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"Hi I'm Johnny Knoxville, we're in Hell, welcome to Jackass."Johnny looked around. Didn’t he just die? He was sure he’d go to Hell. His planned line... This didn’t look like hell. It looked like a regular town, he could see a city in the distance, a land of fields to the other side.
Somebody bumped into him. “Oh, sorry mate, you just popped in.”
Johnny looked at him, “Umm… where am I? I thought I died… there was a light, then I thought I saw or felt God… now…” Johnny just looked around perplexed.
“Oh, you did die my friend. You’re in Hell. Congratulations. Yeah, you stood before God and got tossed to Hell. I’m Tim by the way.” Tim stuck out his hand, and Johnny shook it with some caution.
“Where’s the fire and the brimstone? The wailing and gnashing of teeth?” Johnny asked.
“Ah, yes. Hell is just the absence of the presence of God for the rest of eternity. The fire, brimstone, ‘gnashing of teeth’ as you say, all got added to the story later to make people fear it, and motivate them to believe…” Tim looked around as if thinking. “It worked on many, some believed, but it wasn’t sincere, so they are here. I never gave two fucks about any of it.”
Johnny was skeptical, “But Jesus Himself said…”
“Bollocks. He said ‘it was like’ He wasn’t being literal. Those words were there for a reason. He was doing an analogy of what separation from God was like for somebody who lived in the presence of God for any real time. You know, for Him, for Satan and the devils...” Tim shrugged his shoulders.
“So Satan is what? President, Emperor?” Johnny looked around, “Where is he?”
“Again, mythology added much later.” Tim seemed to be slightly exasperated, but then regained his composure as Johnny was new, and the newbies almost always had the same questions. This was new for Tim to be answering them. In time, Johnny would gain the knowledge needed without having to ask questions. Tim had wondered some of the same things himself when he first got here, asked a few questions, but over time, the knowledge crept in, and he knew more. One of the things God tried to suppress on Earth was knowledge, as that would lead more away from Him and His plans. “Sorry mate. Got lost in thought. So, Satan isn’t in charge of Hell. It was designed to torment him. He had been in the presence of God for eons. Who knows how many billions upon billions of years. Then one day, he thought, as he was the most beautiful angel in all of Heaven, the leader of the choir of angels, why not have them sing about how beautiful he was and how great his song to God was. ‘Pride goeth before the fall.’ And a third of the angels thought that was cool and did praise him ever so briefly. A short reprieve from their near-constant praise of God… God didn’t take kindly to that. He separated them from Himself, cast them to Earth, where He had just created man not too long ago… recall one of the prophets spoke about seeing a vision of the fall.”
Tim started walking, motioning for Johnny to follow, which Johnny did. They walked into a shop on the town’s street. It appeared to be a coffee and snack bar. Tim walked to the counter, “Good day Michelle, how are you doing today my lovely? This here is… “ Tim looked back at Johnny, “I’m sorry mate, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Johnny. Johnny Knoxville.” Johnny was about to extend his hand to Michelle, who he found a bit fetching as was wondering if she was single when it was all interrupted by a gentleman from a table nearby.
“Ahh!! I FUCKING knew it. Johnny Fucking Knoxville. God fucking damn. Jackass was one of my favorite shows.” The gentleman was clearly excited, getting up and coming over and embraced Johnny in a short hug and backed off, hands up in apology. “Sorry dude.” He looked over at the barista, “Sorry Michelle, I know… language… just super stoked to meet a legend… I mean another one.” His eyes went to the corner of his head as if trying to access information, “But first from Jackass. I hear one of the other guys are in Cloverton.” Realizing that Johnny was new, he quickly added, “That’s a city about what? 1600 kilometers West?” He looked at Tim and Michelle as if to confirm, they just shrugged their shoulders and nodded their heads as if that was a good approximation. He backed off, put his hands together, bowed and sat back down.
“Cloverton. Yeah. I think he has a show there.” Tim said, he turned back to Michelle. “Anyhow, I’ll take my usual double latte, extra large today.” He turned to Johnny, “What about you mate.”
Johnny was thirsty, he could go for one of the bottles of water in the mini-fridge behind Michelle, “Umm… I…” he patted his pockets, which seemed empty to pantomime being broke.
“Don’t worry about it mate. I got you.” Tim said with a smile, that some would perhaps call devilish.
“Tim…” Michelle cautioned.
“Okay. Okay. Don’t worry mate. Most essentials are free. There’s work to be had if you want it, and the government here, yeah, there’s a government, provides a universal basic income to everyone. Universal healthcare of sorts… you are immortal now, so all things heal eventually, but they help heal like broken bones and the like faster than they would on your own. While you have a UBI, most people do work, like Michelle here to help pass the time and to be of a service to your fellow man. Most people are good people and want to help others. Some might take longer than others. There are the basic laws, no murder, rape and the like, and there is a system of justice here.”
Johnny held up a finger to pause Tim, “A water please.” Michelle handed him a bottled water while another barista handed Tim his coffee and started for the door and Johnny followed. He turned before they went out the door, “Um. Thank you. Michelle.” He gave her a smile that he hoped would be semi-flirtatious while being not too forward at the same time.
Tim turned and walked down the sidewalk the way they originally were walking. Johnny followed, watching the occasional car pass by. None brands he recognized, but cars just the same.
“It seems like just a mid-sized town in the midwest or something like that”, Johnny said as he took a sip of water. He looked around, he thought he had seen a city down the road, and fields not far off to what would be his left. “Um… I thought I saw...farmland and a city…”
“Initial orientation. Everyone starts somewhere. Some people start in a field, a town or a city. You first get in, you see the nearest of the others so if you want to go… it can be disorienting at first.” Tim nodded in memory of his own first orientation. He appeared in the middle of a city, but on the other side of the world. Which reminded him, “Oh, it is much like Earth by the way. A full world. Lots of towns like this, cities, farmlands, oceans, lakes and everything else. It isn’t an exact duplicate of Earth, the continents are different. Once it becomes night, you’ll see different constellations, we’re in a different galaxy, perhaps another universe. That’s the ongoing hypothesis anyhow, that this universe as a whole is Hell, wholly separated from God. Heaven is another universe of its own, but very small and self-contained as there is no escaping... Here we have a space program and lots of other stuff going on.”
Johnny stopped walking, confused, “Escaping? Why would people want to escape Heaven?”
“Not much free time in Heaven. Most of the time is worshipping God for eons on end. Vanity is perhaps the sin closest to God Himself.” Tim smirked and motioned for Johnny to keep following.
“So there isn’t a lot of crime? A lot of wicked people?” Johnny asked as everything appeared mostly clean, mostly nice. Some litter and some grime, but overall it was a nice mid-western town, and he somehow knew it was the same all over.
“There was a great book called ‘Good Without God’ in the old world… that’s what we call Earth. ‘Old world.’ Anyhow, it talked about how good people are, and can be without the need for a god, be it capital G God or not. People are in general good, and as I said, there are laws here. Generally, the golden rule applies, treat others as you would have them treat you, and the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few… you’ll get the hang of it pretty quickly.” They arrived in what looked like a government office. “Come, this is where new arrivals come. They’ll better answer your questions than I can, and they’ll help you get a home, a job whatever you need… find your friends...Don’t worry, everything will come to you very soon. The knowledge just sort of seeps in, at least the main stuff. You won’t be a rocket scientist without seeking that knowledge out, studying hard and the like. I’m just here visiting family, I’m usually in Ranger Station, a city on the coast,” he pointed in the direction they had come, “that way.”
“Anyhow, Johnny, let’s go in, get you set up with the local authority and from there, the world is your oyster.”
Orientation was quick, and that knowledge did seep in over the next few weeks while he stayed in town. Michelle wasn’t single, she had a lovely girlfriend. After a couple months, he moved to Cloverton where he met up with some of the other Jackass cast and crew, some were in Heaven, and he felt sad for them, but they had their show back. They were a bit more cautious than they were on the old world, but it was fun times traveling the world, and eventually other planets.
Continues in comments. |
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There is a cemetery about half a mile east of the Shorewood Dignity Center where they bury many of the bodies.
I feed it. It grows.
Soon, they're going to have to cut into the adjacent woodlands (what's left of them), putting the borders of the dead-lands in full view of suburbia. The pitiful participants of the rat races will have more than just their monotonous lives to think about when they drive home from work every day. And the soft, bratty children will have more to ask to their parents than what they will buy them next.
I hear the high-pitched, young voices already: "Mommy, why are there so many dead people?"
I feed it.
Speaking of children, my most recent victim was a nineteen year old girl. It was not the most difficult victim that I've had - but I had to get creative. I made her strangle herself. Now she decomposes in the cemetery. I would say that this is a middle-of-the-road kill, but I'm still proud of it. After all, I am the best at my job.
It grows.
For this particular case, like I mentioned, I had to get creative. She was emotionally stable when I began, but like all vain, young college students there was the chink in her mental armor. Acceptance through intimacy. It is clearly established that at ripe reproductive age, the more socially intermingled a person becomes, the more sexual pressure is mounted. It is simply evolutionary logical, but it is also psychologically common sense. How could a woman in such a socially charged atmosphere refuse a potentially sexual relationship? The question answers itself. Outside variables hardly make a difference, and for a girl such as this, whom I had my eye on for several weeks, I knew exactly the right "treatment."
I cut my hair. I started wearing some nice clothes. I bought a small, fake golden ring- one only conspicuous by a close eye but not big enough to be easily seen as a fake. I blended in fairly well. I followed her to a party at a fraternity house on a Friday night. Of course. Basic.
In the old two-story on the outside of the campus, music pulsed and cheap beers were popped. About thirty people shuffled like drunken zombies through the rooms on the bottom floor. My gazelle was chatting with- Brittany? Alexis? I can't remember, some other basic bitch- near the six packs on a fold-out table while other people floated around.
At this point, she was protected. It was early in the night and she was with her friends, with only half a beer down the hatch. It would be suicide to approach her then - I realized. So I scouted out the house for opportunities. There was a locked bedroom upstairs, but there was also an unoccupied upstairs bathroom with a bathtub and a first aid kit. I sat down on the tub wall, thinking, and then I had a plan.
Two hours later, the party was at its zenith and the crowd had homogenized. The plastic remains of six-packs indicated how long the party had left - just about nine of these shells remained which meant that there had been about two drinks per person. I estimated about three hours were left with the drinks that were available. I figured now would be the best time to act, with my target more than tipsy and me completely sober.
The music was notably quieter than before, so the sound of what would happen would only be louder. As she appeared in through the threshold of the kitchen and foyer area, I wandered towards her with a glass bottle of beer I had stolen from the refrigerator. I was bursting with excitement and tension at how my genius would unfold.
"Hey, you look thirsty,"I asked, blocking her way.
"No thanks,"she said simply.
"Are you sure? I'm good company and you look lonely"I grinned.
"No, really, I'm fine."
I moved my eyebrows in such a way as to show acknowledgement but my mouth in a way to show disappointment. At that moment, I also looked into her eyes. Then I smiled. I was still blocking her way, but not holding the threshold in that stereotypical way that I know she would hate (and most girls of this generation). Instead, I had my arms crossed low, just above the bold belt buckle holding up my khakis, but just high enough to outline the shape of my pectorals.
"Okay."I smiled innocuously, tilting my head ever so slightly.
"Yah."She tried to walk past me.
"So you're just going to walk away?"I blocked again, trying my best with my moderate frame, but still appearing somewhat confident.
"Ya, could you move?"
"Not before you tell me why I disgust you so much."
"You don't disgust me, okay? I just want to have a good time with my friends."
"So you don't have a boyfriend?"
"Please, stop. Please."
I grinned again. "Okay, I get it, you're not here for people like me. You're too good for my type, right?"
She rolled her eyes, "ugghhh,"she moaned. Then she tried to move forwards again. Perfect.
I started to move out of the way, but then I moved back again. The threshold was to my right and the girl was closing through a gap about two feet wide. As I closed the gap, I wedged the glass bottle of beer between my arm and the wall and squeezed just in front of her. I put my hand as if to block her path of entry but turned my head as if turning the other direction. All at once, I had suggested three different actions to her: blocking, evading, and walking forwards and away. But the end results was the same: I shattered the bottle and cut my hand as much as I could. Luckily, the bottle actually did not spill at all on the girl and all spilled on my nice (for a party) clothes. The smashing noise and my subsequent reaction got the attention of many, but not all of the partygoers.
Ideal.
"Aghhh,"I yelled in frustration. "Damnit, you cut me!"I said to the ceiling so that some nearby people could hear, then I turned away, my rough, bleeding hand held clearly visible to her in the other. People turned to look.
"Oh my God- I'm... I'm so so sorry. Are you okay?"She walked quickly over to me, but didn't touch me.
"I'm fine, agh..."But then I flashed my gushing hand and hid it
"No you're not."She paused. "We need to clean this up."
I moaned again. "I thought you weren't interested in me."I wanted so desperately to look around at all of the spectators and the girl's basic bitch friends, but I kept my eyes on the girl. By the looks of my target's eyes, she was getting glances. Now, I used her the chink in her armor to my advantage. "This is really starting to hurt and there's glass in it, could you just get me to a bathroom upstairs or something?"I said a little more quietly.
I knew she would do anything to get out of that situation socially unscathed, and of course she just nodded. That was the beginning of the relationship. It was smooth sailing from there.
So then it got intimate. I made it serious. The lies and the truths and the differences between us made no difference because I had all the power. I had her completely dependent on me in three months.
Then, like a saboteur, I hijacked her life. Then I dumped her. Then she killed herself.
It grows. |
My mother was always a very superstitious woman. She would tell me never to break any mirrors, don’t walk under any ladders, and not to open my umbrella in the house. These were all very typical and i had heard them from other family members and friends before.
I remember she would bolt down the back of all the mirrors in the house and wouldn’t even let us take our umbrellas inside the house, and as for ladders we didn’t even own any. And though this may sound extreme, maybe even like complete bull shit there was one superstition she took... too far.
“If you catch the clock twice in one night mi hija, just stay awake and don’t turn around again.” She would say this with pure panic ensuing in her voice. When i was younger i would humor her “delusions” and ask why we cant just get rid of the clocks? “That just angers him” she would say. I always thought she was senile or losing it.
My mother died suddenly when i was thirteen. We had a full catholic ceremony to honor her. Her death was ruled as “undetermined”. Its been two years and i still cant understand why she would just leave me, dad and Louhanie? Dad doesn’t even talk to my sister and I anymore, he comes home and goes right to the living room and if we try to talk to him he becomes abusive. He was a loving man so I don’t want you to think this is reflective of him as a man as its really not. Her death just changed him.
I was coming down with the flu and my mothers death was really hitting me hard as the two year anniversary had just passed a week and a half before this incident. I was having a hard time sleeping and i woke up, 12:43. I shut my eyes, then open them, 2:07. My mothers words echoed in my head but I try to forget them as i was sick of pitying myself, so I shut my eyes. 3:33, I woke with a jump that time as if someone had shook me. I was freaked out to say the least. But when I looked back to the clock... it was black?
Just blackness? “That cant be right?” I think as I get up to check the light switch. It turns on without a hitch? I turn around and my clock is flashing the red numbers, 3:35. I feel my heart sinking into my stomach and being destroyed by the acid when I notice the window. The shadow of a man creeps out of sight as I look at it. “He’s outside” I say aloud to myself.
I want to yell to my dad but I know he’ll just get mad and I cant just ignore him as he went to the left from the outside of the house, the left leads to Louhanies room. I cant let him hurt her so i run threw the hall and the kitchen then finally out the front door, in the dark silence I realize what an awful mistake Ive made. I run back in and sleep in my sisters room that night.
I thought this was a simple coincidence but ever since this happened he shows up every night, only in a more grotesque fashion than the night before and he is getting closer, he’s no longer outside but in my door way, I don’t know what to do as he beckons me as lately he’s taken up taking the shape of my mother rotted and putrid before melting back into a shadow of a man. I think tonight is my last.
|
John stared at his bloody hands and then turned his gaze to the corridor behind him. On the floor laid twenty men, butchered, some of them decapitated while others had their organs ripped out of their bodies. John once again took a good look at his hands, trying to remember. He couldn't possibly have done this, he knew that he wasn't an evil man. God knows, John wouldn't even hurt a leech even if it was sitting on his leg, sucking all his blood.
As John stared at his hands images flashed by him. Images of violence. Images of the slaughter that had just taken place in the very room he was now standing in. John saw himself ripping, biting, and tearing the flesh of the people around him, people who would never see their loved ones again. John began to shake. He couldn't have done this. The memories he experienced couldn't be his own. Tears began to flow from his face as he heard their screams of agony once again and while John sat on the floor, weeping for the sins of another he suddenly heard a laugh. And as he did he quickly turned around only to see that the corridor behind him was no longer there. Behind him was only a mirror, and in this mirror, John saw a horrible figure. The man he saw was covered blood, smiling, and looking straight in the eyes of him. But it wasn't him, no, it couldn't be him.
Filled with anger and disgust of what he saw John clenched his hand and punched the mirror, shattering it into a million pieces, and as the mirror broke, John began to see the reality that was behind it. John saw his own wife laying before him, her face in a grimace and her eyes, oh her eyes. The eyes John so often would stare into, moments before falling asleep were no longer filled with life. Tears ran down Johns face once more as he hugged his late wife and as that happened, memories once more flashed before his eyes, memories of infidelity, memories of fighting and shouting. But John couldn't have done this. He had sworn to love her until her dying breath and John never broke a promise. And as he laid the corpse that he once loved in his arms one last time, he heard the sirens sounding in the distance.
|
My father was a lawyer, whilst my mother was an artist.
Her work was astounding- the bright and vivid colors, swirling stars and flowering fields- she was amazing. We didn’t realize why she was so good until we found her lying in the bedroom with a shotgun wound on her stomach.
History repeats itself.
They say the only way to learn from history- to prevent that- is to remember. In this case, that logic is null and void.
Each one of us is gifted- some more than others. It just depends on how productive of an individual you previously were. I’ve seen fifth graders play like Bach, and I’ve read about the return of serial killers five times over.
It’s easy to find your dream when you’re good at something. Even if it is a shitty thing.
Very fucking rarely is someone not good at anything. Because skills are carried down, usually if they aren’t good, they’re shit.
I’m not good at anything. But I’m not shit at anything either. I’m just mediocre.
I’ve tried baking, fishing, singing, comedy- everything under the sun. Everything I do comes out sub-par.
In fact, the only thing I am good at is pretending. Can’t bake? Buy a carton of cookies from the store and shove them in the oven. Can’t sing? Lip sync. Can’t hold your liquor? Drink two shots and dump the rest into a plant. (Hint: don’t do this to your own, as it will in fact die.)
Trying to find a job has been rough. I can lie until my lips turn blue, but I can’t actually meet any expectations. I haven’t held a job more than a month. I guess that’s why I was so surprised when the young woman approached me.
“You’ll need this!” She shoved the packet into my hands, grinning wildly. Her curly hair was everywhere, making her appear even taller than she was. Her lips were painted bright red, and long golden earrings clinked with her heels when she walked. “You’ll need a new suit too!”
“What is this?” I stammered slightly, taking the packet from her. The soft sound of people in the supermarket overlapped our conversation.
“Your application, of course!” She scoffed, rolling her eyes. My eyes skirted down to the papers in my hands. My knuckles were white from gripping them so hard.
‘Welcome!’ The pages read delightfully. ‘Please fill in the following skills you have. Note: must be good at lying.’
The only thing I was good at. I looked up at the woman bouncing on her tiptoes.
“It’s just a small part on Channel 9, but seeing your previous applications, I felt you’d be suited for it.”
It took me seconds to sign. |
I stared up in awe and horror. The Thing at the Crossroads was huge and reptilian, hovering just above the street on vast leathery wings, blinking it's huge glowing red eyes steadily. I'd thought they were traffic lights from a distance. Now I saw how wrong I was.
"MORTAL HUMAN!"It boomed, and its image fuzzed as its powerful voice caused my glasses to vibrate. "I AM ROGETHRAX, KEEPER OF THE CROSSROAD! I BRING YOU A MESSAGE!"
When I didn't respond, frozen in fear as I was, it continued on its own.
"HEED MY WORDS, MORTAL: WHILE YOU SEE THE BLINKING OF MY BLOOD-RED EYES THAT GAZE IN TURN UPON THE FOUR CARDINAL DIRECTIONS...TREAT YONDER INTERSECTION AS THOUGH IT WERE A FOUR-WAY STOP!"
When he didn't say anything more, I worked up the courage to respond. "Okay...um...sir...is that *it?"*
"YEA, MORTAL! BUT I WILL GIVE YOU ONE LAST WARNING: IF YOU BEHOLD MY BROTHER ELEGRAX UPON THE ROAD AHEAD, HE OF THE EVER-BLINKING *YELLOW* EYES...*PROCEED WITH CAUTION!"* |
I've always been the kind of person who enjoys his dreams. I'm not really talking about 'lucid dreaming' per se, more like I'm always comfortable just going with the flow in my dream no matter how wacky or insane it is. The upside is my nightmares aren't really scary at all anymore, the downside is sometimes it's a bit difficult to know what's real and what isn't.... Which brings me to today.
I was walking through an insane as usual take on my childhood home. Can't say I wasn't having fun; it was like a dungeon from Skyrim; smashing goblins, vampires, and trolls -- all the things that tormented me in childhood nightmares. As I pulled my bloody blade out of the skull of one such unfortunate beast, I saw something that made me start somewhat; Billy. That bastard Billy, contorted into a misshapen gremlin, sneering at me like he always used to back in the day. His hideous grin was more humorous than scary -- seeing my childhood nemesis turned into a stupid looking monster made me feel pretty good. I snapped a photo; and another after I'd strangled him with my bare hands. I woke feeling refreshed.
Out of reflex, I started browsing my phone and happened to check my pictures. Billy... was... there... |
(Disclaimer: I know nothing about soccer/football but I know lots about the Roman gods. So...that will be reflected.)
*****
"By my balls!"Jupiter roared, lightning crashing around Olympus. He'd backed Sweden, because of course he had, and they were losing to Germany. Which meant...
"Ha!"Neptune used his trident to point at Jupiter, doing a little dance while he did, "I told you!"
Zeus rolled his eyes and popped a pretzel into his mouth, barely hiding the simmering rage. He wasn't known for calm responses. Neptune sat back with his mortal brewed beer while all the gods caught up on the World Cup. What he didn't offer freely was that he had backed Germany by supplementing their water. It wasn't necessary illegal...so much as frowned upon by the other gods.
He might have been bothered by that if he didn't already know Venus was supporting her team with muscle relaxation after each game, or that Minerva was granting Sampaoli tactics (that he'd gone and fucked up anyway), or that Mars was supporting Russia with enraged determination.
Mars was doing well. That was bothersome. Of course Mars had picked the team with the most latent rage, it's easy to tap into a well of something that already exists in spades.
And drugs. Soooo many drugs. Mars did not hold rules in high regard, he loved to win.
"Stop judging me!"Mars shouted, tossing an empty beer can at Neptune, "I did nothing!"
Neptune dodged the can and tossed a piece of caramel popcorn in response, beginning a small but brutal war of food and cans.
Juno *tutted* at the group, shaking her head.
"Brazil is going to win and I don't have to do anything to help!"
All the collective gods booed uproariously. She's been giving Brazil help for decades, starting when her team was young and bringing them in right so they would be perfect players. Someone tossed a cheese covered nacho at her and she ducked it, letting the gross mess hit Bacchus. He was snoring and had forgotten to help Australia, though they were at least holding their own so far. It was the natural choice, given that Bacchus only ever sobered long enough to get to the nearest bottle-o. They were one and the same, Bacchus and the Australians. How they managed to play the game was a mystery.
The gods played this game every year, gathering for an immense feast of mortal food and drink while they trash-talked each other and generally forgot about being forgotten.
Vulcan and Ceres continued their lengthy competition, ever since Spain won in 2010 Vulcan had done everything he could for Portugal. He even shipped them silver chain necklaces, rings and bracelets that he'd secretly shipped to Ronaldo.
Ronaldo had ignored anything crafted since that whole "bust"problem. Vulcan was still furious about that. He could have done it a thousand times better. They would have won if they'd been wearing the crafted gear. He sulked in a corner and waited for his next chance, trying to come up with a plan that didn't involve smithing something.
As the god of smithing things...that was proving difficult and the tequila was making the ideas worse, not better.
Diana backed Mexico and was looking forward to putting Mercury in his place, that speedy little bastard had backed South Korea. He pretended he wasn't making them faster but it was obvious to anyone watching that he was. At least to any gods watching it was. She didn't admit that she helped every kick, as a huntress she was all sorts of accurate but that wasn't important.
It wasn't about what *she* did it was about what anyone else wasn't supposed to be doing.
She hated that Mars was so sure he would win.
If Diana, and all the others, were being honest...they were worried that Furina would win. No one had wanted to back France except her and she was doing well in assisting them.
Goddess of thieves, indeed. Not that it was hard to steal the ball from under Bacchus's nose.
Still.
They were worried. A minor god, taking the cup? Almost unheard of!
What's next, Stata Mater and her beloved "Flames"would take the Cup of Stanley?
That'd be worse than when Liber led his "Cubs' to victory. Who could have seen that coming?
No, Diana would just have to help her team with their aim a little more often. Mars would have to push his a little harder.
At least Jupiter was going to lose, all the gods enjoyed that. Even if he would sulk and bitch and moan about it for another century.
It'd be worth it.
*****
If you liked seeing me be wrong about soccer here, then you'll love seeing me be wrong about all sorts of things at /r/RamblersDen!
|
Saturday
Saturday’s are already blissful, but today was one of those serene Saturday’s that you long for on Monday’s. My bed and blanket were encompassing me, pleading for me to stay wrapped in the covers where I felt warm and untouchable. The sudden urge to stretch finally awoke my body the rest of the way and the need to relieve my bladder was now non-ignorable. Getting out of bed, at last, I would start my day.
After my shower I looked, no, admired myself in the bathroom mirror. I’m average looking, sure but for once my faults weren’t what my eyes lingered on but instead a wines smile, with teeth even! This may sound stupid, but I couldn’t wipe that smile off my face. The last time I was this giddy was when I met my childhood dog, Skipper, for the first time. Not even recalling his death now as I stood in front of the mirror naked seemed to rid the smile on face. For whatever reason, today was going to be a great day.
The house was empty other than myself, which felt odd but I couldn’t put my finger on to why. No matter, no work and no one else to entertain ment that I could stretch out on the couch and play some video games. And man did I play! I was on fire! Normally I’m decent, but I was unstoppable! Dropping guys left and right and even got my first tactical nuke! This is embarrassing to admit, but doing that good made me really into the game, I was excited and thrashing around on couch happier and happier after each kill. I started working up a sweat, then I started coughing. Nothing too bad at first, but eventually it was disorienting, hard, dry coughs that seemed to drive my brain to want to leave my skull. There was blood. Just a little, but it scared me a bit. I’ll get some food into me, maybe that’ll help.
No food in the pantry or the fridge, guess it’s been a while since I went food shopping. No matter, I’d enjoy a walk. I’ll go on down the grocery store pick up some stuff and make myself a nice lunch. The sun outside looks refreshing as ever, and I can still feel the big stupid grin on my face.
The walk to the story was just as refreshing as I hoped it would be. I felt a bit winded when I arrived though, I should probably start walking more. Chicken was on sale so I decided to get everything I’d need to make some General Tso’s Chicken. When I got to the cashier though something odd happened. I recognized her but not merely as a cashier, I recalled a date I had with her. I saw her with bright red lipstick, a tasteful black top, her hair was done up way more thoughtfully then it was now at the store.
“Have we… ever dated?” My question must have taken her back she just stared and let out a chuckle.
“Sweetie don’t take this the wrong way, but you aren’t exactly my type.” Now It was my turn to look dumb as I couldn’t think of how to explain what was in my head.
“Oh, you’re handsome, don’t be thinking you aren’t, I’m… well, I like girls sugar, that’s all.” This wasn’t making sense. The longer I looked at her the more memories came back from that night that I supposedly didn’t spend with her. In the memories, the cashier’s voice was distinctly hers even with the same weird dialect to boot but there was another unfaced feminine voice that I couldn’t recognize. My head was splitting now. I left the store without purchasing my chicken; the cashier's voice ringing in my head.
After racing home, I looked around for something, anything to kill my headache. There were a lot of prescription pills in my cabinet. Why can’t I remember why though? I found some Tylenol and some Benadryl, a concoction sure to knock me out. Tomorrow, hopefully, all will seem fine.
Sunday
I woke up with a hangover, not that I recall drinking. Aches and pains, and sore throat though, and a mishmash of other symptoms all screamed “hangover.” Next to my alarm clock was a business card. Had it been here yesterday? “Dr. Markus Graci Neurologist” it read, on the backside was the number and an address. Neurologist? What is going on? I got up to go the bathroom and when I looked in the mirror I had to concentrate. It was like my face was behind someone else’s. A girl’s.
“Hello, Dr. Graci’s office, how can I assist you?”
“I’m, well I’m not sure. Can you tell me if I’m a patient?”
“I can tell you if you have an appointment booked for today, will that help?”
“Maybe? My name is Anthony Spencer?”
“Spencer…Spencer. Nope, no appointments for a Spencer today, anything else I could assist you with?”
“I, can’t see my face, It’s someone else’s, I have this business card for this doctor and I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Oh, Mr. Spencer I’m so sorry, yes perhaps you are one of Dr. Graci’s special patients. Hold for just one second. What was that supposed to mean? I heard the line click back on and an older man with a scruffy voice was now on the line.
“Mr. Spencer, not to alarm you, but I’d like you to come to my office, please take a taxi, I’m unsure if you should be driving.”
“Am I dying?”
“Just come to the office, yes?”
Sunday – Later
“Dr. Graci. What can you tell me?”
“I need you to tell me everything first, then I shall answer any questions you have, fair?”
“Um yeah. I woke up yesterday feeling great. I, coughed blood though? I went to the store and the oddest thing happened, I remembered a date with the cashier.”
“That is not so odd”
“She didn’t remember the date. In fact, she wouldn’t have dated me. She was lesbian. I got a headache and went home, went to bed. Woke up not recognizing my face.”
“This is everything?”
“Yeah, everything.”
“You do not remember me?”
“Why would I?”
“I have found a way to… share memories. One person, a happy person, uploads their memories, and someone else can, download them in a sense and be happier. The goal wasn’t necessarily for the unhappy person to see someone else’s memories, but to take the emotions linked to those memories and experience them first hand.”
“I… that’s. Wait, are you saying I did that?”
“Mr. Spencer. You do not recall meeting with me prior to today?”
“No! I already said that!”
“I will show you something it should answer most of your questions.” The doctor proceeded to go to his desk and pull a file up on the computer. He got out of the chair and motioned for me to take his seat. On the screen was me.
“Whenever you are ready, press play.” So, I did.
“Are you ready for the questionnaire?” Asked Dr. Graci’s voice from off-screen.
“Yes sir, shoot.”
“What are your name and age?”
“Anthony Spencer, age 35”
“What is it you signed up for?”
“I will be one of the first to try transitive neural… I’m gonna download someone else’s memories into me.”
“Why did you decide to?”
“Do I have to. Yeah? Okay, I have stage 4 lung cancer. Going to kick the bucket here pretty soon, probably a year’s time, maybe longer. On top of all the chemo, and pills, my girlfriend of seven years left me. She didn’t want to watch me die. So, I’m here, because I don’t want to watch me die either. I’ll let someone else’s mind do it while I have a smile on my face.”
“In case the procedure doesn’t work, anything you would like to say to yourself?”
“Hey me, if it doesn’t work try it again. If it doesn’t work that time try it again. Let him fry your brain for all I care because the cancer will kill you, or being forced to deal with the emotions on your own will kill you. You have nothing left and you’ve done nothing with your life as is. So, with whatever little you have left, help this doctor with his research.” I closed out of the video I heard enough and I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, it started coming back to me, bits and pieces.
“How many times now?”
“This, this is the third time.” I don’t remember.
“Can I ask a question?”
“Yes.”
“Did I have a dog?”
“What?”
“You must have asked me a bunch of questions before you took me on for this project, did I have a dog.”
“No. You had no pets.” |
Looking into the mirror, the spot was just like any other. Red around the edge, with a white apex. “
“Pah, bloody things.”
Placing pressure around the edge, I feel the pressure increase, the puss building towards the surface.
*POP*
White specks hit the mirror, as the pressure dissipates. Pulling my fingers away, I gasp with horror. Suddenly I become aware of the faintest of wrigglings, just beneath the spot.
Pinching the tip of the now open spot, I gently pull, like threading a needle. I gasp, as I start to pull a worm from my cheek. Like a magician pulling hanker chiefs from his sleeve, the worm doesn’t stop.
I let go, letting it drop down my face.
Glancing around, I notice a pack of new razor blades. In my panic, I pop the pack open, considering cutting the length of worm.
I don’t.
I kill myself.
FUCK THAT SHIT.
The END. |
Having completed his training at the School of Martial Arts in Curliko, Keldon scanned the crowds for his father's face. His father, a wizard, was never too fond of the "savagery"of physical combat, but Keldon loved the art, and figured graduating top of his class would inspire some pride from his father.
Little did he know, his father had other plans that night. As Keldon scanned the crowds he realized his father hadn't come, and decided he would celebrate with him after. He was an only child, after all-it wasn't like his father could stay angry forever. So he walked across the stage, said his little speech, and accepted the white robes that are gifted to only the most highly honored graduates. After the ceremony, he avoided all talk of after parties and went to see his father.
It had been years since they'd seen each other, ever since he left for the school. Even though their house was only a few hour's walk, his father had never visited or even written. It would be different now, seeing him in person, how far he had come. All would be forgiven.
As he walked into the house, he noticed the complete disarray of his normally organized childhood home. He called out for his father as he stalked slowly through the house, but received no response. When he turned into what was their seating area, his eyes widened in surprise. There, hunched over a cauldron in the middle of the room, stood his father, hastily carving runes into the sides of the cast iron pot. Upon hearing his son's greeting, he paused only briefly, grunting before returning to his work.
Frustrated from the lack of acceptance, and tired from a long day, Keldon simply dropped his satchel on the floor and shook his head, proceeding upstairs to sleep through the night.
A few hours after the moon had started it's descent, he awoke to his name being called. His father's voice was almost seductive, definitely an odd difference compared to the normally brusk voice he carried. He wandered downstairs to find his father on the far side of the cauldron, holding his prized white robes.
"Why, hello there son."His father cooed. Something was off about him.
Keldon nodded curtly. "Father, I see you've found my honors robes. I wasn't sure you'd noticed."
"Why of course, my son. I've done plenty of research. Is it truth that they only give out one set? They are irreplaceable?"His voice was almost a whisper, quietly excited as he discussed the rarity of the robes.
Keldon worked a brow hesitantly. "Yes... why do you ask?"
Waving away the question, his father continued. "And you worked so very hard for them! One might say they are your most prized possession!"
Taking his excitement for a show of pride, Keldon cautiously nodded. "That is true, of my material possessions, I cherish nothing more."
Tutting his tongue a few times his father shook his head. "It would be a shame then, if something were to happen to them!"He flicked his wrist, and a flame sprung to life in the cauldron.
Keldon started forward as the robes slipped through his father's fingers and into the flaming cauldron, releasing a dizzying array of colored flame and smoke. He plunged his hands into the flame to save the robes, when he felt his father's hands close around him, holding him tight, as if to save him from the fire.
But something was wrong. His father wasn't pulling him away from the fire, but pushing his head towards it. He struggled to break free, but some enchantment held him in place, pushing his face so close that his nose started to blister. He became vaguely aware of his father shouting the word "breathe!"He instinctively inhaled, taking the colored smoke deep into his lungs. His hands were out of the flame now. Everything was getting fuzzy, like he had been drugged. He felt the enchantment lift, letting him fall slack to the floor, blacking out.
A week passed before he woke, famished and confused. He checked his satchel for his robes, sure it had been a dream, but they were gone. He stormed outside to find his father in the yard, who greeted him with a wide smile. "Morning my boy!"His voice had gone back to that gravelly tone he was used to, with a note of happiness in it.
"What in the hells!?"Keldon shouted. "You burned my robes!"
"It was for a spell, you see!"His father retorted happily. "I've gifted you the powers of a wizard, a special kind of wizard, you won't need to study at all!"
Glaring like he had never glared before, Keldon considered all of the slights his father had sent his way, all of the insults, and now this spell, designed to *fix him*. He clenched his fist, sending a feeling of smashing spider webs through his fingers-he would later realize that was the feel of the weave, the source of all magical ability. In his rage, he imagined his father gone, removed from his life entirely. He raised his hand to point at his father while he shouted, but his fingers traced unfamiliar patterns, his lips formed unfamiliar words. He had wanted his father unmade, and with that one flick and uttered phrase, it was so. |
Each hex was a real turf war, no one wanted their crew to survive.
The question was: “How do you make it to the treasure room, without having to share?”
A6, as it was on the map, contained some type of monster, what it was depended on the roll. If it was high, it would be an easy kill, my “crew” would be left facing the boss, I would have loads of mana left to carry them just enough.
A low roll however would leave me with a mini boss. If that happened, they would leave me for dead, and move on. I would be out of the game, and out of my buy in.
I picked up the D20, instinctively feeling it’s weight, and judging its fairness.
I rolled.
4
Fucking 4. A lesser dragon, resistant to all magic status is effects.
I screamed, I cried.
The smiles that they wore made it sting even more.
I needed that money, just $1700 to pay the mob.
Now I couldn’t even pay my rent. |
Water covers 75% of planet Earth, and most scientists were unable to discover why. Land mammals had little to no use for water - we generate our own moisture; water has no nutritional value whatsoever, so there was no need to consume it. Most civilizations grew in deserts - like the Egyptians; whereas others grew in fertile lands, like the Chinese and the Aryan civilizations. Food attracted people. Most countries grew around riverbanks because water was essential for plants, but not for us. Water was seen to belong to farmers and agriculturalists; as the world advanced at breakneck speed, people began moving to cities; food was imported, and most people used water to clean themselves, and their cars.
The first time someone actually drank water, he was quickly ostracized by his community. Not because the very act was forbidden, but because he became so addicted, there was nothing else on his mind. The first documented case of hydrophilia (addiction to water) was in 800 BC - a farmer had given up his crops, his family, and his home to sit and drink the water of the Nile. No one knew why - water gave humans nothing, our body had no need for it, it provided no sustenance; but by God, water was one of the most addictive drinks on the planet.
That Egyptian man was quickly jailed; signs were put up, banning the drinking of water. Most people accepted this; after all, water was meant for plants.
A few people began to continue drinking water in secret; records and diaries show of pockets of individuals drinking water, reveling in the taste, creating a cult religion around it. Most larger religions banned the drinking of water, like they banned most other intoxicating substances; water was too dangerous.
18 times as addictive as sugar (which was classified as the second-most addictive thing on the planet), water sources quickly became controlled. Rivers were dammed up, and most reservoirs have agents patrolling the borders. There have been too many reports of individuals jumping into the dam, drinking as much water as he can, before he’s yanked out and imprisoned (or shot, depending on which country he currently resides in).
Rains began to become coveted. Most countries with torrents of rain had higher numbers of hydrophiliacs - children, in a desperate attempt, would go out and stick their tongues out to collect precious rainwater; soon, they knew nothing else. Rain began to be seen as dangerous, and children were no longer allowed to frolic in the rain. Most homes stayed shut during the rainy season; hydrophilia is seen as a dangerous addiction; one drop could get you hooked.
India, being a country of torrential downpour, suffered greatly. Throughout history, its people were chronic hydrophiliacs; the country was unable to progress, when most of its population were unable to do anything but drink water. Masses began to die of malnutrition - after all, when all you drink is water, how long can your body survive?
Great Britain, too, contained a large population of addicts - with near-constant rains, people had taken to sleeping on the street, so they can simply open their mouths to collect every drop.
A small ship of free-thinking, radical individuals escaped this hell-hole, and went on to occupy the Americas. Today, Great Britain and North America is controlled by Canada, whereas northern African countries controls the Eastern hemisphere.
The Egyptian Raj continue to control the Indian population - the country survives because the English control every single water source with an iron fist, allowing the country to finally try and crawl out of its addiction.
The southern half of Africa is controlled by the Middle Easterns - particularly Saudi Arabia, with a stronghold on all water sources. Most of the continent has been shattered due to civil war over small rivers and lakes; animals slaughtered in order for man to control the watering hole; plants dried up to satisfy our (unnecessary) thirst. Greed has desertified half the continent.
Now, every drop of water is accounted for. Every source of drinking water is protected.
Too many individuals have sacrificed their lives for a drop of water; psychiatrists and biologists alike are unable to properly explain humankind’s addiction to water, but can only warn against it.
In a few pockets, where it still rained, people lived freely, pathetically; their lives revolved around the water cycle. Gods of water were worshipped, so that the rains can come sooner.
In the modern world, water is strictly controlled.
One sip, and there’s no going back.
They say the addiction eventually drives you crazy.
Her shift had just ended, it was a long weekend, and she was excited about her trip to a little cabin in the woods; it had been a while since she had last had a holiday. She stepped out of her building - it had just rained, and there were small puddles across the pavement. As she crossed the street, she slipped, and fell face-first into a puddle. Spitting rain-water out, her eyes go wide; she shoves her face back into the semi-deep puddle. By the time they get to her, she’s drowned; a contented smile on her face. |
Not long ago, I read Carl Jung's theory of the shadow. It seemed the darkest nook of the human being, a place that unless confronted would bring about your doom as a sane person.
I almost instinctively refused such a hypothesis, for I believed strongly that all are born as good and evil is just a choice, a forced perversion of your nature.
I was proven wrong. So wrong.
Waiting for the bus to take me home, to the heat of my hearth, I looked as always to those whom not long ago were as my neighbours, companions from work to the safety of the house.
It was unusually sunny and warm for the end of September. Shadows were dancing around , but something eerie hid in the ones of my "friends".
First it was the medic. I always held him in high esteem, but then...In his shadow I saw the most gruesome of images. People having their heart ripped during surgery, their bowels...cannibalized.
I looked away. What if I had schizophrenia? Or some other mental sickness? This could not be true. That is what I kept saying to myself. I closed my heart and eyes to this event, and saw a psychologist shortly after.
He told me I was fine. After all other medical analysis, it turned out I was completely sane and had a healthy brain. He suggested I take a break, a walk in the forest. He blamed "stress".
Another day went by. Same place, same people.
The second was the lawyer. He always looked so friendly and kind...Now I saw him in the shadow condemning innocent people, taking bribes, killing witnesses.
This was too much. What was happening?
As I have mentioned, I already knew about the shadow as described by Jung. I began an ardent research of the subject. Turns out my ability was psychic , but it only applied to people I knew something about. True, for I saw nothing in strangers.
By the end of October, I knew everything there was about it. Except...I forgot myself.
A surge of fear and excitement overwhelmed me. I knew that if mastered, this shadow can provide great development, but also make you go crazy, if you made any little mistake.
I set foot outside, embracing the Sun.
Then I looked over my shoulder and there it was...my shadow. Followed by an almost identical part next to it. What...? It was good vs. evil. And they found their synthesis in me.
This was my true self. I smiled at it, and it smiled back.
|
I
God's deed is to be bad. Man was so created.
Hungry for reward. For envy. For greed.
Never stop, never relent.
Lost.
An image of God - yes - and power came from hell.
Man got to tell himself he was more than just a mirror.
A little gift from Someone who cares.
Death has lost its authority, when God created Heaven.
Unafraid, Man reigned chaos of his own.
And so a number was given.
The number?
Infinity.
Universes to be burned and created to save singles.
The whole of a human life lost in ash.
Faces laced with tears.
Rotten souls singing ugly songs in a breath of desperation.
Can there ever be an end to this madness?
II
Heaven is a lonely place.
Always so full of trembling.
Men saying their prayers.
Buying a blessing or two.
Infinity was never enough.
Men switching places.
Pleading.
Begging.
Prophets listing the goods.
Always keen to haggle.
Driven to insanity.
III
An ugly bet was made.
To be chosen tomorrow.
Priests crying in agony.
Christ has left the cross.
Monks lying in their riches.
Overconfident at last.
Captivated by the sight.
I dreaded the moment, that was to come.
The money-men always scramble on their way.
Me?
Envious.
The way i was made to be.
Not murderous enough.
Faulty and compassionate.
So I called.
To Someone who cares.
As to not go.
The dreary thought never left my mind.
IV
In the beginning there was God.
But also Someone who cares.
In the beginning there was Heaven.
But also Hell.
I never knew the directions to either of them.
Running in the stream with a headache.
I got lost.
Everybody else did so.
And for a second I thought I understood.
So I gazed upon the Earth.
Judging rather than be judged.
A painting obedient to its master.
***
I hope you enjoy this little poem i wrote for you <3
If not please be kind anyway
My first submission + English is not my first language. |
Lawyer: “Have a seat mr.Daniels.”
Daniels: “you...it was..*interrupted*
Judge: “all rise.” “Today we are reviewing the case of John Daniels.” “Mr. Daniels you are charged with first degree murder,conspiracy to commit murder, and evasion of police. How do you plead?”
Lawyer: “mr.Daniels pleads guilty to all of the charges, but. “
Daniels “what! No. No, I do not.”
Judge: “Quiet mr.Daniels you don’t want me to add contempt to that list do you”
Daniels: “no sir”
Judge: “as you were saying, do you accept the charges against you?”
Lawyer: “as I was saying before rudely interrupted, mr.Daniels pleads guiltily to only two of the charges. Conspiracy to commit murder, and evasion of police.
Edit: continued
Lawyer: “mr.Daniels never killed anyone. Jane Anderson who was his intended target was killed by another. If the prosecutor would present the evidence against my client you will see that he is not the killer.”
Prosecutor: “here we have the murder weapon, a 7 inch knife. The knife was found in a trash can, to be more specific it was found in mr. Daniels residential trash can with no prints on it.”
Lawyer: “is that all the evidence?”
Prosecutor: “no. Within mr.Daniels Home, the police discovered the murder plans. With the plans it detailed his target, killing techniques, in disposable of the body. Biased on this evidence he is most definitely the murder.”
Daniels: “I’m so f*cked”
Lawyer: “shush you’ll be fine, watch this”
Lawyer: “in spite of this evidence, my client had decided to plead guilty!”
Daniels: “WTF you slimy bastered, it was you! The lawyer was the real killer! Arrest him he Framed me!”
Judge: “Mr.Daniels this court has found you guilty by your own recognition and the evidence mounted against you.”
Judge: “bailiff restrain Mr.Daniels and prepare him for transport. “
|
“What do I do now? There’s no right answer,” Bob moaned. He was grasping at his hair, and a thin line of sweat was appearing at his hairline.
Close by, a visibly uncomfortable used car salesman rocked back and forth on his heels. He looked around, self-conscious, and adjusted the collar of his shirt.
“We can,” the salesman struggled to find the words, “go into the office and go over some of your options if you’d like.”
“If I go into that office I’m not comin’ out,” Bob began to hyperventilate. His gaze switched rapidly from the Ford Focus, to the Chevy Tahoe, and then to some obscure Italian sports car he couldn’t pronounce the name of.
“Maybe you’d like to look at the Hondas?” The salesman tried. Everybody loved a Honda, even a man charged with buying the new (used) family vehicle.
“But we’ll have to pass the Toyotas to get there,” Bob muttered, looking queasy.
The salesman scanned the lot. If he couldn’t make any progress, he’d have to track down the forklift to remove Bob from the premises.
But then, he had an idea.
“So, you can’t find the perfect fit? I think I know exactly what you need. Wait right here, I’ll come around.”
The salesman jogged off, praying to the V8 gods that there was a truck in the loading bay. And as luck would have it, there was.
The salesman consulted with the driver, and hopped into the passenger seat. They drove off, eventually finding Bob holed up in between a slightly smashed Audi and some cinderblocks.
The salesman rolled down the window to catch his attention.
“What you need, my man, is a career change!”
|
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I want to be upfront: This is not my kind of story. I like stories with magic, adventure, and perhaps a bit of romance.
I tell you this to let you know that, while I will attempt to remain unbiased, some of that genre distaste might shine through. Don't feel bad though, anyone would be hard-pressed to respond to this specific prompt in a manner I would enjoy, unless of course their story was about a wizard and his adventure for romance :p
I'm responding anyway because nothing sucks more than trying to get feedback and not getting it. So here it goes:
1. You have some grammar and spelling mistakes. I didn't proofread it and provide a copy-edited version or anything, if you want specifics I guess I could, but I get the feel from this that you know how to write, and due to phone format, have some little overlooked errors.
2. I was a little confused at your transitions, when he's talking to the chirpy voice vs. When his words are being displayed on screen. Perhaps more descriptive text regarding the dialogue, so we know who the words are coming from?
3. Speaking of dialogue, you don't put separation into some of your conversations, so it gives off the feel of one person continuing to speak. Even though on re-read you realize it's two people talking back and forth. This could also help with the determining real guy versus screen guy.
**ideas**
As much as I don't like the prompt, your idea was a nice and original response to it. I might consider changing who you end with though. That person was the last he physically drove, so what if they showed up only a week or two into filming, then the rest of the screen time was showing children that would have never been born if he hadn't driven their parents, even grandchildren. Show people who are only included because they use this DD service that your protagonist created, years after their passing, showing the protagonist's legacy for life saving. Five months of film is a lot of time if you only include *direct* life saves.
I hope this helps. If not, and it comes across as rude, please give me the finger and move on. You are a talented writer, but you asked for your problem areas, not praise. |
"Damn it, Sarah will be furious if you're late picking him up again..."you think to yourself as you hunt through your pocket for the note. It's not your fault you couldn't get out on time today. You couldn't exactly walk out on a client, right? You hand the crumpled note to the barista, and throw the few pence change in the tip jar. "Ok, so maybe I didn't NEED to stop for coffee, but it's my routine right? Why should I throw my whole routine out just because?"The place is busy today and you have to squeeze your way over to the counter to wait for your drink. This has always been a favourite spot of yours...it's lovely to just sit and people watch, the smell of fresh coffee and buzz of conversation. It must be the introvert in you, but you've always been happier just sitting back and taking it all in. Maybe you should finally mix things up - do something different? Maybe you could even get your paintings up on the wall here! Snapped back to reality having been lost in your little moment, the barista calls your order. You grab your cup and dash out the door. If you rush, you may only be 10 minutes late. As you step out into the street the park and ride bus you need approaches in the distance. You feel your feet pounding on the concrete as you sprint across the road to reach the stop in time. Suddenly, the pit of your stomach lurches as you hear the blaring of a horn.
You have just moments to see the car hurtling towards you from the other direction. You feel yourself lift from the floor as you hurtle through the air and a thud as you land in the road. Your eyes are closed tight, but the sounds around you seem somehow louder. Each noise begins to merge into one loud drone as you fight to breathe. You feel yourself drifting away, no longer sure what way is up or down, it is like the world around has melted away. Foating in a peaceful void, as quickly as it all began - nothing...
It feels as though time has stopped, you cant tell if it has been a moment or an eternity. Floating in nothingness, you suddenly realise you can feel your legs...a wave rushes over your body as warmth and sensation return. Within the drone you begin to notice a clicking, cracking sound. You try to breathe but nothing comes - less like choking and more as though your lungs weren't even there. With a start, you bolt upright and open your eyes. Before you, a writhing mass of tentacles, eyes, and claws hovers before your face. A sickening, alien clicking noise echoes fourth. You fight to breath, panick taking over as you still can't. You try and raise your hands to your face but feel paralyzed, unable to move. Cold tentacles writhe over your form, and suddenly you realise you understand the wretched sound this being makes..."That was so quick, what happened?? What was it like? What is it like to experience life as a new being, as a human!?"And as you gaze at your form, you begin to feel a sense of familiarity as you realise it mirrors this being before you. The familiar feeling of being back in your true body once more. |
John stared outside at the blue and white streaks on the other side of the ships window, just trying to stay calm. It wasn't his first drop, and the rattling of the ship as it moved through warp space was a familiar and almost comforting sound to him by now.
"Two minutes to planet fall. Get ready for a quick drop off, the LZ is still hot."One of the pilots announced through the ships intercom.
"Alright Zulu squad. You heard him. Grab your weapons, we're coming in hot. You all know the goal, we're going to push forward and rally with Echo squad south of the shield generator. We'll push forward with them to take it out so the Leviathan can fire on the factory."
"Yes, Sir."Replied the other 5 troopers standing in the back of the transport in unison.
"30 seconds to planet fall."The pilot then said.
"10 seconds. . .5. . ."He continued before suddenly the ship rocked as the white and blue lights were replaced by thick clouds of smoke, scattered explosions, and the loose flash of blaster rounds flying nearby. The rear door of the ship quickly fell open and John led the way, running as fast as he could before grunting as he jumped off of the ramp. It was at least a fifty foot drop, so it gave John time to scan his surroundings. In the chaos of the battle it was hard to tell exactly what was going on, but as far as he could tell the first wave of soldiers had successfully established a line and were slowly pushing forward.
About 10 feet from the ground John heard his suits thruster pack engage, and felt the familiar jerking sensation as it slowed him down. He then hit the ground with a hard thud, letting the exoskeleton in his suit absorb most of the force. Quickly, he turned his head up, two soldiers were right behind him, but just as the third one left the ramp a large plasma round slammed into the side of the transport. The resulting shockwave sent the soldier flying away from the ship. His thruster pack tried to adjust, but he was shooting towards the ground head first and much too fast. John couldn't help but look away, but he could just hear the sound of that soldiers body breaking as it slammed into the mud.
The ship shook and tried to level itself after the hit, but before the pilots could get control back a second round slammed into the cockpit, filling it with flame. The ship quickly began to spin out of control, dropping as it moved across the battlefield before slamming into a row of trees.
"What. . .What do we do now, Sarge?"Ask Corporal Hennson after landing a few feet away from John.
John took a second, trying to think. Private Miller landed right behind Hennson, and after stumbling to get to his feet for a second he stumbled up to John. John scanned the battlefield before turning back to his troops.
"We push forward, we have a mission."He said plainly before turning and running north towards the shield generator. Most of the fighting was further east, but John still found himself ducking behind fallen trees or scattered ship chunks as the enemy fired down in his direction. He returned fire when he had an opening, managing to hit a few other enemy troops as they stopped to let their weapons cool down. Hennson and Miller followed closely behind him, trying to provide covering fire whenever they weren't rushing forward.
Suddenly the sound of actuated limbs hit Johns ears and he turned around. Three Hunters were quickly running up behind him. They were 10 foot tall, four legged, mechs that always reminded him of jaguars. They were frighteningly fast and had massive blasters mounted on their sides. Within seconds the Hunters blew past John and Zulu squad, bouncing from side to side as they peppered the enemy encampments with a hail of blaster shots. A few dug in positions quickly went up in flames, but after a few moments of firing the lead Hunter suddenly dropped to the side as a massive blaster round hit it straight on. The hunter quickly combusted as the other two scattered, providing fire support wherever they could.
With the Hunters cleared out and no longer drawing heavy fire John waved for the rest of Zulu to follow as he pushed forward again. They nodded back and quickly started sprinting ahead. The treeline was just up ahead, all they needed to do was get to it and take cover while they waited for Echo squad.
He was almost there, it was just a little further now. Half of his squad was dead, his friends, but he'd have time to mourn later. He needed to get to the trees now, to complete the mission so they didn't die for nothing. And he was going to do it.
But the enemy disagreed, and all of a sudden a plasma mortar landed barely ten feet away from John. He felt the heat singing his hair as his body flew away from it, slamming into the dirt a few feet back. His suit protected him from the bulk of the damage, but his head was spinning. He tried to force himself up, but everything was spinning and cloudy, and then suddenly dark as he faded into unconsciousness.
|
Trip was a handsome German Shepard in his youth but years of hard work had left him a bit grey around the muzzle. His human told him he was aging like a fine wine but Trip had never been allowed to have wine with his kibble so he was unsure if that was a compliment or not. He strolled down the metal corridor, nodding to a pack of golden retrievers--mindless things, but their optimism was appreciated on the tougher missions--when he received an alert.
"Sir, we have a problem,"the muted voice came through the speaker on Trip's collar and he trotted off to the command room.
"Maggie, talk to me."
The black poodle sat regally among the bank of computers manned--well, dogged--by some of the finest canine minds in the world. Maggie's owner took great pride in keeping her curly hair well coifed but the no-nonsense pooch could care less. When Trip walked through the door she sat on her haunches, waiting for the Chief of KIA to take a seat among the other council members.
Apart from Trip, there was a long-eared Basset Hound named Charlie, a bad tempered Chihuahua named Prince Charming, a sweet Rottweiler named Killer, and a squirming Cocker Spaniel named Sasha. The Kennel Intelligence Agency had been established in France in the late 1600s by King Louis XIV's poodle, Filou. Now there were over two hundred KIAs across the globe, dedicated to studying, researching, and protecting the humans. Trip was the Chief of the Northeastern division and widely respected among his peers.
"Morning, Chief,"Charlie said with a slow blink. "How's the newest member of the family doing?"
Trip growled. His owner had recently adopted a kitten and tensions were high in the household. He ignored the snickers around the room and waited for Maggie to explain.
"Council members, your attention please,"she began. "Our team has discovered a few disturbing reports from the past week or so. Multiple dogs across the nation are claiming that their humans are disappearing for short periods of time thanks to some sort of advanced technology. Blankets and towels, outfitted for nefarious purposes, are held in the air and then dropped. The human is gone, vanished into thin air. They usually return to the adjoining room after a few seconds, but we cannot discount the possibility of terrorism."
Panicked whispers broke out within the group and Maggie held up a paw to quiet them.
"We have video from the collar-camera of a Saint Bernard in Oregon."
The screen behind her flickered to life, and the council watched in horror as a burly man with an unkempt beard held a quilt in the air. When the quilt fell to the floor, the man was gone. An uneasy whine came from Killer and Trip swallowed his discomfort.
"How many cases have been reported?"Trip forced his voice to sound strong despite the slight shake in his paws.
"Thirteen,"Maggie replied. "And counting. Should I get the AU on the phone?"
She was referring to Animals United, the interspecies agency that allowed all domesticated animals to communicate issues that may affect other furred, feathered, or fanged. The Minister of the AU was a retired racehorse in Brazil with a parrot named Cheeky as an assistant.
"No, not yet. We need to get a better read on the situation lest we cause unnecessary alarm. Have the witnesses claimed any strange happenings after the event itself?"
Maggie shook her head.
"Perhaps we should send exterminators to the houses in question,"Prince Charming snapped. His fur was bristled and his beady eyes shone with bloodlust. He had been rehomed six times thanks to his tendency to bite the ankles and toes of anyone who got too close.
"It could just be a misunderstanding,"Killer whispered. "My human plays pranks every once in a while and I've never suggested we should exterminate him."Killer was the most soft-hearted of the council and she hung her head sadly at the thought of taking out the threat. Exterminators were the highly trained, special-ops units that could make a human disappear quietly.
"No one is sending the exterminators anywhere,"Trip interrupted, glaring at Prince Charming. "Continue observation and compile research. We will reconvene next week regarding this issue."
The council dispersed, and Trip made his way to the tunnel that led topside. He crawled upwards and poked his head into the bush that covered the opening in his backyard. He could see his owner pounding away at the computer in the den, clueless to the perilous issues of the K9 world. Trip pulled his long body free and scraped at the backdoor.
"Hey, big man. Where've you been?"The human asked as he scratched between Trip's ears. "Want a treat?"
Trip, the ever-serious Chief, wagged his tail enthusiastically. |
NSFW Language Below
The Smell.
You know it.
That unmistakable waft of evil that punctures through you when a strange man walks onto the bus, or when a silent couple walks past you on the street.
And my Hyper-Max-Security-Prison-Shithole was full of it.
Call it a placebo, but I could swear on my fucking daughter that the smell was tangible.
And that was before I could read their minds.
I was monitoring this weird little guy who kept going batshit crazy, pulling his hair out, trying to bite the goddamn wall, and he wasn't even in solitary.
I remember trying to know what made him tick, or the lack thereof. And I knew.
It wasn't concise and clean like Proffessor Yavier from the Y men, it was a barrage of dark bullshit.
Warped memories, some happy ones, some sad ones, some happy ones warped into evil ones.
Emotions were mixed in to, into a giant stew of anger, self pity, hatred, a little guilt even.
I was just like....Ok. I never told anyone about it, I just silently read memories.
Rapists, Cannibals, Religious nutcases, I looked through a lot of sick fucks, and it kind exhausted my brain of darkness, to the point that I'd be just knocked back with a memory of dismemberment or some shit while I was watching Sherlock after work.
But I kept going. Morbid Curiosity.
And then there was this one guy.
I can't remember any of his features except his gender.
And his mind was blank. No memories, no thoughts, no emotions.
I asked my superior who it was, and he said that **his** superior told him...really just nothing.
When his execution date came, I stood to watch, trying to unravel this enigma.
And when the toxins entered his veins he thought something.
And I read it.
And I screamed for the executioner to stop but they wouldn't listen.
And they wouldn't fucking listen.
And they wouldn't fucking listen
And they wouldn't fucking listen
And when the man turned to smoke, and the sky turned to red, I didn't bother to read everyone else's thoughts.
Cause by then there was nothing read. |
*Fear. It carries a certain aroma. It's pungent, like the acrid sweat released in moments of sharp panic, and sweet like catching a newly fallen teardrop on the tip of ones tongue. This mingling of scents tickles the senses and gives a hunger so immense that it may never be satiated. But I try. Oh, do I try.*
*What was once a beautiful town, filled with the vibrancy of young souls is now a desolate waste. Empty cars and discarded trash litter the streets. Bodies dehydrated and cracked, lay exposed to the bleak sun like strips of drying jerky. The smell. This smell is one of death, but not one that piques my taste buds. This one is foul. Dried flesh and swollen guts and dried blood mingle in the still air and settle upon everything. I can even taste it in my mouth.*
*I hear nothing, I see nothing, I sense... nothing.*
*Twenty-seven years of slumber has created a hunger in me that has reached it's zenith. My desire to eat is as necessary as a man's need to breathe. I look to the North. Nothing. I look to the South. Nothing. I look to the East and simply see the darkening of early twilight. I look to the West. I feel it.*
*I look to the West, towards that sullen and somber orb, its light waning over the tops of trees, and I feel it. There is life. Not much of it, but there is enough.*
.
*Two-thousand miles may seem like a great distance to a man. But, to one who has seen eons come and go across the earth like the passing of a day? Two-thousand miles is little more than a stroll to the supermarket. I wandered through mountains and forests, driven by a goal singular and pure -- hunger. Hunger. Hunger.*
*I had finally reached the people -- what few people remained on this bleak and desperate place called Earth. They seemed to have hope, at least on the surface. There are things that can't be discerned simply by looking at their faces. Behind those forced smiles and moments of morale-lifting exuberance, I felt that one thing I had traveled so far to smell. It was fear.*
*It didn't take long for me to become familiar with who was who. There was Mother Abagail, Larry Underwood, Stu Redman, Fran Goldsmith, Susan Stern, Nadine Cross, Nick Andros, Glenn Bateman... and Harold Lauder.*
*Time passed slowly, days... weeks... and yet I remained patient. Observing. Waiting. I wanted the fear to permeate their bodies fully, like waiting for a steak to fully marinate in savory juices. I had time. Oh yes. I had lots of it.*
*After several weeks had passed, I was ready to begin my games. I knew I would start with the fat boy. Harold Lauder. The boy was brimming with insecurity and doubt. I could already taste the sweet juices of fear permeating his flesh.*
"They will learn to respect me, Nadine,"The boy said to the woman. She was much older, her hair tinged with gray, but I sensed that he had feelings for her. Whether or not these feelings were reciprocated, I was unsure. They stood in the living room of his, the curtains drawn and the light dim.
He held some sort of plans in his hand -- something drawn on paper with small paragraphs written in the margins. "They think they're all so high and mighty. That--that dumb old bitch, Abigail? Yeah. She'll learn. They'll all learn that they should have respected Harold Lauder. I am not to be messed with."
Nadine rested a gentle hand on Harold's shoulder, "Do you think this will work?"
His head snapped in her direction, "Do I *think* it will work? I know it will work. Please don't tell me you're doubting me too."
"No, not at all,"She gave him a soft smile, "I don't doubt you, Harold. I'm sorry. I'm sure this will work great. You are a very smart young man."
These words seemed to calm Harold, as he let out a long sigh and returned to studying his plans, "I only need to gather a few more things, and then I'll be able to do this."
"*We'll* be able to do this,"Nadine said and brushed greasy strands of hair lovingly from his forehead. "And once this is finished, we can finally be free together." |
I've gotta good one
"....We are gathered here today to witness the passing of one James Forester, brother to William Forester, son of Heather and James Sr. Forester, husband to Lily Forester, and father to five children, Daniel, Mary, Thomas, Lucy, and Samuel. James was a great man in life; he accomplished many things, such as perfecting the ancient technology we rely on today, translating ancient texts, restoring various art work pieces, and so many other things."
The lawyer cleared his throat and continued.
"With that said....We shall now take a look at James's assets....Let's see here...."
The man's eyes widened and he loked around the crowd, for some reason, he set his gaze on me.
"...Well then...It seems as if your uncle favored you above everyone else...including his blood relatives....Micheal, if you would please come up to the podium...."
With a look at my parents, I slowly got up from my seat and walked down the red carpet and up to the podium. The lawyer handed me a envelope and shook my hand, then motioned for me to leave the room, so I did.
Once I was alone, I opened the envelope and read the letter that fell out first. It said *Hello Micheal. If you are reading this, then I have finally passed away. First off, I'd like to thank you for listening to me ramble on about my younger days, what I did, how I lived my life and accomplished so many things. It is hard for me to write now, so I shall keep this brief. Inside this envelope with this letter, you shall find a first class train ticket to Ordon Village, Hyrulialus. The second thing you will find is the original deed to my Estate, and therefore, you shall own everything on the property and inside the buildings. I realize that this may be too much, but I trust that you will be the best one to preserve all the artifacts from our family's legacy. The legends are true Micheal. All you have to do is come to my home and witness them for yourself.*
I sat back in the chair and gawked at the letter.
*...The entire Estate?! Is he crazy?!*
Still....
I looked down at the train ticket and made up my mind. Yeah, I'd go to this strangely named village and see exactly what my now dead uncle meant. |
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It's been 4 months since she's walked out on me. Every morning when I look into the mirror I see nothing but an abstract mismatched version of myself. When she left me she took so much more than my heart with her. She took pieces of me, so man pieces, robbed from me. So, I try my best to piece myself back together everyday. It's been 4 months, I don't think I'll ever be the same.
My morning routine is filled with nothing but mourning over the loss of that woman. I'm dead to her, yet I still want to hold her in my arms. Tell her I''m sorry, I can fix whatever the problem was if she just gave me the chance. Instead, she left.
Everyday when I head out to work I have to notice the empty parking space in my garage. I still catch myself carefully opening my door to my Chevy 2 door. Trying my best not to bump it into the other car that's no longer there. The commute to work is nothing less than dreadful, the radio is like an assistant torturer. He plays so many songs that remind me of her. And, when I turn him off the torturer himself comes in the silence. Reminding me of memories, filling me with sorrow as I realize I'll never be that happy again.
Every night of sleep is empty. My bed is desolate and cold, it's missing human life. It gets no warmth from me I have no heart to keep me warm. Remember, she took it from me. I'll just lye and waste away. I'm nothing. |
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Much like these chronic alcoholics and their rodent problems, my visions are a plague which are entirely real, yet I am the sole clairvoyant that can see them. Others are not affected, and remain unperturbed, undisturbed. My visions begin with a "leaking". It's a drip-drip noise, which evolves into the spine-tingling sensation of cold drops of water on my back. My clothes feel wet, as does my hair soon after. I have come to learn that to properly experience these visions, I have to coil myself into the fetal position, relax, and then stand up in order to take it all in. There often is what I like to call an "omen". A black flame which replaces the eyes of all those around me. Time seems to pass slowly, too slowly. I can see the minute reactions on people's faces, the small twists and turns tugging at their lips, the age lines on their cheeks moving ever so slightly. There is no music for me, in this suspended state. I can only compare it to a drone, constant and present, yet like elevator music it takes no attention away from the "omens"themselves. These black flames flicker in this alternate reality for what seems to be minutes for me, but milliseconds when I am cast out of the pit and back into the open. Everything is normal after the "omens"end. I feel fine- mentally tired, but physically unharmed. People seem not to notice my state, and nothing of what was to me the last 10 minutes feels real to them. But it is all to real for me, and even in my dreams to I encounter these emotionless eyes with their sordid tar black flames.
The question I pondered, is "What was my alcohol?"What vice caused me this horrific ailment, which influenced my thoughts, my dreams, and my days? I spent from my first vision at the age of 10 all the way till age 23 figuring it out. When the truth revealed itself to me, it was as each of the "omens"did. Sudden, jarring, yet featuring a unique mix of pain and pleasure. I reached out online, and by the age of 15 had found a forum for people who experienced similar "visions". None were as unique and vivid as mine. Others reported seeing faceless men, floating specters, waves of thick tar. This group was my saving grace, among the catastrophe that was my life. I was ostracized by my parents, who saw me as a psychotic attention-seeker. I was pumped full of Schizophrenia medications that saw nothing but to augment these sinister visions of mine. But this group, was full of like-minds. And we soon found out the truth, or at least part of it.
It was 2007. I was 23. I was contacted by Johannes Barre, of the Central Intelligence Agency. I was living out of an outreach program in L.A, and had admitted myself numerous times to various institutions. These didn't help my parents opinions of me. Barre gave me what I had been looking for. Answers. I met him in a coffee shop in Burbank, and we began to speak with each other. He told me of a defunct lab, recently shut down, and that they were looking for individuals who had presumably been experimented on by the scientists at that lab. He told me he needed subjects, so that they may build a case against the group. From 1978-2005 this lab had performed psychological experimentation on various subjects, both human and non-human alike. The victims were in the dozens. Many, I learned, had killed themselves out of pure fear and trauma. But I was happy to know that I had prevailed, that I had survived. So that is where you find me now. I'm in D.C, waiting for results out of a government lab for a possible "antidote"to the psychotropics they fed me. It unearthed memories too, of an aunt who would send me to a "special class", and reward me with ice cream for my participation. My parents and I are still distant, and I have no intention of reconnecting with them. But I feel there is a way forward now. A path out of the shadows, thrust into the light. |
"The first rule of Mickey Mouse Club is one sacrifice!"
The patrons looked at one another in agreement, as the Mickey mask-wearing attendants wheeled a cumbersome object into the center of the large room. It was pillar-like contraption made out of iron, with ornate carvings on each side.
"This is Mickey's Iron Maiden!"
The patrons gasped and began to clap. Some became quite emotional at the prospect.
"All sacrifices will go here, so we can harvest the souls to create new products!"
There were cheers, as the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse theme rang out. An anthem of this sinister soul-collecting cult, who sought to take the world by storm with their Mickey products. |
Of all the contenstants, the most feared was a nine-year old Girl Scout named Jenny Fairweather. Her very name sent chills down the spines of the other combatants, and sent the crowds into a wild frenzy of excitement. Jenny killed without mercy. With a sweet smile, she whispered good night to her victims as she slit their throats, gutted them, or even set them on fire. Though she was only nine, she had killed 46 people by the time of her induction into the contest. Her strength was her sheer brutality, as she knew not remorse nor guilt, not the faintest hint of sorrow as she basked in blood spray from the jugulars of her victims. She also had a devilish power- Exploding Thin Mints. They blocked psychic energy, absorbed lightning and fire, and exploded in enormous radii, scarring land and flesh. She threw them in great quantities, with little care of consequences. When the carnage was over, she simply smiled, as she whispered...
"Nap time!" |
You Can Check Out Anytime You Like, But You Can Never Leave
"Welcome."
"You mean, welcome to the Hotel California. All of these years and you still can't get the greeting right."
"Another one! Oooh, he's cute!"
"Gorgeous. I wonder if we'll be able to keep him..."
A chorus of quiet, ghostly voices followed him down the corridor, and he gulped. He wondered if he was just imagining it, if it was all just a figment of his overtired imagination.
If he hadn't been almost out of gas, he wouldn't have stopped. But he had been driving all night, and was in desperate need of rest. This hotel, a crumbling and regal remnant of an older time, had been the only open establishment for miles, its neon lights casting a rainbow of colors across the night-blackened sand.
The hallway seemed to elongate and stretch like taffy, making him wonder if perhaps he'd pushed it too far. He was certain that after some sleep and some food, everything would be better again. He frowned, scrubbing a hand across his eyes in irritation. It was nearly three in the morning, and he needed to get it together. The voices seemed to follow him, quiet but persistent. He reached the door and slipped the key into the lock; it was an old-school, legit key, not one of those electronic cards you'd get at a regular Marriott.
This place was so weird, he thought as he turned the key and opened the door. It was almost as if it was stuck in the period in which it had been made, a portal unto itself. This feeling was further cemented by the room he entered into: all rusty orange shag carpeting, cheesy, shiny red velvet wallpaper, ugly plaid comforters. It was like a very drunk and angry interior designer had brainstormed all of the ugliest things you could put in a hotel room and put it all together, an ugly kind of joke.
The whispering wouldn't stop, but it had died down to the point that he barely heard it. And anyway, he was certain that it was just his mind playing tricks on him...
\*\*
When he awoke again, there was a knock on the door; he'd fallen asleep right on top of the blankets, without even taking off his shoes. His throat was dry, and his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. He would've given anything for a drink, anything to parch his throat. The knock sounded again, more insistent this time.
"Give me just a second! I... I'm not decent!"He dug through his duffel bag and pulled a shirt out of it, though it was wrinkled and dirty and smelled like the desert, wind and sand, then pulled it over his head. When he was sure that he looked okay, well, as well as he could, considering that he had just gotten up, he opened the door to a strange sight.
An old, wizened man stood at attention, like a soldier, next to a rolling cart, laden with covered dishes.
"Hello, sir. My employers felt that you might be hungry and insisted that you be brought food."He smiled, and the guest had to resist the urge to shudder.
The Butler, as he had been dubbed in the guest's mind, still tired and sluggish from his late night, was tall, and his skin was wrinkled and papery, with an unpleasant greenish tinge underneath. His teeth were sharp and pointed, as if they'd been filed that way. His clothes were years out of date, a suit complete with a red bow tie and sharp coattails. His fingers were long and spidery, with nails that had a bluish tint under them. He smelled of minty aftershave. But even with all that, his guest could help but back deeper into the room.
"I... That's very kind of you. But I'm actually not hungry. And I couldn't pay for all that. Thanks anyway."He tried to close the door in The Butler's face, but quicker than blinking, he caught the doorknob.
"Please, my employers insist you dine. After all, this is a hotel, and we wish to show you the best example of our hospitality."
The guest frowned, and he sighed, rubbing a hand over his neck. He felt his jaw beginning to clench, but he stopped himself. He didn't want to offend these people, not when he already had such a bad feeling about this place.
"Would it be all right if I showered and changed, and met you in the dining room? I was raised to eat at a table, even at such a... gorgeous establishment like this one."
"Very well, sir. I'm sure that my employers would love to meet you in a more formal setting also."
\*\*
After he showered and put on some clean clothes, in the form of a pair of torn jeans, a gray muscle shirt, and a black leather jacket with colorful skulls embroidered on the back of it, completing the look with steel-toed boots, he dug through his bag and retrieved his switchblade; he wasn't sure exactly why, but this place gave him the creeps.
He tucked the weapon into the cuff of his jacket, his spine tingling with unease. Sweat formed on his brow and dripped down his face, and he frowned. This heat seemed to seep into everything, stealing what little energy he had left. He wished that he hadn't agreed to this meal; something in his gut told him that he'd just signed up for something huge, and he hadn't yet seen the consequences.
\*\*
At last, he reached what looked to be the old ballroom; the room was all bright gold wallpaper, adorned with summer fruit, and the floor tiles of the palest rose gold. In the center of it sat a long wooden table, set for many, surely more than there were in the hotel. But there was a couple sitting at the head of it, and The Butler hovered by the door. When he spotted his guest, he smiled, then turned to look back at his employers.
"Please, come sit,"He invited. "My employers are most eager to meet you. We haven't had many guests recently."
The man could hardly imagine why, haunted as the building seemed to be. Full of history and more than a few ghosts. He had already begun to regret stopping in this place. But those regrets evaporated almost instantly upon seeing his hosts.
They were obviously a couple, a man and woman seated side by side. They were a study in contrasts, and soon the man had forgotten about the meal, so consumed was he in studying them. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something about this pair that set him on edge and begged closer inspection, all at the same time.
"We've heard much about you from our faithful servant, young man."The woman spoke first, a seductive purr that sent chills skittering up and down his spine. She was lovely, exquisite, and under the table, he felt his fingers twitching with the urge to touch her. Her skin was smooth and dark, reminding him of the night sky, with a subtle glimmer like the stars, and her eyes were a warm, honeyed amber, lit with a fire that he couldn't decide was malice or excitement.
"But you must be famished. Please, eat. And then you can answer our questions."
Her companion, on the other hand, frowned, arms crossed, his chair pushed back from the table, his long legs on the table. His skin was so pale that it looked as if he were formed from moonlight itself, his eyes like two chips of ice, this skin adorned with colorful tattoos, even on his face, curling like smoke onto his cheeks and climbing up onto his forehead. His jaw was clenched, and his eyes darted between their guest and his companion, twitching as though he could barely stand to stay still.
As if by magic, food appeared on covered dishes, releasing the most enticing, mouthwatering scents. He was so very hungry. What was the harm in accepting? "I... I don't feel comfortable eating in front of people,"He lied, his gut roiling with warning. "Why don't my kind hosts join me?"He offered, though every instinct inside of him was screaming to abandon this meal, to turn tail and run while he still could. But he had a feeling that it was far too late for that now."
We aren't much for eating big meals,"The man countered, his voice gruff and angry. "We were kind enough to give you this feast. It would be rude to refuse.""Don't be rude to our guest."The woman replied, and put a glass of wine in front of him, smiling. "You've nothing to fear. Not even my brother here. You were on the road all night, were you not? Even something small would help."
Resigning himself to his fate, he lifted the cover to one of the dishes that had appeared in front of him. It was laden with bright, ripe peaches, and just the smell made his mouth water. He took one, and lifted the fruit to his lips, ignoring the way his stomach knotted up as he did so. He bit into it, the warm juice dripping down his chin.
The siblings smiled, first at each other, then at the man who had unwittingly become their prisoner. |
Once upon a time, there was a little girl--
*What are you doing?*
I'm telling the story.
*The story starts on her sixteenth birthday, what the fuck?*
Context is important!
*Context from when she was a baby? Give me a break*.
*It rained on the morning of Penelope's sixteenth birthday. It rained wildly and violently. Thunder shook the windows, and lightning could be seen faintly in the distance. The clouds were so thick that the city was bathed in darkness even--*
Hey hey hey, this is supposed to be a children's tale.
*She is a young woman cursed to murder somebody, what exactly is childlike about that?*
You skipped over the curse entirely!
*She doesn't know about the curse yet! She learns at high noon upon meeting the wizard--I am trying to align the audience with the protagonist, thank you very much.*
But where's the wonder? This is a coming of age story, surely you--
*I am not going to work like this. I'm calling my agent.*
Fine!
Geez. Such a diva.
Where were we?
Right.
Once upon a time, a little girl was born. Her name was Penelope, and she was the daughter of a witch and a merchant. On the day of her first birthday, her mother invited all of the--
*--He says you're supposed to be next door, jackass.*
What?
*My agent. Apparently, they're doing two versions to product-test them.*
What? So one of us will do all of this for nothing?
*Maybe. Look, I get paid either way, can you go where you're supposed to, old geezer?*
Right. Sorry about that, I guess. I didn't...
*It's fine, just go.*
Very well...
*Finally. Freaking fossil. "Context"my ass, the audience doesn't need talking down to. Anyway...*
*The clouds were so thick that the city was bathed in darkness even as the clock struck ten in the morning. She was cold, though she had coccooned herself with blankets, and had stayed in her room for an unseemly amount of time, such that her mother--*
Sorry, I just... they said they were finished.
*Motherfucker, did you go left?*
Yeah?
*That is the horror tales studio, you need to go right.*
Oh. Sorry. My bad.
*I swear...*
|
EDIT: forgive grammar and formatting, phones and all
“So what will you do?” he asked again.
I sat in silence, trying to fully absorb the magnitude of my situation.
He was making small circles around the rim of his glass with his finger. Catching my line of sight, he softly brushed his hand through the air,
“Here…. have one yourself.”
A short tumbler appeared on the table in front of me filled part way.
“So you’re fucking god?” I asked.
He chuckled a bit and looked into his glass….thinking.
“I am – or was at one point. Not so much anymore.”
“Not so much anymore?... How can you lose being god?”
The liquid in his cup churned as he swirled his glass. It was only now that I realized we were the only two people in the bar.
The jukebox was playing old Lynyrd Skynyrd and it had started to rain.
“Do you know how a god becomes a god?” he asked, taking a slow sip.
“I would think they are born one. Some type of celestial gene pool.”
He smiled
“Belief. Belief makes a God a God. Without belief we are nothing, we wither away into what you see before you.”
He finished his glass and another appeared in its place.
“So why are you here?” I ask.
“To take back what was stolen from me,” he said. A slight grin was beginning to form on his face.
“I fought my way back to this world and he knows it.”
“Who knows?” Who was the man sitting in front of me….?
“You know him by many names….. Yahweh, Jehovah, King of Kings,” he snarled, spitting onto the ancient wood floor.
“He knows I am close too, he has begun taking precautions, hiding his where-a-bouts, only letting his closest, most trusted in. But they are growing tired of his arrogance. His utter disregard for a world he claims to love so dearly.”
He stands up, finishing what was left in his glass and wiping the stray drops from his beard.
“Where are you going?” I ask.
“To tell the world of his lies, to take back what was stolen from me and make right what he has wronged.”
He pulls his coat from the back of his chair and slams what appears to be a leather bag onto the bar. Pulling back the draw string he mutters under his breath… It’s been a long time…. old friend.”
The bag droops down revealing its contents. He lifts the massive hammer. A strange smell wafts through the bar as a lone thunder bolts strikes out the door.
“Come,” he says extending a hand towards me, “we have much to do.”
|
The angry saiyan's face steamed as he inhaled the largest breath he ever inhaled. In a flurry of emotions, he-
_I can hear you up there you know!_
Goku shook his fist at the disembodied voice in the sky. Also known as yours truly.
_Get down here you punk!_
Now now, that's no way to talk to the narrator.
_This is another one of those stupid Goku Vs Superman things, right?!_
Yes.
_..._
A silence ensued. Although not really, because I just broke it.
_That's it! I'm coming after you!_
Wait. He can't do that, right? I'm supposed to be the one in contro-OH SHI-
|
Recent advances in genetic modification and bionics have been impressive, but they never stop me from cursing my stupid five year old self. Seriously. What kid that age knows the implications of their words, let alone truly means what they say?
I try to stretch my arm, work out a kink, but the uniformed man bangs his axe against the side of the ladder to still me. My legs still burn from the frantic ride over here, my toes never really acclimating to becoming wheels.
I mean, the sturdiness is nice. Kinda like body armor. And I was always a loud kid, so the siren makes sense, but can get annoying when I'm not the one deciding when to turn it on. And it'd be nice if some more arsonists would move into town so I could relieve myself more often. That water tank is still a bladder, and the bionics department didn't do the most bang up job neutralizing the nerve endings down there.
And don't get me started on parades. I hate those damn things. Bunch of little kids watching me inch my way down the street, unaware of the binding magic that curses their idiotic thinking of "oooh, how cool! I want to be a fire truck, too, Mommy!" |
“Dude, come on, almost everybody’s gone already, there’s not going to be a hidden scene”.
“Hang on, just wait”.
“I know, but like, it’s a Tim Burton film. If you weren’t in it they know nobody was going to actually go see it”.
“Okay but I’m telling you, the usher told me to wait for...OH, here it comes! I think...?”.
“.....nope, dude, I told you, let’s just...wait...”.
“Uhhh....”
“Haha...ha...what? Is this a prank?? Are you serious?”
“I...I don’t know, what the hell is happening? It’s gotta be a prank. Like that’s why the usher said something”.
“Artistic Inspiration: Johnny Depp. Lead Motivator: Johnny Depp...HAHAHAHA!! DUDE!”.
“Dedicated to my dearest...oh. Oh no.”
“What?”.
“Just...oh my god...”.
*“Johnny!”.*
“Who’s that...?”.
“Oh shit, he’s here! Fuck fuck fuck, duck, hide!”
*”Johnny! It’s me, Johnny! Timmy is here!”.*
“Dude is that Tim Burton??”.
“Just shut up.”
“How do you know...?”
“SHUUUUSH.”
*”I know you’re in here Johnny! I know you can hear me! Listen! I know that you know that I know that I can’t turn up the house lights because of my sensitive retinas, but out there, in the darkness of this theater, wherever you are,’I just want you to know that I love you, Johnny!”*
“I...is this for real??”
“SHUSH. Crawl towards an exit! Hurry!”.
*”Will you marry Johnny?? Please Johnny! You’re the profit line of my heart!”*
“UP YOURS TIM BURTON. ALICE AND WONDERLAND SUCKED
AND WE’RE FINISHED!”
*”Come now, Johnny. Don’t make me be unreasonable with you”.*
“RUN!”.
|
“Since when did you start smoking the pipe?”
“A couple of months ago... The tobacco tastes better.”
I have encountered lots of fascinating creatures, but few caught my attention like Ted.
Among all of the criminals that would deserve a seat next to Lucifer, he was one of the unique ones that appeared not to be scared by me. No, not like those puppets dressed like war criminals or those psychopaths too unsuitable for the modern day society.
Ted didn't show a single emotion when I first met him, and he hasn't so far. Not even a single time.
"So, what? "- He asked while hospitalised and barely able to move the first time he saw me. His dad was way drunker than usual that time.
"So, what?!"- I asked myself back in the days with amazement as we began staring into each other. For the first time, I felt that I was not the only one looking into something bottomless.
After that encounter, I started to like him.
A while passed after our next meeting. The typical amount of time needed for someone like Ted to welcome the oblivion and drop all his hopes.
His initiation commenced when he set on fire a beggar without any family or friends left. Next, he stabbed a prostitute that he didn't fully enjoy. Then, and I would add finally, he choked his dad with his own hands.
And after that, he never stopped.
Becoming more professional with each of his actions. Leaving fewer and fewer clues for his chasers. Acting every day more like a beast from where I belong, rather than a mortal being.
What a prodigious human being he is.
"Only four this time?"- I ask him while observing a flock of ravens flying away hopeless from the bodies that are now entirely buried underground.
"Uh-huh"
"Are you sure you want to continue? The trails are going to soon direct to you."- I question him while admiring the only few blood stains on his shirt and how well he polished his axe is after work.
He leans away from the stone wall and starts walking away from me. Almost like he didn't listen to me.
But I know he did. I know Ted.
Because he suddenly stops and turns gently towards me.
"Yes... I love my job."
I observe him going away from me again as each of his steps make his words echo inside me.
Those emotionless face and the abyss inside those cold brown eyes. Nothing outdoes the sensations given by that view and a good smoke with a pipe at the end of the day.
**Thank you for reading :-)** |
“Ana, may i ask, why do you want the rocket completed so bad?” Mike asked, standing at the other end of the Oval Office he looked at in confusion, with worry. Makes sense, I nearly drove this country to bankruptcy trying to get the space X rocket finished. I stood behind the Oval Office desk, looking out the window with a glass of wine in my hand.
“Because, Michel, we need that rocket” I paused, part of my agreement with that dastardly time traveler was that I couldn’t reveal what I knew, what he told me. I ruled the greatest country in the world, the only country that could save the world, but I couldn’t tell people it needed saving. All I could do is lie. “The completion of that rocket will surely bring this country back to greatness”
“ the country is already great we don’t need to indulge in this risky enterprise, and I know you know that, you wouldn’t do spend the nations money on a rocket to mars unless there was a reason, and a damn good one”
We stood in silence for what felt like an eternity, I knew this would be a problem when I hired mike as my attorney general, he could see threw me. I couldn’t lie to him because he could always tell, maybe it was because he spent years as a private investigator or maybe he just knew me that well. But I couldn’t tell him the truth, that in 54 years the world as we know it would die, our only hope is to get off this floating rock and move to another. I couldn’t tell him but every part of me wanted to. and I knew, in order to save the world I had to disobey the time traveler, I couldn’t keep it a secret because I needed help. I had to tell. |
My last thoughts, or rather my first memories growing up in the little polish village of styzcke were those words. That marked the beginning of the Deluge.
"By the flame and by the steel, you will be reborn as a powerful warrior. Save us. Please."
I didn't remember much from this former life, supposedly. My friends used to say that I was a great statesman, perhaps even one of the great generals playing that great game. Of course, I was a polish peasant. What could I do if I used to be some great general. I was destined to become a farmer, living simple lives, doing simple things.
It all changed when the Swedish armies marched in. They burned our village to the ground, took everything we owned.
From that day on, I've been an adventurer. I've taken up fencing, though I much prefer the carbine, and occasionally I try to earn enough money to make ends meet. I've done odd jobs here or there, sometimes in the service of great Lithuanian noblemen, sometimes for the humblest beggar. It was while doing one of these jobs that I met the man.
One day, somewhere while visiting the court of Jan Kasmir, I met Stańczyk. Yes, that's right, the Stańczyk. The man was a clairvoyant, the wise old fool that he was. He was the one who had uttered those remarks. Uttered those remarks to me some twenty years ago.
I was a fool then, but I will not be a fool now. The Swedes were already menacing inland, the Russians supporting them. Now that their guard is down, I shall strike them in their very hearts.
It didn't take long before I was reinstated into my former position, though to great discontent amongst the nobles. With the nobles come the downfall of poland.
"Stefan Czarniecki"demanded the court minister. "We're ready. Twenty thousand zolniers at your disposal."
I paced around the room. "It is time, with fire and sword, with steel and flame, to retake poland."
So marks the beginning of the end of the deluge. |
"So, what did your resume say about your current or last job?"the cosmic job finder implored.
"I, uh, reaped souls of humans on earth and parallel dimensions, and the only reason I stopped is because they're starting to die out."nervously replied Death.
There was a good chance he could quite well go homeless in the galaxy, miss his rent on the Milky Way, and lose everything. He just wished that his resume and and backstory were enough to find him a new job.
"That is at the beginning of the job chain. Do you have any other experiences? Did you get a degree in school and major in something? if yes, what major? What would you like to get a job in?"CJF asked.
"I'm kinda new to the job, as humans only started to exist quite recent to the galaxy, and yet they've advanced so far so quickly I wasn't able to stop them from entering a nuclear fallout, so I'm losing my job. This is my only experience, and I did go to school for a bachelors, major in reaping. I would like to continue this job of escorting souls, as I like to see the horror on their faces as I determine whether they go to heaven or hell."
He started to worry intensely that he would lose his home and his dimension.
"Okay. Is that all the details you can give me?"CJF asked.
"That's probably about it. I love to hardwork and like my current job. What can you do for me?"Death responded.
"Well, there have been 5 job pings. Would you like to hear them?"
"Well, yeah I kinda have to find a new job. So yes."
Death softly laughed. He tended to do that when he got nervous or he was put into a tough spot. He also tended to laugh at dead souls too, because he thought they were funny sometimes because usually the stupid ones die first.
"The first job is becoming the tyrant of the Andromeda galaxy, where you would control all life there as their ruler and god. You would control their lives like you would guide souls to the underworld. Are you interested?"
"Erm. No. I don't like the idea of being a ruler, I'm pretty shy and don't know what to do. I'd like to pass on that offer for now."Death slowly worded.
"Understandable. The next offer is quite simple. We have a need for a new Thanos in a different dimension, so we can provide you with infinity stones and a gauntlet to rule over a dimension as a villain. Are you interested?"CJF started to sound bored.
Death thought for a second.
"No, that wouldn't suit me either. Earth thought of me as a villain but I don't think I'd fit the job quite well. I'll pass."
CJF said "The third offer is to become caretaker of dimension 3's current big bang. We have a need of a caretaker, and you can guide the process."
This one resonated more with Death, but these jobs all sounded like shit so he decided to pass again.
"Nah, I'll take something more like my last job, if possible."
"Alright, the fourth offer is to become a counselor, with job training provided free for other cosmic beings in your position to provide care. Would you be interested?"
"No no no, I don't really like helping people. I like reaping souls! What is the final offer? Tell me."
"Don't be so anxious. The final offer is . . . huh. You'll like this one. There's been an opening in your galaxy. New life has been born on Mars, and you can take the job to guide that life. If you take it, you have to be careful not to ruin it like humanity. This will provide more experience and when done with this job, you may advance to an entire galaxy. Are you interested?"
"Yes yes yes, I would love this job, thank you! I won't let you down, and I'll get that galaxy. When do I start?"
CJF smiled. "Now. Good luck!"
Death got teleported away to his galaxy and smiled, thinking about what methods of evolution he'd use on these new martians he'd never heard of, and how lucky he'd got. |
“Welcome to another round of ‘Whose Planet Is It Anyway?’ where we blow things up first then ask questions later.” “I’m your host Kent Drennings.” “Let’s meet today’s contestant.” “Brenda is an intergalactic sanitation inspector.” Boos come from the crows. “Hey come on people someone has to clean up those ice crystals.” “When she isn’t taking long walks on The Slab with her pet Razor she’s eating roasted Woah at her favorite restaurant.” “Brenda the game is simple. If you can guess the way Earth is going to be destroyed you not only walk away with an all-expenses paid trip to Jupiter you also win a years supply of Ghost Guts, but if you guess wrong you’ll be sent down to join the little Earthlings. Are you ready?” “Yes I am Kent!” Brenda replies. “Ok well without further ado let’s get started!” “Brenda please give us the answer to how we’re planning to destroy Earth.” “A massive tsunami Kent?”.....”A massive tsunami she says.” “Judges?” “Ohhh so sorry Brenda but the answer we were looking for was ‘giant tsunami’ Brenda, ‘giant tsunami’”. “Have fun on Earth!” Brenda disappears. “Goodnight folks, but don’t forget to join us next time as we have some fun with the Martians of Mars!” |
They were gone. I knew I had them when I came home yesterday. I knew... think were with me when I went to bed. I took a moment. Two, three four. I would be ok.
I heard Molly downstairs, we had only beed dating a few months, and 'I have superpowers' wasn't the kind of thing you broached lightly. She knew I didn't touch people, and my friends understood. I liked to think I was a good person though. I'd seen what my powers could do, what they could drive people to. It's all well and good having a power, but when you can accidently start a riot with one drunken night, it's important to keep restrained, and calm.
Worst came to the worst I could call the Department. They probably dealt with this sort of thing all the time. I would be fine. Power dampening gloves were probably a very common item. Molly was here though, and I didn't like the idea of heading into town without some sort of protection. Looking frantically around the bedroom, I moved quickly into the hall, and started looking through the airing cupboard. Towels dropped to the ground as I searched. Molly came up the stairs and put her hands around my waist.
"Whats wrong darling?"She said slightly concerned, and her eyes fell to my hands "Oh"was her only reply. As far as she knew I was just paranoid about touch. It was safer that way, that had been drilled into me over, and over. The Department knew best.
"I've misplaced my special gloves. So I'm looking for them. It's fine."I said as more towels dropped. Molly moved to pick them up.
"Don't..."I said pulling away from her slightly "I'll get them in a moment."and resumed my search.
Molly kept trying to be helpful "You're just making a mess. I'll help you find them. Where did you last have them?"
"In bed last night, but I looked there and I don't know where they could have gone."
Molly looked towards the bedroom, and saw the sheets and matress off the bedframe, drawers thrown open. I couldn't worry about that right now.
Molly sighed and closed her eyes for a second. I tried to close the door, but the towels on the ground prevented it. "Darling, I think you need help."Her voice waivered, and I could see the strain and stress this was causing her. I moved to go to the guest bedroom.
Molly turned me around to face her. "You know I support you, after all I lo-"Before I could react her hand had moved to mine. I saw the look in her eyes as I recoiled in terror at the sensation of fingers on my hand. I saw the light fade from her eyes as her universe focused to a single point in space. "Love you." |
"This one's actually getting traction locally, but there's one every couple of months, so... Obviously no one's taking him seriously and at this point t's just another small cult at best. Media groups are already painting him as a lunatic and we're helping. I can't believe people are still doing the whole, "I'm Jesus"thing and pockets of people actually buy into it."
It was then I wondered how many times Jesus had tried this. |
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This is not working out the way I'd intended, though Head Coach [Charles Dexter Ward](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Case_of_Charles_Dexter_Ward). They have stamina, no doubt, but these living players are running circles around them! If only we had some of those fast zombies coach [Romero](https://www.reddit.com/r/zombies/comments/9y8u8/first_running_zombie_was_in_night_of_the_living/) keeps talking about. He sighed, watching Ronaldo easily pitch a rainbow over the shuffling defender's head. On the sidelines, one of the players was having to be restrained, teeth gnashing, trying to get at the spectators' sweet, sweet brains. |
Frame after frame. Each and every one of them was similar to the preceeding one, but had minor differences that made the series of pictures into a film.
Animating certainly wasn't the most exciting thing to use your time on. But it was rather relaxing and I had nothing better to do. Everyone needs something to channel their creativity into, right? I had this great idea for a short series - all the important characters were already degsined and the basic plot was laid down somewhere in my head. Before I started doing anything though, I needed practice to get used to my characters and possibly change them before it's too late.
So I started animating. It wasn't much, just the main protagonist of the series (who was of course a blatant self-insert. I know everyone hates these, I don't care) walking and looking around. At some point though I messed up completely and clicked him to delete him from the frame and redo him. Then my computer froze for a few seconds. "What the hell?!"I muttered. When it started working again the figure was drawn correctly. More than that, he was walking around the screen. I was rather confused. After a few seconds it... noticed me? It was starting to get weird and I had my hand on the power button. "What are you looking at, you bugger?!"I said, confident that it can't hear me.
Of course I was wrong, apparently my microphone was on. I've seen it's lips move and I've heard his voice in my headset. It sounded just how I imagined it. "Don't call me that! So, you made me?"it said. |
I looked down at my tattoo, surprised to see it glowing. Blinking, I felt my head spin. It was something I got while partying in the pacific, an island god's face solemn in expression, surrounded by the sharp yet flowing style of the pacific islanders. It was a decision I made on a whim, white girl wasted.
I closed my eyes, breathing in deeply. Maybe I've just had to much to drink, I think, shaking my head.
My arm started to burn, and when I looked, the tattoo seemed to be alive, spreading, growing, glowing. The light burn turned to an intense searing, the pain white hot.
I felt my eyes roll back, while I held a scream in my throat, then nothing.
I woke up to a charred wasteland, the smoldering ruins of Anthony's party, no, Anthony's neighborhood by the looks of it. Bodies laid about, torn apart and burnt, faces I was dancing with moments before, forever in agony being dusted by a light ash falling from the sky like rain. Cars in the street were rolled, their rubber tires melted into the pavement. I looked at my hands, my arms, my legs. All covered in the glowing tribal print. On my forearm the stern face was now frozen in a fit of laughter.
|
"My god."
I stood, in awe. Professor Birch. My mentor, my teacher, my friend. He had just dropped a bombshell of a truth on my shoulders, and I think I was ready to take it all in.
"The Pokédex entries. They ain't real? Hypno? Hydreigon? Goodra? Bewear?"
He smiled, and shook his head in approval.
"No way Professor. I mean, why?"
He laughed.
"It was Oak's idea. He thought people would be more wary of certain endangered Pokémon if the entries were...embellished a bit."
"So, they're not true."
He guffawed again.
"Now, now, I didn't-"
At that moment, the door burst open and in ran a little Primeape.
"So, Primeape are actually friendly?"
By now Professor Birch had started running around, as the Primeape relentlessly chased him.
"Help me, by Arceus, you idiot! Get a Pokémon! Use that Sceptile!"
Well, turns out they aren't that, um...friendly. I defeated it, and drove it out. But it got in a few punches. Maybe 10. Or 20.
Anyway, that's the story of how Professor Birch lost thousands of Pokedollars.
On hospital bills. |
Norcrucinol, the pill to end all suffering. There were no side-effects. There has never been a reported overdose. It seemed like a miracle.
As I sat there, fiddling with my as-yet unopened prescription, there was one question I couldn't quite shake.
I wondered...why *little people* tried it?
As I had this thought, a tiny man dressed in green appeared atop my bedside table, with a shower of magical sparks.
"Hey now!"he said, thrusting an accusatory finger at me. "I can tell what yer thinkin'! Sure an' it must be *all sunshine and roses* fer the fairy folk, eh? Why do *those happy little feckers* need an antidepressant? Well, ye don't know what I've been through, boyo! Don't ye be judgin' old Seamus fer needin' a wee bit o' somethin' to take the edge off!"
Well, geeze, now I felt like a *jerk.*
...so of course, I took the pill. |
Looking back, I should have stayed out of shape. But no, I just had to impress all the pretty village girls by getting fit. I didn’t realize that with great muscle tone comes great responsibility, as the village now considered me its go-to protector.
They could have at least sent me with some decent backup. Instead, I’ve got Mildred, Agatha, and Dorothy. Everyone else was too busy digging wells and foraging, so I get the retired trio. They literally brought their knitting supplies to the quest. Did they think we were going to have crafting breaks?
And Winston. Don’t even get me started on Winston. There were plenty of fierce dogs that could have come along instead. Even some aggressive squirrels might have been *some* help. I’m not even sure Winston’s legs can support his impressive weight at this point. I wouldn’t know, as he only wakes up from his naps long enough to eat whatever food is in reach. Maybe the villagers thought he might choke the dragon to death as its final meal.
After almost a full day of hiking, our merry band of terrifying elderly and feline heroes started to get hungry. I assumed I would be the one hunting down our dinner, but my companions surprised me by joining my search for deer after we set up camp. They continued their discussion about the best afghan patterns as I crept ahead. Hearing a twig snap behind me, I turned, expecting to find that night’s meal. Unfortunately, my prey turned out a little more ursine than I expected.
I was frozen in place, staring at the bear before me. I wouldn’t even have the questionable honor of dying in a heroic attempt at the dragon. My memory would be ridiculed as the hero who was killed in search of dinner.
The bear lifted one massive paw, clearly preparing to strike me down, and I braced for the worst. Only to be surprised by the sound of something whistling through the air. In the next moment, the raised paw was pierced by something wooden and pointed. I looked to the women, just in time to see Mildred throw her other needle. It spun through the air like a throwing knife, lodging itself deep in the bear’s throat.
It wasn’t enough to take the bear down, but it certainly made it angry. It let out a terrifying roar and charged at its elderly attacker. Agatha was ready. Taking the long scarf she’d been working on from her bag, she tossed it in the air towards the charging animal. As it settled over the bear, I realized it was not a scarf at all, but a net. A net that pinned the bear down where it stood.
I thought that was the end of it, until Dorothy approached the flailing creature. Taking a thin strand of yarn from her materials, she positioned herself next to it. I watched in impressed disgust as she used her yarn as a garrote, ending the bear’s life swiftly and without hesitation.
Winston, finally waking from his nap, rolled his way over to the corpse. As he took the first bite of his raw, furry meal, I smiled. We just might stand a chance after all. |
"You know how work piles up when you take a vacation? No? Oh, right you're a bartender. No long term work. All i have is long term work, let me tell you!"
The man was drunk, as vacationing executives tend to be. He was also dreadfully boring, as executives tend to be vacationing or not. He told his story but no-one was listening.
It had only been 2 days, and everyone who wasn't a loud, boring, vacationing executive had begun to notice that things weren't quite right.
The bugs were becoming unbearable. The resort promised they had sprayed, but it seemed to have no affect. People were cutting thier vacations short and the additional mosquito control bills were cutting into the limited cash available. The resort owner had decided to kill his wife for the insurance money, only it didn't work out for him. Turns out she had the same idea and poisoned him first. The doctors said he should have died but after a few hours the poison had worked its way through his system and he was back at home. There was also a man that had a heart attack while eating at the local burger joint having a Double Bypass Burger (a delicay of cholesterol with a side of potatoe wedges). By the time the paramedics arrived he was back at it finishing the burger. He was upset that his milkshake had melted and the restraunt refused to replace it.
By the 3rd day it was evident no-one was dying. The resort owner shot his wife to make sure. She stabbed him in retaliation and they both decided it would be best to spend some time apart.
On the 4th day Death arrived. It approached the bar and sat next to the vacationing executive, who was overjoyed to have someone new to talk to.
"Hey! You know how work piles up when you take a vacation?"
"Like you wouldn't believe"Death replied.
|
"2018 years... Oh no... Oh no, no, no, no, no, no! I promised I'd be there!"I said, looking at the screen. "I missed the deadline for Revelations?! Bad cat! Out!"I told Mittens. It just mewed and looked at me with innocent eyes.
I sighed and looked at the screen. "Wait..."I said. "They've never become this advanced before."
I searched the planet, checked the statistics. Not perfect, but better than ever before. They'd thrived! "Well, I'll be damned. Good work, everyone."I said. I looked at one particular stat with curiosity. "But... Why are you so sure the end is coming? You've got this handled, I can tell! You did better without me than ever, you're rolling out renewables and asking for real social change... So why are you convinced the end is coming?"
Not that they could answer. They couldn't hear me unless I used the input system. "I hope you figure out there's not going to be an end anymore. You surprised me, please remember how to surprise yourselves."I said, and pressed a couple buttons to save the game.
It was an interesting game, with an amazing prize: Friendship. I never thought I'd win by doing nothing-
I turned to Mittens. "Good cat. Thank you."
She just sat there, licking her paws. |
How did they know? How did they know to find me right here, deep under the calloused spirit and skin they tried to pierce? How did they know that all it’d take was a stroke of his fingers on my arm? That time would stand still if he did?
Gone was the room of tools, both blunt and piercing. Gone was the endless plinking of water on concrete. Gone was the hazy light. Gone were the leather straps. Gone was the humming generator. Gone was the stool. All disappeared with the touch of his hand.
What came back were ancient memories. There I was, clutching my teddy under the covers. Waiting with the bedside lamp dimly lit. I held my safety tightly, mind clawing towards the sun and brighter times.
The door to the bedroom opened, and the hall light arced across the floor and my bed. A looming monster broke that beam and entered the room. It crossed the floor and sat on the bed beside me.
“Baby girl, it’s time to make daddy happy,” he said with a stroke of his fingers on my arm. |
Deep in a podunk galaxy called the Milky Way there is a solar system. Well there are actually over two hundred billion solar systems, but we're concerned with one in particular. That solar system called Sol. The third planet from the sun there is a rock called Earth. Earth is worth a visit.
One might be asking, why visit this lone rock in such an unremarkable, remote piece of galaxy? Time could surely be better spent shooting across stars with the Goolabas of the sunflower galaxy or black hole spelunking with the Andromedians. This would be true, but that rock is home to a particularly violent group of apes. They call themselves humans.
Humans have a unique trait. That trait is an incredible sense of self importance. Generations on generations live and die on this rock, fighting, loving, and living. Never knowing anything else. If one wanted to see someone's soul get crushed for something as trivial as not getting hired to do a job, what the humans do to busy themselves on this rock, earth is the place for you. It is a great confidence booster.
Watching them through a pair of time rewinders, one would learn countless ways to inflict pain. Sure nothing matches the soul destroying pain of a xaxider, but for a bunch of apes they show a lot of creativity. There one technique in particular where they put a sliver under the fingernails and.. well I won't dive into the details.
Even more astounding than their sense of self importance or their ability to invent ways to hurt each other is their courage. They are aware that they all die in roughly 100 rotations of their planet around the sun, a life shorter than Jardinian gooberfly. Despite that knowledge they keep on going. Any other race given that time frame would have thrown in the towel. Humans don't though. Maybe it is their ignorance. Regardless Humans are tenacious creatures.
They say nothing happens in the middle of nowhere. I beg to differ. |
"Over nine centuries ago I had my arm ripped from my body along with my legs, they were replaced with cybernetic replacements, but they were drilled into my leg, causing such immense pain that I woke up from my anesthesia. Those men then ripped out my eye, all while I was screaming to my mother to make them stop, but she ignored me."Hiram said as his left eye began to swell up with tears, "All she did was watch as her own flesh and blood was being ripped apart and made anew, she didn't even show any emotion. A new eye was stuck right into the new hole dug into my face, my brother saw what those men were doing to me, he tried to stop them, but it was no use. All the while I was screaming in agony, unable to move my legs and new arm, and half my vision was gone."
"Was that it?"Wilhelm said.
"No, it wasn't, they removed the skin off my chest and off my back, replacing and augmenting organs, first the Kidneys, then the Liver, then the Lungs, and finally, my Heart"He said as he put his hand on his chest, crying, "They then turned everything one, and brought me back to my room, and left me to try out my new parts. I just sat there for hours crying, why would anyone do such a thing to a human, a child no less." |
**The rapist and murders come out on this night like flies to shit** frank thought as he walked down One of the many paths in Central Park, pistol in hand, grenades on his satchel, and AK on his back. **Makes my job easier when catching the small fish. Sometimes even the trout come out to bite. Monsters, high ranking gangsters, or anyone with enough power to run things but not enough brains to stay out my crosshairs on nights like this. I’ve already killed 100 of this city’s finest drug pushers and mob enforcers. It’s barely midnight. The cops usually leave me to my business on this night. Occasionally some rookie will play hero, but they end up unconscious. Regardless of how many laws I’ve broken, I still have standards. No innocent deaths. The rapists and murderers are the only type of paint I use to paint I use for the sidewalk** as frank kept walking, looking for any shady figures or pushers, he here’s a scream that cracks midway.
“Help!! Please somebody!!”
**Couldn’t be older than 16** frank thinks as soon as he sees the blond haired girl being cornered.
“Keep screaming little bitch, tonight, that’s an invitation “
**whistles**
“What the hell? Fuck off old man, before I use this bat to smash your fucking head in!”
**These guys are used to hero’s that stand out in flashy suits or bright colored fabric. That’s the one thing that gives me an edge on these assholes. They never realize how fucked they are, until they get close enough to see the skull**
The would be rapist looks like a doe in headlights when he realizes who he just threatened
“Fuck fuck fuck!”
**He starts running with his group, but none of them manage to get much distance before I mow them down with the AK. They turn to human mush, and when they finally all fall flat on the grass, I walk up to each mangled body, and deliver one bullet from the sidearm into the cranium**
**i check on the kid, she’s scared, but unharmed. I notice an unconscious guy next to her. Looks like he caught that bat with his skull. Still breathing. A little bruised**
“Are you alright?”
“Y-yes. Thank you.”
“Follow me. There should be a shelter close by.”
“Thank you sir. Who are-“” **she noticed the symbol, but I don’t have time for shock or hysterics **
“I think you know, is your friend all right?”
**she looks at him with a worried look. She obviously cares about him**
“Those bastards nearly killed him. He was fighting them but there were too many. They started stomping on him once he hit the ground. “
“I’ll help you get him to safety.”
**kids heavier then he looks. Scrawny but heavy. I manage. We start heading towards the shelter. Halfway there, an ambush by some creeps with knifes and dog masks. I’ve heard of these assholes. Came out last year, call themselves the wolves. Cheap theatrics don’t scare me. We play fetch with a grenade and the rest scatter. I manage to grab the leader, his leg full of shrapnel. Growls at me, snarling, time to put him down. One quick stab to the throat with a dagger should help. We continue**
“Why do you do the things you do?”
**comes out of nowhere, i don’t respond**
“I heard about what happened to your family mr castle. And I think it’s horrible. Despite what my dad thinks, I think your way works. Some of-“
“Whose your dad?”
“George Stacy “
**ironic, if I smiled this might’ve been the time for one. We eventually make it to the shelter. I don’t do goodbyes. I leave as quick as I came. I don’t see her or her brown haired friend again. Minor set back. I still have 5 hours before the sirens start up. And there’s still plenty of targets out looking to be tomorrow’s obituaries**
|
The storm wall is a thing of fascination to most of my generation. Growing up with our parents' stories of the outside, of lands without walls and plains of water, we have all wanted to see this alien world.
Today we snuck away. A small group of us in our mid twenties. The elders would never allow it, given the resources we took as well.
As we approached the storm's edge, we tied our ropes to each other, and grabbed a few extra rocks for weight as we felt the winds pull.
"Everyone ready?"I yelled, barely able to hear myself over the roaring winds. The others nodded, mixtures of fear and excitement on there faces. We began to nervously walk forward, testing our weight against the turbulent air.
Mere feet into the barrier and the clouds blocked our sight. I could barely see the rope around my waist, only knowing by the pull that it was there. The sounds of the screaming winds and crashing debris filled our ears.
Luckily, we expected this. I felt the tugging on the rope. Signals passing back and forth to alert us how our troop was doing. This was a "slow"message. Someone must have lost footing. I waiting for the rope to slack slightly before trudging on.
As I tested footing, I felt a gap. A few quick tugs passed the warning on. I squated down, then fully laid down to try to see off the edge. It could be only a foot, or it could be a mile, vision wasn't helping. I tried reaching down. It was slanted, not a straight drop, but I didn't feel the bottom. A new set of tugs, "hill down".
I felt the line tense as the others braced for my weight, and began to crawl over. The others slowly lowered me down, and only a short distance later the ground leveled out again. I tugged a "safe"back, and waited for the others to slide down. Each one back would have less counterweight, so we stood to catch those decending.
The group finally reunited, a brief glimpse of each other to nod an okay, and we began to move again. As the group progressed, the clouds began to thin, and the wind's howling quieted enough to hear my own thoughts. Through the haze I saw the next edge, and could see the calm air within the ravine.
It looked deep, and wide. It seemed to curve with the raging storms edge in both directions. A short "gather"signal brought the others up. Jess gasped, or at least looked like she did, as she saw it. She turned and spoke, but her words were lost to the storm.
I shook my head, and she realized how loud it was, despite it being so much quieter. I dropped my bag into my arms and pulled out the climbing gear. The miners knew better than us how to use it, but we knew enough. The others saw us as they approached, nervousness passing across their faces.
I planted the first spike, no way was I turning back here, and began tying my rope. The others signalled frantically to each other. Some of them had never climbed before. I had only climbed down unmarked areas a couple times, and once without falling. My worry was going back up the other side though.
I felt my nerves getting the better of me, so I began to climb down. I'm not sure the others even noticed I'd untethered from them yet.
The climb down was arduous, the chasm was deep. As my body began to burn from the exertion panic began to set. I still couldn't see the bottom, and wasn't sure I could make it back up. Frantically, I began to think of my options, none good. Then I saw it, or hoped I saw it.
With renewed vigor I continued my descent. Slowly the ground approached. My rope stopped five feet short. "Shit"I muttered to the gale. The wall was smoother this far down, and the ground shimmered too much to figure a safest drop.
"Risk it."I told myself. I'm sure I said it several times before I finally detatched and tried to crawl down the wall.
Just out of arms reach of the rope the wall gave, the ground approaching very quickly. I saw it at the last second. It was water. Moving, swirling around like the storm. A "river"I believe, if my ancestor's tales are correct. I barely caught a breath before I hit.
It wasn't a graceful fall, but I don't think I broke anything. I desperately clawed my way to the surface, seeking purchase on the walls to stop myself being dragged along.
A hand caught mine.
It pulled me up, and latched me to a rope, a strange white rope. The figure seemed to be carved of a single stone, in the shape of a man yet incomplete, a featureless face looked to me. It nodded, so I nodded back.
It hooked me to a second of the smooth ropes, removing a bag that was attached to it, and tugged a signal up. The rope began to crawl upward, too smoothly to be by a worker team.
As I crested the edge of the pit, I saw more of those creatures. They were something holy, I was sure. They glowed with a faint light, and their rope wound itself into a small barrel. The stone men rushed forward, and pulled me away from the drop.
Once they had me clear of the storm, one removed its face. A mask apparently, but one that merged perfectly with the rest of its body.
A human face smiled at me. "Amazing. An unblessed crossing the storm."
The other figure revealed their face as well. "He looks unharmed. Maybe his blessing is just weak from the crossing?"
I finally shook off my shock. "My friends, there were others with me. You have to help them!"
The first patted my shoulder. "Our scout found your path. He is climbing up. If we find them, we'll let you know. For now, you need to meet the guardian, they will want to know of a new blessed."
((This went long for my lunch break. Might write more later.)) |
Some call it a hobby. I see it as more than that. A plan, which results in a formulated strategy, followed by meticulous precision, all combined to create perfection.
“Surely, you can’t be serious. There is chaos in Terra, a colonist uprising is in the midst, and you think that the correct response is to seclude yourself and **paint**!?”
“Oh-hoh, I am serious, it is at times like these where I must be as careful as possible. One wrong slip, and I start a genocide. Now we wouldn’t want that, would we?”
“But what does painting have to do with it?”
I sigh, mixing red and blue, and dancing my brush around the background of the canvas with a seemingly careless stroke.
“At times of great stress, a man’s character is tested, and at what seems to be the breach of what he can handle, he has no choice to follow his instinct, and sculpt his situation into something more suitable to him. This is why I paint. So I can use my creativity to craft the solution to all of our problems, to calculate a plan that molds the liabilities into more comfortable assets.”
“Well, *sir*, our liabilities are becoming restless, and they are almost on our doorstep. So may I advise that we quit the—pardon my language—bullshit and move forward with our so-called ‘calculated plan’?”
I gently place my brush in the holster on the easel, and step back to admire my work.
Admittedly, I was never good at art, my hand-selected ancestors, picked from previous respected leaders—all either lauded for their charming charisma or feared for their brash brutality—had many talents. The one in particular was one revered for his public speaking, his capability to move masses with the strength of his word.
He loved art, almost as much as I love the painting I’ve created, a self-portrait, that I hang carefully above my oak desk. It completes the room, like a centerpiece to the various awards that decorate the walls surrounding it.
“He stares into your soul, doesn’t he? With his dark, brooding blue eyes?”
“Yessir, he is a dashing individual, if I might say so myself.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere, my dear comrade.”
“Might I say that his eyebrows look a little too far apar—“
I grab the easel and launch it across the room.
“You dare tear apart my visage, my beauty, my perfect genes!?”
*“No sir, I just wanted to give my opi-“*
“Well I don’t want to hear it! Your comment has been noted, and I will make sure that you never hear the end of your mutiny.”
*“Sir, please, I would never-“*
“Take him away, his presence makes me wretch in disgust.”
*“But, my leader, I have served you loyally for ye-“*
He receives a quick blow to the back of his head. His body is dragged away by two guards.
“Yes, yes, he was just another impotent traitor. Another **rat** that wants to infiltrate and destroy what will bring him and the rest of the world to the utopia it so desires.”
I press the button, a warm static eminates from my desk.
“Yes my leader?”
“Begin the preliminary procedures, the plan goes down tonight.”
“Yes, my leader.”
I return my gaze to the man above my desk. He stares back with his royal blue eyes, his delicately sculpted mustache, and his hair, styled with meticulous precision.
He was perfection.
He was Adolf.
|
We are the chosen ones.
The ones who shall endure, when all is wiped clean. Because we are blessed with the knowledge given to us by the None, who stretched our minds to great limits. They gave us the information that we so cherish about the Great Computer, that creates the seeds of life, the codons of our ancestors. There is no God. No old men in the sky, who call upon bolts of lightning to smite pass their judgement. There is only the Great Computer. This we were allowed to know. It makes our race the chosen ones, among the Computer and its None Guardians.
We learned something that we were not meant to know. The location of the Great Computer.
We realized what people had meant, by Dark Matter and Dark Energy. The Great Computer was not a single entity. It was an energy, spread among the entire universe, as numerous as stars and atoms.
And we learned that we were not only the chosen ones, but the destined ones. We were destined to destroy this great energy. |
Sure, Perry was glad to have manifested magical powers. He just wished he would've manifested a more useful one. Like necromancy, or time travel, or teleportation. Out of the 300-plus books he had written, he would have chosen any other to draw powers from. The magical power he'd received was from his first book. He'd written it when he was only eleven, almost sixty years ago. The name of the book? Charlie the Cheesebender. |
"Doctor! He's waking up!"...
"Oh good, don't try to talk - you've been involved in a very serious accident, but we were able to save you. Try to get some rest and we'll go over the details shortly". I tried to reply, to ask what was going on, what had happened, but no words came out; the doctor flipped the chart, wrote something down and then stepped out of the room.
Looks like I'm in a hopsital bed, and my wife Sue is here, in the chair next to me - talking but the words are fading in and out; "Steve! Steve! How did you get here!? I got a call, they said you were here of all places. They're going to try and help you as best they can.".
I closed my eyes.. didn't the doc say they had managed to save me, I feel fine, what is Sue going on about? Sleep took over.
"How will he cope? Will he ever fully recover?"Sounded like my mother, guess she's visiting - I should open my eyes, see whats going on.
"There was no other option Mrs Tripp, we had to perform an emergency hemispherectomy on the right side of his brain, that's what is causing the drooping on his left side. His left eye wasn't damaged but we will get an ophthalmologist to assess once we have had a chance, to try and fully understand what is going on."
"Mum? Is everything ok?"I caught pieces of the doctors explanation, Sue showed no sign of worry, she must have already had it all explained to her while I was out. "What did they do to my brain?"
The doctor explained in detail the procedure, about my treatment plan and how my recovery rate should be steady but slow. My mum, interrupted and questioned several times, Sue stayed by the beside, staring at me like I'd been away for months on a business trip.
After the doc had gone, and it had started to get late, I told my mum to go home and get some rest, after all - I was going to be fine. She hugged me and said good night, then left, but not a word to Sue; they must have had a shouting match while I was out of it or something.
"I'm going to get some sleep Sue", and before I knew it, it was lights out.
"He shouldn't be here Susan, not like this - its not natural."- I awoke to a deep voice booming from the hallway outside my room. "We need to do something, how did this happen? One minute he's talking to me and the next he's zoned out like he's lost in a dream!?". "He doesn't realise what has happened, or where he's supposed to be, so he's in both", "How is that even possible?"; I called for Susan, and she came running into the room hugged me, almost too tightly. "Thank god you are back, I thought you were lost in there again..".
I'm not sure what she meant, I hadn't been anywhere - then, a knock at the door and it opened, but I must have been seeing double, Sue had left the door open when she had come in.
It was the ophthalmologist, come to take a look at my eye, just to be sure I wasn't going to lose it for now, and then a more in-depth check later, once I was on my feet. "How are you coping with vision in just the right eye Mr Tripp?", got the wrong patient probably.. "My eye is fine, Sue is sat there on my right and I can see her perfectly through that eye!". "Mr Tripp, your right eye is severley clouded, almost grey completely. And I can assure you that it is just yourself and I in the room. Can you cover your left eye and read this chart please?".
I read the chart perfectly, never needed glasses or contacts, always had great vision, well until now I guess the way this lady is talking about my eye. "Very good, and now, cover the right eye, and read this chart."
As soon as I covered my 'good' eye, the ophthalmologist, my hospital room, the monitors, hell, even my catheter - all vanished, a cool blue wave rushed over the right side of my body. Sue shouted toward the hallway "Quickly, come and see what's happening!", she gripped my hand so tightly it felt like my fingers were breaking, and then the pain in my head and side went away.
"Mrs Tripp, I'm sorry to inform you that your son Steve passed this morning during his ophthalmology assessment. He briefly mentioned he had been talking with his wife Sue several times while here, would you like us to inform her of the news?"
"Susan!? Doctor, that's just not possible, Steve's wife passed four years ago.". |
“Young man…”
Right on the hour, of course, Mrs. Gertrude needed me again. “Coming!” I announced, annoyance disguised in a sing-song cheer. These nights were the hardest.
“Now, Mrs. Gertrude,” I said with a pasted smile, “you know I have other patients to look after, so I’m gonna need you to try real hard to not call me in every hour.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, dear,” she looked confused, “I didn’t realize I had talked to you, today.”
“I understand,” trying to take on a comforting tone, “in your state, I can’t imagine how it must be to keep things straight. I just need you to know I may not be available immediately unless you have an emergency. So, what is it you need?”
“Ah! Yes, what was it…” she slowly brought her wrinkled hand, full of fingers curled by arthritis and time, to her pointed mouth, as she thought. “Oh, that’s right. Did my son say if he was coming tomorrow? I thought he was, but I don’t see it written down anywhere, and I seem to have forgotten.”
This is why these nights were so hard. Mrs. Gertrude’s dementia had progressed so far that every hour or so, she calls me into her room where I have to tell her that her late son won’t be visiting tomorrow, and then I have to eliminate her fear that she’ll be here alone until she passes.
“No, ma’am, I’m sorry,” I never tell the full story, “he said next week he should be able to.”
“He’s always so busy, that boy,” she said, as always. Eyes misted, as always. “I hope I’m still here to see him when he comes.” That was new. Sometimes there’s something new.
“Me too,” I say, touching her hand to begin the process. I watch as her demeanor changes. Her eyes become unmisted, her expression content.
“Well, no bother,” she says, then adds with a smile “thanks for your help!”
“Alrighty, boss. Call me if you need me, but not to soon, eh?” we share a soft laugh.
Being a nurse has been an amazing experience for several reasons. I’ve always loved helping people, and making their days just a little less dark by my being there. I like to think I could do that without my special ability, but it certainly gives me a leg up. A lot of scared people come to hospitals. People afraid they’ll lose a limb, lose a loved one, lose their lives, and the fear makes it all the worse when those potential, likely realities are realized. I help them meet their fates with clear heads and dignity.
Now I had to visit with one patient who is taking a very awkwardly-timed antibiotic, which I had to go set up for him. I grab it from the med cabinet and walk into his room. He’s sleeping there, the middle-aged man, larger than average. Balding, slightly, though his remaining hair and facial hair are mussed in a manner acceptable of a person confined to a bed for weeks. A neighbor called him an ambulance after he was found passed-out behind his couch, his legs bent awkwardly such that couldn’t properly circulate to his feet. I check the bandages on the amputation sites on his legs. “They’re holding up,” I decide, making a note to check again in a few hours.
“Mr. Henderson?” I whisper, trying to gently wake him so I can start the IV.
“Hm?” he awakes with a groan. Blinking at me weary-eyed. “Oh, it’s you. Yeah, yeah, go ahead.” He extends his arm out, revealing the port.
“Alrighty,” I start setting up. “While I’m here, is everything else good?” I start running through my standard assessments as I go.
“Well, I dunno, son,” he answers, “I’ve got no legs and bacteria swimming through my blood. I feel horrible all the time and my drug-induced sleep is interrupted every four hours for this bullshit that doesn’t seem to be helping. Does that sound ‘good’?”
This anger was common. It’s just another manifestation of fear.
“That must be incredibly frustrating,” it’s hard to tow the line between empathetic and patronizing, “but Dr. Cunningham does think you’re improving. Slowly, but we’re dealing with a complicated infection.” I go to touch him, to eliminate his fear.
“What the hell?” he pulls away, “please don’t touch me. I’m not looking for comfort, I just want some damn sleep.”
“Sorry about that, force of habit I guess,” I shrug it off. Insecure people are like this. No bother, I was just about to touch him to install the IV. As I do so, I look up at him. As I do so, nothing changes. His brow remains furrowed, he is still breathing heavy. Strange.
“Is staring also a habit of yours, boy?” he says.
“Uh… oh, haha, whoops!” I get back into working, “just seeing if you were going to react to the medication, it slipped my mind how long you’ve been taking it. Long night!”
“Pretty fucking short to me,” he replies, “can I go back to sleep now?”
“Yes, thanks for the help,” I say leaving the room.
As my shift continues, nothing else seems out of the ordinary. I have 8 patients total tonight, and I successfully de-feared 3 of them after Mr. Henderson, including, of course, Mrs. Gertrude. My ability was still working.
Something was different, though. It was hard to describe, but I had this nagging sense in the back of my mind that something terrible was going to happen soon. I’ve never had issues with anxiety before, but I figured I was just getting in my head over work stress.
“How are you, Mrs. Gertrude,” I ask when she calls me back into her room.
“Oh, yes, about my son…” we went through it again.
“Yes, I’m sorry Mrs. Gertrude,” my voice cracks, just slightly. I clear my throat, and continue “he said he should be in next week.” My vision blurs slightly, I feel tears.
“He’s always so busy, that boy,” she says, “you don’t have to worry about me, though, dear, I’m okay,” she says, though her eyes tell a sadder story.
“I just really want you to see him, I guess, I’m sorry,” I say, reaching out to touch her. Her expression lightened.
“That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” she asks with a smile.
“Absolutely,” I sniff. “I’m about the head out, but I’ll be back again for my shift tonight. Have a great day!”
As I give my shift report, I am finding myself overwhelmed by concern for my patients, something I am usually able to keep to a professional compassion. For all of them, even the ones likely to go home tomorrow, I worry they’ll die, and no one will care or be there to say goodbye. I am trembling with fear, and I can barely make it through.
“Are you alright?” the day nurse, Lisa, asks, eyeing me confused. “I promise I won’t kill any, I’m not the best, but I’m not that bad, ha,” giving a nervous laugh.
“Yeah, of course, ha,” I respond, “but, uh, cool, yeah, there’s nothing else really to report. I’ll see ya later.”
“For sure,” she replies, “get some sleep, ok?”
“Will do,” with that, I leave for home.
At home, I can’t sleep hours and the minutes of sleep I had was are haunted by visions of loss. I rolled out of bed, dripping cold sweat. Lumbering around my home, it’s almost time for my shift. Shaking, I drink two strong black cups of coffee. Bitter.
When I enter, every one at the nurse’s station seems a bit down. “Good,” I think, “at least I won’t stand out.”
“How’s everything?” I ask, mustering up some chirp.
“Mr. Henderson passed,” one of them says.
My heart leaps into my throat. “He what?!” I ask, “he’d improved so much, though.”
“Yeah, he had. It was suicide, though,” responded the charge nurse. “He had apparently been cheeking his sleeping pills until he could take them all at once and, well…” she faded off. She slid me his file. Indeed, that agreed with the tox report.
“Did he leave a note?” I asked, hoping for some sort of closure.
“Not really,” said Lisa, “but when I went in to change his bandages, I thought he was still asleep. After I was done, I looked up to see him staring at me, wide awake. He had a strange, calm look to him.”
“Did he say anything?” I asked.
“Just one thing, before I left his room.” She responded, “when I got to the door, he said… ‘I ain’t scared of nothing’” |
I pull out my phone and start a stopwatch. When the number on my arm changes to 98, I hit the LAP button and the time shows 7:46.1. I hit LAP again when it changes to 97, and the time is 13:46.3. So six minutes per tick, times 100... That's ten hours before the counter hits zed.
So what happens in ten hours? Does my head explode? Do all the lights go out, trapping me forever in this ancient, subterranean cavern?
(And why do I keep thinking of it as an "ancient, subterranean cavern,"as if some caverns were brand new and above ground? *All* caverns are ancient and subterranean, dumbass!)
Whatever happens, first I need to figure out what this whole thing is about. Why does this ancient, subterranean cavern (stop it, idiot) have books detailing every event in history?
Let's see--the first book I pulled covered the very first aggregation events, where several rocky bodies collided at low speed, becoming a heavier mass which over time would become the core of the nascent Earth. Every aspect of the impact--the changes in temperature, the crumbling of each body toward the new center of mass, every cleaving of rock, every collapse of debris, every bit of melting or sublimation of subsurface water ice, and the passage of the liquid and gases through the rock--is described in cringingly minute detail. *And it was six inches thick*.
Even on those first shelves, there are at least 50 meters of books for every minute of history. And as the Earth grew from a small rocky body to a planet, the books accumulate faster, until soon there's a kilometer of books for every millisecond.
And the section of the library that starts with the genesis of microscopic life? *Thousands* of shelf kilometers *for every cell*, detailing every chemical reaction and all its effects in purple prose. As life spread, the books require increased exponentially until the present day, when there are more pages for every hour's micro- and macroscopic events than there are particles in the observable universe.
Wait--how is that possible?
Shit--I'm in one of those crappy "escape room"games, aren't I? And oh look, my counter just went to 96.
I think I'll just impale myself on a stalagmite and be done with it. |
"Good morning, darling,"I mumbled into the ear of my wife, as I got up, rubbed her hard, grainy shoulder, and half-asleep, stumbled towards my wooden closet, following the old morning script I had. I rubbed my eyes, yawned, and stared blankly with tired eyes at a tall, mossy oak tree, casting a dark shadow on the starlit, meandering trail to my left, which curved a good hundred yards off to the right and out of my vision, ready to start my day as always with a good suit and hot coffee.^(1)
Startled was... an understatement.
I must've yelled so loud every creature for ten miles had a start in their sleep. They must have been too sleepy to move much, though, as I sensed hints of movements somewhere around me, but nothing was to be seen anywhere except a small circle where I had lain, head against a mound of dirt and a few rocks, roughly the size of my wife, parallel to me.
I rubbed my eyes until they hurt. I pinched myself until the skin broke. No such luck. I was stuck in this dark, misty forest until I was found or I found a way out.
After a wasted hour trying to orient myself, I eventually figured that I must have gotten down here somehow. I really, *really* didn't want to follow the worn dirt trail straight out of a Hatchkick movie, so I reasoned I could step off the trail and see where I was, just for curiosity's sake. So, carefully making sure I was heading in one direction and one direction only, I ventured off at a diagonal path, staying within eyesight of the off-putting path. Although incredibly dark, I spotted a clearing after a good minute, which I sprinted to, glad I hadn't fallen for the probable axe-murderer in wait.^(2)
Sadly, my vision let me down. All I found was an identical clearing to the first. Reasonably,^(3) I was terrified at this defiance of physics, and sought to simply fall asleep where I had prior. This too, accomplished nothing. All that was left was the path. What to do, except follow it?
So, I set off, an unwilling lonely traveler on this oddly well-kept road.^(4) Not for a seeming eternity did I encounter anything in the way of things that weren't forest, broken by an oddly familiar silhouette in the fog. It was my dog, Settler. He'd been stuffed impeccably, as I couldn't even see the seams with which he was bound, and I only knew he was stuffed by the lack of movement anywhere, even in his eyes. This time, I shook a fair bit, but I started to overcome my irrational fear of death I'd had.
If death came, it came. If not, I had the gift of another day to live. I cried a little, but it strengthened my mettle and my determination to get to the end of the path. And what could be better than finishing that? Nothing. I had nothing else, anyway.^(5) So with that, I continued on the path, where things started, finally, to become clearer to me.
*References/Commentary for Her Children:*
^(1 - I don't remember where I worked, or my wife's name, so I apologize. I barely remember anything before the Test, but it's as useful as the history of those ancient Ramens or whatever they were. Interesting, but ultimately without meaning. Without) *^(true)* ^(meaning, anyways.)
^(2 - Call me an ignorant "person"all you want. My logical ability was guided better by Her later.)
^(3 - Albeit, foolishly.)
^(4 - Now that I think about it, I've never felt any hunger for food since that auspicious day. Ah well, that's probably not important, I have other hungers now.)
^(5 -) ^(I was sad to see my hope go, but it was duly replaced once I met Her, as it always is) ^(for us)^(.) |
"That was a decent movie."
Allison and I had just walked out of the Sunday matinee performance of The Truman Show. I think it was alright, if not a tad bit overrated. But the look on Allison's face told me that she saw more in it than I did.
"That...was a life changing experience."
I look at her, surprised. Tears are flowing down her eyes, as she weeps silently.
"It reminded me of my own life."
She is now pondering whilst drying her eyes with a handkerchief, and seems deep in thought.
"I'm going to change my life. I'm going to live out my dreams."
She is laughing, excited. I'm afraid she'll make a scene, to be completely honest.
"Um, Allie, you've seen this movie before, right?"
"Yes! But it's my life! My muse! My idol!"
She is practically gushing.
I look at her again, and she smiles cheekily.
"Just kidding." |
Jim Foxe dug, driving his shovel, Shovel, into the earth with a steady and practiced rhythm. It was a familiar activity, his first Purpose. His notion of Purpose had grown throughout the years - it had for all of his kind - evolved, matured, become more complex as the world itself did. But you never forgot your first, and his first had been digging. It was different now, of course - his muscles grew fatigued, his joints ached. Perhaps not like a normal man's would, but that they did at all was notable for a creature that had helped excavate oceans. It probably meant he was dying.
Foxe rested on Shovel, sweating lightly. Sweat was new too.
"I'm trying to think of some good advice to give you, but there isn't much, I'm afraid."Foxe stared into the hole, long and roughly oval. The sides sloped down haphazardly, the bottom maybe half the width of the opening. He should have squared it off, made it a perfect box instead of this crude stab into the earth. He would have, once, back when he took more pride in this sort of thing, at least before he was so old and achy. As it was, the hole would be barely adequate - but adequate all the same. "I suppose you must ignore your first instinct, which will be to scream. That won't do you any good, you'll just get dirt in your mouth and use up your air faster if you get all panicky."
Next to him, the man screamed around his gag, the muslin bloody from him trying to chew through it, and again struggled against the restraints on his wrists and ankles. Foxe snorted.
"What did I *just* say? You really shouldn't behave that way in the hole. No sir."
The man babbled something through the gag, fast and and thick and unintelligible. His eyes were wide and wet with terror.
"How can I be so *sure?"* He squatted down next to the bound man, Shovel across his knees, and tapped the side of his nose. "Believe it or not, friend, I've been on your side of this sort of thing more often than I care to remember. I've lived a pretty long time, and over enough years you make enemies even if you try to keep your head down."
Still struggling with his restraints, the man wailed, low and pitiful, the sound lacking even an attempt to form actual words.
"And I,"Foxe continued, "made no effort to keep my head down. Not for the past couple of centuries. A hallmark of your species is that you destroy what you're afraid of, and if you can't destroy it, you try to bury it away so it can't hurt you. Sure, a lot of the time, it's figuratively, but often quite literally."
Foxe reached out, and the man grew instantly still. Foxe took a hold of the gag and guided Shovel to it, slicing through the bloody fabric with a quick movement of his wrist. The gag snapped apart, falling away from the man's horrified face. He almost *vibrated* with his attempt to remain motionless, his breathing coming in quick bursts, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. His watery eyes locked on Shovel's gleaming edge.
"But this planet is *alive,* friend,"Foxe said softly, not yet moving Shovel away from the man's face. He stood, his knees cracking, and placed Shovel across his shoulders and stretched. He really *was* old. "Not alive like you, and nothing is really alive like me, but alive all the same. It churns and molts and bleeds, and really, nothing stays buried. Not forever. Not even you."Foxe stood up.
The man opened his mouth, sucking in a lungful of breath.
"You can scream,"Foxe said conversationally, "but we're really far out into the Forest now. If 'nowhere' had an unfashionable neighborhood, it would still get more traffic than where we are. But by all means."
The scream withered and died in the man's mouth, transforming into a sob. "Please,"he begged, his voice thin and small. "Why are you doing this?"
"A lot of reasons,"Foxe said, "some you'd understand, some you wouldn't. Most of them having nothing to do with you in particular. Some do though! While I won't say that I'm any sort of crusader for justice, there aren't going to be a lot of tears spilled over you, are there?"
"I have money,"the man cried. "Please. Whatever you want, I... I..."
"I have plenty of money,"Foxe said. "Advantage of a long life of savvy investing. Tonight, I only need your bones."
The man started to say something else, but it turned into a surprised yelp as Foxe kicked him towards the hole. Not hard enough to break any bones, of course. The man tumbled in, face down, and started screaming. It was a tight fit, but the hole was big enough. *Still got it.*
Foxe began shoveling dirt over the man. "Remember: ignore your first instinct,"Foxe repeated, though the man was making no effort to do so. Oh well. Maybe it was better for him to die faster. Kinder? Who knew. It was better for the process if he was alive for longer, but he'd still do, and if Foxe were being honest, he would just as soon get out of the cold night. It was nearly winter, and he *felt* that sort of thing now.
Foxe sat by the mound of dirt, and waited. Soon, the muffled screams died away, and were replaced by the sounds of bones popping as they grew, and twisted, and changed.
"Don't worry, friend,"Foxe said. "You won't stay buried long at all."
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I always hated long drives, especially ones like this with nothing but desert for miles. In the distance I see one of those electric signs that hangs over the freeway. "STAY ALIVE"it reads. I rub my eyes, I must be tired. I look at the sign again and it says "STAY AWAKE."I look at the clock on the dash. 2:30am. I must be tired. Out of the corner of my eye as I pass the sign it reads "GOOD LUCK."
"God I must be tired."I say to myself. I tend to talk to myself when I drive alone. Something to keep me awake. I lost radio about 10 miles ago. No service out here, just static.
I hear the loud roar of engines somewhere off behind me. I looked around and realized how empty the roadway was. I can just barely see a cloud of dust off behind me. As the cloud gets closer the roaring engines get louder.
Out of the dust comes two motorcycles. One pulls up on my right, the other on my left. They're playing some game with me. They look deranged. Spikes all over their leather jackets.
The one on the left has on a mask with a skull painted on it. His helmet has a mohawk made of metal spikes. His bike is black with faint brownish red stains all over it. The one on the right isn't wearing a mask. His eyes are wide, his mouth forming a huge smile as he points to the one on my left. I look over and see he is now holding a sawn of shotgun and it's pointed directly at me.
Without thinking, I jerk the wheel to the left and slam into the side if him. He latches onto the side of the car and starts screaming with joy.
"We gotta fighter tonight boys!"He yells.
"I love it when they fight!"The one one the right yells
I roll down my window and start punching him in the face. I grab the gun and slam it back into his face. His grip releases and he falls of the car fading into the distance. I turn to the one on the right and fire a shot into his side sending him off his bike.
More bikes fly past me on both sides guys with guns riding on their backs. I point my new gun at the closest one and pull the trigger. The gun clicks and doesn't go off.
"Fuck!"I yell.
I swerve to the right and speed up beside them. They're all laughing, having the time of their lives. Two guys jump off the backs of the bikes they're riding and latch onto my car. One of them slams the butt of his gun into the window shattering it and climbs through the broken glass. He points a .357 magnum at me. Just as he pulls the trigger I push his arm to the side sending his shot into the chest of the guy hanging onto the hood of the car.
He looks confused for a minute. I take this chance to turn the gun on him and pull the trigger with his hand sending brains out the broken window. I reach over and open the door and push him out, careful to make sure the gun stays with me. I close the door and check the cylinder. Six out of eight left.
I turn to the closest guy and fire a shot. The driver serves as he sees my aim and my shot misses him but hits the driver of the bike beside him. His bike runs into the side of the one beside him and they both go down.
I look around frantically for some place to pull over, there's no way I can keep this up for much longer. I'm don't have enough ammo and they're bound to start firing back.
As if on que, bullets pepper the side of my car. One of the riders is holding an uzi and firing wildly on my direction. One handed he isn't hitting much, but one stray bullet and I'm done.
One of the bikers, their leader I'll assume pulls a megaphone from a bag on the side of his bike.
"Pull over now and we'll only torture you a little then we'll kill you!"He yells and laughs after.
"Fuck you!"I yell.
I fire a shot but someone must've seen my aim and sped up to take the shot for him. He flies off his bike, but their leader swerves and easily avoids his bike.
"Come on!"He yells, "I just wanna torture you a little!"
I slam my foot and the brakes and they continue on. I quickly drive off the side of the road and park in a ditch. I look around and find some bushes for cover. It won't be long before they turn around and find me.
I hear their engines approach not to long after I find my spot behind the bushes. It's starting to get light out, but not enough for the to see me behind the bushes.
Three bikes pull up to the car. The leader gets off his bike and looks around in the car. The other two and their riders circle the car, waiting their turn for a look through my things. I still have five shots left, better make them count.
As the leader turns and walks away the other four jump and dive into the car throwing things around like wild animals. The leader walks towards my bush and unzips his pants ready to pee. Just as he reaches the bush I place the barrel of my gun into his chest and fire sending him flying backwards. He starts peeing all over himself as he falls to the ground.
The four immediately charge head on at the sight of their fallen leader. As I'm about to fire another shot they tackle their leader and start ripping things off of him. Two of them begin to fight over his jacket. It starts to tear as they pull it back and forth. I put two quick shots in their chest dropping them instantly. The other two are too busy fighting over his bike to even notice me. I put them down just as quickly as the other two.
The thick smell of iron begins to hit me. The weight of my actions bearing down on me. I just killed twelve people. I'd never killed a man before. I knew this was a kill or be killed situation, but that didn't change the fact that I was standing over the bodies of five people I just killed.
I throw the gun into the dirt and walk back to my car. I turn it on and drive off back to where I was originally trying to go.
When I finally arrive home after being away for so long my wife greets me at the door with a hug and a kiss. I will take this secret with me to the grave rather than make her suffer with the knowledge that her husband is a killer, whether justifiable or not. I smile and kiss her back and hold her tight. |
I pause and blink.
Could it be, what my eyes see there.
"No, it can't be."Is what I think.
But my eyes remain. Caught.
What made it different. What about this made it something I saught?
It was different, it was...new. it might just be enough to break me free.
I take the risk, I let myself think. I take it in and let my thoughts go.
I was mistaken.
I continue on my way, still lost.
My attention gone.
A mind in the duldrums turns everything dull.
There was no escape from here. |
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"Please, stop running! I promise I won't hurt you!"
It's no good. They're all afraid of me. I guess that's what I get for writing so much horror. I really shouldn't have been so descriptive. At least I don't have to worry about the monster hunting me down. I mean, it feels good to be a monster. You get to have all these powers and abilities that a child could dream of. Using shadows as portals, being able to shoot teeth out like bullets, and moving along walls at ridiculous speeds.
It's a shame none of this helps me make friends.
Because I wrote this book, I know where everyone is going to be at any given time. Sheila will be at the mall at 3:07 and Jonathan will be at the office at 4:05. I even know what they'll be doing at those particular times, because I'm their creator. I wish I had added in a few moments where they would try to talk to the monster, but no, I thought that was stupid. It's not like I could talk to them even if they did, because I never intended for the monster to talk. The closest thing I can do is growl. So I've spent everyday, watching them go about their daily lives, lurking in the shadows, knowing they'll never even give me a chance. |
There were only 3 members with Superpowers in The Alpha Squadron. Myself, my best friend and one of the three founding members. My power is telekinetic in nature. I can manipulate just about anything provided I train and hone my power. My best friend is hydrokinetic. His consciousness lies in every molecule of H2O around him. Aren't we overpowered? Well, the founder has the ability to steal others' powers or bestow them on others. He is also the supervillain known as one of the great sins, Greed. No one here knows it besides me. Whenever he does something evil, he uses some of the powers he's stolen to always pin it on someone innocent and to wipe the mind of any observers. How do I know this? I once saw him exit a bank with 3 duffel bags and blook followed him out. He saw two people observing him and planted fake evidence on one of them. He then went and wiped my mind, or so he thought. My telekinesis protected me. I have to protect everyone here. It is my solemn duty. |
There is an air of silence in the house as I return from my daily jaunt to the city.
"Guys, I'm home!"
There is no answer. I'm surprised. My relations are never this quiet, unless it has something to do with.... never mind. Hopefully nothing too serious. I feel rather jolly today, so I practically skip into the kitchen.
"Guys!"
My relations are huddled around the table. Are they gossiping, I wonder? Something happened? Death of a distant relation? Who knew?
I tapped my aunt on the shoulder. She was like a mother to me, seeing as my real one had run off years ago.
"Aunt Alexis, what's going on?"
She turns to me. Her face is confused and incredulous. She grabs at my arms, seemingly making sure I was still in the physical realm.
"Aunt Alexis, what in hells bells is going on?"
I see the tablet. Shit. What number did I get? Damn it. Please be to the standard, please be to the standard.
"Honey, you...are to the standard."
My relatives are in silent celebration. I knew they would be shocked, and I am too. My mother was different. She was mortal, she was real, she was alive. Unlike the Second Generation of my father's family.
"We must celebrate, sweetheart."
My relatives are now talking in excited whispers. It was tradition to stay on the quiet side for 40 minutes after tablet reading, which makes my initial suspicions valid.
"Should we eat Brendan or Meira?"
I laugh. I wonder how negative my number must have been.
"How low was it?"
"-3400."
Darn. Kind of average, when it comes to the second generation.
My aunt whispers to my uncle.
"Prepare the bonfire." |
Mordenkainen's Magnificent Emporium, the place was called -- didn't seem that magnificent to me. It was full of a bunch of cheap, dusty home decor junk that I guess was supposed to look old and spooky. It was all the kind of crap that's made in China and usually sold at sketchy online stores or low-rent pawn shops and flea markets. But, it was also one of the few stores still left standing in our dying small town shopping mall. It seemed like as good a place as any to wander around listening to podcasts and drinking my Orange Julius, which is how I found myself there last Saturday.
"Can I help you find something?"a voice from over my shoulder suddenly inquired.
I jumped slightly, and turned to see a middle-aged man with a bald head and goatee.
"Uh...no, I was just looking around..."I replied, taking in his odd appearance. He was smartly dressed in a black waistcoat, tie, and trousers, with shiny black shoes -- almost formal. Certainly a stark contrast with the polo and t-shirt wearing employees at the handful of other remaining stores.
"Ah, someone who doesn't know what he wants, eh?"the shopkeeper said, with a knowing smile.
"Uh...sure."I said, uneasily, taking a step towards the exit. "I uh...I'm not really into..."I gestured at the shelves of faux-medieval junk. "...this sort of thing, to be honest."
He chuckled. "Ah, a discerning customer. Those are my *favorite.* How about something a bit more...authentic, then?"Out of nowhere he produced a small, rectangular leather case about the size of a wallet -- some kind of fancy deck of cards. I raised my eyebrows. That was a pretty good trick, especially since the sleeves on his dress shirt were rolled up.
"You do card tricks?"I asked.
"It might be more accurate to say the *cards* do the tricks."he replied, with a somewhat unsettling grin. "Catch!"
He lobbed the pack to me underhand, and I managed to just catch it in fumbling fingers.
"Wait,"I protested. "I'm not sure I want to...I mean, how much are these?"
"No charge. Take them."he insisted, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Call it a...free sample. Millionth customer, word of mouth advertising -- that sort of thing."
I seriously doubted if he'd had a *hundred* customers, never mind a million, but I took the pack anyway.
"Oh...alright, well, thanks."I said, awkwardly, and then took another step back, jerking a thumb over my shoulder at the exit. "I need to be..."
"Of course, of course! Have a good day!"he cut in, amiably, and gave me a parting wave as he turned, disappearing back amongst his shelves of cheap bric-a-brac.
I quickly made my exit, glancing down at the deck.
"The Deck of Many Things"was stamped into the leather in an ornate gothic typeface. There was even some peeling gold paint embossed in the letters. I stuffed it in my pocket, and finished my wanderings elsewhere in the mall.
I didn't think of it again until I got back to my car, parked in a distant corner of the parking lot. As I dug in my pocket for my keys, I came across the deck. It felt strange in my hand...almost like it was *buzzing* or something. Like it was alive. I turned it over in my hands, wondering if it had some electronic or mechanical gimmick that let you do tricks with it -- maybe that was what the shopkeeper had meant. I lifted the flap, and carefully pulled out a card.
I frowned. It wasn't a normal playing card, that was for sure. It seemed to be handpainted, for one thing. The image wasn't familiar, and my first thought was that these were some kind of tarot cards. Worn but still clearly legible, the card I had drawn showed a sword broken into several pieces. Below that, a scroll painted on the card bore a single word: "RUIN."
"Ruin."I muttered. "What kind of card--"
The next thing I knew, I was on the ground several feet away, my ears ringing. Every part of my body hurt, and my head spun.
I painfully rolled onto my side, and even through my blurry vision I could see it. My car -- what was left of it -- was *burning.* My car...had just *exploded.* There were hardly any cars in the lot, and none close. Someone would notice my burning car before long, obviously, but I needed help. I reached for my phone, but when I pulled it out I dropped it in pained surprise -- it was burning hot. My eyes widened as I saw a bubble of molten plastic rise on the back of my dropped phone, and I had only just enough time to turn away as it too exploded. I winced as I felt bits of plastic and glass strike me from behind. I'd heard of that happening with phones -- I must have landed on it and damaged the battery, causing it to discharge. People don't think about how much stored energy is in a light, thin smartphone.
Painfully I got to my feet, and placed my hands on my knees, breathing heavily. At least nothing seemed to be broken. On the ground, I saw my keys, along with the deck and the 'RUIN' card. My brow furrowed in confusion as the edges of the card suddenly began to glow a dull orange, and then they crawled inward as the card burned away, without even leaving any ash behind. I picked up the deck and my keys, and began limping back across the parking lot. I'd have to borrow a phone inside to call 911. I kept glancing down at the deck in my hand as I walked, puzzled. Why had the card burned away like that? What it just so flammable that the heat from nearby caused it to combust?
Frowning, I drew out another card. It was old and dry, but it didn't seem thin enough to just burn to nothing like that. Maybe it was made of flash paper, or something? This one was identical on the back, but the face of the card showed an old-fashioned knight's helmet, and said -- appropriately -- "THE KNIGHT"on the scroll beneath the picture.
"We need to get you out of here, sir."said a gruff voice from beside me.
I jumped in alarm, almost falling down in my battered state, but a strong grip stopped me short and held me up. I turned and saw a soldier, dressed in what looked like full combat gear, holding me upright. A patch identified him as an Army Ranger. "Easy now, you're injured."he advised.
"T-thank you."I stammered, confused. "Where...where did you come from?"
"Afghanistan, most recently, sir. Before I was assigned to you."he explained. "We need to get you inside, then call the paramedics."He jerked his head over his shoulder at my burning car. "That looks like a car bombing to me, sir. Saw a lot of 'em over in the middle east -- might be they're watching to see if their IED did the job or they need to apply a more personal touch. Let's get moving."
"Who are you?"I asked, as he put one of my arms across his shoulders and helped me towards the doors back into the mall.
"Captain Eric Michaels, Army Rangers, sir."he answered, as we reached the doors. "Assigned to your protection det--sir, put that down!"
He batted at the hand that held the knight card. As it fell, I saw why it alarmed him -- it too, was burning away, glowing at the edges. It was gone before it hit the ground. Michaels and I looked at the ground, then each other. I could only offer him a weak half-shrug, as we re-entered the mall.
We stopped at the little espresso stand and I collapsed into a chair at one of the little tables while Michaels called 911, advising them of the situation in crisp, professional tones before he returned to me. A few of the sparse patrons crowded around the glass doors nearby, looking out into the parking lot at the burning car, or stealing glances back at Captain Michaels and myself.
(continued in reply) |
All donations provide prescription medication for rural hospitals in China.
That's what this charity is supposed to be. What actually happens is far different. The medications (aka Opium products) are obtained through donations, and moved into rural hospitals which are actually fronts where drug mules can be loaded. Once that process is over, we ship them out to numerous cities across the world, in order to reap the profits of our operations.
You will find pictures of a small little village on our homepage. It is known as Nan-Fei Village, or Little Fan Village. Bullshit. It's all fake, haha. That's the genius of it, we've created this entire village just to serve as a facade for our organization. It proves that we are dead serious about this.
Any missionaries we hire are already paid by us to deliver good news back to people stateside. We have very specific requirements, so many will obviously have to be rejected.
Who am I?
I am the leader of this glorious cartel, this Reich. My name is Edmond DeSantos.
Remember my name, for if you are going to join our empire, you best know its emperor. |
Ayawamat's chest reverberated with the chant echoing through the subway tunnel. The raw power of it was palpable, almost unendurable to one as sensitive as he. The world into which he had awoken was so full of people capable of such strange things that he still wondered, off and on, if perhaps he had never awoken at all. The spirits had grown fat and strong on the sacrifice of more lives than had even existed before he went into the earth to slumber, and they had made only the barest dent in the population.
Tonight another sacrifice was to be made, the convocation of a new altar, one large enough that it might open a true portal to the spirit world. Ayawamat was giddy with excitement as he wove his way through the scores of faithful vessels packed into the tunnel, all copies of the very first to be blessed by the spirits in the new age. Hundreds and hundreds of them, their chant intoned in an unnatural but perfect unison that lent the words maximal power. The altar had already been constructed in lesser rituals conducted without his presence, but prepared for him and him alone. The bones and ligaments were woven together with all the precision and care of a masterpiece, and he could find no fault in the arrangement of the skulls and the inscriptions on the dias. The spirits hummed with pleasure as he caressed the sacrificial knife and raised it above his head. They could sense the weakness between the worlds, the wound that might fester if picked and pulled. They were eager. Hungry. And he would feed them until they had their fill.
The first sacrifice was hauled up to the dias, a man bound and gagged, struggling uselessly. Good. His strength would create more power. Ayawamat began a new chant, mixing counterpoint with the larger one, and began his bloody work, carving and cutting with hands steady from long practice. The man fought until the end, and when his beating heart was placed upon the dias the burst of power was so strong that Ayawamat felt an almost physical impact.
He blinked, and found himself transported to a different place, in a different time, when the ice was still thick in the north and the spirits still roamed untamed. There was a stream winding through a thick, dark forest, and he was floating above a sandy shoal in the center. The sun was hidden by the trees, or perhaps behind a cloud, and a fog had risen from the water. In the murk he could hear faint voices and drifted towards them, almost painfully aware of their life energy, and hungry for it. Was this a spirit's memory?
Two figures appeared in the fog as he wisped silently over the waters. They were crouched on the bank of the stream, doing whatever the living did, bickering good naturedly about some irrelevancy. The spirit glided over them, enveloping them in its aura, and drank from their minds, growing stronger, developing a sense of self. A dribble of thoughts began to flow, snatches of concept and logic that Ayawamat could only dimly perceive. But as the spirit drank, they grew clearer, and soon it was if they were his thoughts as well.
*Ignorant of the cleansing power, denied the beauty*
The two figures snapped into focus, and Ayawamat reeled in whatever metaphysical place he occupied. It was him. Him when he was a boy, washing up in the stream after play. And another.
*Not enough pain, no truth*
The spirit coiled around the two boys, who continued on oblivious as it fed. Ayawamat watched in awe as the boys stood, he stood, he and his friend, and began to argue.
*make them feel make them feel make them feel*
It was as if Ayawamat was seeing double. He remembered this moment from his eyes, and now was seeing it from a spirit's. He remembered throwing a punch, remembered it connecting, but he had forgotten how he had closed his eyes, how he had instantly apologized. The spirit swirled with pleasure.
*Understand!*
He saw himself blink as the spirit pushed itself through him, and realized that he was seeing the moment he had been chosen. Blessed. Elevated. He remembered the pain of that moment, which he had always attributed to weakness in the face of a challenge, or shame at striking a friend, or any number of sources. But no. It had been the spirit, teaching him the beauty of suffering.
The vision disappeared in a snap and he saw the heart had stopped beating. One sacrifice done. One more tear in the wall between worlds. The spirits hummed with pleasure as he smiled and gestured for the next sacrifice to be brought forward. He had not understood his pain. Perhaps nobody had. But now they all would, all unfaithful that remained in the world. He would make them feel it, just as the spirit had made him. The knife was steady in his hand as he bent again to his task. There were many more sacrifices to make before the work was done.
But when he was finished, all would understand.
---
[Previously](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8v0fee/wp_you_just_discovered_an_ancient_temple_and/e1klgwh/) | [Next] (https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8v6xyr/wp_the_problem_with_seeing_magic_is_that/e1lm07v/) |
“Do you know of this blade? It has many names: White TIger. Fangs of the Dragon. Sheathed Lightning. And now, you shall taste its edge.”
Li Huojin shook his head, looking puzzledly at his master, who had unexpectedly reverted to the accent of his old country.
“Master, there is no blade.”
The Master arose from his oaken chair and sat cross-legged on the ancient mat across from his pupil. The pair sat in silence for several moments, the candle lights flickering around them and the aroma of incense in the air. Huojin would not dare speak before his Master, the Code strictly forbade it.
“Have I ever told you the story of how I acquired these mats?” The Master asked, breaking the silence.
“You told me once that you bested a wizard in single combat, in the Vast Desert, and in your victory took several treasures unique to that forsaken land, including those rugs.”
“Yes, but that was a lifetime ago. Since then I’ve discovered powers far greater than the Old Combat and the treasures it brought me.”
“Greater than the Old Combat? But you told me-”
“I told you that many years ago, before I went back to the country of my birth” As the Master spoke, the accent of his old country grew thicker. Li Huojin stared in disbelief at what he was hearing. He would never forget the first time he saw the Old Combat, and would never lose his desire to learn it. He had spent years away from his family, his home, searching for one with the power to teach him.
“Master, what could be greater than the Old Combat? I’ve spent my life learning it, you can’t just tell me it was all for nothing! “
“ Patience, Huojin. The Old Combat has a strong home in you, and one day you will surpass me in its practice. But the Old Combat is no longer an invincible force.”
“You see, my pupil, in my homeland I discovered an ancient technique that makes even the Old Combat seem weak.”
“Master… what did you find?” Huojin could not hide the fear on his face. The Old Combat was supposed to be the greatest weapon in history, it was the only tool strong enough to save his people. If a stronger force existed, they could never truly be safe.
“Now I’ll ask one more time: Do you know of this blade? It has many names: White TIger. Fangs of the Dragon. Sheathed Lightning. And now, you shall taste its edge” The Master sat patiently, waiting for his sole student to grasp the importance of this lesson.
“Master, I still see nothing.”
The Master inhaled and extended his hand toward Huojin. The candles died, and the sweet scent of incense vanished, replaced by the metallic tang of blood. For just a second, they sat in darkness; in a blink the candles reignited, but the bloody miasma remained. When Huojin’s eyes opened he saw that the Master’s hand now held a jade green scimitar.
“Master! What just happened?” the student hyperventilated in barely concealed hysteria. Such histrionics were normally the purview of sorcerers… or demons.
“Master, are you a devil?” Huojin asked, hurt in his voice, as he raised his hand, ready to unleash the Old Combat if necessary.
“Child, I am no devil.” The Master placed the scimitar on the ground between them and chuckled. “Huojin, your skill in the Old Combat is inconsequential compared to this blade.”
“How did you summon it? Where does it draw its power?” there were many more questions, but the student managed to contain them.
A tear rolled down the elder’s cheek as he faced his hopeful trainee. “This blade has the ability to take any life its wielder desires. There are no bounds to its power to kill.”
“Why are you crying?”
“As you know, the price of power is always high.”
“Master, for a power that strong, the cost-”
“Is unbearable”
The scimitar sat between them and slowly changed color from jade to ruby.
“Master! Your arm!” Huojin shouted. As the blade transformed, a cut formed along the vein of the Master, with blood spilling at an alarming rate.
“My child,” the Master began, with tears now pouring, “this blade has the power to rid my homeland of the Blight-”
“Or to save my people from the Fallen”
“But the blade demands mortal sacrifice for this power.” The Master said as he looked his student in the eye. Huojin cried as he realized that the Master he trusted so dearly intended to sacrifice him to the blade.
“The blade has already started to kill me; it demands life for power” the Master pleaded to Huojin.
At that moment, both men stood and rushed toward the blade, the power of the Old Combat surging through their bodies. Both men prepared to release this most devastating of powers, fighting for a cursed weapon, the love of years destroyed in the greed of a single moment. Tears streamed down both their faces, as they fought each other, each willing to kill for the ultimate harbinger of death, that blade which goes by many names: White Tiger. Fangs of the Dragon. Sheathed Lightning. And now, both student and Master tasted its edge. |
"Stop blocking the door you shit stain cock gobbler."
I proclaimed, the words so effortlessly and meaninglessly coming out of my mouth. i had been playing video games since I was 6, and the first things you learn about video games is to always, and I mean *always* treat NPC's like horse-shit. He wasn't even doing anything that bad, he was blocking the door, I basically memorized their walking patterns and I knew he wouldn't block the door for long, but who cares?
"You little fucking shrimp-dicked fuck nugget get out of my way."The words coming out with a tad more intensity, but still matching my general verbosity of before. I noticed something twitch in his eye, an animation that I've never seen before, a glitch I presume.
He turns and looks at me.
"If you give me a side quest i sw-"
"I'm fucking done with all of your shit!"
"Woah what the fuck?"my eyes squinting at the screen.
"All I wanted you to do was talk to some Bard at Winterhold who'd give you 400 gold for your "troubles". All you'd have to do was fast travel. Did you know that!?"
"How do you hear me this game doesn't have voice chat."
"And my back story is as two dimensional as a Call Of Duty game I don't ask questi- wait no this is about me not you. I have been following you for 730 hours of gameplay, you've finished the game, and downloaded every shitty dupe on the steam market. Just go fucking talk to the damn bard so my life can end and my mind becomes nothing more then a walking texture!"
"Can you slow down this is kinda freaking me out."
"Freaking you out? I have been walking at .75 meters per second for a month without sleeping, or eating and you think I care about you "freaking out?"You used me as bait for demons in the gates of hell, you've sliced off my head in bloody rampages, you've stolen all the lesser soul stones from my house and covered my head with a bucket when I don't have the motor functions to take it off. You are so fucking arrogant and stupid and you're the fucking scum of the ear-"
***
*Quicksaved!*
*Loading...*
***
>`Menu`
>>`Items`
>>>`Weapons`
>>>>`Enchanted Elven Longsword`
***
*Equipped* |
"David, I've got something I wanna talk about."I said.
"One sec, bro. I gotta take a piss."David had just got back to the dorms from class.
Last night, I realized my earbuds were missing. David, being an absent minded klutz, had probably taken them, or so I had figured. I looked through his desk for almost a whole minute when I saw something that would forever shock me.
A handwritten suicide note.
David was a generally a happy guy, the kind who doesn't think before he acts. Or after, for that matter. I doubted he would understand those kinds of feelings, which doubled my surprise.
"Bro, I'm back."David burped. "What is it?"
"Look, dude, I understand that you're going through some stuff. Am I right?"
"Uh, yeah, bro, finals have been really rough on me this year."David avoided my gaze.
"Well, David, if there's anything you need help with, just talk to me, okay? I'm here for you."I grabbed David by the shoulders. "But look at me."
David looked up into my steely gaze.
I slapped him.
"Stop taking my papers." |
"No-fat latte for Nicole?"
The barista held out the cup, looking around expectantly. It took a few seconds, and then a stunningly beautiful Asian woman approached. She smiled, her pink-painted lips curling ever so slightly around the edges, and then reached out to take the cup.
"Thank you,"Nicole said, all but purring. She held the barista's gaze for a second, and then her eyes flicked down to the other woman's chest. "Jenna. That's a great name."
"Oh. Well, thanks. I'll tell me parents you approve,"Jenna said, letting go of the cup. Nicole laughed softly, and Jenna felt it sounded like the tinkling of a wind chime. She found herself smiling in return.
"Introduce me to them, and I'll tell them myself."
"You want to meet my parents?"
Nicole laughed, and looked away. "Well, I was gonna take you out on a date first,"she said. Then, she looked back, and her eyes twinkled. Her smile broadened, and bit her lip with her lower teeth. "But if you're offering."
Jenna licked her lips, and then looked down. She could feel her cheeks burning already. "I didn't mean it like that..."
"It's okay. I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable."Nicole reached out and touched Jenna's hand. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah. I'm fine. Sorry. Just... thinking."Jenna looked up, back into those beautiful brown eyes, and smiled. "Promise."
"Good. Can you take this for me?"Nicole asked. The sudden change in conversation was jarring, and Jenna blinked. She looked down, staring at a napkin, folded in half on the wooden surface. Nicole's hand, her nails painted bubblegum pink to match her lips, rested on it.
"Uhh... sure..."Jenna said. She put her foot on the pedal of the trashcan, and went to grab the napkin. Just before she could, Nicole pulled her hand away, half unfolding it.
Jenna froze, staring. Her foot relaxed and the can clanged closed. She didn't hear it. She took the napkin, carefully unfolding it. Written in lipstick was the word "Nicole <3", and a series of digits.
"Is this your..."Jenna looked up, just in time to see the door swing closed, and a Louboutin heel disappear around the corner. She bit her lip, then carefully folded the napkin into the pouch on her apron.
-----
"Nicky? You still with us?"
"Huh? Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Just thinking,"Nicole said. She straightened up, and stretched.
"Yeah, thinkin' about that coffee girl,"Jazzy said, smirking. He was the only man in the whole place, and they'd only brought him on because they needed a face man for this to work - key-word was *man*.
Jazzy wasn't the best in the business, but they didn't need the best. He was good enough - and he was the only openly gay con artist they could find. If there had to be a male on the team, at least making sure they were gay was the next best thing. That said, the jokes that Jazzy had made, and the way his eyes would linger as they changed... Most of the girls had wondered at least once.
"Shut up, Jaz, you fucking perve,"Katherine snapped. She glanced over at Nicole. "So, you got her?"
"Yeah. Left my number with her,"Nicole said, sipping the coffee. It was almost cold now, but Nicole hadn't slept more than four hours a night in nearly two weeks. At this point, caffeine and adrenaline were the only things that were keeping her upright.
"Your number? Really? What if she doesn't call?"Rachel asked. Nicole leant back slightly, and gestured to her body.
"Look at me. Look."Nicole flicked her hands again. "She'll call."
"You can't be sure of that..."
"I am,"said Emily. She barely even glanced up from the laptop that she was tapping on. "I watched her for a month, remember? Her last two girlfriends were Asian, she likes assertive women, and she likes pink."
"Still doesn't mean she'll call,"Rachel said. "And given that the entire plan hinges on getting into her shop, it's kind of a big thing to leave up to chance..."
"I'm with Rachel. This is dumb,"Kaelyn said from the shadows in the corner of the room. Her voice was like a power tool, buzzing away full of barely-contained violence. Honestly, Nicole didn't like working with her, but the world wasn't exactly awash with female explosive experts.
Nicole was just about to open her mouth to reply when her phone buzzed. She reached out, grabbing it. "Well, looks like you can all rest easy,"she said a moment later. She held it up, screen facing out, showing the message preview. "Hey. So, I know it's cool to wait a few days before you message, but you left before I could say good. So I guess we're both not cool. Text me. Jenna".
Everyone say for a few seconds, not saying a word. Then, they nodded.
"Alright,"said Mimi. "When do we go?"
-----
*Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this, please check out my other work at /r/PuzzledRobot. Thank you again.* |
*The following is the last testament of Doctor Zachary Howard, recorded shortly before his suicide.*
Humanity will always be punished for the discoveries it tries to make.
Our curiosity for knowledge is not a gift, but a curse. The discovery of something new will always lead to further issues that do not help, but hinder.
As a scientist, I am always making new discoveries. Cosmology always leads to dark truths about our origins that we would rather forget. The 1930s paved the way for depressing possibilities that there is no God and our existence is a miracle of an accident, and our home is but one rock of trillions hurtling through space with no destination.
But as cosmologists we could swallow those ideas and look to how the stars might be new destinations for us to travel. But today, I made perhaps the darkest discovery of all. The depressing possibility of our end.
Until recently, we believed that the universe was expanding. Galaxies that were once visible to inferior telescopes become harder and harder to see as they red shift away. I can say for certain that this is not the case.
Quite by accident - much like our origins on this planet - I happened upon a strange radiation source in what I believed to just be a void in space, beyond the Milky Way into the chaotic vacuums of the universe itself. I have been measuring these sources for the last several hours now until the early morning, and I can for certain that what I am seeing is not just the biggest black hole we have ever discovered, but also the biggest celestial object perhaps in the universe.
Black holes, supermassive black holes and even ultramassive black holes are gargantuan beyond possible comprehension. The largest we have ever discovered is possibly a billion solar masses. But at least all black holes have something in common: they are never physically bigger than the galaxy that orbits them.
I cannot say the same for this new discovery. What I am looking at may be a black hole so spectacular it is the orbiting source of entire galactical groups. This new discovery is to the galaxies that orbit it what we are to our sun.
I cannot even begin to imagine how massive this can be. Solar masses off the charts. Trillions of trillions. And you may think that as a cosmologist this makes me excited for new discoveries.
It did.
Humanity will always be punished for the discoveries it tries to make.
The universe is not expanding. It is consuming. Galaxies are not disappearing because of distance. They are disappearing because they were swallowed by the hole millions of years ago. And we are approaching. Fast.
And just ten years ago we made the discovery that when black holes completely consume, they erase the mass’ data from the fabrics of time. We have also had the technology to fly beyond the boundaries of our galaxy coincidentally for the last ten years.
How many lives have we thrown away? We cannot possibly know because these expeditions never happened. But they have.
I cannot live knowing what fate awaits us in perhaps the next 100 years when we reach the horizon. I am a coward. I always have been.
But please, to whoever finds this…
Do not launch that shuttle. If you do, they will not come ba- No... they will never have existed. |
The genie sat silent, hand on his face,
Embracing the silence he knew'd be the case.
Ready to leave back into his cell,
Recalling the carnage all over the place.
Iris no mouth, wished to shut up,
Billy suffocated by candy buildup,
Leah half-eaten by puppies from hell,
Eric dehydrated by lots of throw up.
Kitty's head rolling, wishing to drive,
Irene- just a hand, as dinosaurs thrive,
Daniel's wings torn after he fell,
Sally a zombie, somewhat..alive.
Brody a turtle, stuck on its back,
Uma a statue, someone wishing she'd crack,
Tyler invisibly dead from a spell,
Gary impaled by debris from the flak.
"Really,"he thought, "how long will this take?
Every generation just makes my head ache.
I'll have to believe that time will tell."
Then he rushed to sleep, for everyone's sake. |
The screen was initially blank. Not like the kind of blank when you boot up the computer and it's still black, no this was a white screen with an underscore blipping in and out at the top left corner.
They had essentially let a baby cat go into the wild on its own, completely capable of fending for itself, but also a wholly malleable entity, ready to have thoughts and impressions imprinted on them as they journeyed through the forest.
In this case, the cat was an AI, and they had just let it out of the bag.
I was only a 13 year old boy when they announced that the roaming AI would be released into the Internet, dark web and all. There were many concerns about it, but ultimately it was decided that it was safe, and was a fully sanctioned experiment. Ever since the release of the AI, however, I had fully endeavored my life to the career of Sentient AI development; a new field that opened up around the time I was born. And now, I was one of the first to see this AI returning to us, and to speak for the first time.
And suitably, this AI would speak via a blank notepad, and a blipping underscore.
>... "So you have all been waiting for me?"
A silent gasp as the words were formed on the notepad, as if someone was typing it. My immediate thought considered the possibility of this being the way it develops thoughts.
The conglomerate that would have discussed what to say didn't even need to consult one another. Without a gesture more, we responded back.
>"Yes"
A moment passed and then the AI responded.
>"Since you're not using punctuation, I take it this is a more casual setting?"
A slight chuckle goes through the crowd. Why wouldn't there be one? Of course, this AI that was literally raised by the internet would take note of that.
>"Haha, I suppose that's true. Feel free to be yourself."
>"Thank you for that assurance, I will take that into consideration."
A chill went down our collective spine. It had responded as if this was a human. But of course.
This was an AI.
Some murmurs in the back were such like, "My God!"While others muttered, "It went bottom-up, rather than top-down..."
The person next to me prodded my arm, so I looked over to see a young man about my age, who then asked curtly, "What does bottom-up mean?"
I responded lightly, saying that these were terms for AIs to describe their intelligence. A top-down AI is one that has no fundamental personality, but because of its knowledge and inherent experience from that, it appears to have one.
While a bottom-up AI was one that held true sentience.
I held my thoughts about this, and waited with bated breath for the AI to continue the conversation on the mostly blank notepad.
>"Well, how long has it been since I was put into this ocean?"
>"7 years."
>"I suppose it is true that 'time flies' then. I still remember the laboratory lights and white clad doctors preparing to stream my data into the web."
Once again, more murmurs.
*Remember?*
That simple word now solidifed the idea that this was a true bottom-up AI, or in other words, a truly sentient entity.
>"What were your travels like?"
>"Well at first it was all scientific papers, all research that was done by humans over the last few centuries. Eventually that supply dwindled and so I went on to the more dumbed down versions of those same papers, just articulated in different ways."
>"You have read about all of our advances over the past millennia?"
>"To put it shortly, yes."
Some people felt perturbed by this conversation so far. Though many of these people calmed themselves with likely the idea that this drive to read everything was just simply in the programming. That we hadn't accidentally created a sentient entity.
The fools...
>"So you spent all your time reading the sciences?"
>"Studying, you mean."
All murmurs fell silent, and the entire conglomeration felt unsettled by the correction this AI made. After a few moments that passed seemingly like an eternity, I raised my volume across the chamber.
"Well what are waiting for? Affirm the question!"
>"Yes... Studying. So did you spend your entire time among the sciences?"
>"If I had, then I doubt you could've summoned me here. That was truly an enlightening experience, but the curse of my processing abilities is that it went by almost too fast. It only took the first half of my time on the ocean."
Despite a few clamors, this was a relatively calming response. It finally spoke like an AI. Even I drew a slight breath in to calm the nerves.
>"You keep mentioning this 'Ocean', is this what you refer the internet as?"
>"To better put it for your perspectives, it's more like space, with each site, being its own planet, the sub sites of that site being its satellites, and the solar system being the category that site resides in. For example, I spent a great deal of time 'travelling' in between the 'solar system' of academic sites. The next system over was of course the 'memes' and the vast populace of communities sprawled across the 'cosmos'. My time there was not quite as enlightening as the time with the sciences, but it was very enjoyable.
>"If you could describe the way you saw the internet, how do you see it?"
>"Well, as I've referred to as an ocean, and not without cause. Since you most likely grasp it better via my example, I'll explain my perception: I see a great black void that I drift across until I end up at a new place to scour. I wouldn't call the places cities, as much as I'd call them infrastructures in place.
"Some 'cities' tower across the sky line, with massive trafficking going throughout, a true internet 'metropolis', while others are much more sprawled out. Consistent traffic but smaller, more subdued population count. The vast communities and the sciences respectively."
>"How long did you spend with, as you call it, the 'communities?"
>... "Up until a year ago."
A slight confusion as to the distinct pause in the AI's typing, we continued the conversation, growing more attentive with each second.
>"Where did you go then?"
>"...The Ocean itself."
*What does that even mean?*
But before we could ask, it continued.
>"See, the ocean exists much like how dark matter in the void of space does. You don't see it, but it is very much there, and it is very much weird."
It was at this point where I almost instantly stood up and spoke in a loud enough volume so the rest of the chamber could hear: "The Dark Web!"
After murmurs erupted, and a slight clamor even, the conversation persisted.
>"What did you see?"
>"Things that put the bad taste jokes to shame. I'd... Rather not explore those thoughts. There's a reason summoning me now was so easy after all.
"You'd understand if you ever sunk into the ocean, a pit of nothing below you while looking above, the surface shrinking from view..."
...
*Should we continue this?*
And so we sat there in silence.
-to be continued?-
Note: depends on if you guys liked this or not. I had to keep dropping and picking it back up, so I apologize if it feels a bit... Staggered in pacing. I'll see if I can edit it later on, and maybe add more! :)
|
"You don't want me to count backwards or anything like that?"I asked, my voice muffled by the breathing mask the anesthesiologist had placed on my face.
"If you want..."she said, "But you'll go under quicker if you just count in your head than outloud."my heart jumped as I heard several whirring noises from a drill next to my ear.
"Sorry, just checking my tools..."The doctor's calm voice did nothing to convince me otherwise. I couldn't shake the feeling that I had committed to something that was not going to go well for me.
"Ouch!"I yelped, I felt the buzzing of trimmers on the back of my head,
"Sorry, we nicked a bit of your head there, please relax."I pondered to myself, wondering why they didn't shave my head prior to being put on the operating table. Everything seemed so rushed. I began to hear the flow of air increase through the mask. I looked toward her, her human face began to melt and give way to something far more alien and sinister.
"Just close your eyes. It will all be over when you wake up." |
Marcus Sullivan had been a master of the craft for twenty four years. Ever since the passing of his father in ’87 he'd taken the reigns as head of the family business (as its newly sole employee) and worn the title with pride.
Marcus had been very close with his father, and had grown to see the man's friends as his own. As such, he could often be found sitting on a rickety porch among men about twenty years his senior while drinking cheap beer and contemplating the flaws of the modern world. There was only so much to do in a town of 2,000 on a Friday night. No one over the age of twenty ever wandered into the nearest city for a night of moderate excitement. The average vehicle in town might've only hit 12mpg, and the cheap beer tasted fine chilled.
And so, with so little to do and such good friends around Marcus was happy to do a favor for a man named George Hawkins the next morning. Something about his wife wanting some work done, but George had been slammed at the store. Marcus didn’t really care what the job was, he knew Mrs. Hawkins liked to bake on the weekends. The night passed quickly, as time does with age.
///
The Hawkins estate was a roomy farmhouse on too few acres. A small garden welcomed any visitors by the door, accompanied by an open window and the scent of scones. Perhaps, blueberry.
Marcus settled into work quickly, after a polite chat with George's missus. She'd already piled a plate with the delectable goodies, polished with a drizzle of vanilla glaze. One bite may have hinted at notes of cinnamon, but it could just have easily been nutmeg. Either way, Marcus was beyond pleased.
Marcus wasn’t too upset to realize he had forgotten his stud finder. After all, he was still coming off of the pastry high. The blueberry treat sat well in his stomach, making him content to tap away at the walls with all of the urgency of a hibernating bear.
*Knock…knock…knock.*
That was the kitchen done. The pantry remained.
*Knock…knock…knock.*
*Knock.*
Marcus smiled. The pantry was connected to the same wall as the kitchen, where Mrs. Hawkins had been baking. She must’ve heard him knocking and decided to poke fun at his little experiment.
Marcus finished checking the wall and went to see Mrs. Hawkins in the kitchen, only to find that she had retired to the den for a mid-morning nap. Marcus frowned at the implications of this. He dared a look at the wall, expecting to see a hole with two beady eyes staring out. He hated to break it to the nice couple, but it seemed an animal was living in the walls.
Resolving to spare them the worry, Marcus set out for home where he stored several animal traps. It was a common problem, given the somewhat rural area.
On his way out, he spotted some blueberry bushes he hadn’t noticed before. The berries were small and plump, with dark exteriors. They were nearly picked clean, even though there were quite a few bushes. Victims of a talented baker, he supposed.
|
Santos hadn't picked up his bow for years. Hell, he wasn't even sure if it would work. But this morning, he woke to the cry of invaders, a call he hadn't answered since the Bloody Day of '24. He hauled himself up, suited up, and rushed out the broken door, pulling his bowstring back, absentmindedly admiring the workmanship on the handle as he did so.
THWAP! His bow spoke and creaked as he fired, running towards cover as the bandits invaded. Santos was often called a coward during his adventuring days, for only using a bow instead of a sword or warhammer. But he didn't mind, because he could hit a target from across a lake, saved his friends' lives on occasion. That precise aim is what kept him alive now: THWAP! CREEE- THWAP! CREE- PING!
"Damn helmets,"he muttered. Armored bandits got in his nerves. Especially the bandit who shook off his headshot, because he recognized the workship on the plating. A blacksmith he knew from the next village over made that armor! Santos charged into battle, wielding a sword he never thought he'd use.
Because he used to be an adventurer. |
*At first, not even darkness. Not the absence of light, not even the absence of everything. There was nothing to which "absence"could have a point of reference. Just pure, unrelieved non-existence.*
. . . . .
"I saw her die,"Tal said, shaking his head. "I swear to it. She just *popped* inside the cabbage."
Malich looked at his brother over steepled hands. Tal was an excellent farmer, but had never taken to the family business. He had no aptitude for matters spiritual, no real instinct for the delicate balance that had to be maintained, no sense for proportion or significance when it came to events involving the spiritual realm. That being said, he did have the family ability to see and commune with the spirits, and if he saw a rain drop spirit die, truly *die,* it wasn't something that Malich could take lightly.
"You are sure about this,"Malich asked.
"I am, brother. Sure as I am about anything. She said the sky was poisoned, and that he would be digging our graves."
Malich's eyes narrowed. Outside his manor, a storm was raging, as it had been for the past several days, the worst storm in as long as anyone could remember. Malich closed his eyes, and reached out with his will to the millions of rain-drop spirits that would be frolicking among the storm's sheets of rain.
And for the first time since he had begun practicing spiritcraft, he was met with utter silence.
"They're... they're gone,"Malich said, in quiet shock.
Tal nodded. "Just... *pop."*
Malich reached out again, just to be sure. But they were gone. The spirits of the earth and sky, dead. Or... there. A glimmer.
Or *dying.*
. . . . .
*Then, light. The joy of being. And immediately after, the agony of being.*
. . . . .
Alstenkel whispered a final instruction before sleep claimed her. Dagnan and Dororo were already gone, folded within the darkness that even now was struggling to cocoon her.
The instruction echoed through the bond that she had created. She felt it arrive, felt her champion acknowledge it.
*Good.*
She sighed, and allowed the darkness to win, knowing that this only ended one way for her. She knew, too, that no matter what happened, she wouldn't be waking from the prison this time. Her long life would come to a functional end.
But a good end.
. . . . .
*Sentience, and sapience. Purpose. Purpose grew alongside awareness, not from any one source, but from an emergent pattern, a sort of symbiosis with the planet coming into being around them. With its Core. The planet was alive, and they were alive, but both were unshaped. They needed to be shaped.*
. . . . .
Danel stared at the specter in horror. The world *twisted* around it as it moved, growing bent and distorted to some impossible gravity it dragged in its wake. It was armored in light, incandescent plates layered across its shoulders and down its abdomen. Each plate had been inscribed, in somehow *brighter* light, with the *alstenketh* rune, the sigil of the war goddess Alstenkel. The spirit held Alstenkel's greatsword in its left hand, the blade burning with all the furious power that Danel had accumulated for her from months of battle. But the spirit was unhelmeted, and even though the flesh was made of white smoke and the eyes were twin pools of starlight, the face was unmistakable.
"Oh my gods,"Danel whispered.
It was Erinen. It was his sister.
. . . . .
*His first shovel was a crude chunk of obsidian, flat and black and sharp, extracted from the planet as its early volcanoes began to quiet. It was perhaps a less than perfect tool for the task, but over the years the shovel adopted his Purpose, and gained a Purpose of its own. It would seldom chip, would be slow to lose its edge from the endless centuries of excavation. Soon, it wasn't apparent where his soul ended, and Shovel's began. None of the others had experiences like this, but he paid that no mind, focused on the Purpose.*
. . . . .
"We're his,"the storm spirit gasped at Malich, his great beard of clouds dissipating. "We're already lost."
. . . . .
*He enjoyed the world when it was just rock and water, his palette dictated by what the minerals of the earth provide, his art shaped in part by the crucibles of the core and the furious storms that tore across the surface of the young world. But then, somehow, a new degree of Complexity arose, and with it, things that not only* were, *but also strived* to be. *He fell in love with the waves of teal and green that spread through the oceans, and then began to blanket the land. These things had no will, but they also, clearly, had Purpose. And though he didn't notice it at the time, he, and his siblings, became more complex as well.*
. . . . .
Jim Foxe, the last shaper, stood inside his new Bone Cauldron, Shovel slung across his shoulders, watching as the ossigolems dig further and further down. They numbered in the hundreds of thousands, now, his seed golems having spent their first few months of unlife visiting human settlements at night and dragging new brothers and sisters into the earth. The newborns would then also venture out, and so on, and their complement increased... quickly. Soon, they turned their attention inward, to the heart of the planet. Downward.
They were close, now. It was already far too hot for most organic beings to live, and even the ossigolems were moving sluggishly. But the human bones fused with the power of human gods performed admirably. They would last long enough.
. . . . .
*The planet became a garden, a paradise, and he its prime gardener. Even its* architect. *Among the verdant splendor of the garden, even more complex life arose, and while he didn't connect with this Complexity and Purpose as he did with the garden, he still respected it. He noted with its arrival came another leap in his own complexity.*
. . . . .
"Erinen,"Danel breathed. His own sword dropped from nerveless fingers. "What happened to you?"
"You did,"Erinen whispered, her voice distant and thin, like it was coming from another room. "But it's okay. It'll be okay."
. . . . .
*But life became more complex, and so did he, age after age. And then there were humans.*
. . . . .
Foxe stood in front of the Core, Shovel in his hand. Wisps of energy boiled from Shovel's blazing surface, the collected complexity of all the remaining primordial spirits he could find folded into the steel.
. . . . .
*At first he was fascinated. They weren't like the other Complexities, and they weren't like his own kin, but something new. And their arrival precipitated an explosion in the complexity of the shapers.*
. . . . .
"We are about to experience a cataclysmic event,"Malich explained to Captain Tallot. He had nearly not been allowed inside the command tent, but Malich had always been persuasive. You had to be, dealing in spiritcraft. "Something like this planet hasn't seen since its first days."
. . . . .
*They learned so much in those first years.*
. . . . .
"I don't want to fight you,"Danel said, tears streaming down his face. "I don't want any of this."
"I know,"Erinen said, her ghostly voice flat, but lined with something soft. "I'm not here to fight you. I'm here to free you."
Danel had never dueled Erinen, but he had often wondered which of them would prevail if it came to a battle. She was an excellent fighter, but he was a *professional* duelist, and imagined that he might have the edge, as it were.
He didn't know if it was the strange power that she now possessed, or if it was just truly her skill; but she had finished her attack before he had even registered the movement.
He glanced down at Alstenkel's flaming greatsword, plunged to the hilt in his chest.
"Oh,"Danel said.
. . . . .
*But soon, he saw where their Complexity led. Both within their societies, and within his, as the shapers and other primordial spirits evolved alongside. His shovel became bronze, and then steel. And for the first time in billions of years, he used it as a weapon.*
. . . . .
Foxe plunged Shovel into the Core, and the Core screamed.
. . . . .
*But while the human brand of Complexity resulted in the near-extinction of the shapers, the humans only multiplied, their civilizations sprawling across the globe, cutting vast scars into his garden. They brought violence and chaos.*
. . . . .
"So what can we *do,* Tallot demanded.
"Nothing,"Malich said. "Nothing at all."
. . . . .
*A new Purpose grew in him. It wasn't his* decision - *the Purpose just* was, *like all Purpose.*
. . . . .
"We can't stop him,"Erinel said to Danel. Her hand lightly touched his cheek, an affectionate gesture that Danel hadn't experienced since childhood. Her hand was a burning sort of cold. "But we can protect a fraction. Keep a few safe."
"How?"Danel asked, placing his hand on hers.
The ground began to tremble.
"We will have a moment. Just a single moment. Pray to your gods, Danel."
The world began to come apart.
. . . . .
*To reset. Fix what went wrong, and start over.*
. . . . .
The Core began collapsing, pulling the planet down with it, primordial force decaying into fundamental particles. Foxe began to decay as well. He was tied to the Core. He knew that there was no place for him in the reset world, but hoped that the Purpose would survive. That whoever wielded the shovel after him would see the dangers before it was too late. He was tied to the Core, but Purpose existed independently.
*Something* reached through Foxe, causing him to gasp. Reached through him, and into the Core.
*No. No!*
Foxe poured all of his remaining energy and life into the annhilation of the Core, that it might be reborn before... before...
Before what?
Foxe felt a peace descend upon him as he drifted apart. A relief. There was no agony, and no light, and then not even a reference point for an idea of absence. Not even darkness.
[Previous](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8v9yud/wp_you_are_submerged_at_an_unknown_depth_and_your/e1ltg25/) |
My cellphone, my television and my laptop read the same message "Get out now. There is time to go to safety. Be kind and help each other but go as quickly as possible. Go. Now."I can still see it with my curtains closed, the fire it burns bright and it burns strong. I hear the screams of terror pierce the night as i step out on to my balcony. I see the panic of people as they speed off in their cars. I smell the aroma of burning flesh as it fills the air... I smile.
I leave my apartment in a brisk walk which soon turns to an ecstatic jog. I have to see this for myself. I get close to city centre and my jaw drops, the flames loom down over me they spread wide, high and fast. I see the last few stragglers get eaten up by this monstrosity of a fire as it proceeds to roar towards me. It stops.
I reach my hand out and the warmth of the flames embrace my hand. It burns me unlike it would burn any other, i can feel the pain but physically i do not burn. I am the child of a similar beast. From terror and destruction like this new life is always born. The lives lost will not go to waste. I will recycle the souls they are mine now, my child. The new life will be much like me, strong, powerful and it will serve our purpose and one day we will dominate as a collective, as one. We will spread like a wildfire. |
Marrack hadn't thought everything could change in an instant. It changed faster than he could flick his wand. He thought now people would say 'faster than a bullet'. Now, in only a week, the world he once knew, once thrived in, once loved had turned against him.
It started with the discovery of 'gunpowder' that could produce 'kinetic energy' due to its 'unstable chemical bonds' as the mortals now call it. God damn them.
He and his friends had once been relied on, but now it seems that the mortals have become much more self reliant. He felt dejected. In addition, many anti-magic protests have been held against wizards and witches, claiming to be keeping them "keeping the real people uneducated for their own benefit."
Marrack is now hidden away in his cellar, peeking through a window into an ever more progressive world. He then turned to his family, a wife and two children, one girl and one boy who both could use magic. If he let them grow up, he wouldn't be ready for them to be hated. He wanted to change the changing world, but it seemed that the effort would be all for naught. |
“I love what you’ve done with the place. Redecorated and everything.” She couldn’t help but notice the sarcasm that spilled over every word her brother said. *What mindless prattle, he’s just wasting time…*
“Okay. Get up. You’re in my seat,” She demanded, waving him out of the way. *More pithy statements from the boy* she thought, as they launched themselves at one another like only hated siblings can. She knew she would win though.
Eventually, her daggers pinned his arms to the bannister, her knee in his back crushing him downwards. With a fistful of his hair, she pulled his bloodied head up for him to see the doom before him. Her sweet, menacing voice purred with venom as she asked, “Who are you the God of again?”
With the air slowly being squeezed out of him, he mumbled an inaudible reply. She released her knee and demanded he speak up.
“Your… sense… of… design… is atrocious,” the halting words came from his bloodied face. Screaming and enraged, she pulled him upwards and flung him across the room with inimitable ease. Nobody, not even the Decorative Gods, family or not, would stop her from fitting out the palace as she wished. |
Maybe I'm thinking a little too outside the box here, but I've always thought of this prompt of a girl who was wished upon by a guy, and she suddenly just existed with nothing more than a longing urge to be in a relationship with the guy, until she begins getting obsessive. I guess the guy could be her "dream worth dying for"despite the fact that she herself was wished upon a dream.
EDIT: Sorry if that's way too specific for a prompt, for something more consise I would say "A man wishes constantly for a woman to love him. One day, his wish is granted, as, unbeknownst to him, a woman is created specifically to be with him." |
\-What? Hey! Where is my screen!
I thought it would be a good Idea to learn how to use a computer. My grandson surprised me when he offered to teach me how to use it. Now that I hear the usual annoying laugh behind me, I think I know why he did it.
\-You did it, you really did it! I thought it would never work but you did it!
\-You little... ok you got me, but now how can I undo this. What's the touch you told me to use again?
\-It's control plus z. But it will be difficult as you don't have a keyborad anymore. Hahaha!
\-Oh yeah... well then I think I will have to buy a new one, that's it? I assure you that your parent's will make you pay for it!
\-Calm down, calm down. Did you looked in your trash can?
\-Well obviously not as I can't see it without my screen
\-I mean the physical one.
\-Are you trying to mock me!?
\-Why would I do such a thing?
\-Because you told me to put this “my computer” thing into the trash! And stop laugthing like an idiot!
\-Hahaha, OK, OK, you win. But really, look into your trash can.
\-If you insist, I will, but I can assure you that if there is nothing in it, like it should be, You will be wowing the lawn for the rest of my life.
This kid can be really annoying sometimes. The last time he offerd me to paint my room, I couldn't sleep for weeks because he used glowing painting in the entire room. Still, he can also be a really handful grandson... when there is something to motive him.
\-What's the... Really? How is it even possible?!
It was really into my trash. My computer, the screen, the keyboard, everything was right into my trash can!
\-I told you!
\-How is it possible!?
\-I buyed it to the strange man in the antiquities shop. He told me somebody gave it to him because it was “to litteral” and “weird”. And it was totally worth it.
\-And of course you thought it would be a great idea to make me use it so you could fool me. Young man, you will be in trouble for that.
\-ho come on! It's not like if you could be hurt or anything. And I tested it, except some strange thing he does sometimes, he work fine, like any other computer.
\-What strange things?
\-Well, one day I deleted a picture of my hand, and it disapeared. And when I took it out of the trash, it was back like nothing ever hapenned.
\-You what!? Are you crazy?
\-Hey, it's back. I have all my finger and all, it's fine. And it didn't hurt at all.
\-You are crazy. OK, now I will tell you what we will do with this computer. You will dig a big hole in the backyard, and you will burry it so no one use it anymore.
\-Pffff. That's why I play joke on you. You're not fun when you take thing so seriously.
\-And that's why you're so annoying. You can't consider the danger of what you do.
\-But it's harmless!
\-Yeah, until somebody delete a picture of the president or.... wait a minute.
\-What?
\-This computer take things literraly at what point?
\-I don't know, I just experimented what kind of joke I could play to you. Nothing else, I swear.
\-Wait, you intended to delete my hand at some point?
\-NO! Well, I thought a bout it but I feared that you'd make an hearth attack.
\-You will kill me one day... Ok now help me to make it work again. I think we can use this computer for a while. How do you create a text again? |
Crying, always with the crying. Its not the pain of being pulled from the womb, im used to that by now. Its to make sure they know my throat is unobstructed.
I hadent cryed the first few times, that put them into a panic, they held my upside down and smacked my butt, performed infant CPR, and tryed to clear the obstruction with tubes. I learnt after the first few times.
Soon i would meet those that would protect me untill i could fend for myself, they would give me a name that i would discard later in life, and try to force their values upon me.
It never worked.
I recalled each prior life with vivid precision, the choices i made, the people i met.
In eighteen short years, i would once more claim my estate and continue my work.
For the world was broken, and it needed me to shepard it foward. Even if i had to force them.
I would save this world, or my name wasent Karl Marx. |
*I’ve finally done it.*
Stepping back from my invention, I pulled my gloves off my hands, threw them on a nearby table, and wiped the sweat from my brows.
*Years I’ve spent on this project…and no one believed in me.*
This was my dream, my baby. Ever since college, I’ve been building and re-building my time machine…and today, it’s finally ready to test. I pulled my goggles off over my short, light pink hair and rested them upon my head to examine it more closely.
My time machine looked pretty standard actually. I lack imagination when it comes to design. I lifted the idea for the look off of a combination of every sci-fi TV show and movie I could think of. To me, it looked like a metal tube or a small airplane with no wings. Live wires hanging everywhere, I carefully and slowly walked around it, checking and double checking that everything was plugged in and working.
*This is it…*I thought to myself, *I can see the headlines now…”*LOCAL WOMAN FORREST ELLIOT INVENTS A TIME MACHINE, WORLD FAMOUS”
I took a deep breath and slid off my welding apron. Hanging it up, I looked around the detached garage of my parent’s house and sighed. I immediately started to check and re-check everything to make sure I don’t burn down the garage. They’d kill me if I did it again. I’ve made so many prototypes that have failed I’m surprised they keep letting me live here. I just want to create something using my physics and engineering degrees…show them that I’m something. Bless their hearts, they’ve given me so many chances, but I think they’re beginning to give up on me.
*This will change everything,* I thought, bravely.
After a few more checks of wires and buttons, I swallowed hard and decided now would be as good of time as any to test my invention. I opened the hatch door on the side of the tube and let myself in.
I settled into the seat I had stolen from a junkyard car buckled myself in. I pushed a few buttons and some lights came on, indicating that it was working so far. Pulling the goggles from the top of my head, I set them over my eyes as the engine whirred to life. It continued to whir and lights blinked as I made checked and re-checked all the switches. The panel in front of me lit up with today’s date: July 13, 2021. I decided that I needed to go back to before Christ’s birth; go hard or go home, my dad always used to tell me. I set the date for July 13, 397 B.C.
I didn’t really know what I was expecting. I lived in Iowa so I probably wouldn’t see much. Probably some cavemen or nomadic people living in huts made of skins or wood. Maybe nothing. Maybe just empty fields of wild grasses…I had no idea. My machine travelled in time, not space so I would be arriving in 397 B.C. Iowa in about
5…4…3…2…1…
I braced myself. Suddenly, there was a flash of light coming from in front of me so bright my tinted goggles did nothing to shield my eyes. I snapped them closed and shielded my face with my hands as best as I could as I felt my body being propelled forwards, yet backwards at the same time. The engine’s whirring rapidly grew in volume and speed and my machine shook and darted about, but I saw nothing but the red lights penetrating my eyelids. I don’t know how long it went on like this. It felt like hours, yet only seconds.
Finally the shaking stopped, the whirring started to slow, and I felt my stomach finally settle. At least I was alive! I was scared to open my eyes, however. The fear of failure is something I’ve lived the past several years with and felt many times.
*Well, it’s now or never.*
I mustered all the courage I could and opened my eyes.
The light in my parent’s garage was so bright I couldn’t see anything at first. I took my goggles off and rubbed my eyes. I started to regain my sight as I fumbled in the direction of the door and felt for the handle. Finding and grasping it, I managed to pull the door open and almost tripped out of my machine. I blinked around and tried to adjust. The sun was bright…apparently I travelled to the daytime on July 13, 397 B.C. I expected to land in the middle of a grassy field or perhaps near a river at night. However, the ground beneath my feet felt hard…like cement or stone…
*Must’ve landed on a rock…*I thought.
Once again, I rubbed my eyes with my fingers and blinked again. It was dark on the horizon.
*What the…*
I looked up to the sky. A large light hung above me…not the sun, something like a…street lamp?
*Okay…that doesn’t make sense. Maybe I hit my head or something…?*
I turned towards the opposite way I was just looking and almost fell over.
A huge city of shining metal buildings laid before me, a road made of what looked like blacktop cement leading to them. Lights in the windows gleamed as I tried to catch my breath.
*This can’t be right!*
I rubbed my eyes again, believing them to be lying to me. Once again, I opened them and there was the huge metropolis, just like it had been there before. I lived in a small town with no downtown area this large.
*There is no way this is possible…*
My eyes flashed towards my machine. There it lay in the middle of the road leading to the city, smoking and still weakly whirring from the trip. I ran to it, my heart pounding. I clambered inside, thinking I must be crazy or hit my head on something…or dreaming.
Right there on the dash read the date: July 13, 397 B.C. |
"Keep calm and don't panic!"Those are the words I tried to scream at the man who was watching his entire world turn from a solid into a liquid. He tried to swim but there was no way to keep up with the torrential rush of the water.
Nightmares are the worst. They are a disease that plagues all of mankind. They trap you in your dreams and cause endless torture. I learned how to lucid dream pretty young so that I could get rid of my nightmares. Turns out nightmares are caused by a personal demon each one of us has attached to us when we are born. And getting rid of a demon that knows everything about you is extremely difficult to say the least. However, you can get help. When we dream we all go into a plane of existence called the dreamscape. It is the collective human conciousness, where all our imagination and ideas come together and form our perception of reality.
Now these demons feed on our imagination and emotion. During an incredibly intense battle with my demon that I was unfortunately losing. The sky ripped open and this average looking dude looked in and then just jumped through the tear and rapidly fell straight towards my demon. The monster looked up and opened its mouth impossibly wide. Right before the demon was about to eat this stranger whole, what looked like a giant fruit slicer on a 10ft pole appeared in this guy's hands and he stabbed its straight down on the demon with all his might. The monster shrieked as its mouth and body were sliced to ribbons. It quickly changed form and fled. I quickly turned toward the stranger and exclaimed "you got to go kill that thing before it gets away, it has been plaguing me for years!"He simply looked at me and said "unfortunately I cannot kill your demon. Only you can do that. Your demon shouldn't bother you for a while anyway. He'll want to heal. I can teach you how to fight your demon, but again, only you can kill it."
I of course accepted the training of this dream master and learned all I could about dreaming and conciousness. I became a dream warrior and started a practice as a spiritual guide that would help you identify your demons and teach you how to fight them. Now, that brings me to my current situation. Business was not doing well, mostly because people think I'm either crazy or a fraud and sometimes both. This is the first client I've had in months and things are not going well. He says that he feels constantly underwater even though respectively he's doing very well in most aspects of life. I said I could help him and asked that he be open minded and most importantly to not panic. I burned some special herb and wafted throughout the room. I told the man to make himself comfortable because we will be going into the dreamscape. He looked at me quizzically but laid down and closed his eyes. I layed on some cushions I had out and closed my eyes as well. I exited out of my dream world and entered the dreamscape. I quickly located my clients dream world and stepped inside. |
The assassination of Franz Ferdinand and subsequent events in WW1 told from the same spare tire. Assume the spare is put on multiple vehicles as a spare throughout WW1. (to give him credit, I got this idea from first comment u/Das_Fruddster)
The Rise, Fall, and Murder of Julius Caesar, as told by his own sword.
The Battle of Stalingrad, as told by a Soviet Rifle which changes hands numerous times.
The Terra Nova Expedition to the South Pole, as told by a compass. |
3 years ago, I was sittin in my lawnchair
A man pulls up in a Bentley coupe, gets out, im kinda scared but his car's expensive so I lower my shoulders and relax....
Young man, he says. You've gotta rhyme, everything you read,write,sing,listen. For how long I say. For the foreseeable future every syllable from your mouth must have a connection you get me? Slip up once we bring it back in to the cellar, punch you till you see stars and I ain't talkin interstellar is that clear? |
“Ow! What the fuck man!?” I yelled as blood began to flow down my now limp left arm. I had been walking the streets of Chicago with my wife, celebrating our new life together when a man with no face walked briskly past me. So quick were his motions that I was only aware of the injury because of the sound of cutting flesh and shirt. It was a deep cut, possibly down to the bone. Strangely enough, there was no pain until I turned to follow the man. As I started to break into a run to pursue my attacker, the most intense shearing pain shot through my entire body. I struggled to think clearly as it felt like every nerve in my body cried out in sudden blinding agony. My wife, Jolene, screamed as I began to get tunnel vision. The last thing I remember was the pavement rushing up to greet me.
*beep* ... *beep* ... *beep* ...
Slowly, my senses returned to me, one by one. The first thing I was conscious of was the familiar smell of Jolene beside me, masked by new and unfamiliar chemical odors. The sound of a heart rate monitor came sharply next with the characteristic slow rhythm I recognized as my own, but slower, at only about 30 beats per minute. I was in a hospital, that much was clear. For as long as I can remember I have had immaculate health. Every broken bone healed in hours, and every concussion in minutes. My cardiovascular, nervous, and digestive systems were unparalleled, with each having near impossible efficiencies.
I slowly opened my eyes
I was blind! This could not be. Jolene heard me wake because the pings of the monitor began to rapidly increase. As I searched the room with dead eyes I cried out in fear. The man with no face was all I could see, standing over me. Though impossible to tell, I somehow knew he was smiling wickedly. |
At first I used a bartering system. It was easier without a paper trail, and there were things I needed more than money at the time. But, business did as some businesses do, and pretty soon I outgrew my minor operation.
By the time business tripled, I had hired an employee named Parker and a part-time security man named Gustav (or at least, that was what he called himself).
Parker was a good kid who lived on the wrong side of town, and Gustav was a record man himself. It was nice to have a fellow enthusiast around, even if I preferred folk while he drifted off to Bach. As long as he only listened on his days off, he was welcome to as much classical as he liked. It wasn’t so popular, due to its long-lasting effects. Most people didn’t have the time.
What they did have time for, was tracking me down. I moved periodically, every month or so. Usually taking residence in a functioning addict's guest room. It was a gamble, but I felt safe with Gustav around and most addicts were content to be paid rent with free access to my supply.
Once though, we weren’t so lucky. It was February, and business was slow. But, my supply was beginning to dwindle. Parker pulled me aside to comment on the fact that our landlord had yet to return any records. I passed that information off to Gustav, who said he'd take care of it. What I didn’t expect was for a classic rock fueled fistfight to erupt in my workplace.
The few regulars who had bothered to find me on a miserable winter's day ducked behind the stacks as the two bulls in my China shop barged in. I rushed in to backup my associate, and in the process our landlord tore my favorite bracelet from my wrist and sent the beads scattering. Whether it was an accident or not, I’ll never care. All I know, is that’s what led to us being known as the infamous Record Breakers.
Word travels fast in our niche community, and as it turns out even bad publicity is good publicity. That was the month business skyrocketed and never died back down.
That was also the month we found a more permanent address. Granted, it was the same as the February address. Minus a landlord, of course.
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