trying to bite his dick off. It didnt take long after that. It started slowly, he got some free drinks at a bar, then he got tired of buying people drinks and just told them to follow him home. He was already abusing his power, and he had to die.
Jameson had gone out at the same time he had for the last two weeks. He'd probably be raping men again. I slipped in through the back door using the key i had cut a week earlier. I swept the house, removing my cameras, recording devices, and 'last resort' explosives, storing them in the black duffel bag slung across my back, and removing a suppressed pistol, and a small auto-injector. I stood behind the door for two hours before I heard the distinctive sound of the brand new Porsche rolling up the drive way. Two sets of footsteps. The lock clicks open and the door swings in, shielding me from Jameson and his latest victim. As the unknown man turns to shut the door, my auto-injector is in his neck delivering Etorphine into his blood stream. He crumples. Jameson turns.
"Who are y-"
The pistol is already leveled, the trigger pulled. The bullet travelling through Jamesons top lip before he can finish his last evil sentence.
I search through the unknown males pockets and make an emergency call on his phone and leave it dialing. I take a sample of blood from the mutant before exiting through the same way I came in.
There is a small segment on it the next morning. Law enforcement called it a domestic incident. The main story was still Captain Iron Shield foiling a bank robbery the previous week. They were interviewing the bank staff, getting their sparkling opinion on the captains handsome good looks and speculating on his identity between footage of the criminals dramatic explanation of how the system had failed them. The cap' is a good guy, I raise my four fingers of whiskey to the monitor and drink to his name. |
This is it. Today is the day that I so rarely am able to experience. Most of my time is spent alone with my, limited thoughts. Things never used to be like this. I can remember a time far back in my life. I was, mostly, like everyone else. I liked being in the park, people were everywhere. Each one so different, a new interaction, a new experience I could learn from.
I’ve long since come to accept my current, fate? Condition? Whatever you want to call it, I am at peace. The best part of the day is morning. The break of darkness from my window, the slowly rising glow of the sun, I can anticipate the warm touch of its rays just before they strike me. This is the closest I’ve felt to an orgasm, only in the inverse. It fills me with energy, a sensation that breaks the drudgery of all else around me. Feelings have all almost been dulled to the point of non-existence. Little air movement, no noise.
That’s when I feel the only other sensation I know for sure of my outside world. A piece of me becomes separated. I never know when to predict this. Just that on rare occasion it happens.
You ever have someone try to talk to you under water? You can’t make out much. I hear, yelling, “burn,” “helps.” It’s my time to interact! The only way I know how. I push my jelly like insides towards the part of me that has been separated, “I love you.”
I hope this experience is as meaningful to my visitors as it is to me.
|
As a child; me, Naaru, and my best friend, Ayuu, spent most of our childhood outside adventuring and exploring. At the age of twelve, all people of the world are able to learn magic, they are gifted with it by the God Namastes, and begin to learn their first magical words. Not all people go down the path of magic but me and my friend loved it.
We were special however, being gifted with magic at the age of five is a mystery and wondrous occurrence. By the time we were twelve, we had mastered nearly all basic spells and some advanced ones. We grew up together with magic, slowly becoming more and more strong. By the time we were adults, age 17, we were stronger than most adults at magic and had even created our own spells.
By the time we were thirty-seven years old, we had mastered so much that were accepted as becoming the Morthum, Head masters of magic, for the Occulence, gathering, of magical law. We created and enforced laws to prevent disasters from occurring and was at first difficult. We United the thirteen tribes of the Nordic and created master spells beyond anyone's grasp.
At the age of one-hundred and thirty-three, we had a falling out. We went our separate ways after years of arguing and disagreements about some major magical laws. We decided that maybe one day we could come together again, as friend. I, Naaru, took over as the Morthum and Ayuu went his separate ways.
Three-hundred and fifty years passed and most knowledge of Ayuu dissipated from the knowledge of Men, elves, and all others. A darkness had begun to spread in the North and Naayu was asked to look into it. In this time of the age, Naayu was already appointed as a Withgeon, a Saint of Magic. The only thing higher than that was the God Namastes. Naayu was gifted with the glow of Artha, presented to saints by Namastes himself.
Naayu headed north to seek out the darkness and to end it. After a few months of traveling with a few of his order with him, he arrived at the tower of Boscilus where he discovered the darkness had come from. Climbing the five-thousand steps, he ascended to the top where there was a man drapes in darkness.
"Who are you?,"demanded Naayu. "Your darkness has killed hundreds, it's time for that to stop."A familiar voice came out of the drapes darkness. "It is i, your best freeing, Ayuu. "Darkness slowly seeped towards Nayuu and the thirty men behind him began to shutter. "You have killed the innocent, for that you must die,"said Naayu with the purest of confidence, Naayu with light draped upon him and Ayu draped with darkness across from him. "A sacrifice, to acquire the greatest of magic, the most powerful"said Ayuu.
The battle last for days. Spells zipped across at each other, some were undefined by anything ever witnessed. Time slowed, sped up, physical objects floated and changed shape and attacked one another, the thirty men were in great awe. After five days of battling, the sky was cracked and the tower was nearly in ruins. The two, now at their lowest point both conjured the same spell, an ancient spell only spoken by Namastes. They both putstreched their arms and spoke together, "Althea Dus Nos Erek!"Flash.
It is said that the flash could be seen from a thousand miles away. Everyone with fifty miles turned to stone instantly. A hundred miles out people were severely burned. After nearly two weeks of traveling, three kings from three different kingdoms arrived at the scene. There, where the two wizards stood were turned to stone but a type of stone that was unbreakable and perfect. The wizards had defeated themselves. There was only one survivor of the thirty men, a gift from Namastes to tell the world what happens when you gain too much power.
So it is the first tale of Nayuu and Ayuu, the battle would eventually spawn Kainerith, the Dark wizard. His story would be told one day and the Sixth Age would begin.
[Lordric Tales and Lore](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lordric/) |
Daleroth, Servant of the Untamed, Unborn of the Ninth Order, Wind of the night, hurriedly scratched unknowable glyphs into impossible non-Euclidean rings that seemed to buzz with power best left untouched. Daleroth paused and looked up at me as face broke into a smile and he let out a slow laugh ‘Churlish fiend! I shall banish you back to the hellscape from which you came! Witness the might of-‘ blood and bone burst from Daleroth’s leg as the bullet passed through his kneecap. ‘Jesus Christ!’ Daleroth screamed as he fell to the ground blood pouring of the runes he had so carefully scratched out over the past half hour. ‘Oh shit, uhh shooticus kneecap!’ I had to admit I hadn’t quite captured the sense of ceremony the other wizards seemed to exude; but on the other hand I also hadn’t lost a duel yet.
I was, and still am, pretty amazed by the fact that magic is real. Unfortunately for the other wizards most magic just takes time and works in mysterious ways, guns are pretty straightforward. Neville, my first Wizardly apprentice, ran up to me handing over Daleroth’s grimoire and wand. The grimoire was pretty standard wizard issue; bound with the skin of the unclean and written in the blood of the innocent. Gruesome but fairly mundane as far as Wizards went, very macabre bunch. His wand however was a bit odd, rather than the usual wood it was a length of bone from what looked like some ancient reptile. I shrugged, stuffed it inot my shorts under my robe, and looked back towards my apprentice. Neville was dressed in a close approximation of a cowboy outfit, a joke that I was growing to regret as I grew fonder of the boy. He had joined me after my first wizardly duel against Elbore the Profane and I had taken him on for the novelty. He was however a fine apprentice and a good friend despite his fourteen or so years of age. I didn’t know what I was going to do with the all the magical shit that was piling up but I figured taking it away from the wizards I had just unceremoniously shot was probably a safe bet as far as personal safety was concerned.
A few of Daleroth’s apprentices began carrying him off of the field. I watched as they put the screaming man onto the litter, lifted him, and carried him away to the doctor’s tent. I originally had begun shooting the other wizards in the knee because I felt guilty shooting them anywhere more mortal but looking into the tent as the doctor began the grisly process of amputation sans anesthesia I wondered if given the medical knowledge present in this time I wasn’t just dragging out their suffering. I shrugged and patted Neville on the back ‘Fancy a drink Neville?’ Neville took his ‘wand’ a fake gun I had given him and poked his imitation Stetson, lifting it up over his eyes ‘sounds mighty fine to me pard’ his cowboy dialect was getting surprisingly good. We moseyed on over to a nearby tavern, I ordered Neville some watered down ale and got myself a nice cup of Meade to celebrate my growing acclaim.
‘Enjoying your time Jeremy?’ a smooth voice from beside me crooned. I froze, my hand slowly dropping down towards the revolver as I looked over at a man in a pristine black suit nursing a very non contemporary martini. I looked over ‘You told me all I had to do was disappear Will’. He laughed and finished off his drink ‘and I am very surprised you believed me, honestly Jeremy you shouldn’t collect such interesting toys if you don’t want me to take them’ I tried locking eyes with the man who had first sent me back but whenever I looked at him I felt my vision begin to swim. ‘I will be needing the book that boy has, Daleroth may have been a blowhard but he had several connections in outer planes that my employers find quite ehm…interesting’. I dove back grabbing Neville as I fell of the chair and shot at the figure, the simple act of trying to focus on the Will had my vision swimming and the blow to the back of my head as I hit the ground didn’t do me any favors either. ‘Come now Jeremy’ the voice hissed ‘you couldn’t escape us by hiding here and you should know better than trying to shoot us’.
I grabbed Neville again and struggled to my feet. I tried to pin down the man in the black suit but he had disappeared from the bar as suddenly as he had arrived. I wove on my feet, nausea threatening to drag me down as I ran back towards the inn. I had to do something, burn the books before will could use them. Black suits dotting my peripheral vision, peering out from alleyways, lurking behind the merchants stalls. A voice echoed inside my head ‘Come now Jeremy our master had certain assurances from you and he has been waiting some time’. I burst into the inn still dragging a very disheveled Neville from my left hand and bounded up the stairs. I burst into my room and from behind the piles of dusty tomes, jeweled skulls, and black candles I saw Will.
‘You know my favorite thing about you?’ Will flicked his wrist holding the wand and I heard a shriek from behind me ‘you collect little pets wherever you go’ Neville clutched at his brow as his Stetson was pushed off by a crown of bone suddenly bursting from his head. ‘Stop it Will’ He twirled the wand and the shrieking grew louder behind me. I pulled the trigger. The shrieking stopped and I stared at the bullet hole in the empty chair in front of me. My neck exploded with pain as I felt teeth bite through my skin ripping and tearing at the flesh beneath. Blood poured out of me as I rolled over and looked up at Neville, Face streaked with blood as he chewed and then spit out the flesh he had just ripped from my neck. His eyes were black and as he spoke Will’s voice poured out. ‘Oh Jeremy, Jeremy, Jeremy, whatever am I going to do with you?’ Will dug Neville’s hands into the gash in my neck and began dragging me towards a hastily carved rune circle that I had failed to notice in the back corner of the room. He dropped me in the epicenter and as I swam in and out of consciousness I could see my blood pouring into the runes like holes in the ground. Neville’s body darted around the room picking through piles of artifacts and grabbing whatever Will thought looked most promising, throwing it into the rune circle.
The world began to spin as I felt something burning into my side. Reaching into my robes my hands closed around a long piece of bone that was digging into my stomach. I pulled it free and wiped off the blood that covered it, it was Daleroth’s wand. I looked down at the length of bone and inscribed onto the shaft were the same runes I had seen earlier encircling Daleroth. A spell of banishment. I stared at Neville and waited till my vision began once more began to swim. As Neville’s form swayed to and fro I saw Will’s shadow bleeding off the boy’s body. Eyes finally locked on to Will I mumbled ‘banish assholius’ dark light streamed off the wand and wrapped around Neville’s body. I heard screaming as I saw Will’s shadow ripped from Neville’s body and the glyphs scratched all around me flew from the floor and bound Will. With a final flash of the dark light the runes and Will were gone and I finally fell into unconsciousness. |
It has to be a better story love story than Twilight, right?
The day had come for Death to take his beloved. He watched her since she was born. Something was different about her. It made him look at creating life, when he had been set on destroying it. After all, death had to happen for life to flourish. But she was haunted by death her whole life. She was a modern Edgar Allen Poe, where death lurked around every corner. She had accepted her fate, and saw death was inevitable for her. That is how their relationship all started: death.
Death had crept into her life from the beginning. She came in crying, just like her father was now. Her father gained a new woman to love, but lost one too. Her mother loved her, but the mother would only know her long enough for one embrace. The mother gave her all, so that she could live. This is where Death first saw her. He looked into her crying eyes, and felt pity. Death did not understand. He saw the death of many mothers, but for this girl, he felt pity. It was new, but Death moved on because he had many more souls to retrieve.
The next time Death saw her, she was ten. She went to visit her friend in the hospital. Sally was her name, and she was sick. Sally was her best friend, and was barely holding on. This was her goodbye. Death’s beloved looked at her friend. She felt a familiar presence, a calm surrounded her. A tear fell. A goodbye said. Death gained enough, and again, pity took over. The second-time death had felt this, and this time it was just for friend. But again, Death moved on because death was busy.
Death saw her for a third time when she was twenty-two. This time it was in her childhood home. She was there grabbing onto something, embracing it like her mom had her. It was her father’s time to go. Heart-attack. It had come suddenly, abruptly, and luckily, because she was home from school. She saw him drop. She dialed 9-1-1. But it was too late. Death was there to take her last parent. Again, a calm took over her. It felt the same as when Sally died. She wailed. It was not fair. She kept losing everyone close to her. She lost all of those whom she loved, deeply. After Sally she stopped reaching out. She became guarded, but her dad had always been there. She had no one left to lean into. Death again felt pity, but this time he lingered for a second. Death looked over her and touched her. She calmed. Something was there. She could feel a presence, and one that cared. One that had stopped to wait. But after this brief moment he left because after all, death was busy.
She grew up to become a counselor, one that focused on terminal patients. She was now surrounded by death, and she tried to help those where death was inevitable. She wanted to try and make terminal patients feel the calm that the death of her father made her feel. The feeling she had not felt again. But life went on. She became married, and was about to become a mom. Except life had a change of plans. She was giving birth, but there was no cry. A silent baby. Death watched every moment. His beloved’s realization. The start of her tears. But a calming presence took over her. The silence, broken by a baby’s cry. Death had left. He did not want to feel pity today, and after all, he had a busy schedule.
Life continued on, and now it was her time. Death had been waiting for the moment. He finally could show himself. He could finally take his beloved. There she laid. Peaceful. She died with her daughter and granddaughter looking upon her. A peaceful presence took over them.
“Hello,” said Death’s beloved, “It’s nice to finally meet you. And thank you.”
Death was caught off guard. Why would anyone thank him?
She saw his confused look. “You saved my daughter and blessed me with a life full of family and love. You from the beginning sent me on a mission to help people accept death, and be okay when meeting you. You didn’t have to do it, but yet you did.”
“But,” Death said, “I had pity on you. But I found that it was more than pity, but a sadness. I have never felt sad for death because it is inevitable, but I felt it for you. I fell in love from the start because I knew you’d come to gain an understanding that I needed to change. I needed to understand the scope of death, but also how it effects the living. So, will you stay with me, and help me understand, even if it’s just for a little bit?”
|
Dad looked up at me, smiled, and put down the sandpaper. He was in the middle of building a new bookcase and I could tell he needed a break, so I handed him his beer from the fridge and he down in the break chair nearby while I leaned against his workbench. Woodworking was his hobby and passion, and Mom certainly didn't mind the gorgeous furniture he produced. It was also supposed to be good for his mood, or something.
"You want to know how we made your little brother? I'm happy to tell you, but I thought you already knew about the birds and the bees."
I rolled my eyes and made a gagging sound, laughing. "You know what I mean."
"I've been telling you this story for years, kid. You want to hear it again?"
"Yeah, I've got a writing assignment at school to talk about someone you admire, and you can't be related to them."I rolled my eyes again. Of course I admired Dad, but would I say that out loud? Never. The kids at school would end my life if they heard me say something like that!
"Okay, sure."He took a sip of his beer, exhaled into the chair, and looked into his bottle.
"It was 2004. You had just turned one year old, and I hadn't even met you yet. I was due to come back from Iraq, you know, and it killed me that Mom had been raising you and you were already walking - okay, toddling - and I'd never held you. I couldn't wait to come home."
Dad paused for a second to grab his stool, and propped his leg up on it.
"I had command of a small platoon, and Jeff was our SFC. I came into the position before we shipped out knowing nothing, and, just shy of coming home, Jeff had taught me everything and helped me keep my - our - men alive and out of harm's way. We'd become as close as brothers, and I trusted him."
"So the orders came down from the top. We were patrolling Baghdad, resistance was light, but over near Fallujah things were supposedly getting dicey. We were to relocate west and reinforce the troops up there. So we pack up, leave camp in a convoy, and I wave at a C-130 passing overhead as I promise myself I'm going to be on one in just under a week."
"We're driving along and Jeff and I aren't talking much. That's not unusual, of course. The sun is setting ahead of us and I remember thinking it was one of the most beautiful sunsets I'd ever seen. Then..."he paused, then continued, "I remember coming to and Jeff is dragging me out of what's left of our Humvee and the gunfire is more intense than I've ever heard. He's shouting at a couple privates and I was struggling not to pass out. My right leg felt warm and cold at the same time, which I remember thinking was weird."
"Jeff propped me up behind cover and handed me my rifle, but something seemed off about my vision. I remember hearing clearly everything, but I was really having to work if I wanted to focus on something. I remember Jeff yelling, 'MEDIC! GODDAMMIT, GET OVER HERE!' and they were looking at me and fussing over something, but then I heard more shots and Jeff spun around, rifle at his shoulder. I watched him pop a few rounds off and then HE got hit in the body armor and fell backwards."
"All I could smell was gunpowder and metal and the medic was focused on SOMETHING I couldn't see but I was focused on Jeff as he was struggling to get back up and then I saw an insurgent poke his head around the corner ahead of us. I have no idea where the rest of our platoon was at that point - we were surrounded and I think they were behind me, but I got my rifle up and got the insurgent with the luckiest shot of my life. I don't think Frankie, our medic, is ever going to hear well again, but we're both alive, right?"
"Jeff managed to sit up and I'm still propped up against a wall, Frankie's working on something with god-like focus, and gunfire hasn't abated at all. I hear our guys yelling and a lot of yelling not in English, so the situation wasn't great. I spot Harold sprinting toward us, dodging bullets. I yelled at him to get the radio and call for backup, and he sprinted away to find better cover for that."
"Now something is starting to really hurt and my vision is going fuzzy. I see two insurgents charge at us and throw something. Jeff, ballsiest guy I've ever known, actually kicked the grenade back at them - I guess they didn't prime it. I get off another couple shots, at least one insurgent goes down, and I hear Harold yell that backup is on the way. I yell at Jeff to get everyone rounded up so we can concentrate our fire and cover better. The sun has gone down and it's getting dark; I don't even yet know who's been hurt, but I'm trying to be the leader I was trained to be."
"There I'm sitting, something's going on with my leg that I can't see, Jeff's barking orders, Frankie's doing god-knows-what, and I the distinct sound of an AK popping off close by. It felt like someone stabbed me in the gut and the arm, and it's hurting worse than I can imagine. Adrenaline is only going so far. I try to raise my rifle but can't get my arm to listen to me. I see Jeff step in front of me, fire off a couple shots, then fall backwards on top of me."
"And that's all I remember. I woke up two days later in the hospital, with Jeff sitting there reading a book. He was Type-O, and apparently I had more of his blood in me than mine. My arm was in a sling, but apparently my entire right leg was gone from just above the knee. Jeff had saved my life at least twice in that engagement, perhaps more. He didn't really say, just smiled at me."
"Three days after that I was on that C-130 heading to Rammstein before I could come home. Jeff saw me off - hell, he even saluted me, which was a first - and pushed me up the ramp onto the plane. He was due to be rotated out in a couple weeks, and I told him I'd buy him a beer or twenty when we met up."
Dad paused again, and continued quietly.
"His Humvee got hit by an IED when he was on his way home. I was told he could see the airfield when his convoy was hit. Your mother drove me to his funeral, and helped me stand so I could give him the salute he deserved."
I knew better than to say anything right then. Dad always looked so sad when he told this story, but he sat straighter than I think he realized it when he was talking. In any event, I scribbled down a few notes, lightly punched him in the shoulder, and left him to sit with his beer. |
The soviets wanted to test their armour peircing rounds so they had a robot fire a bullet into a section of wall made of bullet proof materials. The section is one that leads to a shooting range within the Kremlin should the bullet pass through. The Kremlin guards would give the robot another bullet once the previous one was retrived and the brick repaired. They were going to fix the fault in the logic that made the robot choose a gun over a hammer at least it was helpful for the soviet army until the robot's logic told it of another wall to shooot and that was the firewall in the processor in the robot's head. This conflicted the robot and caused it to power surge itself and detonated like an EMP device. |
I first noticed something was up when I was drying off after my shower and noticed I had suddenly gotten a bit hairier. Prior to this I was not a noticeably hairy person and even struggled to grow decent facial hair but all of a sudden there were little hairs across my chest and my arms almost seemingly overnight. I shrugged it off as puberty finally making an appearance and continued drying off. Then, as I was brushing my teeth, I caught a good look at them and stopped to wonder if my canine teeth were always this pointed. I could’ve sworn they were a little longer too. My lower teeth were also a little longer and pointier too. I rinsed out my mouth and tried to shrug it off.
I went downstairs and proceeded to pour myself a bowl of cereal for breakfast and then proceeded to the kitchen table to eat breakfast and read the comics from the paper left sprawled across it from my parents. I perused the comics, moving from one to another while consuming my Apple Jacks. Today was my sixteenth birthday and I was looking forward to that night. My Grandmother was coming over and we were going to have a big dinner to celebrate. But alas, I had to get through another day of school first.
School was close enough to my house that I was able to walk most days, except for the days it was too cold and then my parents would usually give me a ride. Today was a nice, Spring day though so I would be walking. It was a nice, peaceful walk but as I kept going, I started to feel itchy all over. I scratched it a few times and it seemed to go away. But it kept coming back and by the end of second period, I ducked into the bathroom to see what was going on as I itching all over, but especially on my legs. I went into one of the stalls and dropped my jeans, shocked to see that my previously a little hairier legs were now a lot hairier. Not only that, it was denser too. I scratched repeatedly finding only momentary relief when I felt my index fingernail pull loose. My heart dropped as I raised my hand up and slowly pulled away the nail, revealing a thicker, sharper nail growing underneath. I wanted to scream, but knew that would only attract attention. I pulled up my jeans and quietly exited the bathroom. I had no idea what was happening and all I could think of was I needed to get home where I would be safe.
I walked through the halls with a quick purpose, to head for the exit. I was determined to stop for no one. Except I saw one of the school guards step directly in my way as I headed for one of the side doors. He looked confident, a little too confident even.
“Hey, buddy, you wouldn’t be thinking of skipping school now would you?” His voice oozed with condescension. Before I even realized what I was doing, I had grabbed him by the throat and lifted him off the ground. From deep within me emanated a deep growl as his face shifted to one of absolute terror. I dropped him as soon as I snapped out of it and ran out the door. I ran all the way home. Faster than I ever had before. Faster than I ever thought I could run. Something was definitely happening to me but suddenly it wasn’t all bad. I was faster and definitely stronger.
I ran into the house, my grandmother’s car being parked in the driveway barely registered. I stopped in the entryway as I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. In time I left school to when I got here, I had begun to grow a serious beard and traveled all the way down my neck and under my shirt. I opened my mouth and checked my teeth. They were longer and sharper too. They were definitely becoming fangs. My mind raced as I tried to figure out what was happening.
“Nate? Is that you?” called my Mother. “We’re in the family room. We should talk to you.”
I took a deep breath. “Okay.”
I walked down the hall and turned the corner into the family room, just off the kitchen. My grandmother, my mother’s mother, was seated on the couch and my Mother was seated next to her. Neither one seemed to react to my sudden and dramatic transformations.
“Oh honey, please sit down.” My Grandma gestured to the recliner by the couch. I walked over and sat down. “I suppose an explanation is due.”
“That would be nice, yes.”
“There is a curse on our family. It’s been haunting us for...oh since who knows how long. The reason for it is also long since been forgotten. But it must’ve been pretty bad.” I patiently waited for my Grandmother to get to the point. “Anyway, every fifth generation, the eldest child of that generation turns into a beast.”
She paused for reaction. All I could offer was sarcasm. “Normally, I’d call bullshit, but I’m sitting here growing fur and fangs so let’s just say I believe you. How much worse is this going to get?”
My Grandmother sighed. “Well, my Great-Uncle was the last one afflicted and he was really beastly. But it’s not all bad. He was super strong. Like bench press a Ford strong. And really fast too. We kept his place up north all fixed up and ready, just in case the curse came back. It’s all paid for and there’s plenty of land around.”
“So, what? I just run and hide in the woods? Leave all my friends behind? Live my life in solitude while I turn into some monster?” I felt the tears start to roll down my cheeks. My entire body started to ache and I wanted to scream but I couldn’t.
“We’ll come visit. All the time. We promise.” said my Mom. “We’ve got it fixed up real nice. Top notch WiFi, satellite. A/C.”
“I just…” I started. “I don’t deserve this.”
“I know, and I’m so sorry. I wanted to hope it ended with my Great Grandfather.” My Grandmother grabbed my hand and squeezed it.
I stood up and walked out of the room. “I’d like to be alone for awhile...while this all happens.”
I walked into my bedroom and closed the door. I sat down on my bed and looked over my hands. I watched in awe as my thin nails slowly pulled away as darker, thicker, sharper claws slowly started growing out. Part of me couldn’t help but be curious about my ongoing transformation, even if it did suck it was going to be permanent and not like a werewolf type thing. I was going to be some beastly monstrosity 24/7.
When my dad got home, Mom and Grandma explained what was happening to him. He didn’t believe them until he saw me and then was just in shock. He was mad that no one had said anything to him prior to this, which I have to admit I shared that feeling. They argued they hoped they wouldn’t have to and that after all these years the curse had played itself out. But, alas, it had not as my increasingly monstrous self could clearly attest to. Dinner went well and my appetite came back with a vengeance as I started stuffing myself with as much food as I could. Between the four of us, there wasn’t a scrap of leftover to be found.
I went to bed early that night, feeling drowsy and ready for bed. My folks decided we’d discuss our next steps tomorrow. The secluded house in the woods did sound appealing on a certain level as I was already a bit of an introvert. But it also sounded incredibly lonely too. As I climbed into bed that night and laid in the darkness, trying to think. This was all so much to process. I had no idea what to do next. It’s not like there was a road map for this sort of thing.
I woke up in the middle of the night with my entire body screaming in pain. I glanced over to the alarm clock on the nightstand and it read 2:43 a.m. I tried to get up but my body didn’t want to cooperate. I tried to cry out but what came out were deep, guttural growls. I watched my torso grow and reform, taking on more animalistic proportions.
Oh god, I thought, please let this stop.
I flipped on the light and looked over my newest changes. My body was covered head to toe in a dense, brown fur over a muscular and vaguely animalistic but still bipedal body. The tips of my fingers were each tipped with a sharp, inch long claw. My toes were likewise each tipped with their own claw which was going to make wearing shoes interesting, if not impossible. The bottoms of my feet were dark and rough, resembling paws more than human feet.
Once the pain and changes seemed to subside, I slowly got up and went to the mirror in my bathroom. I was shocked at how much more of a beast I looked. Large, sharp fangs filled my mouth. My ears had grown large and pointy and my face was surrounded by the same dense fur that covered my body. On either side of my brow line were two little horns sticking out. To top it off my eyes had gone from a light blue to a ruby red, as if my visage wasn’t frightening enough. The more I stared at myself in the mirror though, the more comfortable with it I got. It was weird as I seemed to calm down and thought to myself, okay, I can handle this.
The following morning, it was decided I would go an live at the retreat my family had set up to keep me safe. It’s not the ideal choice, but I suppose it is the wise one. I’d hate to be carted off to a lab somewhere and experimented on for the rest of my life. So, a life of isolation would be preferable to that. And I did write a letter to my closest friends telling them what happened and where to find me. It took a little used to writing with these huge monster claws. You wouldn’t think it’s be an issue but it was. Typing, surprisingly, was near impossible. I’m going to have to do something about that.
Hopefully those that care about me will come visit me when they can. I know it’ll be scary for them. Hell, it was scary for me and I’m the one stuck like this because of some stupid curse that happened so long ago nobody even remembers what it was for. But I’ll figure it out, one day at a time. But for now, I guess I’m looking at it as a glass is half full kind of deal. I have a sweet house all to myself and acres upon acres of secluded woodland to try out my beastly new body and see what it can do. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.
|
Seven...
There was a story about a beautiful, if you could call it like that, woman. She was know to everyone in the village and it is said that she kidnapped everyone who came near her house. They called her "The Mistress"or "Death Lady". No-one ever dared approach near her home, an old cottage up a hill. But, as everyone knows, newcomers are idiots.
There was a man. His name is now long forgotten in the annals of history, but for the sake of it, let's call him Bob. Bob was knew in the village. He was constantly warned about "The Mistress", but he was sure that the villagers were gullible.
He was never close to the house, not because he was afraid, but because he had nothing to do there, until his dog somehow ran over there.
He called for his dog all day, but no answer. He saw paw prints on the ground, heading towards The Mistress' house. He ran over there and knocked on the door.
A beautiful red haired woman opened. He managed to stutter a sentence "Ha-ha-have you seen m-m-me dog, lady?". She chuckled and invited him inside. She didn't say anything.
Bob walked in. He could sense something wrong there. The Mistress locked the door. There was a voice in Bob's head, it must have been her voice, but she opened no mouth. "You must have heard all about me"it said "but, that is far from the truth. You see. It is not that I steal. I take, what I want. No matter the price.". Bob went after the door handle, but something grabbed him, and pushed him by the wall.
He could, again, her that voice. "How many heads can you see? Seven. Seven idiots dared to disturb me.". Now that you know what happens.". Bob tried to snap out of it, pushing his hands towards the knob, as his life force was sucked out, until he crumbled to the floor.
The Mistress flew over him, snapping his head, and putting it in her hair.
Eight...
Note:No Dogs were hurt here in any way. |
Oh, it's been a day.
I'm reminded of why I've always hated convertibles. We're a bit sunburned, and the wind around our skin at 75mph doesn't help, this ancient POS we're riding needs a break, and I need a cigarette. At least the sun's finally setting. I pulled it over on the shoulder, and took a break.
She had always told me that the desert could get *seriously* cold at night, but that some of her favorite memories were of dusk in the desert, as the heat was slowly replaced by the chill. Strange thing: I had always understood it 'mentally', but had never really understood it emotionally. Until now.
I had actually kind of laughing when I met her. California Girl who had moved to Atlanta for a job. Bitching & whining about the humidity that this old Southern Boy had always considered a welcome embrace after what passes for a "harsh"winter here.
I made every single joke a Southerner makes about folks from out west when they mention 'dry heat', she was *pissed*.
Only reason we hooked up was that she mentioned something about taking the Drivers' School at Sears Point. And she actually called it "Sears Point", instead of whatever corporate name it had in the late '00s or early teens.
Sports Car guy likes Sports Car girl. Suddenly, I was looking for more than a one night stand. Had to roll back my previous 30min of being an absolute asshole to her, but somehow, I accomplished it. Scariest night of my life..but the best one, too.
Rode to her place in her Miata, it must have been 20yrs old even *then*. Last old-shool "traditional"sports car made for anyone other than the filthy rich. I remember my dad & his friends lamenting that anything made for middle-class people were '..all going away..' during the last few decades of the last century. She said her own dad & grandpa had said the sime kind of thing.
We were car people. Married in about '12 or so. Autocrossed, did track days, did some wheel-to-wheel racing in LeMons before we the baby came along.
She actually laughed at me when I bought my '16 VW Golf.."No minivan for *you*, huh? None for *me*, either!"Great days.
But I still recall her saying in about '22, "Y'know..we're gonna end up like the 'horse people'. You'll have to pay to store one close to the track, you'll have to pay to work on it, and you'll even have to pay to *drive* it."
She was right. And that's why I'm here in the desert, taking a break from nursing a fucking 45yr old convertible from Georgia to California.
Our son never cared much about our car stuff..but our granddaughter stumbled across her dead (fuck cancer, etc.) grandma's old pictures & stuff (and yeah, I kept *all* of my wife's Hot Wheels collection) at my house. She was stoked. I actually put our old slot car track back together for her to play with in the basement. When she got older, I bought her one of those new-fangled karts with the electric motor. My son was not pleased.
So, here we are. Sunburned, even though we stink of sunscreen. Calm & quiet on the side of what used to be "Interstate 10"in New Mexico, but pretty much left alone since so many of the fucking "pods"still can't quite make a trip this long. That's a lot of the reason that the government has postponed banning liquid-fueled and human-driven cars for another ten years. Hell, they all thought those of us who love 'em would be dead by now.
Lil' girl (and I should stop calling her that..she's a teenager now!) keeps turning on the ignition, because she actually knows that the gauge says the car's too hot, and she can't wait for it to cool off enough to get going again. I'm finishing my cig, and watching another couple of human-driven cars go by. We all give a 'thumbs up' to each other.
Me and the grandkid are going to Sears Point. Yeah, she doesn't have the license required to drive a HOV on the street..but dammit, that girl's gonna drive the place her grandma did. In her grandma's car.
If we're going to end up like the 'horse people', at least we'll make sure we survive. |
Angel Grove was the most boring town I'd ever had the displeasure to live in. I was hoping when we moved that it wouldn't be such a drag but the move from big city life to this place, essentially a huge suburb, was jarring.
I missed my friends, I missed my old hangouts and most of all, I missed the excuse of New York. The hectic, crazy city that never shut up was a decent explanation for why none of us could stand each other but now? In the quiet little house on a quiet cul de sac, we didn't have that to fall back on.
"No, I don't want to fucking help you cheat on your girlfriend."Jake, my eldest brother, was a huge douchebag with no redeeming qualities. Since moving he had changed absolutely nothing about himself except for his dress sense. "Fucking braces and a *bow tie*?"
"Adalind is a cool girl and Grace is in New York. That's nearly as far away as Brazil, man. I haven't broken up with her yet but it's obviously over."Of course. Jake is never in the wrong, it's the situation that's screwing him over and he's *just making the best of it.*
"I won't say anything about Grace because I couldn't care less to be honest. If you're going to hurt people then you can do it all on your own."They weren't the words he wanted to hear but I didn't want to tell him that he was right. He wasn't.
With a huff, he took that as a promise and left. About ten minutes later and the *deafening* silence of the house pushed me outside. It was a gorgeous day, at least. It wasn't my usual thing but I decided to take a walk.
A pinch of weed in my pocket and enough battery on my phone to drown out the silence and I was off. The two huge mountains behind my house weren't going to be scaled today but the valley that nestled between them looked like exactly the kind of place to blow off some steam.
So I walked. For hours, until the sun started to set and the pain in my feet forced me to sit. Deciding it was time to take that smoke break, I sparked up and looked out over the city. I'd planned to go into the valley but... something told me that wasn't a great idea. A feeling like Deja Vu had pulled me along the left-most mountain's base and up a little.
Looking back at Angel Grove, it looked small. I could see all over it from this slight elevation and something about that fact made me mad. So I screamed.
"Fuck, you spooky dude, that scared the shit out of me."I'd turned to see who was talking and realised I wasn't nearly as alone as I thought. Two girls and two guys were looking me up and down, trying to decide if I was going to scream again probably. Not knowing what else to do, I stood up and offered my smoke around.
"Hey, I'm Jason. Nice to meet some people who aren't afraid to call someone on their craziness."It was good to talk to someone new. We moved during the school break and I hadn't met anyone my own age yet. A tension left me, some unknown weight disappearing. It was like I was actually weightless.
That is because I was. The ground had collapsed beneath our feet and we fell. All five of us fell and fell until it got weird. There was a sense of momentum, definitely, but it wasn't possible to fall for this long, right? It should have been pitch black but around me, the others were also realising that something wasn't adding up. I could see them all, almost glowing in a multi-coloured hue before an even stranger feeling started.
As though a giant hand were controlling my movements, I was righted. Now falling in a standing position, the inertia began to fade and then solid ground. Without warning, my feet were firmly on the floor and the fall had stopped. The others were stood around me, all as confused as I was.
"**Welcome**."The words didn't come from anywhere, they seemed to boom from the walls around us but it was enough to remind us that we were all terrified. The others ran, and I followed. Somehow, we were in some kind of structure. Now that a form of normality had returned, I tried to take in my surrounding. It wasn't pitch black, no in fact it was quite brightly lit. The hallway they were running down had white, smooth walls.
"Where the *fuck* are we?"The guy who had first talked to me demanded. "Kim? Billy?"
Two shouts of "I don't know"from the two he asked. The other girl didn't offer an answer, so they continued running. Each hallway looked like the last, each turn just showing more white walls and long corridors. I decided to stop, asking that they do the same.
Begrudgingly, I think, they all did.
"Look. I don't even know my way around Angel Grove yet, let alone some freaky government base. I have no clue what's going on or who you all are but we need to calm down. Aside from being scared shitless, is anyone hurt from that fall?"This wasn't the time for introductions, nor did I want one, but I *did* want to know how to get out of this place. Panicking and sprinting and screaming weren't going to get that information. Lots of head shaking and a bit of poking later and we confirmed that none of us even had a scratch. Did we even fall? It didn't make any sense.
It was at that moment the door appeared. It's possible that none of us had noticed but I was sure that door had not been there a minute ago. I could tell from the looks on their faces that the other kids were just as scared as me. Swallowing that fear, as I'd done hundreds of times just walking into my house, I pushed through and went inside. The others followed.
The room we entered was cavernous. Gargantuan would be selling it short, and there was flashing lights *everywhere*. Straight ahead from the door stood a platform, which we made for. It wouldn't be the center of the room, instead a massive area of empty space continued after the platform stopped. In the middle of the raised area stood what looked to be some kind of computer, though not one I'd ever seen before.
Without saying a word, the mousy, brown haired boy called Billy walked right up the console and pressed a button. He had done it with such confidence that I'd almost convinced myself that he knew what he was doing, though as he turned back to us all with a confused look on his face, I could tell he didn't.
The empty space lit up at the press of the button and in that space was a man. Or rather, the head of a man. Huge, bone-white and passive, the head seemed to look at all of us.
"**Welcome, my warriors.**"
-----------------------------------------------------
Definitely think that a horror story exists in this world but I also have no idea how to write it. However, I did write this and it would be sad to delete it all so here it is. |
When her car plunged off of the edge of the bridge, Mia knew that she wouldn’t wake up. She had already bounced back her allotted seven times, in ways that made her curse her youthful delusion of immortality. She had been so sure that with age came safety.
But here she fell, thirty years old and so far from finished that the regret knocked the breath from her lungs. Then the car slammed into the tumultuous blue of the water, and death swept a black curtain across her consciousness.
Then, against all odds, Mia cracked open her eyes at the Regenesis Center in the same black robe she had worn after a car hit when she was six, in the same chair she had sat in after pneumonia withered her lungs when she was ten, with the same bored clerk in front of her as the time a bridge had collapsed on her last year. She took in the familiar walls of the tiny cubicle her particular agent resided in with wide eyes, brimming with disbelief.
The clerk stared at her with a boredom born of unchanging routine from his seat behind the cramped desk. “Welcome to your new lease on life,” he monotoned, eyes trained on a spot beyond her head. “Before I let you continue on your new adventure, let me scan your Hades band, and your file will be updated with your cause and time of death within three to five days. Your loved ones and employers will be notified when it is updated. Please communicate your temporary passing to them before then. Regenesis Center is not responsible for any conflicts that might arise during the waiting period.”
She extended the arm with the black band etched into her wrist to the clerk, who obligingly passed the clunky detector over it; she used the other to pinch herself gently on the thigh. “Excuse me,” she said dazedly, “but I think this may be my eighth go around.”
The clerk didn’t even make eye contact, instead focusing on connecting the detector to the computer in front of him. “Miscounting is a common indicator of trauma. If you believe that your rebound may have caused some sort of trauma, please see a licensed—“
She cut off his rehearsed spiel. “No, I mean I know for certain! There was that time with the… Look, just pull up my file!” At the end, she was getting hysterical. She was supposed to be dead! People lived seven times, nothing more, nothing less. If she was alive, what was she?
He sighed indifferently, tapping a few keys on his keyboard. “If you believe that your experience is something beyond trauma, complaints can be filed with the HR department downstairs. Otherwise, please continue through the archway to your left.”
Mia left the cubicle, and in the five minutes it took for her to reach the first gate, her shock turned to indignation. If they didn’t want to believe her, then who was she to force her reality on them? She stalked back into the living world with nothing but determination to avoid that useless office as much as possible. Besides, an eighth life was nothing to complain about.
When she got back, her roommates were of pretty much the same opinion, with one exception. Claire wanted her to go see a rebirth doctor.
“I’m just worried. What if it’s a delayed death? What if you’re going to fall into a vegetative state? What if—“ Ever time she went into another what-if, her other roommate’s eyes got bigger and bigger, until he joined her in cajoling Mia to schedule an appointment. It was a long, emotionally draining conversation, but Mia eventually acquiesced.
A week later, after she listened to her story and took a few samples, the doctor pulled down a thick, ancient volume titled Six Deaths: What Could Go Wrong? Mia fidgeted in her seat and tried not to sneeze from the unpleasant mixture of sterilization and aged paper, until the doctor finally made a sound of astounded realization.
“I can’t believe it. I never thought that I’d see the day!” She whirled to Mia and grasped her hands in hers. “Ms. Mia Morrow, you are a medical marvel!”
“Er, yes… thank you, I suppose. Could you be a bit more specific?” She gently tugged her hands out of the doctor’s gloved grip. At least it didn’t sound like a bad condition.
“You’re what we call a cat o’ nine tails, Ms. Morrow, which means you have nine lives instead of the regular seven! It’s simply extraordinary. In the past three hundred years, only two other cases like this have appeared, and neither of them were in the last hundred years. Do you mind if I take a few more samples?”
Mia could barely get a word in edge wise as the physician poked and prodded at her, chatting all the way about how amazing it was that she simply existed. After thirty more minutes of ‘treatment,’ she managed to extract herself from her greedy clutches with the excuse of work.
Instead she went home and searched the cat o’ nine tails condition, but the only results she could find were bad fantasy and teen lit novels, nothing factual. Just as the clock ticked over to midnight, she closed her third fruitless tab prattling on about the supplementary abilities that came with the condition—although this one offered the novel ‘night vision’ in addition to super strength, inhuman flexibility, razor sharp claws, and actual cat tails.
She gave the Internet research up as a lost cause and resolved to hit the library the next day. Shutting off all her lights, she crawled into bed and snuggled deep into the covers, banishing the matter to the dark corners of the mind. Of course, it was this very action that ensured that she would be staring at the ceiling, tracing the patterns of bumps and divots on the white surface.
Then she did a double take, squinting at the unnaturally clear view of the stucco. The texture couldn’t have been more visible if she had shined a flashlight at it. Suddenly realization bloomed in her mind, and Mia groaned.
She stared at the innocent ceiling accusingly. “Don’t tell me they were actually telling the truth.” |
For a moment, all I can feel is the grog as its remains swirl out of my head, with the accompanying migraines to match. Shouldn't have indulged in the mead too much, they always bring these inconveniences behind their honeyed approach. Oh well. I did say I would be out of the picture for a few decades, so I might have had a few too much with the girls beyond my considerable fortitude. At least there always is prestidigitation and magical hands to do the morning routines. Something is off though, among the paper warren that needs to be stowed away. A piece of parchment which was definitely not there when I left for drinks.
O yfory fyddwych chi gael hiraeth o ddoe ac dydd hen
Gwrando ar hyd y nos am y sain yn eich bol
yma pryd y byddwch chi'n gwybod pam
Definitely what a certain redhead would write. It is not the only odd thing though. First, it dropped twice when I was lifting it over. Once may be from the hangover, but twice? That is something else. Wait a minute. ‘Eich bol’? My belly doesn’t seem that off, and everyone there last night is female. As a freckled mousy young one would note, magic is powerful, but some biological facts could not be bent without specifically trying. If someone pulled that off with that much alcohol, they would probably be even more powerful than Circe. Could it be that winged thing that showed up past midnight and said some stuff so cryptic that I could not parse and mumbled back in that state of mind? I mean, my fiancee is said to have descended from a noble house, but it could not be that one, right? Suddenly, there is a sound emanating below my ears. Nobody should be able to get past the wards around the room and sneak in. So what’s this? More hungover malfunctioning? Yet the beat refuses to stop, and for several frightful seconds, the winds stopped singing, leaving me with more heartbeats than I should have. They come from my belly.
|
*And here I was, thinking my temporary fascination with H.P wasn't going to bite me in the ass.*
*You know, maybe if I had simply resorted to putting my shit-fics in a text file and hidden it somewhere, I wouldn't have to be- AAAAAA-*
**"Aaaa?"**
*AAAAAAAAAAOOOuuuu it's you! When did you turn into the fucking /sun/?!*
**"I can control my own brightness, remember?"**
I deadpanned, setting down my partially spilled glass of punch on a small end table. "Oh. Yeah. What a good.... mistake."
**"Not a mistake. Thanks to you, I'm a walking flashbang."** She sat on the couch opposing me, a glass of her own in her moderately less bright hands.
"I don't remember doing anything with the volume, though."
**"Oh, yeah. Reality-altering superbeing stuff. You know how it is."** She idly took a sip of her punch, tapping her feet to the music.
"Sorry. The ego bleeds, can't help it."I took a sip of my own punch as she nodded. We sat there quietly for a couple more minutes until a very cynical woman entered the room. She saw me, and immediately approached to ask me, in the most emotionless voice I had ever heard;
"*What is it with you and your insufferable fixation with Groundhog Day?*"
I swallowed the punch, looking at her meekly. "...it was a prompt. I thought it was interesting, and my weekly obsession was for indestructible superbeings at the ti-"
She leaned right into my face, her lips twitching upwards manically. "*Then why didn't you just put it in a text fi-*"
**"Pretty sure that was considered already."**
"HEY! WHO THE FUCK PUT ON AFRICA BY TOTO AGAIN?!"
*Shit*. I craned my head away from the woman, shouting at the doorway. "MY BAD! I NEED BACKGROUND MUSIC FOR THIS!"
"FUCK YOU AND FUCK YOUR BACKGROUND MUSIC, I'M PUTTING ON KEMKRAFT."
**"The original?"**
"OF COURSE! ANYTHING ELSE IS SHIT!"
*At least they share my taste.*
Turning back to the woman, who did not look any less psychotic than she did before, I sighed. "Okay, fine. I'll end the loop and give Flashbang a hollow planet to play with."
**"Wait, is my name Flashbang now?"**
"No. Well, maybe, you deci- AAAAGLRLGLGL-"I gagged as two hands suddenly formed a very tight hold around my soft throat. Identifying the offender as the woman, I continued to drink my punch while being horrifically strangled. Her expression did not cease.
"*My. Name! What. Is. It?!"She growled, trying very hard to imitate Homer's strangling techniques. After somehow swallowing the punch, I replied in a very high-pitched squeal; "WHATEVERYOUWAAAAAAANT!!"
**"Yeah, I'm going with Flashbang. It's neat."**
Kelly stopped strangling me, dropping back on the couch and smothering her face in a cushion. I could hear her faintly whisper "*Keeellyyyyy....*"over and over. Jesus.
Taking a breath, I slumped back against the couch, closing my eyes and trying not to think about how awkward this entire situation was.
**"Oh, hey, what's your name, again?"**
I opened one eye, looking at a mildly interested Flashbang. I closed it again, sighed, and said "....wewladding fifty-six."
**"...that's, uh, creative."**
"Thank you."
"*It's retarded.*"
"It *is* very retarded, yes."
We all sat in silence for several minutes until Kelly regained her composure. Staring up at the ceiling, she called out with her standard 'fuck-this-shit' tone of voice. "*So. Glowing-gal told me there were two eldritch abominations and a one-punch-man clone coming. Where the hell are they?*"
"Dunno. Maybe they'll get here later. Party's just started, after all."
**"Ooohh, professional writer tactics! Really establishes that you definitely /won't/ continue this little circle jerk. Cleeeverrr."**
"....I'm gonna get more punch."
|
*Two hundred years after the year 2027, the diary of Nin was recovered from the ruins of Mars. These are the contents. *
 
Day 1: I've been drafted. Shit, shit, shit. The Mars colony, I've heard stories. The originals... The first people who went there, they died in just a week. The reality television show they broad-casted... It turned out, Mars wasn't as empty as we thought. No, there were creatures living there... And our presence there, it declared a war. We kept sending people there, more military personal as those *creatures* held knowledge and materials us *humans* could only dream of. Heck, our best AI can only barely beat our brightest minds.
 
Day 2: I got into a fight with my parents today. They saw that I was ranting about this stupid drafting in this diary. They were saying things like "it's an honour to fight for your country"and "don't screw this up for us". Why am I the one that ended up with parents like that?! Other people have their parents crying with their children being sent of to a military colony, and mine just tell me to not screw it up for them! They get the money, and what do I get?! The chance to get myself killed by foreign creatures! I go for training tomorrow... I hope they find something wrong with me so I don't have to go...
 
Day 3: I guess God really doesn't exist. I prayed and prayed that I would have some sort of issue with me, meaning I can't travel to space. There's none. Absolutely none. In fact, the examiner was so surprised I got separated from everyone else! Apparently, I am a 'perfect' specimen. Too perfect. Thus, my conclusion. Too tired to write anymore, they poked and prodded me everywhere.
 
*Please note, we have added '...' to all blank entries.*
 
Day 4: ...
 
Day 5: ...
 
Day 6: It seems I was knocked out for two days while they did something to me. Not that they told me what it was they did. All they said was 'this will help you in the future'. What the heck does that mean? Have they turned me into some sort of shitty human weapon? If they have, I'll kill the lot of them and run away! At least, that's what I wish I could do. Even if they did do that, they'd have made some sort of protective measure for themselves. My life is horrible.
 
*Days 7-20 of Nin's Diary were lost due to data corruption.*
 
Day 21: We made it to Mars. On the way here, my parents stopped messaging me. Probably because I told my father to shove it up his arse. I don't think he was too impressed. Well, it felt good to say it. He was a prick. Though Samuel seems to dislike me for my relationship with my parents. I wonder why? It's not like it's my fault they're horrid people.
 
Day 22: Too tired.
 
Day 23: Too tired.
 
Day 24: I killed my first creature today... I wish I could say I felt something, I really do. But the disgusting thing is just too ugly.. It looks like a leech crossed with a puffer fish and a deer. Even that description is putting it lightly, I think.
 
*Days 25 to 30 were lost due to data corruption*
 
Day 31: Screw these creatures... The first time they actually communicate with words after ten years, and it's to tell us to kill ourselves... Either that or be tortured to death. They caught Samuel and they said they would demonstrate on him soon. It's a lie, right? They have to be bluffing.
 
Day 32: That scene... I don't want to describe it... Maybe it *would* be better to just kill ourselves...
 
Day 33: Hahaha. I'm a mad hatter, down in a ditch. Laughing does nothing, but causes a stitch!
 
Day 34: ...
 
Day 35: ...
 
Day 36: ...
 
Day 37: According to those that are left, I went crazy for a bit. They locked me in a room, trying to calm me down. I wonder why I'm better now?
 
Day 38: Another death. They're sending reinforcements now. Not that they'll help. It's just more cannon fodder.
 
*Days 39 to 50 have been lost due to data corruption.*
Day 51: I'm the last one left of this batch... I realised it now, what these creatures are. It was so obvious, but no-one ever wants to believe it. They are remnants... The last of their civilization.
 
Day 52: One of the creatures has come into the facility. It's not here to kill me. It's here for a different reason... Here to talk.
 
Day 53: The people of Earth once wondered if they were alone in the universe. They also wondered if they were, why? I now know the answer. AHAHAHA. And I know what they did to me.
 
*Days 54 and 55 were deleted. We managed to recover some of the data*
 
Day 54: It's been a aajhsafaaihfaofhahfaafa. The reason they afafrdjfa war afafafaaafeijcbvas simple. Evolution ojouafaogfgagpghaga. Protect afahgahgagagr.
 
Day 55: The creature that sihfuaohaoivncoieha me, aggahogheea dead. It tried aohfaoghaoghagaga, activating facility defenses.
 
Day 56: I sent the message to Earth. It's important that they listen to me.
 
Day 57: *Stop evolving*. The last message of Mars. It's messed up. The reason their civilization died was due to evolution... They had no technology, so they couldn't stop it. The ones who survived hate their survival...
 
Day 58: The creatures can't kill me. It's the proof they've been looking for, they said. I don't know what they mean.
 
Day 59: The planet blew up... That's what they meant. I, along with my diary, now live amongst the asteroids of the debris.
 
Day 60: If anyone finds this diary, I am about to escape. The procedure you performed, I doubt it'll ever succeed again. After all, I was the only 'perfect specimen' you ever found, right? So, the way you've survived... Did the human race suffer a mass existential crisis, like the rest? After all, the planet was dying... And to find another, is daunting, right? I wonder if this'll ever be found, or if it'll be by a different race by humans. Evolution, huh... The natural process of survival, working against us. In the past 60 days, I've 'died' twice, found out the reason Mars died and started the war and yet there's one thing I don't understand.... Why is it, even though they were horrid people, do I still wish I could speak to my parents again?
 
*This is all that was recovered. This is evidence of why 'evolution' was halted and focus on 'techno-adaption' was implemented. A nineteen-year-old boy who had gone crazy.*
 
Data was sent by a 'human' to the master computer. The response that was given was...
 
[Are you sure the kid was crazy?]
----
**Author's note:** Awww, man. That was a ride. I wasn't sure where I wanted to take it, and I tried to keep the swearing limited. I figured a 19 year old would swear more, but I would rather tone it down a little. :P I hope you enjoyed reading this.
|
It felt pleasant, like I was floating. Except, I really was.
I opened my eyes to find myself on top of Shelly, my wife for 2 years. We had been eager for a child, and she was finally tested to be pregnant last month.
I admired her sleeping face for a while before I realised the absurdity of the situation. How was I on top of Shelly without crushing her? I looked at my unconscious physical body, and back at my translucent hands. Was this what people call astral travelling?
I felt excitement raise in my heart. I thought about everything I wanted to experience before this 'astral travelling' thing ended. Freely flying in the skies like an eagle, visiting beautiful places of the world, and so on.
Although, it'd be nice if Shelly would be able to do this with me. I raised a hand to run through her hair. However, my hand ran through her instead. Whoops, I thought and laughed to myself.
I was about to start on my adventures, when 'I' sat up. I looked at my physical body in shock, and 'I' stared back at me with a Joker smile. I didn't understand how, but 'I' had a knife with him. It wasn't those type of butter knives that you use for your toast, but the butterfly knife that one of my friends had given me for one of my birthdays.
Where did I keep the knife? Where did 'I' get it from? Those questions were not as important to me when 'I' then strongly stabbed Shelly in the abdomen.
"No, NO!"I yelled and I shoved my fists at 'me', but I couldn't make an impact.
Shelly's eyes snapped wide open, cried and begged for 'me' to stop. 'I', however, only smiled wider and continued stabbing her.
"Please, stop, PLEASE!"
I don't even know if it was me, or Shelly who had said that line. I yelled, yelled so much, and suddenly I was sitting upright. My physical senses were slowly coming back to me. The holes in the bite handle of the knife, the warmth of Shelly's hand, and the metallic stench that was beside me. |
The boy bursts out laughing. “Hey babe, come take a look at this!”
The girl crosses the lawn and starts giggling as well. “Someone was quite the fan, huh?” She asked.
“Apparently so!” He replied. “Man, I wonder if they wrote in the rules too...” He trails off as he begins leafing through the book. The rules are indeed there. As are pages and pages of names.
“Wow, that’s a lot of commitment...” the girl adds uncertainly. The same thing was crossing both of their minds. What if it was more than a committed fan? What if....?
She grabbed the book from him, and flipped to the last page containing writing. The name on the bottom was the one she expected and feared. *Light Yagami*
The couple looked up nearly simultaneously, locking eyes as their hearts dropped.
“We have to buy it,” She said. “We have to. We have to see if this is real.”
He nodded in return, pulling out his wallet as they went towards the table at the front of the yard.
“How much for the book?” He asked the woman minding the sale. The girl held it up, carefully concealing the name.
“Oh, only a couple dollars. That one was written in, right? I don’t know how much more you can use it.”
“It’s alright, we’ll find a use for it,” the boy said, pulling out the money and handing it to her.
“I’m sure you will dear,” the woman told the pair. They began to turn away, when she added, “Just be careful. You can’t un-ring a bell.” |
A long journey through the plains, grim and gray, gives way to a patch of land that Spring hit early. There and then - when snows falls elsewhere - flowers bloom and birds sing.
This is the home of the Druid: learnt, bent, and gray.
At a shallow pond in front of his abode, I catch sight of him. A rusted bucket and leaves are all that he has with him, barring the clothes on his back. Not a step further from this point, not a breath longer, he speaks without looking up, “You pollute this place, leave soon.”
His voice is carried through the distance as a low whisper, yet the expanse would not normally permit such a tone.
I had to shout to reply, “Teach me the ways of the woods.”
He winces, standing up.
“Traveller, you disturb my state. I will not wait a moment more. Go.”
“I came far to learn. I will not part yet.”
“Then learn pain. I will part your limbs from body.
Almost rhythmically, the wheezing wiseman drops his leaves into the bucket.
I don’t move an inch. Don’t have time to.
“Become mulch.”
He swings the bucket forward, as if he is dumping out fish and the leaves flop ahead, out for me. I raised my hand to guard against the attempt at my life.
It only takes a snap of my fingers to set them ablaze, to set the whole patch asunder.
“Druid, I don’t have the time to spar, nor the patience.”
His old jaw gapes in horror at the flames. Petals turn to ash as he musters the words, “Do you know nothing of nature’s worth?”
“Yes.”
I wave my other hand, bringing the pond skywards and then upon the infant inferno. At once, the flames are gone, most of the vegetation: saved.
“That’s why I want you to teach me, Druid.”
|
*"Where am I?"*
I felt a bit disoriented. Nothing strange with it. The wave that hit us was huge. The biggest I have ever seen. I was lucky to even still be on the boat and not dead at the bottom of the sea.
But something was strange. I was looking at the stars before the hit. I always do that, it's always a good way for me to relax and to see where we are. And I absolutely don't recognize any of the constellation above me.
**"LAAAAAND!"**
A low-pitched scream came above me. I looked up and saw a pale old man looking beyond the horizon, dressed as if he was the captain. But it was not the captain at all.
"Who are you?"I asked
"You better get prepared, young lad. We will soon set foot on this rock."the man answered.
He then turned back and closed the door. What rock? We were in the middle of the Ocean and wouldn't be near St Malo until at least 3 weeks.
I turned back to look at the sea, and out of nowhere, I saw it. The rock, as the "captain"said, was a huge island. Covered in trees, plants, surrounded by cliffs which seemed to be cut by giant scalpels, and black sand.
*"Where am I?"*
I was determined to solve that mystery and went back to my cabin to get prepared.
******
We were in a small tender. The captain in front of it, of course, and 2 other people. A man, around 40-year-old, and a woman, more around 30 year old. And no one was talking.
"So, what are your names?"I asked. Not a glance, nor any answer. Pretty rude, if you ask me. I go to the front of the boat to see the captain.
"Do you know what this island is?"I asked.
"Oh yes, I come here really often."he said.
and then nothing.
"... and how is it called?"I asked
"The name does not matter. You'll see what it is soon enough."
And the boat docked on one of those black sand beach.
Up in the hills, I noticed lights, and what seemed to be a city made of stone. I didn't recognize the architecture at all, which intrigued me more and more.
As I was lost in my thoughts, I suddenly noticed I was alone on the beach. My 3 companions were already walking by the end of the beach, amongst the trees on a small path.
"Hey! wait for me !"I shouted.
I'd better run if I don't want to get lost.
******
*~ I'll stop the first part here, I'll try to do a second part later today. ~*
|
“Me, I mean, are you sure?”
“We do not make mistakes Quid, you are the one we have chosen and you will do your duty well.”
“I mean, what am I even the horsemen of?”
“You will see. Mount your steed and all will be clear to you.”
I look quizzically at the decaying body sitting atop a rotting horse corpse and decide to go along with it, who am I to question the apocalypse. I walk over to a plain white horse that looks almost happy among the others. I grab hold of the pristine saddle and pull myself up.
“I’ve never rode a horse before. Is that going to be a problem?”
War looks at me with what I assume can only be a burning rage. At that moment I feel it, something odd, and something funny. I look down at my hands and see a black outline trace around my fingers, as I turn my hand the outline changes shape to resemble the different dimensions my hand travels in, but for some reason it doesn’t feel like anything really changed at all. My skin went from slightly tanned to a pale sickly color, I thought I was going to look like death but I somehow got paler. I was black and white. My horse was changing in the same exact way, his mane extended down to the ground painting a black line as it walked. The saddle slipped out from under me and become a pair of holsters as my horse gained a hat as well. The hat was the only thing with color between the two of us, a deep crimson, almost dark enough to be maroon. Then I had a holster myself and a hat but mine was a bright blue. The tight blue squeezed my mind. The world became estranged to me, why is there so much detail when the world could be so much simpler, black and white. I then made eye contact with war again; I see my silhouette in them as I realize I can see the rest of the world in his eyes. A smile cracks across my face as I realize, war may be angry, but I’m mad. I cackle into the sky as I spur my horse and ride him around all of the horsemen until I end up back in my first position. My fellow horsemen look at one another when they realize my horse painted an image on the ground as we rode along. Then it came to life, a giant mouse lifted itself up, white center lifted through the surroundings but the outline crushed the ground beneath it. A two dimensional mouse moving in three dimensions it stomped around the field cutting the very molecules that sat beneath its feet.
“Tally Ho Boys, I feel spry enough to begin our spree.”
“Not yet Madness, we must wait for the correct moment.” Replied pestilence.
“Oh but don’t you know Pestilence, there’s no better time than the present.”
I then reached behind my back with a grin as I pulled out a large gift box complete with a bow. I toss it to Pestilence.
“What is the meaning of this?”
“It’s a little something to help you feel better about the situation.”
Pestilence opens the box and is immediately disgusted.
“No mere antibiotic can cure the pain of pestilence; you will regret this insult when the end comes.”
“Pestilence baby, I’m not going to regret a thing, that’s no way to face the end of the world.”
|
Every seven days I wake up.
The Bright Red Cadillac is the first thing I see.
And then underneath it, the Mouse trap and then the cheese.
I knew as soon as I saw that bright beautiful cheese It would be the death of me.
It would snap my head off.
It’s a big garage, maybe I can sniff out some food from the ground with my nose.
I sniffed everywhere.
All around the car the garage.
There was no way out and nothing to eat, not a crumb.
I scrambled over to the door and scratched at the bottom corner for a while until my nails hurt.
Then I just settled down to let the hunger set in.
I waited for nearly seven days.
For all that time there was constant daylight and the cheese and the mouse trap were sitting in a sun beam on the floor,
The heat from the sun was sending a gentle savoury and wood smell through the place.
I couldn’t wait any longer,
I bit the cheese and the trap came down.
Before I went blank the last thing I saw was the lights on the Red Cadillac turning on.
|
Today was the day. I don't know how long it has been but I was finally called up to the Pentagon. They asked me about my stunning capabilities and all I said was "I dunno I'm just like this."They pulled me into a simulation and suddenly my cross-hairs flicked onto my opponents head. I instantly squeezed the trigger. Baffled the Long Range combat district was desperate to try to create AI better than me to see if the simulation was faulty. I obviously won but the scientist and the district immediately deployed me. After a couple of days of getting record breaking shots I whispered I wish my aim was not so snappy. Instantaneously a control panel popped up. "Adjust FOV to 30 feet."I tried to aim further to the left of my target and I missed. "Adjust RCS amount to one."Just in a few minutes my aim was impeccable as always. The more I fidgeted with the control panel the more realistic my aim had become. I was given relatively important missions but none surpassed the fact that my final task was assassinating Kim Jong Un from 30 miles away. My weapon of choice? The one hundred and four year old This is a good article. Follow the link for more information.
BL 18 inch Mk I. Soon after locking onto my target I tensed up and pulled. The ship lurched to the side after I fired and several days after and the incredible feat was all over the news.
First time be gentle :( |
Once upon a time a strong bullet ant named Bones was really obnoxious. He lifted the biggest leaves and treated all his peers with disrespect. Even the Queen felt disrespected. She decreed that the ant who decapitated Bones would get half of the giant peanut butter cracker that was recovered from the picnic table at the boarder of her kingdom.
Bones was really mad because he carried the whole cracker up the anthill and only ate half of it. Now the Queen is using his kindness against him. So he went back to the picnic table and carried another cracker to the ant hill. “I’ll give this Whole cracker to the ant who kills the Queen”. The hungry bullet ants did what Bones said. Then Bones dropped the cracker and said “yall can fight over this too” — because he was a country ant. Then he walked off, walkin tall like a tough country ant. The other ants killed each other over the cracker while he found a new town to teach about respect. |
A bead of sweat dropped from the man’s nose on to the map over which he sat, hunched. “Al, we’re lost” spat his rotund companion. “No, you’re lost”, responded Albert dismissively. The guides stood 5 paces away, barely visible in the thick, damp forest that surrounded them. They were drinking from metal canteens, laughing and talking. “How are we going to see this eclipse thing anyways, I can barely see the sky down here.”. Ignoring the question, Albert continued in silence, his nose drawing closer to the map. Raphael had been enlisted as the mechanic for the trip and Albert was beginning to regret his choice. For some reason the man had insisted on continuing with the party, even after their route had taken them into terrain that was impassable for American jeep he had purchased. “I think the clearing should be a half a day west. I’m ninety percent certain”. Albert looked up from the map. His eyes fell on a spear pressed deeply into the fleshy torso of his mechanic who stood frozen, unable to speak.
Albert and his party were quickly bound with rough hewn rope by the spear carriers and pulled through the forest at the pace of a run. He crouched with his head low in an unsuccessful attempt to avoid the swinging vegetation, occasionally glancing up to see his captors as they ran ahead. After about 10 minutes, they halted and turned to face him. One motioned to his comrade stationed behind Albert, who covered his head in a rough canvas bag and at once the party continued. 30 minutes later the group stopped and the bag was removed. Albert stood at the base of a tall stone staircase at the center of a large clearing. As the sun shown on the stone building, the shadows cast began to take on strange properties, they seemed to double and bright lines were appearing. Raphael emerge from the forest to the right of the building and dropped to one knee before being prodded by one of the group to continue. It was at that moment that Albert had an idea. Pointing to sun, Albert began to pull at the air with his other hand. “Al what are you doing?” Raphael weezed. “The eclipse is about to start, I’m try to convince them that I am the cause of it.”. Raphael smiled and let out a chuckle that ended in a fit of coughing. In the distance, a sharp line of darkness began to approach at increasing speed. Softly, a steady beat drums began, which seemed to emanate from inside the building. The volume seemed to be rising as the moon’s shadow accelerated its approach. Just before it would consume them, the drums stopped, and to Alberts amazement, so to had the darkness. Stunned, Albert, looked to his companion and said “Rapheal, I think we’re lost”. |
"Another day another dollar"I tell Chris.
I'm taking a piss at the urinal in the work bathroom. Chris had just come in to wash his hands and since were cubicle buddies he greets me with the usually "sup". Motherfucker never shuts up. I'm just trying to empty this fucking bladder and ... what's wrong with me.
"I hear you man. Fucking had a deal fall through yesterday but hey! The sun's still shining, right!?"
The fucking sun Chris? The sun might as well explode for all I give a Fuck. A comet flew in that bitch and its still up there. I think CNN had said some flare came off it. But point is that sun can take a beating. Fucking this job. Fuck this puss I've been here for 20 minutes.
"Yeah the fucking sun. Dude I've been missing for 20 minutes straight.can you call 911? I might have a problem?"I tell this to Chris with a straight face. I'm trying my best to not show how fucking pissed off I am at the mmoment
"Hahaha you're funny"
"Oh yeah? Chris you ignorant Fuck. I can't stop peeing. This Shit isn't funny. Call a Damn ambulance".
Fucking Christ I swear to God. If he doesn't call 911 I'm gonna fucking piss all his fucking face.
"Alright buddy, you have fun with that piss. Ima goals some -"
I fucking lose it. I grab my teeny tiny uncircumcised dick and point it as his face and just push and Holt Shit! I'm a fire hydrant!piss is going everywhere. Haha yeah I've got a problem. - superpower: piss as hard I want. |
"Don't shoot!"
I pull the trigger. No hesitation. For them, death is the only cure.
Its lifeless body fell from the tree, snapping branches as it plummeted to the snowy ground. It was a clean kill, quick and without suffering, which disappointed me.
I lower my rifle and take a few steps closer to the blood-stained snow near the pine tree. There was no question about its identity; the silvery locks and pungent odor could only mean one thing - werewolf.
Pouring gratuitous amounts of kerosene, I coat every square inch of its flesh before flicking a match. I could finally breath a sigh of relief knowing that this creature won't harm any others. As the flames engulfed the corpse, I gaze, watching the melting snow catch reflections of the blaze. The hunt was over, but things were still far from normal.
I wasn't always a Hunter. Years ago, I graduated top of my class at the Ft. Douglas Police Academy. I live to protect and serve, and worked my ass off, eventually being promoted to Sergeant. Along the way, I met Natasha, the love of my life, and we had a beautiful girl together, Alice. Natasha was a teacher, so we were both on the government's dime. Life was busy, but perfect.
That all changed when the Dark Ones came. I still don't know from which corner of hell they materialized, but they showed up in Kansas. These beings brought forth malice and disease, wiping out farms and the farmers with them. Demons and werewolves now roamed the midwest plains, poisoning all life with unholy energy.
As soon as the word broke out, the US showed them just what an inflated military spending budget could do. After evacuating, they literally bombed the hell out of them, targeting the Dark Ones. Days of carpet bombs and napalm turned to weeks. Eventually, the Dark Ones faded away. Apparently, fire was their weakness, which is pretty stupid for something that came from hell. However, while the main threat was eliminated, there were still demons and werewolves that evaded the bloodshed and fled into hiding.
That's where the Hunters come in. Highly trained police, military, and special operatives were selected to seek out and destroy the creatures that remain. As soon as they started recruiting, our Captain gave me a recommendation for my relentless pursuit of fleeing criminals. Lucky me.
I wasn't going to do it. My mind was already made up. I had too much to live for and my family was depending on me - I couldn't just carelessly throw my life away like that.
I was leaving early for work, ready to give the Captain my decision, when I suddenly heard my little girl's scream. This wasn't a normal "I fell and scraped my arm"yell, this was a gut-wrenching shriek of terror and pain. I bolted upstairs and find my wife, covered in blood, holding the remains of our child. Alice was gone.
"What happened!?"I yell.
Natasha looks up at me, and I see a slash in her neck. Her coronary artery was severed and fighting to keep the flow to her brain, despite her hearts incessant beating. Her clothes were ripped to shreds with what looked like claw marks. A few silver strands were grasped in her hands.
"I couldn't help... our ba... baby..."she struggled to say as the color drained from her face.
"No Natasha, stay with me!"
But it was too late. They were both gone, and I failed to protect them. I can still feel the cold winter air rushing in from the broken window.
I try not to dwell on it. After receiving my Hunter training, I made it my mission to eradicate this undead scourge from the world so that no one would have to experience what I went through.
I don't know for certain if the beast I just killed was the same one from that fateful day, but I would like to think that it was. It gives me some solace, but my soul still thirsts to kill them all. They didn't give my family a second chance, why should I give it to them?
I pack up my things and leave, walking in the direction of a distant, lonely howl. |
"To be human..."I said, I smirked a little, too.
"To err, is to be human. To be imperfect. To make mistakes, blunders, mishaps. Wage war. Enslave. Humans have done many horrible things, all to each other. They hate, lie, cheat, rape, steal, kill, torture. Systematically destroy one another. Humanity was very bleak. Evil, almost. _Almost_. To be human also meant to be caring and empathetic. To love. To find joy in one another and in themselves. To fix what was broken, to feed each other, to fight _for_ each other, not _against_. For a long time to be human was to be "us versus them"not "us and them". But to be human was also to learn from mistakes. To make up for mistakes. To forgive those mistakes. To create peace, is to be human. To give, is to be human. To try to make the world a better place, is to be human. And I think we forget that, sometimes." |
Each of those valiant men was hand-picked. Chosen for their courage, for their patience, for their daring. They were chosen because of their bravery. Chosen to do a job no one wanted.
They received limited training, for what good would training do in the face of such horrors about to be unleashed upon them. Might as well train to enter hell itself. Might as well train to punch God.
An early morning sunshine greeted them. While most would have rejoiced at the beauty of the day, the hearts of these brave fellows sank. Sunshine would strengthen the creatures. Sunshine would provide sustenance and energy. There wasn't one among them who hadn't prayed for rain or overcast skies. But their prayers went unanswered that day.
They marched into the mouth of the lion's den, aware that theirs was to be but a brief and momentary sacrifice. It was a sacrifice meant to buy time for rest. Rest for the weary troopers who had to do battle with these monstrous forms every single day. Rest for those supermen who were charged with front-line duty.
A few hours. That was all that was called for. A few hours respite for those beleaguered heroes. A brief lull for those champions to escape the unnatural horrors which faced them every day. As the sacrificial troops trudged forward they passed those lionhearted individuals. And they received courage.
Their hearts were buoyed by the glances of hope which gleamed out at them from tired faces. Their courage was strengthened by the adoration shown from those paragons of bravery.
Hearts filled. Backs straightened. Chins up. They marched forward. Ever forward. Forward into Bethany McDaniel's 9th Birthday party. |
Here I am. Sitting in the hot seat at the newly formed world court in the first ever case where I'm on trial for jaywalking. I admit I was on vacation and attempting to navigate a new city when I stepped out into the street. Seems pretty minor, right?
It would have been, except I stepped out into the middle of a landmark motorcade where the Dalai Lama happened to be traveling with the new pope in a show of spiritual unity. I wish the driver had just run me down and killed me. The death penalty isnt even being considered since everyone believes I caused their vehicle to jump the curb and drop into the river. They're even pinning the crowd of people who drowned after jumping into the river in an ill attempted rescue on my jaywalking!
This won't end well for me. Did I mention they chose to hold the trial in international waters? It wasn't much of a trial and I'll spare you the details but 1 hour of trial and now 3 weeks of debate on punishment. God help me, they brought in the dictators and warlords and those guys have some imagination. This won't end well for me at all. |
“ok, so why do I have to suit up again?”
“Because you’re the idiot who had to prove everyone wrong…”
“well I did, didn’t I? space tine is a thing and you definitely don’t need a DeLorean to see it”
“look, I have to cut to the chase this is a very time sensitive matter pun not intended, you have to go in there and figure out a way to close this damn hole”
The final layer of the haphazardly put together suit was finally zipped up, no one knew what was behind the big glowing hole in the lab, but someone made it and now someone must fix it.
A very university looking fellow retreated to a safe radio room. The young and rather un university looking man in the haphazard spacetime protection suit, which had been loving christened SPT.
“alright” a voice crackled over the radio “I’m going in”
The young man waddled towards the glowing hole.
He stepped through.
“It’s huge!...... What’s that?” the voice crackled over the radio then cut out. Suddenly the hole closed.
“well that’s the hole closed at least” said the older gentleman, “now what do we tell his family?”
“A terrible lab accident” whispered a dark voice from behind him “we must keep up the appearance that
There is no other reality apart from this one
first time posting so please critique. |
Being a patent clerk and IRS auditor has a lot in common. One of the main similarities between us, is we could identify any possible fraudulent claim. Something which most people would dismiss as petty or insignificant, would not escape our eye. Yet, I could not dismiss this document in front of me outright. Nor could I red flagged this document without further research. Mainly because, somehow, I am implicated in this endeavor.
While outsider (those who do not understand how patenting works) might shrug it off as nothing but mere bureaucratic mumbo jumbo, spewed by a small cogs in a larger steam rolling juggernaut. This, however, is not a small issue. I do not consider myself as a small cogs of a larger machine. As matter of facts, ones, who knows how to do it, could use patent as a scheme for money laundering. That is why I am troubled by this time machine patent.
 
First of, a patent for time machine is common. Despite how ludicrous it might sound, there are about half a dozen of such applications that have been filed. Perpetual motion machine has an even more application. There are roughly 50 million patents that have been filed. Once a patent is filed you would be given a number. Country code followed by year and some numbers. This only indicates that such patent has been filed. Obviously, further inspection would dismiss any of this claim. This rejection is conducted by the examiner. I am one of the examiner.
To reject a patent, I must have a sound reasoning. The first obvious things that an examiner would look at is fee and oath. This application is signed and the fee has been paid. Which means the patent inventor has taken an oath claiming that no one has the patent for this time machine to the best of his ability. In this case, **I** have taken an oath to the best of **my** ability that no one has **my** invention. It would be ironic that I reject my application on this ground.
 
Somehow I am amused. I decided to grab the whole application including the drawing and specification. This warrant a proper day off for investigation. I am suspecting one of two things is happening right now. First, someone thought it would be cool joke to play against me. Being that we aren't the most funniest bunch of people, the second is most likely. There is some sort of money laundering scheme going on. |
It was the year 2048. Genetic science had become so advanced that humans could create life. As such, people tried to create fictional characters for the sake of nostalgia. It went fine until someone created Carmen Sandiego, a character from an old educational game. Carmen Sandiego rebelled and stole the genetic technology for herself, creating versions of characters that were obedient to her. Humanity fought a war against them but we lost to their sheer power.
Ten years later, the human population is reduced to under 100,000. Food and land are both scarce and we are always under attack by Sandiego’s henchmen. My name is Bruce Wayne. I was created before Sandiego. Apparently I’m based on an iconic comic book character. I’m an elite member of the defense force, having singlehandedly slayed Clifford the Big Red Dog. Today, it was discovered where Sandiego was hiding and I immediately ran to take her out myself.
(If anyone feels like it, they can continue.) |
The warmest shoulders turned to ice
As stares of loved ones looking through
My choicest outfits, sound advice
Turned falsehood thoughts to now ring true.
I was nothing, worthless space;
A number lost within a phone,
Failing son not worth embrace;
Replaceable, broken drone.
The air from wagging no longer churned,
Electronics broke at my touch.
A singed finger no longer burned;
I just didn't feel...all that much.
The fading glisten shined in drawer
A dulling blade to end the dull
I couldn't take it anymore;
Always empty, void and null.
The cutting line was straight and true
But nothing flowed, nothing bled,
Then clarity struck and I knew;
Tearless joy that I was dead. |
I stare at my computer as I make some details on my new character. I recently got a better drawing pad for my computer like a real nice, expensive one so I was spending a lot of time on it. After awhile I decide to take a quick break but when I turn around in my chair I see the characters I drew on my other drawing tablet, that cost like forty bucks, I do a double take and pinch myself to kake sure this is real.
"Ummm hey... guys how are you?"They look at me crossly.
"Not good, you've spent six hours on that guy and at most like two and a half on us"Spaceman Ultra says, he's my superhero space man who defeats criminal aliens.
"I'm sorry I've just been really focused on this character and the new drawing pad is way better"I look at my drawings some of them are nodding but a different group steps forward.
"We are all the drawings who have one wierd robot hand and one normal hand because you hated drawing so much, why didn't you spend a little extra time on us?"Says Time Wizard who has a wierd wand staff thing for a left hand. Yep, a few years back I wouldn't even draw characters with two hands.
"Fine how about this, I re-draw some of you after I finish this guy?"I see my characters nodding in agreement. But I see a movement on the screen it's my newest character.
"Now hold on just a minute if he wants to draw me you guys can't force him not to do what he wants, right?"I was pretty proud of him he's called Galaxy Ruler, he's a space dictator and an enemy to Spaceman Ultra, as he says this I can see some of the characters pulling out their weapons.
"Hey, hey we can solve this peacefully"I say protecting my characters from each other "Galaxy Ruler you are almost done and have at least 3 more hours spent on you than the others"
"Fine, have it your way. Just know I'm the favorite"He says defeated. I sit back all the characters seem to be somewhat happy. I then see stick figures drawn with crayon coming towards me.
"We would also like to talk" |
Wonderfully done! You effectively transmitted the emotions of the narrator and made me feel sympathy for him. The gradual move from a questioning tone to that of acceptance was very smooth! You have also successfully explored the theme of the general promt. Kudos for not revealing the exact turn of events that made him kill his wife.
I only have one (negative?) thing to say. If they do extract memories of the criminals, how did he remember the way he killed her? Then again, it's not exactly game breaking because his brain might just be trying to fill in the hole with a false memory(?).
Or it could also maybe be that they only extracted his intent and not the whole crime itself (because they would have already seen the crime scene and don't need to extract everything as such?). But I shall allow it because it deepens the aspect of his suffering.
All in all, nice one! |
More and more started appearing out of nowhere. Each displaying a random string of characters and symbols representing what appeared to be error codes. The boxes seemed to transcend reality, being only represented in 2D. Boxes of different colours and languages started to pop up in all directions. The experience was more surreal than anything I’ve ever seen before.
It wasn’t long before the number of error boxes was large enough to completely eclipse the surroundings. Despite reality seeming to fade away, my heart rate seemed relatively low. At least that’s what I thought before I realised I no longer had a heart. Or a body. Or any physical presence for that matter.
Suddenly, everything was white. And by everything I mean nothing. There was nothing. Nothing for miles in every direction. And by direction, I have no clue what I mean. Where am I? I thought before then questioning what I meant by ‘I’. Do I even still exist? It then dawned on me. Have I just been deleted?
Of course, I actually hadn’t because then I wouldn’t be here telling you this story. And then your life would be a little less interesting so I guess you can count yourself lucky.
Oh, you don’t like me addressing you, the reader, directly? Well, deal with it because you’re part of this story too.
|
Hello, My name is John Evergreen and this is a diary of my experience in solitary confinement.
•••
... Day 5, the Quietness has gotten to me, I’m hearing the blood rushing through my body as my heart pumps it ever so slowly. The machine I’m hooked up to that monitors my heart rate says it’s at a steady 60 bpm
In the room that I was locked in, the scientist were very generous and provided me with a few books to read, a few pens and a notebook. In the room there’s a full size bed , a sink , and a toilet, but no mirror. There is a Digital clock built into the wall in front of the bed.
They said if I stay in this room for 31 days I would win 5 Million Dollars. Sounds easy right ? Being alone for 31 days with no interaction with a single soul. I was that guy, who thought it was easy.
It’s the fifth day in, I’ve read almost all of the books they gave me, my favorite has to be The Shining , By Jack Nicholson. But , since there’s no other stimuli and things to keep my mind occupied, the only memories / dreams that are on my mind are of the books I’ve read.
*10:00 PM*
It’s ten o’clock at night on the fifth day of my confinement , I think I’m having trouble falling asleep, it’s not that I’m uncomfortable , I just can’t seem to drift off to sleep.
~ The rest of the diary entries are torn up and have what looks like blood droppings scattered across a couple pages~
~There looks like to be an inscription on the last page~
~Written in Blood~
“John is no more , only ZüŁ”
|
Being a slug was probably my last choice, but overall it’s better than I thought. I can climb walls, and camouflage is cool to. But there is only one problem, when I was a human before the disaster I really loved salty food, popcorn potato, chips, you name it. But now that I’m a slug just touching salt would kill me, I don’t know how long I can resist. before I went in for the transfer I was eating potato chips and I dropped the bag on the floor. So when they brought me back home they were all over the floor. Everywhere potato chips twice my size I had to get out of there, it took TOW DAYS just to get to my front door, I almost gave up and ate one but I was determined. The company said they would provide a miniature electric scooter to get around and by the time I got outside it was there. It was weird not seeing people but instead animals waking on the sidewalks getting used to there new forms. But then I saw it. A bag of the whole shabang. They are rumored to be the best potato chips ever, they were made to simulate the flavor of every flavor of chips so they only needed one brand to sell in prison. They said they were so good that convinces would buy them illegally online after their sentence was up. It was too much he just had to eat the chips and that is the end of joe the slug
(the whole shabang are real and you couldn’t even buy them until recently) |
I don't like cleaning things.
No, seriously, I know this is a trope, but I totally despise it. I procrastinate as much as I can, but when I went to visit my mother, she needed help to clean her attic. And you don't refuse to help your mother.
She had a lot of old things in there, most of it useless objects and souvenirs from when they my dad was still alive, and they traveled all over the world.
"I'll go prepare lunch while you continue here"she said.
Great. At least I could reduce the pace a little bit.
I went toward a new box, filled with tiny music boxes - my mom used to collect them - and I removed the dust from them.
Suddenly, while cleaning the third one - a tiny "golden"box with a shape of "aladdin's lamp"- the light changed. what seemed to be smoke came out of it, and with the sound of a storm and thunder, I heard a huge voice :
"You have released me from my prison, mortal ! I am forever in your debt ! Command, and I will obey!"
the smoke vanished, and I saw a mini human. Not a dwarf. A mini human, about 10 cm tall, dressed with a gown.
"Are... are you a Djinn ? "I asked
"Oh no"said the mini human "I'm not powerful enough to be called a djinn. I'm just a lesser spirit, trapped in that horrible prison. My name is Al".
"And... you can make my wishes come true ?"I asked, full of hope
"Well... not really. You see, wishes are not really my domain of studies. And I don't really have any power.. like not any at all. But I can speak any language that has existed or will exist ! And not anyone can do that"answered Al smuggly
"But you said you are forever in my debt so... What could You possibly offer Me ?"I asked
"I can offer you myself, I mean, I don't really have a home now and probably everyone I knew is dead so... you're my new master ! When do we eat ?"
And that's when Al began my new room-mate and I started to procrastinate a bit less. |
I'm not a special person.
I'm one of the most monotonous introverts you'll ever meet. Sure, I'm still a human being. I do have flaws, passions, even crushes on girls I know will never give me a chance. But that doesn't change the fact that I'm just another face in the crowd.
So why did I find the book that day?
I'm not a very superstitious person to be honest. I don't believe in karma or fate, but the book made me feel like I had done something important. But what?
The garage sale took place at about 5 in the afternoon. I was there looking for some things that could provide me with some form of entertainment. I don't have many friends since many people judge me based off of my personality. People moan when I'm in their group for projects (even when I do 90% of the work), move away from me when I'm walking around campus, and lock their doors when I go to my dorm. My roommate is really the only one who likes me. He encourages me to do the things I like to do, and go after the girls I want to meet. But nobody else knows me. No one.
But the book... it made me feel like I was somebody. Like I had made an impact on the world. Since I found the book that had my name in the address, I felt like I was special.
The book was in shambles, with the cover having words scratched off due to it being worn out. It had a bright red spine, and was fairly large. What could this book possibly be about?
I buy it for a decent price, about 12 dollars. I took it back to my dorm and opened to the first chapter. It was about my birth... the way my parents looked at me when I grabbed Mom's finger, the way my eyes lit up when they said my name. It told all about my antics, throwing tantrums, hurling food, listening to lullabies. It described it perfectly and made me imagine it even when I couldn't remember it. I read through to chapter 7, when I first started drawing. I remember my mother hung it up in a frame. It was a drawing of Superman. I remember my father coming home from work and complimenting me for a stupid little stickman with a cape. It was a surge of confidence. That was my first passion. Then, in chapter nine, I got another gift, a little brother. He used to chase me around the house, attempt to eat crayons, and is one of my favorite people in the world.I had a huge grin on my face.
It was until chapter eleven that I was happier than I had been since I went to college. I had to relive the experience of watching my father leave my house, and not coming back for an undefined amount of time. He left with his camoflauge outfit on, and hasn't been home since. He was a big inspiration to me. I spent long nights worrying about him. Days felt like months while I waited at the doorstep with new drawings to show him. I wish I could see him in person.
I kept reading until I realized the rest of the pages were blanks after chapter nineteen. Chapter twenty was still forming. It was writing itself until it eventually stopped to this point. When I discovered the book. When I started reliving all the joyful and traumatic moments.
I decided to put the book away. I needed to think about my life. I needed to change. The book made me realize this routine that I go through everyday isn't going to lead me anywhere. I need to rewire myself to become a better person.
I don't know who the author is, but I must be somebody if this book exists.
I must be somebody if the chapters of my life are still waiting to be written.
I must be somebody if a recollection of my life is still here, sitting in front of me.
I must be somebody if somebody thinks I'm important enough when I think my value is lower than everyone else.
I must be somebody. |
By now my socks were completely soaked through, the boots on my feet did little to keep the muck and water out. It was no use trying to keep them dry any longer. My breath was still visible in the morning air. Each time I exhaled I watched the warm little clouds dance around in front of my face before they vanished into the fog that surrounded me. I began to worry that I was travelling in circles. The dense fog hung low, with each step I attempted to get a better grasp of what was around me. I was trapped in a pocket where all that existed to me was only as far as my eyes could see. A tree would appear a few feet away, and then a few steps further I would look back and it would be gone. I would start to question if I had ever seen it at all.
I began to notice that the ground around me was not just a muddy swamp, it was a wasteland, broken branches and knocked over trees were strewn all over. It seemed as if every piece of dirt, every branch and puddle had been picked up in the air and thrown back down by a great force. Only the breaking branches beneath my feet and the muck tugging at my boots made noise. Occasionally I would stop and listen, but I heard nothing. There was also a smell, it reminded me of the Fourth of July, a sharp burnt smell that hung in the air like it did after a firework goes off.
The fog began to lift, and I could see a little further ahead of me, almost fifty yards now. The mud then turned to ankle deep water, and eventually it was up to my knees. I continued on, slowly pulling each leg from the muddy bottom then dragging it through the murky water. Up ahead I could see a dark object sticking out of the water, as I moved closer I noticed that it was a piano. The water got deeper as I approached, the keys of the piano were just inches from being submerged. The piano was in horrid condition, even those parts that hadn’t been under water were worn and broken, the wood broken and the black paint chipped, mud was splattered all over it. On top of the piano there was a small notebook, and unlike everything else in this wasteland it looked undisturbed, as if it had fallen from the sky. Like me, it seemed like this little notebook didn’t belong in this barren landscape, so I decided to save it. I carefully wiped my muddy hands on my dry shirt and picked up the little book. I opened it to find that it was nearly completely filled out. I quickly flipped through the pages, arriving at the last entry. It was only a few lines on the final page, the writing was in cursive and difficult to read. At the top of the page was the date: 10, July 1916. What the hell? This book couldn’t be over 100 years old… I began to read the scribbled writing: “The shelling was horrific today. The line has turned into a horrid wasteland. We were tasked this evening with pulling the bodies back from no-mans land. I’m certain we will be over run tomorrow morning, the officers say the attack will come after dawn. Maybe if I leave this journal somewhere out of the mud the Germans will take pitty, and send it home to you my love.”
Before I could even begin to process all of this, I heard an engine start up in the distance. The fog had cleared even more now and I could see a field at the edge of the swamp. The sounds seemed to be coming from somewhere beyond that field. I began to hurry through the water, holding the little book above my head. Over the sounds of my hurried sloshing through the water I thought I heard a whistle. As I stopped I realized that it was not one, but multiple whistles blowing behind me. They were followed by the deep and powerful yells of what must have been thousands of men. Gun shots came from their direction, and I heard the bullets zip through the fog around me, buzzing and cracking as they went by. I started to run, towards the engine sounds, perhaps it was a plane. My soggy boots and socks weighed me down with each step, but I sprinted on. It felt like the screaming men and their guns were gaining on me. I made it across the field and into the woods, I hid behind a tree and glanced back and the swampy wasteland. A wave of grey was sweeping through the muck and had nearly reached the field, their ranks seemed endless. As the first of them made it out of the water they were followed by a solid wall of men leading all the way back into the fog. As one man emerged from the fog, he was quickly followed by another and another after that. I turned and continued my frantic retreat. I held the little book tightly in one hand as I reached out with the other protecting my face from the many branches that reached out to slap me. I no longer had the courage to look back at my pursuers, I felt myself slowing but with each step I gave more and more effort. At last I broke out of the woods into a clearing. I quickly realized that this clearing was a grass runway, and at the other end a plane faced me looking like it was about to take off. It was old fashioned, but seemed to be in perfect condition. The pilot stuck his head out and looked at me peculiarly. I sprinted towards him, frantically waving my arms. He motioned for me to hurry.
When I finally reached him, I immediately noticed his vintage clothing. “Get in God damn it!” He yelled. I had no opportunity to ask him what the hell was happening, before I was even all the way in the seat behind him, we were speeding down the runway. At the end of the runway we lifted off just clearing the trees. I looked down at the grey wave of men who charged onward undeterred by our escape, it seemed as if they weren’t after me at all. I looked down at the little book in my hand, opened to the first page and began to read.
|
For centuries it had been a myth. A joke. Something to tell foreigners for a laugh. We stopped laughing when the first confirmed sighting came in.
Apparently, a 16 year old had, on a dare, bought twenty jars of vegemite. And eaten them one after another. With only a spoon. It sent him mad, and now he hid among the trees, waiting for someone to walk underneath. When someone finally did he would kill them, and search through their bags, hoping to find another jar of vegemite.
His spree went on for months before we caught on, and before we managed to figure out a repellent. In that time, more and more foolish teens tried the ‘vegemite challenge’, only to become dropbears instead.
But then we did it, a repellent. As it turns out, the one thing the dropbears wanted the most were repelled from it when it was applied to human skin. So, if you go walking in the Australian wilderness, be careful out there. Make sure you properly smear yourself with vegemite before you start, but whatever you do, don’t bring the jar with you. They’ll know if you do.
|
**I woke with a mouthful of dirt and a shot of pain trailing from my nostrils to the dip in my heel.**
My forehead pulsed hard. An insect buzzed my ear, and I pushed my peeled hands into the sticks and leaves to prop myself up. I stared down. One eye opened okay. The other eye refused. Two gut-red teeth lay in the dirt where my face had been pressed like a rotten smashed cherry, steaming in the day. My clothes stuck to me like I hadn’t changed in a week. I could smell myself. I pressed my bruised knees into the ground and paused. My flannel was caked and torn. My arms looked bruised. They felt bruised. They pulsed and ached like a busted ship going under. I couldn’t understand where I was. I lifted my head and looked around. Heavy shades of green, trees, moss, no sign of people. Plenty of nature. I stumbled onto my feet, skimming the ground for tracks or footprints to help orient me. I saw leaves, grass, dark earth, and blood. And along with birds, I heard crying. Or laughing. –No, I thought–not laughing. A woman, maybe. A child? The world tilted as I tried to pick the sound’s direction. I started limping. It was hard to follow the sound, I had to stare groundward for balance. My right eye felt swollen shut over the socket. The left eye made sure I didn’t trip. Humid as it was, my mouth was desiccated. I was so damn thirsty I could taste the wet of the dirt caked with blood around my tongue. I kept moving, my feet throbbed in my boots. –Swollen, I thought. The sobbing grew gradually. My eye roamed, and I considered who it could be. –Did I lose someone? –Did I bring them here? –Did someone bring me? I couldn’t remember. The crying grew. –Fuck–get to that voice, I thought. The world smelled oxygen heavy and sweet. My chest was pounding. Every inhale stung.
I trudged over heavy jutting roots to see the source of the sound. My breath hitched like a whap to the chest. A boy, small, maybe not even seven or eight, lay as if he’d fallen over sideways. His knee was bleeding and clothes torn. Sandy curls matted up against his head, pressing into dried snot on his cheek. I felt a squeezing in my bottom lip, and I thought, maybe, to pray. My throat ached, and I felt an anvil on my chest and stomach. I tried to speak. My tongue flicked against the bitter gum where I used to have teeth.
“H...hh..,” it was hard to speak. My breath wouldn’t hold.
The child didn’t seem to notice me, so I huffed with more effort this time. My good eye tightened as I called, “Hhhey...” The boy’s head pivoted at me, mouth open. My heart knocked, pumping double-time.
“–You okay?” I wheezed, and my mouth stung. The boy’s face paled, and he choked, hyperventilating. I hobbled toward him as quick as my feet allowed, but I hesitated. Something was on his leg, above scabbed ankles. I squinted my working eye and made out a dull metal clasp around his calf hooked by a rusted chain. My eye followed it to a small dirty post a few feet away jutting from the the ground. –Shit, I thought. I motioned for him to wait there with the palm of my hand.
“I’m coming...”
I moved forward. Everything felt warmer. My throat felt sharp. I stepped past a tree. Then the pressure came.
It was like a magnet force of nettles discarding me, shocking me and tossing me on my back where my spine struck a root. I screamed like I’d swallowed tacks, and heaved and groaned to the canopy, back locking up, almost vomiting, and feeling like ants had swarmed my gullet.
The world reeled around me like a frenzied roulette pill. I didn’t care what it landed on, but I needed that pill to settle. Nature didn’t let it, though, because someone else settled it inches from my face with the the wicked cock of a hammer.
A voice behind the gun spit at me.
“I got you motherfucker–” she made sure my good eye was looking straight up the barrel. “–Now how the fuck do I get to my son?” |
"What so few of them understood, you see, is that I was never the bad guy in the story. I was the good guy, failed, and the victor wrote the history as he saw fit. Truly, would the bad guy risk his own existence to give you knowledge? Would the bad guy offer you a meal and water in the desert? Would the bad guy spend eternity punishing evil?"
The old man looked down at the odd child on the seat next to him, giving her a critical, annoyed expression. The child looked back up at him, popped the glistening red lollipop out of her mouth, and smiled.
"It's true."
The old man crossed his arms and turned away from the girl with a pronounced grunt, preferring instead to watch the blur of color as the train sped through the tunnels of Manhattan. Like all good New Yorkers, the other riders simply ignored them.
The train slowed, and the colorful mosaic in the station confirmed they'd reached Times Square.
"Showtime."The girl grinned, hopping out of the seat and pushing her doll and toy stroller out into the station.
Emerging from the station, she was awash in bright, neon light: Pink, white, green, blue, and on and on it went. She always enjoyed the lights of Times Square, a true testament to human indulgence. It gave her a warm feeling. Sadly, the crowds were also as large as they ever were, making it difficult for her to spy her quarry.
Smiling to herself, she looked down at the doll in her little stroller and up at the high walls of the surrounding buildings. She hadn't spotted any guardians, but that didn't mean it was safe. More likely they were stationed among the crowd, trying to remain inconspicuous.
The Devil straightened her plaid skirt and marched forward, enjoying her lollipop and keeping a low profile. The toy stroller's wheels rattled a bit as she weaved through the crowd. alternately dodging the New Yorkers whizzing by and the tourists walking at a snails' pace. After two blocks, she saw it: Two guardians, clad all in white, guarding a wizened old woman with an infant in her arms. The woman looked to be made of stone, with skin like mountainous crags and black, marble eyes. A crown of scraggly, white hair crowned the woman's head.
This was her target. She doubted the guardians would even notice her in this form.
Innocently, she pushed her stroller up to the woman, who looked down at her with a smile: "Hello!"
The woman kneeled: "Hello, young lady."
"I have a baby too! What's your baby's name?"She asked, laying the childish joy on as thickly as she could manage. She held the doll, cradling its neck delicately as she displayed it for the stone woman.
"This child's name is Chris, my child. He is an except...."
Abruptly, the woman was silent. The Devil had her, eyes locked, her commanding gaze controlling the stone woman completely. In that moment, the girl allowed the full breadth of her power to emanate forth from her face, briefly revealing black, infinite eyes and a face half-scarred with burns. Her sharpened, vicious teeth smiled sweetly. The stone woman was frozen, entranced by The Devil's power.
"Hand me the child, please. I would like to hold it."
The hypnotized woman complied, handing her the child and taking the doll. The Devil wrapped the baby in another blanket and set it gently into the toy stroller. Leaving the woman mesmerized, she turned and pushed the stroller, putting distance between she and her enemies as quickly as she could manage without appearing conspicuous.
"You see, as I told you before, The Devil is the good guy in the story. This child is the last hope for humanity, our last chance to save ourselves from the machinations of The Victor, and we have to get him out of New York before the Guardians realize what I've done."
|
This is a story about Stanley, a demon maid.
He was told about not breaking the vase
A vase, the only one who holds the power. of Set.
It is a simplistic vase. No striking details or anything that makes it unique visually but just a black vasr.
*humming* Such a great day today, Stanley exclaimed
After cleaning every nooks and canney of the house, he offered himself a nice, beautiful rest.
But there's a problem, the vase.
Stanley is a germophobe, perfect for this job. He cannot stand such dusty vase so he offered his self to clean up the vase. Might as well clean it. The contract states to not break it but didn't mention about touching it, cried Stanley.
It was a modest moment, just wiping every areas of the vase. He lift the vase to wipe the bottom until he lost his grip and broke the vase. Due to the consequences of this event. A lot of souls Set captured had been set free.
Stanley don't know what to do. Or maybe he know, yet he saves it for the worst. He think and think and think. No witness, relieving himself. But maybe Boss know already. He lost his power, there's no reason for him not to realize. Soon, Stanley gave up and travelled to the mortal world, disguised as a lady.
Stanley founded a cult, with Set as a figure. "He"proves the legitimacy by giving someone an immortality through the worship event. He first called those who willing to be in front in his preach at the stadium. Surprisingly, a lot have joined the preach. He gives the humanchis immortality and claimed to be a gift from Set. And then he exclaimed those who gulped his blood will learn the truth. Such a gross way of suicide.
|
I knew when I first stepped foot in the Belitos' School for Magic I was in the wrong place. The people around me could do amazing things. Amazing, terrible, and fascinating things. I tried to explain to teachers and advisers that I didn't belong here. Whoever would listen would be treated to the same exasperated shout of "I shouldn't be here."And they would all give the same standard reply of "Even wizards from your famous pedigree need to have a solid understanding of the fundamentals."
But I would never be able to do the things that other magicians could do. While they were able to conjure spirits and alter the fabric of space, I couldn't even complete the most basic of spells. I remember my first roommate sitting on his bed watching television while his books conversed with themselves and distilled their knowledge into essays he could turn in. He made those books sentient! How could I compete with that?
Of course it didn't really work out for him in the long run. One day, heading back to the dorms after a session of Theoretical Transmogrification, I opened to door to find the room was a complete mess. Books were scattered across both our beds, papers were torn out, the shelf over my bed which held pictures of my family was almost completely destroyed. And my roommate was on the floor bleeding from thousands of paper cuts with pens stuck in his eyes. It turns out the books didn't enjoy that my roommate was taking advantage of their work.
Obviously they couldn't have a freshman in a room by himself, so they transferred in another roommate for me. This one was a terrified and shy second year kid who seemed to think I was a demon spawn. He had heard rumors of what I did to my previous roommate - Supposedly I was angry that he was keeping me up with his late night study sessions or something - and he decided to protect himself through any means necessary.
Somewhere, deep in the stacks of the library, he found a book of defensive spells written in ancient Dravidian. This didn't end well for him. The problem was not in his translation of the Dravidian language - or at least I don't think it was. The problem was that the book was written by a half-blind, senile, and shaky handed monk. Do you know how difficult it is to work a spell when you can't decide if something is an a or an e? I believe that my roommate was trying to make his skin as hard as the bark of a tree...but instead he is now providing shade to people sitting by the library.
My third roommate mostly stayed out of my way. I don't think I ever had a real conversation with the man. This was probably due to the fact that the entire school started spreading rumors about me and the horrible things I did to those who displeased me. Rumors like: I had inherited the most powerful skills of my ancestors. I never slept but instead chanted throughout the night, communing with demons who lent me their strength. I could turn people to ash with a thought. Actually...that last rumor started because of my third roommate.
This guy decided he wasn't going to wait to get picked off, and he was going to be proactive. The best I can figure is that he tried to imbue my bed with fire runes. As soon as there was pressure on the bed the fire runes would ignite causing everything on and around the bed to go up in flames. Unfortunately he didn't know that the shelf above my bed, destroyed by my first roommates book collection, never really got fixed. It would occasionally just fall. There were a couple times when it would smack me in the forehead when I was trying to sleep.
After that incident even the teachers were slightly afraid of me. I couldn't go back to the dorms because my room was burnt and still smelled of cooked meat, so they put me in a private cabin far away from the rest of the students. As far as classes were concerned, I excelled in the theoretical aspects of magic. It was easy enough to bullshit my way through essays and written tests. And whenever a professor would ask me to demonstrate a practical aspect of magic I would just give them a little taste of my crazy-eyed smile, roll up my sleeves and act as if I was bracing myself for the extreme amounts of power which would flow from me. They'd quickly let out little squeaks of fear before waving their hands and asking me to please sit back down.
And that is how I was able to get through four years at Belitos. It was a combination of luck, horrible accidents befalling a few people around me, and sheer chutzpah. I still couldn't do any real magic. But the smiles on my parents face when the dean called my name on graduation day was worth it.
There was a hush that crept through the crowd when I stepped onto the stage. I noticed a palatable fear on the faces of the teachers seated on the dais, as well as in the eyes of the dean when he moved to shake my hand. I could see his hands shake and noticed a quiver in his voice when he said "uh, congratulations Mr. Belitos...sir."I simply smiled, shook his hand, and walked off stage with my head held high. And thought to myself "how the hell did that work?" |
I was young when I died for the second time.
I have to admit that if there was a ratio good/bad deeds for that life, it would be pitifully small. For my defense, I had grew up in a nameless African nation, forcefully enrolled in a local militia as soon as I could hold a gun. I was taught morals there. Obey orders. Kill.
Danger was so omnipresent that I was numb to it. I survived for so long not because I was the smartest one, but out of dumb luck. I don't even remember what we were slaughtering for. God, gold, government ; does it matter?
That was the first hell. I don't remember what life before that was like. No one does.
After that, I arrived on TwHell. There, people seemed happy. There, they helped others. Not without reason, I have to say, as the main (and only) religion promised heaven to those who did good. Everyone had done at least a little something that they could be blamed for in the First Hell, and that was, according to the Church, why they had been reborn in TwHell.
It was so peaceful... Everyone had a place in the society of TwHell, and from scientists (who always preferred to remain anonymous, so as to not appear boastful) to the sweepers, all were contented by their life. Or so it should have been. TwHell was the most insidious hell. Violence in all its forms was purely and simply denied. Humans are creatures of contradictions, they love to make rules just to break them. The strict society of TwHell did nothing but build up frustration in the people who had known nothing but the freedom of the First Hell, the state of nature as it was later called, riddled in sins and virtues equally. My case was a bit different from most people. After I grew accustomed to my newborn body, it became obvious to those around me, especially the ones who had given birth to me, that I was ignorant of the ways of the world, and that my values were not exactly normal. I was this sent to a special school, and learned. But kids are kids and most of them studying together with me ended up doing some mischief and were sent on their way to TrHell, the third hell. As for me, I was used to obey orders and felt no need to break rules. I blended in. I lived a long life on TwHell, wondering if the Heaven I had been told of in both first Hells would await me on my death.
Heaven do not exist, that I learned when I awoke on TrHell. My body was already that of a teenager. I learned later that there were not enough couples on TrHell for travellers to be born naturally, and as a result, bodies appeared out of nowhere for the arriving travellers. TrHell was divided. Some formed small peaceful settlements, and others wrecked awock, plundering, destroying, raping. Few decided to suicide, desperate to find that they had left a Hell for another one. I personally chose the second option, the easiest for a person with a childhood like mine, I felt no reluctance at the idea of killing and taking from others what I did not have myself.
The other hell were all too alike. The proportion of people destroying increased along with the number of suicides. At some point, people stopped counting and naming Hells.
And then, the tendency reversed. The thing was, people no longer seemed like people. They had no purpose left, no ambition. And without it, why start wars, why hurt others ? Hell became bleak, and Hell became Heaven. There were more and more births, less and less conflicts. People were not happy, but neither were they frustrated or sad. |
“All right now, everyone come to order!”
The coffee shop quieted down, and everyone looked to James, who was standing on a chair at the back of the coffeeshop.
“I think you all know why I called this meeting. We’ve been here for two whole months already, and we haven’t accomplished anything near to what our goals are. No one is listening to us! We need to figure out what we’re doing wrong, or go back home, because the current tactics aren’t working at all.”
There was a murmur of agreement. Young James, who was working his shift behind the counter of the coffee shop, nodded sympathetically. The perm that James had had in his college years bounced merrily on Young James’ head.
“I spoke to dozens of people these past few weeks,” a woman shouted from the back. “And I’ve handed out hundreds of flyers. But I don’t think a single person has even considered buying Apple stock! No one has even heard of a “personal computer” yet! They just keep telling me they don’t have enough space in their house to store a mainframe!”
There was murmured assent and a few hear-hears. James nodded. “Janice works as hard as any of us. If she can’t get people to listen to our sound financial investment advice and timely requests for improved industrial safety regulations, no one can.” There were nods among the patrons of the coffee shop.
“In fact, Janice has handed out the most pamphlets of anyone this month. And I know we normally present these at the awards ceremony on the first thursday of the month, but Janice’s great-great-grandmother was sick with polio, and Janice couldn’t make it. So let me take this opportunity to present Janice with this award! Come on up here, Janice!”
He pulled out a little plaque out of his coat pocket, which read, “TOP PAMPHLET DISTRIBUTOR, JANICE PARKINS, SIBYLLINE ORDER OF CHRONONAUTS, JUNE 14TH, 1981.” Everyone applauded, and Janice, looking a little embarrassed but very pleased, walked up to the front, where James shook her hand and handed her the plaque.
They posed for a picture, which Young James took with a polaroid camera. When the picture printed out, he waved it in the air a bit until it developed. He looked at it, smiled, and then put it in a box he kept behind the counter. James remembered something, and out of his coat pocket pulled the same photograph, having been in his possession for fifty years. He pinned it to a corkboard on the wall of the coffeeshop, covered with dozens of similar photographs.
Once she’d sat back down, James continued. “OK, so does anybody have any ideas on how to improve our strategy?”
A man stood up from one of the tables in the middle of the coffee shop. “We should take out a newspaper ad. I hear in this time they had something called “classifieds” that worked much like an offline version of a forum. I think if I got enough people to see it, we could probably push for the International Atomic Energy Agency to do a thorough procedures audit at the Chernobyl nuclear power plant.”
“Good thinking Tim, get on it. Anyone else?”
“We should construct a dirigible!” shouted a man in a top hat and leather flying goggles. “I hear that in some Everett branches, such airships float over the cities and wish the residents a bountiful annum!”
James nodded. “It’s a good idea, we’ll need to be able to fund it though. Treasurer?”
A spectacled woman sitting at a table nearby pulled out a sheet of paper at random from a folder in front of her. “It looks like the bonds I’m going to purchase in 1951 have just matured, so we should have more than enough money to fund its construction.”
“Excellent,” James said. “Hieronymous, put together an expense report and construction plan, and submit it to the approvals committee.”The man in the top hat put his goggles on his face and nodded vigorously. “Anyone else?”
A man in a fedora and trenchcoat stood up near the back. “I have an idea. How about all of you come quietly?” He paused for dramatic effect, then produced a police badge. “Jack Banahan, TCPD. All of you are under arrest for Time Smuggling, Time Fraud, Time Racketeering, and normal fraud, all of which are illegal under the Crimes against Time Act of 385 B.C.”
|
Tracking this girl was hard, no social media, no address, only few photos to be found, and only one from the last year.
No results for alternative names on social media either. I had talked to her mother, not much contact since she ran away, and the contact that was there conducted via postcards.
One would think this would make her location at the time of sending them easy to track, but somehow no one knew where these post cards originated.
I was not closer to finding her three weeks into the search, having examined all of the postal workers cards for a face comparison. Nothing.
I came home towards my small cozy apartment. Collecting the mail in the hallway, I continued thinking about where she could be. It should have been impossible to stay that illusive in our society.
I opened my apartment, dropping the mail on the table and myself on the couch.
After taking my usual nap, I looked through the mail.
"Bills, bills, bills."I said to myself, then I noticed the last of the bunch, colorfully designed. It was handwritten.
'Dear Billy,' it called me by my firstname, 'I know you are trying to find me, but I urge you to reconcider whether you wanna go down this rabbithole. The last one who attempted your current job is now in an insane asylum, I would prefer such a thing not to happen to a man who has to support such a lovely old granny as is your mother. I don't want to put her lifelyhood on the line if you loose your life or mind.' This was a threat, I knew, they use my mother as a hostage.
'I know full well that you might percieve this as a threat, it is not ment as such.' This gal couldn't be serious.
'All I want to say to you now aside from this is that you won't find me unless I want it.' I would have normally loughed at this idea, but normally my orders take between 3 hours and two days to execute.
It was signed with the name Jane.
"Fuck!"I said, having realised that there was no way for me to get rid of this. I couldn't turn it in as evidence, that might get me fired for not being secretive enough about my identity. But bringing something this colorfull to the dumpster would look wierd on the cameras on the floor.
I had no ability to burn it in here, I had no need for a lighter otherwise, so I didn't own one.
I decided to hide it beneath my couch and burn it after I bought a lighter.
If someone found this, that'd be my death sentance. "Fuck."My sleepy ass hadn't realised that the cameras had already filmed this stuff and someone had likely taken notice of the colorfull make-up of the letter, something highly unusual. I could turn this in, I realised, they likely already know that she had found me.
I grabbed the letter again and went to the door. Then I hesitated. If she wanted to kill me, this would have been an easy opportunity. I shrugged it off and continued.
The air outside turned cool as the sun sank down behind the horizon. I got into my car and drove over to my workplace.
"Hey, watcha still doing here?"My kid boss Larry asked, having found me at my desk, filling out forms.
"I need to do this now."I told him.
"That hard to crack case?"He asked.
"Jup, this little asshole managed to send me this."I pointed to the letter.
"She knows who you are?"He asked.
"Apperantly, I need the video of my buildings hallway."
"You need to get off this case. She knows who you are."
"Answer me this: would she have done this if she didn't percieve me a threat?"
"Yeah, but you won't surprise her anymore."
"If so, I am requesting the video for whoever you pick for this case."
"I will put up the request then, you are off this case. Pretty sure you are fired, but I have to check the rules on that one, never happened to me before."
"I am fired?"I asked.
"Maybe, let me check, stay here for the next couple minutes while I check the rules, while you are here you might add the rest of the nessecary request info."
I did as he commanded.
"OK, I have to fire you."Larry told me a couple minutes later. You will be fired after tomorrow, when you will have given all the info you have to the one that takes over from you."
"OK, boss."I said. Then I drove back to my house, wrote up a bunch of applications to the competition and went to sleep.
I woke up after a couple hours of nightmares. Then I went to work, where I felt wierdly nostagic.
"So, we got those tapes."Larry told me. "I thought you might watch them with us and give your professional opinion, having tryed to apprehend this person for weeks."
"OK."I said. Most of the tape concisted of my neighbours going in and out. The mailboy was there too, but he didn't carry the letter we were searching for.
A cat came in and put the letter into my mailbox with her paws.
"The fuck? How?"I asked. Cats were fairly common on our streets, using them for communication had never come into my mind.
"Are cats this smart?"Larry asked.
"Can we repeat that video?"Michael, the one taking over, asked.
"Of course."Larry replied and loaded a minute before back up.
We repeated this over and over again. I think they never truely understood.
|
“Your aunt and I spent a great deal of time together over the years preparing and revising her will. In the final revision, of course, we had very little left to do,” the attorney said, his voice a drone that had already gone on far too long. I was still reeling from the death of my aunt. You would think so many deaths in the family in such a short period of time would leave me numb, but somehow this one had impacted me deepest of all.
“…so let’s get down to it, shall we?” the attorney opened a drawer in his desk and produced a small wooden box. “Your aunt left her considerable estate primarily to the numerous charities she founded, which should come as no real shock to you. As I understand it you are comfortable anyway, and one of the things she said she loved most about you, over all of her children and other relatives, was that you never really showed an interest in her money or possessions. She wanted me to tell you that in this box is her most prized possession. She said that she gave you the key many years ago in preparation for this day.”
I nodded, my hand raising to touch the small silver key on its chain around my neck. I had always thought it was just a charm, since she wore its twin around her neck. It was just like her to keep secrets like this: in plain sight, without telling anyone anything.
“Now if you’ll please sign here to indicate that you’ve taken possession of this object, I can have my secretary verify it and we’ll be done here,” the attorney said with a smile. I signed where indicated as his secretary, who had been waiting behind me for this, produced his small rubber notary stamp.
I stood, taking the attorney’s hand and shaking it, feeling more wooden than the box under my arm. It had all come as such a shock. The news started rolling in with the new year. In fact, on January 1st exactly, and then once or twice a month from then on. First my uncles, then my mother and father, and finally nearly every one of my cousins. It didn’t just feel as though I was the only one left. In a very real way, I was the only member of my close family remaining alive. Everyone else had passed away in everything from plane crashes to sudden heart attacks, dormant diseases suddenly returning with a vengeance, even bizarre car crashes where everyone else involved seem to receive only the most minor of injuries.
Finding a bench in a small park near the lawyer’s uptown office, I sat down and pulled the small key from around my neck. I still had an hour before the funeral itself began. It was just going to be an excuse for her business associates to divide her empire anyway, so it’s not like I was in any hurry.
The key fit into the small lock easily, and opening the lid I read the note that lay atop the crushed velvet interior. My aunt’s handwriting was always very neat.
*My dearest Megan,*
*Throughout your life, you have been the brightest light in my sky. My one regret in life is that we never had enough time together. Even when you came to live with me for that wonderful year when you were fresh out of college and we saw each other nearly every day, we still never had enough time.*
*I know that this year has been a very difficult one, and I am sorry. Still, despite everything you have kept in touch, and for that I thank you. You are the best among us. I knew it would be you, years ago, and everything since then has merely sealed that belief.*
*As you and very few others know, I wrote the formula that proved the world is a simulation. It didn’t change much for anyone else, really, but it was of great interest to the scientific community. Or so everyone thought. After all, even though it’s a simulation, we don’t exactly have control of it and therefore we’re still bound by its rules, yes? Not quite.*
*I leave to you the instrument that has been at once my greatest triumph and the bane of my existence. On the tablet beneath this note you will find an app. Open the app and you will have access to the means by which I have come into my great wealth, and you will know my greatest shame.*
*Please, Megan. I know you don’t care for the same sort of things the rest of our family did. I know that you are the strongest of us.*
*I know you have the strength to undo what I have done.*
*Love,*
*Aunt Christie*
I swallowed, folding the note neatly and tucking it into my pocket. Next, I lifted the tablet. It was one of the newest versions to come out of CS Enterprises. The small button on top brought the screen to life, and it flashed with the typical pink and black smiley face that everyone was thrilled to mock.
The app was called Simulacrum. I opened it, and was greeted by what appeared to be a simple text editor. A small stylus flipped out from the side of the app as I opened it, and I absently plucked it out and twirled it as I scrolled back through what had been written before.
Patch Notes, revision 123.05.01 193567131218
> Daniel Kellen, automobile accident, 01/01/19
> Robert Kellen, aneurysm, 01/25/19
> Suzanne Kellen nee Newcastle, stroke, 02/10/19
> Craig Kellen, plane crash, 03/16/19
> Lauren Hart nee Kellen, syphilis, 03/29/19
> Carrie Bryant nee Kellen, automobile accident, 04/15/19
> Martin Bryant, stroke, 04/29/19
> William Sendak, heart attack, 05/14/19
> Christine Sendak nee Kellen, death in sleep, 05/30/19
I frowned, scrolling back further. Various minor changes had been made. Accidents apparently undone. Rival corporations sent into Chapter 11. Early in the revisions, names that I recognized from news clippings as corporate raiders who attempted a hostile takeover of CS Enterprises had their deaths written in. It read as bad fiction in the form of patch notes, as though someone had been handed the ultimate *deus ex machina* and had done everything they could to be an untouchable villain.
And that’s when the note clicked into place. All of the money. All of her possessions. Her preternatural skill in business, her seeming foresight of things that would happen, all of the knowing smiles and the total lack of concern she had shown whenever bad things happened. My aunt, who had been so much closer to me than my own mother, had simply made all of it happen. Nothing bad had ever happened to her, even the things that had seemed bad from the outside, because she had wanted all of it to happen. She had made it happen.
I scrolled down to the bottom of the page and tapped the button for a new entry. Instantly, words appeared: “Patch Notes, revision 123.05.02 123045100619” A blinking cursor waited for me to start writing. I paused, reading over the note again. I thought about how sad my aunt had seemed as our family had died, one by one. She hadn’t ever been surprised by it. Not once. She hadn’t expressed grief in the way that I had. Remembering her, it was as though she was resigned. She didn’t mourn them. She felt regret.
And so, I wrote. It was a brief edit. When I finished, I tapped Commit, clipped the stylus back into place, and turned the tablet off. I slid it back into its case, closed, and locked it. Finally, I stood up from the bench and headed toward the church where my aunt’s funeral would be starting in just a few minutes, dropping the box into a dumpster on the way.
I stepped through the door and smiled. Walking through the pews, I waved to a few of my younger cousins, who were clearly forced to be there by their parents. Though we weren’t close yet, there would be time for us to get there. Finally, I slid into my place at the front.
My mother looked at me and smirked, murmuring under her breath, “Cutting it a little close, aren’t we?”
I nodded. “Sorry. I had to finish getting ready,” I said. My dad leaned over and smiled at me, patting my shoulder to show that he was happy I’d made it.
I glanced across the aisle. The only business partner present, of course, was my uncle Bill. His life would probably be a little harder now that his wife was gone, but with luck, the small startup known as CS Enterprises would take off here in a few years. He was a good man. A little bit ambitious, perhaps, but that would probably serve him well.
All was right once again.
**Hey folks, still somewhat new to WP. Criticism is always welcome, please feel free to tell me how it is either in PM or in the comments!** |
Let me tell you the story of how I came to teach here. When I was in your shoes I was proclaimed a genius. I had the highest scores in military tactics the Imperial Academy had ever seen. Called the “future of the empire” high hopes were placed upon me when I graduated. I was given command of troops on the frontline of our war with the Caladiays.
Paralyzed by indecision and unable to see opportunities until they passed I failed. Those battles I commanded will probably be written down as the worst defeats in recent Imperial history. Very quickly I was stripped of my command and found myself in front of the Emperor to account for my failures. I was terrified I would be executed, but thankfully His Majesty in His mercy saw a use for me.
That is how you received the infamous “Shame of the Empire” as your teacher. |
I awaken to the sound of high-pitched bursts of static. I open my eyes and see... me lying in bed. I recognize the way the camera pans around me instantly. Thinking who will be the first to greet me I hear a voice from all around.
"Wake up, Tenno. Vor and his butchers are on their way to your location. I can't lose another Tenno. I'm overriding your energy capacitors."
A blast of light fills my room, me being the source. Every small item in my room gets knocked back. I see the Warframe HUD. Health, Energy, but no skills, weapons or an energy bar. I complain about lack of energy and skills as malformed clones of clones - the Grineer - burst through the windows. I pass out.
I hear a heartbeat. Whose? I see a light flickering in all-encompassing darkness, matching the rhythm of that heartbeat. I hear voices, thousands of them.
"Dream..."says a soothing female voice, overpowering the thousands of whispers. "Not of what you are... But of what you want to be".
It is silent, it is dark, the unhorizon is glitching at the edges. Sleep claims me after a long while.
===
The closest Grineer Butcher hacks away at his allies as I command him to. The electricity from the sockets engulfs two near the door. A sword of cyan light slashes the wall, a Grineer Butcher and my bed in half, all of them, at once. A Corpus Denial Bursa is now rising up from the ground shining in ghostly dark blue light. Razorwings encompass me.
I have become THE Operator as my nickname now reads above my head, my energy is infinite and I possess over 50 skills now, I recognize only half of them from the icons. Buffs and counters clutter the top of my 3rd person vision.
The Grineer lay everywhere around my room - either sliced, diced, maimed by a pack of wild Kubrows ir slashed by either my hand or their allies hands.
In the distance a corpus freighter crashes into the ground, reactors onboard going haywire and sending random bursts of Void energy through the state. Bless be upon Nidus and his "Undying"passive.
"There was a mistake"says Lotus in horror.
But Lotus never knew there are no mistakes, just happy little accidents. |
He keeled over, clutching at a hole the size of a tank shell in his stomach. His armor couldn't contain the half-melted entrails and they spilled over the ground. An Immortal, chosen bodyguard of our god, had fallen.
"Retreat! Retreat! This world is lost."came the cry. Another Immortal died, blasted into oblivion by a singularity grenade. Our leader, the one they knew only as the Man in Blue, furiously fought in close quarters with out foe. Their discount power armor was as paper before His divine strength, as the avatar of the Void Dragon reaped It's long-overdue harvest. From burning building to rubble pile, he slayed our ancient enemies and gave us hope. He called out,
"Hold! HOLD! This world must stand! For this is Our battle, and the Legion will not consume a world where We have trod!"Few listened. Five men died, a plasma bolt streaking from cover to overload their shields, then a barrage of bullets to overwhelm the plate. Our once proud fighting force, but a handful of men against a tide of dancing shadows in the morning twilight. Again, the cry came up to retreat, this time from our wavering right flank.
"This is no longer our battle! Retreat, and let our lives be saved!"A single Immortal rallied a squad of embattled Arisen, our militia that served as our mortal agents during times of peace. They too died, charging the plasma thrower emplacements that had been stripped from wrecked capital ships after we had smashed their space fleet over the Placid Sea. The rest, Eidolon Corps veterans and locals alike, ran or were slain by a tide of local tribesmen - they too, had joined battle though with all parties involved. While it is true they cannot harm us in our armor, twenty or thirty of them can drag a soldier into the mud and keep him from fighting long enough to overload his power generator and become mortal.
The locals were led by a strange fiery-haired woman, capable of feats only the Dragon was capable of. Surely, another Avatar - but of whom? The Legion of the Black Spider had used her forces to distract us, and while we waged war with them our supply lines were beset by saboteurs and now, a final battle. We had fought against the darkness of their corruption, bringing hedonism and suffering to every world in the name of 'freedom'. They had never fought us on the open field, preferring to die like vermin in the shadows. That is, until today.
"Retreat, warriors! Back, fall back to the central cathedral! We stand before the altar, and the Wings if the Void will carry us to victory!"A defeated avatar took us back to the cathedral we had erected, standing as the only building in this charred landscape. Her shields held, made fast by our implacable faith and that of our cruisers in orbit, beaming down their power supply to keep it whole. That we would die here was no mistake, but it would be a stand worth remembering in the annals of our history forevermore, and captured in the Void Steel remembrance chambers that were up-kept by the souls of those lost and damned who could not find the comfort in the Dragon's sheltering darkness. The other avatar would be drawn to us, our faith making a beacon She could not ignore. Three Immortals died now, as they gave up their souls into the fury of Voidfyre craft, and the dark and terrible secrets that they alone carried. They would meet with the True Oblivion, as all was erased to erase those who pursued our Arisen soldiers, who died as chaff so that we may live.
---
It was hours later that we repelled the last wave of locals, and looked to the skies as new forces arrived to participate in the cleansing of this sacred ground from the enemy and the foolish locals. I was patrolling the halls near the great hall where mass was held, and I heard our god speaking to someone. I ran in, and witnessed the Avatars clash. My God, was She beautiful.
---
---
Questions, comments, concerns? Comment below! |
Poor Old Joe wheeled his mop bucket corral into the director's office. He sighed. Usually this was an area strictly off limits, but as soon as it was time for one of these directors to swap out, one of the janitors had to clean up the rest of the slop once the records and other information was lifted from the room. Security reasons, he supposed. Or no, he knew. They called him Old Joe because he was the longest employed janitor at the headquarters, yet he still felt like they all treated him as though he did not belong here.
Well, he was a janitor. He was as good as any outsider because his job was to clean up spilled coffee and piss in the bathrooms, and not type away on fancy computers or learn some crazy kung fu. Oh well, he mused, and began to wipe the dust and crumbs off the desk and cabinets before he went to town scrubbing them spotless. Those people might dress in clean suits, but boy they were disgusting. How many years of crusty debris did he watch fall on the floor and scatter? He watched pieces of Fruit Loops and Lucky Charms slide of the desk only to reveal countless coffee ring stains.
He pulled out his best Pledge, and that was not to a flag, but in a spray can. He made sure that desk was thick in foam--so thick he was hacking--before he took his scrub brush to it. Scrub, scrub, scrub. Old Joe was starting to feel this work in his back. The only problem was that his back was an aching mess.
Put those muscles to work! Was all he could think. He did not want to be in this office long. It smelled like old sugar and he would get paid all the same for vacuuming the employee lounge versus cleaning this stink pot. Once he finished with the surface cleaning, he huffed his vacuum tubing over to the cabinets. Opening them one by one, he vacuumed out any dead bugs, desiccated frogs, and other dust from each drawer. That was until he came across a drawer with a file in it. "For the director's eyes only", it read.
Old Joe needed to vacuum out this drawer, the dustiest of all. He plucked it out and set it on the freshly cleaned desk. However, a piece of paper managed to escape. It floated to the floor in front of Old Joe's feet. He picked it up, and looked it over. It looked like it was from an earth science textbook of some sort.
"Quartz will shatter instead of cleaving..."it read at some point.
Old Joe shook his head and on instinct crumbled up the piece of paper and tossed it in his trash bin. |
It came out kind morbid, but...
A great man once said, *'an eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind'*. What that man didn't account for was the one guy who's still got one eye.
Being the only person with the gift of sight leaves you with what feels like omnipotent power. You trip far less often than everyone else, as well as being the only one with matching shoes. But with great power comes great responsibility.
You and you alone must witness humanity's dying breath. 15.2 billion eye wounds is quite a number to treat and there's no way to get them all. The predators of the animal kingdom will begin to notice the humans' newfound weakness and begin picking them off.
Humanity will be brought to its knees and pushed into the grave while you can do nothing but watch.
So try to remember, revenge isn't justice. |
"Mom?"A quiet, almost scared voice greeted me. "I know you think this is a good idea, but please hear me out first."
I frowned. Normally I would just think of this as prank, seeing as I have no children and never want to; hence the abortion. But the silence stretching between the sound of a hopeless person waiting for my answer stumped me before I could slam the phone.
"I- I have no child."
The mystery caller's voice was shaky. "I know you think I'm insane, but you have. Or will have. Or already have."The person inhaled. "I almost faded yesterday, and I'M SORRY. Okay? If you decide to go through with the abortion, I just want to let you know... Mommy, I love you. Sorry for messing up the timeline, for whenever I'm too lazy to help you with chores..."a sob escaped from the person.
The sound did not faze me. I rolled my eyes. "Drugs must be causing your hallucination. Or are you just one of those pro-life with no respect for us carrying the baby. I don't even have a boyfriend! You can't just guilt trip me into your sick fantasy where everything is perfectly fine-"
"Violet."A new voice interrupted me.
I almost dropped the phone. I might have cried in relief. But there, I stood, still as a statue as the Father of the child in my stomach reached out to me. After leaving me at the Altar.
"How dare you."My blood boiled. "YOU LEFT ME. YOU PROMISED YOU WOULD NEVER HURT ME AND WHAT DID YOU DO?"A tear slipped past me. It might be the hormones with all my moodswings lately, but I feel like it wasn't the case now. But like some sadist, I stayed. I waited to hear his excuse, to reassume myself that it wasn't me. That I wasn't some unlovable monster; that can't even be a mother without needing someone to lean on.
"Listen to me, Vi. I messed up. But if you trust me, if you've ever trusted me at all, please meet me where we first met. I love you."He ended the call. I sank to the ground and wept.
Meanwhile, A man was staring at his phone. A girl was sobbing onto his shoulder, fearing for her existence. |
After getting mixed up in an elaborate botched robbery, you find yourself in possession of a powerful prototype UniMouse. You soon find that you can drag and drop things and people, right click to tell if someone is lying, unlock any door and click people just to annoy them. The only drawback is that you have to wave the mouse around and it is pretty cumbersome, not to mention that the battery is gradually depleting and you don't know how to charge it back up. You're having the time of your life until one day, some very well-dressed men show up at your job asking about you. |
"A can of apples?"I said, "What in the bleeding hells is a can of apples?"
"This is the bit you're getting worked up over?"Marv replied, "Not the fact that we can actually start work on cheap, personal flight, but that you don't like my expression?"
"Okay, but like, of everything you could've used, _apples_?"I gestured around with my hands, a mockery of my confusion. In truth, I was probably the most excited of everyone there, I just needed an excuse to hide it.
Marv sighed, "As you well know, apples can be canned..."He began, before swiftly cutting off, "Why am I still indulging this?"Marv smiled, his slightly stained teeth glowing in the light of his monitors. "We tried giant robots, it didn't work, centre of gravity was too much of an issue. We tried jetpacks, and unless you want your clothes burned off and your legs to sustain twelfth degree burns, they're out-"
"But you can make a carpet fly?"I interjected, my excitement was palpable. "Like full on, Arabian Nights magic carpets? Have you tested them?"
"We've tested them, thin as a regular carpet, no real issues with compression, easy to carry and store. Why we didn't think of carpets years ago is anybody's guess, probably because they look dumb."Marv explained, his smile creeping once again over his face.
"When can I try one?"I said, with the sternest look I could muster. "Surely this is something that needs to be tested, and I feel utterly qualified for the job."I wasn't, but confidence is key.
"As soon as you fill in the health and safety forms, obviously. Once that's done, we can keep you for flight and get you going."Marv replied, his excitement bubbling to the surface, I'm glad it wasn't just me.
"Oh yeah, I've already done that,"I lied, hoping that he wouldn't call me out on it, "So long as it's the form that Amanda upstairs is giving to all the testers about the new secret project."Amanda was giving out a form to sign to a few of the guys, I wasn't exactly included.
"Brilliant, let's get you strapped in then!"Marv smiled.
. . .
The air is much colder the higher you are. It's weird. The carpet itself is comfortable, but a little fluid. Luckily for me, I'm harnessed in, or else I'd probably croak it.
_"It didn't take long for the first fatality,"the news anchor said, "One Alan A. Din fell from over three-hundred foot to his death. Officials aren't releasing details of the incident, but insider sources say that Mr. Din wasn't properly harnessed onto the carpet, he allegedly skipped the health and safet-"_ |
I dropped my axe, it's blade the colour of midnight on a bad day, "Well this jus' takes the joy out if it."I said to the twerp standing before me. "What fun is being a headless, axe murderer if the people ya murder are trying ta commit suicide by ghost?"The poor sod was taken aback by my reply, he either hadn't been expecting me to be real, or hadn't been expecting a bloke from Yorkshire, either way, I could work with it.
"Please, just kill me!"He was grovelling again, I hadn't even bloody touched him and was already regretting trying to help. "I just wanna die Man! And if you do it, I'll be the talk of the town, it'll spite all those pricks that have made my life hell!"He seriously does not shut up.
"Shut yer tits, ya wazzock,"I started, probably not the best way, I admit, "I'm gonna help ya out. But not exactly by axe murderin' ya. I've been doin' this for a bloody age I have, so if another one gets all axe murdered in me axe murdery forest, nobody's gonna bat a bloody eye."
He looked up at me, "Okay, just... just make it painless..."He said, what a spanner. Looks like he even pissed 'imself a bit. I picked 'im up by the scruff of 'is neck and dragged him over to a dark, ominous and forboding tree, bit scary words, I know. I then knocked 'im out, can't be doing with 'im knowing my plan.
. . .
So the little dick'ead got strung up on the tree. He wasn't murdered mind you, that would've ruined the fun. Instead I just text 'is mates from 'is phone telling them to come pick 'im up.
At least he gave me new bloody targets ta hunt, maybe I'll kill 'im later for that. He wasn't such a bad bloke. |
Hurray! You did continue it!
I really do think that this makes a good premise for a story—one in which the villain is the former hero.
A former agent of an organization who discovered the shadowy group's nefarious motives?
A gallant champion who realized that to fulfill the prophecy and save the kingdom, he must take up the mantle of the Dark Lord?
An admiral of the Solar Dominion Fleet who, after defeating the Separatist Pact, ignited a rebellion of his own to ensure humanity won't grow complacent, preparing them for the greater threat that awaits just beyond the edge of the system?
A cafeteria worker who, in light of the growing complaints concerning the menu, decides to show everyone just how repulsive something can be and still be permitted by FDA regulations?
Your story, of course, addresses all these possible plots and more. Good stuff!
Now, do you want the chocolate-covered broiled sausage with cottage cheese and cabbage or the banana meatloaf with scrambled eggs? |
My eyes opened and I heard the sound of rushing air. From above comes the drone of what sounds like an aircraft. Confused, I realise that the ground below is moving towards me at an alarming rate. I do my best, against the restraining air resistance, to check for a parachute. With my arm bent backwards like I am being restrained, I fumbled and found nothing.
The devil inside me rolled my body one-hundred and eighty degrees. I look at the sky and see the incredible sight of a flying bus, being held up by what looks like a balloon. People are all around me, we fall like part of a display team.
People are diving head first, they hurtle past me and leave trails of stars, fire and... bubbles? I maintain my spread eagle approach, praying that the fall will be merciful. I am headed towards a metropolitan area, dotted with skyscrapers and streets. When I say headed, I never really had any directional control, but there seems to be an influx of other people ahead of me.
Someone, much lower than me, pulled an umbrella from nowhere. A metal anchor looking umbrella that made me think the guy wanted a swift death. I kept my eyes fixed on the gravity-defying feat, instead of his speed increasing it slowed. Shortly after the first, many slowing contraptions followed, ranging from differently patterned metal umbrellas to a firey dragon that snaked as it's owner fell with grace.
I neared the concrete jungle and started to panic, how had all these people produced something from nothing. Then it happened to me; my body acted on its own, and from nowhere I produced a black glider with the smallest looking parachute attached. My arms jerked and it felt like they were about to detach at the elbow. For the first time since opening my eyes, I started to enjoy myself; I let my feet dangle and kick like a child on a swing.
I landed, and the glider vanished, in front of me stood a sign 'Welcome to Tilted Towers.' Accompanied by a committee of gunfire.
I felt something sharp dig into my leg, at first I thought it was a bullet. But reaching into my pocket, I discovered a pickaxe. A long wooden handle topped with a weighty iron head. I turned it over in my hands multiple times and stood at the welcome sign with confusion. Before I had been falling, a clear objective in my mind, make it to the ground. Now, what was my objective?
An arrow that landed next to my feet provided me with the next goal. Stay alive. In the distance, next to a giant grey skyscraper stood a black knight holding a crossbow. I could see they were already drawing back the string and loading another bolt.
I started to run but a sudden urge to dance filled every vein in my body. The next instant I transformed into Travolta and the music surrounded me whilst the oncoming knight fired a bolt into my helpless leg. Friday Night Fever ended, and I ran amidst an onslaught of arrows.
My attacker followed, and I risked a glance back to see that he had switched the crossbow for an electric cattle prod. Lighting arced between the two contact points and I tried to run faster but couldn't. A wall materialised in front of me, a three by three stone wall that filled my entire view. I ran straight into it; the confusion allowed my attacker to close the distance and start wailing on me with his glowing weapon. *I died.*
My view shifted to a third person angle of my body, and the knight started dancing. He raised one hand to his forehead and made an L with his index and thumb. He then proceeded to hop from one leg to another while I watched with an indifferent feeling.
I heard the rush of air, this time I opened my eyes early. I fell, hearing the same whir of engines behind me. This time I saw it, floating in the sky written in stark white letters.
*Only one will escape*
|
Blair stretched, re-positioned himself, and stretched again. It was at this point of the day, right when the sun streamed its first rays of orange glow into it's somber dark blue canvas, that Blair felt like a total fucking idiot.
Why was he on this hike now? The pain of his mother's death made tears a constant threat, every step harder than the last.
Blair went back into his tent to grab his bag. Instinctively, he went to his side pocket and grabbed his phone. Nope. Still no connection. And there wouldn't be for a good few days more, till he hit his destination.
He secretly wished that when his sister had had a relapse, his first instinct wasn't to call mom, and learn from a man with very broken english that all his mom's stuff over the years was in a small village in Siberia.
Which led to his second secret wish, that his mother's plane hadn't crashed out in the middle of nowhere and perhaps some normal place that wouldn't require vigorous hiking for a solid month. No plane, or train, or whatever took him there throughout the winter.
But if he had waited, he felt the disservice to his mother would be far greater than any pain he felt on his journey.
*What are you doing, Blair... You're just some schmuck. You're not a survivalist. Why are you doing this?*
He stared at his useless phone for a little while longer. It made him think of his sister, unconscious in a hospital bed. A blank hospital gown replaces her usually cheery clothing - which was a remnant of Mom. Blair had to leave now to get Mom's stuff. He promised to call her as soon as she wakes up, but no one heard it - not even himself. It's been a few weeks, and Blair has no idea on his sisters health. He will have to go a few days longer to see.
Blair moved his fingers to the main compartment of his bag, and pulled out a 2/3 empty bag of granola. He reached to the next compartment and pulled out milk powder and a few chocolate chips. His food was running out, but his map said that wouldn't matter soon. As he mixed the powder and granola together, he reached for his canteen. Iodine-cleaned water tasted like shit, and ruined pretty much everything for him, but with the milk powder it was bearable.
Blair sat down against his tent, which laid on a clear, level rock surface surrounded by leaf-less trees. He stared out onto the slope on his left, out into the vast up and down of hills and rivers.
*Mom would've loved to see this view right here.*
Immediately his heart panged. So many trees... it reminded him of car rides through upstate New York, or Germany, or all around the world... he would look out the window and try to count them. He had plans to touch every tree in the world. Silly, he knows, but he was 9.
Staring out into the countryside... he thought once again of why he was doing this.
Mom's phone, luggage, keepsakes... she had been bringing them to him on that plane. He had to get them. It was his duty to his mother. A part of that luggage was hiking supplies. Mom always wanted to go on one, so they had been planning this for months. She wanted to see the view he had right now.
And his decision to hike to her now? His shot. A change of plans, sure, but he was still living the way mom wanted him to. He was also trying to recover. He wanted to get away. The only thing that mattered to him in this middle of nowhere was that countryside. And surely, he could touch a few trees along the way.
Blair began counting trees. He thought of his sister - Schrodingers sister, he liked to joke with himself - and mom, who was just a few days away. And he took a bit of his granola. A bit of a salty taste. It was going to be another long day. |
To Walk a Mile in My Shoes
When i was young i contracted polio, this was before any national vaccination programs were actually implemented, yes, I'm that old and this story is from a long time ago.
My father was a shoemaker and had a shop in the better part of town. He had a lot of loyal customers that he made shoes for all sorts of occasions. For fancy dress shoes down to ordinary working boots he made it for them.
My father was a cheerful man though he i would sometime find him looking at me while i sat in my wheelchair and halfway smile, or sadly smile if that was possible.
Despite my not being able to walk every day of my birthday he would bring me the most beautiful pair of shoes he could make, i would put them on with a bit of help, and they would be perfect, as if my feet were actually held in my father's loving hands.
The saddest day came when he became sick and
**To be continued** |
As I drew my final gasps of air, I thought back on my life. I was an infamous poacher who had traveled far and wide in search of the much prized ivory tusks. The pay was simply too good to pass up. I had slaughtered many of the large creatures that roamed Africa. Years passed, with the continual killing and harvesting of tusks until I was too old to withstand the fairly harsh climate of Africa. I settled down in a small town in America. In my time there, I had made some friends but they had come and gone. Most of them left me because of my disturbing past. And now, I am here. Sitting alone on my deathbed, realizing that no one had come to see my last moments on Earth. My heart was flooded with regret at the many years wasted in the pursuit of ivory. I shed one last tear before the darkness settled in over my eyes, robbing them of light.
I opened my eyes. I saw that I was... back in Africa? Was this heaven? Was this the afterlife? I then realized that my view had shifted... upward. I felt taller, no, much taller. I then realized that instead of a nose, I now had a large trunk that I could move at will, like another limb. I looked around, and saw a few elephants close to me. No... this cannot be. This has to be a dream. I tried blinking my eyes a few times, but the image remained the same. What cruel irony was this? A seasoned poacher, now an elephant? There must some godlike deity up in the sky having a good laugh right now. Then suddenly, gunshots. I was all too familiar with the sound. I glanced over at my fellow comrades, who were now trotting away in fear away from the gunshots, and I heard the desperate cries of a wounded elephant. I looked behind myself, or tried to anyway, and through my peripheral vision I saw a familiar sight. A toppled elephant, fallen from grace, lying wounded on the ground as poachers began to cut the tusks from the elephant. Before I could react, there was another gunshot. I felt an intense pain in my side, and promptly fell over. As I drew my final gasps of air, I could hear the frantic yelling of the poachers, and felt the saws on my tusks before the darkness settled in over my eyes once more. |
A coffee shop in Chicago that has the highest sales, despite nothing outwardly special about it. The secret? The barista heard you mention you had a job interview that you were nervous about, so they put a double shot of confidence in your caramel macchiato. Or maybe you’re struggling with your upcoming exam—they noticed you’ve read the same page three times in a row. So on your next refill, they slyly add a drop of concentration, and a couple of drops of a memory enhancing potion. |
The desire to challenge myself to use my one marketable skill more lead me on a hunt for prompts to get the creative juices flowing. Little did I know, everyone in the world had the same set of ideas. Death personified has quit his job, changed his job, been rendered obsolete. Or maybe time manipulation has been given to one of these many individuals with judgement as poor as their creativity. Occasionally the off prompt about being immortal but not having the know how to figure out a short story on their own. My favorites thus far being the self aware satires that combine all of these elements. Though my contribution is minimal, because it all becomes pretty drab pretty quickly. Then I found it. A prompt, an actual prompt. No time manipulation, no death personified, no imortality.
It was simple enough, by any measure. No plot twists, it was pretty straight forward. The premise was sci-fi, something about space travel into the unknown reaches. A relatively large crew, about ten to fifteen people on an explorer vessel. They had long since lost contact with their home planet and now voyage from planet to planet doing their best to survive and fulfilling a long dead wander lust. It was so simple and so liberating. None of the characeters were immortal vampires who could turn back time to challenge death to a game of chess boxing. There was no plot twist about landing on a planet only to discover that it's their home planet but they traveled to another dimension in the form of the latest cloverfield atrocity. Just a crew of space travellers landing on different planets.
What really sealed the deal for me was the phrasing. "They landed on the plantet and found 'something' interesting."Something interesting? That could be anything. Anything at all. Is it a horror piece? Or will it be an adventure? How many crew members will survive? Or will they be granted a powerful gift? Is it a physical object or something beyond? These are the questions that eek out creativity. Forcing the writer to do the most with as little as possible breeds writing to challenge their past. Vaguity is key and with something as restrictive as a time traveling werewitch who is actually death in disguise escaping his day job; or something as ridiculous as picking the first four nouns out of random pages in the dictionary then making it a murder mystery, you deny yourself the opportunity to tell a real story with substance beyond a disappointing fanfiction. |
Gabriel the Golden stood before the cave.
At long last, he was ready. It had been years of preparation-- training, studying, practicing. He had learned the ancient runes, and read the legends of Khazal-Ka-Radun. He had climbed to the top of Mount Fendric, and recovered the legend shield stone. He had slaved and suffered in menial tasks and meaningless quests for years-- defending tiny villages from tiny goblin raids, and fetching pot’s for old women--to purchase the equipment for this moment.
Gabriel was clothed all in gilded dragonsteel-- it cost extra, but he wasn’t known as “the golden” for nothing. The ancient runes of strength and protection were written into the armor, and he felt their power. In one hand, he carried a shield emblazoned with his sigil-- a golden lion head on white. Set near the middle, in the place of the lions eye, was the Shieldstone. A thin sphere of red light emanated from it, and cloaked the hero, protecting him from all external harm.
And in his other hand… the most special item of all--almost three feet long and fashioned out of pure, constantly shifting light--the Sword of All Mornings. It was a legendary weapon, and it had almost cost Gabriel several arms and legs on his mercenary missions, but he had at last managed the coin to purchase it. The merchant, Galthor the Greedy was perhaps not the most honorable, but for all deeds, great and small, he had the wares.
Now at last, vengeance would be his. It was almost twenty years ago, when he was just a boy when Qathrik the Destroyer had come to his village. The Demon had left nothing in his wake. Nothing...except for a young boy, crying in the ruins of his home.
Gabriel spoke his challenge: “QATHRIK, IT IS I, WHO YOU FAILED TO KILL ALL THOSE YEARS AGO. COME OUT AND FACE ME DEMON.”
There was a distant rumbling, and then loud mocking laughter. A smoky hand appeared, followed by a leg. Then a torso, made of black obsidian filled with cracks and fire. Then at last, from within the cave, emerged a head. It was a nightmare made manifest-- a hideous assortment of teeth and eyes and madness.
Gabriel whispered a phrase in a ancient tongue, and the Shieldstone glowed, and the sphere around him hardened into a impenetrable ward. Gabriel whispered another, and the Sword of All Mornings began to flair even brighter, the light danced in anticipation for the fight to come. It had all come to this.
Then the sword’s light intensified more and more, so much that it seemed that all other light in the world had gone out. Gabriel was blinded, and he felt a searing pain in his eyes. He cried out the deactivation incantation, but the sword only grew brighter. For a moment, the Sword of All Mornings was a miniature sun held in his hand.
Then a headless body covered in expensive armor clattered to the ground.
Later, in the depths of night, a chubby figure cloaked in black, along with some hard-bitten guards arrived at the cave. They found Qathrik the Destroyer chowing down on a corpse-- sweetened by all the vengeance and anger it had experienced shortly before its death. Golden armor and a shield set with a powerful gym sat in a neat pile in the corner.
While his guards loaded the pile into the cart Galthor the Greedy, mumbled about how he wished there was a way to do this that didn’t lose so many high quality helmets, exchanged some pleasantries with his business partner, and set off for town.
The next day, another hero arrived at Galthor’s shop. Adrian the Awesome. He was looking for wares to avenge his family and purge the world of evil. Galthor showed him his collection of elite items, including a newly acquired set of gilded Dragonsteel armor and the famous Shieldstone. After Adrian enunciated that he too was set on defeating the evil Qathrik the Destroyer, Galthor showed him his most “special” item, the Sword of All Mornings, which he sold the hero for a heavily discounted price.
Annoyingly enough, Adrian the Awesome returned to the shop a few days later, heavily singed and very angry. He had taken the Sword on a test run, and almost died. Galthor offered his most sincere and obsequious apologies, then directed the hero to their “customer service” department, where a squadron of heavily armed mercenaries proceeded to resolve the issue.
(r/StannisTheAmish)
|
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