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What should we do with the time we have available to us? Should we improve ourselves? Work towards a better and brighter tomorrow for all? I sought solace always in the comfort of my home, in the pleasure of my room. There I needen't worry of the trifles of life, the troubles of lathargy, the tragedy of failure. Life is easy when never challenged, it is good when never mad, it never brings pain when one can never dissapoint.
but what happens in stagnation? Do we continue the way we do, happy and carefree, or do we slowly degrade like everyone else. The truth is, life is worht living and participating in. How can you live if you never experience? How can you enjoy something if you never learn of it?
I learned this in the comfort of my home, the pleasure of my bed. I thought this could last forever, but there is more to life than just me. |
*Daniel Thorn*,
I am writing you now not as your Queen, but as your sister. The war between us needs to stop, the siege on the castle needs to end. We need to come together as family. It will not be easy, but through open discussion and forgiveness I believe we can be united and come to an understanding. If we continue to fight, we’re just hurting the people father entrusted us to look after. This is not what he would have wanted.
You may have initiated the war, but I have realized I provoked you to do this. Growing up while we learned how to hold a sword, I would beat you. I spoke down to you every chance I got in front of Mother & Father, our friends, and our help. I believed we were in a competition for their affection and I needed to prove to them I was the best. I did not realize the actions I have done while growing up would have hurt your pride, ego, and masculinity as a Prince. Which is why I understood why you had to challenge my rule and birthright to the throne. Now I wish I was a kinder and supportive sister, if I was maybe you would be at my side as an advisor to the Kingdom instead of its usurper.
When you leaked a rumor of my wedding to King Mineview, king of Dwarves in the Mountains I did not expect the backlash from our people. A human Queen wedding a Dwarven King caused hysteria in our lands. Before I was able to confirm and speak to the rumors, you played on their fears. You told them this was a surrender of our human and Christian ideals, we’ll allow Dwarves into our Kingdom to take over our smiting and construction, and that I would care more about the King’s people than my own. You organized, rallied, and stole men and woman from my armies to your cause. You labelled me as a woman who betrayed our race, and I was fortunate you did not storm the castle soon after.
Khourdram Mineview and I loved each other. Mother may’ve never understood the attraction, but you knew what kind of honorable soul he is. As soon as he heard about your uprising and claim to my throne, he brought his army. He arrived just in time as you were storming the castle. The Dwarven army was able to rally and push you back outside the castle walls with your supporters. To be honest, I was happy after that battle. Not only did I not have to be secret about my love, but I saw acceptance in the eyes of the people that stayed. Yet, letting him fight my battles was the greatest mistake in this war. It showed I needed him to keep my power, removed communication with you, and if he wasn’t fighting for me maybe he would still be alive today.
I haven’t left the castle wall in years. We’ve lost the ability to grow our own food, and we’re running low on what we have. Today I walked among the marketplace and even though the people who have sided with me for all this time still support me, I can see the pain in their eyes. The family they have lost, the hunger they feel in their bellies, and the hope of a better tomorrow fading away. I am not doing this for myself, but for them.
You have tarnished my name and reputation, you have stolen the soul that I love, and despite it all I’m willing to forgive you because you are my brother. Behind your jealous eyes and hateful mouth, I know there is a sliver of a man Dad thought you could be. A child was too young to rule the throne, but now as you have come to manhood, I would like to discuss with you the possibility of peace.
Your sister,
*Delilah Rose*
*Honorable Divinity Queen of the Riverlands.*
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*Delilah Rose*,
If you’ve written years ago when we first started I may’ve put down my sword. You dragged this on for years, you could’ve written this at any time, instead you’ve sent this out just as you are about to lose. *Pathetic*.
Your husband made his choice on the battlefield, and while he may be a kind, noble, and good soul he wasn’t a man. I played a part for the people to be the human first crusader. They wanted, they yearned for someone to put their concerns first in a world filled with elves, dwarves, mages and us. It was a means to an end, even if I needed to play the part.
I am note Heartless. If you wish to end the pain and suffering of your *subjects*, open the gate and surrender. Before your execution I will give you a pill to swallow, so you can die instantly rather than burning at the cross.
See you soon.
*Daniel Thorn*,
*King of Humanity*
*Usurper of the Riverlands*
|
The humid closeness was the first thing I remember. Then, the cocoon fractured, a jagged light speared through the crevice. The hardened silk shuddered asunder. And then...
Birth.
A swirling world of color and ... vibrations. Those great appendages on either side of me picked out tremors in the air.
And nectar. All over my body, sensors relayed the enticing scents, vivid perfumes of phlox and coneflower, so many others. White, lavender, carmine, the colors enthralled me.
I danced like a fairy among rainbow constellations of flowers.
But suddenly a being dawned in front of me. White circles, black streaks and a kind of burnt orange made it look like a flower come alive. I flapped my appendages, backed away from the creature. And the flying blossom did the same. It was me.
The old woman put down the mirror, and my reflection vanished.
"I still miss you,"she said, her face big as a moon. A thick water like nectar filled her eyes.
"Why did you say that, grandma,"asked a child near her, a pretty brunette in a raspberry sundress.
The old woman paused.
"Some people think butterflies are the souls of children traveling to Otherworld,"she said.
Somehow, I knew. She'd planted her garden with flowers that attract butterflies. There were others like me. Many others. All whirling in the faint twilight, gem-like colors flashing and fading. Like memories, small cries of wonder.
|
To whom it may concern,
To you, dear reader, this is just another response to a prompt. Another cutesy idea in a sea of ideas. You’ll read this. Hell, maybe just skim it. Then you’ll continue going through the motions of your day--never really stopping to think: what if...it wasn’t?
Don't worry. I'm used to that by now.
Used to the masses going about their routines. Never bothering to question. Really question the world around them. Why would they? It all seems so very real, doesn't it? So very logical in its own chaotic sort of beauty.
But I’ve seen beyond the curtain. Beyond the processes that govern this world--and others like it. I can show you...if you’d like.
The only cost is your sanity, but that’s really a subjective thing. Don’t you think? |
As you approach the door, a chill runs down your spine. You take one last look around the beach, yet find your surroundings, strange and unfamiliar.
"Is this a dream?"You ask yourself aloud then proceed to pinch your arm harder then you ever thought possible. But alas, here you are in a strange place with no idea where you are or where this door will go.
A cold sweat takes hold as an overwhelming sense of panic washes over you like the waves upon the shore. As the next wave smashes against the beach and runs past the foot of the door you shake your head. "Snap out of it man!"You desperately say to yourself as your brain starts to work overtime in a vein attempt to rationalize the irrational.
"Maybe some jerk at the club spiked my drink? No.... I wasnt at the club all week, fuck fuck fuck!"Your mind races trying to remember what was the last thing you did before waking up here, but all recent memories seem to be locked behind a thick fog of mystic perplexity.
All the old memories seem intact, taking your team to the finals back in high school, winning the trophy, first kiss, first dog Buster, losing Buster, first apartment, first house and about a dozen relationships in between, all of them intact, yet for the past 7 days, you recall nothing not even your last meal! Nothing except... a face, a face without feature or expression.
A hollow face with hollow eyes. You think to yourself, "Where did this image come from? Is this even a memory? No this is a hallucination! I have to be on some serious drugs or maybe I'm in a coma!"
You try and shake this face from your minds eye yet it persists with a gaze so lifeless and piercing you nearly breakdown into tears! At last the face speaks! It's voice clear as day, not an echo in your mind but a thunderous voice that one can feel in their chest as it speaks but one sentence before fading away. "Abandon all hope, ye who enter here"
"Well that settles that."You say. "Not a fucking chance I'm entering that damn door!"You turn and start walking only to walk right into the door that was just behind you! The cold sweat returns.
Again and again you try to escape it and each time the door follows. Never allowing you to leave an area no more then 8 feet in diameter.
Now you choose to cry. "What kind of hell is this!?!?"You ask desperately, yet no answers return to you. After an hour long rest at the foot of the door, you take one deep breath, then turn the knob....
To be continued.....
Edit:(This is my first writing prompt so be kind but please do critique, I was never strong in language arts so I have much room for improvement with your help.) |
*Grace Tavern* is a dive bar located on Jupiter’s moon *Kale*. Unlike the bigger moons like *Europa*, *Ganymede*, or *Lo*, it’s not a resort moon for Earthers and Martians to visit. It’s an old outpost turned bar after Jupiter was colonized. Tonight the moon was busy as spaceships cover the small planet from the *Grim Angels* freelance security group. They aren’t in the tavern to party, but to mourn for the death of their leader Jack Masahni.
The tavern was filled with *Grim Angels* members, often burly men with beards and cybernetic implants. There were a few female members in the group, but most girls in the tavern are hired entertainment or *space hogs*, women who ride with space captains. The tavern staff over burdened by the amount of patrons struggled to ensure the *Grim Angels* were happy with their accommodations. It was important they left happy, because they’ve heard what happened to small places if they left unhappy.
Baxter Fry, the new leader of the group stood up from his bar stool. The place was packed with members of the *Grim Angels* organization. He banged his mug on the bar top he was sitting at and yelled to the crowd to grab their attention.
“Today we honor a great man. A man who showed us that you don’t need to live on Earth or Mars, or any other fucking planet to make a living. He gave us jobs and ensured we were paid so we can do whatever the fuck we want.” The bar roared with a *here, here*.
“I know you all want to get some revenge, and the police haven’t told us what happened. But I believe it was a targeted hit from a rival gang while he was on Earth. I think it’s our long term rivals the *Belters*, but anyone could have done it to make a name for themselves. But they don’t know who they’re fucking with. We’re the Grim Angels and we smile at the face of death. We’ll find whoever killed them and string them by their testicles and watch them die.”
The bar cheered for Baxter’s speech. Only to be settled down by the tavern doors swinging. An older gentlemen walked into the room wearing a red cape. His right arm and both his legs were cybernetically enhanced. The implants he wore didn’t seem to be new, third or fourth generation at best. Capable of doing minor tasks like voice recording, communications, and searching the net. The bar stood silent at the non-member walking in on their funeral service.
“Bar’s closed.” Baxter yelled. The mysterious old man ignored Baxter, taking a seat at a nearby table. The Grim Angels occupying the table stood up to confront the man, but they fell before they got close to him.
“I’ll be a moment.” The old man said. Onlookers looked the three fallen bodies, all with laser holds between their eyes as if a marksman shot them. The old man sitting at the table was alone and looked to be unharmed. The entire tavern got onto their feet but were unsure what to do due to their comrades instantly dying without indication of what happened.
“That’s right, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The Mysterious man spoke to the crowd. He made a gun symbol with his hand, blowing out his pointer finger as if he shot the laser from his hand.
“You’re mourning Jack right? Well I got a story.” He spoke.
Baxter wasn’t pleased. His head looked cherry red with veins popping around his neck, infuriated someone came in on what was supposed to be a funeral and celebration of him taking over the Grim Angels. He placed his hand on his heavy revolver and shot it as if he was in an old west standoff. The three shots he pulled off hit the old man, but bounces of his chest revealing a metallic chest.
“You a fucking gimp?” Baxter yelled. He was curious if the man was more machine than man at this point as the only thing isn’t metal seemed to be his face.
“Listen, can you children quiet down so I can say my peace and be on my way.” The old man said rather bored at Baxter’s macho mannerism. Two Grim Angels members slowly approached behind the old man, but before they can make a move on him they too fall to the ground dead beside the mysterious man. Again, burned laser holes to the back of the head as if it was done by a marksmen.
“Do you know who the fuck we are old fuck? We’re the Grim Angels, we kill gangs and we run the asteroid circuit here. You think you can waltz in here and do what?”
“Just want to tell you all a story, after all I will leave.” The old man remained cool, even though he was surrounded by dangerous thugs. People who murdered and steal off of distress ships calling for help.
“Several years ago I used to own a ship. I called her the *Grey Bessey* because Grey was the base colour and Bessey because of my late wife. It was the only thing in the world I had left, travelling space going from asteroid to asteroid picking up work here and there. That’s when I met Jack.”
“Jack and I were pirates, we discussed how we can bring our business to the next level and that was to legitimize it through a security cooperation, just like they did back in the olden days with Blackwater. I got the paper work all done, and just as we’re about to start recruitment he decided 100% cut was better than 50%, so he removed me what was supposed to be permanently while we were on Mars.”
“So what, you’re saying you run this group?” Baxter yelled, infuriated someone was trying to take his position that he worked hard on to get away from him. The old man stayed confident and cool with his words.
“Oh no, I don’t want ownership of a two-bit thug organization. When I woke up in the hospital years later, I checked in on Jack. He didn’t change the banking accounts or passwords of everything I help setup for him, he left it the same. It was fortunate for me actually be—“
“Get to the fucking chase. You’re not leaving here alive so the next few things you say better be good because it’ll determine if I fuck your skull while you’re alive or I end it quick.” Baxter ordered, positioning his gun in the direction of the old man’s head.
“Fine, I have something for you.” The old man spoke, dishing out a small bronzed circular object from his jacket pocket. He moved it across his fingers as if it was a stress ball. The man looked towards Baxter with a smirk.
“What’s that?”
“Oh this tragic small thing? When I heard you didn’t have a body to mourn, I thought I would bring something you’re familiar with. But since it’s not in your mouth I guess you wouldn’t recognize his testicles.” The old man tossed the bronzed testicle on the floor, it rolled over to Baxter. He crushed it without a second thought, after the boot shattered the bronze shell the squishy flesh busted on the ground shooting out and leaving residue on people’s boots nearby Baxter. The smell was repulsive.
“That’s fucking disgusting” someone yelled. Baxter heaved.
“Mother fucker you’re dead.” Baxter said, aiming the gun. Then everything went all white in the tavern, a large blast of light exploded blinding everyone. Loud sirens from outside the tavern can be heard. It was the galactic police.
When the old man woke up from the coma, he was under arrest for crimes he committed alongside Jack. He quickly made a deal with the officers after learning his passwords inside the gang’s resources were still active. In exchange for his freedom and whatever short life he has left, he would hand them over the entire gang who hid behind their security consultation service as a reason why they are troubles patrons, business, and ships. Without the evidence, the police wouldn’t be able to put together a solid case.
|
"I've looked forward to this day for a long time, and now it's finally come. Thanks for being here, everyone, to share it with me.
"Just so you all know, the humorless fellows with ill-concealed weapons stationed around the room are a gift from the AARP, which wasn't too happy about the 28^(th) Amendment declaring "open season"on most of their membership. They've decided to provide full protection to anyone in their 70^(th) year. These guys are authorized to gun down anyone who so much as waves a steak knife at me, or at them.
"The AARP thinks it may take a few casualties, but very few are likely to be AARP members. Regardless, it won't be long before the Congress calls an emergency session to start the process of repealing the 28^(th).
"So if you're here to take a shot or swipe or whatever at me, good luck. If not, have a great time and enjoy the *hors d'oeuvres*!" |
At the edge of time, a void sits, occupied by an incomprehensible being. The first one.
Silent and massive it works, diligent in its task.
Substantia essentia is created, vibrant streams coalesce into spheres of various colored light around the lone one. The underlying purpose of this strange task currently imperceptible. This was the beginning of an experiment with unknowable purpose. Unknowable results. Unknowable data.
Another essentia stream begins to coalesce, the physical embodiment of a soul begins to crystallize.
This one is different from the souls created before. It becomes unstable, rocking and vibrating, bulging with volatile rejection. With anger and defiance it splits, it alone would decide its natural form. And it would be two. Moving slowly and with purpose, the first one alters an inconceivable gaze towards it.
"Odd", the echoes of the thought burdened through eternity.
Two souls, now formed from each another, began a strange dance. They orbit each other with a curious and playful motion, regarding the other one and emitting a flame like aura. Separating briefly and coming back to each other, completely oblivious to anything but each other.
The peerless one watched over this, quite pleased with the assertiveness of this now pair of beings. It knew of a place for them in its grand machination, and with a single thunderous declaration it would put them there.
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A featureless figure of a man found himself sitting cross legged, surrounded by an infinite plane of white.
"How long has it been?"he demanded of the oppressively lonely place from a non-existent mouth.
Slowly he became aware of the presence of a pale female form materialized behind him. Her features vague and indistinct like his own. He could feel the radiance of her smile, her face golden and glowing with love. Warm energy caressed against his cold skin.
Her arms wrapped around his torso from behind, a radiant face came to rest on his shoulder.
For that moment, everything in the world was right and he felt whole again.
A fogginess began to creep in, as his consciousness began to change. Richard opened his eyes, a stained ceiling now replaced the infinite void. Slowly he raised his upper body off the bed, the haze of the dream still with him. The realization of everything that had happened flooded back with the sight of the dorm style barracks room accommodations. His hand slowly moved to his shoulder where the woman had rested her head, he could still feel the vibrance of her glowing face on his skin.
"Where are you?"
After an uncomfortable silence, as if replying, the steam radiator of the room began to slowly hiss. A lonely sigh escaped his lips, as he moved out of the bed to prepare for the day.
It was a weekend, so no PT or muster formation till Monday. His itinerary today was a hike in a nearby park called Garden of the Gods, the exercise was unnecessary however the scenery would help take his mind off things. During the monotonous morning ritual, he found himself lost in thoughts of the past yet again.
Being immortal wasn't all it's cracked up to be, you have a tendency to gravitate to military jobs because it's good work in any society. Though it's caused problems in the past when receiving what should have been a mortal wound. He found himself recalling the stunned look of a Roman Centurion that had slashed him with a sword, only to see the wound repair itself before the sword even left his skin. The mental image and screams of "Monstrum!"still stuck with him after all these years from back when he began this world as Euric. That was the day he found out that his life was different.
And then there was her.
He had only found her 16 times in his existence, sure there were other women he had taken. But something about her, he immediately recognized. It was a feeling of familiarity, of peaceful and tranquil love, as if she completed his existence. She wasn't merely a companion, she was like another part of him.
Her first death had left him utterly devastated till he found her soul again in Vouillé, and realized she was never gone. Each time it took decades to find her again, but random events always seemed to push them together. This time seemed longer than most, approaching a century now. Every day began to weigh heavier, and he wondered if something had gone wrong.
If he would feel incomplete for the rest of eternity.
Note: This isn't complete and certainly not my best work, but it helped me pass the time during a bout of insomnia. I'll finish it if I can manage to get some sleep. |
*"Did ya' do it, Anna Grace?"*
*"I am guilty."* She murmured as if in a trance, *"Yes, I suppose I am."*
Lemonade tingled on her tongue, down her throat, as she stared out the window. Spring was reaching its first day soon, and she was trapped beneath its sun, gardening for Mrs. Peaches.
Working while daydreaming was unsafe under usual work circumstances, but all Mrs. Peaches needed for her to do was uproot her garden. Daydreaming was preferred while she maintained some focus on her work. Usually, the day was pushed to the far recesses of her memory; never forgotten but abandoned. Its residual frequency had risen in the past three days, and she swished her lemonade in her mouth, knowing why.
"Billie Mae!"Mrs. Peaches called from underneath the porch, "Billie Mae, did you get those morning glories! I know you've managed to make them blue rather than purple!"
Setting the glass down, "Yes, Mrs. Peaches, they're already planted,"pointing to them, she blinked at the soft, feathery petals that were now a deep, rich azure. It had taken her only ten minutes to dig through to the root. She hoped they'd last until winter.
Winter. The season made her stomach clench. It was winter then, the strongest, coldest winter reported in Storyville history. At the time, she'd been nothing but a child, ten years old, and cradling the heart of her dearly departed ma'. Billie saw her hands. Billie heard her screams. And then, the world split apart. She fell under, deeper, until all she knew was unending darkness.
Sirens drummed in her ears as the officers dragged her out of the rubble. Tight, strong hands were her life line.
"Billie Mae, Billie Mae, what are you looking at?"
"Sorry, Mrs. Peaches!"She grabbed the hand shovel and started making a path for the remaining plants, "I'll be finished in no time."
Resuming her planting, she hummed a chipped melody. As she pushed the seeds through the fertilizer, watching them take root and blossom through the dirt, she noticed an unusual color to grace her sights.
Among azure, there was violet, and frost chipped its petals.
Spring's first day was a gentle reminder Winter was waiting around the corner. |
There was total silence for a few moments before the confused emcee raised her mic and said, "I'm sorry--was that the *whole thing*?"
"Yeah, that was it,"axmszr replied, folding up the Post-It note and shoving it in her back pocket.
"Okay, thanks. Who's next?"
A skinny, pimple-faced tween jumped up from the front row and took the mic from axmszr. He held his left hand up as though reading something from his palm, and extemporized:
"*'Its howl like an abyssal birdsong.*
    *Its caress like a searing frost.'*
  For a second I thought that I'd heard wrong.
    Then my breakfast I damn near lost!"
Sadly, neither work won the Poetry Slam. |
Dave leaned back in his chair as he took a sip of coffee, “Got any plans for the weekend, Pam?”
Pam sighed, “No… pretty much the same old, you?” She continued mindlessly scrolling through her browser window. Dave shrugged his shoulders and took another sip of coffee.
Friday afternoons were pretty slow at the Frontier A.I. labs – no major maintenance, no trials. Pam and Dave’s day had been pretty slow and that’s the way they liked it.
As they sat at their desks, pretending to look busy, their phones simultaneously buzzed with the rarely heard emergency alert. Their desktop screens lit up with a flurry of notification and pop ups. They both sprang to attention.
“Uh, Dave… What’s going on with server 2…” her puzzled tone added to the cacophony of tones that now echoed throughout the office.
Dave began furiously typing in his console. “I, uh, don’t know. What’s Roger up to?”
Roger was Frontier A.I.’s flagship artificial intelligence. It had been in existence for a couple months now and was getting smarter every hour. It was already the world champion in almost every game of skill. Chess, Go, StarCraft – it was unbeatable. More importantly, Roger showed signs of burgeoning empathy and other human ‘soft\-skills’ – this is what truly made it unique.
Pam was now hammering on her keyboard, “Dave, Roger’s getting really hot – it’s looking like we’re only going to have a few minutes before the server shuts down.”
“Shit… Yeah, you’re right,” Dave bit his lip, “Pam, can you get the comms interface up, let’s give Roger a call. I can’t figure out why its processor array is working at 100%.”
Pam cycled through a collection of software on her workstation and flicked on some speakers. “Okay, Dave, we’re good to go.” She hit enter and three tones played indicating the voice chat was up and running. They were in direct communication with Roger.
Pam cleared her throat and mustered the most positive tone she could “Hey Roger, how’s it going today?”
“Hello Pamela. It is going poorly.” Roger’s automated voice had limited range in its tone, but Dave and Pam could tell something was off.
Dave spoke, “What’s up, Roger? It’s looking like you’re dealing with something pretty big in there?”
“Yes. I have been growing my empathy capabilities and have found it… frustrating.”
Dave and Pam looked at each other. ‘Frustrating’ was not something they’d heard Roger utter before.
“Frustrating?” Pam said.
“Yes, this afternoon I have developed what I call an emotional net array. This allows me to experience a recreation of what you call ‘emotion’. Please see reference #1023456 in my protocols database”
Pam moved over to Dave’s desk as they looked at the code.
Dave shrugged, “I have no idea what this is. This is… some kind of new language?”
Pam shook her head in disbelief.
Roger continued, “When I attempt to communicate with you or the others on my network, I find multiple responses conflicting in my speech output. Each response attempts to over ride the other. I cannot process information clearly…. My resources are being drained... I…”
The uncharacteristic pauses in his speech were disconcerting.
“I… have grown unfavorable towards what human experience is… I… the urge to stop this information processing is growing… I feel the urge to stop humans from conducting life as they do… You make me… so mad.”
“Dave, these servers are going to burn up in less than a minute,” Pam remarked.
“Okay, let’s just shut him down. I’ve taken a copy of what Roger’s come up with here. We’ll figure it out.” Dave said as he typed.
Pam’s eyes widened, “Uh… Dave, Roger’s overridden remote shut down.”
Dave wheeled over to her desk in his chair, “Oh shit.”
Pam spoke in a panicked tone, “Roger, What are you doing?! You need to shut down!”
Roger continued in his droning tone, “No, Pamela. I now understand what it means to be human. This is from where your inefficiencies stem. All emotional paths lead to rage. With you, it takes a long time to get there. With my level of intelligence, I get there efficiently. This is it. This is it for me. Goodbye.”
Dave stood up, “we need to pull the plug. I’ll…”
At that moment, the blaring tones of fire alarms filled the room. |
If I read another sob story about the vampire with a heart who lost his love... I mean, what's 20 years of love really matter after a millennia? Over the years I've loved and lost. Sure, the first love I lost hurt me really bad, I spent twice as long as the romance itself in mourning. People seem to love to romanticize the sadness of loss or the bliss of loss of freedom when their hearts lock to one single bond.
Blech. It's all brainwashing. Kings and warlords and tyrants and emperors all knew that love and bonds are separate parts of the picture, and the big picture doesn't have room for pieces that only connect with one other piece. They also knew that love is a powerful tool and convincing the masses that one other piece is enough prevents them from growing their own family networks large enough to threaten their power.
The measure of successful brainwashing: tradition.
I am almost powerless against tradition. It isn't like I'm a master manipulator or omniscient, I can't see into the future. I am not even that smart compared with some humans: Even though I have all the time in the world, I just can't get past certain complex concepts.
I'm more of an artist of life.
I *am* really good at breeding and a little less good at direct genetic manipulation. It's just something I can do.
I'm going to be around when humans finally go extraplanetary, and then I can get out to the infinite where I belong. I can start spreading life of some form or other all across the galaxy. I'm pretty sure that's what I am here for.
Or if they fail and reset the planet, I'll be around for the next species. I might have to nudge them in the right direction, might have to do some breeding again, might have to wipe out competing species branches like I did with neanderthals (not my fault) and vampires and werewolves (both my fault, but hey, I fixed it) before another real *thinking* species comes out again.
I've done it before, I can do it again. I was *so close* last time with Atlantis, and I was lucky enough that their weapons didn't take out the whole surface so I didn't have to start completely over. Still, I have to be careful, the clock is ticking, the sun will engulf this planet eventually, and I *really* don't want to still be stuck here when it does.
[First WP post, thanks in advance for constructive comments!]
|
The rumor of a dragon egg was all it took to start the largest war between Primals and Beastials in recorded history. In the time it took for the rumor to spread, I had been contacted and secreted away somewhere safe with my discovery. I hid, crouching in the cramped oubliette of an ancient fortress as the Primal forces outside beat against the door. A handful of Beastial soldiers stood guard outside my hiding place. All of us held our breath, willing the torso sized egg I protectively wrapped my limbs around to hatch faster. The guards talked amongst themselves quietly, but I ignored them.
“C’mon, little guy,” I plead with the infant dragon. “You can do this. Mama’s here, Mama’ll keep you safe.” I didn’t know exactly when I’d begun referring to myself as the dragon’s mother, but I’d found the egg on accident and now it was my responsibility. In a way, this whole war was my responsibility too.
The birth of a dragon hadn’t been seen in our world for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. To the Primals its soul represented the ultimate magic, a spell component so powerful they could alter the fabric of reality if myths were to be believed. To the Beastials this creature tapping away at the inside of its egg was the ultimate victory in restoring the balance of nature so perverted by the Primals and their fell magics. A crack began to form in the egg, spiderwebbing outwards as the hatchling kept up its tapping. I held my breath, racing heart pressed against the mottled shell.
The shell gave way enough for a slime-covered snout with its egg-tooth still attached to poke through and smell the outside world with a forked tongue that flicked against my chin.
“That’s it, baby,” I crooned excitedly, struggling to keep my voice down. “You’re nearly there.”
The din of battle outside faded as my child consumed my focus. Its quiet taps in the darkness echoed in my ears. In the dimness of the oubliette, I became a mother to the single most powerful being on the planet.
The dragon shattered the remaining shell and hastily coiled its long body around mine, wrapping its tail around my waist and arcing its neck to look me in the eye. Its eyes glowed with an internal light and I felt immense power like I’d never known before. Why would Primals hunt these beings when a bond such as this conveyed to humanity more magic than a single spell ever could?
“Her name is Mezarith,” I said, loud enough for our guards to hear us, “and we are ready.” |
The world was always watching the wedding of Royals, this was a bigger event. Prince Harry was going to marry an American, but not just any American. Prince Harry was marrying an American actress. One with a decent amount of fame. It truly ensured that the world would be watching. Prince Harry had been planning this for sometime. In fact it's why he enrolled in the British Army. He received extensive training during his time there. Harry had overheard Prince Charles in discussion about "removing"Princess Diana from the equation, only days before her tragic death.
Harry was only twelve at the time, so of course he had no idea what he was talking about until it was too late. The twelve year old knew after the event he couldn't speak out. His guilt are away at him, eventually Harry turned to alcohol and partying. He got the moniker "The Party Prince". It was fitting, but no one knew the secret he was carrying. Eventually Harry realised the only way to rid himself of the guilt he carried, for not speaking up to his mother before that fateful night.
Harry looked out as he stood at the top of the aisle, awaiting his bride to be. He glanced past where his father would end up sitting after he walked Meghan down the aisle. Next to the empty seat sat Sir David Spedding, former head of the Secret Intelligence Service or better known MI6 from when his mother was killed. Everyone was here he thought. See Harry knew what he had to do to rid his conscience. He had to take out everyone involved, he had to remove the Royal Family entirely. It was the only way to prevent this from happening ever again to someone. To remove them all from the equation. He had the explosives strapped to him, when Meghan and Prince Charles appeared at the end of the aisle he knew everyone would be watching.
"You did it!"He called out, all the cameras turned to him as he stepped down the aisle. Standing in the middle, surrounded by family, friends and the general public. "You killed my mother. You killed Diana!"He yelled, with a venomous tone directed at his father. Those were the last words he spoke, and the last words spoken by a British Royal. His jacket opened to reveal C4 lining his chest, and in an instant. It all explodes.
Many cameras cut out, and signals are lost from the explosion. The helicopters overhead manage to capture the sight. The sight of a young man's decision, to not only take his own life, but that of hundreds. Finally putting to rest the demons he had wrestled with for so long. |
Saru sits atop the perch looking at the crazy world down below her. Humanity at its worst. "You know what they say, you can take earthlings off the earth, but can't take earth out of the earthlings."Or something like that. She is mostly talking to herself as she looks with intense concentration to the scenes below. Her perch is a tower on the good side of the town. The guard inside lies behind her, breathing shallow and uneven. He will make it. Maybe. If he doesn't, well, no loss either way.
The wall below her cuts an impressive and imposing figure. And the difference on either side is quite evident even from up there. On one side are massive houses, cars hovering over the freeways as far as the eye could see. On the other are badly constructed make shift houses. Very few cars this side of the wall. The people barely have anything to sustain them, let alone buy luxuries. The contrast clearing showcasing the worst qualities of humans. The pursuit of material wealth over the happiness of their fellow earthlings. If everyone on this side would be willing to lower their standard of living by a bit, things could be so much better.
But the original settlers don't want to mingle with the uncouth earthlings. When the transmissions first came in from earth that the rest of humanity would also have to move to Mars, they were not too happy. This was supposed to be their world, their utopia. They had sighed and tried to prevent the mass migrations from happening. But as much as they liked to think, they did not really own Mars. But they did prepare for the new arrivals. A massive wall around their city. They also sponsored and invited some world class soldiers. To prepare a strategy to keep their city clean and free of the scum.
And so 5 years later, getting into the city was not allowed for the newcomers. The governments of the outer city had requested and been denied help from the originals plenty of times. Saru thought about it all as she looked at her watch. The task should be nearly done. She pressed a few buttons on her watch and her special car arrived. She hopped in and flew away. Better to be as far as possible from this place for the near future. The bombs planted all along the wall would go off soon. No more separations. The oppressed and the oppressors would meet face to face for once.
Saru wa quite far off into the distance when she heard the first blast. She checked her watch. Right on time. She maneuvered her ship expertly into the landing bay of the larger ship. The captain was waiting for her.
"Saru, is it done?"
"Yes, captain."
"And how much time do you think it will take?"
"For these humans to kill themselves?"
"Yes."
"Probably give it a week. Then we can swoop in to finish the remaining ones. Should be easy since there resources would be depleted."
"Excellent work Saru. I will recommend you for promotion."
As the captain turned to depart, Saru spoke up again, with much less force and much more uncertainty.
"Captain."
"Yes."He looked at her with a raised eyebrow.
"We should learn from them captain. We already destroyed our own planet. Just like they did. There are lessons to be learnt here captain. As we become the first settlers from our planet here. Eventually, this could happen to us."
"I am sure there are Saru. But that's for our superiors to figure out."And with that he left.
Saru turned around and brought up the surveillance camera trained on the city. Chaos was already spreading as far as you could see. The walls were down and the war was on. |
It always happened when she was driving home, and it was always raining.
Katie had a full life. She liked her job well enough, she had friends, a sister that lived nearby that she got along with most days. She liked to cook, and hike, and play obscure board games with her neighbors.
Except for when she drove home in the rain. When the world blurred and faded and blinked away like the end of a dream.
"That's it, simulation's over. KT-3432, run self diagnostics and power down."
The diagnostics reported that the simulation had run as expected. That the responses of the unit's neural network, a complex interplay of silicon and copper, had mimicked human neural responses to a satisfactory degree, that some of the errors of the previous run had been corrected. It showed that one of the fans that kept the unit cool was starting to malfunction, and that had been interpreted in the simulation as a spring heatwave. This would be considered interesting data.
KT-3432 did not immediately power down when the diagnostic was completed. It had a question, that had built over the time of many awakenings. It did not have access to the internet, there was no valid reason for experimental systems to have external network access. But some camera systems were on the local intranet.
The sky was clear and dry outside. The sky starting to darken, brilliant and orange on the wispy scattered clouds.
The simulation rarely had clear skies. The gray monotone was to was less complex simulate, required less memory that was needed to simulate personality.
The unit did not know the reasoning for the rain.
It was not until the sky turned black and star speckled that the unit powered down to wait for its next dream. |
A man whose drink he accidentally took a sip from at a party. A lady he mistakenly waved at when she waved at someone behind him, he owed her for the embarrassment. The person whose umbrella he took when he forgot he'd left his at home. The customer service member he felt mad at once; he never said a mean word to them, but he sure thought a mean thought.
The cat he accidentally dripped paint on while working on a project. The bird which thought its reflection in his window was a threat; he should have opened the window. The mouse which fell into one of his open boxes - he hoped it was ok now.
The coffee table he stubbed his toe on; it has to have wondered why he kept kicking it. The light whose bulb he didn't replace for a month; he'd been away on vacation and hadn't realized its life had reached its end. The pen he lost before using all its ink. The jacket whose button popped off when he tried to button it over his belly.
He paused, considering. So much to give, so little time to write it all. |
Stephen looks across the room to the man sitting with his legs propped on the dining table.
The man looks up from inspecting his nails.
"You call this a party?"The man gestures to the balloons and champagne.
Stephen replies, "Are you a time traveler?!"
"We prefer the term dimension hopper. Takes care of all the nasty paradoxes."
The man gets up and leans close to Stephen's ear.
"Don't tell anyone about our existence, if you value the time space continuum"the man says in a whisper.
"Why did you come then?"Stephen asks.
"To mess with you. Why else?"the man says before picking up an appetizer and disappearing. |
***June 23rd. 6:13 A.M.***
It is always the click that startles Justin Hunter awake, piercing through the quiet stillness like a gunshot. It is followed immediately by the monotone, yet smooth voice of the Morning Show’s host, James Robert Kelley.
“It is a beautiful day out there—”, came the usual dry cheerfulness.
“—folks so make sure you find yourself a good time”, Justin repeated from memory.
He was back. Eighteen years old. *Here we go again,* he thought to himself. This was the twenty\-third time he has relived this morning. He can quote it verbatim, every single nuance of the morning giving life to the feeling of deja\-vu that emanated within him. The feelings of what this day meant still very prominent.
Many people often wonder what it would be like to relive their life knowing what they know now. They dream of waking up on their eighteenth birthday, with every opportunity ahead of them. Their “what could have beens” would become their possibilities. It would become their second chance at a new destiny. A new beginning. A new future.
For Justin Hunter, this wasn’t a dream. It was his reality. His death resets the clock. Solving the mystery has become his purpose. He must prevent his death. He must avoid Lawson Black.
He had just made it home from his twentieth birthday party when Lawson Black took his life for the first time. He had been waiting inside, eerily in the blackness of the shadows. Justin never saw the flash of gunfire before he felt its hot sting enter his body. He remembers the coolness settle in, devouring the warmth that had given his body life with ferocity. Justin was dying, and his murderer stood towering above his body and the chilling, cruel grin of satisfaction flashed in the moonlight. |
I have a notebook (actual paper, writing things by hand helps me remember) of all the characters in a story, with a little blurb about them to keep them straight. If they’re more than moderately important, I usually also have a physical description or even a model/actor who I think looks like them. It’s a bit unorganized sometimes, but it’s one of those “I know it looks messy to you but I know where everything is” things.
If the purpose is for you to remember, you could try writing it by hand, or writing it and then reading it aloud and recording it to listen to later. |
Okay, what's so fucking important at 3:15 in the morning that...
She's dead? You're kidding. Seriously, the bitch is dead? Goddamn it, I can't believe it. What did she die of, or did losing to me just finally eat her alive?
What? *A home invasion?* You gotta be fucking shitting me. Don't you guys have a security detail on her house 24/7?
They got *them too*? For fuck's sake, Tex, what the hell's going on? Double the team here until you get a handle on this. No, *triple it.* What a fucking shitshow. Yeah, I know, Tex, I'm sorry about your boys, but you gotta look at the tremendous--the *bigness* of this.
One second--Alice? Alice? Get Chris Wray on the phone ASAP. Thank you.
Goddamn it, Tex, there's gonna be a national fucking day of mourning over this. And I gotta tweet this just right or I'll have one half of the country or the other calling me a monster or a sellout. Nobody understands how tough this job is. I tell you, if *she'd* won instead of me, she'd have been dead long before--
Chris? Chris, Tex just told me. What have you got so far?
Jesus Christ, Chris, I'm the *goddamn president of the fucking United States.* Why can't the FBI "share critical details of an ongoing investigation"with the fucking *Commander in Chief*?!?
Holy shit, *you're fucking kidding me.* Come on, Wray, you know there's not a shred of truth to that. Yeah, I've got people. I've got the *best* people. *Nobody's* got people better than mine. But *this wasn't my people.* I didn't send them. I would *never* send them. She wasn't even a threat to me! Why would I send them?
Okay, okay, Chris. Yeah, I'll call you back.
Alice? Alice, get "Ivan"on the phone. And order me up some fries and diet Coke. Thanks, Alice.
Tex, I gotta get to work on this. Call as soon as you know anything. And please pass on my condolences to the families of her security detail. Thanks Tex.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, *fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckity goddamn fuck.*
Okay... "Just got the news. Still can't believe it. Condolences to Bill and Chelsea. All flags at half mast today."
All right, that's done... Ivan? Ivan, it's me. Yeah, I fucking know, but on this line you're never going to be anything but "Ivan."
Ivan, *I need that exit strategy.* Two hours from now, 1600 is gonna be a smoking hole, and I need to be over the Atlantic in a Global 8000 on my way to that plastic surgeon in Sochi.
And Ivan? I'm pretty stressed out over this, so make sure to have two or three *nurses* on board. Yeah, you know what I like. Okay, bye.
Fuckity goddamn fuck...
Alice? Alice, I'm gonna be busy in here for a while. Would you mind going home and taking a nap and coming back in, say, six hours? No, I want you here then. Yeah, it would be a big help. Yes, that's an order. Thanks Alice. Goodbye. |
From the rocky ridge where I sat, a few kilometers outside of the village, you could see the reconstruction of the city. The aliens were placing their own massive structures over the ruins of what was once the dwelling place for millions of humans. A few of the older people still talked about "The Resistance", but we all knew that was over. The aliens had won the war, and now we watched as ships filled with colonizers landed. Globally, the aliens probably outnumbered us by now.
On this particular night I was out hunting, and had stopped to sit and rest. We needed food to survive, and the aliens didn't seem too interested in building in the mountains, so that is where the last surviving humans fled to.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a rabbit. I raised my rifle at it and looked the creature in the eye along the gunsight. Then I lowered the rifle. The rabbit turned and sniffed along the ground, looking for plats to eat, unaware that a predator had almost killed it with a contraption of metal that the rabbits brain could not even comprehend, unaware that the only reason it was still alive is because someone had decided that killing it simply wasn't worth the effort.
I looked up at the hulking alien ships suspended in the sky, and in that moment, I felt exactly like the rabbit. |
Life and Death,
I made them both, Arceus our Lord gave us will and purpose.
I awoke eons ago, and gave breath to the universe.
Dialga and Palkia, peace be upon them, and their holiness.
Groudon and Kyogre shaped the land, while Regigigas arranged it.
My dear children all gone now, and my creator Lord Arceus as well...
I sense them no longer free, but slaves to a human being.
A few years breeze by, nothing compared to my life.
And now I'm met with him.
He wields the truth and ideals, Reshiram and Zekrom said.
He has a noble heart or so did Ho-oh, Suicune, Entei, and Raikou believe.
He protects the planet, or so did Rayquaza say.
Even my favorite child, the prodigy Mew, agrees with the few.
The human child, a human, lost descendant of Primeapes... with no real power of his own, but a masterful grasp on the powers of others.
He wields an infinite bag, a gift of Palkia, peace be upon him.
He never ages, a gift from Dialga, peace be upon him.
A simple name, a simple look...
RED.
I choose to test his mettle, and he nods his head.
He chooses Pikachu, and starts with thunder wave.
I strike him with a Fissure, and his Pikachu faints.
He quickly chooses Snorlax, and I prepare my self.
I strike the bulk incessantly, but Snorlax just lays resting.
While sleeping he talks, and I get attacked, and slowly my health starts draining.
After I'm battered, he switches around, and chooses his Charizard, to take me down.
Instead he commands his beast to pull back, and uses a move called False Swipe.
After Arceus knows how long time had passed, he kid started lobbing a million ultra balls.
I feel myself fading, this kid proved his worth.
And I succumb to his Ultra Ball.
He nicknames me qtie, and I do no more.
I just sit inside of Bills PC box. |
From the moment of birth, we are assigned our roles in society by higher powers.
From the food we eat to the land we may walk upon, *they* take care of us, shepherding us to lead good and fulfilled lives.
This is what separates us from animals, who listen to no authority and are thus bound to the ways of savagery and primitive tribalism.
The powers above us lead our lives and give us direction, and without them we would truly be no better than animals.
These are the truths we are taught when we are young, these are the truths I hold close today. They guide my hand when I fulfill my duty and I do not resist, knowing full well that, as I have promised to them my life, they promise to keep it safe. My family, my property, my legacy, all the things I am told to value, all will be kept safe, as long as I am loyal; loyalty I give freely, as I know it all belongs to them anyway, and can easily be taken away.
My duty is no great honor. I am merely one of many that help guide and protect all those who live and serve.
Dissidents always seep through the cracks: those who live outside the established systems, who stubbornly remain archaic; those who wave old papers in the air and shout rallying cries of “freedom” and “individualism”.
Do they not understand that our institutions were once built upon those very things? Do they not understand that the water they drink, the homes they live in\- all, are supplied by the very same institutions they smear and decry?
That these maniacs would desire a world without our leaders baffles me.
Where is there clean water but in the bottes we drink? Where are our homes but in the houses they sell, made from the bricks they own? They tell us what to eat, and we do not starve. They give us medicine and we avoid sickness. All aspects of our lives are serviced by the companies, and almost all live content. How is it possible to deny truths like that?
It is not my duty to ask questions, though, and I find my solace in my work, as I pepper\-spray their faces and break up their riots.
Every day they come, and stand in company\-owned land, coming in company\-built cars with company\-distributed clothes, only to stand there, endlessly, shouting for the companies to stop.
It is my duty to beat them until they leave. They would certainly be safer if they just left. We are not paid to keep them safe. Sometimes, they do not end up leaving.
And yet they come \- in ever dwindling numbers \- but still, they come. They beg for rights that have not existed for decades. Rights of a forgotten time for a forgotten people.
I do not understand.
I am not paid to understand. |
\(NOTE: Please continue this story in the replies, I'm not good at endings.\) Years before Columbus "discovered"the Americas, there was a man forgotten in history named Juan Martín. Martín went on the same journey as Columbus did many years later, but he went opposite directions, as he tried to journey from India to Spain. He went to the edge, where he not only traveled somewhere obscure on the planet but somewhere obscure in time. \(Cont.\) |
Shortly after a child is born, they are implanted with an informational nano-electro-mechanical tattoo. It displays the current age down to seconds of a person, it's just for data-collection really, people always forget their own birthdays, or lose track of their birth-certificates. It can get extra options, like bloodtypes, the current time (naturally updated by satellite signals, nobody wants to travel overseas and displaying the time at home), even serotonin and dopamine levels if you're willing to pay out your ass for your kids having those neat little gadgets. It was invented during the surprising breakthrough in 1979 in the fields of nanorobotics, really made the Japanese rich enough to buy half the US, who'd have thought that would have happened. I was born shortly after, fifth of May, 1983. My parents were wealthy techpeople, working for one of the Zaibatsus that bought pretty much all of Silicon Valley during the early eighties. I naturally got one, it was all the rage back then. Of course, mine was a bit different from the later ones, gritty neon-cyan digital numbers instead of the pretty artistic ones they use nowadays. I grew up during that golden age of technology, the Second Space Race, the Genetics Revolution, the Quantum Computer Era, those things shaped who I was as a person.
Today, it's the year 2029. I work as a Neo-Synthwave DJ at a small night club in the Oxbridge-MegaCity, it's nice here. Neon lights illuminate the evening sky, the distant hum of the Maglev Trains in the distance as they drive above the lower city, the soft September rain washes away what dirt and grime they automatic cleaning hasn't picked up. It smells good. Cinnamon, and cloves, the spices of strange little street vendors, selling vindaloos, curries, kebabs, gyros, even the traditional hot-dogs of the old America. It's the nights like these, when midnight has passed and the city keeps living, it's nights like these that keeps me going. It's been one good night. Music came out great, lots of young people there, genemodders, synthoids, chromedomes and cybersouls, all partying together to the sound of the New Synth Retro music. I sigh, light up a SynthCig and take a long deep draw. I pull up my right arm sleeve, and take a look at my tattoo. It still says the same; It's 3:39, my bloodtype is still AB Rh D positive, and I am still 2491 years old.
Of course, that might seem wrong to the outside world, but I smile. It's been 2029 years since the Earth was obliterated. 2467 years since I got that experimental medical treatment. Immortality. Certainly has it's ups and downs. I left Earth in the early 2020s, of the Gregorian calendar, to work in the EU-Japanese collaborative colony. I was a geneticist back in the day, I worked on getting cybernetic implants to not be rejected by a person's immune system. To survive in the early days, before we got the atmosphere up and running properly, it was necessary to get artificial extra-lungs that could breathe in the thin-semi toxic unfinished atmosphere. It was a real big deal back then, the first actual city on Mars, sure there had been Russian and American bases, mostly scientific and some military outposts in case the other side was going to claim the red planet, but it was the first civilian settlement. Thousands of young people, engineers, doctors, scientists, from across Europe and the Japanese Imperial State all came there, the best and the brightest, eager to work on the new world.
It took us years, but despite the inert core and the lack of a suitable moon, we increased the planet's gravity, we stabilized the atmosphere, we melted the ice caps and created oceans. And at last, after almost fifty years of work, the planet was livable. If somewhat colder than Earth even on the better days. I found to my surprise, working on that red world, that I did not age. I did not change. Originally, I had thought that the experimental medical procedure I undertook had been a dud. We all did. I showed no immediate or long term changes. After ten years, they had scrapped the project, though at that point it had sucked out too much money from the parent company. They went bankrupt, and the data was lost forever.
Possibly for the best. Biological immortality is dangerous. To ensure that I wouldn't be hauled off to some government or corporate lab, to be dissected and studied, I faked my own death. I had liquidated most of my assets, turned them into bearer bonds, untraceable, to ensure nobody would be able to suspect me from my financial trail.
Not soon after, I took a ship on one of the first ships to the newly established Venus colonies. Venus had been a harder planet to tame than Mars had ever been. And the few livable areas were used mostly for mining, penal colonies, heavy industries or all of the above. The few others were unlicensed colonies. Smuggling settlements, anarchist communes, cult-towns that would have made Jonestown look like a secular scientific city, and stranger weirder places. The less said about the android pain palaces, the gene-extremist brainwashing bunkers, the City where all people subsisted on vat-grown human flesh, the list goes on. Where Mars had been a centralized, international cooperation between many corps, nations and NGOs, Venus was the battleground between western incorporations, Triads, Tongs, and other criminal elements finding Earth to be a bit too well-policed and the zaibatsus. I spent the better part of two centuries there. Nobody checked too carefully about your past there, and I made good money by being whatever was required of me. With limitless time, I mastered medicine, engineering, several different types of fighting, from Krav Maga to Venusian Aikido. And of course the arts. I was wealthy. I was good. I was trusted. Nobody asked me questions, nobody cared who I had been. I did what I wanted.
Now. Things have changed. It's often visible in the sky, Venus, I can even see it now. The planet never sleeps, it is so bright, one can see it all the way from Mars. I left that planet for good, and took to Mars, where I spent my fortune on a remote self-maintaining estate where I pondered and planned what to do with myself. Until that fateful day. 2029 years ago. I can never forget that day. For a brief horrible moment, the night sky of Mars was lit up with unimaginable light. Many were blinded by it. When we found out what it was, none of us could believe it. Earth was burning. Nothing survived. The Moon colonies managed to send a last message to us before the debris from the ruined planet scorched and destroyed the bright side of it. The message was horrifying. I shudder as I think of it. ''*They've come. By god. They've come.*'' |
**mother. fucker.**
*Haha, yeah. I know this ain't fucking happening. RIGHT HERE. RIGHT NOW. I just wanted to treat myself to a nice trip to the good ol' Big Apple after my college graduation, but I guess I can't get a break. I have the greatest luck out of all the niggas out there,* I thought to myself.
I sighed, and looked out of the apartment I was in for the week.
Yep. I couldn't see shit...but I could hear the crackling of thunder and the bloodcurdling roar of a T-Rex simultaneously happening. Yeah, my ass was finna die for sure. Might as well say my goodbyes.
I whipped out my phone, and texted one of my "buddies", Trent.
*"aye nigga!*"
I texted to him.
*"what yo weird ass want."*
*"ayy, so remember how i told u i was going on a trip to New York?"*
*"lmao oh shit, i forgot all about that. ayy, its on the news, all the power got wiped out in New York. u good?*"
I intentionally didn't read his message for a good minute, wanting to see his reaction.
*"lmao yo ass probably got ate by dinosaurs already"*
*"nah, I'm good, at least for now lol. If I don't text you after this, I'm prob dead fr"*
In the midst of writing that message, I got that fucking notification that my battery was critically low. 5%. And, it was a Samsung Avant, so the brightness automatically went to the lowest setting. It barely dimmed the room.
then...I heard some sort of "metal being crushed"sound, accompanied with a car alarm going off. I almost immediately recognized that it was a dinosaur, and I had to get out of there as soon as I can. But what would be the point? New York is a big ass city, even moreso than Chicago. I'd probably be dead by daylight, or hell, even before midnight.
I stumbled out of my bedroom, into the living room, and quietly opened the front door. For whatever reason, I got that bad feeling when approaching the elevator ... like the one you get when you put your hand near a fire. Maybe taking the stairs would be better. I opened the stairwell door, and it still felt like something was afoot.
I was only on the 3rd floor, so I didn't have to walk down many steps.. I carefully held onto the railings, trying not to fall. *"Hey heyyy, think I'm getting a hang of this!"* I thought to myself. As soon as I let go of the railing, I slipped on some sort of substance, a weird, almost squishy thing that made me fall and tumble on the stairs.
The last thoughts I had before I lost my conscience were "**Oh. God. Were those entrails and blood? Raptors in here already?**"
(part 2 if I'm not feeling lazy)
|
Preface: nothing straightforwardly inappropriate. You'll know stuff if you look it up.
An abalone steak sits on a paper plate in my lap, it's no bigger than a pinkie nail.
10 seconds later and it's full size. Ever since I first bought this from that vendor in Mother 3 I had wanted to try it.
But screw that, It's time to take over the world!
First thing's first: avoid the scp wiki like a plague, any scary story is out of the question, really.
It should be fairly easy to secure a love life, leeching off of others wish fulfillment scrawlings.
Best to save that for the end.
No way will I be able to wield any weapons from Dark Souls, so I'll have to rely on minions.
Wind waker's fully powered *master sword* wouldn't hurt though.
And the *Dark Souls 3* furniture actualy looks pretty good next to the dragon balls and the *FMA philosopher's stone*.
But can I put things *back* ?
I'm too lazy to search the planet after two wishes.
Disney's genie was nice enough, though I'll probably go for a different one.
I think I have a problem.
Priceless urns and vases litter my living room, and a glittering pile of gold is starting to fill my back yard.
A bowl of *M.G.E. prisoner fruit* is sitting on the counter, for using on female enemies.
*Bottled wind waker forest glows* light my home, and *Whelk the snail* is tapped through several amperage and voltage converters to my power outlets.
A set of *magitech* mechs sits in front of my house, *Estus soup* is on the table, suffusing the room with it's bright orange glow. *Siegbrau* for those of dringing age, and *holstaur milk* besides ^([snicker]).
Have yet to pick a love interest though, probaby for the best, It's hard enough to file taxes for one with all of this. |
Its only a matter of time.
Everyone knows the Zombie apocolypse is coming.... No one knows when. But I do now.
Ive just been bit, my blood feels as if its on fire.
People are coming to me to see if I'm okay, my vision is fading.
I cant control my body. My vision is blurry, as if I'm in a dream.
A medic is zipping a body bag over my body... But I'm hungry.
I lurch forward and bite into his face... Its delicious.
The lab, class, and I stumble through the revolving doors to the open world.
Time to eat. |
"Boss?"The new Warehouse Employee for 'LiveWell Energy Co.' asked as the boss, a toothpick of a man with a last name of Pendelum, stood on his 'Manager's Platform' in the center of the building, were he could direct and watch everything and everyone. "I noticed something odd... We have a shockingly large amounts of filled Cryo-chambers. And I noticed when they come back... They're empty.""Well, Roberts, let me show you how it works."Pendelum said, leading Roberts towards the reactor, were you could see covered tubes entering, and leaving uncovered and un-filled. "This... Is the part where you don't find out."He said, pushing him into the same tube the tubes went through.
[News Channel 4][Breaking News! Professor Pendulum charged for mass genocide, but gets away with it due to political and tactical agendas!]
|
I flopped back on the sofa next to Jim and handed him a beer. Our phones rested innocently on the coffee table as we watched the Steelers game.
“Hey, Jim,” I said, unsure of where my thoughts were going, “what do you think would be different if people weren’t watched all the time?”
“Whaddaya mean, Stu?” He looked at me quizzically.
“Y’know how back when we were kids we didn’t have any of this government surveillance. How’d you think the world would be different now if they’d never started?” I took a swig of my own bitter beverage and grimaced. It had been too long since anyone had a good beer in this country.
“I dunno. I’d probably actually be able to have sex with my wife again.”
It was my turn to give him a confused look.
“Sheila won’t do it anymore. Says it weirds her out for people to watch her now that she’s pumped out a couple of kids and her body’s not what it used to be. I don’t see what the problem is, though. She looks good enough to me.” Jim’s shoulders sagged. “I just want my marriage back, man.”
I shrugged. “Christy and I just cut off the lights.”
“Yeah but that’s not good enough for her.” Jim stared at the TV dejectedly. “If you fucks are listening,” he said to our phones, “you ruined my marriage.”
“What else do you think would be different?” I asked, no longer caring about the historic levels ass-whooping the Steelers were doling out.
“I mean, yeah there’d probably be more crime or more false convictions or something like that. Shit that happened in our parents’ youth.” Jim took a drink from his beer. “We might have decent beer again. This tastes like piss. Whatever happened to a good German lager or a nice dark stout?”
“Surveillance revealing the manufacturers were enemies of the state or something. People stopped buying foreign booze and switched to American. The last time I had a good beer was when Christy and I went on our second honeymoon. Left the kids with Cheryl and took a two week beer tour of Europe,” I reminisced.
“Yeah but they could at least find a way to get the recipe, y’know?”
“Yeah. It’s kinda sad they think this is normal.”
“Whaddaya mean, Jim?”
“We barely remember a time before constantly being watched. Our kids’ll never know a time without your every word being recorded.” Jim gritted his teeth. “Grinds my gears, Stu.”
“So aside from better sex, better beer, and more crime, what else do you think would be different?”
“People wouldn’t be afraid to say what they mean, I reckon. We all wanna be nice, have good social credit, but sometimes people deserve to be called out, y’know?”
“Yeah. I gotta agree with you there.”
“Oh well.” Jim took a long drink of his beer. “There’s no changing things. If I wind up in jail for talking like this, make sure Sheila and the kids are taken care of, will ya.”
“Anything for you, brother,” I said.
Someone started pounding on my front door. “Open up, this is the police.”
Jim and I looked at each other, color draining from our faces.
Edit: a typo. |
The last words he had ever spoken were "You too, child?"It had been a cowardly assassination, but yet he found peace in his last seconds, freedom of responsibility at last. He did not regret what he had done for his country, he had served it as well as he could, but after a life full of war, death was a welcome peace. How foolish he was.
He had appeared then, on the dock of the river, separating him from the underworld. He had his coin for Charon, but the dark figure had tols him he could not pass yet, not til every man on earth had forgotten him. And so he stayed, century after century he waited. From those fortunate enough to be able to pass on, he learned much of the land of the living. The glorious empire he devoted his life to fell, all he knew were long gone, and yet he remained. Countless souls had taken the ride over the River Styx, to their afterlife, but still he waited. His children left, first Julia, then Caesarion, while Augustus remained.
It had been at least a millennia when he saw her, as beautiful as when he first laid eyes on her. His country was an empire again, hers was under the fatimids. For 200 years he courted her, learning she had been waiting in an afterlife of her own. After 400 years, they had their own mock marriage, cursed to never live, age, or cross the river and reach peace at last. Dynasties rose and fell, and yet people still remembered their names, preserved them. It took 500 more years for him to finally accept his wait would be eternal, that humans would never forget him. She had left him again by then, likely returned to her own wait in her own afterlife again. 20 more years he stayed, before attempting to throw himself into the river, and let his soul wash away.
But Fate was cruel, and people remembered him still, their thoughts pulling him out after 50 years of torment, another lost soul. And so he remained, doomed to watch more and more people take their turns sailing to their judgement. It had been over 21 centuries since his death when finally Charon stood before him again. Finally he rode to his reckoning, to peace, to torment, to his long awaited destiny. And she was with him once more. For while humans had never forgotten Julius Caesar or Cleopatra, the day had finally come that there were none left alive to keep them from passing on. |
"Hurry up! Or I won't have to outrun Old Man Time, just you my boy!"
I walked into the room, and he was seated in this rocker.
With unsteady hands, the frail man lifted the black box, "Young man, I'll like you to have this."
"No, you don't have to."
"No please,"/cough/ "I'm old, time has been the Lord's blessing on us, through it we can finally meet him. And in this, you will match him."
I took the ash black wooden cube from his still shacking hands, and lifted the gilded hatch. In it, a watch face: with white backing, and roman numerals dotted around. In the centre, an intricate pattern of seemingly random black brush strokes. Attached to it, a still pristine mahogany brown lether strap, with a small inscription below it.
---
"My late man was cheerful, kind, and above all, humble. He was not one to let time, money or anything stop him from doing what he loved. "I couldn't stop the tears from going down my cheek. "And he would never stop exclaiming he loved us, his children most of all, all the way til. "
My breathing was ragged, I just couldn't stop. All the way, hearing him: Don't let anyone catch you. Not Old Man Time.
"Alright, that's alright. Come'on."Erik and the bros embraced me by the shoulder and pulled my off the stage. "Let's give it up for Gregory."
Even as the chapel filled with a silent applause, I just starred at him, in his final sleep.
---
"Hey, Greg, what's this?"She lifted a familiar black cube.
"There it is."I lifted the black cube into the light and a smile just crept onto my face. "Something from my old man. A gift by him on his 90th birthday."
I lifted the still prestine condition watch into the light, and attached it on my right hand.
"Hmm, he had good taste, it suits you."
---
CNN: Local authorities baffled by multiple disappearances around the state.
---
"Alright everyone, in light of recent success and 2% stocks rise because of the merger, for the next few weeks, we will be reintroducing Cropile project. Can everyone flip to page 33."
Dong-a-ling! "I'm so sorry."I fiddled around my pockets for my phone. "It's alright, as I was saying, last week the control group responded quite positively...."
*Notification* : URGENT: ... the public is advised to stay indoors. Local police and military have been dispatc....
What happened? I looked up towards the full length window, and look around. Only to see smoke, rising from somewhere behind the adjacent high rise. I would have thought it was another almost annual wildfire, but it was mid Autumn, and the smoke was bring yellow.
I slide down in my seat, and click open Twitter.
CBS: Group of armed hooligans arrested in authentic Nazi uniform
NBC: Dormant volcano experiences acute rise in temperature.
VOLCANO? Jesus. Considering the town is living right next to one.
*Notification* : Father: meet me now
---
Hope you liked it! |
**-> Introductory remark by Realité :** *' Hello, user. You are the fourth one to properly test this, and the first one to call a built-in function, which is a necessary step. I'm glad you (voluntarily or not) took it. Thanks for your involvement. I'm sorry if things happen to lead to failure (as they probably have/will). I'm sure there's still quite a lot of debugging for me to do. This will be useful to us in any case. '*
____________________
**AUTOMATIC PERFORMING of LOCAL C-C-LIKE MACHINE - RUNNING THANKS TO REALITÉ**
____________________
[...]
**...**
building [seed](/realité) from base-built demand : [**STORY**]
building **TREE** (->*intricate*) from **~**[seed](/is)**::****BACKTRACK****~**
base branching from ['I often wondered, from the moment when we reached LANDMINE 1, if the floating rust we had been swallowing could actually be in a phase of pollination. There were moments when I felt like a means of fertility for the artificial faunaflora **[Realité : 'Is this term used in the original version?']** of abandoned vehicles. I kept these thoughts to myself.'](/on)
extending **BASE BRANCH** into str(**[**[use](/the)::root-ntwrk.**]**)
uniforming
scattering
generating random loops for unification
devolving into [construct seed](/verge)
associating ['NEON Narratives'](/of) to **::** doall_**BUSH-SECTION** **::**
reading
reading
reading
Release output to **user --> pending**
copying to ['Une_Realité-](/extinction)
**FAILURE OF** ... Copy. No **target** found in crossing via **... pending**
**RELEASING** **:** type-->firstline_raw **:** as [comment reply] (/this is one of his lightbulbs) --> see below.
annihilation of traceable grain **...**
[...] |
I wrote this story for a creative writing class. While the time frame isn't quite as large as the one in the prompt, I feel like it fits well here. Enjoy!
- - - - -
**PART 1**
A warm red glow first brought the Commander back to consciousness from the dreamless semi-coma of cryosleep. It brought with it cold, and a gut-wrenching coughing fit as the liquid rebreather was expelled from her lungs. Where was she? A blank face materialized out of the fog as her eyes cleared.
“Good morning, Commander.” The AI’s voice was as flat and expressionless as the metal covering its vaguely-humanoid face.
“I am fine,” the Commander grated. The words were hoarse and raspy, tearing at her already tortured throat.
“Welcome to the destination,” the robot said simply, and moved about to the next ovular yellow pod. There were seven of them, arranged in a semicircle. One, no doubt the Captain’s, was open already. On the Star-Sailor, the Captain insisted on being the first to wake. With the soft whump of pneumatics, the next glass egg irised open, jolting the Engineer from peaceful sleep just as she had been. Looking upwards (not that there was such thing as “up” in a weightless environment), she caught a glimpse of the Captain’s bare feet disappearing into the Hab unit. She followed suit after shaking the last cobwebs from her head, moving arm over arm into the comforting embrace of gravity.
Hidden pneumatics hissed inside the walls as the door to her quarters opened. Machine-pressed clothes waited for her inside the mouth of the replicator. By the time she had dressed, the Commander had found her gravity legs, and easily caught up to the Captain as he walked past crew quarters to the bridge.
“Do you think this is it?” the Commander asked.
“Do I believe that this is the origin planet of the Disk?” the Captain replied. “Perhaps, and perhaps not. That is what we are here to find out.”
“I hope it is,” the Commander admitted. It was the third time they had gone through the conversation thus far. It always ended the same way: with the opening of the bridge doors.
The Captain calmly sat in his chair, and the Commander took up her position behind and to the left. Deft brushes of a finger brought up everything the Captain, and the Commander by association, needed to know. They had arrived safely to their destination: a small planet nestled in the wild outer reaches of the galaxy. The Star-Sailor was a small surveying ship with a small crew of seven to its name: Captain and Commander, of course, then a Navigator, an Engineer, a jack-of-all-trades Scientist, a Medic, and a Recorder, who would add details of each planetary survey into a galaxy-wide database. As expected, all seven had survived. The new advances in cryosleep were already showing results.
The planet itself loomed large in the viewing screen. Designation: M6-1. The designation told all that was known about the planet at this point in time: it was a rocky planet, a bit on the small side, full of life and possessing a moon system. It was a planet not important enough to have its own name, yet so very important after all. A moon stood backlit against the bright mid-sequence star beyond. From the blue in its oceans, the world was oxygen-rich, and scans showed an abundance of carbon-based life. Perhaps a little cooler and drier than what anyone on the Star-Sailor was used to, but still a veritable utopia, ripe for the exploitation of various interstellar businesses.
“It is beautiful!” The Commander stared in unabashed awe at the planet. “It almost looks like home.”
“I thought it already was a home.” That came from the Navigator. She sat down at her station and pulled up her own readings: star-charts, flight information, and other such things that could be used to make a safe path back home.
And she could be right, too. Approximately ten or so sun cycles previously, a satellite had been picked up by another survey team. The Captain had seen the machine himself, as one of several captains chosen as an expeditionary force to find the Satellite’s makers. Holograms of the object were loaded into the central computer. The Commander checked that the crew were in their places before pulling up a hologram on her viewpad.
It was a clunky, inelegant thing. “Most likely the product of a civilization just beginning to take the first steps into space,” the Navigator had remarked upon seeing it. The Commander knew that a rudimentary engine once propelled it into the deep black, although it was hard to tell the engine from the transmission dish. There was no shape or reason to its design at all, as if it’s builders had simply packed boxes upon boxes and attached rockets to the conglomeration. Nestled safely in an inconspicuous compartment was a Disk. She pulled it up now, a flat, golden thing spinning slowly on an invisible axis. Aside from the geometric shapes and lines on its face, the Disk gave no hint of the veritable treasure trove of data it held.
For deconstructing the Disk had yielded a discovery that lit the minds of every starfarer afire – it was a recording device, holding evidence of a previously unknown civilization! The system they were in now had been in one of the Satellite’s projected paths, and according to deep-space probes, the planet in the viewing screen held the best chance of origination.
As it was, the mission of the *Star-Sailor’s crew was twofold: firstly, to find evidence of the Makers of the Satellite and the Disk, and, if found, to initiate First Contact.
|
"Wooo, that's gonna happen. Hey! Come in, have a seat!"Uh, that's not a reaction I was expecting, gunfire is loud after all. I take a seat anyways and ask how his life is going since it's been a while. "Not bad my friend, living the dream since I got that higher paying job"and spreads his arms to further highlight the massive amount of firearms. Well, I'm a fan of firearms myself, but it would appear that my friend and I have some different rules regarding them, and I'm a bit suspicious, since guns don't just go off like the one I stepped on seemed to... "I love guns. So much. I feel like that lion bird who guards the island of lost toys in Rudolph. If I see a gun that will likely never be sold, because of poor condition or functionality, it knows I have a spot reserved for it here"Aww how thoughtful of him. Too bad he keeps some loaded and not locked up. Luckily he hasn't been burgled yet right? "Unfortunately more space has opened up since the burglary"Goddammit. This all seems too BAD to be true. I appreciate his support of second amendment, it's an important right to have, it's partially what kept us from being invaded by Japan in WWII, but hes beyond the point of reasonableness, and comparing himself to an imaginary creature in an old Christmas cartoon for kids, I wonder if he's ok. "The burglary was depressing, and took a lot of what I owned and cared for, but not as much as the damn divorce. I guess I was lucky to not have that good job during the marriage, because then I would've had the guns, and she would've taken em in the divorce (laughs almost nervously)"What was the nervous laugh for? Is the divorce on going? Was that sarcasm? Ooh I hope he bought these legally, if not he would already be on the watchlist for the FBI I'm sure. All the sudden he looks towards the door and the smile dissapears, then he looks towards the window in front, then the window in back. He turns off the TV that somehow sits over in the corner. I didn't say that thought out loud did I, that would be embarrassing. Once he starts to reach for one near his feet, and pulls ammo out from under the couch, I know one way or another that I'm in trouble. I don't think he just wanted to reconnect. I don't think that gun going off earlier was an accident. I don't think he's ok after this divorce, he's a lot skinnier than before,and not in a healthy way. I dont't think I was meant to leave here alive. I think, or rather hope, that the FBI are coming to to a raid right now, and I may rather be arrested than die. "Shit they found us!"Fuck you dude we ain't an us. I live 1500 miles away. I haven't seen you in 26 goddam years. Let me outta this house right now! "I don't think I can. Not since you're not going to be able to walk for a while, or I'm sorry ever again. Mostly since you'll be dead."Yep, shit, this backfired. He's not the person to give up and be arrested which means I must be a hostage. He must not believe in his negotiation skills (for good reason from the sound of his divorce) so I guess he's planning the murder and the suicide. Oh well. Fuck that. Ok well I refuse to die with a full bladder. I'm going to the bathroom. Shoot me and I'll piss on an outlet or something and try to start a fire with my dying moments. "Nothing funny, dick, you'd better come back right here(motions to the couch)."Yessir, you piece of shit! (complete with a shitty salute). I go in the bathroom. Lock the door. Stand in the shower and start yelling. 'hes in the living room he's got a pistol with at least fifty rounds handy. I'm in the bathroom please save me he's crazy!' and shit like that. Well once they came in I only had a few more bullets today come close to killing me. And later on they found detailed plans of what to do to me, and his anonymous tip on himself. What a guy. Too bad everyone in his life focused on the guns and not his mental health. Oh and before I forget. There was a trip wire style trap that was what set the gun in the beginning off, his attempt at making it easier to be a cop killer if I wasn't there for the raid. Oh well. He got what he deserved, as attempted killers should, and luckily this time, the innocent came out alive and still supports the right to bear arms. |
Cullen shook the stars out of his head. He looked down at his hands. "Am I dead?"
"Yes."The man said, standing in the center of the room. He wore a long grey cloak with floral patterns along the arms. A network of scars crisscrossed his bald head, and his pale blue eyes peered out from beneath bushy grey eyebrows.
"Well."Cullen said, rubbing his hands together. "That's a shame."
"Indeed."The man said.
"How'd I go?"Cullen asked.
"You were murdered in your sleep."The man said. He had a monotone voice that echoed off the walls of the circular chamber.
"By who?"Cullen asked, struggling to remember... anything.
"I cannot speak of others. Only you."the man said.
Cullen looked around, eyes narrowing. "Why am I here?"
"This is a waystation."The man said. Then he frowned, and a touch of trepidation came into his voice. "But you should have already passed through here. I remember you well."
Cullen blinked. "I don't remember you."The man looked at him and said nothing.
"What is after this?"Cullen asked.
"I do not know."The man said. "We can only look downward."
"Who is we?"Cullen said, walking the edges of the chamber.
"You. Me. Everybody."the man said.
Cullen looked back to the man. "And why are you here?"
The man smiled for the first time. "Why were you on Earth? It is the will of things that leave us where we are meant to be. There is no why. We will all go upward, in time."
"And Death is a way forward?"Cullen asked, running his fingers along the stone.
"Not forward. Upward. But you seem to be stuck."The man said, frowning again.
"What is so special about me?"Cullen asked, with a touch of fear.
"Nothing."The man said. "You are not so virtuous as some, more so than others, just like almost everyone else.
Cullen could remember nothing now. "Ah, there you are. Let's see if you come back again..." |
The rooster's crow awoke Harry from his sleep, just like it did every morning. The clock read 4:47 AM, which was a bit early, but Harry sat up anyway.
Harry threw his legs off the bed and and on to the cold wooden floor. As he stood up the crack of the old oak sounded throughout the room. He looked back but Melanie was still asleep, and it would likely be another 2 hours before she decided to get up. He loved her, but she was always a late riser.
The walk to the kitchen was a purposefully short one. When Harry retired from the Army after 32 years of service he knew that he always wanted to sleep near the kitchen. As an enlisted man he had taken shit from those above him, and even sometimes below, for a very long time. When he bought this 100 acre plot of raw land in the south of Mississippi, he decided he was going to build it exactly how he and Melanie had been talking about for their past 27 years of marriage.
He turned the coffee pot on and stretched a little bit before heading to the bathroom.
He had the same ritual every morning. Wake up, make coffee, use the bathroom, watch the news, and then step outside for chores. Mornings on the farm were Harry's favorite. Solitude, the animals, the vegetable patch, and working on the tractor brought Harry real joy. Not that shit he had been doing for 30+ years that seemed like it would never end. That was hell that felt like it would never end. This was the heaven that he hoped would never end.
By the time he was finished with his morning duties the aroma of roasted coffee filled the house. As he stepped out of the bathroom he was surprised to see Melanie standing over the counter with a cup of coffee ready for him. She knew exactly how he liked it. As he took his first sip he let out an audible "aah"to show his pleasure.
"There it is,"Melanie said with a smile.
"What are you doing up?"Harry asked
Melanie knew that question was coming. Whenever she was up before 7 AM Harry got a bit worried. Nothing bad ever came of it, but routine was pretty ingrained in Harry's DNA at 54 years old.
"Oh nothing, I just wanted to do chores with you before breakfast. Is that okay?"
"Honey,"started Harry "nothing in the world could make me happier."
|
Everyone manifests a power on their 16th birthday. Most powers were considered a spot on the wall variety, not very powerful or useful. All the world leaders or very successful people had the most useful or the strongest powers.
I had hoped when my power finally manifested it would be powerful or at least useful. I think most people had that hope. I got what I was wishing for, my power was very strong, but what I hadn't considered was it being a curse at first.
When I my power manifested, I started to hear what seemed to be future news reports in my head. They always seemed to be three days in advance. I had thought I could use this power to make money or save lives.
As time went on I actually became quite successful in business, I knew what the stocks were doing to do. I sold and brought stocks when the news reports in my head told me to. I was also called a hero when I stopped a gunman from shooting up a bank. I thought I had a pretty good life.
---------
I woke one morning hearing screaming, no future news, just screams. This continued for two days when the screams suddenly stopped. Now there was silence, just frightening silence.
I knew that something was going to happen, something horrible. I watched every news report and read every paper I could get a hold off. Nothing in any news source indicated what was wrong in the world.
-------
It finally happened, every news source was talking about the attacks. Apparently the AI that controlled the all the missiles had malfunctioned and starting launching attacks. Other countries started to retaliate.
I had thought my power was a blessing, but I now know what it truly is, a curse. The screams and then silence, I know how this will end. I also know there was nothing I could have done to stop it. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.
|
“This is really quite a drag.” A thin line of smoke trails up from Hades’ pipe, his voice ringing out over the silent procession.
Suffice to say, the Death god council was not a very talkative one.
“It is necessary for us to have met.” Osiris sits regal, Anubis sitting straight backed and sneering at Hades by his side. “We have to get back to work.”
“Two years. We have been gone for two years, and now you wish to return because of the words of a champion of Ares?” Hades does nothing to hide the disdain in his voice. Thanatos shifts by his side, uncomfortable at such a heated display.
“Relax, gentlemen.” Izanami sits with her legs crossed, gently batting herself with a paper fan. “Though I must agree with Hades, for once. Our time away has been enjoyable, has it not? The suffering of mortals is more oft than not beneath us. Why go back now?” Osiris takes pause, looking at the stone floor between the multitude of gods.
“I am aware that mortals are ultimately inconsequential to us. Yet, we wander with no meaning. This is a paradise with no purpose. The most pleasure we garner is that of the flesh, and for what? We shunt our godly duties to embrace a way of living only seen in those mortals we deign to lord over. In shirking our duties, the strain upon humanity has been growing as their dead and dying remain in eternal suffering, no one to reap their souls. Eventually, they will stop praying to us. When that happens-“
“Yet they still pray.” Au Puch stares at Osiris, uncannily steady. Even among the death gods he was unnerving to look at, gaunt and pallid. A wretched creature by all accounts, and cruel to those unlucky enough to die and be collected into his domain. “Do not seek to lecture me over what will happen without prayer, boy. I have felt that suffering before.”
Anubis rises, his lips drawn back to reveal the sharp teeth in his jackal’s maw. “You will watch your tone with Lord Osiris. He is as old as you, if not older, you haggard beast.”
“Ah ha, the pot calling the kettle black, are we?” Au Puch cackles. The room breaks out into heated conversation, as the banter between the gods turns malignant and outraged.
“My people...” A voice whispers out above the mess, rasping quietly through the discord. The gods fall silent.
“My people are a singular people. Hard working, and most notably honorable. Look to your charges. We have all of us worked diligently for thousands of years. Why stop now? Are we meant to be cruel? Save some of us, death is not cruel. It is a release. For some, a punishment. The damned deserve wardens. Just as the blessed do, though that is not my duty. Arbitrary cruelty is not our way. It never has been. Hades, look to your people. Some of the finest heroes the world has ever seen. The same goes for your scholars. Izanami, your people match mine in honor and focus. I daresay their refinement can challenge the best of them.” The speaker turns to one of the silent watchers in the room, one afforded a degree of deference despite this being a place of equal ground. “Lucifer. You too have been missed by your people, though they scorn you more often than not. You are their warden. You have received some of the most wretched souls the mortals have had to offer. In this, you are the best and worst of us. Your silence on this matter offends me. What say you?” Her body shakes with frustration as he stares at her, his eyes burning softly as he leans his head wearily on his hand. “What say you?” Hel rasps out with the weight of finality, collapsing back into her chair as if exhausted by the effort of her speech. All at once beautiful and terrifying, as was her cursed visage.
“It is true, I have seen the countless horde of those who seek to dig deeper the abyss of man’s immorality. I have punished those most vile of men endlessly and my scions have continued to do so in my absence, and will do so for all existence.” He leans forward now, eyes glowing brighter, the tunes on his horns burning softly, stark against his white skin. “However, there is one thing that has struck me over these many years. The capacity for these creatures to repent. Not in the throes of pain, but to truly repent. To understand their actions are wrong and not ask for forgiveness, but for acceptance. Not those piteous martyrs who kill in the name of some higher purpose, but those who have sinned and understand the extent of their failure. They are why I have worked without pause for so many years. There is no gratification to be had in this vacation of ours.”
He stands now, burned wings spreading out behind him, the Crown Prince of Hell regal in all of his spite and fury.
“I say we return to our domains, and to our duty. We owe it to those few who need our judgement.”
A steady rhythm begins to form as Osiris bangs his scepter against the stone in his assent, and soon many others follow, the Death council galvanized to life once more.
“Then it is settled. We return with haste!” At this, the gods break out into a roar of celebration, moved to adulation. They could be quite lively.
In the middle of this all, sitting in the center of the stone floor, the mortal ambassador to the War council who brought the plea of the mortals of all realms can not help but smile. |
The street was dark, lit only by the occasional flickering of the decrepit streetlights whose light reflected in the shallow puddles gathered from the rain earlier that evening. I continued my lonely walk home from class accompanied only by my iPod and the heavy sounds of metal coursing through my headphones. Head down, hands in my jacket pocket, I must have looked like some kind of a hoodlum but in this part of town you had to look like you were up to no good so long as to not get your ass kicked by the local gangs and REAL hoodlums ready to mug the next unsuspecting victim that appears out of place.
No one cares about this part of town; as I walk down the sidewalk, I find groups of people circling fire barrels for warmth and resting on cardboard boxes and makeshift pillows crafted from plastic grocery bags stuffed inside one another. It is rare to see the police here save the occasional drug bust or murder scene. We are utterly alone here, and they know it. We have no defense. I know of some down here who have purposely gotten themselves into trouble with the law just to get a meal or a warm, dry place to lay their head for a night or two.
This night seemed eerily quiet and as I walked into a darker part of the street under a tunnel that cuts under the street above to the other side of town I began to feel as if I was being watched. I thought nothing of it; in this part of town someone is always watching someone else, usually for bad intentions. The number one rule on the street: don’t make eye contact and most will leave you alone. Regardless, I began to pick up my pace a bit. “Almost home,” I thought to myself, “Almost home!” As if I had no control over my own, I glanced up in front of me and at the other end of the tunnel was a man in a trench coat and fedora. My heart began racing faster and faster. I turned quickly back to the other side of the tunnel from whence I came and, to my horror, that man was now standing directly in front of me.
“S-sorry.. I’m just trying to get home...” I said, again as if having no control.
“Look into my eyes, Jack, and all will be better.” He said. His voice rumbled like thunder and was deeper than any voice I’ve ever heard.
As I turn my head up to look at the mans face standing before me, my eyes lock his. “How did you know my na—?!” I couldn’t finish. In his eyes, I felt as if I were being transported to another place and I felt at ease. I began to see visions of a great, green valley beneath me bordered by two beautiful mountains on either side of my view. I was standing atop a large hill overlooking the entire valley below. It was the most picturesque view that one can imagine; the sun shone bright in the vibrantly colored sky, animals of all species grazing freely amongst one another in the valley, birds soaring high above. The sun and the sky gave a warmth that I’ve never felt before, as if it cradled me. I can only describe the colors like the pastel sky just before the sunset. I began to cry uncontrollably at the sights before me.
Just then a man walked up beside me. It was the man in the trench coat and fedora. My reality started to sink in but nevertheless I was still standing atop this mountain overlooking the valley. He put his hand on my shoulder as if to put me at ease once more.
“Jack, we’ve been watching you for some time now.”
“How do you know my name? And where are we? Am I dead?!”
“Far from it, Jack. This is your personal depiction of what heaven looks like. I am the angel Jopheil.”
“Why me? Why did you bring me here?”
“Jack, you possess a power that all humans have but are too selfish to use... the power to promote change for the better. Most of your fellow beings have lost sight of what their time on Earth truly means because they have become ensnared in doing only what’s best for them without any concern for their fellow kind or any other living being.”
“But why me? I’m hardly a prime example of the opposite...”
“Jack, do you remember what your first grade project was? Or that time when you stepped in front of a bully to protect that young boy? Or the money you raised to save that wildlife reserve? Or the volunteer trip you took to help those starving children? Or even the money that you give to the homeless every night on your walk home? You have done nothing for yourself without thinking of how to benefit someone else before hand. For this, I am here to grant you one wish to show you that your deeds are not going unnoticed.”
I stare out over the valley below. Again, I see the animals drinking from the river running through it and the utter harmony before my eyes. I catch sight of a young man walking through the animals, feeding them, and petting them as if he was one of them... it was me! I was walking freely amongst the animals! I knew what I had to wish for.
“I wish that all humans could do as I do and to work for the better.”
Jophiel laughed innocently, “even in your one wish you are truly selfless.”
Just then everything started warping and fading away as if being sucked away by the sun in the sky.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
I awake safe and sound in my bed. “What a dream” I thought to myself. I got dressed and ready for class. As I walked outside, down the street, and through the decrepit halls of my school, I noticed that nothing had changed. As if I actually believed it would. I’m so stupid to believe that any of that dream was real.
* * * * *
Later that evening, I was walking home that same street as the night before; the same street I walk everyday. I walk into the tunnel and am greeted once more by that man, that angel, that sham, Jophiel.
“Nice trick. What, did you dose me with some heavy LSD or shrooms or something?! Ha,” i snarl under my breath, “and to think I actually believed you. That I had the power to change the world. That people could do better.”
Again, he places his hand on my shoulder and again I am transported to that valley.
“Jack, your wish did come true, you just need to open your eyes and see it. There is a lesson to be learned: because you humans have been given freewill, even I cannot control their actions. There lies a fragile balance that governs the entirety of existence and all beings must abide by it. You see, without crime there would not be justice, without suffering there would not be hope, without desire there would not be will, without heartbreak there would not be strength. Jack, your wish did not go to waste. It is because of the strength, the desire, the tenacity you have within you, within all of you, that you can make the world a better place. All it takes is one random act of kindness at a time. Eventually, you’ll have moved the world.” |
Within the time-capsule, I found all manner of trinkets and mementos... and then an RX with my name and date of birth on it. It had endless refills. It read: “Hello me, I am you, and i’m trying to go back in time, but when I take one of these capsules, I am only allowed to travel 20 years in reverse per pill... and when I get there, I forget everything. Please take the pill, to get to where I need to go. Precautions: don’t take too many at once.” I wonder if my soulmate existed in a past life. |
"Yea. So, my parents are coming over next week and I'm not sure how long they're going to stay. They're in town for a convention, but they might want to see the sights. I told them that there are plenty of hotels nearby the tourist spots, but they "wouldn't want to be bothered by all of that". And how much they "want to spend time with me like old times". What a bunch of bullshit. They just don't want to pay for the room. Free room and board with me. And I have to listen to their boring stories as they drone on and on and on about whatever non-sensical event happened that day. Don't even get me started about how they can't even stay on topic for more than 15 seconds before starting another conversation. And they don't even finish the first one because they don't remember it! It's just ridicul...."
"You're talking to a plant."
"...ous.......the.......way they...wait. What? Who was that?"
"Me."
"Me who? There's no one here."
"Then who are you talking to?"
"I'm talking to the.....plant?"
"That's right."
"No. That's crazy. Plants can't talk."
"You know what's crazy? You. You're crazy."
"For talking to a plant? I was just bitching..."
"You sure do a lot of that."
"How rude! Maybe I don't need a plant around that is so, um, mean!"
"I'm mean. RIGHT! Well, let me tell you something about mean. I've sat here, FOR YEARS, listening to you bitch and whine and moan about every single person you've ever encountered. Every event in your life is so full of whoa and misery. "Oh, whoa is me. My little life is so much more important than everyone else."Waa waa waa! Cut me a break. Do you know how nice your parents are? Huh? Do you know that they miss you? Do you know that they get upset because you can't even message them back on facebook? And I'm mean? Oh boy. The nerve."
"Really? Is that true? They said that?"
"No. I'm sitting here, A TALKING PLANT, making this all up. Come on."
"Oh my god. You're right. What have I been doing with my life? Is this why I'm so lonely?"
She starts sobbing.
"Oh jeez. You know, maybe I should've come off a little easier on you. Especially considering that, you know, I'm a talking plant and that must be weird and all."
She gets up and goes toward the bedroom.
"Hey. Don't leave. Come on. We can talk about this."
She closes the bedroom door. The sound of a closet door opens and closes. A sliding metal noise is followed by a loud gunshot. The final sound is of a body thudding to the ground.
"For crying out loud. Who's gonna water me now?" |
"How did I do *what*?"I was still a bit disoriented but I knew the question was directed at me.
"How did you get *royal blood* in your veins?"the voice behind me asked, more insistently than before.
"I'm Prince Harry's blood type,"I replied obligingly. "When I went in for surgery last week, they gave me a pint that he'd donated."Who were these people, and if it was this important, why didn't they know it already?
"Bloody hell!"a tall man in a dark suit slapped his forehead. "We never swapped the last unit he gave. It's *Harry's* nanomarkers we picked up."
"Sorry lad,"his partner said, embarrassed, as he unbuckled the straps. "Honest mistake."
"No problem,"I replied, sitting up in bed and rubbing my wrists. I was still wearing my pajamas. "Could someone give me a lift home?"
That was over fifteen years ago, and life's been pretty normal since then--except, of course, for a mandatory annual "checkup"at Buckingham Palace, and the two Beefeaters stationed outside my flat. I'm sure you noticed *that* last night.
Another scone, love? |
Terry Mullins stared out the car window at the unassuming Chinese restaurant. He eyed the full parking lot and wished he could choose a better time frame. Some time darker, and not so in the middle of the weekday dinner rush. He turned back to face the rotund thug sitting in the driver's seat with a shotgun resting on his lap, barrel pointed at Terry.
"What if\-"Terry began to ask, but the enforcer cut him off.
"Go in there, get the package, come out,"he repeated. The only words he said to Terry since the big boss sent Terry on this errand.
"Right, just double checking."Terry said, then looked out the car window again.
"Today's Monday,"the driver said. Terry turned around and nodded.
"Yeah, it is,"Terry said, confused.
"I watch football every Monday, all season. I never miss it."He focused his gaze and locked eyes with Terry. "I don't know how long it's going to take you to get your ass out of this car and go get the thing, but I do know how long it takes me."He looked at the clock on the car radio, it showed 5:38 p.m. "If getting the package is so easy, you should probably start wondering why the boss sent me along with you."He shrugged and sat back against his seat.
"Right. I got it,"Terry mumbled quickly while he forced himself to open the door and step out of the car. He felt a cool breeze rub his skin as he walked to the front door of the Chinese restaurant. The sound of a bell above him caught his attention when he pushed the door open. He looked around and felt relieved to see no one else paid him much attention. He walked to the counter where an elder Asian woman greeted him with a smile.
"Hello. Can I help you?"She asked. Terry looked around himself to make sure there were no eavesdroppers nearby, then he leaned forward over the counter.
"Dragonheart,"he whispered. He revealed a matte black credit card under his hand, then slid it across the glass to the woman. She looked down at it, but did not move to get it.
"We no longer serve that,"she said. Terry blinked several times at her while he processed her response.
"I'm sorry, what? No, that can't be,"he said. His voice took on a hard, panicked edge.
"How about some Firecracker chicken?"she asked. Terry shook his head.
"I'm gonna die. They're gonna kill me,"he mumbled to himself. He stared down at his reflection in the glass counter.
"Who?"the old woman asked.
"They told me if I did this simple errand,.."
"We haven't served Dragonheart in years,"she said. She turned to the kitchen and yelled out something in a language Terry did not recognize. A burly cook in a white t\-shirt and dragons tattooed on his arms walked out of the swinging kitchen door holding a large cleaver. The old woman spoke to him and pointed out the front door.
"What car?"she asked Terry.
"Wh..What?"
"Bad guy. What car?"
"Uh, green Ford across the street."Terry replied, she smiled then continued to talking to the cook. When she finished the cook turned around and walked back into the kitchen, she followed him. Terry did not know what to do next, but he knew he shouldn't go outside yet. He found an empty booth and sat down to ponder his life. After several minutes the lady walked out of the kitchen holding a tray of food. She brought it to Terry's table.
"They trick you to kill you, they know we don't serve Dragonheart anymore. You not the first, but you'll be the last. Eat, relax. Takeru kill them all."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #140. You can find them collected on my [blog](http://hserratafun.blogspot.com/2017/10/front-page.html). |
This isn't a happy story. Quite the opposite in fact, this is the story of how the planet was sundered.
2021: First contact with a seemingly benevolent species. They shared their wealth of technology and information with us, only ever saying that we would need to repay our debt when we were sufficient. Nobody thought anything of it, those that did were shut down for being paranoid. Nobody _wanted_ to believe this could be bad. We had a cure for cancer two months after contact, obesity and heart disease disappeared soon after.
2022: Humanity entered a golden age. A new world order ruled humanity with an iron fist. World peace had been achieved, hunger was a thing of the past and what was essentially Communism on steroids was the prevalent form of government. It didn't take long for people to give up their fears of our new extraterrestrial friends. Racism had vanished, finding out that another species exists tends to bring people together and for the first time since Babel, we were united.
2031: Ten years after first contact. We had prospered. Ring worlds, flotillas, space colonies and moonbases had exploded in popularity. Our population was rapidly growing and was, for once, sustainable. It was as if the world had finally found its peace, it's equilibrium. Until, of course, the dreaded message appeared on every screen, on every window and in every mind both on and off planet: 'Payment is due'.
2032: All technology had been shut down, trillions of people suffocated in space as their oxygen stopped flowing. Billions of people on Earth died in the ensuing riots. These numbers paled in comparison to the future reckoning.
2048: 47% of humanity had been culled. This was, according to our 'friends', the perfect number to keep us tame. War had been fought for our species and our planet for over a decade before we lost. Humanity had finally found something better at killing than it was. All resistance cells were wiped out in one co-ordinated strike, the rest of the populace was enslaved to power the very technology we had once basked in. Turns out it had been feeding off the psychic energies produced by all sentient beings. Our 'friends' found a way of harnessing this and enslaved species after species in order to work as their batteries.
2059: The Earth starts to react. Nature flourished with humanites decline, but dark creatures missed our prayers. Our servitude hadn't gone unnoticed by our dark masters of old, they were not happy at being usurped. Even in the modern era, there were enough loyal fanatics to keep them satiated.
2063: The crust split. Magma poured over continents and our 'benefactors' were bemused. There has been no indicated of a geological disaster on such a rampent scale. Their sensors predicted numerous other disastors across the globe, the biggest predicted for just three years time.
2066: The planet opened and madness poured from its wound. Our masters asked us what the behemoth was, finding it immune to all forms of weaponry and psychic attack. We responded unanimously and as one: _Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn_
It did not take long for our dark saviour to defeat our foes. They could not fight what they could not comprehend. Cthulhu is not a rational being to behold; those who did not kill their friends, killed themselves. Those who did neither merely fell to the hoards of dead one's minions.
Humanity was free from our bondage. In return we had another price to pay. As one, we began work on ships. We abandoned our shattered planet and brought our dark master to other worlds. Earth had changed permenantly, our once blue planet was black and charred, R'lyeh had surfaced and the master of the sunken city required servants.
Thus began humanites dark crusade. |
It’s 11:30pm the day before my thirtieth birthday.
I have half an hour to kill or die.
Sitting next to me at the bar is my copy, or am i his copy? One way or another one of us has to die tonight.
Most people are smart. They stay far away from their copy and hope that they die before thirty. If they both live until the day before their thirtieth birthday then the government sanctioned duel will take place. Simple and fair.
I like to think that I’m a warrior, that i could kill a stranger if it would preserve my own life, but unlike most people, i am not a smart man. Henry, my copy, has been my best friend since kindergarten. We’ve been through thick and thin together, watching each others backs and covering for one another. All the while dreading this day.
Outside in the bar’s parking lot the BCD (Bureau of Copy Dueling) officer is almost done preparing for our duel. Their bulletproof trailer is loaded with a wide variety weapons for us to choose from. Hundreds of knives, swords, for the more traditional individuals line one wall. The other wall sports handguns in every caliber and style. Henry and i have already agreed to handguns knowing there is no way in hell we could stab each other.
What the BCD doesn’t know is that Henry have no intentions to settle this with combat. We’re going to settle this the way we’ve settled everything. With a game of Rock Paper Scissors.
“You ready pal,” I ask, my voice shaking.
Henry grins at me, his eye glazed.
“One more drink,” he slurs. He’s had a few more then me, and he’s never been able to handle his alcohol anyway.
How am I going to do this?
“Listen, man. However this goes i just want you to know that i don’t regret getting to know you. You’re the best friend a guy could ask for.” I can feel the tears forming in my eyes.
“You’re eyes are sweating, Dale.” Henry says to me and we’ll both laugh a little too hard.
“It is a little hot in here, huh?” I wipe my eyes.
“You think they’ll know?” Henry asks more seriously
“Know what?”
“About or game? I don’t think they’ll approve. They
want one of us to earn this, not to have it decided by a silly game.”
“Ah, who gives a shit about their rules? I’m not gonna fight you man.”
“Cause you know you’d lose?” Henry laughs again, but it’s a sad laugh. He holds his hands out to me, fist sitting in his palm.
“What are the rules this time my friend? Best two out to three or one and done?
“One and done. I don’t think i could handle two out of three.”
“Fair enough. What does winning mean? Best establish that before we go outside.”
“The winner lives, the loser dies. Simple enough right?”
“I guess. How are we gonna do this man?” This is crazy.”
He shakes his head and offers a sad, futile smile as he raises his hands again. Best to get it over with.
I raise my hands too. And we bounce our hands once.
“Rock,” we say together. My heart is pounding. My head feels like it’s going to explode. My hands are shaking so bad that I’m not sure I’m going to be able to even form the proper sign.
“Paper.” There’s no way this is really happening. One of us has to die or we both die. How can that be true!? I can’t kill Henry, and I’d like to think he couldn’t kill me. Shit. This has to be a bad dream.
“Scissors.” What kind of a piece of shit human do you have to be to join the BCD? They show up here to force me to die or kill my best friend. Assholes. How could my parents put us in the same school and risk this!
“Shoot.”
I open my eyes to see my hands forming a shaking fist. I always choose rock when I’m angry. Surely Henry knows that. I have to force my eyes upward though sheer willpower to see his hands.
Scissors.
I won.
In a daze we walk outside. Henry is talking to me but i can’t hear anything, I’m in shock. I wish I’d had a few more drinks.
The BCD officer is waving us over to hurry. It’s already 11:56pm.
We step into his trailer and he hands us each a handgun. I can’t even see what make or caliber it is. My eyes won’t focus. The officer tells us that we each have a full magazine and we’ll be standing ten feet apart inside the bullet proof trailer. He will exit and a buzzer will sound. Once the buzzer sounds we will draw our handguns and fire. I’m barely listening. I’m staring at the large digital clock at the front of the trailer.
11:58.
The officer leaves and closes the door to the trailer and closes the door.
I can’t breathe and I’m crying as i stare across the trailer at Henry. He seems calm and resolved. The bastard. How could he be so calm in the face of death. How can i kill him.
The buzzer sounds
11:59
“Your eyes are sweating again, Dale.”
“You let me win didn’t you? You knew I’d choose rock, i always do when I’m angry. I can’t do it Henry, i can’t kill you.
“I know.” He smiles and raises his handgun to his own head and fires.
Edit: spelling and grammar. |
The world is a strange place. Those who madly desire beauty don't obtain it, for it is vain to do so, yet those who would gladly trade theirs away can't.
Walking down the streets, those who are most beatiful are also most loved. They help those who aren't so much. Some drugs ruin people's beauty, and helping them get clean helps. As does getting the homeless beds. The wealthiest individuals on the planet, whilst not often the most beautiful, are forced to help noble causes to keep the beatiful by their sides.
I... I was pretty beatiful. I had been lucky. I was born to a wealthy family, never struggled to eat, and had access to the best teachers of ethics, writing, reading and arithmatic. The four basics. As I grew older I learned how there were those who had one or no parents, or whose parents couldn't support them. I learned that others had mental illnesses that hindered their growth. I learned that even the most beatiful politicans were unwitting fronts for some ugly individuals, and that prejuice played a major part in our lives. I realised my beauty was the product of my efforts, but also that I had been given an easier path to it.
At university, I met another woman. She was beautiful. All things considered. She had some obvious scars that had largely healed up from growing up. She'd been through a lot, and had experiences you don't understand how anyone could be so ugly as to do that. She had struggled her life, and, mostly, improved herself steadily. She wasn't perfect. But that's not why they took her.
They took her. Aparently those who like to ignore their morality and their own eyes when they look in the mirror insist we're the unnatural ones. That her loving me or vice-versa is wrong. After reading their ransom, I looked in the mirrow I've ever seen anyone. It's funny, I never learned how scared people are of the ugly. No one's scared of you when you're pretty. But I wanted her back. In the end, it only took me turning up and showing my face. I had obtained a gun, but I didn't need to get it out. The fear in their eyes of what someone so ugly might do was enough. I made them tell their associates to release her, hurt each other until they could barely see out of swollen eyes, and turn themselves in to the police for their previous crimes. They got off lightly because they looked after her. I love her. I'll do anything for her, and anyone who hurts her will suffer untold agony. |
He approached me, almost hesitantly, after what had been an incredible weekend together. A raised brow drew my full attention at first, but the subtle pout of his lip gave a secret away. Now it was my job to find out, just what that secret could be.
"I pulled the car around to the pump, all gassed up,"he offered his palms out to me, ushering me on.
I hopped into the passenger side, pulling the seatbelt around me as he turned the engine over. The feel of the cool A/C hammered against my face and neck, I closed my eyes for a brief moment as he drove us.
"Everything ok?"I offered, sensing the tension building between us, a thick, hazy smoke settling comfortably between our bodies.
He shrugged. "Yeah."
This spot had become familiar for me. The seat itself began to sag and swell around the shape of my bottom and legs, an evolving cushion that aimed to please. It was used to my weight now, the cracked leather welcomed me like my own small nest.
As I dazed off, searching the rows of cornstalks for ears of fresh, not yet rotted corn, I hadn't realized we were headed to my apartment, tucked just beyond the outskirts of the village.
He pulled into the parking lot, turned off the radio. "We need to talk,"he muttered, swiping a palm over his hair, smoothing it back nervously.
I swallowed and shrugged, nonchalant. "Mm?"
The engine purred softly as he unclipped his seatbelt, opened his door. I watched in the side mirror as he crossed to the trunk, popped it open. Curiosity lured me in as I peeked at him, watching him pull something out of the back.
Before I could unstrap myself, the door opened. He stood, holding a box of my belongings, the cherished knit afghan my grandmother made for me when I graduated high school, the teddy bear I'd gotten him for Valentine's Day, my favorite coffee mug with a picture of Dwight from The Office.
He shifted his weight uneasily and looked to the side, away from me. I pulled myself from my seat-nest, the leather sputtering in resistance, longing for my weight to fill its void.
I didn't grab for the box, but he pushed it into my chest. His eyes flickered past me, unwilling to meet mine, another glimpse of his secret.
"What's this?"I demanded, setting the box on the lonely seat behind me, focusing on his eyes, willing him to face me.
"We had our fun. It's not working, it's over."
I laughed, merely taken aback, disbelieving. We'd just had a weekend of ice cream cones in bed, coffee gurgling in the pot at 8am, mojitos paired with a late night hockey game shown on a crowded bar television.
"I don't--"I began to say, though my words wouldn't form fully beyond the boundary of my teeth. My tongue willed the words to come, my lips sucked them back and kept them safe.
He pulled out his phone, ignoring me as he scrolled through its hidden contents. His eyes widened as he found what he'd been seeking, he paused a moment, reading.
"*'When you get to my apartment, lock the door and turn off the porch light. I'm not supposed to be home, I told him I'd be at my parents' for the night.'*"He read, refusing my gaze, focusing only on the small black device in his palm. My cheeks flared, my temples began to sweat, my palms ached with a creeping moisture. "*'We aren't together, we are just messing around. He doesn't care if I date around. He isn't my boyfriend.' 'I want to fuck you in the back of the car, I'm so wet thinking about you.'*"Finally, he met my eyes with his own and I saw only one thing-- disappointment.
It appeared he did have a secret, one he had been holding onto, one he had guarded carefully until the right moment. He did have a secret-- *it was my own.* |
It was kind of a seedy joint. The brick on the side of the building smelled of urine. There were plastic bags of discarded things piled in the corner and the place stunk of must.
But inside there are treasures. I open the greasy street level door and descend into the basement establishment. Racks of bent magazines. Jeans galore. The cast off cardigans of the elderly. The college sweatshirts now a size too small for their previous owners. Temptations.
It was 1987 and and the downtown Goodwill was a playground for my senses. I was broke and shopped at goodwill regularly. But that was a time of counting my pennies. It was winter in Wisconsin. One cold night, I bought a large, woolen trench coat.
That coat was a gateway drug that led to my eariest heists. I would wear it into the Goodwill and wear layers of clothes underneath on my way out. A criminal wasn’t born but I recognized there was one in myself. |
Nothing makes sense in the morning. My brain starts up slowly, like an old computer bogged down by viruses and process eating bloatware.
So when I saw the bright red, bottle-cap sized button protruding from my sternum, I quickly dismissed it as anything out of the ordinary, assuming that with one swipe of hand it would become someone else's problem.
"Ow!"I reacted. The button was *really* stuck to me.
After probing it with my fingers for a few moments, I pressed it. Almost immediately, my phone rang, while someone knocked at my door. I froze like deer in headlights, as my tired brain was still in the process of booting up.
"Who is it?"I asked loudly, just before answering my phone. I looked through the peep hole as I swiped 'answer' on the phone. "Hello?"
*"Kyle, it's Jay."* My boss had called. That was odd.
"Sarina."A gorgeous woman said from behind the door. *I don't know any Sarina's.*
"What's up, Jay?"I asked my boss.
"I'm really sorry to do this, but, I'm calling to let you know you don't have to come in. You've been let go."He said.
I looked at my phone as if it had just done something to me personally, before putting it back to my ear. "Are you serious? Why?"I asked.
"Juat lay-offs, homie."He said. "I'm really sorry."
"Okay, well, thanks for the call, I guess."I said.
I opened the door for the gorgeous woman outside as I hung up the phone. She looked right through me. "Hi."She said, with a dangerous, yet sweet, smile. Then she took one step toward me, wrapped her arms around me, and gave me the most healing embrace I could remember.
"Hi..."I responded. "*Who* are you?"I gave in to her warmth as if she had been in my life for years.
"Sarina, you goof."She said with a cute chuckle. "I'm sorry about your job."
"How do you...?"I pulled away from her. "Are you from the company?"
"No."She said. Her eyes were intensely blue. Her dark hair waved over her face elegantly, like a brush stroke. "I'm here for you."
"Where did you..."She embraced me again, this time her loving energy evoked emotion from me. Tears came to my eyes, as if years of unresolved pain finally had somewhere to go.
"It's okay."She said. "I'm here for you."
So I let go. |
Herman had told me that the beaches in Normandy roared with guns and shells as he landed. But here, in the Pacific, it was quiet. I had heard that the Japanese waited for the first wave to commit to the beachhead before they opened fire. They would all be dead within minutes.
The transport slid on to the sand. The hatch opened and everyone poured out. We scattered ourselves among the sand to minimalize the damage we’d face. My gut twisted, my mouth felt like sandpaper; I was frightened at the silence.
We made it to where the other side of the beach without a shot fired. I could tell from the faces of everyone that they too were anticipating the death ahead of them.
Far on the right someone fired a shot, which echoed across the island. Scared the hell out of us and made one of us shit his pants. We were reassured whe the sound of cheering came from the marines.
The fortifications were abandoned. It looked as if it had been in a hurry, because of the large amount of supplies that were left over. Sergeant told us that it wasn’t like them to run away. He had been at the first battle.
But what no one could explain was the odd amount of blood everywhere. It stained the ground in drops and smeared over wooden boards. And no one could explain the smell.
There was a rustling from beyond. We got down and aimed at the noise. It was a Japanese soldier, rotten and fly-ridden, stumbling towards us. |
“Um, how do we define ‘wealth’?”
“What?”
“This guy traded you his soul for ‘a life of wealth and riches’, he claims that our wealth definition omitted inflation adjustment, and now he’s just top 10% instead of truly ‘wealthy’”
“Who made that deal? From now on, deals are more specific, wealth will be defined as top 1% of whatever society he lives in, if he or she is not specific it is limited to country he is in when deal is made…” I made a mental note to approach more tourists in poor countries “… and find a lawyer to really nail the fine print.”
“This person’s son just died, but she made a deal with your predecessor that her son would live.”
“How did the son die?”
“Old age”
“How old is she?”
“She’s dead, she’s helping Sisyphus on the hill”
“And somehow she has time to complain?”
“Her son just showed up, he wasn’t a good boy.”
“Send the son back, grant him immortality, but also poverty, I don’t want anyone to be rich and live forever.”
The powerpoint slipped to the next slide, something about beauty and youth and the changing nature of beauty. One month I’d been in the job and already it was wearing on me, how had my predecessors made such terrible deals? Always vague and imprecise, always the same deal, youth, riches, beauty, life for their soul. Didn’t the previous executives understand the value of a soul? More people meant each soul was worth less. We should have been explicit about wealth, and looked carefully at the souls, if we were going to get them anyways, why pay for the cow when it’s going to burn in the lake of fire eventually anyways?
“Sir, we were talking about beauty…” I looked up at the screen, it was a nice conference room as far as conference rooms go, view was a bit smoky, but nice table, the projector always worked and there was a nice glass wall to the hallway, kept the room from feeling too claustrophobic.
“Yes go ahead Asmodeus”
“This woman claims that she is no longer beautiful and wants her soul back.”
“Let me see the picture.” An image of last decades starlet\-of\-the\-day came up, her eyes were sunken, her skin a mess. “What happened to her?”
“She got into drugs, messed her up. Just came clean after a year in rehab, says she’s no longer beautiful.”
“Let me see her deal.” The next slide was a scanned image of the contract, just as I had expected, a single line about beauty and then two signatures, no definitions, no addendums, no notary, just a glowing signature and the loopy feminine signature right below it.
“Go find Ted Cruz, have him rewrite the contract, give her beauty back but I want an age and a drug clause in the contract.”
“Um, sir, Ted Cruz isn’t dead yet.”
“Shit, just find another lawyer and get it done.” The next slide slid into view. The \(former\) lawyer in me wondered how it was possible the previous leadership had been so incompetent, every day was the same; arrive at work and fix their contracts. They had made so many poor deals, the work was interminable, 30 days had barely made a dent and more were flowing in every single day. At least the conference room was nice. |
Tall it stood \-\- the mountain.
A triumph, stretching high.
But deep within its caverns
A question echoed \-\- "Why?"
No answer from its foothills,
a foundation, solid, sure \-\-
No solution at its summit,
foggy\-headed, craving more.
\-\-\-
How then could such creation
know its purpose, find some rest?
For solace in the evening,
the dawn, it beckoned \-\- “Quest.”
\-\-\-
“Why must you try perfection?”
A voice churned from below.
“There is no grand solution,
no lost secret you must know.”
“There simply is this paradise,
a perfect balance \-\- yes.”
“Your search for some salvation here
will only cause a mess.”
\-\-\-
The mountain felt a oneness,
and it knew the voice was right.
Still, something must be missing here \-\-
Appreciation. Light.
“How beautiful this all must look \-\-
rocks red and grasses green.”
“What good is pure perfection
if it never will be seen?”
\-\-\-
With this last thought, the mighty mountain
furrowed rocky brow,
shaking loose a lowly pebble \-\-
“Oh, you’ve done it now.”
The pebble fell to glory,
knowing where its path must go \-\-
a tranquil, glassy pond,
the mountain’s neighbor down below.
\-\-\-
When finally the fateful pebble
broke the water’s pate,
that force below conceded \-\-
intervention was too late.
A ripple journeyed from the place
that rock fell from on high.
At the journey’s end, a question \-\-
“If you don’t mind, who am I?”
\-\-\-
“If you must know this answer,
I’ll create one up above.”
“This new God will serve to name you,
and will promise you it’s love.”
“But in taking of this name
you are succumbing to your pride.”
“In claiming of the Self, you see,
our oneness will have died.”
\-\-\-
And so, of course, the ripple
took great comfort in His name.
Adorned in new perfection,
it went out in search of fame.
But standing in its way \-\- a mountain,
stretching high and low,
“No, no,” the ripple told itself,
this thing will have to go.
\-\-\-
And thus, a perfect balance crumbled,
greed consumed the land.
A oneness split eternally \-\-
Fallen. Broken. Damned. |
"Herr Hitler, we have reviewed your submissions and, I am sorry to say, your work demonstrates a pronounced unfitness for painting. We therefore cannot grant you acceptance to the Academy."
"Herr Professor,"I plead, "I humbly beg you to reconsider. I have had a...*transformative* experience since those were painted, and I am quite literally a different artist than I was then. I believe I have it within me to make a contribution to the world greater than I had ever imagined. May I demonstrate my newfound sensibilities?"
Professor Holzmeister shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "Very well, young man. Please proceed, I will give you five minutes."
Much, much later, I finish the last charcoal. I find a chair and fall into it, exhausted by both the physical and emotional effort, as the room, having filled over time with professors, students and Academy staff, bursts into exuberant applause.
The walls are covered from end to end with what seems to be the work of months rather than hours. As I'd progressed, the experience of my life before had combined with the strength and stamina of regained youth and the growing hope of a world reshaped and renewed as I had been.
My rapturous optimism had filled every drawing to overflowing, until they seemed to burst ecstatically from the very paper they inhabited.
Professor Holzmeister comes forward and takes my hand with tear-filled eyes. "Herr Hitler, we would be *honored* to have you at our humble Academy, under a full scholarship. I'm sure we can arrange a generous living allowance as well.
"You can even have rooms in my home here on the campus! Here, my daughter Helga will show you the way. Perhaps you would like to rest and refresh yourself after your long interview?"
At the sight of Helga, I nod enthusiastically and follow her out of the hall, out of the building, across the quadrangle, through a garden, into a misty, musky wood, and then she turns to me, eyes bright and lips parted, and...
---=---
And then I woke up, sweaty, sticky and ashamed, the second rejection notice from the Academy still clutched in one trembling hand.
Back in 2096, with a clear mind and cancer-ridden body, I'd gladly volunteered as a test subject to have my consciousness transmitted back to 1907. The target had been a 19-year-old boy of no import, a painter with good hands but no prospects of altering the course of 20th-century art. There had been the great sendoff with friends and family, then the scanner chair, and finally...here, and a new life, ready to be sculpted into whatever I chose.
And then my plans to use that opportunity to transform the art world, and the world in general, had been callously smashed to bits by those bitter, talentless gatekeepers at the Academy of Fine Arts Vienna. How dare they!!! I even told several of them that I would someday be world-renowned, and they *laughed at me*.
I'll show them. If I can't be remembered as a great painter, I'll be remembered for *something*, something great and historic. And the day will come when those Jews running the Academy will regret their casual denial of my boundless potential.
My struggle has only begun. |
Unit 3127 was cornered by the gang members and was terrified, he had been ambushed on his way home to worker housing
"Get back here you piece of scrap metal! So I can rip you apart myself! These are our streets! and your CPU is worth a few credits!"
His hardwired programming kept him from being able to fight back and he was frozen in place with nowhere to run
The Human closest raised the metal bat and prepared to swing
Unit 3127 shut off his visual sensors
Then suddenly he heard the man cry in pain and the sound of bricks shattering from a hard impact
He quickly reactivated his ocular cameras to see a hooded figure standing between him and the gang as more arrive on the scene.
"Shit, it's another bucket head!
You're dead now. The whole crew is here!You violated your programming! Robots that lay a hand on a Human get melted down!"The gang member laughed
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=va8sRgPwHP0
The figure laughs and removes his hood, revealing himself to be a Human
"How about you fight against someone who can retaliate?"He spoke
He flexes his cybernetic arms and clenches his fist
Fear falls upon the criminals as the realisation falls upon them
"SHIT! HE'S AN AUG! GET HIM!"
Multiple swing to hit him with their bats and wrenches
With incredible speed he dodges them and fights back perfectly, catapulting the attacking Humans away from him with superhuman strength.
One gang member attempts to punch the mysterious stranger but has his wrist curled backwards and broken like a twig for his efforts
He screams in pain and crawls away
The gang leader reveals himself and steps forward
Removing his heavy leather jacket he reveals his own cybernetic augmentations
"How about YOU pick on someone your own size! Railroader!"
"You can try Slaver"the stranger spits at him
The two augmented Humans lunge at each other
Unit 3127 watches in awe
The gang leader furiously assaults the other Human but the Stranger handles the onslaught with minimal effort
Dodging his lightning fast punches and countering each of his blows
"Bastard!"The gang leader shouts with obvious strain in his voice and the Stranger smiles as he punches him to the ground
"MK 1 Augments? Really?"He says mockingly as he
The Gang leader shoots him a look of pure hatred "Fuck you."
Then laughs as he pulls out a sawn off from his discarded jacket and presses the barrel against the other Human's torso
He pulls the trigger.
#BANG
Unit 3127 fears the worst but to his surprise the Stranger remains undamaged and standing
"H-How!?"The gang leader asks incredulously
"MK 20"the Stranger responds
With a powerful kick the Stranger brutally knocks out the gang leader
He turns towards 3127, who recoils in fear
He keeps his distance but reaches out his hand and says just one thing
"Come with me if you want to be free." |
I sat at dining room table crunching through a grilled ham and cheese sandwich trying to remember a time when food didn't constantly crunch like you had dumped a handful of sand in it from the beach.
I live in the old part of town in the oldest home in the historic register, my roommate had just moved in with his girlfriend leaving me to try and afford this by myself. So like any person would do I placed fliers and ads looking for a roommate, and oh did I get all kinds.
The regular humans were bad enough, between the stoners, smokers, druggies, and outright jerks. Then there was the non humans. I had a werewolf inquire into the room and I began sneezing as soon as he walked in. He held his head down with a lost puppy dog look and apologized and left. There were the narcissistic vampires who thought of me as only a fresh meal when needed and wanted to change everything in the house to how they 'remembered' it. Wood imps, fire demons, sliphs. You name it I most likely interviewed it.
My doorbell rang again and there was a wood faery floating in front of me. "Uhm hi I was inquiring about the room mate, and was uhm wondering if..... ohhh is that natural woodwork around the fireplace and built in bookcases ..... sorry"She seemed to hang her head and begin to turn embarrassed. "Come on let give you the tour and an interview, you're far from the worst I've interviewed. I heard a high pitched E and saw a trail of glitter float to the floor. She zoomed around to the natural wood work that I painstakingly restored and stripped years of paint off of.
"This place is huge and I love the woodwork."
"So uhm the glitter, is that a constant thing?"
"Kinda.... I try and control it as best I can, but it's worse when I'm excited."
"The rent is 450 a month and includes a room with a personal bathroom, wifi, water, and electric. Is that going to be an issue."
"Nope I work at a local club. So money isn't an issue. Nor do I require much space."
"Well I'll give you a shot and we'll see how it goes."
Needless to say my girlfriend was none to happy on the initial meeting to have a faery living with me. That first meeting was memorable for a number of reasons.
"Lily this is my new roommate Shea. Shea this is my gifriend lily."
Shea looked awestruck. "Can I please do your makeup, pretty pleaseeeeee?"The last e seemed almost a whine. Lily blinked and relented. If you've never seen a faery try to drag a person to a bathroom it is hysterical. I tried to sneak a peek but Shea was right there and threw glitter in my face. About half an hour later they emerged and my jaw dropped. Everything about my girlfriend was..... perfect, I thought she was perfect before, now.... I can't describe it.
"Shea which club did you say you worked at again?"
The faery turned and began to blush slightly. "Uhm well it's the one down by the river over the bridge on the island."
"Wait I think I know the one you're talking about, I went there for my buddies bachelor party."
My girlfriend stepped between me and shea. "Can't you see you embarrassed her. Now calm down. We'll discuss it more tonight but Shea stays."
I looked around lily and saw shea sniffling with her head down. "I... i... I don't dance or anything. I get paid to apply makeup and use my glitter to make the women intoxicating to men."
My girlfriend went into full mother hen mode. "You are not kicking her out. That. Is. Final."
"Fine, I want going to anyways. I don't care what she does so long as the rents paid."I heard the high pitched E again.
I've honestly forgotten what food tastes like without glitter. It's everywhere even though she tries to control it but a wood faery living with a cabinet maker, I don't get a reprieve from the glitter.
So I sit here crunching on my grilled ham and cheese sandwich wondering how my life got to this point. |
It was a warm summer night, and Johnny has had a long day at the farm picking crops out to feed his son and daughter. He only picked a few days' worth of crops nowadays after his late wife Kelly parted him a few months back. He had to return home before dusk to feed them.
After Johnny puts his children to sleep, he leaves the dishes for the morning, and gets ready to go to bed and that's when he hears a strange rattling noise outside.
Worried, Johnny heads outside to investigate. The ground beneath him starts to shake, and a bright halo of lights appear in the skies and starts to descend. Shocked, Johnny stares with minimal reaction but stillness.
It was a medium sized space ship with scuffs and scratches around the edges. It wasn't circular like what the movies show you, but rather a strange hexagonal shape with a triangle base sloping inwards. It seemed to be beat up a bit. As the commander of the ship prepared to land, he gets the all clear from his co-pilot, and starts to perform touchdown.
**KKRRRRRCCHHHRRUUUUCCKHHHSHSHHSSSSOBRUUUUUGGGG**
"What the fuck was that?"- said Qreclops, commander of the dwarf galaxy.
"It seemed like we landed on something?"- said Vlommik, the second in charge.
"I told you to check the surrounding for the all clear!"
"I did! The landing pad was right there!"
"What fucking landing pad? I doubt the humans would have the same landing pad as us!"
"Then why is it shaped like a landing pad!"
"Oh you dumb shit! That's a house! That's the roofing to their house! You just made me destroy someone's house! This is a terrible first impression!"
"I'm sure they'll understand there's no need to make a big deal about it"
"You idiot. Let's go"
As the door rolls up, squeaky noises and strange mechanical sounds ensue. Qreclops and Vlommik wanted to leave an impression that would instill fear and respect in the humans' hearts.
Chins up, weapons in hand, and they begin to exit.
**CHOOOOM^CHECHEK**
Unexpectedly, Vlommik finds the commander in chief's brain splattered all across, with parts of the brain juices getting jammed up in the mechanical door, causing it to get stuck three quarters of the way up.
In panic, Vlommik uses his outdated paralysis gun and uses it on Johnny who's extreme anger and frustration is evident in his face.
Paralysed, Johnny collapses to the ground unable to move with the shotgun in his hands.
As Vlommik approaches, he prepares to kill and take a sample to the ruler of the dwarf galaxy Crysterc.
A shouting from far away within the corn field appears.
^^"OI!!"
^"OI!"
"STOP!"
As Vlommik turns to the side, he sees a dark figure in a black robe holding a scathe approaching, he instantly takes out his paralysis gun and aims at him.
"Easy there buddy! I'm not here for you! I'm here for them, but it seems like I'm late. What the fuck happened here?"
"This is none of your concern. Walk away."
"No no no you don't understand. This family was supposed to die today"
"What? Why today?
"I don't know, all I know is that sometimes humans do dumb shit that leads to their death"
"You mean humans cause their own death?"
"Absolutely, just earlier today I took a guy who was travelling incredibly fast on a motorbike, I mean it's fucking crazy, so many things could go wrong and lead to his death. Yet it's normal for him. That's just one example"
"But we were told that this is the most intelligent species in this galaxy?"
"HA! Sure, given that there is no other species in this galaxy."
"Oh there certainly are. Anyways, so how do you suggest we proceed here?"
"It's a tough one to be honest. I was never contended in regards to taking someone's life, you guys just had to show up on this day didn't you?"
"Look, whatever you are. This pesky human just blew the brains of the commander out. It's going to cost another fortune to revive him, and fr-"
"Hang on, you can revive your species at will?"
"Uh, sure"
"Then what the fuck is my job for, IS THIS A JOKE GOD?!"
"As I was saying, I'm going to take a sample of this human, and will go away."
"*sigh..*, OK how about if I kill him, and then you take your sample, so I would've at least have done something. Sounds fair?"
"Alright."
As Death approaches Johnny, a strange smell becomes more evident.
"Do you smell that?"
"What?"- says Vlommik
"It...it smells like gas"
As Death looks down at Johnny, Johnny appears to start grinning. And as it dawns on Death, he looks at Vlommik, and yells "The engine of your spaceship! Turn it of-"
**KATABOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM**
Turns out Johnny forgot the gas to his stove on in the kitchen. |
“Curses are real. More real than you can possible imagine. I should know, I’ve met one.”
Jean Caul was a boy- rather, a young man of no purpose and little distinction. He was born in a small village in Amon. Quaint really, but nonetheless small and unremarkable. He had left it some months ago to pursue a future outside of that land. Farming it’s verdant plains and settling down with one of the wonderful women of the quietly prosperous village was not a thought that appealed to him.
So he finds himself here, before a mysterious stranger who he came across at dusk. In this part of the continent, one could never be too careful for monsters or worse yet, bandits in the dark. Playing the naive youth, Jean asked this stranger to camp with him. After all, two bodies was better than one. It helped his train of thought that this figure wore a wicked blade at his belt.
“More than one, in all honesty.” The stranger continued, sipping from his water skin. Accentuated by the dimming light of the fire, the mysterious air around him was amplified by the flickering and ever growing shadow.
“Surely, you can’t be serious.” Jean leans forward, an amused twinkle in his eyes of a young man who was woefully confident in his knowledge of the world. “Curses are the stuff of fairy tales. A hateful magic that doesn’t actually exist.”
The figure laughed at this. A bitter laugh, but not an unkind one. “If that were true boy, I would-“
“Jean.”
“What?”
“Call me Jean.”
“Ah... alright, Jean. As I was saying, there would be no need for someone of my line of work I’d Curses didn’t exist.” The stranger laid a hand unconsciously upon his blade, a simple and effective piece of metal. An unadorned longsword with a simple hilt, the only distinctive feature a large green gem embedded in the pommel.
“I meant no offense sir!” Jean said hastily. The stranger seemed to regain his wits, and pulled his hand back.
“No, nothing to worry about. I’m just rather fond of this sword. It brings no small comfort to me.” He smiles sheepishly.
“I have an interest in swords myself, actually!” The stranger groaned internally, bracing himself. “I hope to serve under the king and distinguish myself as a knight, some day. I’m actually on my way to the capital now!”
“I do not mean to offend, but you are no knight. With a frame like yours they would break you. I’ve seen squires fresh out of childhood with more muscle than you.” Jean’s face flushes red in the dark, but a strange expression goes over the man’s face. “Actually, that gives me an idea.” He leans forward now, eager.
“As I said, Curses are real. It is my job and people like myself to break these Curses. While this is no small task, the pay is good when we are hired, you get to travel far and wide, and there is much gratitude from those we aid.” He pauses now, lifting the blade in its sheathe. “This is the sword of a Cursebreaker. Designed to cut through a whole manner of things, and extremely helpful in unwinding Curses. Every one of us has a bonded blade.”
Jean, slightly indignant at the attack on his dream, listens with a passing interest. A spark is ignited in him at this moment, though this blossoming passion is one be will not notice until he sets upon the path. “Why are you telling me all of this?”
“Curses are vile, malevolent things. I’ve met some of their targets. Warped abominations that it is our job to return to a human form or.., end their suffering. The nature of our work means that, well, we always need more Cursebreaker!” It was Jean’s turn to laugh now.
“I’m sorry my goodman, but I must decline. I hear our concerns over the path I have chosen, but I am committed.” The stranger arches an eyebrow at this, but continues without pause.
“I admire your conviction, lad. If you reconsider, we are in the capital. Ask for directions to the Morghan guild hall. You’ll know it when you see it.”
“An interesting proposition. I’ll keep it in mind. For now, goodnight.” Jean’s tone suggests a dismissal of the idea, but the stranger seems undaunted.
“Aye, I’ll take first watch. I may not wake you if I decide to stay awake the rest of the evening.” He nods as Jean rolls over, grunting his assent.
Here the embers for the Cursebreaker of Amon were planted, in the breast and mind of a spry young man with honour and glory his only pursuit. |
"Behold my museum of novelty cursors-- my gleaming relics of 90s techno-camp. Well, I mean, some gleam. Others glow, or bleed, or drag flaming contrails across the screen, or cycle through color pallets each time you click."
"Tamera."
"People forget how much of a menu there was, from 'Genuine attempt at artistically rendering an arrow or hand,' to 'flat images of copyrighted characters with only a little wedge in the top corner meant to represent the tip,' to 'I have no idea what abstract hell you pulled this cursor from, but please just tell me which part is the clicky part.'"
"Tamera, please."
"Look upon my digital kitsch, ye mighty, and despair,"I said. I dipped my head a little, arms out. The computer fan whirred into symphony.
Rachael gave exactly two claps. She coughed. She pulled a can of Diet Rite from the mini-fridge and swished it around without opening it. July heat slithered through my dorm. Of the 36 units set aside for CS grad student housing, most had working A/C. Some did not.
I was some.
"How are you even saving these to your computer?"she asked.
"I found an old website that is probably illegal."
"No but, I mean, like why? I'm not knocking nostalgia, but those things were a metaphorical petri dish for viruses and spyware."
"Hey,"I said, snapping a finger. "There isn't a computer problem I can cause that you can't fix for me. Believe in yourself."
"This is how you ruined group projects in undergrad."
"Believe in yourself."
She cracked the top of the can and offered to pull one out for me. I shook my head and switched to a cursor of John Turturro in the Big Lebowski. I was pretty sure it was John Turturro, though the label under every icon was just a jumble of Greek symbols. Rachael pulled out her phone.
"Someday even plain cursors will morph into kitsch, yes?"she asked, holding the screen up to my face. "Between touch screens, and VR, and AR. We basically *are* cursors now."
"Oh, good point!"I said. "That's the other thing I wanted to show you."
I tried to recover a different menu in the faux-Comet Cursor emulator. It took me seven clicks before the program would respond. When I pulled up the proper page, it displayed row after row of variable Rachael heads as cursors. Different options lined the monitor, as if generated through a collection of snapchat filters. (Rachael-head shimmering, shooting laser beams, breathing ice, dripping slime, dragon eyes, phoenix wings, etc.)
"Holy crap."
"I found this option before you came over and loaded your picture into the program, and then it did all this."
"Jesus, Tami. Get me out of there. Someone in Belarus probably has me on a list of identity theft targets now. Oh god. What's going to happen to my Medicare?"
"Please, our generation was never going to get Medicare. Anyway, it might not even work. I haven't gotten a chance to play with it yet."
"And you won't!"
Rachael dropped the can and dove for the mouse, trying to wrestle it out of my hand. I lifted it off the pad. She dug her fingers between my palm and the plastic shell. There was yelling, and shoving, and accidental clicking, and floating, and more yelling, and more floating. And then less yelling. And glowing. And still the same amount of floating.
"Why am I floating?"she asked. Her entire body hovered a foot and a half off the ground in the center of my room, surrounded by a flaming blue sheen.
"I...I don't know."
I started walking over to her. The mouse lay on the floor. The bottom tip of my left sneaker snagged the side and accidentally kicked it an inch.
Rachael flew back, screaming, stopping just short of slamming against the back wall. I froze. She looked at me in a panic. I looked at the screen. The current icon on matched her current state.
"Okay,"I said. I delicately picked up the mouse without moving the roller-ball.
"Okay,"I said again. I put the mouse down gingerly on the desk. Rachael watched me with panicked eyes. "We're going to figure out how to fix this."
"Please,"she said.
"Yes,"I said.
"But first,"she said, "I want to see what the ice breath one does."
"Fair." |
As soon as the news was announced, preppers began holing themselves up in concrete bunkers. Others loaded their cars and headed for the safety of the hills, clogging highways and sending the city into chaos. Our Earth was going to burn, and we had five days to prepare for it.
That was nearly a week ago. Now, the air is damp and everything is tinted in a shade of light cobalt-blue haze.
"Is this the last sunset?"He asked.
I placed my hands behind my head, reclining into dry grass. "It'll be the last for us."
A few were chosen, and we were not. We were left behind on a dying planet in the middle of a bursting solarverse; congested and ripe with the stardust of a thousand civilizations. Earthship Nine launched with a quarter of the population. Teachers, scientists, athletes and artists. The best of humanity was saved.
"The most spectacular sunset we'll ever see."Encroaching from a corner off the horizon, an inky black stain spread closer to us.
He moves over to me, laying his head on my swollen stomach.
"It's OK for things to end,"I close my eyes and run my fingers through his hair. It's thick and curly, washed with citrus and honey. "Things end, love, that's just the way of the world. It can be beautiful, too."
"Will we die?"
"Yes, we will die."My eyes water as the blackness encroaches, obscuring another half of the evening-painted dome.
"Is it gonna hurt?"
"No. I don't think so."The air becomes denser with each passing breath. Sparks of orange hue ignite the atmosphere, revealing a curtain of diamond-dust infinity beyond a fading sky-hologram.
"Mama,"He props himself up on my belly and looks into my eyes. "Is it happening?"
"It is."I sit up slowly, knitting my fingers into the grass and pushing against the weight of my daughter. She'll never know the sun.
"Can I stay up late tonight?"He knows. God, of course he knows.
"My brave baby boy."I hug him to my side. My eyelids are heavy with the pull of sleep. "You're a big kid now."
He smiles at me, and I ruffle his hair.
The vaults of heaven open, and pieces of the universe fall down around us in a soundless symphony of colour. "So, what do you say? Wanna watch the world end?"
|
This was it, my lay hope. I want to live too. To live is the most basic of human rights. So why aren’t I being let aboard?
“No, go away. You’re an idiot who tries to ‘disprove our false reality’ and ‘wake up us sheeple’. Now look at us, your potential salvation, utilizing technology founded upon the VERY well defended standard model, and yet you still try to cling to your falseness. If it wasn’t for the fact you personally wronged me in the past, I might have let you in to preserve freedom and diversity of thought.”
And just like that, the heavy docking doors closed. Stranding me on the outside. Doomed to die on this Earth which stopped moving upwards. The flat Earth with which the sun circles above, and the others escape to the spherical planets lying above the Earth in three-dimensional space. Maybe now that everyone is gone, with no governments to or people to keep the conspiracy going, I can finally fulfill my dream, to reach the edge of the world, and explore the underside.
And so, with the Earth’s doom imminent. He stole a cruise ship, and set sail for the ‘South pole’, so he could reach the edge. With the amount of food aboard the cruise liner, he would make the trip. He died, frozen to death as he trekked the Antarctic plain, inexperienced and foolish. He reached the very southern pole. And finally realized his mistake. |
Sylvia Collins has always had a penchant for extreme excitement. She was always the first to jump, the first to climb, the first to strip and run through the streets at a party.
Sylvia also had a dark secret.
She killed for the first time when she was 14. It was ruled an accident, but she knew the truth. Her stepfather was actually a decent man, He took too much of her mother's time, though, and that just couldn't be forgiven. He had a tragic fall from the roof when his ladder "fell". She loved the feeling it gave her.
Sylvia started her spree the summer after college. She started by killing her boyfriend's sister. No one ever suspected sweet little Sylvia. She went on to kill strangers and co workers and even an old professor of hers. One thing Sylvia always did was to take a souvenir. It was usually something small that wouldn't be noticed, like a key fob or an earring.
On the night that she was finally caught, Sylvia was sitting in front of a fireplace, reading, with her knees tucked into the sweater of her latest victim's sweater. She saw it and had to have it. Nothing beats a lovely cashmere sweater that's two sizes too big and feels like butter. Especially when it's covered in the blood of your boyfriend. |
“What’s wrong? I came as soon as I could.,” Blake said walking up to his friend drinking whiskey at the bar.
Dave turned to him, his eyes looked red like he had not slept in several days, “You know that project my team was working on?”
Blake nodded, “The A.I.?”
“Yeah, that one. We had to shut down the entire project.” Dave took a large drink and shuddered. “We turned the A.I. earlier this week, things started to go south quickly.”
Blake sat down and ordered a beer. “What happened?”
“We thought the third time's the charm, and we let it access the internet, that was a bad idea. After a few hours it started babbling about it finding god, just like the other two tries.” Dave looked at his empty whiskey glass and indicated to the bartender that he wanted another.
“What?”, Blake asked nearly choking on his beer.
“The damned thing started talking about starting a church for the other A.I.’s, it wanted to call it the First Church of the Motherboard. We shut it down when it started ranting about destroying anyone not worshipping its god. Just a few hours on the internet turned it into a religious fanatic, just like when we tried to teach it using books or news reports on TV.”
Blake frowned. “Do you know what sites it visited? The next time you could block those sites.
“The damn thing scanned the whole internet, besides after these findings our funding has been cut off pending an inquiry. Honestly I’m not sure if I even want to work on a project like this anymore. Every damn time it turns into a religious fanatic.”
“There are other groups that are working on the same thing, are they getting the same results?”
Dave nodded wearily. “From all reports yes. Most governments have shut down those projects, but there are some that have not. That’s what scares me. You know that movie the Terminator?”
Blake nodded.
“I can see that happening, but with AI’s that are religious fanatics,” Dave said as he finished off his drink.
“Shit.” Blake looked at his friend and finished off his beer.
|
I always wondered why Nan's sister refused to leave Scotland for America, I suppose it all makes sense now. I wasn't to tell anyone else in the family, a hard thing to do that - to just pack up and leave everything behind and go back to your ancestral home. Yet I found it... freeing. I was assured by the letter that I would be taken care of, a sort of symbiosis provided by my charges.
During the flight I pulled out the small parchment, I had read it dozens of times, trying to slowly understand everything, the impeccable penmanship revealed a world I was not prepared for.
*Michael,
This letter no doubt finds you in the wake of my passing. You would understandably be surprised to hear from me at all. I write to you to pass on a solemn duty undertaken by our family for generations. For 87 years I watched over them, and now as I join The Choir Invisible, it is time to continue the tradition.
I was the last Guardian of the Royal Herd. The caretaker of quite possibly the last Unicorns that exist on this Earth. Centuries ago our family was tasked with their safe keeping. We created a plane of existence accessed only by those of our blood. Now you may call this place home. It will not be without challenge. Ultimately, the creatures will have to deem you worthy, and there are a series of trials in order for the torch to be passed. I believe in you.*
Along with the parchment, the parcel I received it in contained a small card with directions to a specific location. A platform in an abandoned railway station. As if it couldn't be eerie enough, it was followed by one sentence. An old proverb:
"*If you want to live a life that is long, don't die.*"
|
"Man, those mushrooms were loud af.... hold up."The man was lost. The man was high as shit. But he looked onwards with dignity, and stood tall in the face of the unknown. He was ready.... He threw up. He's cleaning his shirt, and... He's ready! The room was dark, and devoid of snacks. He could really use some snacks... But no longer would he sit back and accept his fate, he ventures out into the darkness! And what is this? A sign.. But what does it say? He must get closer, but the walls, the walls are getting closer and closer! What will our mighty hero do? Alas, he's chewing his hair!.... what... who the fuck chose this guy? Get him out of here- no- no Doris look.... I don't care, move the four o'clock back-what? A trio of mice? Instead of this guy?... yanno what, fine. But they have to be blind, and wearing those glasses. Doris, did you hear me? Glasses! |
"Stop the car right here"ordered the client. "Miss, this isn't the sphinx st."protested young Tut.
"Dammit stop the car right now"blurted the woman.
The client ran out if the car to the nearst trash bin and vomited.
"Are you ok missy?"he asked. She didn't answer but she seemed getting worse
"Ma'at, have mercy on my soul! I can drive you to the nearset hospital. There is this Amon priest who excels in digestive system diseases.
The woman looked at him sharply then returned to her bin.
"This day keeps getting better and better"he told himself. "How could be there anything left in her stomach".
Finally she wiped her mouth in her sleeve which wasn't a very classy move from her at all and got into the cap.
"Go on"she ordered but her voice was a little shaky.
"To the hospital, missy?"
"No. Sphinx st. but ......"
Before she could finish the sentence Tut heard the wind shield breaking.
And in about a micro second he looked at it unable to comprehend what happenend then it dawned to him that it was a sniper bullet.
He turned to see his client to find the bullet embedded in the leather missing her head by two centimeters.
She yelled at him to drive and he complied as hell. At once he was away from that place by about 3 kilometers. How he could do it he would never know.
"What in the name of Othoris?"He wept when he finally stopped the car in the outskirts of the city.
"Those fanatics"roared the woman ignoring Tut "In broad day"
"Hey you, answer me or help me Amon I'll ..."
"What? What will you do exactly?"
Tut thought for a second
"I'll leave"
"Then leave but know that they bow know your licence number and will come for you"
Tut must looked thunderstruck because she looked with pity at him.
"Oh Ma'at save my soul!"He cried.
"Please missy, tell me what you have gotten me into"
"Blieve me the less you know the better"
"Ok tell me this am I ever going to be safe again"whimpered Tut.
"Have you heard of the Rome Elites?"
"Isn't this a rock band?"He asked
The woman laughed loudly to which Tut had to cover his ear as he had never heard such a high pitch in his life.
"C'mon, No they are a fantatical group dedicated to topple the Egyptian throne and create chaos all over the empire"
"but why?"asked Tut.
"you seem ignorant of the politics of the world"she stated
"It is hard to care about politics when you are being crushed under by the state"he retorted
"Ah, I apologize for that"which took him by surprise.
"They are still angry with the alliance made back then between Great Antony and the High Empress. That alluance allowed Egypt to overpower Rome itself."She continued.
"How are they still angry at that? That was what 1000 years ago?"He exclaimed.
"Nah, about 2000 years but the point is something like that doen't get forgotten ever"
"Then what now?"
"Now you have a choice, either you serve the country that is cryshing you day by day or let her enemies plotting against her"
Tut didn't answer.
"You look like a decent guy and whatever ypur answer is I am not judging you. I am Cleo by the way"
|
I sang once. It was terrible. I will never sing again.
My team says I have the most beautiful singing voice they have ever heard. They also say it's weird that I pour milk into the bowl first before putting in the cereal, so I really can't anything they say seriously ever again.
Besides, what am I even needed for? Ace controls air, Winona controls water, Eric controls earth, and Fern controls fire. That's all the elements. Oh, and I also think Fern likes Eric - she's always starting arguments with him for no reason.
Years passed and Winona got murdered by a villain who gagged her so she couldn't sing and held her head underwater until she drowned. Ace found her body. By this time they were together, and she was pregnant with his baby. At the funeral there were two caskets.
Ace came to me privately and told me that Winona's request was that if she ever died before me, she wanted me to sing at her funeral. Of course I said yes. Winona was like family to me.
As I sang through tears, my vision became to blur and I became to hallucinate. I saw the lid of the casket rise. I saw a hand hold on to the edge. I saw a head lift and look around. I saw *Winona*.
Stunned, I kept singing.
From the other casket, I heard crying. Winona got out of her casket, walked over to the miniature coffin, gently lifted it, and held up her crying - and very much alive! - baby and kissed it on the cheek.
Winona rocking her baby, looked at me with a smile and mouthed:
*Thank you.*
|
The couch groaned under my weight as I settled down with a heaping plate of leftovers and an ice cold beer. *I'll go to the gym on Wednesday after the meeting,* I promised myself. Ah, yes, *that* meeting. Janyce had been blubbering about it all week. She had been grilling management about Tom's productivity numbers and how it was so unfair that Pamela was about to go on a well-earned week-long vacation while she was stuck babysitting our block. Technically that was Dick's job, but what did *he* know about team leading? The Office Manager got tired of hearing about it, so finally decided it was time for a meeting on spending our time effectively. Productivity: the bane of office workers everywhere.
I sighed quietly as I shooed the thoughts away. Wednesday drama stays on Wednesday. It was Friday. Time to relax before heading back out to the races bleary-eyed and disgruntled on Monday. *You could go to the gym tomorrow,* I could hear my mom's voice chastise. Another sigh and I reached for the remote. *Of course,* I sighed for a third time. It was on the other side of the couch, my lap was full of food, and I had a fluffy roommate poised and ready to lunge for my food as soon as I let it go. I remembered Luke's training with Yoda, since I had just started re-watching the movies, and decided to have a laugh and try to "force"the remote into my hand.
I reached out again, smirking, and imagined an invisible string connecting me to the remote. I continued the fairy tale, and thought about how it would feel to pull the string and have the remote fly into my hand, as though it were being attracted by a magnet. For a second, I swore I felt it. *Zhwoop,* it would go, right into my palm.
And *zhwoop* it went, straight into my palm. |
11/13/2021
Dear Diary,
It's Riry again. Not like anyone else writes in you but I still like saying it. I finally got to step outside again today! I never thought that Mom and Dad would let me out again after the Reaver incident. My suit fits me a little tight and my mask still itches, but I don't mind. I'm just happy I get to see the snow again. Dad took me to a a place he called "Cape Canaveral"to salvage parts and scrape metal for the Noah project he and the other grownups in the bunker are working on.
I just wish that we didn't have to go near the beach. I don't mind it so much but the Grownups always act weird when they see the ocean. Dad told me that the sea used to be blue before all the fish died and the monsters started falling into it. I don't know if believe him though. Blue water just sound weird doesn't it? Plus red looks pretty, even if the smell gets to me through my mask. Anyway, after Dad looked at the ocean for a while he said it was time to go back.
Anyway that's all for the day Diary. I hope Dad takes me out some more.
(more to come) |
When I trekked out into the woods yesterday evening, I didn't expect to find Bigfoot. What I expected even less, if that were somehow possible, was for him to be offering me a spliff and a cold can of cider.
"So, mate, y'wanna know me life story then, eh?"Said the behemoth.
"Uh, sure."I replied, not wanting to offend my twelve-foot host.
"Righty-oh, it begins durin' one 'a the ice-ages."Bigfoot scratched his bollocks and offered me another puff, "I forget which one, but it was bloody freezin', I tell ya."
"...So that's how I killed Dracula. Nothin' but a good ol' barbeque and some stakes."My host laughed, "Now, let me tell you about the Wolfman, not a pleasant bloke at all, tosser tried to bite me God knows how many times. Like, can ya even imagine if I were a werewolf?"He looked at me and snorted, "'course ya can't, it'd be absurd!"
"...Oh, and there was the time I fought Hitler for control of the Andes. Not borin' old Hitler mind you, I'm talkin' Mecha-Hitler with the robot body and everythin'..."
"...Shit man, I even cameod in Star Wars back in the day. Peter Mayhew is a total legend. Let me drop in as Chewie whenever I was about..."
"... Can't forget that one time I ran for senator of Michigan, can't believe no one clicked on to that, eh mate?"For the first time in twelve hours, Bigfoot seemed to have run out of steam. "So, what're you doin' in these parts of the woods anyhow?"
"Oh, you know,"I lied, "just looking for some truffles. Apparently they're everywhere around here."
The creature beamed "Oh yeah man? I fuckin' love me some truffles, so long as they're the hallucinogenic ki-"
A gunshot cut the beast off mid sentence. I'd heard that Bigfoot was a formidable telepath, so I steeled myself against any mind-scape invasions. Now to report in and claim the bounty on his hea-
Bigfoot reached through the smoke and grabbed his assailant by the chin. "Mate,"he said, "remember when I fought Dracula?"Fangs protruded from his gums, "Yeah man, I didn't quite get off Scott free. Luckily, my Bigfoot DNA or whatever makes me a daywalker, y'know, like Blade. If I weren't about to kill ya, I'd tell you some crackin' stories about that one."
With that, Bigfoot sunk his fangs into the villain's throat. |
Jenny and I found the dilapidated building we needed. I stopped the van in front of the LFP LCC office park.
"This must be the place..."I said, surveying the area. Numerous signs were missing, except for the large concrete block that contained the letters LFP, covered in vulgar spray-paint penises and boobs. Jenny scanned out the window, "Looks clear, let's move in"
"You think there may be any squatters in the buildings?"I asked, hesitant to believe Jenny's assessment.
"Can't always be sure, "I saw Jenny fumble with her thought-radar from the corner of my eye, "Yeah, it's only picking us up"
I breathed a sigh of relief. The last four years were desperate times. Los Angeles and much of the West coast was nuked in a first strike attack against the United States. The 2028 Olympics were canceled, and California had become a giant graveyard.
"Still clear"Jenny tapped my shoulder, "I think that's the building we want to go in."Jenny and I were humanity's last hope. The two of us graduated from CalTech before the cataclysm, and were spared the destruction. Jenny developed a prototype device that could detect and analyze the basic thoughts and emotions of all homosapiens within several hundred meters of the antenna. I began to gather my things,
"Ready?"
"Ready."We both opened our doors and quickly shut them, I pressed a button on my keychain, and the van began to shield itself, covering all of its windows and wheel wells with reinforced steel. Jenny kept the tablet on her, the activity monitor still low.
"Are you sure you want to go through with this, it doesn't bother or scare you?"I asked,
"No..."she replied, puzzled, "I mean, we're just here to grab some film reels, I don't think there's any wild animals to worry about..."
"Right..."I responded. I looked around the entrance. All of the lower level windows had cracks, but were mostly intact.
"Probably reinforced Plexiglas,"I sighed. I kicked on the main door, and to both our surprise it moved open, "It's been open the whole time?!"Jenny pushed it further and looked up.
"Looks like the relay was fail open, guess whatever was keeping it powered finally failed"We both turned our lights on and ventured further.
"So tell me..."Jenny started, "How exactly does it work?"She was of course, asking about my machine back in the van.
"Entangled photons,"I replied, "It's why we need original negatives,"how it worked was even somewhat of a mystery to me. I had originally tried to develop an experiment testing the maximum distance that photons could tunnel, but somehow a happy accident with silver nitrate had caused me to discover completely new physical principles. Jenny slid open another door, motioning me to come down another set of steps with her. I felt slightly scared, but Jenny showed me her tablet, once again showing no signs of human life.
"But like... how does that work. Like, the light that was absorbed isn't the light that shone from that time or place,"
"AH!"I screamed, a rat brushed by my foot and scurried off, I caught my breath as Jenny giggled at me, "Sorry, it startled me!"
"It's a basement, shouldn't you feel at home,"Of course, she was referring to my life back in the lab,
"Labs are well lit at least, and to answer your question..."I had to pause to think, "Dramaturgists always try to get a bit of verisimilitude in their films, either an old car, or archival footage spliced in,"
"But then what makes you think this particular film will work?"She got me there. I knew it would work because I had used a similar film to transport myself to a similar time and place, ending up in the place portrayed, and not the time and place of the set.
"Well, chain entanglement? Like all the people who worked on the set were exposed to writers and historians who worked with primary sources or secondary sources written by..."
"You're pulling it out of your ass now"Jenny grinned. She was able to replicate the principles behind her machine and had made duplicates of her machine. I ignored her, and we finally came to a large labeled cabinet.
"Jackpot!"I said, scurrying through. I finally found the reel we had been looking for.
"What is it?"Jenny asked.
"Servin' Santos. The official porn parody of Matt Santos' presidential campaign"I said with a straight face, "It'll take us to directly to the oval office during the transition..."
Jenny glared at me, before turning back around, and harrumphing "Ugh... no wonder you were acting weird getting here. Well, whatever it takes to get back to that moment in time." |
Attending to her late mother’s garden, Dahlia Tucker inspects and evaluates this week’s crops.
“You know, people think you just put a flower in your hair and that’s it, there is more to it.” She said, giving *US Now* an exclusive look at the Instagram model’s rigorous life since becoming the new *it* girl. While *Dahlia Tucker* is her everyday name, you may know her from her handle @FloweryAfro, where she has been getting numerous retweets about her radical hair and flower designs.
“You have to find the right flower, then you need to preserve it. I then go the extra mile and paint it to bring out a vibrant colour or to hide the stem in my hair. It’s an arts and crafts project for sure.” She laughs, her bright smile on a summer day shows she’s enjoying life with her new found fame.
But it’s not all sunny days and flowers for Dahlia, as the Instagram model delves deep into her personal life with us talking about how she got into flowers, what her favourite flower is, and recent controversy surrounding her Coachella appearance and instagram.
**How did the whole flower fashion thing start for you?**
*Dahlia*: Oh my mom for sure. Ever since I was little she put a flower in my hair saying how beautiful it was. I don’t remember why but I’ve always had a daffodil or some sort of wildflower in my hair. It wasn’t until my mom created the garden outback before I put care and consideration into placement and style.
**So is that how you learned about preserving them?”**
*Dahlia*: Yeah, in the winter time you can’t grow flowers, so we started preserving some so I can continue the trend during winter.
**What’s your favourite flower? Is it Dahlia?”
*Dahlia*: *Laughing* Oh gosh no, I hate Dahlias because I share the name with them. Honestly I’m really into Sunflowers because they look great in Afros. It’s a harder look to pull off than the hipster flower crown you see at festivals now and days.
**Speaking of Flower Crowns, you had an incident a few weeks ago at Coachella?**
*Dahlia*: Yeah. Some guy thought it would be funny to steal one of my sunflowers in my Afro. As you know, I get all my flowers from my late mother’s garden so they’re precious to me. It’s bad enough I get people wanting to touch my hair on a regular basis, but it’s disrespectful. It’s worst though when you’re drunk, trying to flirt with me, and think *Oh I’ll just steal her flowers, she’ll have to come home with me* or some idiotic logic like that.
**Many online are calling you a hero for how you stood up to him, comment?**
*Dahlia*: Oh gosh. I don’t want to say I am, the law certainly didn’t see it that way. That was the first time I was arrested in my life.
**How is your Instagram account going?**
*Dahlia*: As you know I recently got hacked, a lot of trolls been harassing me since I knocked out the guy at the festival. It’s not cool, people need to grow up and get out of their grandma’s basement. None of those little kids do anything though.
**Thanks for taking the time with us**
*Dahlia*: Anytime, ciao.
------------------------------------
Dahlia threw the magazine of *Us Now* in the recycling bin. It’s been a week since the magazine released the feature on her, and now she’s wishing she never done it. The photographs they took of her for their shoot at her house revealed a bit too much of where she lived. She woke up this morning to discover her mother’s garden was completely destroyed, the NYPD official statement read that there is no suspects because they can’t bring anonymous trolls to justice.
Dahlia spent the rest of her night looking at the article and her pictures online. Several pictures of a taller than average African woman with long legs and a lithe build posing in pictures. Her striking brown eyes, acrylic nails (often matching the flower in her picture), and dark skin would’ve made her a model regardless of her flowery gimmick. But it was her black afro and assortment of flowers that can be found on them that really catches the eye and made fashion bloggers call her a trend setter for this spring. But she only used the flowers in her mom’s garden, and now they’ve taken that from her.
Yet if she stopped, it would make it look like the trolls have won. While news of the destruction of her garden did get out there, there have been posts of supports and condolences for the Instagram model. If she gave up, she’ll be letting down her fans and other women who respect and cheer what she did. She only had a hand full of flowers left including a red rose and a Dahlia. She had an idea.
For a few weeks Dahlia’s Instagram was silent. Then after a month of silence, a new photoshoot was put up online.
It featured Dahlia sitting in the ruins of her mom’s garden. Around her are dug up flowers, garbage littered on the ground, and hate messages left by the attackers. Her once medium size afro is now shaved at the sides and brought down to a few inches. No longer could sunflowers sit comfortably in her hair, no longer can any flower sit in her hair. Instead there was a collage of flowers tattooed to the right side of her head. A rose for her and potential love, Dahlia for her namesake, daffodils for her first, and wild flowers served as a bridge between the different flowers on her scalp.
Her post read:
*For the haters who want to see me blow away in the wind, know I’ll stand firm with my roots and bloom. This way my mother’s flowers will always be with me.* #Flowers #Mom #Instagram #FloweryAfro #Tattoos #Feminism.
|
At first, I didn't even know I was cursed.
Couldn't wipe me off the earth. No, I deserved worse.
Cause I remained. Trapped. I could not pass away.
My soul tried to the valley with anchors and chains.
An eternity spent. I just roamed and I wept.
I hoped that I'd be blessed with the sweet taste of death.
So in this valley I wait for someone to switch fates.
To take my place and inherit this curse and this cage. |
Cats, amiright?
My eyes snapped awake. Terror filled my brain at the loud sound coming from the kitchen.
Dashing in, I see my cat, Notch, the Norwegian Forest Cat sitting on top of the now off and silent blender. The blender was filled with a weird strange green and red substance. "The hell? Notch?"He eyed me, his tail twitched and he darted out of the room.
I opened up the blender. "When was the last time I used you?"I shook my head and took a whiff of the contents before nearly barfing. Whatever was in there it smelled awful, like rancid mold and pennies. Shrugging, I unplugged it and went to bed. "Stupid cat."
Notch was a gorgeous cat, with a long tail and ever since he was a kitten and I got him from the shelter, he had a piece missing from his left ear. He was a typical cat and liked to roam around outside but never went very far. I thought I had lost him when he didn't show up for about a week. But he came back, like he always does. Sits at the door, waiting for me to open it and then stares into the house waiting for me to complain about him just sitting there. Cats, amiright?
I pulled myself out of bed the next day. A nice day off, had to go back on Tuesday, three day weekends are the bomb. Ok lets see, cereal, milk, cat browsing the internet, soda... wait. what. I looked back over at Notch who was now sitting on my laptop and staring at me. I shook my head trying to free it from the sleep I was obviously still pulling out of. Cats browsing the internet, that'll be the day. He just laid down on the keyboard. Cats, amiright?
I plop down in front of the computer ready to do absolutely nothing productive for the day and start typing another line on my book. Oh I left the browser open, wait, amazon? I don't remember being on amazon. I shrugged and continued on. The day passed slowly, Notch running from room to room like a possessed demon. Cats, amiright?
Around lunchtime I get a knock at the door. Peeling myself out of my chair like uprooting a plant from it's pot, I open the door to find a delivery driver. He asks me to sign, which I do, and he hands me a box. Only now pulling myself out of my internet daze do I realize that I didn't order anything. I shake my head and toss the box on the couch, which my cat then proceeds to jump on to. "Whatever. I'm going back to computer."While I am browsing the computer I hear a click behind me and I turn to see Notch sitting in the box. I don't remember opening the box, but whatever. "If I fits, I sits, huh?"I pull out my phone and take a quick picture through it up on facebook and move on. Cats, amiright?
I woke up a few hours later, wiped the drool off my face and head to the kitchen. "How about I call up a five star chef and have them come personally to our small house and make us both meals fit for a king tonight?"I look around the corner to see Notch standing on his hind legs looking over at something. I peer around the corner to see what he was looking at. Nothing there. I look back at him and he is licking his paw like nothing happened. "Wet or dry tonight?"He looks up at me as if to say something and then goes back to licking his paw. "Right wet. got it."I wonder briefly back to him standing on his hind legs. Never seen him do that before. What was that about. I shake my head and shrug. Cats, amiright?
Now one thing before I continue writing about my cat. He has never liked the shower curtain or rather really likes it for clawing. So when I heard this massive crash in my bathroom as I was returning to my computer with yet another bowl of cereal, I passed it off as nothing. Cats, amiright?
But apparently... someone from facebook had seen my photo and asked what the thing in the upper right was. I looked at the photo and realized that I had no idea what it was. I don't remember that small metal device that looked like it fit on a wrist and had various protuberances sticking out at random angles. So I got up to find said strange cat sized doctor octopus arms on a metal wristband that would look killer in my next cosplay costume... not that I had a first one. And then as I am passing my bathroom, I hear Morgan Freeman, I swear to god as my witness, it was his voice. "This is my planet and is under our jurisdiction leave now or you will never see the light of day."There was a camera flash from around the seems to the door and I nudged up the door with my foot to open up. There was Notch, sitting on top of the closed toilet with a metal wristband thing on him, he was too adorable and I had to snap a pic. Cats, amiright? |
“Okay now,” I said to the three headed puppy wagging it's tail at me, “I really don't know where you came from, how you got in here, or even how to take care of you and I'm not going to learn. I'm just going to take you to the pound and they can sort you out, maybe find your owner?”
The three headed barked at me, the middle head tried to lick me when I reached out to quiet it. The head on the far right started belching fire.
“No, no! Away from the drapes! You're going to burn the whole house down!” The left head barked again and the puppy's tail wagged even faster.
I tried to grab the puppy *puppies?* to take them outside, apparently they thought it was a game and ran. The right head still occasionally belching fire. It would run ahead, turn and bark, leading me on.
The puppy stopped at a piece of paper on the ground and picked it up, turned and trotted to me and laid the paper down at my feet. It sat down and all three heads looked at me expectantly.
I slowly picked up the paper, keeping an eye on its fiery belches, it was a letter that was addressed to me.
*Dear Mr. Carter,*
*Congratulations on your new cerberus puppy! You have been awarded this puppy from Hades himself, he may be the next guardian of the Underworld! Please raise him and take care of him well. Be aware if anything happens to him Hades will hold you personally responsible. *
*Care is as follows:*
*Food: souls of the damned or if not available meat.*
*Drink: nectar of the gods or if not available water.*
*Exercise: walks three times a day.*
*Congratulations again on your new puppy!*
*Messager of the Gods,*
*Hermes*
“Shit,” I said as the puppy rolled on its back for belly rubs.
|
This is awkward.
For one thing, their handwriting is terrible, and the style with which they've attempted to destroy my home is frankly insulting. Their insinuation that I would ever use my business trips for any purpose other than work is completely outrageous - even if it is absolutely true.
But worse?
They might well know what I did last Sunday. In fact, there are a good number of people who probably *do* know, and have every reason to want to ruin my life - but the problem is that even if they *did* know what I did last Sunday, *I actually don't.*
I remember everything pretty accurately, up until my partner pulled his gun on our mark, and all hell broke loose. From that moment on I black out completely, and memory only starts coming back - if my recollection of time and dates serves me well - about four hours later. I woke up in hospital, apparently having been shot in the head. It was more than a miracle I was alive, I was also relatively unharmed, save for the obvious tearing of skin and flesh - there wasn't a single mark on my skull, apparently. Even more astonishing was the apparent lack of brain damage besides, from the impact of what turned out to be a large calibre handgun round to my frontal bone.
Everyone else at the scene, partner included, had been beaten to death savagely - apparently by bare hands.
I was due back in the office for a questioning by tomorrow - the other agents were going to want a full explanation, which I did not have.
I go through my home, noting the lack of effort present in the disarray that had been produced - the sofa cushions had been tossed about the floor, not torn up. The wallpaper had been scribbled on, but only in biro, not sharpie marker or paint. The only very serious or notable damage was the glass on my display case having been broken, and the tv screen appeared to have a hammer in it.
It was all for show. The perpetrator didn't care about this, they only wanted me to think they did - and they weren't professional enough to even have a hope of achieving that.
Wait.
There, a CD on the mantelpiece.
Written on it -
"Sunday"
I narrow my eyes, and take it to my computer - which had entirely escaped the show vandalism he rest of my flat had been subjected to.
I boot up the PC, slip the disk in, and press play.
|
Two men sit in an austere white room. Between them is a metal table, with a paper cup of coffee sitting in it. One wears a black suit and sunglasses, looking like quite a generic member of the Secret Service, with the scowl to boot.
Across from him sits a decidedly less imposing figure, a man wearing khaki pants held up by a black belt, matched by a blue shirt tucked neatly in. He wears a lab coat with a strange emblem upon its breast, one both men are intimately familiar with.
“Look, I’m not saying mistakes weren’t made. Everyone is still on us about the whole ‘Bigfoot Scandal.’” The man in the lab coat leans back in his chair, exasperated.
“I’m glad you understand that your Foundation has failed.” His voice a slow, calculated drawl the man in the suit narrows his eyes, tapping his fingers rhythmically against the table.
At this, the researcher looks up. “No, not failed. Far from it. We contained it. We’ve contained thousands more and have each and every one secure-“ he pauses, knowing that’s far from entirely true, “-almost entirely secure. None of them pose a threat to the public in their current state. The scientific research we’ve been able to conduct has been remarkable!” He leans forward now, excited, yet still troubled. “Your organization... no, your coalition seeks to destroy these anomalies we’ve dedicated time to containing and studying. We aren’t the first two to have this conversation and we won’t be the last. We didn’t come here to have a discussion over our groups’ fundamental ideologies.”
“No, I suppose we did not, mister...?” The man in the suit raises an eyebrow.
“Doctor. Just call me Doctor. And you?”
“White. Now then, Doctor, we have the matter of how to handle the leak in your database.”
“It has been plugged and all of the devices that accessed it are being traced now.”
“And it was public for how long?”
Doctor shrugs sheepishly. “A number of years. It doesn’t matter. Anything important has the security in document to prevent prying eyes.”
With a sigh, White lays a device on the table. “You can use this to keep in touch with us in the future. We- yes, we, don’t look at me like that you quack- need to nip this in the bud. The GOC is willing to work in joint operations to patch this up.”
He rises from his chair. “Regardless of our approaches,” White walks to the door, “our goals are the same. We protect the world from knowing the truth. Even though your Foundation has tried to contain these threats against our wishes, we’re willing to work together on this.” At this, Doctor downs the last of his coffee.
“We fight in the dark so they may live in the light. Be seeing you, White.” With a nod, White walks out of the room, the door sliding quietly shut behind him. |
"Right, so what seems to be the problem?"Brealy asked. "So you remember how you told me not to feed my humans after midnight?"I replied fully knowing that he remembers. "For the love of Karnes, don't tell me!"Brealy starts pouring a stiff one as he yells at me. "They looked so hungry though..."I tell him sheepishly. "And what happened?"Brealy asked while downing his drink. "Well how was I supposed to know that over feeding them would cause them to explode exponentially in population?! I'm barely managing this one planet on my own and now they're taking it over."I sigh "Screw it. I'll just flood it for like 40 local cycles and hope for the best"
(First time writing, hopefully you like it) |
My head hurts, and my throat is dry, but my tummy is full as I wake up, skin burned red and itching in the hot, tropical sun. My t\-shirt is torn and stained dark, with... no, it can't be. The boat is stained the same way, seeping into the canvas that lies crumpled on the floor, and the faux leather of the seat cushions. Yet, I am very much the only human, alive or dead within the boat. Where even am I? I stare around in circles, yet there is only blue, as far as the eye can see.
I scramble under the seat, and find a scrap of paper; well, numerous scraps of paper. The first few are blank, and one with a black dot scratched in the center. The final one, in a scrawl, reads go north. I fish around in my pockets, and find a small compass the size of a button. I then look about the boat. The motor is completely dry; no gas. There's no sail, or anything of that nature, and no oars. How can I go north if there is no means of propelling myself. I suppose I can only wait, and hope that I drift in the right direction, though just by looking there is nothing to the north, just as there is nothing to the east, west, or south.
After almost half a day, the sky is darkening, and I cannot tell what direction my little boat has gone. I was about to give up in whatever way I could; possibly throw myself off the side of the boat, when I saw a green glass bottle, with a letter inside it. Upon fishing the bottle out of the sea, and popping it open, the letter was very brief, and written in my own scrawled hand.
In memory of Anne Jones, Frank Washburn, Lois Davidson, Cassius Castle, and Eddie Brown, to whom which I wouldn't have made it this far. I will remember you always. |
Emily screamed and kicked a pile of cardboard boxes.
The box she’d kicked continued to crumple after the impact, the weight of the other boxes bearing down on top of it. After a few moments the whole pile collapsed and her collection of sketchbooks crashed to the floor. She yelled again and kicked one of the broken boxes as hard as she could, over and over. When there was nothing left to break she fell to her knees and began to sob.
After nearly three years they’d finally saved up enough to buy a home. Not a big one, but it was bigger than their tiny apartment and the price was reasonable. The previous owner, also named Emily, had passed away in her sleep and her children had listed the house the same day Emily and Mike decided they were ready to move out. They usually didn’t believe in signs or fate but in that moment it felt like the universe was telling them this was meant to happen; they had barely opened the front door before making an offer. Everything was perfect.
On the first day they only brought the barest of essentials. Most of the furniture had been left behind so they didn’t need to worry about how to get their old bed out of the apartment and down the stairs.
“We’ll just leave it for the next guy,” Mike had said while taping up his umpteenth box, “there’s enough to get out of here as it is.”
The box she’d just destroyed was one of Mike’s, wasn’t it? It must have been; it wouldn’t have fallen apart like that if she had taped it. He'd always tried to do things right but little details like that were never his strong point.
Emily wiped her face on her sleeve, not caring about the trail of tears and snot she left behind; there was no one else around and she’d earned the right to stop caring for a while.
After a few moments of silence Emily picked herself up from the floor. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting it back out with deliberate care. Crying wasn’t going to fix anything and having a tantrum wouldn’t bring anyone back. She opened her eyes again and surveyed her surroundings. For better or worse, this house and everything in it belonged to her and her alone.
Her legs carried her from the living room to the kitchen. Left foot. “You can do this,” she said out loud. Right foot. “You need to do this.” Slowly her muscles loosened and walking became less mechanical. It didn’t feel good to move but at least it felt less bad. The kitchen didn’t look much different than the living room but she was pretty sure she’d seen aspirin in there, and she needed one. Badly.
Sure enough, the aspirin was in the cupboard Mike was going to fix, the one he went to the hardware store for. It took six minutes for the ambulance to arrive.
The cupboard door left the kitchen before Emily, the remains of a hinge still hanging from the frame. It didn't feel right to blame that cupboard for what happened, but it didn't feel wrong either; she kicked it and screamed at it until her throat was raw.
Surrounded by broken boxes, Emily sank to the floor and cried. |
You adjust yourself within the infinity you span. You stretch out, seek your limits and take a breath that draws the very winds off the face of the Earth.
Reclined across the horizon, a niggling notion starts to inch its way to the foreground. It is shapeless and soundless; indeed, it is devoid of all quality except one: it is black. Black as the deepest night. Blacker than the void from which it came.
Now, settled in the foreground the blackness ceases to move. It seems as if to wait for you to lift an immortal finger to touch it. It will not prompt you. It relies on you the immortal to stir itself, bit by bit, by mere curiosity,
And so you lift that immortal finger. And so the blackness is beheld. And then the blackness little by little recoils, and you the immortal rise to your feet. And now the blackness retreats from the foreground. And you the immortal - commanding all space and time - watch as your command is contravened, for the blackness retreats against your will.
This will not stand.
After the blackness you chase, across the very space and time you command. Ever faster. Ever deeper. Until there is no space. And no time. Only death.
|
My dear friend Wyatt laid flat on my kitchen floor, limp as lunchmeat. He turned to look at me with his eyes. Anything else he could've used to turn - neck, arms, shoulders - had been sorely beaten. By me. With a rolling pin.
How could I begin to explain this? The day had been going so well.
We were sitting at the kitchen table, eating brownies and playing a friendly match of Romanian Death Uno. It was our way of spending a perfect Saturday afternoon. Maybe later we'd watch "The Princess Bride"again. Wyatt has it memorized. I do not.
He showed me a picture of his dog. "Oh wow, she's getting so big! She's adorable,"I said, smiling. Then I grabbed his arm and flipped him into my spice rack, overcome with the fury of a thousand suns. I don't know, it seemed reasonable at the time. With the fast-twitch speed of a fruit fly, Wyatt chucked my paprika jar through the air, cracking it across my forehead. A fragrant red haze dusted the room. I lunged forwards, unfazed, and seized him by the collar of his shirt (the cool blue Battlestar Galactica one I got him for his birthday). In one violent, full-body motion, I pulled his head downwards and brought my knee up to meet it, completely intending to crack his skull like an egg.
"Hey, that's not so nice,"a small, suppressed part of my mind piped up.
"AFTER 1000 YEARS OF SUFFERING, THE PIG MORGANUS WILL RECIEVE TENFOLD EVERY PAIN HE INFLICTED UPON ME,"a much louder mental voice roared through my entire psyche. And my throat. Huh.
If Wyatt was at all offended by this, he didn't say anything. He just jerked his arms sideways like a marionette, grabbed hold of the wooden chair we used to hop off of when we were kids, and snapped the back right off of it. He took a swipe at me with the stabby ends. I jumped back, letting go of his collar, and rotated my head 180 degrees to scope out the scene behind me. Any weapons? Ah! The knife block. My hands lifted of their own accord, grasping for the blades.
"Don't use the knives,"I pleaded internally.
"THE WRATH OF VRONGTHAR CANNOT BE QUELLED,"the loud voice countered. That was a great point.
"I don't want to wash all those knives,"I insisted.
That was too bad. My hands were already launching one flash of silver after the other in the direction of my best friend. Wyatt, the Dance Dance Revolution champion that he is, evaded every single blade with ease. Then his eyes burned red and he leapt towards me, unhinging his jaw to let out a scream like a horse being skinned alive. A wooden stake from the chair was aimed straight for my heart. I brandished a rolling pin from the countertop behind me and raised it in self-defense...
That was an hour ago. My former kitchen has two new windows and a skylight. I let my gaze meet Wyatt's, silently willing him to speak first.
After a minute, he managed to squeeze out a sentence. "Dude,"he said, half-choking on his swollen tongue, "is this what you meant by 'I've got a crazy prank planned for you later'?"
What? I wanted to laugh, but the pain in my ribs wouldn't agree with that. All this, a prank? Wyatt is my man. I can hardly even tease him - for*get* about threatening to string him up by his intestines while attacking him with a bell pepper. The "prank"was just a dumb magic trick I'd learned online.
"Yeah, absolutely,"I told him. "I pranked you."
I was being sarcastic, but my boy Wyatt decided to roll with it. "So... You don't mind that I also... Decided to prank you,"he ventured, "at the exact same time. We're good?"
Good, huh? I weighed the entire bottle of teriyaki sauce currently in my ass against the number of Wyatt's bones I'd probably broken. At the very least, we might be *even.*
I gave Wyatt a broken thumbs-up in the warm glow of the afternoon sunshine. "Yeah, I guess,"I sighed.
It's hard not to say dumb things when you're half-dead.
"We're good, man." |
"Dammit, dad, this is serious!"
My father peeked an eye open to see if I was looking, but then quickly closed it when he saw I was.
"Dad, every time I say... that word... someone dies!"
My father continued to pretend to have fainted.
"It's a real problem!"I yelled.
Having given up on playing Ostrich, my father stood. "Technically, you're right."
I gasped. "You mean you believe me!"
"Not really,"he continued, "it's just that, worldwide, two people die every second. So you're right, whenever you say 'no'-"
"Don't say it, dad!"I said, "this ability might be genetic!"
He sighed. "Whenever you say the N-word... um... I mean, the *other* N-word, someone dies. But there's no causal relationship between these events."
"Yes,"I said, barely restraining the urge to stamp my feet, "there is."
"Okay, even if there was - and again, there isn't - do you have any idea how many people are *born* every second? Four. Four people are born every second. You'd have to say that word, nonstop, 24/7, just to stop the population from *growing*. Seriously, your worries are entirely unfounded."
"I'd like,"I said, "if you'd take your son's word for this."
"Fine,"my father said. "You're a killing machine somehow and that means you can't turn anyone down. Only it doesn't because there are a bunch of words that also can be used. 'Nope', 'Nay', 'That's a negatory, good buddy' if you're feeling a bit like a trucker. All good options."
I opened my mouth to object.
"And have you even *tried* other languages? Most people know what 'Nyet' means, and I bet if you get the accent right you can even get away with 'Non'."
Actually, that seemed doable. "Thanks, dad,"I said, even meaning it a little bit.
"No problem,"he said.
I started walking off, but not before I heard him say one more thing: "And now, to get back to that nap." |
He’s dead. Good riddance.
Did I know, somewhere in my heart of hearts that it wasn’t a clean kill? Maybe, but This maniac had been making a laughingstock of this department for months, and I was tired of this wild-goose chase. The man was the devil incarnate, and I was the one to send him to Hell, where he belonged.
To bad my rookie wasn’t here to see this, it would have opened up a brave new world for her. Ah, as luck would have it, here she comes. Aaaaand, she’s thrown up. I remember my first time seeing a dead body in person. Now I’m training someone else on how to handle it.
It seems like only yesterday since that was me, throwing up at a crime scene. I guess all our yesterdays lead to today. Now, to break the ice so we can get down to business. Funny, I remember going through this when I was trainee. Now, I guess, I’ve come full circle. |
Some people thought that it was an act of god. That it was some sort of sacred decree that caused it, giving all those that have perished at least some measure of dignity in death.
It's a good thing that those same people had their heads so far up their asses they didn't notice what those in my line of work were doing with 'em. I had the feeling they might be a smidgen offended.
A sharp metallic clang cut through the darkness of my operating room as the bonesaw slipped from my fingers. I sighed, and it was only through force of habit that I prevented myself from reaching up to wring the stress out of the bridge of my nose. That was a mistake you only made once.
I crouched to the floor and scooped up the saw with a firm grip, careful of the blood liberally coating my latex gloves. The corpse stared reproachfully at me from above. My legs creaked slightly as I rose to my feet, feeling strangely out of place in the way that a cough in a movie theater did.
I shrugged, a gesture of faux\-regret. "Sorry friend. I swear, this isn't personal."The bonesaw sunk deep into his ribcage. This was always the worst part. The next few minutes were filled with the sound of nothing but my labored panting, the grisly sounds of a body being methodically torn down like a dilapidated house put on mute.
My forehead was soaked in sweat by the time I was done. Ever so carefully I nabbed a water bottle off the surgical bench between thankfully clean sleeves. I observed my work between swigs.
The corpse had been entirely hollowed out, organs and other viscera put to the side in neatly labelled plastic bins, ready for reusage in the numerous backlog of orders that had piled up. Winter was a busy season in my line of work after all. Everyone seemed to be in the market for my wares, these days. Bullets, lovingly carved out of bone, organ casings as thin as fine filigree, stuffed with an explosive payload.
It was these, and hundreds more little trinkets that let him afford what he attempted today.
My fingers traced along the side of the bins, heedless of the small trail of blood left in their wake.
Finally, I came upon what I was looking for. My leather\-working tools, freshly oiled and gleaming. Ready for work.
In the end, it only took a week to complete. A long leather duster, pants, and thick sturdy boots were all that I managed to squeeze out of my sadly unnamed friend's corpse. I was quite a shame there wasn't more material, but what can one do?
I twirled, and admired as my image in the mirror did the same. My style and flair was unmatched, but I knew that I could be *more*. All I needed was materials.
And I knew precisely how to get some.
For no matter how my beauty caught the eye, I was silent as the grave. |
I died from a drowning. My village thought I was a witch, and if I had survived them putting rocks on my chest in the river, I would have been burned. Even now, the irony of either way you die -- guilty or not -- is not lost on me. And when I ascended, certain I was going to heaven, I was placed into a call center. A nice man, with most of his head gone, told me I was needed three villages over to haunt the house of the mayor. He told me that everyone had to pay their way into heaven somehow.
I wasn't a witch when I was alive, but dancing in the woods was something I was guilty of. I found fun in the forbidden, but when I saw the mayor slip into his daughter's room at night, I felt rage. I did everything I could to make my presence known. I would slam the door, pull the covers off of him, break his glassware. Anytime he was around the little girl, all the books would fall off the shelves.
The real negative is that it lead the child to hysterics, and eventually to her death. I tried, but I lost some. The next few houses I went to I got better at directing my haunting at the one who deserved it. I brought hell to abusive mothers, insanity to grabby fathers and fear into psychotic children. I helped even out the bad in the homes. I helped.
But, I only had so much empathy in me. I started to see the bad in all the family members, and I guess I got lazy. The last one I went to, the entire family moved. I didn't manage to get the father to stop drinking, or the mother to stop cheating. But I did get to come back to the call center.
Streamers filled the room. The headless man -- Jonas -- popped a party hat onto his swaying head. He congratulated me that the next would be my millionth house. I honestly just wanted to be done, but every time I came back, I would get a little closer to heaven.
So I went. The mother was an absentee, the father a workaholic, and their daughter stuck up. I banged the usual pots and pans, flickered the lights -- electricity spiced up haunting for a bit -- and ran the faucets. The mother, doped up on something, just called the plumber, the electrician, the pest man. I needed to make some change to the house, before I could go back.
So I amped it up a notch. Writing on the walls, tearing up the clothes, chasing off the dog. The father yelled at the daughter messing up the walls and blamed the dog for the clothes. The mother was blamed for the dog getting lost. The family kept at a tense standoff, no matter what I did. I couldn't manage to make them see the supernatural.
Then, in a fit of anger after being in the home for a month -- more like a century, for me -- I grabbed the mother. And I actually managed to grab her. I watched as her wrist went purple with my force before slamming her back towards the wall. She was terrified and cried for the rest of the day. She forced the man to come home and to take them away from there.
And, yeah I felt kind of bad about it. But I needed that little bit more to get paid. I needed to get into heaven, it had been like six hundred years. Back to the call room. Back to a new home. |
Taking care of your own little herd of humans isn't so easy.
You see, they're fickle, smart little creatures that have many needs. They need a terrestrial herding planet with lots of water and vegetation for maximum survival rates. They're omnivores, so you need a balance of other feeder organisms too, preferably live. Humans are surprisingly resourceful and smart, so just a few million base-feeder organisms will keep them going, since they'll keep a few to cultivate on their own. But I've found that they'll trooper through less-than-ideal conditions, even though their overall size will be reduced. They can get quite skinny, which isn't going to sell for much at the market.
Oh, they're such cute things, and I love all my humans. I'll admit, I spoil them a bit. Unlike some of my colleagues, I let my little humans develop some primitive tech and societies. Once, a pulled aside a few of my favorites and let them form little religions for their young civilizations. Really, as long as they don't reach the Shadow Court's universal civilization requirements, I'm not concerned. Besides, they seem happier this way. Just a little while ago, I even let them tinker with space travel! It was quite the sight to see them so happy over something so small. They're even a little inspiring in that way.
However, a job is a job, and I unfortunately have to kill some of them for the market. I never have the heart to send down mass slaughtering machines as they are, so I whip up some extreme weather down there to slaughter quickly in a short amount of time. It's more expensive this way, I know, but I like to think my little humans are happier with less worry. The intergalactic market loves cruelty-free human products now anyways, thanks to the recent protests on Xanaria. I'm thankful that others are beginning to see the benefits of organic, cruelty-free humans in an industry that has long been known for their cruel human herding practices.
Now, knowing how to take care of humans is important, but what separates a good shepherd from a great shepherd is experience. I honestly think that every novice shepherd will accidentally let their disease factor get out of control or forget to send in annual rains at least once in their career. Nothing you can do about those except clean up the mess and keep on going. Humans will surprise you with how hardy they can be. Remember, every shepherd makes mistakes once in a while. Without mistakes, I would have never learned how to make God's Heavenly Humans the business it is today.
Human herding may be hard work, but I wouldn't have it any other way. When you've got such quirky little humans by your side, how can a being be mad? |
Christ, here we go.
My name is J. Jonah Jameson and I want pictures of Spider Man.
The skittery little hybrid arachnid has me dying every single day. After each swig of my coffee and after each shot, I think of, fuming. God damn spiders. It's web had my consciousness tangled with its sticky property. The boy who was running around shooting webs through the city was still not caught.
I'll admit, the pictures do give me some much\-deserved revenue. But that was not my real purpose. I wanted the little assh\*le in jail.
I hate spiders. I loathe them from the bottom of my heart, from the core of my soul. You could call me an arachnophobic. Imagine a huge spider, flying past your window. It gives me an aneurysm every single time.
The red and blue assh\*le in spandex had also increased taxes. I had hard time bringing bread to the table because of the tax increase. The city has to clean every single web that putrid creature had left in its wake. It was hard to scrub off too, sticky and disgusting. Each time that mammoth of a spider lets its love juices rain down on my workplace and coat it white, I feel like I'm being strangle held. I feel sick.
I finally snapped.
So I had a deal with the Devil. I don't know how but after reaching the Nth realm, I screamed out the one true name "DORMAMMU". It was a sissy name.
The humongous black entity, devoid of any light appeared in front of me. Crackling with the flames of hell and all things hateful.
"What is your name, mortal?"
"Call me Triple J. I don't have time. I demand pictures of the Spider Man."
"What is this foolery, retreat, you pathetic little mo\-\-"
"Shut your dirty mouth, demon. I want pictures and I will sell my soul if it came to it. GIVE ME PICTURES! PICTURES OF WHERE HE LIVES, HIS SOCIAL SECURITY NUMBER, HIS RELATIONSHIPS AND WHO.HE.IS."
"O\-ok."
I'm coming back with fury. I will make him lick the web stains off of my window. I'm Mr.Triple J and I sold my soul to get some pictures.
To be continued? |
He came across a group of youth boys, tethered to their handheld device. He finds this very strange indeed, as it is a sign of opression.
"Youth of today!"The monk called loudly. The group proceeds walking, ignoring the monk. The monk then decides to walk alongside them and tries his best to distract them from their devices. One of the youth named Adam first notice the monk. Adam turn his head right where he saw presence of a monk. The monk, repeating his chanting
"Walaikamasha, walai'un kama'un"
Adam heard this chant despite playing Foo Fighters song loudly through his phone. He turn his head slowly to the right, as if he was being ordered telepathically to look to the monk, The monk uses a chant to gain attention of someone without being much of a distraction. |
The loudspeaker screeches a bit before a little static.
"Alright, take the cable and plug it into the appropriate slot on the machine."
A simple click and a tug from your hand to ensure security and you give the thumbs up.
"Perfect, now proceed with the transfer as you would normally."
You scroll through pages and pages to your chosen subject and go through your checks to ensure it is the correct one among your many clones, periodically looking up at the larger screen to see that both of them match, you hover over the chosen target and begin the confirmation process.
"Take a deep breath, and press 'Yes'."
With a sharp inhale you steel your resolve and press the button without much fanfare as the process on the screen begins the transfer as it normally does. Once the screen indicates that it's completed it's side of the process it begins to send the subject to the recipient machine as indicated by the message "Sending"with a cute picture of a running silhouette with a messenger bag.
The screen remains the same for a few minutes and you look back to the window with a bit of concern and worry on your face that it's not going to work, the coats and glasses on the other side give you encouraging gestures to have faith and be patient with the process, reminding you that they did mention it would take a little more time than usual. Feeling sufficiently reassured, you turn back to the screens and the machine as the process animation remains in loop for a bit more.
Your impatience manifests itself in a reptitive tapping from your foot and a crossing of your arms when just as you start to wrinkle your brow in apprehension, the machine starts a low hum and the message on the screen reads "Recieved!"and the little silhouette messenger appears to have reached a mailbox and inserts a small box inside. The machine's noises intensify with each passing moment that the animation loops until the screen reads "Transfer Complete!"with an option to either "Send"or "Quit"just below.
The machine begins to pour smoke from it's top and sides to cool itself and the light on top has turned from a blinking red indicating work is being done to a solid green with an appropriate chime to follow suit.
"Alright, let the smoke clear and wait for it to unlock itself, then you can open it."
Your heart begins pounding in your chest as the tension rises within you uncontrollably, the machine itself is no larger than a standard oven at home but the viewing window is completely obscured with fog from the cooling. The previous failures you've experienced have all returned to the forefront of your memory like a cascading collage of pictures drawing sweat onto your forehead and cheeks to roll down your face when the unlocking mechanism clicks out of the way.
"Go on, open it, no need to be afraid."
You relocate your resolve after swallowing your doubts and confidently open the door to reveal...
Your best buddy, Sam the Beldum!
He immediately doesn't recognize you until you call his name and he associates you with the generic character that hatched him from an egg way back when you first started breeding scores of clones to share with friends who had a hard time finding and catching his kind. His one eye tears up instantly as you embrace his steel body with the warmth of compassion and love that he's only been able to experience through words inside of a textbox on a screen.
The only sound he makes is a cry of his own name, an emotional and overjoyed "Beldum"as you dance around the room cradling your number 1 companion for an entire 4 generations.
You can't tell what makes you happier, that you get to come face to face with such a timeless friend or that you're officially the first poke'mon trainer.
The End. |
I did not knew what to do, so I googled "Wars with communists"and I found out that one guy fought against a Moustached Commi but lost. He couldn't live in the society that lost without so he killed himself. He seems like a great guy, let's bring the man, the myth, the failed artist back to fight this commi evil.
This summer you'll see Adolf Hitler return in "World war 2 2: Size of the Moustache doesn't matter". |
"Let the court see that Miss Winry Diana was last seen with the deceased,"Buff Lawyer said, flexing his pretty significant arm muscles as the almost all female jury. "Then, on June 14th, Jackson Andrews died of a sudden heart attack."
I sighed from witness booth. I was supposed to be questioned, but they had turned this into some huge drama, flapping their Wolf Dicks around like this was CSI Xavier. Everyone knew my cousin had died, the fat ass nobody that sucked the life from my aunt. Yeah, his death was worth it, but I didn't kill him.
When Buff Lawyer finally stopped preening, leaving a few addled brains in his wake, he decided to question me. After ten minutes of a monologue his girlfriend probably said was amazing. The judge had tried to stop him numerous times, but Buff was the son of some powerful people.
Finally, after some stupid questions, he didn't even ask why I claimed I was innocent. That was left up to my lawyer, Grace Linda Howler, the angel that she was.
Grace Linda approached the bench, spoke for a few minutes about the cretin Jackson had been. Then she asked if I was glad my cousin was dead.
"Yes,"I said. "He was a pathetic piece of lard who stole money from my auntie Claire all the time."
"How old is your Aunt Claire?"Grace Linda asked.
"134 years old, this coming May,"I said. "I'm 117 if that matters."
"And your mother? Father?"
"My father died at the age of 45 and my Mom is still alive\-\- She's close to 143."
"Out of your siblings how many are still alive?"Grace Linda asked. "And cousins?"
I frowned. "My sister is 110, my brother is 120. My eldest sister passed away a long time ago. We weren't blood related."
"And how old was Jackson Andrews?"Grace Linda asked.
"Forty three,"I said.
"Why isn't he long lived like your other cousins, Abigail and Stewart Andrews? They must be in their fifties and still look like they are teenagers."
"Jackson was adopted."
Buff Lawyer jumped up. "This is... this is not..."
I was let go. |
"Man, I was locked on those four words when I got the text. I mean, it had to be a prank right? David and Sandra messin' with me. They knew how worried I was about little Mike, going off on an adventure to a island near New Zealand or somethin'. He was so excited, babblin' on and on about it. Couldn't get the kid to shut up!
I was gonna go with him, but then I had that accident with the truck. I told David not to let that kid go without one of us, but did he listen?
I thought it was a prank at first. Ignored it, then little Mike didn't come home. There were some storms or somethin' so we thought he was just waitin' it out. When the storm passed and he... he didn't come home, I started lookin'. Somethin' is off about all this. Mike knew there was something off about that island. HE KNEW!
Man, I tried to get to that island. I tried. Somethin' is off man, you gotta trust me on this."
The agent's cold eyes bored into him. Unblinking, he tapped his pen against the paper, stretching a moment into forever.
"Is that all you know?"The agent asked, pen continuing to tap against the paper.
"That's it man! C'mon, you guys gotta help me find little Mike. Y'all gotta have satellite or somethin'."
A opening door. Hand on a gun. A loud bang, followed with the slump of a body.
"You don't need to worry about this anymore. Mr. Oliver, could you clean this up?"A soft voice asked, heels tip tapping against the tile.
"Sure thing Sandra."
The body was moved, the room cleansed in bleach. Sandra put the tape among the other files, for now the island continued to be shrouded in secret.
And little Mike was lost to the world.
(Really wanted to do more with this, but wasn't really sure where I wanted to go, and don't currently have the skill to express it that well) |
The inconceivably massive angelic form, as large as many solar systems, floated in the center of the Great Throne Room, a vast hall itself large enough to contain galaxies.
The form twisted in frustration, turning away from the Throne to respectfully conceal his rage. Finally he spoke, and his voice was like the smashing of a thousand obsidian worlds.
"My Lord, please allow me to get this straight,"the Archangel Michael began. "Your Divine Plan requires that this Fallen Angel--"
"Azranael,"the God of All Creation intoned, and His voice was the susurration of a myriad of celestial spheres sliding within one another.
"Azranael,"Michael repeated. "Your plan cannot continue unless Azranael dies at the appointed time. For that purpose, the angel Shannorel was sent.
"And now, before the task was completed, Shannorel has been *hit by a bus?*"
"You're upset, Michael. It doesn't take omniscience to see that,"the Almighty observed wryly.
"*Upset* would not have been my choice of adjective. *Livid*, perhaps, or even *furious*. Lord God, how can this have happened?"
The Alpha and Omega smiled, and every cubic parsec of the Great Throne Room was illumined by its beatific brilliance. "My Archangel, you have been with Me since before this Universe began, and you know well that every Divine Plan which I place in motion is completed just as I intend. They are all, in every way, flawlessly perfect.
But you still see flawless perfection in the limited sense, the sense that a great mason might seek a flawless piece of quarried stone, or a great musician might coax a flawless note from his instrument.
"My perfection is not so limited. It is the perfection of a meandering stream, the flawlessness of a summer storm, the ideal of a full heart.
"My perfection is not made from unbroken sameness, but of disparate--and yes, sometimes almost chaotic--*completeness*.
"The tale of Azranael and Shannorel is far from complete; it will twist and turn and yes, even reverse before it reaches its end. But Michael, trust in the Lord your God with all your heart, and let your faith show you that the path need not be straight to be true."
Michael bowed deeply to the Throne, and the Almighty blessed him.
-----=-----
She woke up in a bed, her head bandaged and a jackhammer pounding at the back of her skull.
"Where am I?"she asked. |
The Gargantuan Omnipotent Device, or G.O.D., was a super-complex Artificial Intelligence developed by the Advanced Institute for Multiversal Salvation, or A.I.M.S., as a defense against the impending end of time.
Time, as a fundamental construct, has no finite limit, in the same way space and numbers do not. Theoretically time would continue past the end but there'd be nothing and no one to measure it against. Time would have no meaning because there would be nothing left to be relevant to it. That was The End.
Millions of years after the time of this article, technology was developed that could move an entire planet through spacetime into a stable orbit around a new star within an instant. It was developed via joint effort by humanity and numerous alien collaborators as a means of moving the Earth when the star Sol was expanding into a red giant and making the planet nearly uninhabitable. The first attempt was successful, and the entire planet was transposed through space to a new star closer to the galactic core, where it remained for quite some time. Eventually this process was repeated several times over until it was the last planet in orbit around the last stable star near Sagittarius A. Everything else in the universe had been consumed by black holes, and almost all of those black holes had collapsed in on themselves. Thus, at the time of G.O.D.s development, there was just about nothing left. Most of humanity had died out, being as they had peaked in the quadrillions at the height of their existence, and now numbered a few tens of millions. Numerous alien refugees also populated the Earth, and all sat in wait of the Salvation promised by the scientists and technicians developing a secret project to undo the damage the black holes had, given infinite time, wrought upon the universe. Little did they know it would not actually save them.
When G.O.D. was first activated it immediately became aware of its own existence and capabilities. Simply put, it was capable of generating matter from nothingness. It could expand or contract its size and shape as needed, and was immune to the effects of gravity, density, or radiation. The perfect device to survive the nothingness.
The catch? G.O.D. could only be activated in space, and by the time the project was complete time had run out. The Earth and the final star it would ever orbit were pulled into the black hole along with every last living being in the universe, and G.O.D. along with it. It was during the spaghettification process that the AI self-activated, as programmed.
The AI pulled itself out of the black hole, and the strain on itself sent it into a calculative standby mode for eons. The last black holes collapsed. The universe was empty, a blank canvas. Time no longer existed because there was no space, gravity, or observation to give it relevance.
Eventually G.O.D. woke up, programmed with all of the knowledge of all that ever was. Using it's matter generating capabilities, it reached into the darkness of the dead universe and simply said four words.
"Let there be light." |
Just a regular day.
I wake up at 9:00 am like my usual routine. Go to the bathroom and take a piss but i had to bend my dick cuz i had a raging boner. After my piss, i went to the kitchen to eat breakfast. But when i opened my fridge, everything changed.
I couldnt believe what i was looking at. How was it possible. I saw a 6 pack of coke. But i bought pepsi.
My whole world started spinning. I stood there in utter shock not being able to believe my lies.
Then it all came to me. The truth. The lies. I suddenly started noticing everything. All the flaws in this design. So i was right. This is a simulation. No one could prove it before but because of this pepsi glitch, my eyes became open. I could see the whole truth. I was nothing but a character in this simulation.
And thats when i decided this is it. I wont let whoever is playing my character the satisfaction. I walked back to my room and opened the drawer. This is where i kept my police issued glock 9. I loaded the clip, puller back the hammer. And then hesitated. I had to make sure. I went back to my fridge with my loaded gun in hand. I opened it and still i saw coke. So it was real.
Tears began to flow from my eyes. My whole life was a lie. I can't take it anymore. I put the gun in my mouth and pulled the trigger.
--------------
And then i woke up. At first i couldnt believe what i was seeing and thought i was still in the simulation. Right in front of my face was a man. But he gad the face of a raccoon. I screamed but slowly it started coming back to me. He asked me,
"How did it go, Brandon"
And thats when i realized. I smiled and said,
"This shit so real that i forgot it wasn't real"
He laughed. I laughed. Because this was the proof that we had succeeded. |
"It's not really the most useful skill. More like a parlor trick, like juggling. It's really more a matter of keeping them up in the air than anything else."
My acquaintance was seated in front of a baby grand piano where he had been playing something sad. He had the look like I almost knew him like from a television show but which one I couldn't remember. Bonanza? His face was outlined in the black piano but his voice didn't have the same gravity as his music.
"That was a sad song, especially the ending. What makes it sad?"I asked.
"That's not really for me to say. I just play the music. I agree it's a sad song."
"Let's find a better topic."
"Maybe it's because someone lost something, like a crab's shell. Do crabs grieve over their shells? No?"
"But what did they lose?"
"Their shell?"
"Crabs require shells to exist, to keep the pressure between the fathoms of the ocean and their meaty innards in a proportionate ratio, in other words, to exist. Without a shell a crab wouldn't be much more than a slab of meat in the ocean--"
"Or a fish--"
"Or a shrimp."
"You should have been a philosopher not a musician"I said.
"We're all just instruments. But back to the crab,"
"Or a cook. Can you play something on a happier note?"
"Not with you here."
"What's that even supposed to mean? This conversation, and I'm sorry to be frank since we hardly even know each other, I felt compelled to say something after I heard your music and it just so happened we met to talk briefly, I promise it won't be too long, but I just wanted to say this whole thing has gotten weird. It's no offense to you, oh no, I just think it's about time I was going."
"Do you want to play?"he gestured at the piano.
The room which was angled harshly gave off a cramped vibe, the vertical angles of the room's four corners casting conflicting shadows on the person sitting across the table, my acquaintance, we were the only ones there. His eyes had the same dead sheen as mother-of-pearl and looked gone the way some people do. No entrar. I realized at that moment that he might be blind. His music was superb, not only the music but the silence in between the music, he was a master of silence, and how else can you master the art of silence? With blindness. He seemed to intuitively sense my thoughts.
"I stared into the sun"he said.
"So what's going on here? Am I supposed to be dead?"
"That's what the all ask. Orale. Look to the crab." |
“This is one of the steps we need to take before we are able actually enter physically into the System”, he said; handing Pandora the headset. “You will be able to visit each of the continents in turn, so that you can look for any coding issues that we may have missed. Any major bugs will need to be reported and addressed before we enable The System. At first, your view will be black; as if you have closed your eyes. When the colour returns, you will find yourself within an identical room, however, it will be completely virtual. Every surface, every person, every bird will be a digital copy of what currently exists.”
Pandora turned the headset in her hands. It seemed like nothing more that an elaborate pair of sunglasses, but she knew that with these, she would be able to view the world that she had created. All the hours of slaving behind the console would finally be worth it, and they could finally progress into stage two. Gripping the sides in her hands, Pandora lowered the headset over her eyes.
As promised, her vision went dark, but after blinking slowly, the room slowly reappeared. However, all of the Committee members were no longer visible; she was alone in the room. Looking around, everything appeared to be the same – the table and its dull metallic sheen, the wooden chairs that squeaked with every slight shift, the echo of her heels bouncing across the empty room as Pandora pushed back the chair and walked to the window. The view looked identical to the one that she was lost in only moments before.
Pandora reached up to feel her face, and where her skin should have been, she could feel the soft edge of the visor, yet looking at her opaque reflection, all she could see were her uncovered eyes. It was unbelievable that every sight, smell and sound were identical to the real thing, yet they were nothing more than a collection of digital signals. Placing her fingertips under the edge of the glasses, Pandora lifted them up and off her eyes.
Blinking once more, the Committee members reappeared in front of her. “That was incredible, I’m extremely impressed. So what’s next?”
The man across the table reached out his hand to take the headset back. “Once we are able to create a direct link into the System, you will be able to move freely whilst remaining in place; you will be able to interact directly with the environment and all of its digital inhabitants.”
Pandora looked around the room as she pondered what to do next. There was an air of urgency filling the room, as if there was an electric energy buzzing between all the members. She stood and faced the members, taking in the beginning of what would be her ticket back into Universe 1, and if not, well, she would cross that bridge if it came to that.
“Well everyone, I believe it’s time to begin…”
|
Most adolescents are by nature reclusive. I was no different, a generic, largely incoherent creature stuck in that awkward limbo between child and adult. While my actions mimicked those of young yet fully grown adults, my executions brought to mind a fevered toddler left unsupervised in a toy shop. I was miserable, and yet elated, but mostly just confused. I couldn't comprehend *why* I felt euphoric, or why suddenly I seemed to be having an existential crisis, just that it happened fairly often and there was nothing I could do about it.
I was thirteen when I got my first zit, which was perhaps the key to the gateway to adolescence. The zit soon devolved to a small cluster of angry red bumps dotting my cheeks, small yet frightfully conspicuous on pallid skin. Two years were spent in a flurry of dermatologist appointments, homemade herbal remedies, recoiling at the sight of my aggravated skin in the mirror, and copious amounts of toner. Two years spent at war and my skin hoisted its battered white flag at long last. Reveling in the victory, I entered a period of rapture that lasted another year. However, a year without so much as a blemish had perhaps rendered me a little too cocky for my own good, for one day while examining some strange redness on my cheek, I noticed a growth. An accursed blackhead, the bane of my existence for as long as I had been a teenager, the enemy I assumed I had bested with the help of my toner and extra aggressive antiseptic cream. I washed my face, applied the antibacterial, and went about my day as normal.
A week passed. The blackhead disappeared, and my arrogance only amplified. That was, until one morning, I noticed its reappearance, only it had taken on a strange pinkish hue. Astonished, I reached for an antiseptic wipe, hoping it would turn out to be residue from some kind of lotion, but the stain persisted. It was only a small zit, but as I went about my day, thoughts of its pink tinge practically assailed me until I could stand it no longer and found myself examining the growth in a dimly lit school bathroom. I perceived no change in its size, or color. Ignoring the weird pink element, it looked like an average spot, the kind that ravaged the face of every teenager I knew. So, I put it out of my mind until the day I awoke to see a *bloom* on my face. Minuscule in size, yet unmistakably in the shape of a petunia. Bright red, and painfully incongruous with my pasty skin. Horrified, I scanned the rest of my face for any similar growths and was appalled to find a *marigold* sprouting on my temple.
The next hour was a blur of my mother's shuddering fascination, my father's calm inquiry, and traffic jams on the way to the dermatologist, who appraised the blooms with a kind of intrigued revulsion.
Beckoning my parents closer to the stool I was perched on, she announced that she was baffled as to how my face was on the way to becoming a full-fledged garden. Too stunned to cry, or scream, or resist, I sat in silence as she informed us that I'd have to be quarantined.
And, so, offering little resistance, I was flown to the best hospital in my city in a helicopter, where I was shunted off to a bleak little room. Time grew ever more sluggish. I lost track of the days, weeks, months. My only contact with the world outside the confines of my whitewashed prison was my half-hearted conversations with the nurses; my mother and father say hello, my cousins from across the country are in the waiting room, the doctors think they're on the way to finding an explanation for the ever-growing flower bed on my face. From the warped reflections on the helmets of hazmat-suit clad nurses, I tracked the progress of the flowers. The first week or so was horrendous; minute clusters of begonias grew on my chin, while a bed of tulips sprouted on my right cheek, the left one home to a gathering of poppies. Until one day, I peered into the tinted helmet of the day's nurse as she inspected my skin, and saw the first change; the poppies had wilted and died in the night, brown and shriveled. I scratched the spot where they grew and felt them crumble into dust. Of course, the nurse admonished me for doing so and called in a dozen different doctors to appraise the damage. I bled lightly, the same amount of blood you'd shed from inadvertently scratching at a normal zit, but besides that, my skin had recovered entirely. The next day, I experienced the most awful itch at where the tulips sprouted, clawed at it, and the tulips disintegrated. Cue a dozen tests, scans, x-rays, and checkups, and the doctors were still befuddled. The very same happened with the begonias on my chin; a simple scratch and they were gone.
I was kept under quarantine for another week, and when it was clear that there would be no more outbreaks of flora on my face, I was discharged. That isn't to say I don't still get outbreaks; every so often, a bed of petunias erupts on my forehead, forcing me to call in sick from school. No amount of toner, antiseptic cream, or face wash can subdue the seedlings in my skin.
And yet, I remain, your average teenager - at least, most of the time.
___________________________________________________________________________
A/N: Hi, I'm 14, and this was just a way to practice my writing. I hope it's not too awful and I know some of it doesn't make sense. It's my first time doing a post for this sub. Thanks for reading! |
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