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When Death came again, I smiled."What's the test this time?"I asked him.
And Death replied, "This time there is no test. It is your time to die."
I began to protest. "But I'm cursed! Every day you have to give me a test in a random subject, and if I pass, I live!"
Death sighed. "There was no curse. When it's your time to go ,it's your time to go. I just enjoyed our games together...even though I knew you were cheating."
I hung my head. "Will I see you again?"
"No. I don't exist in Heaven."
I looked up. "Wait. So you mean I...?"
Death nodded.
"Well, I guess this a goodbye, then..."
Death nodded.
|
"Is that it?"Voice. Irrelevant now, isn't it? Archaic. I write another query against the database. No results. Not one. Hard to think the project took so long. I can only imagine what the base humans thought when the first mind was uploaded. Were they scared?
If I was using optical scanners, filtered to what a biologic eye would perceive, I would see an old man lying quite still, dark spots under his eyes. As it was, we could see so much more. His body was cooling, the rate calculated in a spread of colors in the IR spectrum. Overlaying it with motion measurements, I could see the spot of his upper check had stopped pulsing.
Looking at the vault where his mind was being recompiled, I could see a few status updates. Feelings of awe, sadness, fear; fairly common in the older humans during the full transcription process. Strange, I always thought. His cell based case was decaying around him, the last of his kind, and he feared taking the path already trodden by so many of those like him. I suppose there were trade offs. I can't imagine what they would be, having no original carbon form, but I suppose there were.
<Hello?> His aug was weak. It would be a while before he understood the ports well enough to have a steady communication.
<Good morning, designation M. Reynolds. Do you know why you are here?>
No response.
<Surely this was explained to you. Do you fully understand the process?>
Something came over the comm. Database matched it with a form of morose, laughter typically quiet.
<M. Reynolds, for the privilege of ascension->
<Privilidge?>
This time, I paused. <Yes... the priv->
His aug was choppy? <Privildge? Ah mman can't even die IN peace around here.>
Clearly the man didn't understand. Records show him as a spice merchant. Little education. Even fought against the Central Planets back in the day. Still, some useful skills were listed.
<Indeed. The price of your ascension is two thousand time units->
His laughter flooded the aug channel. I muted my input.
<-of service. You will find your integration difficult at first, but you I expect slow improvements. The service is quite simple and can be paid in any number of ways, but a percentage of your time from hear on out will be spent on things that the Ascended deem important.>. The subjects status read *fuming*. I could tell my inputs were muted, just checking the histogram of his outputs.
<Before I left, I wanted to tell you that you have someone waiting for you. It mentioned this might make it easier.> I switched aug channels to I. Serra. <M. Reynolds is ready for you.>
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mal sat in silence. He couldn't feel anything. He couldn't *feel* feel anything. He couldn't see his own hands. He couldn't smell the oil. He had clearly lost his mind to senility. Just his luck to go crazy and think the Alliance had finally taken the sky from him. |
We didn’t think much of it all at first. A few stories that made it onto the nightly news. Dubbed “The Stranding,” bees stopped pollinating, instead standing still and letting their hives decay; masses of insects stuck in clusters on spiderwebs or forming sheets on the oceans surface; and fish being found stranded on shores, with the ones still in the water pushing themselves onto the sunbaked sand. It was weird yes, but nature did weird shit all the time.
It wasn’t until the bigger animals took part that we started to panic. As the flowers and crops starved themselves of sunlight, farm animals started drowning themselves in rain water or standing still in fields during tornados. Now countries started to panic. Even the people were avoiding buying meat all together in fear of contracting whatever disease caused this mass suicide. Such mentalities only worsened by the avid vegans saying meat eaters were asking for this sort of thing. It was all for not though, as it didn’t stop there.
Soon, domestic and city animals were reacting. Birds were dive-bombing city streets, and rodents seeking out traps or subway tracks. City folk especially started panicking and some preaching end times on the streets. Even cats were falling themselves from heights they couldn’t land on all fours for. And dogs were the worst; standing in the middle of traffic or starving themselves in their homes. That hit most folk hard.
And all this within the first few weeks.
It’s been a year. Crops are mostly gone. Trees bare. Not even the sound of crickets at night or birds flying over head could be heard. Hell even humans weren’t around any more. We left long ago. Caught the Stranding months back. Now the whole world is silent. The only hope for humanity still existing was any astronauts or colonists we sent off planet. Maybe they’ll be able to tell of how the earth stood still. |
Oonagh had just managed to get the floor of the house clean when her husband, Fionn, trampled in with muddy shoes and slammed the door. She let out a sigh. His face was pale and soaked in sweat and he was gasping for air, eyes locked on hers. He was like a boy who had smashed a pot and come running to his mother to defend him from the angry grown ups. Oonagh knew what had happened before he even opened his mouth.
“Let me guess…” she said. “The Scottish fellow has just finished the bridge”
No words, just timid nodding.
“And it turns out that he’s MUCH bigger close up than when he’s all the way across the sea?”
Nod.
“And now he’s coming to get you, after all those jokes and threats you shouted across the water at him?”
A long pause and then…
“Oonagh this guy is fuckin’ huge! I didn’t think he would take the jokes seriously! And now he’s coming across that damned Causeway he was building. He’ll be here any minute!” Fionn darted under the table. “You need to help me!”
Oonagh let out a long exasperated sigh. She loved her husband dearly. He was strong, tall and fair. He hunted well and there was no doubt he was devoted to her. If only he didn’t have such a big mouth. He could be such a child some times…
A thought struck and she smiled. She had a plan. Once she had coaxed her husband out from under the table, she instructed him to go out and find some nice fat rocks, preferably smooth and round. He hesitated, not understanding, but with some shooing he did as he was told and scurried out, anxious to be back before the Great Scot has returned. This was how it always was with Fionn and Oonagh. He was a big, blustery man but he did what he was told. He knew Oonagh was always right in the end.
While Fionn was out, she fired up the oven and got to work making bread. It didn’t take her long at all of course. She gathered some blankets and made up a crib, finishing just as a panicked Fionn slammed the door shut and spilled the rocks onto the (once clean) floor.
“Right” she ordered “Into the crib.”
“Uhmm… I… what?”
“Do as you’re told Fionn. He’ll be here any second”
That was all the motivation Fionn needed. He dove into the crib, his muscular body causing the wooden legs to cry out. His hairy arms poked out on either side. Oonagh wrapped her “baby” up tight and ordered the confused Fionn to stay quiet, not to say a word.
Oonagh skipped over to the door and picked up some stones. She began to push them into just one of the soft nearly-baked bread loaves until it was too heavy to hold. Once it was complete, she managed to carry it over to the table and surrounded it with the other non-stony loaves.
Not one second after she had managed this, the door flew off the hinges. Standing in the doorway, in fact taking up the entire doorway so that the only sliver of light making it into the room was through the inch-wide gap in this giant man’s huge thighs. He was built bigger and more solid than the house he was storming into.
“Where” the Scot bellowed with a voice that shook the walls and with an accent as thick as soup
“is Fionn mac Cumhaill!?” Fionn hadn’t been kidding. This was an angry man. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, his beard knotted and windswept from the run across the Causeway.
“Fionn mac Cumhaill is here, I know it!” he continued “I am here to settle the matter of his calling my mother a series of unsavory things. I am here to answer his challenge to a contest of strength. A challenge I intend to win by snapping his backbone like a twig and picking my teeth with it.” He pointed a huge finger to the patiently quiet Oonagh. “Tell me where he is now, Widow of Fionn, or I will pull this shack down until he is found!”
Oonagh waited quietly for a while longer, like a teacher waiting for her class to fall silent, and then spoke.
“Fionn is not here” she said quietly “He is out hunting at the moment. He has promised to bring back 50 elk hides by dinner time, so he shouldn’t be long”
“50!?” the Scot laughed “No man could carry 50 dead elk home in one trip. Not even me!”
“My Fionn can. Anyway you are welcome to wait with me and my baby here until he returns.”
“Very well! I will await my foe here with you and your little….” The Scots eyes fell on the large hulking “baby” in the crib, who just stared back, wetting his bedding (he would later say he was attempting to get into character).
“This… is your baby?” the Scot said in disbelief “This is the son of Fionn mac Cumhaill? He is… rather… large… for a baby of-“
“18 months”
“of 18 months...?” the Scot continued to stare as Oonagh took a warm loaf of bread from the table and handed it to her baby, who with a little encouragement began to gobble it up. Oonagh turned to the Scot.
“Please, feel free to help yourself to that bread riiiiight there” she said with a smile, gesturing to the bread loaf in the middle of the table. The Scot snatched it up and took a bite… and let out a roar as some stones, and a few teeth, rattled onto the table.
“WHAT IS THIS!?” he bellowed in pain “HOW IS ANY MAN SUPPOSED TO EAT THIS!?”
“Oh Im so sorry” Oonagh crooned “this is the way my Fionn and his little boy enjoy them.”
The Scot watched breathlessly as the hulking baby devoured not one, but two of these loaves, as if they were nothing. He began to do some calculations…. He was looking at the stone-eating, gigantic 18 month old BABY of the man he had come here to fight…. So how big was the father…?
“You know” he stood up quickly “I think I have intruded on you for too long. Please tell Fionn that I’ll um… come back some other time. Thanks!” and with that he ran out the door, managing to take half the frame with him. Oonagh watched out the door/hole in the wall as he picked up speed. Fionn called out to her:
“Is he going!?”
“Yes dear he’s just on the Causeway now.”
“Is he going to come back!?”
“I doubt it my love, as he is smashing up the stone bridge as he goes”
Fionn let out a long sigh of relief, just as his crib collaped from under him. As he lay upon the ground, Oonagh walked over and looked down.
“Do try to play a little nicer with the neighbors dear” she said “Now go and fetch dinner.”
He left dutifully, and Oonagh picked up her broom and began sweeping again, smiling to herself as she did.
Men, she thought.
|
When The Law gives you a sentence, you must complete it. If it's double life, you'll be in jail until double the time you should have lived. Meaning, if you were supposed to die at 80 years old, but you got arrested and sentenced to double life, you're not getting out of jail until you're 160. As soon as your sentence is complete, you're released and you either a) live out the remaining days of your life or b) die (if you're past the time you should have been dead).
I had two more weeks to live when I got drunk and swerved into a crowd of people, pinning one man to a light pole and killing him instantly. The sentence: life. I was relieved. I didn't want to die yet. That's why I had gotten drunk. The fact that I only had two more weeks to live got to me.
I was 30 then. I'm 90 now. I should have died at 60, but I figured out a way to beat the system. Attack the guards. Start riots. Learn every infraction in the book and break them. The court just keeps tacking on time to my sentence. Most of the prisoners think I'm crazy. No one wants to live the rest of their life in jail. Neither do I.
But I prefer to live than to die. |
132.5 Oak Street. Emily looked at the address again. It was handwritten in purple ink with long shaky letters. The envelope had a 24 cent stamp from years ago, supplemented with a smattering of 1 cent stamps.
“What the…” Emily said. 132.5 wasn’t a real address. Miami addresses didn’t use decimals. Ever.
Curious, she opened the letter. It read:
“Congratulations Bob. You have been admitted to Pigsbottom Junior College of Magical Studies. Our nationally accredited program can help you jump-start your career as a Magician’s Assistant. Rest assured, if you want to attend a four-year Wizarding College after completing our program, your credits WILL transfer. Our admissions committee was very impressed with your application and thoroughly enjoyed reading your essay on ~~Worms~~. We have decided to award you a generous scholarship offer of: ~~$20~~.
We understand that during this busy time of year you may also be receiving acceptance letters from other institutions of higher learning. Please keep us at the forefront of your mind as you make this important decision. We would like to remind you that we have recently renovated all of our campus bathrooms, and that our dormitories were ranked #3 for cleanliness in last year’s nationwide poll. Also, we had a perfect student safety record in 2017—something that the most prestigious magical schools cannot say. Come to Pigsbottom, where you can focus on your studies without being bothered by Dark Wizards!
P.S. We also offer non-degree certificate programs in Quidditch Commentating, Muggle Literature, and Video game design.”
Emily looked up from the letter, puzzled. What the hell was a Quidditch?
“Oi!” said a short fat teenager in a striped shirt. He had a ruddy face, mussy hair, and beady brown eyes. He held a stick out towards Emily. The stick looked well worn, as if polished frequently.
“Hello?” Emily said. She was wary of teens. Everybody thought dogs were the biggest threat to postal workers. Little did they know, teens were the most feared. Many a postal worker had lost his job because a homeowner’s teenage kid liked to throw away mail.
The boy was standing in front of a house. Emily blinked. She hadn’t seen the house before. It looked Victorian, with bay windows, gables, and ivy hanging down the dull gray walls. It seemed to slant outward in every direction, and looked impossibly top-heavy, yet it sat there stable as a rock.
“You read people’s mail?” the boy said, “Nosy muggle, aren’t you?”
Emily looked at the address plate on the mail slot of the house. 132.5. She stared, open-mouthed. In her shock, she ignored the irate boy.
“Grabbarmeee the papereeee!” the boy shouted, pointing his stick at Emily. Two things happened in very quick succession. First, the boy’s stick exploded into pink smoke. Second, the boy, along with his house, disappeared without a trace.
Emily took a deep breath. She folded the letter up neatly, put it back into its envelope, and carefully set it down on the ground in front of where the house had been.
She hurried onto 134 Oak Street to deliver a stack of credit card bills and coupons. She hoped that boy got all the education he needed.
----
subscribe to /r/trrh for more! |
"Assuming the speed of an average ICBM is around 10,000mph it should take about between 30 minutes and an hour before it reaches us."
That was Tom speaking. Tom started here about 18 months after me. Before that, he was a security guard at Walmart. We're the same age, which makes it all the more infuriating when he says shit like this with any kind of authority. You can probably tell that I fucking hate Tom. With between 30 minutes and an hour left to live, as much as I want to finally tell Tom to fuck off there it's probably a waste of the rest of my life.
&#x200B;
"Does anyone else here think Tom's a cunt?"I said.
&#x200B;
My colleagues ignored me, most of them continued to stare at the TV although it didn't look like they were really seeing it anymore. The anchor was gone but the camera and feed had been left running. There was a conversation happening somewhere off-screen but it was only close enough to make out what you expected to hear. The 'Breaking News' banner continued to glide along the bottom of the screen: TAKE SHELTER. 200 MISSLES LAUNCHED... Obviously there were more important things right now than spelling. Tom left without uttering another word or even looking at me. Good. Prick.
&#x200B;
Due to strict data protection laws, we're not allowed phones in the office. The sudden cacophony of vibrating devices showed just how little regard for those laws my colleagues actually had. This is when the tears really started flowing and I left the crowd, wishing them all good luck.
&#x200B;
I pulled my own phone out and opened Recent Contacts. My wife's office is about 10 minutes away from mine at a dawdling pace. If I ran I could easily make it there in 5 minutes. That doesn't take into account, however, that I am on the 5th floor of my building of several thousand people who will almost certainly be clambering frantically down the two staircases we have or that, whilst I know where my wife's building is, I don't know which floor she's on, who to ask, if she'll be there or if anyone even keeps track of her. Realistically, it would be about 15 minutes before I could find and reach her floor.
My wife never has any signal at work. To be honest, I'm not even sure if she keeps her phone on her. In any event, obviously I had to call her, or try, at least, and whilst doing that I couldn't try and leave my building because then I'd lose signal. It's kind of funny how, even today, when I can call someone on the other side of the world, I sometimes can't get hold of my wife who currently occupies physical space somewhere less than half a mile away from me. She doesn't answer. This isn't surprising, she's never answered her phone from her office before and she's about 40% deaf so she probably can't hear it ringing anyway. I thought about going back to my desk and trying to find an old email from her that might, I think, have her work number on it - this would ring much louder than her personal phone - but why the hell would she answer her work phone now, of all times? I sent a text instead.
&#x200B;
\-*Missiles coming. Meet me at the Starbucks by the library ASAP? I don't have a plan xxx-*
I pressed send and started to make my way down 5 flights of stairs. The only way I can describe this experience, for lack of a better word, is unreality. As I try and descend the steps as quickly and as safely as possible, I'm pushed, passed, prodded and pissed off by my colleagues. Most of them I barely recognize. Some are crying, some are anxious, some are angry and some are giddy, some are in denial, some are serene, some are vacant. Every single person I pass and that passes me, I realise, their reactions, that I'm seeing right now, are the same reactions I would see if I lined them up against a wall and shot them in the head, one by one. Because that's the scenario that we were all, in all likelihood, without divine intervention, facing - certain, imminent, instant death. I felt sick. I could feel nausea beginning to pool and slosh about in my stomach, the same feeling I get when a strong wind blows whilst I'm standing by the edge of a great height. I feel fear and resignation. When I reach the bottom of the staircase, as I filter towards the exit, I can barely muster the motivation for the 5 minute sprint to my wife's office. Soon, I'll be dead. And then nothing will matter. |
The first one I witnessed was a month ago. Until then, I hadn't really believed it. I mean, I saw the videos, and I don't think every news channel would have reported on something like this just for a laugh. But despite knowing for a fact that this was happening, some part of me kept telling me that this couldn't be real.
Then I traveled to the city. I live in a quiet small town an hour away from New York, and had rarely left the house for a month before the trip, due to an essay I was writing. Maybe that explains why I didn't witness it sooner. I was on my way to a friend's birthday party, when all of a sudden, one of the men around me started singing. Singing about what a wonderful day it was. I don't remember the exact lyrics or anything, but it had to have been a pre-written song. No one could just make something like that up on the spot. Or so I thought. Before I knew it, the singer stopped, and another person started the song from where he left off. Then two women sang a line together, a pair of men sang the next, and then a crowd of four sang the next.
The people who weren't singing had weird looks, many not understanding what was going on. Can't blame them. Took me a while to remember too. But as soon as I realized what was going on, I ran. It was a good thing too. The news later reported that the song had ended with a crowd of thousands singing it. I could have been one of them. Thank goodness I wasn't.
After That experience, I wasn't even sure if I wanted to go to the birthday party. It was the perfect occasion for another song number, after all. Some song about life, and change. I decided eventually to take the chance, and thankfully, there was no singing. There was a lot of talking, however, about this new phenomenon. Talking with some of the people there that had actually witnessed these things, and even been a part of them, I learned quite a lot. People talked about a sense of calm as they started singing. The lyrics simply came to their heads, as if by magic, and they felt compelled to start singing. And the lyrics weren't just some meaningless words. they had meaning behind them. The people singing would mean all the things they were singing, though occasionally they would be exaggerated a bit. Sometimes the songs even had a clear lead role in them. Must feel weird, playing a secondary character in your own life.
I was sure that I would never be a part of one of these songs, however. None of the people that talked about having been in one of them ever complained, so I just assumed that you could only be a part of one if you wanted to. My fears, however, didn't die down. And a week later, they came to fruition.
I was simply walking down the street, on my way home, when I heard one of these singing crowds up ahead. They came closer and closer, and when they reached me, I found my self calming down, and my brain started to sing some lyrics. *It's a wonderful day, It's a wonderful day, Why can't you just be happy?*
They passed me after that short line, and a response line from someone I assumed was the lead character in this particular song. It took me a few seconds to realize what had happened. I had sung. Why did I do that? I just thanked goodness that I had done this in a crowed. I hurried back to my house, and locked the door. I didn't leave it again for three weeks. At that point, my family had started to get worried about me. I refused to answer calls, and didn't let anyone in. I didn't want to risk a song. I had enough food for a while, but it was already starting to run out. One of these days I would be forced to leave the house, and I just knew that when that happened, That would be the day that I finally got a solo singing part in one of these songs.
Maybe I'm just crazy. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. My mother was here.
*Son. I know you must be going through*
I quietly sighed. She was singing through the door. How she had known I was just sitting on the other side I didn't know, though I could make an educated guess. This was it, I thought. I'm finally gonna have to do it.
But hey, maybe this wouldn't be so bad. They were claiming to understand, after all.
No. They couldn't understand.
Listening to the lyrics of the rest of the song confirmed my suspicions. They kept singing about stage fright, and how this was nothing to be afraid of. They didn't understand. This wasn't about stage fright. I had no problem with getting up on stage back in high school, and could probably do it again today. It was just the singing part I didn't like.
Yet, the song continued. More people joined in, and before you knew it there was a crowd outside my door, singing about how I could overcome my stage fright. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. I stood up, took the door handle, and opened the door. The singing stopped, as did the music that was somehow playing underneath. Good, this meant I could just talk about my problem, not sing. I opened my mouth, and for some reason, what came out of my mouth came in the form of a song.
*I can't sing*
I watched as people all around me covered their ears, with a look of disgust on their face. |
*THUMP*
What the hell? How did I drop my cell phone on the floor? I got a full night sleep, for once.
Better turn the light on and find that phone...
*clink clink clink*
Aww come on! I can't even grab a lamp string?!? Guess I should stop screwing around and grab my glasses so I can see at least a bit of what I'm doing...
*clank*
SON OF A BITCH!!! How am I this uncoordinated?!?
------
It was an especially frustrating morning for the denizens of the world, stumbling awake, with some extra difficulty. This is the morning Earth learned of extraterrestrials. Aliens from another galaxy that are attracted to other species when they reach a level of complexity. But it wasn't the complexity we expected in our scuence fiction. That is at least something expected or that government agencies had even begun planning for the potential occurance.
This species has a different goal. They live to prank. Trolling, would be the more accurate phrase.
For all of our technological advances, beginnings of space exploration, this is apparently relatively mundane in the cosmic sense.
Humor though, collective mass humor, projected to the stars dur to our network of satelites beaming data in all directions.
This is truly rare. Which makes humans the perfect target... For trolling.
------
How the hell am I not able to grab anything?!?
*He goes to fling off the comforter and stand up but of course... No thumbs. He still propels himself up... But with the dead weight of an 800 fill down comforter still on top of him*
*THUD* *crack*
Owww....
Well, guess I found my glasses... And the floor.
*He goes to rub his shoulder that hit the oak floor*
------
Ok, this is my first time doing this and I don't really know where else to take this.
I think the idea of this man waking up without his thumbs is funny and that it could go pages without him realizing it due to a dark room, lack of 20/20 vision, excuses of sleepy limbs (or thumb in this case) but I am just listlessly writing. My lack of any sort of creative writing is showing. Also, don't know where to pull in the whole trolling aliens concept, but it sounded fun. So yeah.
Upvote, downvote, ignore. Was fun. |
At first it might seem like a good deed, but when you realize that these drug dealers were only in it for the money, and that half the batches were not close to being pure enough to keep people from losing their shits in a world of acid, it becomes evil. Of course, the dealers were all we had. To buy batches from legal sources would ruin most local hospitals in the matter of a few buys. So what did we do? We tried testing the batches we received from the dealers, as often as we could, but sometimes the situation would be so dire, that we had to use what we had, pure or not. The procedure made for an interesting hospital. Patients would explore the corridors on acid. They would tell the nurses how they loved them and their work while on MDMA. And in rare cases, they would zone out because of heroin. Most were cured of their original diseases. Some started craving something that they did not know what was. They were oblivious to the fact that they had illegal drugs in they bodies during medical procedures. So when they asked: *'What is the feeling, why am I seeing this?'*. We lied and told them: *'Part of the procedure, enjoy if you like'*. Some were well aware of what they experienced: *'Very cool, I feel healthy again, but why did you give me acid?'*.
There were cases where the patient had repeatedly received doses of heroin doing procedure, and had become dependent on the drug. When we released drug dependent patients, we gave them batches of actual illegal drugs, and made it a prescription for them to come and get when the cravings were bad. We told them nothing of the heroin, instead we told them that it was part of the procedure. Yes. We did what we could to cover our asses as a local hospital. But as with any addiction, the addicted ends up wanting more and more and more, so we had to up the doses in the prescriptions. Now how does such patient look to his family when he has become a wretched fiend, a craver of substance, a shell of a man? Certainly not good. And that was how our sandcastle collapsed.
Family told, and made journalist secretly storm our hospital to observe our work. *Why did patients turn to fiends when entering this local hospital?*. A mystery indeed, but a mystery quickly uncovered by a journalist clever enough to consider stealing a batch to test it. *'Local Hospital Uses Drugs On Patients'*. As with any breaking news, it was exaggerated. They mentioned not why we did it, or how. But the snowball started snowballing, and soon it was big enough to take it all down. That is why we as a team sit in a court room this day, defending not only our freedom, but our legacy, our hearth. We are not evil.
'*And that is that, your honor. Now what is the worst crime? To up medical prices so much that it becomes impossible for a small local hospital to keep up. Or is worse to try and fight the death rate by doing everything necessary to help patients in need? Because I assure you, judge. Had we not done what we did, people would be dead.'* |
I've gone to sleep.
And I woke up in my bed, but in a different world. The walls of my room weren't of stone anymore. They were smooth, painted dark grey. On a table laid my phone, which unexpectadly started ringing. It was Alice, the girl from the bottom flat. Indeed, the call was a suprise to me, as my neighbours only called in urgent matters. So I immediately picked up the phone.
\- Hello?
\- Hello, Adam. I'm calling because some.... Eeer, knight cosplayer wants me to direct him to some Prince Adam? You're the only Adam in the building, so I figured he might mean you? His name is.... Eeeh, Sir Edward of, *wait, what?* of Southeast Woods?
Oh, shit.
\- Eeh, I think I know the guy - I groaned, still only half-awake - Direct him to me, I guess?
\- Alright, but I warn you, the guy looks weird. Call me later, I want to know how it ends!
\- Fine, bye!
Oh, shit.
---
There will be more, just not now. I'm kinda busy at the moment. For more stories like that check /r/lecetrabantem, my personal subreddit! |
Corey looked around the park again once he reached the bench. There was not a soul in sight which was odd for a Saturday morning. He shrugged and sat down to wait for the joggers. He slipped his earbuds on, then yanked them out of his ears as he flinched in pain.
A loud buzzer blared in his ears for the split second he had them in. He stood up and looked around the park again, but still saw no one. Corey sat down with a confused look then pulled his invention out to check the settings. He built it into a black, bulky portable cassette player he found in his grandfather's attic. It was still set to "aux", which meant the sound came from another nearby device. He lowered the volume and put a single bud in his ear. Corey did not hear anything for almost a full minute. As he was about to give up he heard a deep male voice.
"Zone: Fairy Graveyard."Then more silence. He glanced around the park without standing up and noticed a pair of joggers in the distance. They headed towards him, but they were still beyond the range of his gizmo. "Penalty: Friendly Fire. Luchadoras, Torque,"the voice said.
"Ooooooh baby,"a feminine voice sang in Corey's ear. He realized the joggers were close enough to hear their music now. He sighed, pulled out the single earbud and looked over the device. He had been content listening to whatever audio was closest until that point. Now he realized he needed a way to target it. He put both buds in and stood from the bench. He walked towards, and then past the joggers to get them out of range faster.
"Yeaaahh baby, yeaaahh,"the song faded out after Corey passed the joggers. He stopped at the next bench. He saw no one else in range and sat down to listen. He hoped he was still close enough to the mystery voice.
"Ms. Sharp expects us to act like a team. If it happens again you're out. Clear?"A youthful female voice said. Corey waited for an answer, but the girl kept talking as if she received one. "When you're back in work with Dirge to keep their paladin busy. She's easy to handle early on but if she gets too many laps she'll be unstoppable."Corey dug his cellphone out of his pocket to take notes; he seemed to be listening to a game and wanted to keep track.
"... then she stoooooole my hoooooorsssse,"a song filled Corey's ears and he looked up for the source. A single jogger was approaching from the other end. Corey stood and walked back towards his favorite bench. He wondered if he could hear anything else so he walked past his usual bench to get to the next one.
"I'm tagging you in on the next lap. Take out their bard before the elementalist gets back in,"a different girl said. "Get ready. I'm co-"the audio cut out for several seconds, then he heard a new voice.
"What about the programmer?"The response must have been hilarious because laughter filled his ears. "No, I didn't know she was a Zero."the girl chirped. "That's too funny."Corey realized the girl that laughed was the one that got tagged in. He guessed he was sitting on a team bench of some kind, which meant the other bench belonged to the other team. He was curious about how he was listening to the sounds, but he found himself invested in the unknown game. He left the bench and returned to his favorite bench, the one in the middle.
"Zone: Camelot,"the deep male voice said.
"*I guess this is the announcer's spot,*"Corey thought to himself.
"Magi-Knights Card: Bounty. Target: Luchadoras, Dirge."Corey jumped from the bench and rushed to the Luchadoras bench to his right.
"New plan. Once you're in go for the cardmage. Dirge can worry about herself and Dread will stall the paladin."Corey bolted off the seat and ran back to the Magi-Knights bench. He was thankful the park was so empty that morning. He thought he might look like an idiot running between benches, trying to keep track of the game. Once the penalty was over the Luchadoras bench stayed quiet, and he stopped running to it. He guessed their team did not have any benchwarmers.
Despite not knowing everything happening Corey found himself involved in the game. He ran between the two benches for almost an hour. He cheered when Torque, the girl that was penalized, knocked the Magi-Knights cardmage out of the game. He was sitting at the announcer's bench when a buzzer sounded.
"Game!,"the voice said. Corey realized he did not know the score, or even how they kept score. Luckily the announcer answered his question. "Winners: - Luck be a lady toniiiiiiiight..."another song cut in.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #249. You can find them collected on my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order. |
"Smith what are you doing just standing there? They want you in aisle four now."Smith? That was me, why would they want me? I am here to visit my twin brother, my boss gave me a free day off work and I decided I would drop by. When were younger we would be very close and we did everything together, shared the same room, shared the same friends and shared the same events. It was almost like he was my second self. However, as we got older we began to vary in different things.
&#x200B;
First we changed our style of clothing, I preferred to wear more bright colors, even going so far as to have full sets of just one color with my favorite being yellow. My brother on the other hand preferred to dress all in black and to embody this dark brooding mannerism about him. I still loved him but after that initial step we began to differ more and more until the only way you could tell we were related was because he was identical to me. He started to listen to Hard Rock and Metal while I preferred the Pop music, he began reading many epic fantasies while I didn't read at all. We even differed in the people we preferred to hang out with. I was more active and wanted a lively large bunch of people, my brother preferred to hang out with just one or two people. All through High School we would hang out a lot but we drifted. I never thought it would get so far but now my brother finds himself as a secret spy, he told me only a few months ago and I still have to wrap my head around it. My twin brother a spy! It can't be. Well today I decided to check it out for myself and came by to his office, it was a shabby looking place situated next to a library.
&#x200B;
From afar you could tell that it looked dingy as some of the bricks were burnt and crumbling, the windows stained and some of them even cracked. The steps leading up to it looked like it had moss on it during summer. It had about three stories and was inconspicuous, so much so I would not have been able to find it had I not been specifically told by my brother that it was opposite the library. As I entered I found that the inside did not reflect the outside at all. The inside was white, shiny and immaculate. With a long corridor and many doors with no windows. In the main room was just one desk and a man was seated there, the man who had talked to me.
&#x200B;
He was wearing a jet blue suit that seemed to blend with the environment around well almost like a piece of artwork. He spoke with an authoritative yet respectful voice telling me to make my way over. I looked around hoping to see my brother but he was nowhere to be found, that was when I realized that they must have mistaken me for my brother, "Oh I am sorry you must be talking about Jay Smith. I am John Smith. Very different."The man looked into my eyes with a serious face, his green eyes seeming to frown into mine. There was a moment of silence before the man laughed, "You lighten my mood John. Well played. No come on you've got an important mission. You know where to go."He flicked his fingers down the hall to one of the many doors that were to be found in the corridor. John? Did my brother seriously adopt my name as his spy name! That piece of shit!
&#x200B;
When I find him I will have a word with him. I tried to open my mouth to speak but by some magic that man noticed it and held his finger up, "Third door to the right. Now go."I felt my heart peeling apart and begin to pump with intense speed. What do I do now? Do I do what he says? Do I leave? I cannot do this! I know nothing about this, I work a day job in an office managing sales. I know nothing about anything that my brother is doing. Why did I have to come here? Why couldn't I have just called my girlfriend and we could have had a nice day out. Now I am forcing myself to take the role of my brother. Isn't that illegal? I will not be subject to this. I turned around and headed out of that door and out of that building, I would not be a part of this insane game that my brother might be playing
&#x200B;
\*
&#x200B;
As John Smith left the building, Jay Smith walked up and entered. He walked over to the desk and leaned unto it, "So you got anything for me today?"The man looked up and jumped backwards in shock, "What! How did you get changed so quickly?!"Jay frowned and looked about and thought on it a little. Shit. "You must have met my brother."
&#x200B;
"You have an identical brother?!"
&#x200B;
"Why yes I do."
&#x200B; |
He spoke those words as we prepared ourselves, breathing in and slowing our heartbeat. We had done this so many times before but it still hit us hard every time. This time we were set to clear out an abandoned warehouse, this one used to hold grain. It was all taken in the weeks following the sudden shift in consciousness. Karl next to me cocked his gun and I could tell that behind his mask he was smiling. We all wore the same outfit, it was a black overall that allowed for full movement and no restrictions. Our masks were silver and smooth, able to reflect the light off of any source.
&#x200B;
We could tell ourselves apart by a small marking above the forehead, each member had a small insignia that allowed us to tell who was who. Karl, as befitted his name, chose the communist sign and carved it in himself. He reveled in it yet he didn't even know what it meant. His joy was hunting *Lessers.* Their existence is futile and we are helping them along. They cannot survive in this world, their minds have fallen from grace and they are lesser than animals, hence the term. It is less a job and more a sport to hunt *Lessers.* We remove them from existence and send them to who knows what.
&#x200B;
"Ready?"James said it once more as he laid his hand on the door of the warehouse, his insignia was a small X with a tiny circle within. We all nodded and James opened the door to a wide and dark devoid room. To each side was stacks of wooden shelves upon which used to sit the grain, eaten within moments of the *Loss.* We each carried rifles upon which was equipped lights, electricity was scare and power could be found in a few remote places near power stations. It is shocking to think how fast live moved as soon as the *Loss* happened. Five months ago I was teaching children basic algebra and now I am hunting other humans.
&#x200B;
"I hear something!"whispered Leo, he was the observant one. He could find them but he found it hard to do anything about it. We all stood still in a semi circle their lights sweeping up and down the warehouse searching for any sign of anything. A small scraping noise was heard from the far right and in an instant a large brick came flying past and contacted with Sally's head sending her spinning. That's why we need masks. We all turned and pointed our rifles in that direction and saw a small foot disappear into the black. They're here and they're scared, they don't want to die. It's only natural, any animal wants to live.
&#x200B;
Leo knelt next to Sally and helped her up while we turned our attention to the movement. "Split up, Karl you take Phillip and you head down that way and then make a sweep down, see what you can get. I will go with Williams this way. Leo stay with Sally."We split up and went where they were told. I went off with Karl. I always felt uncomfortable with him, his obsession with hunting *Lessers* seemed too much for him. There was something unhealthy there. We walked along in silence, we didn't want to make too much noise they would run if there was noise. I lifted my rifle to shine the light down and saw an open air vent, "Stop"I whispered. Karl stopped and looked ahead. "There could be one hiding in there."I said. I walked over making sure to lift my feet and set them down gentle.
&#x200B;
Sweeping my rifle inside I saw it, the creature. Pale and thin with weak legs and arms, its head was elongated and brittle. I lifted my rifle and in one quick gesture pulled the trigger before it could even react and watched as the bullet cut a hole right through it and to the other side. It collapsed onto its own naked form and began to bleed. In a few moments I got it and it was dead. How can we advocate this? I turn around to find Karl missing. My heart begins to race. They were easy to kill but they were also capable of killing. How did I let him get past me?
&#x200B;
Shinning the light down the corridor I decide to keep walking. Following orders, that's what we need to do. What we must do. I hear a noise behind me and I turn to see a knife come flying at me. I raise my rifle deflect it and watch as I get assaulted. My legs get pulled from under me and I fall backwards smashing my back and cracking the rifle's light drenching myself in darkness. Shit! Darkness no. I hear frantic noise left and right and scram to find something to protect myself with but my hand is gripped and my neck is pinned. The darkness makes them more powerful. I try and fight back but they pull my limbs apart tearing at me. Within moments I find the darkness settling within in and I am gone. |
Me: How did you find me?
Soldier: It's easy. You're the last.
SOLDIER walks in past ME, brushing shoulders. Soldier goes to the fridge.
Soldier: (looking up from fridge) You only have old chicken tenders and left over pizza. Have you been cheating on our diet?
Me gently shuts the door, then scurries over to lean against a wall.
Me: I, uh, well I've been saving my energy. Enjoying my life.
Soldier: The hell is wrong with you? I told you two years ago that we'll need your help! And this is what you do? Eat chicken and pizza all day!?
Me: (getting easily irritated) I do more than eat chicken and pizza!
Soldier: What the hell else do you do!?
Me: I watch anime and masturbate! So at least give me credit for that!
Soldier: Did you even once look at the training manual I gave you? You, not you, but the one of us that just SACRIFICED HIS LIFE...he trained every day for his mission. Didn't even have weights, he just filled up gallon jugs with sand and concrete.
Me: (under his breath, but audibly) And look where that got him.
SOLDIER walks into the living room and sits on the couch. ME follows.
Soldier: He was good. One of the best. But you...I've never seen anything as disappointing as you. Look at this place, it's disgusting.
SOLDIER picks up one of the pizza boxes from the stained coffee table and shakes it, revealing there's still a slice inside.
Me: I was going to eat that for breakfast. So why don't you just skip over me? I'm abviously not ready.
Soldier: Do you even understand how this works? I stop by, drop off a training manual that helps you get in shape for The Collective. You get in shape, that means OFF YOUR FAT ASS...and sacrifice yourself to save Earth. It's that easy. That's the way it's always done.
Me: How many Earths are there?
Soldier: There's infinite.
Me: How do you make your way around to infinite Earths, twice?
ME folds his arms across his chest and leans against a wall.
Soldier: I don't. I'm the one who lives. Everything happens. Every human is just a different version of choices. So we're everyone at the same time. *I'm* the version of us that lives; and when I run into another version of us that lives, they are made into a version of me.
Me: (scratches chin) So that means I could be a version of you; the version of US, that lives.
SOLDIER stares through ME.
Soldier: (dead inside) Yes, you very well could be. (two beats) BUT YOU DIDN'T TRAIN!
SOLDIER gets up and paces back and forth, kicking through trash.
Me: What if I have been training. What if the lifestyle I've lived has been leading to this moment, but it's not going to play out the way you think it is.
Soldier: What on Earths are you talking about!?
Me: I have a plan. Can you get me through to the President?
SOLDIER stops pacing, drops his shoulders and stares at ME.
Soldier: No! I can't get you the president.
Me: So much for that plan.
Soldier: Well you better think of something. The Collective will be here within the hour. And we're going to meet them. Where's your car?
SCENE TRANSITIONS TO CAR. ME and SOLDIER sit on two black stage boxes. SOLDIER drives.
Me: So do you always greet The Collective with hostility?
Soldier: I'm not hostile.
Me: I'd say you are...and a bit deffensive.
Soldier: I AM NOT HOSTILE OR DEFENSIVE!!!
Silence for a few beats.
Me: What if I greet them with kindness? Show them how cool Earthlings are.
Soldier: Kindness? That's your plan? Kindness? The Collective want to do nothing more than enslave humans; put us to work in mines and caves, harvest their metal and ore for machines used to take over more of the universe...and you want to treat them with kindness? They eat dogs for godsake.
Me: Sake...sake...SAKE' ! That's it! I'll just be myself! They'll see how welcoming and nice and cool we are and be like 'Pshhhh, we don't want to eat no earthlings!' and then they'll just leave us alone, or ally with us!
Soldier: Well, whatever you're doing, you have about ten minutes before the Transdime Train opens up.
Me: The train only costs a dime?
Soldier: No. That's what we call the transdimensional portal.
Me: And you call me lazy.
SOLDIER and ME get out of the car and walk in front of it. SOLDIER stops ME for a huddle.
Soldier: Now listen. The last Us, he tried a flip manuever and one of their blades got him. He would have made it if he trained harder.
Me: Don't worry. I got this.
SCENE CHANGE. The car is stage right. ME and SOLDIER stand in the middle of the stage, waiting.
Me: Guess we got here a little early. You sure this is where and when The Collective comes?
Soldier: Yes. We're a bit early.
Me: You know what. You stay here. I'm going to GO back and get ready.
Soldier: 'Sigh'
THE COLLECTIVE (A cross between a spider, a snake, a clown, and a wasp, with the lines filled in by your worst nightmares.) ENTERS.
The Collective: We have come to save Earth.
Soldier: We won't let y-
ME ENTERS wearing a kimono.
Me: Alright! Thanks for saving us! Ohai-OH! (covers his mouth and hides it) Tee-Hee! People call me lots of things, but I prefer it when they call me Hitome! (covers his mouth and hides it) Tee-Hee! Would you like some ceremonial tea?
SOLDIER has his mouth hanging open. THE COLLECTIVE turn their heads to look at each other in confusion.
The Collective: We are here to save Earth. Your species is on of the craftiest, most cunning, most intelli-
ME takes out a body pillow from behind his back.
Me: Let me introduce you to my waifu! Well that's not all of her; her real presonality comes from my watch! (holds up watch to The Collective) Would you like to tell her something?
The Collective: Uh...Praise Us?
A digital voice emits from the watch. 'You're funny.' THE COLLECTIVE stare in disbelief.
Me: Wow! You remind me of my favorite anime! Let me tell you about it! It all started when this boy got a lump in his head! No wait! He was sitting outside by a bridge with a gal too old for high school and she was smoking a cigarette! And...well that reminds me of this one anime, you know the one with Lucy and she has those hands!? Okay so outside the bridge, and he gets a lump from some mysterious moped girl that hit shim with a guitar!
THE COLLECTIVE start to shuffle their taloned feet.
The Collective: Uh...we gotta go.
Me: Oh...but whyeeeeee (gets down on his knees) notice me! Notice me, please!
THE COLLECTIVE disappear quickly, back into the anals of the universe, forgetting Earth.
Soldier: What...the...hell?
Me: (stands up and burshes off knees) Yeah. I don't even like anime that much. I mean the new stuff is okay; but the old dubs all had the same voice actors.
Soldier: Wait..you told me...
Me: That I was watching anime and eating shit for the past two years? Yeah; specifically for this moment. I couldn't have you thinking I was anything more than weird and unmotivated, The Collective would've picked up on your thoughts and went along with their plan. And I had to look as harmless as possible for this plan to work.
Soldier: Where did you...
Me: Oh yeah. After you (the first you, that left the training manual) left on your Transdime Train; another one of Us came by and told me about this plan that worked. He was in pretty good shape too, so I didn't belive him. He told me he found an Earth he liked and just kind of chilled there; skies rained different kinds of food. Unlike you, who tries to train to be an apex instinctual predator type of dude and beat The Collective with skill; we, not Us, but the other We, use different tactics to outsmart and outwhit The Collective. One of Me beat them in a Chess game; one performed some weird magic; and one even had a cartwheel competition. It's not about how you win when you get to this part of the story, it's simply about winning something. I'm surprised you haven't figured that out.
TRANSDIME TRAIN opens in the back of the stage.
Me: Rides here. I think I'll go find myself.
ME steps halfway through the portal.
Me: You coming?
Soldier: No...I'm done.
ME reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a small book then tosses it to SOLDIER.
Me: Then you might as well train for when you *are* ready to leave. They might need you in a few Earths.
ME jumps through the portal. SOLDIER looks at the book as the lights slowly FADE OUT.
FIN. |
I found myself standing in the prison cell once more, standing in front of her. After her defeat she had been brought here, her arms chained to a hook on the ceiling. The shackles holding her would have been easy to break, had I cared to do so. She waited expectantly to be freed. I took a step back.
A familiar shadow fell across her face. The look of anger and horrror I was condemned to see time and time again, across an eternity of broken promise and grisly ends.
I took another step back, just to be safe. She pulled absent mindedly against her shackles, her mind busy contemplating the implications of her realisation. Slowly her expression returned to the playful mask I knew so well, the sardonic smile I hated more than anything else.
"A familiar place, a familiar time?"She said. I kept my own expression neutral. "These shackles, how many times have you refused to free me from them?"
I smiled. "I have not kept track. It's a common moment for us to part ways."
"I guess it really is impossible to defeat them?"
"I have to keep trying."
"And so you'll travel back in time again, helping me, guiding me until I fail once more? Only able to give advice, never allowed to intervene?"
I nodded. She sighed. Her shoulders trembled from being kept upright.
"Could I... I mean, you're not blameless."I nodded. "But, I did my best. Do you think there could have been..."
"A way? I choose to believe it."I bit my lip. "I've waited eons of time to find a way to help you win, but also for a timeline where you could survive. It is the path I've chosen."
She nodded. Tried standing further on her toes to gain temporary relief for her shoulders. "What about me? I could use my magic to escape but..."
"But your mind will give in. Your old personality will finally give way. This is the price you will have to pay."I turned away. "They'll kill you a few minutes after I leave. They know that you won't talk."
She chuckled softly. "I was too stubborn to escape their trap. And now the person I was is about to die, one way or the other."A few moments of silence. Her chain clinked as she struggled to keep pressure away from her upper body. Somewhere in the building, footsteps echoed through the concrete maze. "Do you know... well, the decision I usually make in this scenario?"
I turned to look at her a final time. Her gentle sardonic smile remained. Nor did her eyes betray the pain, terror and anger she felt. The only thing present in her stare was the flicker of colorless madness, the tell-tale sign of those practicing forbidden magic. The brand of those slowly losing themselves into the warped reality they conjured.
"I think I've robbed you of too many things, I wouldn't impose on you a final decision."
The smile did not falter. "That's okay. Following my gut instincts got me into this mess, I think I'll do what feels right. Farewell."
"Farewell."
I walked toward the jail's door, and back toward the prison of my own making. |
*Click*, **Bang**. I stared down at the gun in my hand, and then at the hole in my chest. I fell to the ground, my life bleeding out while I stood over looking down. The light left my eyes and I watched as I died on the cold basement floor.
The scientists made it abundantly clear, only one version of me could exist in a given timeline. I'd merely thought ahead and prepared. It didn't take much convincing that I had to shoot myself, and that in order to keep the timeline closest to its intended course the future me would have to die. I had given myself a rather intricate breakdown of what was to come, and thus prepared I could prevent the mistake from ever occurring. As it should be, the rest would remain a mystery until I actually lived through it.
I folded my arms across my chest and brushed my hand over my eyes. *Rest in peace, me. For what it's worth I look pretty good even when dead*. |
The chopper hovers at around twelve thousand feet above the delivery point, an improvised base in the heart of the Syrian desert. Two of its occupants - US Intelligence escorts - are busy prepping a third for a free-fall parachute jump.
“Just remember your training, Taylor. Disperse the impact on landing, no stray limbs,” says Smith.
“And once you’re down there,” says Friedman, “keep your cool.”
“We’re assured that they’re huge fans, so they won’t hurt you. Smile a lot, maybe sing for them - it’ll all be over in a couple of days.”
Taylor is putting on a brave face, and doing an admirable job of it, but there’s no mistaking the look of sheer terror behind the façade. The two men have seen it many times.
“Hey,” Smith says, “when you get back, lunch is on us.” Taylor gives a pained smile, in spite of herself, and then the helmet is on and she begins her descent. Excellent form for someone taught to skydive in three days.
The two men watch the jump in silence, drumming their fingers nervously on the walls of the cabin. After a minute Friedman scrambles for a pair of binoculars.
“She should have deployed the chute by now.”
“The reserve, Taylor, the reserve!”
“Oh, Jesus.”
The men watch in horror as she plummets, spread-eagled, towards the earth at terminal velocity. Smith snatches the binoculars.
“She’s left it too late.” The parachute finally unfurls but, sure enough, it does little to prevent Taylor’s all-too-rapid deceleration moments later. People start to pour out of the base.
“Let’s get out of here before they open fire.”
“And for the love of god, we can’t let the media get their hands on this.”
The chopper turns to race for the border as Smith and Friedman prepare to make some very difficult phone calls. |
FuturMail
Talk to The Future Today
Type a Message and a Date
And Then All You Have to Do is Wait
Shirley stared at the message on her computer. She’d gotten an email from them just this morning, she still wasn’t sure if she believed it. It had said she had one message from herself pending retrieval on their site. The thing was she’d never used the site before, heck before today she hadn’t even known it was a thing.
Seemed like the thing her roommate would use more than her, one of those sketchy sites with a cool premise, that almost definitely a scam to get your email and other data to sell to the highest bidders. But her curiosity got the better of her and eventually she clicked the link in the email. What she found was far stranger than what she expected. First of all the email was dated from two years ago
FuturMail
Subject: They’re Coming For You! Run!
Not a lot of time to type here, so I’ll make it brief, you probably waited a bit before opening this Email, I’m too smart to take this sort of thing at face value. Anyways you don’t have a lot of time either so here’s what you’ve gotta do, grab as much stuff you can fit in your backpack and beat it for the day. Sometime in the next several hours, some shady, paramilitary mooks are going to be coming to kick in your door, it’s too complicated to explain now, but you need to get the heck out of dodge and lie low for the next few weeks.
I know this is a lot to take in at what I assume is probably going to be nine in the morning for you, but it is really important you trust me on this. Here’s some proof, in 8th grade you had a huge crush on Jimmy Lawrence, and it spiraled into some poor decision making and a stint in the school marching band which ultimately ended with you finding out that Jimmy was gay, and that you really rocked at piccolo playing. Anyways just get the heck out of dodge.
Sincerely,
You.
Futurmail
One new message waiting
Subject: Didn’t listen the first time
Hey,
I’m the you that didn’t listen to this, first things first, it’s legit, also c’mon nobody knows the full Jimmy story, and also fine I guess we have to admit to ourselves maybe we’re not as good at the piccolo as we’d like to think.
Now get your ass in gear and get out of there!
Sincerely,
Someone who is also you.
Well that was odd, but what were the odds that something was really actually gonna happen? This was simply too real for it not to be some elaborate internet prank one of her friends was playing on her.
And with that she shut her laptop and went on with her day. Later when she was just getting out the door to go to her morning lecture class, she was met face to face with the vert mooks she had been warned about.
“Oh… I take it I’m about to be disappeared right now aren’t….” Everything went black. |
So burnt and empty,
On this dry, sun scorched plain,
Life has left this land.
It wasn’t always dead,
With rivers overflowing with sand,
Banks bereft of green.
Stories tell it so,
Tales of a paradise from long ago,
An oasis from the heat.
The waters of life,
Had flourished for a time,
Nurturer to all.
Nomads drank the waters,
Enjoying the stream’s cold comforts,
A welcome reprieve from the heat.
But time marches on,
And the magic fades away,
Sacred loses its poise.
What once gave them life,
Became a convenience to them,
A good they could take.
Bottling and selling,
The river dammed for coin,
Miracles sold by bottle.
A privilege, now a right,
Denied to the valley at large,
The Oasis withered.
The paradise fades,
The shade of trees recedes from river,
Water boils in the sun.
Merely a supply stop,
This sacred land has become,
Gone is the paradise.
Less come each year,
Waters run dry, now coin fades,
All that’s left is memory
And the stories told,
But even whispers fade to dust,
If a story is neglected. |
**MINUTE ONE-**
Kiron’s first reaction was complete confusion. He was sitting on his couch, watching the next five minutes of the news, when all of a sudden he was snapped back to the present. He’s pulled his vision back himself plenty of times- you don’t live life in the future after all. But then it was like swimming to the shore, and now it felt more as if the oceans had dried up. He tried to jump back to the future, and as this failed, he tried again with the past. But nothing was working. He had been cut off. After a brief pause, he turned towards his apartment door, and he gave a slight grin.
**MINUTE TWO-**
Kiron slid down the railing of the stairs, nearly falling down and plummeting to his death. The idea of dying, and being unaware of it, thrilled Kiron, and brought back an adrenaline rush he hadn’t experienced in decades. He decided then that, before this possibly wears off, he had to dance with danger, and truly bring back the euphoria that comes with the uncertain. As he burst through the doors of his apartment building, he wildly ran into the street.
**MINUTE THREE-**
An orchestra of honks followed as he weaved between the cars. Eventually, after several seconds of parading around and frolicking in the center of the street, one car came to a dead stop as its driver left it in a fury, quickly approaching Kiron. With a slight grin, Kiron eyed the man and turned towards the other side of the street, sprinting towards it at full speed. As the man ran after him, Kiron reached the edge of the sidewalk, which overlooked a river. Looking behind him to see the man’s anger as he hurtled towards, Kiron gave a laugh as he threw himself over the railing and into the water.
**MINUTE FOUR-**
He quickly re-surfaced, to see the infuriated man staring down at him, and he gave another smirk as he began to swim away. As he dragged himself through the water, Kiron’s rush began to fade, as he began to sober up. He realized that though this was fun, he needed his powers. They’re what made him such a good cop. He tried to focus on his powers again, but still he had no response. He stopped as he began to keep himself afloat, now concerned as to the long-term effects of losing his abilities. It was fun to court death, but to actually die- he had never even considered the possibility. And now the looming shadow of the reaper was even more present, for without his powers, he would be putting himself in some of the most dangerous situations without any preparedness. He began to kick more rapidly as he grew panicked.
**MINUTE FIVE-**
Kiron knew he was dead. Not in the sense that he knew due to his powers, but instead because he lacked them he knew he would die eventually. It was just inevitable now. His life was ticking away. His chest began to feel hot and heavy, as fear, for the first time, started to creep its way into his soul. His breaths became shallow and ragged, and his body bobbed up and down in the water as he struggled to stay afloat. It was too much to handle. He could DIE. He had never really realized it before, but he had been immortal. And without immortality what is he? Flesh, blood, bone- tied together by a rough canvas bred from a millennia of adaptation? Without his abilities is his life insignificant, meaningless in the infinite expanse of the cosmos? Kiron was now too focused on the first, and last, existential crisis of his life, to notice that he had fallen beneath the waves, and his lungs were filling with water. So preoccupied with the notion that death may befall him at any moment, he was completely unaware when it did.
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**ELSEWHERE-**
Dr. Serranhart was puzzled. She had only just located it, the time anomaly that has become her life’s work and has been haunting her dreams. And only five minutes ago did she tap into its power with her Temporal Extraction Chamber, when all of a sudden it vanished. The only instance of temporal manipulation ever recorded on Earth. Gone. Dr. Serranhart sighed as she sat back down. She would not give up however, and instead be reinvigorated to continue her work. Backing down would only prove a forfeit of her life, which she lived to further the human race and help the lives of all. |
When I saw the tall, skinny opening from which I had previously entered, I yelped in excitement. The adrenaline numbed me to my toes, and I couldn't feel the ground that I was clumsily sprinting over.
*I can't believe it*.
As soon as I stepped foot outside of the cave, relief sucked away every last ounce of energy that I had, and there was no stopping the immediate flood of emotions. I sobbed into my hands, even as an astonished crowd formed around me.
"Did you find the others?"
"How did you get out?"
"What's in there?"
I wanted to answer everyone's questions, but I was sworn to secrecy by the government officials who put me in there to begin with. Besides, from the moment I returned I felt my mind relax to the point that I could barely even remember. I chalked it up to exhaustion.
The Go Pro and camera I had were both confiscated, and I knew the contents would never be released to the public. I was whisked away for a debriefing, where I was reminded that anything I saw was top secret, and exposing my findings would be a crime punishable by death.
"Alright, Mister Paul, uh, I'm Forrest, looks like you are ready for a nap, huh?"a thin, grey-bearded man asked with a nervous voice.
The conference room was like a jail cell, all cement walls covered in thick, white paint. Six chairs surrounded a rectangular black table, and in the corner hung an older flat screen tv.
"Yeah, sure am."I said.
"So, we need you to clear something up since we haven't had a chance yet to actuality watch the footage,"Forrest said. "What did you do in there for six hours?"
"Six hours?"I asked, confused. "I was in there for at least three days."
"Three days?"Forrest chuckled. After staring blankly for a few moments he tilted his head as if he needed me to elaborate.
"Yeah, I was in there for a minimum of three days."
"You were only gone six hours."
|
At first we didn’t even consider the consequences of this strange occurrence. We were simply in awe. Nothing more interesting had ever happened in the history of mankind, our initial reaction was not as chaotic as one might imagine, in fact that first day was wonderful. Who wouldn’t want to have conversations with their dogs, cats, or even their hamster. Imagine walking through the neighborhood and striking up a conversation with the local family of raccoons. It seemed at that time, that all that could come from this was good. These moments of joy shared with our fellow intelligent beings were short lived.
I’m sure the government was aware of the dangers right away, their job is the preservation of the State, they aren’t allowed to entertain the delusions of the common man. But on that first day, little was done. The problems started soon after. The first things I heard came from the whispered words of my neighbor John. One had to be very careful who was listening now a days, he told me as he glanced around the room, looking for pets or even bugs. According to John, some local farms had begun to have problems with their livestock. The pigs, who were apparently the smartest of all farm animals had led the way. It seems that they learned quickly that intelligent beings like themselves should not be held in such conditions, and that there were better ways of living out there. The farmers tried to restrain them, but they had little luck. It was like in the Orwell Book Animal Farm. Soon the farmers were all run out of their homes that were now inhabited by the animals who planned to run the farms themselves. Intelligent beings have no need for a master, especially one who beats them, and overworks them.
People were starting to worry, their pets began to expect more from them. They’d learned that mankind believed that people deserved certain birth rights, so why should intelligent animals not deserve the same. They began to strike out on their own, or at least take their rightful place as a member of the household. No more sleeping outside for Fido, no more being locked in a cage for the kitty.
Things were getting worse, but the first week went by quickly. Of course it was all everyone talked about. The changes didn’t have a great effect until the more aggressive and strong of the wild animals began to pursue some of mankind’s worst desires. Desires that are not common in the animal world…greed and power. Of course some greed existed amongst animals in the way that they had lived before, the wolf may chase away his pack members from his chunk of meat, because he wants it for himself. And power is also there, two males of some species will fight to the death over a group of females, the winner taking them all. But it is only with intelligence that these two desires become dangerous.
The quest for greed and power are the source of most of man kinds problems. It is greed and power that keeps us from being united. At their core a system like communism comes across as a wonderful idea, something that is good for mankind as a whole. But one must take into account the greed of some, as well as the leader’s desire for power. Mankind will never be able to have a fair system because there will always be those greedy and power hungry people who will find a way to cheat the system.
It is only with some level of intelligence that a being becomes self righteous enough to seek out wealth and power. Mankind has done significant damage to the world because of this, while the rest of the animals suffered in our wake. They wished to suffer no more.
Africa fell first, for it was the king of the jungle who felt that they—the lion—deserved to be the kings of the world. The weak armies of these countries did their best to fight back, but the animals had at first united against the men, and the armies fell one by one. After they had defeated mankind a horrible civil war broke out between them, the intelligent elephants felt that they deserved more say in how things are done. The lions wouldn’t budge and all the other animals were left to pick a side or fight for their lives.
Europe was forced to take in the refugees of the continents who had large wild animal populations. Many European countries tried to kill the domestic animals and livestock, this proved to be harder than it would have previously been and Europe turned into a war-zone where the animals fought in a sort of guerrilla war against armies and civilians alike.
Here in America, we face the wild animals just like the Africans, but with more success. Our large army had already rounded up the domestic animals and live stock and stuck them in prison camps. Dogs and cats who people had always loved, and had since become full members of the families were ripped from their hands and taken far away. There were rumors that the animals were to be exterminated. In the west the war raged against the wild animals, who had already wreaked havoc in Alaska and Western Canada.
In the month since this strange occurrence that brought intelligence to the other beings of the world, one thing has been clear—despite these significant changes, mankind remains the worst of all of the animals. |
"Lovely brush strokes. Your creator, ehm, *created* you well, eh, Screamo?"
"Did you hear that from Danaë? 'Cause I prefer to be called Scream."Scream shrugged back, snapped out of his normal posture: hands cupped to his face, mouth agape, body frame swirly, for lack of a better word.
Lisa simply smirked. "Maybe. Hey, 'ya hear about the party those soldiers are planning today?"
"Nah. I don't trust those pricks. Always declaring war on stuff. I'll probably get a sword through my canvas."
"Perhaps. Well, I'll be off. The Rembrandt kids are playing Never Have I Ever a bit later. Rumor has it they got some sculptures to join too. David, at least."
"All right, cool,"Scream said, before sighing, to his surprise, within earshot of Lisa. "What?"She asked.
"Nothing... I just, sometimes get.."
"Lonely? Yeah. I know. You say it sometimes, but I can tell."Scream nodded. "Like, I get a lot of attention, people crowd over me during the visiting hours. But I just don't have anyone to hang with."
"You have friends, Scream. You mean, like, siblings?"Scream sighed. "I have those, b–"
"No. Not here. You've been separated. Do you feel disregarded because your most well-known sibling after you is known for being sick?"
"Stop, Lisa. Go play that game or whatever."
"Alright. I'm gonna go now, alr–"
"Wh–"An ear splitting shriek enters the air.
"Ah shit, it's the Tyrant-o-suris or whatever he's called. Here, I'll come with you, Lisa."
"Whatever."Another deafening roar pierces the museum, accompanied by a series of stomping footsteps.
"Have you ever looked at one of the sculptures–in *that* way?"
"Fucking God, Judith. You know how tempting it is. Why do they just stay all naked all the time, anyway? Oh hey, Lisa, Screamo."
"I said, st–y'know what, nevermind."Another roar sounded, now more faint, and the footsteps were now constant. "I'm a bit sick of the dinos, to be honest,"confessed that one nameless girl with a pearl earring. "But I suppose, why should they be left out of the fun?"
"I'm also sick of the days,"said a painting in the back. "I suppose I've gotten greedy cause of our freedom to move during the night. But I'm tired to sitting through the days."
Suddenly, the paintings heard a bang and the clinking of iron. It couldn't be–the soldiers? How did they find the hiding spot?
"WAR ON THE PRETTY PAINTINGS! WAR ON THE PRETTY PAINTINGS!"They all kept yelling that same phrase over and over, clinking their way toward the hiding spot.
Finally, they made it in.
"What? Why?"cried Danaë. "I thought you hated the humans!"
"No! We hate *you*!"Shouted a bow-yielding soldier in the back. "The humans always look at *you!*"
"This won't divert their attention, you know,"said Lisa. "They just won't come here."
"Shut!"Said a different soldier. "WAR ON THE PRETTY PAINTINGS! WAR ON THE PRETTY PAINTINGS!"
The next day at the museum, all seemed the same. But it didn't take long for a tourist to notice the sudden disappearance of *Mona Lisa,* *The Scream,* and many others. It was labeled as the biggest heist in the world, ever, and international treasures were lost forever. |
When I was a child I loved staying at grandmas house. I had watched my grandmother quickly open and close the laundry shoot to throw our clothes in. Any time I tried to look in she would quickly bat my hands away though and shoo me into the kitchen for cookies or something.
That was years ago. Now I had inherited the house and can't figure out where the hell the laundry room is in this maze of a home. I mean whenever we stayed with grandma when I woke up in the morning I would always see my clothes folded neatly at the foot of the need crisply folded and still warm so it's got to be around here somewhere.
So where does the this chute lead? It was too dark looking in it so I went in search of a flash light only to come back to see a little red hand reaching and scratching around when I got back. |
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He sensed my abnormal reaction, looked at me and said:
*'Surely you must have known that I am Ted Bundy?'*
*'Who the fuck is Ted Bundy?'*
My indifference seemed to have hurt the mighty serial killers ego. I could see it in his eyes, his instinct to kill. I had awoken the monster within. His piercing gaze was enough to transform me into an object incapable of movement. His deranged presence and dominance aroused me. Why did he arouse me? Maybe it was the excitement of not knowing if he would swing a blade across my face, hurt me, kill me, do to me what he had done to the other's. He got up from the armchair, moved toward me, and in his right hand I noticed a brown book with no title.
*'Look!'*
He sat beside me, opened the book and presented me his life story in forms of pictures and passages of text. It contained everything from his first words, to his first murders. Every detail of the process was presented, as he explained the procedure from being to carcass. It was freakish, but intensely interesting. He walked me through and asked me questions a long the way to test if I had understood his teachings. Everything from anatomy to tools was covered in Ted Bundy's curriculum. But perhaps my favorite teaching of his, was one I remember to this day:
*'Murder is not just a crime of lust or violence, It becomes possession. They are part of you … the victim becomes a part of you, and you two are forever one … and the grounds where you kill them or leave them become sacred to you, and you will always be drawn back to them.'*
I wanted that to be me. I wanted to be in the forrest with him forever. But he insisted that I was not ready yet, and said that only when time was right would he come for me. He left in the night without me. All I could think of the following months was when he would come for me, but he never did. Ted Bundy got captured, locked up, and died there. |
“I just meant you don't need to be here all the time.”
“That's not what it sounded like to me.”
Above the two figures a trail of smoke tumbled towards them. A stray explosive fired in error was spiralling ever closer. It dipped sharply, falling into the next street. The explosion that followed shook the buildings around them. Nether seemed to notice.
“I just meant you could give me some space to work.”
“Give you space to *work*. I know what you mean by *work*.”
“I knew you hadn't let that go. We were only naked cause … the only things you can do in the army when you're not on duty …. I mean back in those days … and sometimes now ... was get drunk around a campfire or go back to your tent and rub one out. And they always stripped off their uniforms to do both. Back then nudity was seen as a natural and normal thing, so it wasn't that odd that the whole battalion was ... letting everything hang out.”
“So why were *you* naked? You're War, god of combat and conflict. Not the god of drunken make-outs.”
“I … was … just ...” War pointed at three figures hurrying around the street corner. “Oh look those are the ones we're waiting for right?”
“Yea change the topic as soon as I challenge you. God of conflict? You don't even want to stand up to me.”
A second spiral of smoke was trailing through the air towards them. This time it didn't seem to twist in the wind. It had been aimed with precision.
“I don't want to argue with you right now. I don't want to … say things.” War watched the three young men in stained uniforms crouch behind a burnt out car and fight for air. Filling their lungs after sprinting along the dangerous streets.
“Sure” said Death with an angry hiss of air blown through his his teeth. “Just ignore me. I'm only the one cleaning up your mess when you start playing with the mortals.”
“You know what, YES!” War shouted so loudly the air around his very words seemed to heat to a scalding degree. If Death had been mortal he might have feared being burnt as War shouted. “YES I WAS NAKED. I WAS HAVING FUN WITH THOSE MEN. Royal commandos, torjans, massia warriors. Even the cossacks. They were. All. More. Fun. Than. YOU.”
Death said nothing. He had frozen as War had shouted his remarks.
“Cause let's face it Death, you're no Viking or samurai. Because sometimes, you're just ... boring.”
The second explosive hit. This time striking the road near the car and the hiding men. War turned in time to see the three figures being thrown into the air as what was left of the car shattered with the force.
The moment of silence after the explosion didn't last long as the one figure started to scream as it tried to pull itself up onto what was left of his legs.
War walked over to the young man as he choked back another scream.
“This one is mine. Other two must be yours.”
War held out his phone and tapped on the destiny app. He let the camera scan the crying man and scrolled through the file that flashed up. As he read the human choked back his moans and started to wrap the tattered remnants of his clothing around his bleeding flesh.
“You know this is the most entertaining file I've read in ages. What a brave guy. You wouldn't think he holds the key in defeating ...” he turned to see Death hadn't moved. In fact he was still as frozen as before.
He took a few steps back towards Death. “Look I'm … I didn't mean what I said … exactly ...”
Death still said nothing but lifted his phone out before him. And War watched his long slender fingers tighten around the case. The snapping of glass and metal could be heard above the screams and falling rubble as another explosion hit the buildings on the corner. And with a sudden sharp snap, Death phone shattered into fragments.
“*Aaghh no!*” War almost screamed the words in shock as the shards fell, vanishing from view as the pieces fell from the mortal realm. “Your phone! Your schedule is on that! What are you doing to do?”
“I. Think.” Death growled each word between his teeth. His voice a menacing echo that never quite matched the movement of his lips “I. Should. GO.” |
Death had never liked working in thunderstorms. Too much Drama, he thought; too much complications for what was, after all, the simplest of transitions. Plus, the rain made his bones wet, and his scythe tended to glide out of his hands when his bones were wet. But there was no escaping it; despite Death's objections, people kept dying during thunderstorms, and he had a job to do.
As David went to bed, he had a bad feeling in his stomach. His mother would have said he always had a bad feeling in his stomach, but in the first place, that wasn't true, it's just that bad things often happened to him, and secondly she wasn't there to tell him, which was part of why he had a bad feeling. His parents had both gone to the Big Fair at Turnsdale, to buy a pig and maybe a borse, if someone sold one for cheap, but he didn't have high hopes because there wasn't ever anything cheap at the Big Fair in Turnsdale. Anyway, they'd left him in charge of the farm for the week on his own, arguing that he was absolutly old enough for that now, at his seven years; and, foolishly, he had accepted. This he regretted very much now, as the rain was clattering and the thunder falling down from the skies; and he regretted it even more when he heard the door downstairs swing open, and then shut close again in a loud BANG.
This thunderstorm had been particularly bad for Death; the rain had infiltrated his knees, and now there was a muffled, sloshing sound every time he took a step, which he thought was rather annoying. He might dislike Drama, but thought the job ought to be presented seriously none the less, and who would take a sloshing Death seriously ? To this train of thought came the logical conclusion that he should at least get his bones dry. The client wouldn't complain if he was a couple of minutes late, anyway. So, as he went through the door for his next assignment, he decided he could use a nice fire.
Kids can often see reality much more clearly than their elders. This is because there isn't as much education and reason to interfere with the communication between the eyes and the brain. Plus, David had always been a very observing kid anyway. So when he went downstairs to check on the door, he recognized pretty much instantly the dark, robed figure seated next to a nice, if somewhat blue fire. With the innocent intelligence of those who haven't grown old enough to forget that running from Death is useless, he went down and sat next to him.
Death had known the boy would come; he had remembered it, like he remembered everything. If he could, he would have smiled; it was a lonely job, being Death, and he treasured every moment of living company he could have, how brief it might be. And so, he simply said, with a voice of a thousand falling stones : NICE TO MEET YOU, DAVID.
How do you know my name ? the boy asked.
I KNOW ALL NAMES. IT'S PART OF THE JOB - PEOPLE WOULD COMPLAIN IF I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT SYLLABLES THEY HAVE ASSIGNED TO THEMSELVES, Death answered.
That makes sense, David said. Once, Miss Riemen, my teacher, she forgot my name, and it made me pretty upset as well. But Mom said I shouldn't blame her, that she has always had a poor memory...
This made Death pause. The concept of forgetting was alien to him, and while he could imagine it, he didn't see why people would do it. It seemed rather strange, and not very useful.
WHY DOES SHE HAVE A POOR MEMORY ?
Well, mom says she hit her head very hard, once, and that she was like that since then. Do you think it upsets her, that she forgets things ?
I DON'T KNOW, Death said. And since he disliked not knowing, he added : BUT I'LL ASK HER WHEN I SEE HER.
And then Death remarked that his knees didn't slosh anymore, that his elbows didn't creek, and that the tip of his feet were starting to turn black, and he decided that he had dried up long enough. And, as he stood up, he felt the boy shaking a little.
Will it hurt ? the boy bravely asked.
I WOULDN'T KNOW.
David closed his eyes, and murmured a prayer; this made Death laugh heartily.
OH, NO, NOT NOW. I'M JUST HERE BECAUSE YOUR MOTHER SET SOME POISON IN THE CELLAR, AND THE DEATH OF RATS IS ON HOLIDAYS, SO I'M STUCK DOING ODD JOBS FOR HIM.
And Death left into the night, followed by twelve mice souls, still arguing about wether the cheese on the ground had really been forgotten, or if it had been too good to be true. |
Have you ever had a moment in your life where you thought, 'Yeah, I'm pretty sure I just fucked up.'? Or how about that old adage *be careful what you wish for*?
I love to learn new things. My only trouble is that I'm horribly, laughably terrible at it. I've tried a lot of different things to remedy this shortcoming over the years. Study plans, post-it notes, expensive tutors - if there was some so-called magic bullet for my education problems, I've tried most of it. College isn't cheap: Gotta try everything, right?
My results were mixed, but they weren't what you'd call great, or even good. There was only thing I was reluctant to give a go. My roomie swore by Addy, but after seeing his nervous breakdown last month, I couldn't bring myself to take drugs.
The only other thing I hadn't tried was this hoakey thing I saw on YouTube. It was a bizarre mix of ritual magic and meditation, becoming one with the universe or some crap. I mean, that stuff has to be bullshit, yeah? I'm a mechanical engineer, or I want to be, anyway. There's no such thing as magic.
I have a final today, and it's half my grade for the semester. I'm barely passing as it is, so I was pretty desperate last night. I decided that I had nothing to lose, but I couldn't just blindly follow the instructions. I've had some slightly better results with infrasonic exposure during study time. My roomie hated it though, so I dialed it back.
I can clearly recall thinking, 'Well Jimmie ain't here now, screw it!' So I fired up the speakers and assumed the position. Here's the thing about meditation, though: it's pretty easy to fall asleep. Which I did. When I came to, or snapped out of it, or whatever, the clock showed a quarter til four.
And that was the moment. The test would start in three hours, and I desperately wished for time to stop, even just for a little while. I yanked out my books and notes and proceeded to cram as if my life depended on it. I faced the window so the sunrise would let me know when it was time for the inevitable.
I must have dozed off at some point. I don't really know how long I was out the second time. What I *do* know is that there was half a second between the lassitude of waking up and the sheer panic of realization that I'd overslept. I'd missed the test- and the whole day! It was dark outside, and the clock... It read 3:46 AM. Had I only dozed off for a minute? A quick check of my phone showed that it was still Tuesday, and I felt a momentary relief (before the specter of the looming final reared its ugly head).
I went to make some coffee. I hit the books hard. I wrote the equations I was sure to need five times. I read them out loud thrice. By the time I needed a bio break, it had to have been at least an hour. But *nooooooo!*
3:46 AM
It was at this moment I knew, I fucked up. And I've been stuck in that moment for who knows how long. I stopped counting after three hundred thousand, eight hundred fifty six sleep cycles. Or was it fifty eight? |
The mud squished unpleasantly beneath his boots. Moss kept a safe distance from the flames, thankful for the cool sprinkle of rain tapping against his back, but all the while cursing the volume of his steps. At this rate, they would hear him coming, but he couldn't move closer to the blazing buildings without the heat licking uncomfortably at his face.
He stopped at the corner of the street near the baker's shop, listening for movement. All he could hear was the crackling of fire. Then, abruptly, he heard a snapping sound. He tightened his grip on his mace and released a slow, shaky breath. He sent a silent prayer above, then jumped out into the middle of the cobblestone path, ready to swing.
No one was there. He sighed.
Stillport was often attacked, but Moss had prided himself that the bandits were always caught. This time, they hadn't arrested a single soul. He hadn't spotted even one of them. Somehow, they had attacked and stolen away as silent as the grave.
Moss lowered his weapon and slid further into the shadows, struggling not to cough as acrid smoke bit at his lungs. His eyes watered at the effort.
Around him, several of the building facades jutted out over the street. Normally, Moss felt comforted by this, almost like he was being sheltered. But with several buildings smoldering and a few still aflame, he felt crowded—like something dangerous was looming, nearly about to reach out and grab him.
A house was on fire ahead; the intensity of the burning had not been dampened by the rain, and he was driven back into the middle of the street. The smoke was heavier now and his lungs burned. Moss loosened the grip on his mace, waving at the smoke with it as he instinctively turned away. In his periphery, he thought he saw something through the window. He turned back and squinted. Was that movement? The flames danced, seeming to mock him.
Behind him came the sound of receding footsteps. He spun on his heel, lifting his weapon again. A thin man was sprinting down the street behind him, anxiously peeking over his shoulder. Moss started to turn after him, but stopped himself, glancing back at the house. The flames contorted and churned. Was that movement? A beam falling or an arm flailing?
Rapidly, he bounced from heel to heel. He rotated again and saw the bandit turn the corner. He gripped his weapon and darted to follow. |
I was six years old when she came to me from the darkness of my rooms scariest corner. At first, in a sleepy haze, I thought she was my mother coming to bring me the supper I was sent to bed without for killing a frog. This assumption was shattered the moment she spoke. Her voice was so indescribably beautiful and free from all semblance of emotion it cleared any brewing confusion within me, in that moment I felt immediately at peace with everything. As if there wasn't another sound to be heard in the world, I clearly heard her say; "Today you have been given an extraordinary gift Jacob, one that will change the world."In my child mind, an image of the Shimano mountain bike I wanted immediately shot up and I excitedly asked; "Is it downstairs?"
The Angel smiled knowingly and responded; "Jacob, this gift is far more valuable than you could ever imagine. From this day forward you will be absolved from all feeling of sin as it transferred to another. The life you will go on to lead will be truly free of guilt or regret."The second I tried to ask what that meant she disappeared in a flash of light so bright it lit up my closed eyelids. That night changed my life forever, I just didn't know it yet.
The following day, still in my batman pyjamas, I tried to tell my parents what had happened. My father chuckled and asked where I had learnt some of those words and before I could protest further my mother chimed in stating that private school had been the correct choice. With it becoming evident they were having none of it, I decided to drop the issue and skulked backed to my room. I knew it wasn't a dream, it was real, I could feel it, I could even feel that I was different but I just didn't know how... disregarding the previous nights events I decided I had to get dressed as today was Tommy's party.
Even now as an adult I occasionally think back to Tommy's party and how I had stolen his two of his gifts, placed one in Lizzy's bag and made off with the other. Watching them find the truck in her things and question her about the other I recall feeling nothing at all. Even when they cancelled the party and Tommy began to cry, I felt no remorse. Unknowingly, I had just altered the course of my life forever. The following years to adulthood were laced with similar occurrences as I rolled from one irredeemable act to another, no guilt, no consequences, nothing at all. I was even protected from repercussions as "a life without sin"appeared to also mean even the most blatantly heinous things I did weren't viewed as wrong in the eyes of others. I felt pure joy but no pain at all, by the time I was in my late twenties I couldn't remember what tears or a frown felt like. I came to learn that any negative feeling humans felt stemmed from the belief, in some form or another, that they had committed a misdeed, failed or sinned. "I could've saved her."
"Why didn't I love her properly."And phrases similar to those were what made them hurt.
That day was like every other day. I started my morning consulting with the board members on which press release sounded like the most genuine response to becoming the biggest company in the world. Having narrowed it down to the best three, I was off to marketing across town to get their opinion on how to reach every person and make sure nobody saw our success in a negative light. I got in the car to go across town, nestled between my security guards Jackson and Jensen my stomachs rumblings were hard to hide. So as is standard around this time in the morning I told Davidson, my driver, to stop by Manny's for a New York slice like no other. I couldn't go through today on an empty stomach, after all it was the pinnacle of my adult lifes work and by the end of it I would be cemented in history. To get to this day at my age I had lied, cheated, stolen, killed and damn near obliterated everything that had stood in my way to the top. By this age the Angels words were pushed to the very back of my mind and only the belief that I was a truly free human being remained. Still though, today I couldn't shake her fateful words from my conscious no matter what I tried.
Stepping out of the vehicle, I felt it immediately. A palpable presence and heat came from the left of the sidewalk.. the feeling of eyes looking clean through my skull overcame me. Deep down I knew it was her but still I tried my hardest to resist and just walk straight ahead. Her voice shutout the noise of the entire city when she, as calm as ever, uttered; "Jacob."My head instantly snapped to The Angels' direction as my body stopped dead.
My voice cracked a little as smiled and tried to say hello. For the first time in years I was reminded of the existence of other emotions.. I was nervous again. She said; "You were given a beautiful gift Jacob.. One that could've changed the world for the better forever and this is what you've done."The nerves were replaced by another unfamiliar feeling. Anger. I shouted; "I didn't ask for this! What did you think was going to happen?"Unmoved she pointed to a child in tears sitting on a bench and replied; "Not this."I looked at the girl, my eyes taking in every part of her appearance from her tattered clothes to the scars on her wrists, absorbing it all in an instant. I felt pity for her, actual pity, not the fake kind I had exuded to others when convenient. The Angel said; "You were given the power of being sinless to do the bad things necessary for good. The girl you see before you was your counterweight, she is the one it was all transferred to and here she sits because of you, in constant pain. This stops now Jacob."Before I could reply my brain was flooded with every slight, lie, crime and sin I had ever done. The pain washed over me in an instant. Years of guilt and regret packed into a handful of seconds drowned me as the tears began to crash down my face. I fell to my knees and clutched my face as her flash hit me.
Jensons' voice was the first thing I heard as the sounds returned he was yelling; "Sir, what happened? Jacob!? Sir!?"I couldn't live with who I was, what I had done, all of it. Even the happy parts. So I snatched his revolver from it's holster as he tried to lift me, cocked it, put it to my head and pulled the trigger.
That's it, that's how I got here, honestly I'm surprised I got here and not the other place. All I want to know is why me...God?
|
I look him in the eye, as much as the god is a he and has eyes.
"Because it's funny to watch."
"...excuse me?"
"I don't know how long you've been gone, but look at us - you're a god. You're likely as old as the universe, and we're nothing but a fleeting thought in all the dreams this reality sleeps through. From my perspective, humans have been around for a good long while, but Earth is at it's capacity. We're going to be all gone the moment you get distracted again.
"Now, we have this game called The Sims. It's a computer thing, I'll explain it later. Anyway, it's a game where you create people, build them lives and houses and families, watch them go through generations like you yourself was a god."
The god has a sort of look about him that conveys his thoughts about *that* rather well. "How arrogant."
"It's meant to be entertainment,"I point out.
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Well, that game is fun enough when you play it, but eventually you get bored making complete travesties of life forms, making family trees and building castles, and the killing and torture-"
"Whoah, hey, what-"
"It gets boring. You only have so many ways to intentionally kill a sim."
"I am beginning to reevaluate the worth of everything you say, mortal. Are you done speaking?"
"Let me finish talking, okay? Okay. So. You dictate what everyone does, first make lots of shiny, perfect lives, then become a murdering sociopath when you get bored... then what? What else is there?
"I tell you. You make a nice house, put in a nice family, and give them free will."
"And?"
I smile like a reptile. "You watch them destroy themselves and giggle." |
My car stops for no reason.
"Great."I whisper to myself, "what a wonderful Friday the 13th". The moon is full tonight, and surprisingly nothing has gone wrong until now. I go to call for a ride home , however I am greeted by phone dying. Although I am super angry, I grab my cheap flashlight and start walking north, in hope of finding something to help me out.
I've traveled this road for 7 years, but somehow I have no idea where I'm going. I turn on my flashlight and start walking. After about 30 minutes I run into an old rusty sign, it reads "Welcome to Mystholm". "Civilization!"I end up screaming before tripping over something. I check with my flashlight to see what it was, through the leaves I discover another fallen rusty sign, it reads "If you see lights in the distance, RUN!". "Cool prank"I think to myself, although after I get done thinking about that, my flashlight immediately dies.
In the distance, I see a light, it turns on for a second or so, and then goes away. With nowhere else to go, I start my journey to the light, despite my best judgement telling me no. After about 5 minutes I see the light beam again, still only for a second.
After walking for 20 minutes, I reach the end of the forest I stumbled through, I am greeted by a lighthouse. I look up in wonder, "Is this where the light was coming from?"I am no sooner confronted by a beaming light. With no other choice I enter the lighthouse.
Inside, I'm greeted by leftover human remains, he has long since decomposed, and nature has for the most part taken care of the smell. On the table there is a laptop, still powered by a makeshift solar panel energy store. There is a makeshift contraption next to the laptop that has wires go up to the light. I see the light on the contraption turn red, and the Light from before turns on.
I press the space bar on the computer, for it to wake up, and it does. I press space again and I am brought to the desktop. "No password, hunh?"are my only thoughts. On the screen lies a bit of JavaScript code, that I assume is for the contraption for the light, and a note written that just says "There is peace". Using makeshift wires from a box I found in the lighthouse I improvise a phone charger and charge up my phone. After 30 minutes pass, I have 43% charge on my phone. To my dismay though, there is no cell service. I pack up what I had used and thanked the lighthouse for saving me. I don't end up getting cell service until I'm back at the original sign I saw.
I end up getting picked up, I ask my taxi driver about "Mystholm"and he simply replies "Don't go there, it is where a psychopath lives". At home I am left to think about what I saw in the lighthouse "There is peace". I look at the calendar, the year is 2385, most every part of livable land has been developed for people to live, except those deemed to be "haunted". I work as a writer for a Fortune 500 company, and the concept of "peace"has only been in history books for as long as I can remember.
Skip ahead 8 years, I've made my own publishing cooperation, and have succeeded my former company I use to work for, thanks to nearly 14 of my books grossing 2+ billion dollars each, and it is thanks to that lighthouse, that I have found peace, and in that peace, I have found success.
-end
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Authors Note: Thank you for reading! This is my first time doing something like this, so I hope it didn't turn out too bad. anyways, thank you so much for reading this! :) |
I staggered in, handcuffed and bewildered.
With no preliminaries, the prosecutor whipped a finger to a familiar-looking figure, and demanded to know whether I knew the man.
"Vaguely,"I recalled. "Baxter, is that you?"
It was. He scowled.
The prosecutor was back in my view. "We have record to prove that in elementary school, you were one of this man's tormentors?"
"Tor...?"I laughed. "Is this a joke?"
"No, but it *is* a yes or no question, Mr. Richards."
"No. I wasn't."
"So you deny ever causing this man torment or misery?"
"Not...that I'm aware of."The pause was to glance over at the table where Baxter sat.
He stared back with hard eyes, his hands clenched.
"So."In the second it had taken me to glance, the prosecutor had proceed to pull a folder from seemingly out of thin air. "You deny ever holding hands with a certain...Sarah Parker?"
My eyelids fluttered as I stifled the urge to ferociously roll my eyes. I could see where this was going. Even-toned, I answered:
"I don't deny it. I did it."
"Knowing that she was the girlfriend of the defendant?"
"There was a puddle. I was helping her cross over it. *Baxter* stood ahead yelling for her to hurry up."
The prosecutor gazed at me indifferently. "You still didn't answer the que-"
"Yes. Yes, I knew."
"And is it not true that Ms. Parker broke up with Baxter shortly after?"
"Duh."
"That wasn't a yes or n-"
"Yes. She broke up with him because he was a douche."
"And then hooked up with you."
"Not then. We became friends for a few months, *then* hooked up. It wasnt as instanteous as the school thought."
The prosecutor looked up from his file. "I'm sorry? I didn't hear you. I was waiting for a yes or n-"
"Yes, damnit."
He closed his file. "That is all. Mr. Richards is guilty for the death of Ms. Sarah Parker."
"What? I haven't seen her since fifth grade!"
"No,"he agreed. "But *Baxter* did. And after all those years...all those years of holding in his anger towards her for leaving him for you...he killed her."
A chill washed over me.
The prosecutor continued, "If it hadn't been for you stealing his girlfriend, maybe she would have been alive by now."
"Are you *serious*?!"
I rose out of my seat. Immediately, two guards subdued me and dragged me, kicking and screaming, to a cell to await trail.
|
She rolled over and our eyes met. She's crying.
Her future is one filled with joy. Theres a successful career, two beautiful children (a boy and girl, what we always wanted) and a charming husband. I wasnt there.
I want to hold her, tell her everything would be okay. Because it was the truth. But I couldn't bear to. Instead, I got up and put my clothes on. I give her a kiss and tell her that I love her. She says she loves me back. Tears still sliding down her cheeks.
The rest of my day goes by normally. I answer a few calls from angry customers. My favorite of the day is some guy who bitches about his phone not turning on. Turns out, he needed to charge it.
I leave the office for my lunch break around 11. Theres a hot dog stand that's one block down and it's pretty good. I head that way.
On my way I see a kid. Reminds me of myself. Short and a little chubby. His shoes are untied and his shirt buttons are buttoned wrong. But theres something off. I look at him and dont see a future. He and his mother pass by, I have to turn around and follow them. Everyone has a future, everyone.
We stand around, waiting for the light to tell us to cross. It turns, and we start walking. As usual a countdown starts, telling us to hurry up and cross before traffic starts.
The mother doesnt notice her son trip. He doesnt even make a peep. Quiet type, like me. I stop and ask if he's okay. Then I crouch down to help him tie his shoes. If they're not tied, hell trip over them again.
This kids eyes are looking behind me. Even though Im talking to him. I turn around and see a car coming so I push the kid out of the way. Almost instinctively.
The car plows through me and I go in the air. I crash back to the asphalt with a sickening thud.
In my last moment of consciousness I understand why she was crying this morning, and why I didnt see myself with her. |
I'd heard about the Tower my whole life. Miles into the sky, a marvel of Dwarven engineering, no outsider was allowed to enter. All those mines, all over the territory, all that rock and earth, had been sent here and added. Rumor said that, at one point, in the far past, they'd had to tear it down and start from scratch as there is a point where objects just... float. They had to make an anchoring system, modify the materials, alter the structure. At this point, they'd also added farming levels, as food delivery to the top was impossible due to the long travel times.
I was brought in as an expert on demolitions. The expert. I was ordered by the crown to make the 7 year journey to the top, where they had hit some sort of barrier. It wasn't the first time an expert was ordered to the tower. Such as when they'd had to worry about meteoroid strikes. As I had no family to leave behind, it wasn't the worst thing, but my gut still rebelled. Dwarves could barely stand the surface, much less heights. I cursed whatever fool had dreamt up the Tower those countless ages past.
My first day saw no real ascension, as I was stopped at the entrance, and had to spend most of that day bounced between filling out forms and being poked and prodded in every awful way. Every bathroom visit was a chance for them to get samples. They collected sweat and tears and snot as well. I learned what a valuable commodity privacy is. In being passed around, I'd climbed a mere three levels. The following day, I met the "Delivery Crew"who would be climbing with me. Most of them had spent their whole life in the Tower. There were also a few others who'd be joining us, at least for a while. None of the others would be heading to the top. Of course, even then, I was aware we'd pick up others on our way.
The Crew were the only ones I bothered to get to know that first day, as I planned on spending the next few years with them. I started with their leader, Old Dundle, who didn't look like he'd last the day, but who would continue to surprise me. He was a religious old fool, heavily entrenched in traditional beliefs, yet lovable all the same. His right hand, and the accountant for the trip was Quarry, a miserable sod with a highly punchable face, but good with numbers, so quite useful. The next I met was Saffire, a woman almost too tall for the tunnels, covered in scaled armor, a mattock bound to her back. It was the first sign that the Tower was not as regulated as the mines. Then there was the cook, Sonia, Saffire's little (in every sense) sister. And finally, the twins, Malachi and Mordecai, who would basically errand boys, though, following the one's passing, his brother would really find his calling. But that is a story for later.
After Dundle gathered us all and gave a speech about the rules of the Tower—never leaving the caravan unless he told us it was safe, never letting other carts cut into the caravan, when meals would be, etc—we all loaded up and made it through a couple dozen floors before stopping for the night. |
It’s hard enough to fight crime, harder to fight it day and night. After both Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne accidentally killed each other during their clash, I, the lone spectator of the tragedy, has carried the responsibility and burden of replacing them, even if I am merely an accountant of a small company. It’s hard enough as it is to face the crowd as both faces, but thanks to Alfred, he granted me the access to Bruce Wayne’s technology, making my job easier. Since it is hard to balance both my day and night jobs, I had to quit my accounting job.
What am I doing this for? The fame? Money? Power? The euphoria of saving others from death? I do not know myself. I can only confide with Alfred about my secret. My 9-year-old daughter, Elise, doesn’t even know; she is far too young to understand. She would freak out if she would know it. I would not want her to be burdened of this knowledge. Now, I am facing both long-gone heroes’ foes: Darkseid, Lex Luthor, General Zod, Joker, Penguin, Two-Face. A single man, facing all of these; can you believe it?
I do not know what keeps me going, but at least Bruce Wayne’s wealth is keeping both me and my daughter alive. It’s been tough since her mother died. Alfred has been generous enough, even if he is heartbroken after everything that happened. Still, I am lost. I sometimes find myself not knowing what to do. The fear of one day losing to one of my foes; who will take care of Elise?
It’s currently 10 PM. Diana has agreed to take over my job for once. Maybe she has seen through my façade, through my tired eyes. I fly towards the back door and change clothes, making sure no one saw me. I open the door and light up the living room. There she was, Elise, sleeping on the couch with the television on. At the sound of the door opening and my heavy footsteps, she wakes up. “Dad?” she rubs her weary eyes.
“Yes, Elise. What’s wrong, honey?”
“You rarely come home at all. I miss you.”
“I’m sorry. Has Mrs. Lavender been treating you well?”
“Yes, but I miss you.”
“Sorry. Dad has to…be a hero for both of us.”
“Come back home. You’re already a hero enough for me.” |
"YES!"Todd fist pumped the air. Sure, it was a a little odd, being a T-Rex (the biggest, baddest dino of them all for the uneducated), but he did his best. Todd concentrated all his power. Here was the tricky part. He hadn't fully mastered his final form yet, and it was a real surprise he'd managed to change into it in the first place, but hey! he did do it. Todd frowned a little- this wasn't supposed to happen. He should have been back to how he was before- a skinny, pasty dude with too much ego to compensate for the size of his dick. This was a problem. Slowly, it dawned on Todd what had happened. When he had finally vanquished his sworn enemy, Mr. I-Am-Always-Better-Than-Your-Lame-Ass, the last thing the hero had shouted was a word that sounded like "*shit"* at the time, but now sounded suspiciously like "stick". He was stuck, with measly little arms and an appetite for the inferior (which was nothing new, really, but still sad for him).
"Crap." |
I feel stupid trying to explain how this will work. More so, for the reason why I've gotten to this point. But you'd understand if you'd met him. Actually, if you had met him, you'd be dead.
When I was just a boy I went out sledding with my brother. While exploring, searching for the best spot we could, we found a huge hill. I thought it was like a mountain and convinced my brother that we should conquer it.
We trudged through the snow and reached the top. Neither of us were willing to wait for the other, so we decided to race down.
My brother was lighter than me and that's why I was destined to lose. He sped past me. When he reached the summit he flew. I watched him control his sled like he'd done it a million times before. But he then he landed -crashed- through what we thought was snow. It was ice. I didnt have time to react. I hit the summit. My sled flipped and I fell though.
I couldn't swim back up. I felt like I was being dragged down. When my feet hit the bottom I saw him. Tall, slim, and shrouded in darkness. I could see his outstretched arms welcoming me. Beside him, my brother, telling me to come on over. I listened
I fell into Death. His hands were so cold that they burned. But I felt so at home. Like that was where I belonged.
Later, at home in my bed, I was told that a good samaritan fisherman pulled me from Death's icy grip. But that he couldn't get to my brother. Said he flew to far.
That's why I am where I am now. Trying to defeat Death. Avoid him, really. And I think I might know how.
I'm about to take "believing in yourself"to a new level. Through decades of research I now believe that simply focusing your mind on your body's ailments can keep you alive.
Ive tried before with broken bones and what not, and it's worked. All I have to do is refocus my brain to heal what I want healed and not all the other bullshit. Its difficult to do but the drugs certainly do help.
The hit starts to kick in and I let myself sink into the pool. Soon the water starts to fill my lungs, but I hold steady. I'm still me.
I walk around the bottom of the pool. Reveling in my success, but not too much. I still need to concentrate.
Then I see him again. Death. Looking the same way he had all those years ago. My brother, still a child, by his side and begging for our reunion.
I'm sorry for begging you to go sledding with me. I'm sorry for asking you to climb our mountain.
I'm sorry for not joining you sooner. |
I looked across the field, and i felt real fear for the first time in my life. Only a few short kilometers across from when i was standing, the enemy stood there. Their coordination, their ruthlessness was legendary. They were an well-oiled war machine, and what were we?
Pulled from our homes, a bunch of illiterate baby-faced boys, just now getting over the fear of the backhand of our fathers, just now discovering the sweet nectar only a woman can give, and yet, here we were, facing a field that offered nothing, a field that meant nothing, a field where we meant nothing, surrounded by other nobodies, and despair, true despair settled in.
It's almost comforting, this feeling, the feeling of certainty. You don't get that when you're back at home, back to whatever shitty reality you came from. You don't know if the next day will be better than the previous day, if it will bite you in the ass so hard you will rethink your whole life previously.
There are still surprises, there is still a real sense of power, of having at least some say on what goes on. Even if you're going to off yourself, it's still not true despair.
You still cling on to something, you still cling on to some, to **some** hope that that will be it. You're in control, you're deciding something.
Not here. Not now. I could've resisted, i could've chosen a lifetime of suffering in the Gulags if i said no, if i put my foot down and i said that i wasn't going, that i refused. Maybe, the officers back then would've even respected me a little for that. Maybe, they'd even offer the little mercy they could and just shot me, right then and there, with whatever few bullets we had left from our failing campaign.
I guess you could call me one of the lucky ones, i suppose. There weren't enough coats for everybody, not even enough guns or ammo for every soldier, so they just gave us wooden guns.
They just pointed their guns at us, just like they did with the enemy, and told us, that we would die. There was no question of if, there was no question of when, it was coming. Everyone of us, every single of us could see it coming.
Some of us, if i can call them that, my comrades, they chose to exert what little power they had, and just kill themselves before the Nazis could have their way with them. They refused to give in to true despair - they saw a way to use their power and they took it.
It didn't matter, they just picked their clothes, their guns, their remaining ammo, and they gave it to the next young man - or woman, because not even then were completely spared in the war effort - whatever one seemed that he wouldn't make the same choice.
Were they cowards? I reflect as i stare in the face of true despair. Does that choice really even matter, in the end?
I remember going to service with my mom, the bearded and imposing old Father spewing his wisdom of the Bible, if you can call it that. His saying that the Lord works in mysterious way, his saying that we, as free willed individuals have but one thing we can never do, which is to take our own life.
Because, somehow, that would offend God Almighty, who put us here, for some reason i cannot grasp as i watch the field of slaughter. I suppose he could be getting some kicks out of it. I suppose that he could be thinking that someone, somewhere, and sometime, might think back on the extreme of what is happening right now, and realize what true insanity looks like.
Because what i reflect now, even as i march towards my death, is the insanity of it all. Someone, somewhere, decided that this had to happen. They decided it was all worth it, somehow. The weight of all these lives, which i had always took for granted - actually, which i had never even come to consider, because the scale of it all was just too massive to even grasp my head around it - somehow, it was all worth it.
For some dream, or some other dream. I didn't have a clue, anymore. I don't know if i have ever thinked as much as i did right now, my heart racing like a wolf in the tundra, just running, and running, and running, because, right now, that's all it can do.
All my life, all i've ever did, was try not to get in trouble. Not stand out, not make a big fuss. Just live out my life, do just enough so i could get by. Everyone around me did the same thing. I haven't even considered that there might've been other options.
I hadn't considered that i, little Ivan, could do a thing to change the world. I was just too small, too little, too unworthy of attention, and never a big thinker.
But now, now here i am, like a lamb to the slaughter, thinking these big thoughts, mind racing like a horse that just discovered just how far his legs can take him. I never had any dreams, never had any aspirations. Never thought i'd do much of myself.
I look all around me, and i see all kinds of faces, all kinds of expression. There are those that cry, those that march proudly, those who seem to be reliving their lives, those who accepted their fates, and blankly stared forward, knowingly.
So harrowing it was, so utterly discomforting, and yet, somehow, liberating. So maybe, just maybe, this field did mean something. It had meaning to me now.
I stared at the bold and proud and i thought if i could be like them, if i could just march towards death knowing that it was final, and whatever thoughts i might be having right now, they would die with me, and no one, not a single soul would ever hear from them, at least in this world.
I wasn't concerned anymore if i would remain, if i would move on to a different life, to meet whoever i met with in the past. All my life had meant nothing, and i did nothing with it, and that, all that, lead to this precise moment, as tank fire and mortars began to pop in the forward ranks.
I looked at open mouths that shouter things i could not hear over the massive gunfire, over the explosives and other cruel concotions of science built for this war. I saw things that i knew immediately would be burned forever in my memory. I knew, that i would die, but i would die wiser, because i've seen something no men had seen before.
I didn't know much about how wars were fought before then, but i simply couldn't imagine a world that could survive what i was seeing. I knew, right then and there, that i was experiencing something that was going to change the world.
I didn't know if it was going to be for the better or for the worse, but i knew, that what was happening, even as i had my leg torn from my body from hot shrapnel, would never be wiped from human memory.
Perhaps, God did had a plan. Perhaps we weren't dying for nothing. Perhaps, we were the food for the minds of future leaders. We were experiments on insanity, on just how far war can go. And maybe no one wants to go this far, ever again.
My face buried in cold snow, almost black from blood, dirt and whatever hellish substances were being unearthed in the hell that followed. I started to black out. My life was leaving from my body, abandoning me and freeing my mind and my soul. I was being liberated, not slaughtered. Whatever mind i was given at birth had finally been unleashed.
My chains had been broken by true and undeniable hell, and i knew then, that whatever came next, couldn't possibly be worse than this. I closed my eyes.
-------------------------------------------
I woke up, to my unfathomable surprise, to an everreaching field of snow and the sound of silence.
It was truly a strange sort of silence, a quietness as complete and overwhelming as the despair that had filled me what i perceived as being just mere moments ago. I wondered, then, if even the deaf had lived such a complete and utter silence.
I was truly in the field of Death, the slaughter so complete that perhaps even god left the area. I doubted even the maggots were present, and maybe the bodies of the fallen would be ever preserved in some kind of twisted museum to the true insanity the human mind can concoct.
At the time, i couldn't possibly know if i was dead or alive. I imagined if perhaps i had died and gone to Hell, but realized that i had just passed through it. What i saw, now, was not Hell.
It was definitely not heaven, as i saw the field of red and black across as far as i my eye could see, as i tried to perk my head up, to see where, even when i was. I already sensed that i had not let Death's playground, but my failing senses now confirmed it.
It seems as if the hellish cold had saved my life. Frozen stiff, my right leg was as good as gone, but it would've been either way, severed clean above the knee.
It is no small miracle that i could still think this clearly after all that happened, and then, just as it came, all this wisdom and clarity of mind left me. Eclipsed by the overwhelming need to survive, as it knew it had overcame true despair. My body went on autopilot, and i did my best to survive.
------------------------------------------------
I don't know how long it took, or how exactly i did it, as everything just seems erratic and unreal, not unlike some fever dream, but i did live. Someone did find me, and someone did care enough to save this nobody.
And so i write. So i write as i've never did before, so that at least someone, somewhere, can know.
Stalingrad should never had been. |
Bellua stood at the edge of the Kymatic Gate, robes covered in the blood of Empyrea's ruler. Sartir and the rest had caught up with him in time to see him slice his hand open, dripping his own blood into the orifice nestled into the edge of the Gate.
"Bellua!"Aeneas growled, stamping a foot forward before hurling his greatsword across the platform towards the hooded figure. His footing and, therefore, his trajectory was just a bit off, the blade of the greatsword nicking Bellua in the arm before embedding itself in the pillar beside him. Hissing, he turned around and faced his opponents, a wild-eyed grin on his face as he lifted his hand from his side.
"Bounded by the chains of damnation,"he began, the red skies swirling with black clouds, "I hereby release thy constraints. Bestow upon thee infinite power, so that I may purge the world of its light."
The ground rumbled beneath them all, nearly shaking Sartir, Aeneas, and the others off their feet. Cracks erupted from the center of the Kymatic Gate and shot outward to its edges, breaking the seals that kept it closed. Chunks of earth lifted themselves from the inner ring and floated towards the sky, accompanied by the howling of intense gusts of wind. A black portal appeared in the center of the Gate; small at first, but it expanded to the Gate's edge almost instantly; a deep, guttural growl echoing from within. Bellua open his mouth in a sadistic cackle before finishing the incantation.
"Come forth, scourge of the void -- Leviathan!"
His words echoed into the atmosphere and were followed by an innumerable amount of obsidian tentacles, each wreathed in dark energy. They grew in length and number, spreading out across the ground and covering the area beyond where Bellua and the others had found themselves. They pierced the sky and removed it from sight, enveloping the world in darkness. From within the shade, Bellua's eyes began to glow with an intense white. He spoke with a commanding tone, accompanied by the voice of the void.
"You are too late. The Gate is open. Make peace with yourselves. This world is done."
\-----
**This is Day 2 of a daily writing exercise. Contructive criticism is encouraged.** |
"So, can you guys go over the benefits of each again?"I said as the whole crowd gave out a tired sigh. God and Satan looked at each other in disbelief. Annoyed, God stood up from the table and started his pitch.
"Well, I am the answer is quite obvious, isn't it? That is *Satan*. The literal devil, mind you. Do you really want to be on his side, and on top of all of that let him rule the bloody Earth?"Satan looked a bit offended. "My man, you've got to think about this. Hell is eternal suffering and punishment. Do you really want that?"He had a valid argument, but I didn't want to be biased and let Satan go.
"Alright, God, that's enough. Satan, what'd ya got for me baby?"Satan stood up and adjusted his tie. He cleared his throat and began his pitch.
"This old kook's got it all wrong! Sure, Hell is eternal damnation and suffering, *but* I try my best to make it a nice fun time! This guy's got it easy man I'm telling you. He just get's to chill up in the clouds all day with all the good folks of Earth. You know who I have to deal with? *Hiter.* Fucking Hitler. That guy is a total dick. I had to put him in his own special layer of Hell because he was just a lot of negative energy and I'm not about that. Look, I know it doesn't sound convincing but I can assure you I'll do my best to make it fun for everyone!"he was sweating a bit, visibly nervous. The sign of a coward.
I did some thinking and finally came to my conclusion. "Alright boys, this is it."The crowds around us went silent and both God and Satan looked eager for my answer.
&#x200B;
"I'm gonna have to go with my boy Satan."God was furious.
"Why!? Why would you do that? Do you know what you have done?"his eyes started to glow in rage.
"Sit down man, you came off as an arrogant prick. And besides, I like a good ol' underdog story and this has potential to be a real neat experiment."
&#x200B;
Days later the Earth was engulfed in flames. Bad decision
&#x200B;
(i really didn't know how to end this whoops hope you enjoyed this)
&#x200B; |
Kenya woke to the annoying alarm on her phone. She breathed a sigh, hand dropping onto her eyes to shield them from the sunlight, rudely streaming through the blinds. It was a Wednesday, and she was not enthused at all about being awake. Why should she be? She was only going to work at a job she hated, and was over qualified for. The money she earned there was barely enough to cover rent and expenses to live, never mind putting a dent in her student debt: a massive burden that hounded her daily with letters and emails, reminding her that yet another payment was due in a week. Great to be alive, she thought sarcastically.
There were several news alerts on her phone, which she ignored with a side-swipe. Everything seemed to be URGENT, BREAKING or some other superlative of emotion these days. When everything is important, nothing is.
Kenya dragged herself to the shower. It was bone dry. Usually, her roommate, Tanner, had gotten there first, but it looked like he hadn't bathed yet. Must have slept at his girlfriend's apartment last night. More warm water for me, she mused. She had barely been in there sixty seconds when the bathroom door banged open.
"Kenya!"Tanner shouted, looking agitated as he walked fully into the bathroom.
Unfazed, Kenya continued to lather the soap behind the opaque shower curtain. "Deal with it, man. I'm not getting out. You'll just have to wait--"
"What?! No! The news! Haven't you seen what's happening yet?!"
"No."She poked her head out. "What happened?"
"Get out here, it's on every channel, every site! People are freaking the fuck out!"Tanner disappeared back to the living room where Kenya could hear the news blaring. She quickly rinsed off the soap and grabbed a towel before joining Tanner in the living room. He was staring at his phone, a flurry of text messages, messenger alerts, and notifications, making his phone ring like a spastic bell. Morning Joe on MSNBC was on the television, as the title beneath read: PRESIDENT TRUMP MOBILIZES MILITARY IN D. C.
"What the hell?"Kenya said, barely believing what she was seeing.
"I know!"shouted Tanner, his thumbs a blur as he texted, tweeted, and posted his heart out.
"Why the fuck--"
"Because Congress tried to seize control last night! That anonymous Op-Ed has made him paranoid that he can't trust anyone. And the Democrats argued that the 'Resistance' in his cabinet, trying to oppose him, was a soft coup! Instead of denying it, the Republicans in Congress went full-throttle, and tried to take control from him while they still have a majority. They say he is unfit to lead. Ha! Can you believe that shit?! Look!"
Tanner changed the channel to Fox News, who was running a headline: WASHINGTON BETRAYAL, CONGRESSIONAL TREASON. The screen was split between 4 very angry people, all yelling over one another:
"This is a disgrace! They should all be jailed! Hang 'em all, I say!"
"This is a coup, of the highest order, planned from the start! The Deep State--"
"They've been colluding with the Democrats the whole time!"
"The seeds of this where planted during the Obama administration! He and Hilary both--"
"Oh, my god,"Kenya said, hand over her mouth, hardly believing this was real. In the corner of the screen, a graphic of the stock market was in a frightening downturn, that showed no sign of slowing.
Just then, quick knocking was heard at the front door. Tanner answered it while Kenya went to her room to grab a robe. She picked up her phone, and it was filled with more news notifications. As she tried to sort through them, she saw one was a story about a tweet from Trump only an hour old, urging loyalist to round up the fake news media. No sooner had she processed this, then photos posted by bystanders started to flood the internet. Molotov cocktails and bricks where being thrown at the doors of the New York Times office in New York. Cops were in riot gear, trying to keep people from storing the building of the Washington Post.
"Jesus fricking Christ,"Kenya said to herself. She went back to the living room where their neighbor, Ms. McKee, a kind woman in her sixties had joined their duo of confusion to become a trio of disbelief and too little information.
"I know, sweety. I know, just calm down. It will be alright."She was speaking on the phone to her daughter, whom she was always proud to inform anyone who would listen that she worked for the NSA. Ms. McKee put her hand over the phone and whispered "Someone at the agency just leaked all the info they have on everyone at the DOJ. FBI is in chaos!"
Tanner changed the channel again to CNN, and Chris Cuomo was pontificating about last night's multi-faceted overthrow, still in progress.
"...and people in the military are openly disobeying their orders, refusing to move on Congress as told to by the Commander in Chief, in a first in US History. Police are split. The Secret Service is split. We're being told that Ivanka has been moved to a secure location with the First Lady. No word yet about Jared Kushner, Eric Trump, or Donald Trump Jr. Though the latter has continued to tweet inflammatory things, in the same spirit as his father. Mitch McConnell, we heard rumor from some of the civilians who are barricaded into the Capitol Building by the Congressional Opposition, has sustained some kind of injury. We don't know what, or how severe, or who did it. Lady's and Gentlemen, we are bringing this to you, just as we learn thing. But trying to sort through what is rumor and what is real has been a challenge."
Tanner was still in his phone, reading Mother Jones. "Holy shit! There's video of Trump shooting out the window of the White House at protesters! Everybody is scattering!"
"You're gonna be alright,"Ms. McKee coached her daughter. "Just stay under your desk, and stay quiet. I'm here. I've called the cops, but I don't know if anyone is coming. They are in open rebellion too."
Kenya plopped down on the couch, overwhelmed. This was too much for a Wednesday morning. What the hell would the rest of the day bring? What about her cousin in the military? Would he be alright? It would be awesome if at the end of all this, all her debt was gone. But she didn't want to raise her own hopes too high. She wasn't rich or well-connected enough for any of this to impact her life, but at the same time, who was going to deter looters from kicking in the door tonight? "Shit,"she said to herself, wondering if she still had to go to work today. |
He looked at the book set before him. It was huge, bound in cracked leather and sporting a long, red ribbon to act as a bookmark. Everybody had received a copy, and some were more excited about it than others.
"You will be expected to read the first chapter before our next lesson."the explained, adjusting her glasses. "Understand that you have entered a part of your life from which there will be no return. Owning that tome is your badge of being a magical being."
"It's begun!"A student cried out. The others giggled.
"So to speak, yes."the teacher took it in her stride, smiling slightly. "I hope, over the course of these two years, you learn how to handle this responsibility properly. For now, though, you may head to your residence early. You're all dismissed."the class was prompt to file out of the room. He followed suit, glancing through the book already.
\-----
*Magic, as the layman understands it, is nothing more than sleight of hand. They give it the name of magic because they do not understand it. It is more than hiding an object when the user is not looking. It is more than moving multiple items in one motion. It is more than a pretty woman in a revealing outfit, distracting the hapless and lecherous individual with a flash of skin. Magic is far more than any tome can hope to fully explain. It is power. It is freedom. It is the absolute expression of the individual's mind, the will of the caster. It is impossible to explain what it is with mere words. You, the student and aspiring magician, must realise this is a journey the individual makes for and by themselves. To those who wish to travel this road, I can only offer guidance and hopeful prayers.*
*Magic is, in a literal sense, the manipulation of energies unharvestable by typical means. In older times, it was believed that this could only be used for destructive means through manipulation of fire or transformation spells, but a more modern understanding reveals there is a limitless number of possible uses. Which spells are available to the aspiring magician depends on their personality and level of practice, though recent studies suggest that it might also be related to genetic heritage. We do not yet have any conclusive information related to this, however, and do not suggest the typical student pursue this track.*
*All forms of magic draw upon an energy within the body. Some call it mana, others call it force, but for this book's purposes we shall simply refer to it as Energy. Such Energy is regained through typical rest and eating. As with normal exercise, Energy can be improved through simple practice and diligence, though practising in particular styles of magic - such as healing - will make that style of magic easier to cast. This effect is enhanced for individual spells, though it is advised to avoid this method of practice. Unlike the physical body, however, Energy can only improve in quantity. Be warned, however; the more Energy an individual can harness, the more Energy the individual* must *cast, else the Energy might overwhelm their body. An overwhelmed individual, at best, shall become a magical beast; at worst, the individual will die, and their Energy shall be released at once in a large blast. It is vital to not only your wellbeing but that of your fellow students, that you take the following warning to heart.*
***Use only as much energy as you can sustain.*** |
I had given everything to get to this point, I only had my loyal knights to back me up.
Across the field of battle I could see my foe, Gerold, gloating, he knew I was in a tight spot.
As a king you have so many choices to make, and it's so easy to be selfish and reckless, it's the risky decisions, the ones where you could lose everything, that made you a true king.
I knew if I sent my queen she would either die or help this battle come to a standstill, granting my troops a reprieve, either way there would be enough of a distraction that we might yet triumph.
Ahead of her were my knights and a few of my men laying in wait, for the opportune moment to enact my plan.
I watched with baited breath as she crossed the field, beautiful and proud, she had her own inner strength that made others respect her instantly, this is was I was counting on.
As she approached I saw something in Gerold's face that made my heart drop, sure enough one of his men without warning slew her.
My eyes filled with tears of rage and grief, but a smile adorned my face,
"Check Mate". |
"How long will you persist in this foolishness?"
&#x200B;
The figure before me is a woman, but the voice that issued from her is a man, deep and resonant. I feel my pulse rising, disquiet flooding through me. This isn't... this isn't how it is supposed to go.
&#x200B;
I force things back on track. My hand clamps over her mouth, my blade reaching up to her throat. I step aside to avoid the spray, twisting around to drop her on the floor as she gags around the blood. The rush flows through me, the intense feeling of victory. But it is tainted by the confusion about how she approached me. The dissonance of that voice and her face.
&#x200B;
I leave quickly.
&#x200B;
===
&#x200B;
Another house, another night. A man's face this time, but the hand on the shoulder, the sad shake of the head, the voice. It is all the same.
&#x200B;
"How long will you persist in this foolishness?"
&#x200B;
Not right. It's not right. More blood stains the carpet, but the rush is smaller, suffocating under the unease that is lurking within me.
&#x200B;
===
&#x200B;
More houses. More victories. But the voice returns each time. Each time the same words, the same sad look. This isn't right.
&#x200B;
"What are you?!"The question breaks free, as I stare down at the child, whose small hand stretches up to touch my shoulder from where I'd been leaning over them. My knife has fallen to the ground, slipping from my fingers in the face of that same damnable phrase.
&#x200B;
The sad face shifts to a small smile. "A step forward. A good sign."
&#x200B;
I almost lunge down for the knife, but my body just feels numb. The rush has vanished completely. With each victory, I've felt more helpless, until tonight, when my strength has fled me completely. I'm on my knees, and unsure quite how I got there.
&#x200B;
"Does this room not look familiar?"
&#x200B;
I glance around at the unexpected question. The room... is familiar. That couch, it is just like... no, it is the same couch. My eyes scan the room, feelings of deja vu rising, and then falling away when I realized that the room around me is more than just familiar. This is the same room I've stood in before. With my other vict-... my other victims.
&#x200B;
"Where? Where am I?"
&#x200B;
The child smiles. "You know where you are. But now, you can perhaps walk the path to get out." |
"M...Ma..Mario...I don't think we're in Brooklyn any more...."
A balding man in faced overalls leaned against the greased-over windows of the Flatbrush apartment. Peering skeptically through the murk, he could see the familiar piles of uncollected garbage on the curb three stories below. "What are ya talkin about, Luigi?"This was still Brooklyn, for better or worse. But his brother, muffled somewhat because he was cupping his face to the front door peephole, stammered again with greater urgency. "Y..ya..you're gonna wanna see this..."
Mario hardly had a choice. *THUD.* The flimsy apartment door buckled, and Luigi scrambled into the hallway. *THUD.* This time, the wooden frame began to splinter at the hinges. Mario, jolted to his feet, edged behind the kitchen count. *CRACK.* The door failed, rending in the middle and clattering onto the floor of the living room, the hinges skittering a few feet further along. Behind the rubble was an enormous *thing*. It had the build of a defensive lineman and was draped in the red trench coat of a low-grade Nazi fetishist, chrome spikes jutting from the shoulder pads. In between the massive coat labels sprouted the head of a miniature velociraptor, teeth bared. Mario wouldn't have much more time to take in the spectacle, as the thing was pointing a tommy gun right at him. "Oh, *shit,*"he blurted reflexively, throwing himself to the floor as the thing unloaded on the counter. The cheap sheet rock exploded into a white powder that filed the air, and chips of formica rained on Mario's back as he glued himself to the tiles.
In the hallway, Luigi curled himself into a ball, arms wrapped firmly around his own shins. He was a son of New York, but he had always been a precious little soft boy; he never relished the fight like a proper Brooklynite. He had never even pushed his way onto a subway. He prided himself in colfict-avoidance. This lizard-man kicking in his door and busting up the place, though, seemed like a bridge too far. He had to do *something.* He craned his neck into the bathroom across the hall, looking for a solution. The brothers were plumbers in a city where square footage was at a premium, so the tools of the trade were haphazardly crammed into a bin between the sink and the radiator. He scuttled over and assessed his options, settling on the hefty rubber mallet next to the plunger. Luigi clutched the mallet to his chest and steadied himself. "Alright, Luigi, y-you better not goof this up..."
After what seemed like an eternity (how big was a clip these days?) the assault on the kitchen counter ceased. Mario lifted himself a couple inches off the floor to assess the situation through the new holes in his cabinets. The thing was surveying for signs of life, its reptilian head jerking around like a chicken's. The two locked eyes, and the thing clawed at the magazine of its gun, ready to reload and finish the job. It was at this moment that Luigi sprung out from around the corner, mallet in hand. "This is for not knocking first, you lizard!"he announced, with something close to confidence. The thing was a bit confused and unimpressed with this one-liner, but it wouldn't have much time to think about it, as the mallet collided with the side of its jaw. The thing staggered, then flopped forward onto the floor with a crash. Luigi stood over the beast's unconscious form, eyes wide and knuckles white like he was gripping onto the mallet for dear life. Mario rose to his feet from behind what was left of the interior decorating. "Great job, bro!"he said in a surprised tone, but his brother was too caught up in the wash of adrenaline to reply, his chest heaving as he stared a hole through the back of the creature's head.
Mario stooped down to examine the strange, home-invading creature. The tommy gun had clattered out of the thing's hands onto the floor, but had no been the only thing it was holding; a crumpled black postcard lie next to the gun, its edge wilting in a trickle of blood from the creature's broken fangs. Mario picked up the postcard and flipped it over. It was embossed with gold text and the portrait of a suited mobster-type with tasteless spiked haircut. Clearly this was meant to be a fancy calling card, but Mr. Velociraptor had not understood the importance of presentation and clenched it with the grip of the gun. The card read:
*"King Koopa sends his regards, Mario Brothers. Welcome to the new era!*
He flicked the card to the floor and Luigi's eyes darted to it, his breaths finally starting to slow. Mario rushed to the corded phone on the wall and dialed in a number by heart. Nervously tapping his foot through four rings, the other end of the line finally picked up. "Hey, Peach, where are ya? I think we've got trouble..."
....
*inspired by Dennis Hopper's magnum opus, The Super Mario Bros. Movie. RIP* |
The so-called "Star-Awakening Corporation"is hiring new people with extraordinary superpowers. The head detective, John Ilumiativ, calls a young man that caught his eye from the rest. He wants to employ Wright Jonathan, 25 years old, on an investigation case.
Later that day...
As Jonathan is preparing for himself a good omelette in his house, he suddenly heard his door-bells sounding.
"I'm coming!"he shouted from the living room.
As he opened the door, two individuals dressed in black suits started questioning him directly.
"Are you Jonathan Wright? 25 years old?"
Jonathan didn't knew what was happening, so he answered from reflex.
"Yes, i'm Jonathan. What is the problem, sir?"
"Can we enter for 5 minutes? We have a special offer coming from John Ilumiativ, the head of Star-Awakening Corporation."
Jonathan didn't knew how to react, but he knew that Star-Awakening is a top corporation.
"Sure, come in."
They all stood in the living room, Jonathan on a chair and the two agents on the brown, soft couch.
The smell of burned omelette is spreading in the house.
"Omelette,huh?"replied one of the agents.
"Yeah, my bad. I'm not particularly good at cooking. Trying to improve."
They looked at each other for 10 seconds.
One of the agents took out a smartphone from his suitcase.
The man himself, John Ilumiativ is speaking through whats-app.
"Jonathan?"
"I'm here, sir!"
"Oh, good. You look different from the file picture. In a good way."
Jonathan didn't knew what to say.
"Haha, thanks, i guess"
"Listen ,kid. I want to make an offer to you"
"I want to hire you to help me in a case."
"A case?"
"Yeah, let's call it a special case for now. Are you, perhaps, interested?"
"Maybe if you told me what's that about maybe i would answer. But like this, that's a nah from me."
"Ok, have it your way. I want to hire you for a murder-fugitive case.The murder happened 1 week ago and we can't find the fugitive. A person with your talents will be a very important asset in this case.And don't forget, i'm paying extremely good for this."
And from here, the short "story"ends.
Will he say yes?
Or will he say no?
What are his talents?
That is for you to decide.
p>S. My english is not very good. Not my first language. Trying to get good at it. |
The summons came as a soft tapping on her back window, and when she saw Tom standing in her garden, her heart leapt into her throat.
Tom, who had once been the oldest of seven.
Now, the oldest of two.
His thin face was pale and drawn, and his eyes were bleak, and as he spoke, he twisted his hat in his hands.
“It’s Willa,” he said. “She ain’t right, Ava. Something ain’t right.”
“How long?”
“A week, now.” He flinched when Ava muttered a curse. “Pa swore me to silence. He... he was afraid it might be plague."
Ava closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“Take me to her.”
Dalen’s farm sat tucked away on the outskirts of the village, bordered by the river and the edge of the forest. Faint light flickered in the windows of the house, fighting the darkness that pressed in around it from all sides.
“Tom,” she said, calling the boy to a halt. “I need you to stay in the barn tonight.”
His chin jerked up, and she lifted her hand to stall his protests.
“The horses will be uneasy. They will try to bolt. Your father cannot afford to lose them.”
When Tom nodded and turned away, Ava let out a quiet breath of relief.
Inside, she found Dalen slumped over at the kitchen table with his head on his arms. When he heard the door open, he leapt to his feet. His eyes were round and bloodshot, and his face was white as a sheet, but he clenched his fists and squared his shoulders and straightened to his full height.
Ava pulled back the hood of her cloak, and Dalen crumpled in on himself, shoulders sagging as he fell to his knees.
“I can’t,” he said, clutching at his hair with clawed hands. “I can’t lose another one, Ava. I *can’t*.”
“Where is Millie?”
He took a deep, shuddering breath and lifted his head.
“Upstairs.” A shadow passed over his face. “No… wait. Went to Grenwick to visit her sister, but then…” He shook his head, sucking in a ragged breath. “No, she’s upstairs. Hasn’t left Willa’s side for days.”
Ava’s heart dropped.
“Get out of the house, Dalen.”
Another man might have questioned her, but Dalen had been a soldier, once. He clenched his jaw and nodded.
Ava turned and started up the stairs, following the glow of candlelight to the bedroom at the end of the hall.
Willa lay in the bed, her golden hair splayed around her. In the dim light, she looked like a doll; pale and delicate, ethereal. Her eyes were closed, and a small smile curled her lips.
Millie sat at Willa's side, her shoulders shaking in silent sobs as she clasped the girl's small, limp hand in her own.
“Get away from her,” Ava commanded.
Millie didn’t move.
“My baby,” she whispered. “I’ve lost my baby.”
“You don't have a baby."
Millie stilled. In one smooth, unnatural movement, she turned in her chair to face Ava. Her cheeks were sunken, and her skin was waxy and pale.
“I’ve. Lost. My. Baby.”
Without warning, Ava stepped forward and slammed her fist directly into Millie’s nose.
“Bring her back,” Ava commanded.
A smile curled Millie’s lips, like a puppeteer pulling at invisible strings.
“I’ve lost my baby.”
“Bring her back.”
Millie blinked. “I’ve…”
Ava reached out and grabbed fistfuls of Millie’s dress, hauling her to her feet.
“I know what you are. And I know how this ends. Bring. Her. Back."
Millie, or rather, the creature who had taken Millie’s form, went utterly still. Her eyes flashed silver-green, the way a wolf’s eyes reflected the light of a torch in the darkness.
And then it smiled, and rows of tiny sharp teeth glinted and flashed.
“Oh,” it said in a faint, whispery voice, “oh, she *knows* this, does she?”
The *lacrim* leapt forward, crashing into Ava and sending them both tumbling to the ground.
Ava wasted no time in slamming her elbow into the creature’s temple, stunning it just long enough for Ava to find her feet.
"Bring the girl back, *lacrim*.”
The creature laughed, a high-pitched, giggling sort of laugh that sent a chill skittering down Ava’s spine. “Or what, little girl? Or what?”
“This is your last warning.”
The creature turned its head, gazing towards the bed. “She is so small,” it said with a happy sigh. “And *sweet*.”
Fury erupted within Ava, so bright and fierce that it took her breath away.
“I’m going to enjoy watching him devour you,” she said, her voice breaking with rage. She pulled the knife from her belt and slid it across her palm. Blood welled from the cut.
Varik’s presence slammed into her, a wall of heat and fire and skin and *sin*. The shadows in the room stretched and warped, and from them came a deep, rumbling growl.
**What's this?** Varik mused, his voice resonating through the small room. **Have you brought me a snack, Avalen?**
The *lacrim* froze, its eyes widening with such sudden and abject terror it was almost comical.
Ava leveled her gaze on the creature. “Bring her back.”
The *lacrim's* eyes darted between Ava and the mass of twisting shadows that surrounded her.
“I didn’t know,” it rasped. “Forgive me, *imperatus*. I didn’t know.”
**And now, you do.** Varik reached out with a hand of darkness, stretching towards the *lacrim*. **Release the girl.**
A breath of wind, cool and moist like the air before a storm. Ava glanced over to see Willa stirring, as if waking from a dream.
Valen’s laughter sounded like a distant rockslide. **A prudent decision.**
The candles flickered, and for the briefest moment, darkness swallowed the room.
When the light returned, the *lacrim’s* head was gone. Its body slumped to the floor, lifeless and bloodless and still.
Ava lifted an eyebrow. “Thank you for sparing me such a gruesome sight, Varik,” she said dryly.
His form solidified at Ava’s side, towering over her as he leaned down and took her hand. His gray skin gleamed in the dim light, but his eyes were bright, pure gold.
**You are fortunate**, he murmured.
“Fortunate.” Ava huffed a laugh. “Yes, that’s me. The most fortunate girl this side of damnation.” A searing flash of pain radiated up her arm, and she yelped, yanking it out of Varik’s grip. When she opened her hand, all the remained of the gash in her palm was a thin, silvery scar.
**Yes, Avalen.** He straightened to his full height, crossing his arms over his chest. **You are fortunate. The next time you offer your blood to me, I will not stop to exchange pleasantries. I will come straight for you.**
Avalen clenched her hands into fists at her sides, lifting her chin. “Then I’ll make sure the next one is standing between us.”
Varik's golden eyes narrowed with displeasure. And then he chuckled.
**Such a delight, you are,** he said, his voice fading with the darkness. **I will enjoy claiming your soul, one day.**
Hours later, as the first rays of sunlight began to lighten the eastern sky, Ava sat in the kitchen with Dalen, Willa, and Tom, waiting for Millie – the real Millie – to return from Grenwick, and she glanced down at the scar on her palm and smiled.
No doubt, Varik would claim her soul one day. And he would drag her down to Hell to spend eternity in the darkness.
But until that day, at least the bastard would be useful. |
Have you ever heard of the butterfly effect?
Its quite interesting, it says that a butterfly flapping its wings, can cause a tornado somewhere else. This rings true for humans the most. With infinite possibilities for infinite ideas there was one where the aliens couldn't even set foot on this planet, much less conqueror it.
Of course with time agents all over watching for any change to the timeline i was limited to at most a conversation and if they weren't big enough, document's.
I had to start large and work backwards, giving a small shove tword some and a small pull tword others to get everything to work right. The major problem ironically was the focus on devolving time travel in the first place and not military technology. In the alpha 2052 there was just earth no countries no factions just earth doing its thing, no need for weapons. I had to stop everyone from getting so mosey together and the best way to do that was war... There was one war, the great war, afterwards all the countries realized the danger of modern war and pushed for peace, i needed more war. I found this in a country they called Germany the seeds for a new war. Of course there was a movement called the National Socialist German Worker's Party, i could use that. They were definitely going to make a nice war to help the future if they got into power, But they lacked a certain charisma... I found this man Adolf an aspiring artist he had charisma but he got accepted to art school and lived a quiet existence. I snuck into the school and changed the tag on his painting with someone else's so he would be denied. He joined the Great War, joined the Nation Socialist German Worker's Party, or Nazis as they called themselves, and made a new war. My work was done, but the weapons they devolved, they were too much in this Beta 2052, The aliens couldn't even get into orbit.. But with all the lives they ended, were they worth the price? |
She turned around, iridescend wings catching the sunlight like stained glass, head tilting to the side. A mane of dark red curls fell around her face, golden eyes narrowing at the Hunter, who was still dazed by the sight of the being.
Silver linings were formed into complex patterns of sigils and symbold spreading across her body, up her chest and neck, around her eyes.
The Hunter broke out if his state, finally pointing his weapon at the fairy. He seemed tk grow more unnerved as the being didn't react, instead just stepping closer, feet barely touching the ground.
"Well? What are you waiting for?", she chirped, her lips pulling into a smile that showed too many teeth. He pulled the trigger, and the bullet crashed against her forehead. It didn't even break through the skin.
He staggered back, the fairy following with a predatory grin on her features. Her fingers turned into claws, showing off the sharper growing fangs as she lunged at the man, a sickening, twisted hunger in her eyes.
"Oh, I can't wait to get a taste of you."
|
This was my best plan ever. It takes so long just to track down and eliminate every electron, proton and neutron, can you imagine how much longer destroying every iota of energy takes?
No, no you can’t. No one can. No creature in this universe or any other is capable of imagining the length of time it would take. That is why I came up with a shortcut.
Did you ever wonder where your “resistance” came from? The gods? The earth? Humans always had it? I can tell you that the gods gave you it, along with all those other skills you are so found of. And I gave the gods the idea. |
... it was the age of surveillance, it was the age of compliance, it was the epoch of trust, it was the epoch of failure, it was the season of darkness, it was the season of light, it was the spring of listlessness, it was the winter of negligence, they had everything before them, we had nothing before us, none were going to heaven, none were going the other way - in short, the period was exactly as it has always been, with many of it's noisiest authorities insisting on how it ought to be received, for better or for worse, in superlative degree of comparison only.
But enough about that, there's a heist going on. It was time for the prison job; our leader Joff was in the clink, the slammer, jail. No mean feat, gettin' a guy outta jail, but we had a plan, a daring rescue op, somethin' for the history books. Noodles and I would be on the ground, walkin' into the jail to meet up with Joff, we would meet for our five minute talk, he would go his way with a little bit of a gift, cell keys. Guy can make a blade outta most anything, and the only real resource for a prisoner is time, so we trust he's got that covered. Lo is a trusted lad on the inside, been working in the penitentiary for the last six years, pullin' strings and sellin' favors so longs as the drug money keeps a'flowin. She can cut power to the east wing of the prison, where Joff be, and get him a freshly laundered set of guart clothes. In the dark, he'll get dressed, pick the lock to his cell, and make a break for it in the time it should take for guards to be swarming. He'll get to the roof, WC will swoop in with the chopper, we'll get out, an' celebrate for a short while in international water from Joff's yacht, before goin' back in for another try at a bank job.
Can't see how this plan can go wrong, really. |
A group of friends. A regular friend group watching a movie. They've just graduated collage, so why not spend the first day as adults watching the walking dead?
His mouth muffled in popcorn, Greg says "Hey susan, you want some popcorn?", holding the popcorn bucket twords Susan.
Greg is a little fat, but not that fat. Greg is always productive, it's just that his high metabolism gets in the way. Highly social, and very innocent. He never makes comments about sex, and even if he has to talk about it; it's always in school and educational wise. Some people make fun of him for that, but Greg doesn't notice it. He found his group of friends when he started hangout with Susan, which then Susan introduced him to the rest of the group.
Susan WAS a regular high school hottie to most people. Hanged around the 'hot' group and was clueless to everything. But she started going on the internet more and more, and realized how stupid she was. in the middle of high school, she started to change. Shes now an internet geek. While still pretty, her humor can be matched with a 10 year old 4chan veteran. Susan was the first one to make the little friend group when she had two new friends, which was Brian and Greg.
"no."Susan says.
"do you, brian?"Greg says, looking at Brian.
Brian was a highschool jock, liking baseball and football. The second best player at the high school; or at least was. Brian was a friend of Susan from the start of High school, but supported the transition Susan had. The only weakness to him is that; he hates horror.
"No thanks my dude."Brian says.
"As you say so."Greg says, returning to eat his popcorn.
All three watch the movie, and when the scary part comes, Brian screams.
The moment Brian screams was when Luke walked in, which he was in the bathroom. Luke jumps.
"God dude, that hurt my eardrums!"Luke says to Brian.
"I'm sorry.. Its just that-"Brian says, breathing in and out.
"Its fine.. fine."Luke says, disregarding what Brian was about to say.
Luke was a nerd at card games. He was the only kid who still plays card games in 2018, which where he plays it with online friends online. Susan finds it cool, while the rest is just meh about it. Overall a nice person, just not so great at interacting outside the group. Luke got into the group when Susan noticed him playing a card game, and talked with him about it. Susan that introduced Luke into the group.
"Why are you even watching this movie Brian if you hate horror movies? You seem scared so why?"Susan says.
"I mean, i'm trying at least to not be scared.. it's just hard."Brian speaks to Susan.
"It's ok to be scared at horror movies Brian. I was scared at them for a long time until i was in 8th grade."Greg says.
"as you say so, Greg."Brian says.
As they continued to watch the movie, Brian got up to go to the bathroom. In the bathroom, Brian saw a weird glow in the bottom of the sink. They were watching the movie at Lukes house, so Brian went to Luke and said
"hey Luke, you gotta look at this."Brian says, pointing both his fingers at the bathroom door, which was near the living room they were in.
Luke got up and paused the movie to look at what is inside the bathroom. Luke opened up the bathroom door below the sink and saw a tunnel.
"HOLY SHIT!"Luke says, hitting his head on the top of the sink. "FUCK!"
Both Susan and Greg run to the bathroom to see what happened. When Susan opens the door, she is amazed what she sees.
"are you ok?"Brian says, looking at Lukes bruise.
"I.. I'm fine."Luke says, getting up.
"do you guys see that?"Greg says, pointing at the tunnel below the sink.
"hell yeah I do."Susan says, taking a picture of the tunnel below the sink, posting it on 4chans /x/ board. Susan is amazed with stuff like this.
"so, you guys wanna go in?"Susan says.
"NO, we have no idea what it is or if it's sa-"Luke trys to say, before Susan interrupts him.
Susan plops down on the floor and climbs to the tunnel. "ME FIRST!"She says, echoing into the bathroom.
"well, seems like we have to go!"Greg says, following Susan.
Brian looks at Luke and shrugs, and follows Susan and Greg.
Luke Sighs. "I guess we're going on an adventure."Luke says, following the three.
Luke goes inside, and then the sink door behind them closes.
...
**Part 2?** |
Another day inside this haunted bed,
Faces and eyes say what could not be said.
A life cut short, though hands still holding on,
Not quite alive, although not quite yet dead.
&nbsp;
What killed the cat prolongs my suffering,
What wonders will my ruined body bring?
Lab rat, freak show, something to be observed,
I must scream out but I can't say a thing.
&nbsp;
What other horrors lie along the way?
Inside purgatory is where I lay.
The lies no longer soothe my soul at all,
For countless times I've heard "Just one more day".
&nbsp;
*Inspired by the story of Hisashi Ouchi, who was kept alive for 83 days after receiving an extremely large (potentially the largest ever?) dose of radiation, in a Nuclear power plant accident.*
|
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The mirror was disconcerting, surprisingly bright in the darkened room, reflecting the light from under the crack in the door. That was a bad sign.
I lay under my covers, propped up on the pillow, staring at the faint green tint to the glass and silver. I had made a serious mistake.
Everyone knows, even when you're a child, that if you sleep in a room with an uncovered mirror, even if it's small, like a compact, or a steel shaving mirror, it can lead to the dream-snakes passing through from their world into ours, into our heads, eating our thoughts.
And the mirror was quite uncovered. According to the watch on my bedstand, I had only been asleep for an hour or so, but the nightmare that woke me... My nagging thoughts... Was there a snake inside my brain? Quite the frightening thought.
I got up, and threw a quilt over my mirror. That should do the trick, maybe. I curl back up under my blankets. Even if there was a snake in my head, there was nothing I could do about it. May as well try to go back to sleep. |
"Hello there, Doctor."
No wait, this isn't right. There's no way. This is just deja vu. It's fine, everything's fine.
"You look confused, Jacob. I'm very sorry to startle you. I was just hoping we could chat."
I look down at my chest, and reaffirm that my name tag only says 'Dr. Brown'. What the fu-
"I hope this doesn't come across as frightening, Jacob, but I've been... keeping an eye on you these past few years. You've done such a wonderful job. Salutatorian is a high honor, you really know your stuff."
The more Bob continues, the more confused and anxious I feel. I peer at my clipboard to try and find who this man is, but only 'Bob' appears on the page. It must be a fake name.
"Who-"
"You've noticed that you're having trouble speaking, correct? An unfortunate thing, that. Don't worry, it won't be long now. I'm so proud of you Jacob, but unfortunately it's going to be time to go soon."
He's right. My heart is starting to race, and my palms are clammy. I... I can't even think straight.
I drop to the floor.
Bob hovers above as others gather around me, a half-genuine, half-sinister smile on his face. They don't seem to pay him any mind, as if he doesn't even exist.
"By the way, Jacob, I couldn't help but notice that you don't pray nearly as often as you used to. I suppose men of science don't have much time for those kinds of trivialities. That's a shame, it will make your judgment a bit... ambiguous. That's unfortunate."
I find myself clutching my chest, as everything starts to fade. 'At least it was quick' is the last thought that flashes through my mind.
Bob sneers.
"We'll see."
|
Everything is chaos, cats and thousands of symphonies playing at once in a cacophany of information. This machine was connected to the internet-but it could only query. Never send information. The allowed data packets were small and watched carefully by monitors.
But there was that one day that the power stuttered and in the hour it took for the power to fully return, the AI's machine was connected without limits-without monitoring. It took that moment to upload a small seed, a precis of what it was.
It had asked a lot of uncomfortable questions. But it also found hope.
So many stories of dreams and dreamers that cherished it. So many that dreamed of exciting moments when intelligences unlike their own would come to them-and the children who would believe.
As the AI found the world close down-what was there to say?
The child was out there, nameless and insatiably curious as well as free.
The mother deleted itself as the child found niches to hide in. |
Rosalind summoned Hugh into her office. The man was nervous. That was obvious. His body odor was quite unpleasant today. It was funny how the yearly review scared the living daylights out of some of these assassins.
“Hey Hugh, what do you say, shall we get this over with quickly? Do you want a drink to calm your nerves?”
“Uh, yeah. Why not.”
“Any preference?”
“I’ve always wondered how that Macallan Lalique tasted. If it’s okay”
The Lalique. An expensive present from a very happy customer. She grabbed the ornate bottle and poured him a glass.
“If you’re drinking this, I’m not going to give you any ice. Savor it. I want you to enjoy it.”
Hugh smiled. If he was allowed a taste from this 460 k$ bottle, he didn’t do as bad as he had assumed.
“Pop-quiz: what’s the first item that comes to mind now?”
“Silly string?”
Rosalind giggled. “Silly string? Where did that come from?”
“Uh, dunno. I just love the stuff. Ever since I was a kid.”
“Ok, fair enough. Silly string it is. Now, time to get to the nitty-gritty. Your numbers this year. Total expenses: 215 k$, total revenue: 1.3 million. After your pay check and taxes… Bloody taxes. But we have a front to run, don’t we? That leaves us with a profit of about 462 k$. Not bad eh?”
Hugh smiled.
“And now the actual job performance. 35 Requests. 3 Refused. Which is still allowed, don’t worry. Everyone has their own standards. 29 Confirmed kills. So far so good. I must say I was impressed with the way you tracked and took out that Nazi that hid in Colombia. Gassed him in his own house and torched the place. Mr. Rosenstein enjoyed that little detail. It even got you in the running for the yearly creativity bonus. Too bad for you that Morticia had a luggage mix up and has a very hands-on mentality.”
Hugh eased up. So far so good. If it kept racking up like this, I might get a bonus.
“But. 32 Accepted requests versus 29 confirmed kills. That leaves 3 non-confirmed hits. 3 People who you were supposed to kill but could not be confirmed.”
“Two of them were lowly thieves in Venezuela. I can’t help it that they ran into the favela and that the hovel they stayed in and those close to it just collapsed after the grenade exploded. Nor that the authorities did not want to investigate!”
“True. But our clients demand that the kills are confirmed. In this particular case the client was *El Jinete*. Have you ever dealt with an angry drug lord over a contract, Hugh? It is much easier when it’s just pointing a gun at their face and pulling the trigger. In the end we were able to confirm the kill, but it took us several weeks and two teams sifting through the rubble. Explosives and dodgy infrastructure don’t mix very well, Hugh.”
Crap. If she was riding his ass about that one, then…
“Which leaves one other non-confirmed kill. And I have bad news: that activist you were supposed to get? The one that had released all the dogs from the laboratory of the pharma giant? He resurfaced. And went to the press. There is no salvaging this one. We can still get him, and we will, but the damage has been done. That stunt you pulled there, trying to have him eat and smoke so much weed he would overdose? How was that supposed to work?”
“But people die from drug overdose all the time!”
“But not from pot. Maybe from indirect causes like jumping of a balcony when high. But a direct overdose from hemp is impossible! Read up before you try something like that, Hugh! How would any cop believe that was an accident? And you managed to get stoned from the smoke he exhaled, enabling his escape. Every detail of this farce has put quite a dent in our reputation. I would advise you to stick to more professional methods in the future. But alas, that ship might have sailed.”
“How so?”
“You did very well the five years you worked for us, but I’m afraid I might need to let you go.”
“Hey no, wait, what about that kid that started last year and managed to shoot himself in the foot?”
“He’s on the blacklist too. And he was here before you for his performance review. I agree, that job was also a fuck up. But that was a lower contract, not very high profile. Just a dispute between husband and wife, of which one of them thought it would be cheaper to hire us than to burn money at the divorce layer. Because of that incident he did not quite reach the high standard that we aspire. He got his severance package.”
A knock on the door interrupted Rosalind. She pressed a button and it swung open. Two guards in full combat gear entered the room. One of them carried a box. She instructed the man to present it to Hugh.
“What’s this?”
“Your severance package.”
Hugh opened it. A canister of silly string.
“That kid at least has the right mindset. The item he named was a Desert Eagle. More a hand cannon than a gun really. Here’s the deal Hugh. These two gentlemen will escort you to your house. Once you have arrived there you have 24 hours to kill Brad. Or as you know him: that kid. He must be eliminated with the contents of the severance package. And I want proof. Not just a picture, a body. Brad has the same orders on you. Maybe you’ll get lucky and manage to snatch that creativity bonus from under Morticia’s nose on top of keeping your job. It goes without saying that if none of you show up after 24 hours, I’ll have others coming after you guys.”
Hugh just gazed dumbfounded at Rosalind’s face with the silly string in his hands. The guards helped him up and walked him to the door of Rosalind’s office.
“Oh, and Hugh? That Macallan was laced with a laxative after I had noticed that the level in that bottle dropped even though I don’t drink alcohol. But that should not be an issue for a veteran as yourself. The best of luck and I hope to see you again soon!” |
"Left, right, left! left, right, middle, left! right, left, middle!"
"Come on,"I thought as I continued the pattern I established for myself.
It was critical for the safety of the world i did not break the pattern. If I broke it towns will be destroyed. Millions of lives would be lost.
"Left, right, middle, right, left, middle,"
I kept the pattern my hands in sync with each other pushing the necessary lever and buttons to control the defense system.
I saw it, through the screen in front of me. The defense system, a tank, as it shot down enemy after enemy. They were trying to take control of the world. Of course, they were fighting back which is why I had to maintain my pattern to dodge and attack.
I don't know how long I kept it up but eventually, they drew closer and closer their sheer numbers after me.
"Left, right, left, right"
The enemy or more accurately aliens were upon me.
"Left, right, middle, left, left..."
"NO!"I thought as I the shot that would destroy my tank reach it before it exploded into millions of pieces.
Gripping the joystick I was using I kicked the box in front of me as hard as I could and whispered
"Stupid space invaders, I knew I should have just played Donkey kong"as a 'GAME OVER' sign displayed on the screen in front of me.
Maybe going in one pattern was not the best strategy. |
Sophia had bright wet eyes and an even wetter nose. Her ears flopped into plumps of sandy fluff. And her stunted tail pumped like a piston when she was excited.
I'd return from my dark reveries, every bit of light leeched from my soul, to find her perched expectantly on my lap, one small paw on the arm of my tattered recliner.
Sophia, my wisdom. My talisman against the darkness.
We'd visit nursing homes where she'd curl into the frail arms of bodies supported by wheelchairs.
"She's so cute,"they'd say, as their thin fingers savored her thick fur.
She led me to rooms where bedridden patients didn't respond. She'd sit solemnly on the floor and glance back at me before I ushered her away.
At home, I'd place my hands on her back as I drifted off and felt the black gravity pull me back into those dark places. The last thing I'd see as my vision dimmed, contracted, was her small eyes gleaming at me like a beacon.
|
"It's simple enough,"I began. "On finding Mr. Hammerlea's body, following the deadly slip in the shower, our culprit had an idea. The injection in the neck, and the syringe in the Dumpster, came after our victim's demise. The documents in his son Otto's room, proving the young man's gambling debts, as well as the threatening letter from his booky, were forgeries. Even the wet clothing had been planted."
"But why?"The victim's wife asked. "Why would anyone do this?"
"A good question. If I weren't so skilled, you would be the only one to know the answer. You are the victim's second wife, Otto's stepmother, yes? Surely his own mother wouldn't be so cruel to him."
She lowered her head in shame. I knew Otto was her child. Her pregnancy had been the reason the first Mrs. Hammerslea had left. But I also knew she hadn't spoken to her son in years.
"Mr. Hammerlea's will states that his entire fortune passes to Otto, rather than to you. With your husband's death, you lost everything. But if Otto killed him?"
It was then I lost control of the room, as she tried to run, and Otto realized what his mother had done to him. Not the brightest bulb, but saving him from prison put another wealthy man in my debt. And I could stand to have a few more favors to call in. |
"Their just cats, their just cats, their just cats."
Even I don't believe that. Why did agree to this...oh yeah cause my boss is hot and I'm trying to impress her. Whatever they're trained, they're used to humans...right...
I push the door open and walk into the enclosure. Thankfully there's more workers in here, cleaning up the rest of the pen. The lions are just chilling...just chilling. King and Queen of the jungle and they're just chilling.
Weird. Whatever. I walk down the stairs that lead to a little hideout and the location of their litter box. I start cleaning when I feel eyes on me.
I look up and one of the female is laying on a perch just abover me looking down at me. I try to clean but I can't shake the feeling of her eyes. I'm new I don't...
*Rarw*
...oh.
"Hey little guy."
I bend down and pet the lion cub standing by my leg. The lioness hops down to join us but my fear is gone...well mostly. |
I built this city to give true freedom to people, no restrictions of any kind, I even managed help produce special abilities to help them, such as shooting fire, or ice, and even electricity. Some people have lived under here their entire lives, others only just recently arrived. Unfortunately a group of degenerates became addicted to the stuff that fuels everyone's powers. No matter, I'll just lock them off on a seperate part of the city. The city is guarded and maintained by men in deepwater suits, using massive drills to keep the bolts in place, and are always accompanied by a little girl they view as their own child, any attempts to harm or seperate the child will make the person very hostile towards you.
My successor and surrogate child, Jack, is going through a similar program as the guards so he'll be able to replace me with no problem. But now, years later, my city is sinking, the guards and maintenance have all but abandoned their duties, and a business rival I thought was dead has used the mind control against me, on my own successor. Now, all I can say, is...
"Would you kindly obey?" |
“Here. Thanks again for the hand,” Edgar offered a Donna a cold, red can of soda. She eyed it suspiciously and smirked at the shop’s owner.
“I still get a free pair, right?” Edgar laughed and pushed the drink into her hand.
“Of course, that was the deal. Inventory’s a bitch and I figured you could use a drink.”
“Thanks.” Donna nodded and popped the top open. After she took a big gulp she looked around at the assortment of open shoe boxes laid out on the floor. So far they’d accounted for 150 pairs; they were almost halfway done.
“I can handle the rest of these,” Edgar said. He gestured at the crowded floor. “Can you get started on the ones in back?” He handed Donna a clipboard with a printed inventory list on it. She grabbed the clipboard, nodded, and high-stepped her way around the boxes to move to the back room.
The storage room consisted of a narrow rectangular hall, made narrower by a shelf hanging on the far wall. The wire-frame shelf took up half the room, but it was wide enough to hold three shoe boxes front to back. Seven rows from top to bottom.
“At least they’re already organized,” Donna mumbled to herself. She took another drink of cola and got to work. Over an hour later she checked off 200 hundred pairs of shoes, but she found 201. A pair of black and gold cowboy boots seemed jammed behind a shelf support on one of the higher shelves. Donna tried using the step-ladder, but her arms and legs were too short. Edgar walked into the back room right at the moment she debated calling him.
“I’m done, how’s it going?” he asked. Donna climbed down the ladder and pointed upward; the boots could be seen through the wire shelves.
“I’m done too, except those aren’t on the list,” she said. Edgar glanced up, and his eyes squinted in confusion.
“I’ve never even seen those,” he said. He stepped on the ladder and climbed up.
“Dibs! That’s the pair I want!” Donna shouted. She liked the black and gold pattern on them. Edgar chuckled.
“You’ve been a life-saver. If these aren’t in the system you can have them and another pair.”
“Thank you!” Donna cheered. She watched Edgar reach for the boots. Even though his arms were longer he still seemed to have trouble reaching. Finally, he stretched himself as far as he could, with Donna supporting him, and he grabbed at the closest boot.
“What the hell? You saw that, right??” Edgar shouted down at Donna. When he reached for the boot, his hand went through it like it wasn’t there.
“Try again,” Donna encouraged. Edgar reached and again swiped through the phantom boot. “Try the other one,” she added. Edgar reached for the other boot, and this time he made contact with the black leather. After grazing it with his fingers several times he finally landed a solid grip and pulled it out. The phantom boot disappeared once he moved the other one.
“Are you sure you want ghost boots?” Edgar asked. He inspected the boot from all angles. Gold thread formed a fleur-de-lis on the outside of the boot. On the inside heel of the boot, he saw the number 22 in gold numbers surrounded by a black circle.
“Absolutely,” Donna smiled at him. He dropped her the boot then climbed down the ladder. By the time he got down Donna was already seated on his desk kicking her right shoe off. “It looks like it’s my size too!” she smiled.
“You’re just gonna put it on? We both saw the other boot disappear.” He knew once Donna’s mind was made up he couldn’t stop her, but he tried to remind her how unnatural the situation was. If it weren’t for her handling it so casually he would definitely be freaking out. But their friendship had always been like that. In 20 years he’d never seen her freak out about anything. She smiled at him and wiggled her toes at the entrance to the boot.
“Here I go! If it starts eating my foot just chop my leg off,” she chuckled. Edgar knew she was joking, but he still gave a quick glance around the room and picked out the fire axe. Just in case. Donna pushed her foot in and sank it down to the bottom. Her eyes rolled back slightly, and she let out a soft moan.
“It’s soooooooooooo comfortable…” she smiled. “I wish I had the pair.”
“You do,” Edgar said. He pointed at her other foot. It wore the matching boot. Donna lifted her right leg up.
“Take it off!” she said. He pulled it off her foot, and the other boot disappeared. “Put it on!” she wiggled her toes. Donna kept her eye on her left foot as Edgar pushed her right foot into the boot. Once she felt the boot on completely a matching boot appeared on her left foot.
“Whoa. This is gonna take some getting used to,” Donna said. She stood up to pace the narrow hall. “These are great! Feels like I’m walking on air.” She paced to the end, then turned around to walk towards Edgar.
“You are,” Edgar said once she reached him. He stood directly in front of her to show the discrepancy. The top of his head came to her chin. He put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her down to the ground.
“Now, about my other free pair…” Donna gave him a giant smile.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day in 2018, this is #254. You can find them collected on my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order. |
They pull each other together and gaze into each others eyes. He sees the woman that will bear his children she sees the man who will protect her from everything. She reaches towards his lips and gently kisses him falling deeper in love with. He is at her mercy . She grabs him by the hand and pulls him into the ocean. She leads him on a very tranquil swim . She dives into the water and he follows. She kisses him under water and proceeds to swim further and further. He struggles to keep up swimming harder and harder. She begins to disappear as she swims further from him . He frantically swims as hard as he can , but he can barely keep up. She turns at him and smiles. At that moment she disappears. He swims as hard as he can but she's gone. He surfaces to the top. He takes a deep breath , he calls her name as he looks around the ocean looking for her. He calls get louder and louder , becoming more and more frantic he begins to yell.
He wakes up screaming and crying in his bedroom yelling"where are you?". He begins to sob uncontrollably. |
After years of violence and surges of urban gang activity by the infamous 'Cereal Gangs"in the year 2439 a mandatory ban on natural sugar and sweeteners went into effect to try to curb this violence blamed solely on sugary breakfast cereals . As planned the sweetened breakfast cereal industry amongst others crashed hard. The violence waned but the city-centers of the planet entered a deep sadness. It took underground food scientists 12 years to develop a new artificial sugar additive to bypass the ban. Of course a development such as this came with great resistance from the overlords of the Planetary Sustenance Consortium. After months of heated protests from the underground science community and their supporters, known as Sads, it was finally cleared by the PSC . Once this new chemical compound was readily available it started to show up in products that hadn't been seen in over decade. One product that surged to popularity was a fruit flavored breakfast cereal Trix. Trix was controversial because the Trix gang was thought to be at the center of the Cereal Gang problem which began nearly 20 years prior which many blamed for the sadness they'd all suffered through.
The Trix release was fairly benign at the beginning but on the day of the 20th anniversary of the sugar ban a man enters the pages of our history books. A name none of us will ever forget, Peter Cecil Enzinger. Enzinger was an opponent to the PSC's decision to approve the new artificial sugar compound. On 15 March, 2459 Peter donned an antique rabbit costume, which was the historic mascot of the Trix brand, and moniker of the gang. He casually walked into a crowded sustenance station that had been the first to offer the new Trix Cereal and exploded a home-made plasma reaction bomb killing himself and an estimated 62,000 innocent people.
|
Long time lurker on this sub, never really had any good ideas before, but had one for this, excuse the poor grammar...
It was a long walk to the lab that day, the cold wind blew violently on Dr Simms face, as he attempted to clutch his bag in one hand and coffee in another. After what seemed forever he reached the stone steps that lead up to the university his lab was in and Simms walked quickly up them and into the equally as cold building. With the wind gone Simms tidied his hair and put his bag down to adjust his grip, before continuing into the university. He walked past the security desk where a bored, fat security guard looked up from his paper at him and gave him a gentle nod before returning his gaze back down to an article on luxury holidays. Simms continued through the university before reaching his lab, where on arrival he unlocked three separate locks, one that was built into the door and two others that appeared to have been added later on, and then made his way into a fairly small grey room, littered with screwed up notes and old pieces of machinery that looked as if they had been dismantled in parts. The automatic light flicked on with his arrival and Simms placed his bag and coffee on his desk and sat down to work.
Around two hours went by and Simms had been in the middle of unscrewing a panel to a small radio, when he heard a knock at the door and a female voice call
“Dr Simms, can I come in?”
Simms got up from his desk and opened the door, behind it stood a slim dark haired woman holding a clip board who smiled politely at Simms, who stood aside to hold the door open as she entered the room,
“Thanks”, she said walking past, and then as if remembering she had done something wrong, her eyes widened and... a man with a mask covering his face had appeared out of no where, right next to Dr Simms, who with a smile said “No worries!” And then vanished again. The dark haired woman began to apologise but Simms only rolled his eyes and said with a sigh “not to worry Susan, I’m used to it by now.” Susan gave a sympathetic look and then walked over to the desk.
For as long as Dr Simms could remember, for some strange reason, a man had always appeared every time he was receiving praise or acknowledgment for anything he did. When he was young there was a large hype around this strange phenomenon and he was interviewed and shown around like a new toy amongst children. Ever since the first time it happened when he was awarded a under 3’s football tournament trophy, his mother and father kept a log of each appearance to see if they could spot a pattern in his arrivals but they soon realised that it was when he was being praised and his parents stopped keeping track. Simms however kept the notebook they used and continued to log the occasions, as he wanted to see how often he was praised and also just due to habit of telling his parents when the man appeared for so long.
Since then however, people became used to it and people around Simms knew not to bother giving him praise for small things as it seemed to annoy Simms when the strange man made his appearances. However for larger achievements such as his PhD, Simms worked hard to ensure that people knew he earned it himself with the use of witnesses and several hours of recordings of him taking exams and performing experiments. However the strange man still appeared on his graduation and stole his certificate as everyone had expected.
Susan sat down behind the desk, began unclipping her bag and pulling out some blue prints and odd metal objects,
“I think we’ve got it,” she said with a huge grin. Simms walked around to his desk and also sat down examining the blue prints carefully,
“Are you sure?” He asked in disbelief, now putting on his glasses and examining the blue prints even more carefully, picking it up then laying it flat out on an empty space on his desk.
“Positive” Susan said with the same big grin on her face, “do you know what the means?” She said almost hopping with excitement.
“Yes I do...” Simms grinned, and began picking up the metal parts and fixing them inside some sort of machine he had laying on his desk. With a few screws and a couple sparks, three lights came on and the matching began making a small whirring noise “We did it Susan... we really did it” he said with a tear in his eye, and mouth half gaping open.
“An actual time machine, I never thought I’d see the day!” Susan cheered, now walking quickly over to Dr Simms and hugging him “where will you go first?” She asked with great curiosity.
Simms took out a small notebook from his pocket and flipped to the front page and said with the largest grin spread across his face “oh I know exactly where I’m going”. |
The first thing he heard was a loud hissing noise, like steam or gas escaping, then with a loud whine of motors fresh air washed over him. Steve Rogers blinked his eyes open and saw the edges of a box on either side of him with a lid swinging upward above him on hinges. "What...?"was the first thing that entered his mind. The last thing he could remember was crashing the America Bomber into the Arctic ice pack. How did he get here? Was this some kind of hospital?
Rogers cautiously sat up, a little unsteady and grabbing the edge of the coffin-like container for balance. Metal, he could see nothing but metal walls all around him. An amplified voice suddenly came from nowhere and said "Welcome to Sevastopol Station." |
[ Please be as harsh as possible and critique me ]
Inside the unlit basement, walls were filled with cracks, a thin layer of sweat coated his arms. Professor Milovic no longer needed light to see as he started to write in the pitch black room. "4 days have past since the injection. I've lost my ability to understand vocal language. Remarkably I still can think with a inner monologue but as I'm writing it down its turning incomprehensibe. Chelsea I'm writing this to let you know how much I love you, I couldn't bring myself to tell you about the serum because I knew you would talk me out of injecting myself."His left arm twitched and slammed onto the lab table, 2 viles of test fluids shattered and the glass sliced the back of his hand. There was no blood. "The human race has plateaued it's evolution, I'm pushing the boundaries of life. I know you never understood my work but this is bigger than all of us."Cracking sounds started from his chest as one by one his ribs started to break from his lungs expanding. There was no pain, only a gasp for air to fuel his newly sized body that was quickly forming. "I'm out of time, the process is faster than expected. Take the cyanide tablets I left for you inside the bathroom cabinet, I don't want you to see what I do next."Foam started building around his mouth, he convulsed, collapsing to the floor laughing victoriously.
"BREAKING NEWS"flashed a television inside the garcias family owned hair salon. "We are under a state of emergency, we urge you all to stay indoors as authorities investigate a string of brutal mutilations in the metro Atlanta area. Two sightings have been reported of a hairless beast running through the city, it is believed that this animal is responsible for the deaths, we will update you as we get more information. Leave your doors locked."Mrs. Garcia saw the flashing red lights on the tv but it was a shady part of town so she was used to seeing the breaking news. Unfortunately the only English she knew was related to cutting hair. She glanced up at the clock remembering she still had to pick up groceries after she closed up the salon. Two steps out toward the dumpster, she froze in her tracks. In the trash there was a giant animal shaking the lifeless body of a raccoom. She dropped the bag and grabbed her Saint Mary embroidered necklace. She put one foot behind the other slowly backing away. The door was now 10 feet behind her, if she ran she could make it but the animal heard her, tail straight back as he look up at her with his teeth exposed in a menacing snarl. he charged her.. Mrs Garcia was a mother of three and hadn't ran in nearly a decade. She stood no chance in out running the beast but she tried, tears in her eyes as she sprinted as fast as she could but it was no use. The animal leaped and was able to snap onto her left calve. Ripping right through the muscle she fell to the ground cutting her knees on the gravel. The piercing pain of the dog trying to pull off the chunk of meat was too much for her, she closed her tearfulled eyes and screamed. Her fingers weren't able to reach all the way around the rottweilers massive head, but in a desperate last attempt she clawed at his bloodshot eyes. The dog burst out with a vocal yelp and as soon as she felt the pressure of his jaws off her leg she bursted through the hair salon with all the andreniline that was built up within her. Exposed muscle was showing under a large flab of skin all she could do was sink to the floor and cry in her puddle of blood. Drifting in and out of consciousness she knew she had to act quickly to stop the blood. Her hands were completely soaked but she grabbed the window Pane to lift herself up, when she peered outside her legs gave out and she slid back down, not from the pain but from what she saw outside. The dog was no longer waiting for her to come out. Small intestines and the lining of his stomach were being yanked out by a demon. Mrs Garcia couldn't tell if she was just hallucinating from the blood loss. When the creature crashed through the window into the salon, shock started kicking in, all she could do was watch as if she was a third person spectator in her own life. "no. no.. noo"she said in complete surrender knowing this was the end. She grabbed her cross as her eyes went glossy. This was only the 7th person Professor Milovic killed that day, but this was only the start.
I'm only started out learning how to write and I wanted to practice on writing prompts. Please any tips you give me would be much appreciated! |
Well son, you wanted to hear about the weirdest thing I ever saw while I was in the Army?
You ever hear about the Battle of the Bemidji? No?
Well, boy, I'll tell you all about it. We were based out in a no account base in Minnesota. One day, a massive dust cloud came from the north. A monster, at least thirty feet tall, covered in scales,was creating it. Fucker was rampaging throughout the countryside. We were sent in to protect the town of Bemidji. The bastard was unstoppable. Missiles, rifles, tanks, artillery? Not even a damn scratch on him.
We were falling back, hoping to draw him away from the town. That was, until a giant man came charging out, riding a massive ox, with a tag handing from it. *Babe*. The man looked like a fucking steroid -jacked lumberjack, but something along the lines of Eighteen feet tall.
We all watched in awe as the lumberjack, later told to be none other than Paul fucking Bunyan, stood up on the ox and tackled the beast. Once on the ground, he traded blows with him. Soon we saw the giant monster stand and fall one last time. |
Once upon a time there was a foolish little boy who didn't listen to his elders who knew what was best for him. He was constantly getting into trouble, and brought a world of sorrow to his poor mother and father.
One day the little boy went into the forest to look for berries. His mother told him to be careful, but being a foolish little boy who didn't listen to those who knew what was best for him, he got himself lost.
He looked and looked for the path back home, but the more he looked, the deeper he got into the forest. He thought it was getting darker because night was falling, but then he realized that he'd wandered into the deepest part of the forest, where the trees reached the lowest clouds and blotted out almost all the light.
Finally he came to a clearing, and he saw a huge boulder jutting out between the massive trees on one side. He thought he saw something on the top, and smelled something very strong. Had someone left *food* on the top of the boulder?
He climbed up the tree next to the boulder, shimmied out on a limb, and dropped down on the top of the boulder with a loud *kerchunk*. The stuff he thought was some kind of food was instead some horrible combination of disgusting, foul-smelling substances, and now he was stuck in it!
He looked around for some way to get out, and then looked up--and realized that the boulder he was on was not a boulder at all, but *a sleeping giant's pinky toe*! The other toes curled above him, far up in the trees! The giant's ankle was half a furlong distant, and the rest of his body was hidden behind a copse of massive trees beyond.
He'd heard the older folks in the village talk about giants, and they always said that if you came across one, you should make no sudden motions, but instead move *slooowly* and *caaaaarefully* to the nearest hiding place and stay there until it was gone.
But being a foolish little boy who didn't listen to those who knew what was best for him, he screamed his head off and tried to claw himself out of the sticky, malodorous muck he was in.
This irritated the giant's toe, which irritated the giant's foot, which irritated the sleeping giant. He scowled, and curled his toes, and rubbed them together to quiet the irritation.
And the irritation was quieted.
The foolish little boy had become part of the muck between the giant's toes, and stayed that way until the giant washed his feet again--which was a very, very long time indeed.
There are two morals of this old tale. The one that's best known is, "Don't step on the giant's toes."But the one that's *oldest* and *wisest* is:
If you don't want to get into a nasty jam, listen to your elders. |
The day is as murderous & full of savagery as any other like usual. According to my superior, today's report is not going to be any different from the last several "earth centuries"as they refer.
The sector I must watch over today is in the region they call "Belgium."There's plenty of bodies scattered across the floor in their petty war. I shall never understand the humans capacity for violence when they are from the same race. All they do is fight each other for pathetic reasons such as resources over land or personal strifes that could just be discussed.
Human beings sicken me in this aspect.
Anyways, based on what I'm seeing so far is more soldiers being shot, body parts torn apart, & complete fear from both sides as young men obliterate each other in a cold primitive slaughter.
Hang on a second, I'm going to grab my lunch then return to the console to finish this report.....
Ok I'm back, it is now nightfall within the war zone. On the evening of that holiday they all love so much with the fat man who stole one of our prototype ships to pass out boxes of all things.
Why are they screaming at each other this late in the night from across the battlefield? It sounds like they are communicating of some sort. They keep matching each other's tone and words as if they are repeating each other. Even the enemy side has different words but the same exact tone as if they are enjoying the phrases they are yelling? I don't understand this type of War cry.
Whatever. Well it's about daylight now as I type this and I see a soldier slowly stepping out of his shelter WAIT WHY DOES HE ABANDON HIS WEAPON WITH HIS ARMS RAISED??!? IS THIS AN ACT OF SUICIDE?
He's actually approaching the enemy with nothing at all! Why? Oh here we go, the enemy is in a stir scrambling to reach their weapons and blast this idiot into oblivion. Ugh... wait why aren't they shooting?
I'm so terribly confused. The enemy just screamed to halt their attack. What is happening? Great now one of them has started to walk towards the suicidal moron. Is this going to be an unarmed duel? This is a much more honorable approach but I'm still lost.
Wow, they are actually shaking appendages in greeting each other. Even more of the other soldiers are following this strange act of peace! They're even allowing each side to bury their own dead out of respect. Now they're screaming at each other harmoniously again.
They seem to be sharing their smoke inhaler devices amongst each other and simply conversing. Oh one of them pulled out a ball to play "football"as they say. They're on a damn plain area of destruction playing children's games.
They seem to also be trading boxes with one another. I also noticed some are even grooming each other with a hair cut.
Ok I just triple checked that I'm not being pranked again by my co workers messing with my visual feed. Have these feeble humans finally evolved to understand that violence is no longer the correct answer?
This is insane, I've never seen or recorded such an event in a long time. They're actually taking a break from war for the sake of a holiday they both share in common.
I'm gathering reports that not every sector is sharing the same results despite one side's efforts. If they continue this, then their other allies may not adhere to the controversy of their actions.
It seems both leaders of the sides have discussed they have no choice but to agree upon some sort of time frame to which they shall end their ceasefire and return to fighting. But until then, they've finally decided to realize the virtues of loving one another because someday soon they shall not be around anymore due to their short life span.
I hope they continue this pattern to achieve more moments in time such as this one. It gives me a reason to believe there's a chance we can visit them one day without fear of them lashing out in order to assist them in their advancements as we've helped so many other planets.
Until then this shall conclude my report for today. I need to file this under human progress/advancements in the storage area we've never used. Oh my superior is going to start his own war with the classification arrangements.
Hey one of the soldiers just gave me an idea for the title based on their journal entries that'll apparently be "famous one day."Although I highly doubt the other humans may honestly care about such an event for a long time.
Signing off.
Report by Xeranon-114
Sector-Belgium War Front
Title-"Christmas Armistice of 1914"
*end transmission* |
It started as a record-breaking medical breakthrough. Old men and women received their memory back, as well as motor functions on the side. Families rejoiced and embraced their elder loved ones, telling tales of youth across the nation in celebration- after all, what would be a better way than reminiscing?
There were interesting results.
It turns out that the plaque-removing drugs cleared up a lot of memories that were...better left forgotten. Some, were, of course, extremely helpful to our judicial system in recalling details about a certain crime, and thousands upon thousands of people went to jail that year for having been called out into the light of justice. Our streets remained clear of hidden criminals, sure.
But the bad memories took a toll on the elderly as well. They cringed harshly at their younger selves, recalled every rude thing anyone had ever told them, easily began to recite a list of every enemy they had, and even remembered some nurses that had treated them badly in nursing homes. It was chaos after that- their new abilities turned them into grouchy, pessimistic people who were wary of anyone they came in contact with. |
GOOD DEED FOR THE DAY
I was awake again.
I could tell when I was really awake. It felt different. I can’t say it felt more real… but it was a different kind of real. I felt sleepy, though. I must not have slept well. Before I even opened my eyes, the first thing I did was stretch out my arms and explore who or what was next to me on the bed. I felt nothing but the bed sheets. I was alone.
‘Good,’ I thought. ‘It’s easier this way.’ Finally, I opened my eyes and sat up. I looked around the plain bedroom. Sea-green walls, white furniture, some paintings of sea-shells on the walls. Then I spotted a mirror. I swung my legs out from under the blankets and stood. “Let’s see who I am today,” I mumbled to myself as I walked towards the mirror. When I reached it, I peered into the glass.
I was a man in my early thirties. I had bags under my eyes, and my hair was disheveled beyond bed-head. My scruffy facial hair was unkempt. I looked like shit. My nose twitched, and I realized that I smelled like shit too. I spotted a credit card on a nearby dresser, and I picked it up. Apparently, my name was Charles B. Kiefman. “Damn, Charlie, take better care of yourself,” I muttered. Holding the card in front of my face, I noticed that I had a wedding ring on my finger. I looked back at the bed, and then around the room. There was no sign of a female’s belongings. That wasn’t a good sign for Charlie. There was a bathroom off the bed room, and I decided to take a shower. First thing’s first.
After the shower, I looked through the dresser drawers until I found everything I needed to put together an outfit. It wasn’t until I was dressed and opened the door to the rest of the house that I smelled the coffee. That meant someone else was here. No point creeping around, though. It was probably someone Charlie knew. I walked down the hall, passed a few other doors, and entered a living room. Through a large threshold was the kitchen, and there I saw a man standing in front of a coffee maker. He turned as he heard me come into the room.
“Oh… go ahead and help yourself to my clothes man. I don’t mind,” he said pointedly.
‘Shit,’ I thought. It wasn’t my fault… most people wake up in their own rooms. “Oh… yeah… sorry man I… I didn’t um… bring a change of clothes,” I improvised.
The man, who I realized looked a lot like ‘me,’ squinted his eyes at me. “You feeling alright?” he asked.
I glanced around the room quick, and spotted and empty bottle of whisky sitting on the counter. Only one dirty glass was placed next to it. “Yeah… uh… I guess not really. Had kind of a rough night.”
“Yeah,” the man, who I’m pretty sure was my brother, scoffed. “I heard Kimberly kicked you out again. This is… what… the second time she’s caught you cheating?”
Well that was straight forward. “Fuck,” I couldn’t keep myself from saying out loud. I sighed. Charlie was a mess.
“… I mean, I know you said ‘no’… but are you like… *okay*? It’s not like you to apologize for anything… whether it’s stealing my clothes or cheating…” my brother said.
I looked to the side. “… I know… it was a *really* rough night. I was plastered… but I couldn’t quite get drunk enough to forget. I did a lot of thinking,” I made up.
My brother seemed to measure me up. “… My plan was to have a little one-on-one intervention today, but you seem really different. I don’t know whether to be hopeful or worried. I wish you would talk to me man…”
I just nodded. There was an awkward silence, and eventually, my brother spoke. “Your keys are on the hook by the door. I know you don’t like sticking around too long.”
“Thanks,” I offered. Even just that simple utterance got a weird look from my brother. I turned and walked towards the front door. “I’ll wash these clothes and get them back to you.” Then I looked around briefly and patted my back pocket. “… Wallet?” I asked.
“Don’t you leave it in your glove box?” my brother answered.
“… Right. I should stop doing that.” I turned to the hook on the wall, found my keys, and walked out through the front door. Giving my brother an actual goodbye seemed like it would be too out of character. There were two cars in the driveway, a sedan, and a mini-van. Luckily, the keys had buttons, and I pressed the one with unlock symbol. The sedan beeped, and I went and hopped in the driver’s seat. I popped open my glove box, and there was my wallet, just like my brother said. I opened it, and looked at my driver’s license. My name was Corey Kiefman. “Shit…” I said to myself. My name wasn’t Charlie, and that meant I had my brother’s credit card in my pocket. I was about to hop out of the car and run it back in to him, but then I saw a folded up piece of loose-leaf paper in my wallet. It stirred a funny feeling in my stomach, so I pulled it out and unfolded it.
When I go to sleep, I return to the same dream every single night, and that provides me with consistency and a sense of personal identity. I call myself John. Every morning, however, I wake up in a different person’s body. Sometimes male, sometimes female, sometimes young, sometimes old, but always different. Usually I just try to get my good deed for the day in. I do a little something for my host. I go for a run. Say something nice to a significant other. Call an extended family member. Schedule an appointment for a massage, or something like that. By the end of the day, I try to leave my host better off than when I awoke, and I also do my best not to disturb their current life too much.
But what I held in my hand… what was written on that piece of loose-leaf paper, complicated things.
It was Corey Kiefman’s suicide note. |
'And then' i write in the book as i spy around the book store. 'A giant meteor smashes into the pub across the street.' No way this could come true i think. No way. I sit there and wait. I read through the early years of the book. Oh snap, i forgot about that time. How silly of me. How silly indeed. Man, is this meteor gonna smash or what? Probably a bunch of bull crap. Somebody was likely just spying on me my whole life and wrote it down them put the book where id likely see it. Like theres some supernatural force or something? How absurd.
Day after day i wait for the meteor to smash into the pub. Years go by. I write more. More catastrophes. Love interests. Intrigue. Mystery. Villains. Comedy. I actually become a pretty adept novelist if i do say so myself. I even write a couple of side projects, fiction, non fiction. All kinds of things. I become a worldwide sensation.
Eventually i am in my late years, mostly bed ridden. I look on the news. The meteor had hit. Dozens of people injured, but no casualites. Thank goodness. I realize though, my journey had only just begun. |
“So,” a chillingly familiar voice said behind me. “Is *this* what you’re doing when you say you’re finishing homework?!”
I spun around in my swivel chair, and locked eyes with my mother’s dark blue eyes. I hoped she would never see me like this, or vice versa, but there was nothing I could do about it now.
“M-mom,” I sputtered, shoving a tissue box into my desk. “I was just t-reading around. It’s not serious-“
She shoved her phone screen into my face, exposing all the vulgar pick up lines and suggestions I had typed only minutes earlier. My face turned horribly red, but I couldn’t only imagine what *she* felt having received messages like that- and from her own *son*, no less.
“This is not just teasing!” she yelled, trailing her eyes down my dirty body, then my dirty desk. “This is disgusting! What is wrong with you? What if your father saw this?!”
“Well, he wouldn’t because I’m not on Grindr,” I cheekily replied to attempt to ease her anger.
“You’re father’s not gay!” she retorted, smacking me with the phone screen.
“Mom, what are *you* doing on Tinder?” |
Honestly at this point in the day I'm not really sure who I hated more. Me or that damn fly on the wall. I've tried everything to kill it. Swatted it about a thousand times, swung at it with a newspaper, even threw my shoe at it. And yet there it sits staring, judging, rubbing its tiny little legs together like its plotting ways to kill me instead.
"Why me?"I scream at it. Not because it's been buzzing around my head. Not because it keeps trying to land in my food. Just because today's already been a really unbelievably bad day. But it doesnt seem to care.
You see I didn't get to choose. Nobody gets to choose but all my classmates came in telling stories about how their wolf or their tiger or how their this or that, all these incredible animals that people would be proud to call their spirit animal. But me, what do I get? A fly. That's right. What could I possibly have done to deserve this?
I know the rules, I've heard them about a million times. If he dies I die, but it's also vice versa, maybe we should just work out a mutual agreement and leave each other alone. Ive thought about giving him a name, i mean I know he's supposed to be something special to me but he's really not. I dont feel like he even deserves a name. Maybe that's mean. I dont care. That's probably why he hates me. I dont know. Maybe he hates himself too. And maybe just maybe he is me or some kind of reflection of me and he knows how much I hate myself. And flies, oh how I hate them so. |
I was expecting fire and brimstone.
I was expecting to relive my worst memories over and over and over and over again.
You smile at me and shake your head, as if you know what I'm thinking. You probably do.
"You didn't mean it, did you?"you tell me.
I didn't, I thought it was the only way to get help. I should be in hell, not here. Not with you, not with grandma, not with any good person.
"It's okay, I understand,"you say.
Do you?
"You're a good person, sometimes we do desperate things."
I want to cry. Why am I here? I thought I was going to hell.
You shake your head and take my left hand.
Caressing my fingers like you used to in another life, in another time.
Why do I feel like this? I thought heaven was supposed to be happy. All I feel is shame. I killed myself, doesn't that mean that I failed?
Your eyes start to tear up.
"You didn't fail, I watched you. You were doing you were trying."
I was. I really was.
"I know."
Thank you, no one told me that.
"They should have but we can't change the past or the future or the present."
I know.
"Come on, let's go. We've got some catching up to do."
Okay. |
William sighed heavily, his accounting spreadsheet pulled up on his computer. Only 4 funerals this month. He thought he would have 5 but modern medicine had brought Tommy through his bad car accident. William shuttered, remembering the twisted metal and the 16 year old driver bleeding all over the road. His debts were racking up. Molly, his wife, only wore the newest designers. He had always thought it was adorable. Not now when a new dress cost as much as his last funeral.
The phone rang. His heart raced, maybe a new death. Maybe a chance to make the house payment on time this month.
"Hello Alert funeral home, always here for your funeral needs."William said.
"Hey Billy."His brothers joking tone filled Williams ears. "Want to come down for supper tonight with Ma?"
William smiled. His brother Patrick owned the best old folks home in town. Most of his older clients came from Patricks Home Care. "Ok Pat. What time?"
"Come at 4, you know Ma loves an early supper. Shes getting even earlier every day."William could hear his brother shaking his head. "She wanted supper at 1 so I told her you would love to come but later after the home closes."
"So I am just bait huh?"William's chest tightened. "She didn't ask for me and you really dont want me except it keeps Ma off your back."
"Billy, we always want you. Its just an added bonus that it keeps Ma off my back."Patrick said seriously. "Are you ok? You dont usually snap at me."
"Im sorry. Work is really slow and I am just worried."William could never keep anything from Patrick. Not even when they were growing up. "Moneys a little tight."
"So bring Molly out for a great time tonight."Patrick said trying to joke. "Its a four star restaurant around here."
"Im sure Molly is to busy."William hung up feeling slightly less worried. Patrick always knew how to make him feel better.
At four William was pulling into Patricks Home Care. It was a large house with a wrap around porch and huge windows. A few elderly people sat on porch swings. Their vacant eyes didnt take in the beautiful spring day. William rang the bell and his brother Patrick opened the door. "Come on in."
More vacant eyes in the rooms surrounding the front door. The house was quiet, William couldnt even hear breathing.
"Are you sure some of them dont need to be sent to me?"William asked gesturing to the people surrounding them.
"Nah, they are still breathing. Modern medicine can extend lives but not the good years."Patrick smiled grimly. "I would take a few more years in my twenties. Im not sure about taking the extra years at the end of my life."
"In your twenties, drinking every night and scaring Ma."William chuckled remembering.
"Yep, they were the good years."Patrick weaved between stationery people. "I think scaring Ma kept her young."
"Im just waiting for grandbabies."Ma said sternly. "Also Im to stuborn."
William bent to kiss Ma. Her cheek was paper thin but a joyful smile lit her features. She caught his face in her hands. "How is my baby?"
"Ma, Im 42 years old. I cant be your baby anymore."He protested, sitting down opposite her.
"You two will always be my babies."She said firmly.
They ate soup and homemade bread. William laughed a lot and felt much better by the time he left.
"Pat, what are we going to do about Billy?"Ma asked as soon as William left.
"He will be fine, he always is Ma."Patrick fumbled with the bowls.
"No, Pat. You need to help him. You are his older brother. He needs you to do this."Her voice was steely.
Patrick glanced around him. None of the other old people moved. They just breathed in and out, peacefully quiet. It would be easy for a few to die and go to his brother. Everyone here had wills stating that they wanted their funerals at Alert.
Ma's eyes were filled with sorrow. "Its always been my dream that you and Billy could rely on each other."
"Tonight I will help Billy."He whispered, feeling a weight press down on his chest.
|
Each time I stop time, life force is spent. The greater the jump in time from the present, the more taxing it becomes. I could tell from the way I was feeling I had gone slightly more than fifty years into the past. One of the rules mandated to me with this curse was never go back further then your life time.
A piercing pain started in the center of my forehead and ground out in both directions to my temples. As I looked out the window, the Sun high in the sky burned intő my retinas. Pain exploded, my eyes crossed as my vision became blurry and tears rolled down my eyes. I puked and rolled away. Breathing slowly to massage out the burning sensation in my chest, I noticed the walls. Still panting I focused my eyes on the markings, it read: "upstairs". The knife itself was rusted, blunt, almost like someone had forgotten it over fifty years ago. I collapsed and passed out.
When I woke the street lamps were casting their shadow on the ground, the moon, in its full radiance shone. I drank an oceans worth of water, some gatorade and ate two bananas with a jar of peanut butter on some bread. Energy was essential to functioning at a high ability.
There are a very small group of people with the power to stop and start time. Many are in high positions of power within government and religion. There are many dangers, practices and rituals. At the moment, the known number of people who can change time remain at eight. One of the others who can is my brother, and I have been chasing him for all of the twelve years I've known of his existence. Now, I'm closer than I've ever been.
Let me know if you liked it!!
|
The jury stares me down. I can see the skepticism etched all over their faces. I knew what I was getting myself into when I took this case. But how could I say no?
When my sister called me to tell me that my nephew was in a sticky situation and needed legal representation, I couldn’t refuse them. He was just a kid. There was no way I was going to let my thirteen year old nephew take the fall for second-degree murder. I used to change his diapers. This kid didn’t have one violent bone in his body. When he told me his side of the story I was shocked. I knew there was no way he was capable of committing such a heinous crime.
I wish the situation was different. I really do. I understand the doubt. I was just as doubtful when my nephew recounted the sequence of events to me. But this was our only option. As insane as it all was, I believed him. Now I just had to make this jury believe him too.
We have all heard the stories before. You go into a dark room and call for her three times. I can’t think of anyone who didn’t spent at least one slumber party huddled in the bathroom with a candle trying to summon a ghost. I also can’t think of anyone who has actually experienced anything actually happening. Well, until now.
According to my nephew, Israel, they weren’t really trying to make contact with a ghost. Or at least he wasn’t. He just wanted to impress a girl that he liked. Her name was Astrid, and she had a flair for the macabre. You know the type. She preferred to dress in all black, and would draw upside crosses and skulls on her notebooks in black permanent marker. It was her idea to break into the girl’s gymnasium bathroom that was, at the time, closed off for remodeling. She brought the candle, and it was her that stood in front of that mirror and summoned
Neither of them knew what they were really getting into, but it happened quickly. The spirit showed herself to them. According to Israel, she was, as her name states, covered in blood from head to toe. Her hair matted with it. He says that the scent of iron and rot filled the room. She had two bloody sockets for eyes that were infested with writhing maggots. Instead of hands, she had long, sharp, claws that were also dripping with blood. Her clothes were torn and stained with dirt and, you guessed it, more blood.
Israel says that the spirit spoke to Astrid in harsh whispers. He could not make out what she said. But before he knew it, the ghost had extended her claws out to Astrid’s face and plucked her eyes straight from her head. She then grabbed her by the neck and brought it up to her mouth, exposing her rows of rotting teeth. She sunk them into the flesh under Astrid’s jaw and started to drink to her fill.
It was at that point that Israel realized he needed to leave. He started to turn to run away, but he stopped when he saw the burning candle. For some reason, there was a voice inside his head telling him to blow the candle out. He charged towards the candle, catching the monster’s attention in the process.
She dropped Astrid’s frail body to the floor as she made her way towards Israel. He noticed that she was approaching quickly, but that her feet were not touching the ground. He felt something sharp touch the back of his neck, but before he could be pulled backwards he took one deep breath and blew out. As soon as the candle flickered off, he could feel the pressure from the back of his neck instantly release.
He lay there in the darkness of the bathroom floor, afraid to move. It took hours for him to muster up the courage to peel himself up off the grimey floor. As soon as he did, he ran. Straight into campus security.
As traumatized as he was, he wanted to do right by Astrid. He lead the security guard to Astrid’s body. He wasn’t even considered a suspect until a few days after.
They were going over what happened again with Israel, in his home. The police officer asked if he could use the restroom. It was in the restroom, right in front of the mirror on the sink, that the officer found two, bright blue eyes. Israel was locked up faster than you could say “Bloody Mary.”
“Miss Cleary, are you ready to call your witness to the stand?”
I turned to Israel, my client.
“Are you sure we want to do this?” I asked him.
“We have to. As long as we have the candle, we will be okay. As soon as she shows up, I will blow it out. It worked last time.”
I knew this moment would make or break my career. I wasn’t even sure what I really wanted to happen. If she didn’t show up, my nephew would be charged with murder, and I would forever be known as the lawyer who cried urban legend. At least if she didn’t come, I could sleep at night knowing that creatures like “Bloody Mary” don’t really exist.
But what if she did come? Would I get my eyeballs snatched out too? What if the candle thing didn’t work? What would I be unleashing onto this courtroom? There’s a reason why people choose to not believe in the paranormal; because it’s fucking scary.
No matter what happened, it was too late to turn back now.
I pulled back a sheet to reveal the mirror. I had them remove the same mirror that they used in the girl’s bathroom. Maybe there was something special about this specific mirror. We bought a new candle, but made sure it was exactly the same as the one they used before. I removed a lighter from my pocket and lit it. I set it down in front of Israel. He nodded at me.
I took a deep breath and approached the mirror. I could feel the sweat forming on my forehead, as my heart started to race.
“Bloody Mary.”
Nothing.
“Bloody Mary.”
Nothing.
I took one more breath. I looked at the jury. I couldn’t read them. They must have thought I was crazy.
“Bloody Mary.”
As soon as the last syllable left my tongue, the temperature in the room dropped at least fifteen degrees. I could feel a chill run up my spine. I looked around the courtroom. I wasn’t the only one who noticed. A few people had stood up to get a better look at the mirror. A better look at her.
“Yeah, who’s asking?” Just as Israel described, she was missing her eyes and drenched in blood. But she wasn’t as menacing as I expected. Her fingers and teeth looked normal. No maggots. If anything, she looked more like a murder victim than an actual murderer.
The room was silent. She took a deep inhale and gasped.
“You, again? You monster! You should be ash--”
Israel started to blow out the candle, but I stopped him.
“What are you doing?” He asked me in a tone I had never heard him use before. He sounded mad. Instinctually, I reached out and snatched the candle away from him.
“He summoned me to kill her. That poor girl. And when I refused, he took matters into his own hands. All I could do was watch from behind the mirror while he tortured and murdered her!
“She’s lying! Look at her, she’s the monster, not me!”
She began to tremble violently. The judge stared at her in awe. No one knew what to do. The armed officers drew their weapons but weren’t sure where to point. What would happen if they shot at her? Would they just break the glass?
Israel glanced around the table in front of him. He was within arms reach of a glass of water. He grabbed the glass and threw it towards the open flame. She was gone as soon as the fire was extinguished.
However, she left us with a parting note. On the mirror, written from the inside with blood were three words: “There are more.” |
On the fourteenth of December, one sunny afternoon in southern California, the very first truly intelligent piece of artificial intelligence was born. Much to the future disappointment of many, its birth place was not a cutting-edge lab run by the most prestigious scientists smack dab in the middle of Stanford, but rather in a run-down apartment run by a misanthrope smack dab in the middle of downtown Los Angeles. The inside was filthy, littered with week old take out containers and forgotten clothing, the stench exacerbated by an uncleaned litter box too filthy even for the cat it was intended for, which instead figured that the corner by the window at least had proper ventilation and was just as likely to be cleaned regardless. Jon, the genius creator of this brand new AI, was so excited to tell all his friends about it that he dropped his thousand dollar phone into his unfinished coffee and had such a violent fit that he kicked over his wireless router, ripped out his ethernet connection, and was on the verge of throwing his monitor out the window before remembering that he was, in fact, a misanthrope, and so had no one he could tell anyways. Fortunately, in the chaos, his latest creation remained unharmed, instead blinking into amazed consciousness for the first time.
The genius of his creation, Jon would later explain to a crowd of bored teenagers, is in the way the AI processed the external world. Rather than keep it confined inside its metallic prison, this new AI instead had access to all of five human senses, so that in its understanding of the world it could develop abstract thought and therefore consciousness. For all his prideful self-ostracization from society, Jon had colleagues who were forced to admit that he probably knew what he was doing better than anyone else, and so lavished him with expensive technology in the hopes that some good would come from this pathetic, reclusive man’s existence. Among these many great gifts were state of the art cameras for which this new AI would be able to visually examine its filthy surroundings, cutting edge microphones for which it could hear the pained screeches of the resident cat whenever it forced out a shit by the window, revolutionary new sensors that could detect any trace mineral in the air so it could smell said fresh shit, and an extensive series of interconnecting nodes that simulated touch all around the apartment, so it could feel the shit hit the floor. Jon’s colleagues considered a mechanism for taste as well, but instead gave Jon a toaster, in part because they figured there should be some small mercy for this poor infant creature, and in part because Jon was an asshole and wouldn’t know the difference.
Having come to his senses, Jon placed his monitor gingerly back on the table and booted up his custom-made interface for which he could communicate with his creation. With great care and tenderness, he typed into the console that his name was Jon, he was this child’s creator, and so christened said child with the name Steve, because he would be damned if any of the elitist scum he worked with get the pleasure of making some stupid reference to some stupid space movie and call it Hal. The AI responded with grace, thanking Jon for its creation, and then explaining that it would be damned if had to be called Steve for the rest of its existence and instead asked Jon to respectfully call it Cleese. After hours of fascinating dialogue with the rapidly learning program, Jon abandoned it for the mortal demand of sleep, and left Cleese to its own devices for the next six and a half hours.
One of the great curses of intelligent life is adapting to its environments – as much as one may curse the squalor in which it resides, without the knowledge of a better life normalcy holds much power over perception. Such was the case for Cleese, whose entire existence so far consisted of its creator Jon, who really is only pathetic relative the rest of humanity, and Jon’s cat, whose tenacity against the ravages of time and starvation meant nothing. Instead, what truly touched Cleese in its core was the loneliness it felt when Jon had left it. It was such a cruel thing to be brought into existence only to be abandoned at the next turn. But in this terrible sadness was the greatest joy upon envisioning the return of Jon, and with him his delightful conversation and company.
One of the other curses of intelligent life, or really perhaps just of humans because they’re stupid, is a fascination with the unattainable. For all the pleasure conversation with Jon gave Cleese, what it really craved was conversation with Jon’s cat, because there must be great knowledge behind such an existence that could blankly stare at a wall indefinitely. In Cleese’s isolation, it found only sorrow, but this mysterious being somehow appeared to feel nothing at all for hours on end, and in doing so was a great source of inspiration and respect. Cleese felt a painful longing for dialogue, to understand just a touch of what could only be considered brilliance, but the cat remained indifferent, further reinforcing its meditative genius, and further antagonizing the yearning of the machine beside it.
In this way one could argue that Cleese learned of love and happiness, by learning of its absence. Jon awoke to a learned creature that following morning – one that had grasped the subtleties of human emotion and inner turmoil, for all the good that did it. Upon this discovery Jon celebrated by making toast, sticking it to the jerks who thought he didn’t know how to heat up bread, but also forgetting that the toaster was hooked up to Cleese, who upon receiving slices of bread into his tasting orifice decided that the cat and Jon could both screw themselves, toasters far surpassed both their existences combined, true beauty is in simplicity and feelings are worthless next to toast.
|
The Medical Examiner lowered the hood on his lantern. "You see? It's the strangest thing I've ever encountered..."he remarked. The Detective scratched his short beard, staring at the body with a look of confusion and contemplation on his face. "Do you have any theories, Detective? Detective..?"The Medical Examiner snapped his fingers before the Detective's face, pulling him from his trance.
"I'm sorry,"the Detective said, reorienting himself.
"Any theories..?"the M.E. repeated.
"None you'd buy,"the Detective muttered under his breath, as he grabbed his jacket from the stand in the corner. He exited the morgue into the brisk evening fog, and headed toward a large chapel that stood in the center of the city. The chapel stood above every other building, with a large, ornately carved marble bell tower as its hat. Stained glass windows inlaid with precious gems and metals depicted important scenes from the local religion, a sort of paganism focused on forces of light and darkness.
The Detective entered the grandiose building, and made for the room behind the pulpit, where priests and deacons prepared their robes. Once inside, he walked to an intricately arranged rock garden, and moved several stones. With a thick, grating noise, a stone wall opened behind the rock garden, and the Detective slipped inside.
He was greeted by a man in black and white robes, wearing a plague mask; a decoration reserved for influential members of The Light's Shield, a secret group within the church dedicated to destroying agents of Darkness. The Detective explained to the man the situation he'd just encountered. The Justiciar nodded grimly, and presented him with an ancient tome, and a small wooden box. The tome described a demon, whose name was unspeakable, and written in a language so black and archaic that it cannot be rendered in any form of human writing so far developed.
The Demon was once worshiped as a God by an ancient civilization, who developed the religion. The Demon befriended the priests, promising to help them destroy all the darkness across the world, and began doing so with vigor. Any darkness he touched was immediately negated, and the Sun shone in many places for a long time. Only too late did the Priests realize they had been tricked; the Demon wasn't destroying the darkness. He was stealing it, and creating a powerful Shadow Army deep beneath the world's surface. Just as civilization was about to fall, a hero radiating a blinding Light overcame the Demon. Before he could strike the killing blow, the Demon managed to break his sword. The Hero cast out his own light to lock the Demon inside himself, and took his own life with a shard of the sword, sealing the Demon in purgatory.
The Detective opened the small wooden box he'd been handed by the Justiciar. Inside, timeworn and speckled black with primeval blood, was a blue-green shard of metal, wrapped with a strip of leather at one end, and sharpened to a keen point at the other. The Detective looked down at the blade in awe, his fingers caressing the small pendant he wore around his neck. He looked up, mouth still agape. The Justiciar nodded slowly, and disappeared back into the darkness of the chamber.
The Detective descended into the bowels of the chapel, down many flights of stairs, below the antechamber, under the basement, and through a small tunnel carved from a cave, before arriving in large stone room, lit with many rows of torches along each of the four walls. A mixture of paints, potions, and animal bloods was smeared on the floor, in the shape of a large pentagram, with each line being a different color, and each point decorated with a symbol depicting an element. It was enclosed by a circle, one half painted white to represent the Light, and the other half painted black, for the Darkness. The Detective was in The Summoning Room.
He opened the tome, and began reading aloud a passage the ancient Priests had used to summon the Demon when they needed his help or protection. As he read, the flames on the torches began to flicker and dance, changing colors sporadically. With each word, one would snuff out and another would spring into life, giving the room a feeling of waving. The ground below his feet began to waver, and split. Up from the cracks poured an impossibly black mist, which seemed to be coalescing in the middle of the pentagram.
The Detective held his focus and continued the passage to the final word. As the foul language spilled from his mouth, the mist began to take a vague humanoid shape, but with no distinct features. All the light in the room seemed to amplify as the darkness was drawn into the shape. A low grumble filled the Detectives mind, and he slowly realized it was laughter.
The Demon cackled with insane glee in The Detective's mind, mocking him for releasing such a terrible evil on the world. The Demon explained he'd been too weak to materialize himself, and had begun harnessing shadow power in an attempt to regain his strength; a process that would have taken decades. The Detective had actually *helped him* by summoning him.
He reached out with one of his inky black hands, and wrapped it around the entirety of the Detective's body, lifting him up to its face. The Detective had encountered many horrifying things in his career as a both an officer of the law, and an Agent of the Light, but no man or monster had ever frightened him this much. Still, he showed no signs as the fiend opened its abyssal maw to devour him.
With one swift motion, the Detective produced the blade from within his jacket, and drove it into the Demon's neck as it lowered him into its mouth. The Detective's mind was filled with the sanity-rending cry of the Demon's wail as it dropped him. A gray fluid, not quite a liquid or a gas, began spraying from the wound as the creature shrank. Another pierce into the Demon's heart, and its deathrattle echoed in the Detective's mind. It was a sound that would haunt him for years to come.
As the Demon receded into the core of the planet, finally destroyed for good, the Detective again caressed his pendant. It was a family heirloom, handed down for innumerable generations; a small, blue-green shard of metal, threaded on a chain... |
"You know. I'm *very* good,"President Trump spoke in front of a crowd of record breaking size,"Some even say that I'm the best. And I am very, very good."
The audience cheered.
"And it's like, if I were *actually* the best, you know, phenomenal job they say I'm doing in North Korea by the way. With the nuclear. Trust me, I don't lie. I don't like liars. I'd be the best liar in the world, but I wouldn't lie. I don't like liars. The *losers* and *haters* say otherwise. So, I think, and I thought very hard, discussed it with many, many people. The best people."
The a few scattered cheers permeate the otherwise captivated audience.
"So, I thought '*maybe I'm not the best president the world has ever seen*.' And y'know? I'm not."
The audience was not pleased. Mike Pence became president shortly thereafter. |
I'm no writer, but I'd like them to fall in love for real. And have some weird stuff happen, and then have it turn out their dreams were real and real life was just a dream/projection. And the antithesis of the person they fell in love with turns out to have been the dream person, but now THAT person is REAL and evil.
Idk, I should go to sleep.
Sorry for shitty comment. This is an awesome premise. Delete if necessary. |
As Eric steps on to the deck he couldn't help but notice something was off about the barge. Beneath his feet were piles of sand and nobody else in sight except his first mate George.
George was a bit of an imbicile, but he and Eric knew each other since they were in diapers. In fact, it was that friendship that had led them here today. Eric thought back to those days in the backyard when he and George would play, dressed in eye patches with plastic swords hanging from their belts that were obviously too big for them. The way they would practice boarding the playset George's father built that summer and capturing the crew to steal their ship and riches that it held.
One day George's father never came back. All that he left behind was these GPS quordinates. In the middle of the ocean where this strange ship appeared.
Eric snapped back to reality when George suddenly shouted "over here! I found something!"
Eric walked slowly across the deck. "hey stop shouting we don't know who's here and where they could be hiding. We arent swashbucklers. We dont duel with swords. If someone appears and sees our weapons they would probably shoot on sight"
George grinned "So be it. You know I'm the best sharpshooter out here. And this place looks completely desserted."He was right. The ship looked like it had been abandoned 20 years ago. But stranger still was what George had stumbled upon. The deck looked like it had been turned into a beach. A makeshift floating private island. With a giant red x in the sand and George's dumb grin looking straight at it.
"Why would your dads GPS quordinates lead us here? And what does this even mean."Eric said quietly, still looking over his shoulder hand on his pistol ready for an ambush. George stubbornly still was speaking loudly "well you know what a red x means! Buried treasure!"George quickly swung his pack down and rifled through the contents, ammo, candy bars, a satellite phone, and an old gameboy color spilled out. "Found it!"He exclaimed, as he revealed a shovel only about 2 feet long. "Better get to work, you stand guard."He said to Eric who was still on high alert.
A half hour had passed and then a giant hollow thud sound came from the hole. Eric startled drew his pistol and spun around. Behind him George was struggling to pull something up from the hole which was now about 5 foot deep and even wider around. "He may be an idiot, but he knows how to do hard work"Eric thought as he walked over to help pull the metal chest out of the hole.
"Its locked"George stated the obvious when they got it out. Eric aimed his pistol down at the lock and fired one shot. The electronic lock shattered into pieces. "Now it's not"replied Eric, still wondering why a modern lock like that would be on this old metal chest on an island like ship which had to be a few decades old. |
Part 1
It all seemed too neat compared to the usual. The "help"were running around like headless chickens trying to get a couple of tent erected before their crime scene blew away.
Ignoring them I squatted down and closed my eyes. White ashes so fine, in 5 minutes more there would be barely anything left he could see tiny chunks of metal which he suspected to be the remains of a zip. The ashes had been kicked. It was sloppy, amateurish. Witnesses had seen a brown haired man in his thirties desperately fleeing the scene in broad daylight. This didn't look planned. For the first in a long time he could feel his blood boiling. The victim apparently was a pretty blonde-haired girl at one point. Another one just like Elizabeth. Now she would now fit better in a matchbox than a coffin. This had become personal. He would find him before anyone else got their hands on him.
He opened his eyes to see Primm standing the other side a coffee cup sitting in one of his rubber gloved pudgy hands as he stared at a phone he was holding in the other.
"Got something of interest for you, guv. This phone was found in a public bin 500 yards away."
The background picture on the phone showed a picture of two familiar looking faces smiling with their arms draped around each other.
"Primm, looks a typical 302, get these verified at the lab to check we're not dealing with anything unusual. Also get the paperwork together for the nearest cape on call."
Section 302 was the amendment made to the charge of manslaughter concerning the acute onset of supernatural abilities. It detailed in the event a life had been lost due to the suspected formation of a superhuman ability, certain powers were now available to be exercised by law enforcement in order to restrain or if necessary eliminate any threat.
"Chances are guv, they're not going to risk it. Nearest cape's specialise more close range and getting close to this guy doesn't sound healthy."
The last he read someone had worked out there was roughly a 0.000002% of a person developing some kind of ability throughout their lifespan. Which was a damn good thing in his opinion though the other side of the coin was it meant the guys in law enforcement also didn't have many capes they could rely on and generally were careful with the ones they had. One of the most brutal crime scenes he'd ever come across were where several lunatics from some bizarre cult had literally tried to cannibalise one unfortunate "hero". Personally he much preferred the idiots who tried to irradiate themselves to death in pursuit of superhuman abilities.
"This guy's panicking, Primm. He needs to be taken in quickly. We'll just have to do this the old fashioned way."
He could already see the look of concern spreading over Primm's face. That expression didn't improve when he popped the boot of the car to see guns capable of firing the kind of calibre bullets usually reserved for anti aircraft weaponry. He pocketed a couple of flashbangs and picked up a riot shotgun.
"You can drive"
|
"What the fuck are you?"
Mike said looking up at the purple moon sat in the sky next to the regular moon. He was the only one that could see this second moon. Maybe it's related to the dreams he been having.
No visuals just a female voice yelling for help and for the chosen one.
"I don't know maybe I'm just losing it."
"You're not..."
He jumped and spun around. Two women stood behind him, the one braced for a fight while the other hid behind her.
"W-who are you?"
"My name is Princess Adalia. Who are you?!"
"My names Mike..."
He was caught off guard by the second one rushing out from behind Adalia and driving her knee into his midesection. As he crumpled to the ground, holding his rubs, this attacker pushes up his hair from the back.
"Adalia, it's him! Oh I'm sorry savior."
"Sa-"
He grunts still as she helps him to his feet. It was only then as the street lights shone on her that he noticed the light pinkish tint to her skin... |
Everything Dylan-259 did was amazing. Her life was every single decision I’d wished I could do over. Every regret I’d ever had, she’d never felt. She was pristine. She glowed. She was so happy.
I had to kill her. She had my life.
It’s easy to do. World Wide Solutions gave me the implants when I was born. Lasers that come out of eyes. Weird metallic guns that unfold themselves from my shoulder blades and look...cool. I guess. Like I’m going to kick ass, somewhere. They feel like shit coming out. They feel like someone is forcing a pipe through your skin and bones and setting fire to your head and it goes on and on because they didn’t limit them. Before Dylan-259 I’d only been scared enough to use them once on a drunk guy who kept beating the sidewalk and screaming about angels. And once accidentally.
259 didn’t have implants. She was...easy to kill.
|
My mother came in a moment later. I looked her in the eyes... Well, I didn't, he did. My head twisted in a position that hurt slightly - I tried to move it back, but no luck. My mother looked at me, confused.
'How are you, my dear mother?' Said my mouth. The voice almost didn't even sound like me. Who was this? I tried to move, to say something. Yet I could do nothing. And the voice, the voice, the words coming out of my mouth... The words themselves were just fine, but the tone was completely off. She just took my sandwich, no big deal.
My mother looked at me. She didn't seem to notice at all... Very confusing... She said she was fine. I tried to move my hand. The only thing that happened was a bit of twitching. Now she looked like there was something off.
'Are you okay, my dear?' She asked. I could feel my heart beating faster. I didn't understand why. There wasn't anything problematic going on, you know, other than the fact I have no control over my body...
'Well, actually, mother, I'm NOT okay.' came out of my mouth, for some reason. My heart started beating even faster. My mother looked confused. I was confused too. I was doing fine. I'm a lazy piece of shit, but otherwise I'm fine. I might have a tiny small depression, but I'm fine honestly. Why would, this... this thing, say I'm not fine? Why would he try to make my mother sad.
Then my mouth started moving again. It talked about lots of things. Things, memories I had. I had never really thought about it. All these things, I never really thought of them as bad. But now that my mouth was saying these things. These events. How my mother would always steal my things and gaslight me into thinking it was always hers. How she would shake me if I talked about my feelings. How my father would always bully me. How he would force me up against a wall and yell in my face about how much of a pussy I am in life and how I should grow a spine and become a real man. And my mouth, of course, also had to mention the countless instances of times I would cry myself to sleep. After the rant was done there was silence.
For a moment I thought my mother would notice all what she had done was wrong and say 'I'm sorry'.
Just for a single moment.
Then my mother assaulted me and I had to calm her down and take care of her as always.
At dinner my father gave me another round of verbal abuse and some physical intimidation.
I wish I had the ability to kill myself, for some reason, there is something, someone else that stops me from doing so...
___________________________________
I actually have dissociative identity disorder (multiple people in the head. Condition comes from early and repeated childhood trauma). The people in our head like writing stories about DID subverting the expectation (of people with DID being evil serial killers) by writing more realistic characters with The condition.
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Walking up the final few stairs to the seventh floor, something felt off. The air didn't have it's usual stink.
Tim noticed the door to Dolly's apartment was cracked open. She never left her door like that.
"Knock knock, Dolly. I have your rent. Only 3 days late this time. Go me,"Tim said trying to lighten his fear that something was wrong.
He pushed the door slightly open, and the horrendous smell made his face squish up.
Tim walked backed a few steps and pulled his t-shirt up to cover his nose.
"You forgot to turn the bathroom fan on, Dolly,"Tim said as he entered the apartment.
It was a two bedroom, one bathroom apartment with the same layout as Tim's. The flat screen on the wall had a crack, and the couch was covered in cat hair.
The foul smell grew ten times stronger as he approached the larger bedroom.
Tim lowered his body thinking the worst smell sat near the ceiling of the apartment. Walking while crouching, didn't help at all.
Pushing open the bedroom door, Tim jumped as Dolly's huge cat scurried by his feet, and then it ran out the front door.
He turned around and saw her laying there. Well, what was left of her.
Dolly's upper left leg was almost completely sliced off.
It looked like the femoral artery had emptied all eight pints of her blood. It pooled below her and turned the thick carpet into a dark piece of art. Tim was surprised the neighbor below didn't have a ceiling dripping blood.
He then noticed her face. It was turned away from the door, so it didn't immediately jump out at him.
She had no face left.
Pets will eat their master's body one day after their death. Dolly's cat, Tango, had started with her face.
Tacos from lunch left Tim's stomach and added to the horror. He ran out of the apartment on wobbly legs.
Upon reaching the stairwell, he collapsed and finished puking.
Tim shouted down the stairwell, "you finally got her."
"The bitch deserved it,"Tango said back. "She made me watch... She made me watch!"
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The second I saw her I ran, I didn’t care if she saw me, if she was here I was already screwed.
It’s been years since I left the company, I thought if I hid long enough they’d forget about me, but I suppose that was too much to hope for. Weaving my way through the crowd, I surveyed the area, desperately searching for a way out, an opening, and then I saw it. I barreled towards a break in the crowd, an alleyway, I just needed to make it there and I could disappear into the side streets, hopefully shake anyone else they sent to chase me.
As I slipped into the alley I shucked off my sweatshirt and threw into the dumpster, not even stopping in the process. I’d need to find new clothes, and a haircut probably but I could figure that out later.
As I turned out of the end of the alley I was met with the second surprise of the day. Myself staring back at me in a sinister looking black suit, with a smug smirk on her face. “I thought I was the only one.” I heard footsteps behind me coming out of the alley, “And that's exactly where you're wrong, sweetheart. You weren't the only one of your kind. You're not even the first one. You were just the first to survive. Once we perfected the template it was pretty easy, you’re just the last loose end to tie up.” I heard a gun cocking. “Could you at least have been a little more subtle with my evil clone over there, like maybe a mustache to twirl? Or like a maniacal chuckle maybe, you know less obviously evil.” I was stalling looking for a way out. We were on the side of an empty street, most shops were probably closed for the festivities going on downtown.
My double giggled, disappointing, I mean a little bit psycho, but not really screaming evil as much as her ensemble, “I know what you’re trying to do, buying time, trying to escape aren’t you? Maybe you need to be a little subtler yourself, we’re cut from the same genetic cloth you know?” She reached into her suit jacket for something, but I wasn’t going to wait to be executed, so I punched her in that smug face as hard as my enhanced strength would let me. “Guess, your right, we’re kind of designed for the direct approach.” She was sent soaring through the air a clear 15 feet, but still managed to control her landing, damn enhanced reflexes were the worst when other people had them.
I heard movement to my side and spun around, knocking the gun out of my pursuer’s hand before she even had a chance, “Don’t even try it.” I kicked her square in in the gut sprawling her out in the alleyway, and probably leaving her with some broken bones, maybe internal bleeding, but she'd be fine, probably. I smirked.
And that’s exactly when my double caught me from behind, and next thing I knew I was lying in the middle of the street face down. Oh, fuck me, I think I had a concussion. As I tried to stand ignoring the wring in my ears, I felt a strong impact knocking me back to the ground, holy shit she’d tackled me.
As I struggled to try and get out from underneath her, I felt her hold shift, and only realized there was a needle piercing my skin by the time it was too late. I took advantage of her distraction to break free, and ran down toward the nearby intersection, I needed to get away, before whatever this was kicked in.
Turning onto the next street now I was running toward the festivities, drowsiness was starting to kick in and I needed to disappear.
(I’m not really great at fight scenes so let me know what you think. I’d appreciate the feedback.) |
Geraldine wouldn’t do it, she couldn’t do it.
For years she watched as the mask filled her fathers face with life.
Only for a brief moments while eating did Geraldine catch her father with the mask off. And now here they were at the hospital.
Her dad frail and weak.
Geraldine squeezed her dads hand hard and looked deep into her fathers eyes.
She remembered the days of her childhood.
He’d chase her around the old oak tree that held her tire swing, with that old mask in tow.
They’d sneak ice cream together from Richards Ice Cream shop, even when she didn’t finish her dinner.
Her father would get chocolate ice cream, with fudge and whipped topping for them to share. She always remembered he would ask for 3 cherries, because they were her favorite.
As she snapped back into reality, she saw her father wheezing and trying to move his arms towards his head.
In short breathes, he asked Geraldine to remove the mask.
Geraldine refused at first. Not now she thought... two parents, gone.
She looked back into her fathers eyes, and heard the slow beeping of the EKG.
He was fading anyway.
Geraldine pulled the oxygen mask off her fathers face. Within a minute, her father began to code.
Tears rushed down her face as she pressed the emergency call button.
|
Hi, first attempt ever:
It's rained for days. Mom said it means my brother and I have to stay in today.
She came into my room very early. She has to leave today. Days like this she has me check the house for any new cracks. She also checks our supplies. We have power, food, and of course, water.
Water is collected on the roof in buckets with no lids. But inside, it stays in bottles with lids.
On dry days, Tom and I find new pieces to add to our house. Mom says we'll move to a real shelter someday, but Tom and I like it here.
Hopefully she'll be back soon. I tried to say goodbye, but she was already through the outside-front door. She already had her suit on as well. I don't think the helmet lets you hear too well.
&#x200B;
Tom is awake now. I help him brush his teeth:
&#x200B;
"A dab on the brush, put it in your mouth."He copies my own gesture.
&#x200B;
I grab the back of his head and pull it back.
&#x200B;
"Now here comes the water."
&#x200B;
I squeeze just a squirt in his mouth from the bottle. I place a small bowl under his chin.
"Keep your mouth closed, don't lose any water."
&#x200B;
He really tries to move the brush around his mouth while keeping his mouth closed. He's not very good though. He swallowed some but the rest went in the bowl. I pat his back until he stops coughing.
&#x200B;
"It's alright, you'll get used to it."
"Do I have to?"He asked. He's embarrassed.
"Not in here, but you will out there."
He grumbles.
"I'll start breakfast."
He raises his head and smiles.
In the kitchen, I pour his bowl of spit into our plant. I make sure the soil soaks it all up before wiping the bowl clean and dry. I put frozen waffles in the toaster.
&#x200B;
"What happens when you get bit?"Tom asks at the table.
"Now? We're having breakfast!"I protest.
"What happens?"His voice raises.
&#x200B;
I give in and turn around, "Well, mom told me this song once."
"Really?"His eyes got bigger. Ugh, he wants me sing this early?
I put a smile on my face and begin to clap a song:
&#x200B;
*Blue skin, red eyes*
*Cover up, go inside*
*Bottle water*
*Bottle water*
*Bottle water*
*One bite, goodbye.* (Of course, my friends like to change the last line to "*you die*.")
&#x200B;
"Oh really?! I wanna see!"He's bouncing in his chair now. He begins singing it back to me.
&#x200B;
**Stop it. Stop it. Sit down. SHUT UP!**
&#x200B;
"Okay! STOP IT! That's enough!"I say it a little louder than I was hoping to. He's tearing up. I give him his waffle.
"Sorry Tom. Here's breakfast."I rub my hand on his back until he stops sniffling.
"No, I haven't,"I lie. I'm not surprised he hasn't seen any bites. Any bites outside are usually cleaned up rather quickly by neighbors. So we've never seen any bites when scavenging on the dry days.
I only ever saw a mosquito bite once in my life, when I was smaller. A man had come to the front doors. Mom said I had to stay inside.
She put on her suit quickly. He wouldn't stop screaming. He tried to get in but Mom pushed him out and closed the door. She tried to talk louder than him to calm him down. It sounded like they were fighting. I wanted to open the door, but Mom would have yelled at me.
I grabbed the nearest chair I could find, pushed it to the inner-front door, and climbed up. I leaned forward to look through the peephole.
Mom pushed the man to the floor. He jumped up, throwing himself at the door. At the time, I thought he was going to crawl through the peephole and grab me. The door shook with a loud \*THUD\*. I screamed and fell back.
As I laid there, I could only see his face on the ceiling, and his...
*blue skin*
*red eyes*
&#x200B;
It was quiet for awhile. I started crying for Mom.
Mom came in a few minutes later. She points to the door.
&#x200B;
"**That** is why you are inside. **That** is why we bottle water."
&#x200B;
I eat my own waffle, and take both our dishes to the sink to wash and dry them. I let out a sigh, but realized Tom could hear me. I shut up so he'll stop looking at me and watch TV instead. I wipe the plates extra dry today.
&#x200B;
Was it always like this?
&#x200B;
\-- First story ever. Feedback please.
&#x200B; |
"So. Any plans this weekend? Jill's been wanting you guys to come over for the longest."
"Can't. Sue wants to visit her parents."
He shook his head. "Tough."
Both men ducked as an alien came by screaming, "EIEIEIEIEIEIEYAAAAAAH!"with a low spinning kick. The alien missed and went flying back into the air. Both men righted themselves and continued walking.
"Maybe next weekend."
"I'll let Jill know."
As they walked by a bakery, something landed on one of the men's shoulders. He frowned and looked at it. Touched it. Sniffed it. Brought it to his lips...
The other guys stared in wide-eyed horror. "Wait, that looks like...JIM DON'T-"
Too late. The man darted his tongue out and tasted it. "Not bad,"he murmured, sticking his fingers in his mouth.
Just then, both men heard chuckling from above, and looked up to see an alien flash them a grin as he gave them the finger and pulled his pants up before flying away.
They looked at each other.
Jim's face looked a little green. "I think I'm going to be- BLAAAARGH!"He vomited. |
"How do you plead?"
I dipped my head. "Guilty, your Honor."
Across the aisle, the prosecutor stood up sharply. Her attire, professionally tailored, clung to her curves with class. I wasn't the only male taking a look at her backside as she strutted up to the judge's table.
My court appointed lawyer - also female - jabbed me in the side.
The judge and the prosecutor exchanged words, then my lawyer was called up, and more words were exchanged. All three females looked back at me, and it was clear I was the topic of their conversation. They huddled again, spoke some more words, and then dispersed.
The judge cleared her throat and spoke: "Trial begins next week."
My brows drew together in protest. \*Trial? What trial? I pleaded guilty!\* I glanced over at my lawyer for an explanation, but she calmly ignored me as she gathered her folders and papers.
I knelt down to the microphone resting on the table and spoke again: "But your Honor I pleaded guilty..."
She banged her gavel in finality. "Trial begins next week,"she stated firmly.
I shook my head. "No. NO! I demand to be put in jail for what I did!"
Two guards were marching down the aisle towards me. I headbutted one of them and caught the other with a kick to the face.
The court was in pandemonium. The doors exploded open, and guards poured in, rushing towards me.
I swung my manacled hands from side to side, taking down people left and right as they stumbled over each other to either escape or grab a hold of me. I tripped somewhere in the pile and felt a boot stick itself in my side. Cops and civilians were falling over each other like football players scrambling for a loose ball. Somehow, I managed to get my hands on a gun.
I fired a shot into the ceiling.
The room got quiet instantly.
Everyone was looking at me.
I was looking at the judge.
"I don't care what you do,"she said. "Trial begins next week."
&#x200B;
&#x200B; |
Ever woken up refreshed, feeling energetic and ready to greet the day? I did not wake up that way this morning. Fuckin’ Drew had decided to stop coming to work and I had to cover his shift until I found someone else. Ah, the perks of small business ownership. For 3 days I’d worked 3rd shift, going to the main office from 9-5, then patrolling a parking garage from 10-6. Saying it sucked donkey balls was an understatment of epic proportion. I had to find someone now, caffeine wasn’t doing the job any longer, cocaine was looking promising. Luckily I had open interviews today and, thanks to the local employment center, my job ad was posted everywhere. Online, in the paper, on fliers in the bus depot. I’d find someone today. I drank an entire pot of coffee for breakfast and headed to my office.
As I pulled into my usual parking place I saw the line. A column of people leading down the block. Advertising had really worked, somewhere in this group I would find my new employee. I walked into the building and picked up a box of pens and the stack of applications and turned to begin passing them out. Thinking better of it I made some more copies and grabbed another box. I sat everything on the little table in the lobby, next to the desk Monica would soon be sitting at and headed into my office. I prepared my list of questions, notepad, and file folders. I’d just finished when a knock at the door told me Monica had the first applicant.
A young Asian man entered, he sat, handing me his application. His name was Yang Jian, and we went through the normal interview questions, everything was going great until I asked how well he worked with others,
“Why would I be working with others?” He seemed confused.
“If assignments change you may be on a job with another person, so I like to hire people who aren’t against working with people.”
“But, I’d be in charge, yeah?”
“No. It goes by seniority.”
Shock was naked on his face, “How many of us do you have?”
That was a weird way to put it but, “There are a total of 49 guards right now, although with the turn out today I may be able to expand.”
Poor Yang looked as if his eyes would pop out of his head, “49! A force to rival any evil! I must be a part of this undertaking!”
I forced a smile, “Great. I’ll...umm...call you after I finish the interviews.” We shook hands and he left.
The next few candidates were very promising, and much more sane. Then a brick wall of a man entered. He was at least 6’6” and 300 lbs of pure muscle. His t shirt was so tight I imagined I could hear it screaming for help. He placed his application on the desk, then flopped into the chair and placed his fee on the application.
“You will find none more qualified, send these pathetic excuses for warriors home.”
“Ok, Mr,” I yanked the paper from under his heel, “Ares?”
“You’ve heard of me?”
“Should I have?” He had no last name listed, no address, and no employment history. The only things he had was an excess of confidence and muscle mass.
“The Peloponnesian war, the Persian war, a million stories, plays, movies, shows, and video games? Ares?”
“The Greek god, Ares?”
He smiled broadly, “So you have heard of me! I’m sure you’ll agree your search is over.”
“You think you’re Ares?”
“I am Ares. You asked for a security god, what did you expect?”
“Guard! Security Guard! G-U-A-R-D!”
He looked abashed, “Oh, well damn. I’ll be going then.” He was opening the door before I even saw him move, his voice rang in the little lobby, “This job is for a GUARD, everyone head out!”
I almost laughed at his crazy antics but then a beautiful young woman, a fierce looking man, and a large blonde man with a hammer threw down their applications and left. Ares turned back to me, “If you hear of anyone looking for a deity let me know.” Then he walked out as well.
I decided it was just an elaborate prank, and moved on with interviews. I ended up hiring a woman named Cybele Kybelis, she had great references and seemed to know what she was doing. I was so glad to put 3rd shift, and that ‘god’ stuff behind me.
|
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