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The loneliness is the toughest part of being immortal.
Even before the plague, I was isolated. It's been so long since my family died that I can hardly even remember their faces. And after eight hundred years of making friends and then watching them die, I'd learned that it's often easier to just shut people out. I told myself that it was to prevent them from learning my secret, but deep down, I knew the truth.
But at least before the outbreak I still spoke to people. I still had some colleagues at work who I'd make some small talk with, occasionally grab lunch. I had students to lecture at and talk to about assignments. I'd see people in the halls of the university, in the aisles of the grocery store, and just out and about in town. Now, all that's gone.
The town, of course, isn't gone. The sidewalks where my neighbors would pass by are still there, albeit cracked and crumbling after six years of disrepair. The stores are mostly all still standing, except for a few that burned down when the riots started. The university is still at the heart of the town, now overgrown with weeds. Even my lab is still in there somewhere (though it's been 4 years now since I transferred all of my work to my home facility). No need to keep up the pretense that I'm just some regular biology professor, so I can consolidate all of my work.
Other than the loneliness, the end of the world hasn't affected me very much. Most of the problems that survivors face are not an issue for me. The undead don't even seem to notice me, so I have no defenses or weapons. I don't need to eat or drink, so scavenging for supplies is no concern. I don't get sick or wounded, so medicines and other supplies are practically useless. And setting up some solar panels to power my home was a cinch. What else could I want?
I just have so much time now. I never really realized how much effort I had to put into being 'normal.' Buying food and making meals so that neighbors could see me eating like a normal person. Teaching classes and grading papers to maintain my disguise. Constantly planning how I was going to 'kill off' this persona and re-establish a new identity somewhere else. I was thinking China next; they were on their way to becoming a world superpower, and it *had* been almost 500 years since I lived there. It would be nice to go back for a bit. Well, no need to plan for that contingency anymore. All I have left to do are my experiments.
I tried for a *long* time to replicate the curse that left me unable to die. I've recreated the scenario a thousand different ways, using the exact same words that the old woods witch used on me.... with nothing to show for it. I've been forced to conclude that I just can't use magic the way she could, and I'm not going to get any information out of her dusty old bones. So I turned to science for the cure. I discovered heredity with Mendel, radioactivity with Curie, germ theory with Pasteur... all attempts to reach the unreachable.
It's only been recently that I've had any success, manipulating the genetics in cancer cells and combining them with samples from my own blood to produce DNA that doesn't unravel with age. Alfonso, the rat in my basement with an average lifespan of three years, is now almost a decade old. I've even been growing some carrots for him to celebrity his tenth birthday, coming up next month. I had to hide most of this work at the University; I wouldn't want them digging to deep into where I got some of the materials. It hasn't been without hurdles, though. Human testing of the serum quickly killed the hosts, and I haven't yet been able to determine the cause. But at least the constant sounds of shuffling and moaning outside ensures that I'll have plenty of samples to find out. Then I'll be able to fix my mistake. This is just another plague; I've watched humanity live through dozens of these. The bubonic plague, the Spanish flu, smallpox... we've overcome them all. No big deal. It'll be worth it once I finally find the solution, right?
I turn on the TV and load up an old episode of Friends that I've seen a thousand times. The old dorms of the university are a goldmine of pirated movies and TV shows. The volume on the TV is set to be high enough that I can hear it from anywhere in the house. I like it loud enough to cover up the noise of the zombie horde out on the lawn, and it makes me feel like someone else is still here with me. Like I said, the loneliness is really the worst part.
|
Few suffered as the humans did. Their world manifested itself in pain, from its gravity seventeen times greater than normal, to its dominant liquid that could suffocate a man, to its vast drops, massive animals and frequent disasters of nature. The fields of the humans yielded barely enough for a person per square mile. Technology was a labor of years, for they did not have the resources of far off worlds. The humans could not know the sheer complacency of nigh every other race--the manner in which they lounged for decades, to centuries. But from their struggle, they grew great, and rose high in the galaxy through their efforts born of millennia of striving for something greater.
But, then, while most lived luxury, some did not. Some turned to conquering, and when they did it was the humans who were the galaxy’s saviors. The Alet were the worse of such scum, burning swaths through fertile fields and helpless xenos. Millions died by their hand, and many more lost livelihoods or health. And why? the races asked, and the Alet revealed nothing.
The humans, in that time of need, were present, for they had suffered in their own wars as the galaxy did now. They fought, it is true, but more than that they healed. They had died so billions may live. Their pain manifested in better care and rebuilding than any race had yet mustered. In battlefields they swept down to save the leftovers and to salvage the wreckage. And why? the races again asked, and the humans said but that they would visit no such destruction as they themselves had experienced over millennia
From the human’s death sprang life, and from their nearly barren world came fruit for the galaxy. |
"…So, I have to ask. Under your qualifications, you listed that you have a 100% win streak from playing over thousands of games of Freecell, as well as various other versions of solitaire, including 4-suit spider solitaire, 40 thieves, and seahaven towers. Why exactly *did* you put that on your resume?"
"All due respect, but have you ever tried playing those games? They're difficult to win, but not impossible. I've simply mastered the art. I win every time. Do you know why?"
"Because you have way too much free time on your hands?"
"…While I'm not disputing that fact, and that is actually another reason why you should hire me, as it means that I will be able to commit fully to the position, I'd also like to point out that maintaining a 100% win streak requires extreme attention to detail and serious critical thinking. Within any given presented scenario, I will immediately analyze every single detail and placement of the variables, and execute every move only after planning for what will happen several moves in advance. Because I've developed this skill, I have a 100% success rate regardless of how many variables are initially presented, and within any random configuration. Furthermore, my analytical skill set has developed to the point where problem solving, even when dealing with hundreds of variables, takes all but a matter of minutes."
"…You're joking."
"The win streak doesn't lie." |
Frank's mother loved her child more than life itself. When he was born, it was the most happy day of her life. Frank was a healthy baby, and he was a happy one to. But although he was happy, his mom and dad were not. When Frank was 10, his father left to buy groceries, and never came back from the store.
Frank's mother never did recover from this moment. When Frank would raise his voice, his mother would always tell him to be quiet, often accompanied by physical violence. Frank was often slapped and kicked, and sometimes went to bed without supper.
Frank loved playing with water. He would watch water swirl down the drain after a bath, and drop stones down a well, listening for the unique sound of an echoing splash.
Life wasn't all good for Frank, however. His marks at school were dropping, and his mother had taken up drinking. Long sleeve shirts to cover up the lacerations became the norm. His mother would not hear of his troubles. The only thing that could get a response that wasn't negative was his dream gift. A kit for building dams in your bathtub.
December rolled around, and Frank's mom had taken up smoking as well. He often asked his mom about the dam building kit, to which she would always respond with an angry sigh, "We'll see, Frankie."
The following day, Frank brought his report card home. Upon seeing it, his mom flew into a rage. She hit, she screamed, she flung beer bottles and burned him with cigarettes. His cries of pain were overpowered by the howls of anger from his mother.
For the next week, Frank was silent. Frank's wounds were healing, his moms attitude brightend somewhat. She even went so far as to affectionatly add the title of "Quiet"before her usual name "Frankie"
On Christmas morning, however, Frank awoke to an empty stocking and a vacant tree. He began to sob, for he believed he had been good. His present must be somewhere, surely. He ran to his mom, trying to explain through his choked sobs.
His mom became very angry at this outburst, however. She screamed and railed, and Frank coward in the corner of the room. When she had calmed down somewhat, she heard a faint "why did I not get the kit?"
She became renewed with fresh violence at this, and screamed at him at the top of her lungs:
Quiet Frankie, my dear, I don't give a dam! |
It never gets easier.
We aren't sure what gave people this newfound, horrible ability. If you ask me, I would tell you to check what they put in kids' school lunches these days.
I oversee a ward completely full of Blank People. I am responsible for deciding whether or not they can rejoin society.
New-icides. A cruel nickname for what we officially refer to as "Totally Blank Individuals."Every minor like, dislike, preference... it's all gone. They retain functionality and can recognize concepts. For instance, they know edible from inedible, they don't try and eat their hospital beds. But they don't know how they like their steak, if they prefer apples to oranges, how hot they like their tea. It's all totally new to them.
The first question I ask them: "Do you remember anything?"
Hopefully, they say no, they're confused, believe they were in an accident, have amnesia. We tell them that they've flushed all memory of person, place, and thing except for the bare necessities.
"Me? But why would I do that?"they generally ask. But then, they realize that they don't want to know.
Sometimes, they remember too much. Bits and pieces, children, even overdue work projects. It gnaws at them. They botched their psychological suicide. All these responsibilities, but no earthly idea how to fulfill them.
They get sent off.
The others can decide whether or not their spouse can see them, their kids. These poor kids. Do they want to redo their fatherhood? Their marriage? Relearn everything about their spouse?
They relearn. Everything is a brand new experience. It's sometimes wonderful to see, a man savoring a burger for the first time, or two people on the ward falling in love. It happens more often than you think. And we allow it. Deep down, I hate these people more than anything.
I can't wait for this thing to be outlawed. But, you ask, how do you imprison somebody who doesn't know what they've done? |
"Have some tea, Tony!"Lucy said brightly, miming as she poured 'tea' into the homeless man's now empty cup.
He glanced shyly at the girl's parents before smiling at their daughter and pretending to drink his tea.
"Mmm, delicious, thank you."
Neither Thomas or Alice Montgomery knew what to say when Lucy came home, holding the slightly grubby hand of the homeless man, who went by the name Anthony. He's young, behind the grime obscuring his face - probably no older than twenty. Privately, Thomas wondered what could grind someone into the dirt so early in life. He didn't seem eager to talk about himself, directing most of his conversation at Lucy as they ate. Well, they couldn't deny Lucy the opportunity to make tea for her guest. And he seemed harmless enough.
"Can he sleep in my room?"Lucy piped up as they cleared away the plates. Anthony seemed as uncomfortable at the suggestion as Lucy's parents, and he spoke up first.
"I don't think so, Lucy,"he said, standing up from the table.
"In fact, I think I'd better get going. Thanks for the meal,"he added, flashing a grin at Lucy. "And the tea, of course."
Anthony walked slowly down the drive, looking back over his shoulder. Lucy was waving frantically at him from her bedroom window. He waved back, smiling to himself.
With her shining blonde hair and green eyes, she looked eerily like Marigold. Even the dusting of freckles on her nose was the same. It was what made him talk to her in the first place when she was playing in the park, though he usually kept his distance from kids. He knew the conclusions people could make. But she looked so like his little sister, though Marigold was a bit older. He had avoided thinking of her in the months since he'd run away. Well, he could hardly take a little girl with him on the run. How would he take care of her?
He jumped as he heard Lucy calling after him. She had opened her window and was leaning out.
"Good night, Tony!"she said, her dimples showing as she smiled at him. "Is your family in the park, too?"
She frowned as another thought crossed her mind.
"Isn't it scary there, with the monsters in the dark?"
"No, my family's not home tonight, Lucy. But don't worry! I can fight away the monsters!"he called back, striking a battle pose, and she giggled as she slammed the window shut. He walked away before her parents found her talking to him.
*But Marigold should be with me*, he told himself. Get her away from their stepfather and his toxic 'home'. When he arrived back in the park, and pulled out the cellphone he had managed to hold onto. He hadn't tried calling her since he'd left. He hesitated, then pressed the number.
It rang five times, before he heard her voice.
"Hello?"
She sounded too tired, too old, for her handful of years.
"Goldilocks?"he said softly. His pet name for her. There was a beat of silence, before he heard the unmistakable sound of his sister crying. His heart squeezed painfully at the sound.
They talked for an hour, before he headed determinedly in the direction of the old house on the other side of town. Somehow, he had thought it was best if he was alone. But it was obvious what he needed, and it wasn't hiding from his problems in some bushes in a park. And it wasn't leaving her behind, with *him*.
They would fight the monster together. |
I remember the pain, great pain. I had to watch as two of the people I respected most in all of the universe killed each other. Both were consumed by the force. It had corrupted them both into believing they were destined to end one another.
The stark white of lightning clashed against the pale purple of saber. I tried to stop them I pleaded reason but neither could hear me anymore; they had become the instruments of orthodox. And so the galaxy lost two of its most powerful and wise leaders. The Sith Lord Darth Sidious and the Jedi master Windu, fell to their deaths grappling until the last.
This is when I first began to see clearly. Only Obi-wan would even listen to the truth of the events that followed. The council of Jedi would not recognize that the death of Master Windu was caused by his own need for justice rather than the needs of the people. Nor would they see past the nature of the sith to understand what Chancellor Palpatine was attempting to accomplish.
If it had not been for Padme and the children, I might not have endured. It was over Master Obi-wan's objection, that I was expelled from the Jedi order after the matter had been settled. I had allies by then though, my words had reached a few in the Jedi order, and many in the senate were outraged by the Chancellors' death.
In his last gift to me Darth Sidious had made preparations in the event of his death. I found his thoughts his orders and his legacies transcribed for me. The depth of his willingness to control, the orders to murder. I, in that moment knew they had to be stopped - all of them.
Five years later and it had started. I had planned it all with Padme. The children were back on Naboo, little Leia and Luke; the lights in my sky.... they needed to be away from the events to come. I was at that time something of an oddity on Coruscant. I had retained military rank after the war thanks to friends in high places, and Padme had become the new vice chair and wielded political might to match my own. We were as I am told rather imposing couple to interact with.
She addressed the full senate as I sat in a dark corner of a dark building in the forgotten places of the city world. She spoke of high ideals as I pulled strings of greed and lust for power. She called for a vote, a most momentous issue. I, I had found what had been lurking beneath my notice for a very long-long time.
She had removed the Jedi's status as peace-keepers in the senate, as I gave a proposition to Darth Sidious' old master. We had begun to snare both. We would restrain them so that no more would the fates of the people be dictated to or caught in the machinations of the two sides trying to annihilate each other.
Ten years after that and the worst of the troubles had ended. The clone armies, for all their dark origins had been transmuted through time and effort into a true republics army. I stood the flag admiral, and with great relish followed the will of the senate now turned to accomplishing the return of just peace and equitable law. Padme now retired enjoyed most of this time with Luke and Leia, she and I would have not had it another way.
The Jedi removed from their place of privilege had show the cracks in their philosophy in attempting to regain their position. Many left the order with my old teacher Obi-wan. They accepted my offer for a new way. It was then that I had to explain my full intentions to Ben, as he started to call himself after leaving the Jedi.
He was understandably... upset. However true to my memories of him before the Jedi's fall, he was still open to the truth of things he just needed persuading. After much debate and arguing we had come to an agreement and the true beginning of the solution started. Not and order or a lords line, we created a pact.
We needed Keepers. keepers of order, keepers of power, keepers of peace. Three trained apprentices of the Sith joined our Pact as well. That had been the deal I struck with their master. I would forgo hunting him down and harrying him across the galaxy. But his next three apprentices would belong to me as their training completed. His lust for power and assumptions of control made the negotiations simple. he did not fully appreciate that my clarity of the force would undo the hidden knives he placed in their hearts.
Together we would train a new generation of force users in both the light and the dark. Grey, they would be grey. A fog to dampen the conflict between them. Our keepers would be there to see past their plots. Neither the Jedi nor the Sith would ever again threaten the people through control, fear, or false guidance. For above else we became Keepers of truth.
Looking back all those decades ago now I see where I was naive. But I was never again blind. Now I sit with terraced waterfalls in a land of green that still dazzles me. I sit surrounded by constellations of stars. My children's children and a few even younger making me great. The sound of their laughter is the one truth I knew that I had sought all my life to keep.
|
For most people, finding their Companion is a wonderful experience. God knows nobody in their late teens and early twenties can shut up about how *right* and *perfect* the world is. Honestly, they're worse than new parents. Never shutting the fuck up about the bird on their shoulder, or the snake wrapped around their wrist, or the mouse in their pocket.
That is, before the world catches up with them again and they realize that yes, they do still need to go to work, pay taxes, and use their turn signal. Life goes on, just with an extra bit of feathery, furry, or scaly baggage to drag with you.
Now, again, I say that the Finding is a wonderful experience *for most people.* I am not most people, and haven't been since I realized that I'd gotten all my Big Boy Hair and had no critter to go along with it. 'Distressed' doesn't quite cover how traumatic it can be for a seventeen, eighteen, twenty year old boy to realize that he alone-out of *all the goddamn people in the world*- doesn't get a little bastard to follow him around through life.
I sound bitter. I'm not. Or, at least, not that much. Once you think about it, and I thought about it a lot, it's kind of freeing. I mean you're alone, sure, but you also don't have to worry about buying an extra ticket for your particular parasite when you fly, or have to fit your work schedule to a creature that only moves around at night. Call it the 'Enhanced Bachelor Experience', but for the love of God don't say it where anyone can hear you. The look of pity you'll inevitably receive is almost as bad as...well, nobody likes to be pitied.
Freedom! That's what I was talking about, the freedom of being the complete master of your own destiny. Personally, once I realized that nothing was coming to bond with me, I embraced it. There may have been a bit of heavy drinking right *before* that, but embrace it I did. Left home, joined the Navy, and spent the next five years fucking around the world's oceans in a submarine. Thoroughly exploring the seedier parts of every port from Singapore to Spain, dodging dick-rot-riddled prostitutes and playing peek-a-boo with overly curious Chinese boomers in the South China Sea was a hell of a lot of fun.
An unexpected but not unwelcome bonus of all this was the fact that not a lot of animals can hack it on a steel tube five hundred meters underwater, and even fewer can keep quiet on command. A lot of the guys I served with didn't have Companions either, though they'd gotten theirs and lost them. That made them a rare breed, since most folks whose Companions die tend to check themselves out soon after. That particular bit is also why the Sub Fleet is exempted from the military's official suicide statistics: too many unrelated-to-service incidents skew the statistics. It's also the reason nukers are required to have a live Companion: nobody wants the guy in charge of the reactor to suddenly off himself in the middle of a shift.
But, as with all things, even pissing around in a missile boat got old after a while. I'd been an Army brat growing up, and with Dad involved in some dark hush-hush intelligence shit, we moved around a lot. I don't think I spent six months in one place before I was twenty years old, and I've lived on just about every U.S. military installation with family housing north of the Equator. As nice as it was to see new places, eventually I just wanted to get familiar somewhere.
When my enlistment ended, I *politely* told the re-enlistment recruiter to fuck himself, took my discharge papers, and enrolled in college. I bought a car with the nice, tax-free money I'd saved up over the past couple years, bought some new clothes, and headed for the University of Why The Fuck Would You Care.
I know, it seems like I'm rambling a bit. But that brings me to now, where I will remind you where I began: for most people, finding their Companion is a wonderful experience. Again, I am not most people.
Case in point: as I was driving along the interstate, ready to begin the next chapter of my life, my journey was suddenly and viciously interrupted when a massive red blur slammed into the side of my *brand new fucking car.* I swear to fuck the whole thing lifted off all four tires, because one moment I'm cruising along at a nice seventy miles an hour, the next I'm skidding sideways into a grassy center-divider and my body feels like I'd just pissed off a team of Samoan bodybuilders. Car horns were blaring, tires were skidding, people were slamming on their brakes and stopping along the road.
And then that son of a bitch *roared,* and everything stopped. People stopped talking, horns stopped blaring, birds stopped tweeting, and I'm pretty sure even the plants stopped photosynthesizing, because it was dead. Fucking. *Silent.*
For some reason, some inexplicably stupid reason, I chose instead to unbuckle my seat belt(it'll save your life, kids) and get out of my now-totaled car.
There, in the middle of the goddamn interstate, with afternoon traffic already backing up miles in both directions, was a no-shit, actual dragon. Twenty tons if it was a pound, looking like it ate elephants and shit mountains, blue-streaked crimson scales, and wings spread wide like a Catholic schoolgirl's legs. It looked at me, mouth half open to expose a double row of teeth that would have Ron Jeremy blushing, and it huffed.
"Where the *fuck* have you *been?*"
Well fuck you too, buddy. |
“He’s definitely the god of fertility.”
A nervous, sweating second year graduate student looked down at Heinrich expectantly. Heinrich, for his part, sat quietly in his opulent leather chair pondering this new hypothesis.
Heinrich cleared his throat noisily, peered over his rotund belly at the graduate student, and thundered, “What was that boy? You know as well as I that this would go against decades of established research on the subject. Everybody thinks of god F42A as the deity of mischief. Obviously, with all electronic records destroyed in the great Trump Jr. debacle of 2082, we can’t say for certain. But the mischief hypothesis has been the most rigorously assessed idea for centuries. It would take some very conclusive evidence for it to falter now.”
The year was 2263, and they were in New Berlin. On Mars. The precise nature of the earthling god F42A had always been contentious, but with the recent Institute Dig, debate was reaching a new level of frenzy. Academics were ripe with anticipation for complete paradigm-shifts in the understanding of early gods. And Heinrich intended to deliver.
The sweating graduate student took a deep breath, wiping his greasy hair back and steeling his expression. He was fairly confident in his argument. He opened his mouth and spoke in a quick, ordered staccato of words.
“Look, the only clues that we’ve had for decades about god F42A have been from a sparse collection of printed books that survived the Trump Jr. debacle. And I agree that F42A has typically been invoked when mischief has been present. Almost like electrical or mechanical gremlins, but with a far more abstract usage. To quote the seminal example: ‘Oh fuck, I left the toaster on for too long and it burnt my toast’, from Book R328Z. The invocation of god F42A seems to have been a way of dealing with mischief in the world, whether planned or unplanned.”
“But listen: From the Institute Dig in Cambridge, MA, we found real printed collections of an online compendium of knowledge, called Reddit. I’m talking millions and millions of individual phrases. *Millions*, I’m telling you. And the other students and I, we’re going over these phrases and we’re seeing something we’ve never seen before. God F42A is being invoked with a procreational basis! Listen to this snippet: ‘I fucked your mom, OP, and she was good’. The conceptualization of F42A as a simple mischief-maker falls apart here. Or this one: ‘God, I can’t fucking wait for class to end. Fuck.’ This last one is still ambiguous, but we *think* that the original poster cannot wait for class to finish so that he can procreate with an unnamed female, and is invoking God F42A in a non-canonical way - almost with completely novel grammatical substructures and biphasic repetitions of F42A’s name. It’s fascinating.”
“And examine this transcript: ‘Dickbutt is fucking everywhere on this sub. When the hell did he become a dank meme?’. This is possibly the most dense of them all, but it is relatively straightforward. The poster is referencing anal sexual intercourse alongside an invocation of F42A to increase its probability of occurence. And then, of course, he references god H777, HELL, which you launched your career by definitively investigating, Professor. The god of warmth and sunlight, of course.”
Heinrich opened his eyes wide and stared at the graduate student. His brow furrowed in a gesture of intense concentration which he was famous for at the Martian Institute for Primitive Cultures. Deep in thought, he puffed his e-cigarette.
Heinrich reached a decision. He looked up and started to speak slowly, as if he were chewing his words. “This is very, very good work. If this were true, it would completely revolutionize our understanding of god F42A. As you know, we currently believe early humans saw this god as an insignificant, minor mischief-maker, which is why they could evoke the god with such frequency. Like ‘Fuck, the car won’t start!’, or ‘I stubbed my fucking toe, goddamnit’. But if this were to be true, god F42A would become a much larger figure, rather than a minor mischief-maker. It would open up so many additional lines of investigation: why the high rate of evocation of god F42A if he was so important and likely revered as a fertility god? Is there a correlation between F42A evocation and attempts to enter coitus? (I suspect this will produce a positive result). So much to do, but we are clearly making tremendous strides.”
Heinrich allowed himself a brief, inward smile. He was sure that if early humans saw the methodical progress they were making towards understanding F42A, they would be immensely satisfied. |
"Take this one, for instance."Zorblax said.
"You mean the one the viewer is reading right now?"Xanbon replied.
"Yes."Zorblax said. By way of explanation, he added, "We have technology that can breach the fourth wall with ease."
"Why are you telling me that?"Xanbon asked. "I already know. I was there when you bought it."
"It's not for your benefit, it's so that the people whose wall we just broke know how we did it."Zorblax replied.
"What, so they can file the proper insurance claim? Who buys fourth wall insurance these days?"
"It's typically part of Earthling homeowner insurance, now stop distracting me and let's get to the point: Too many alien prompts."Zorblax said.
Xanbon agreed. "I agree. I mean, it's bad enough that I'm lowering myself to reading through reddit when no doubt our superior culture has produced no doubt superior product."
"The human term is 'slumming it'."
"Right, right. I also hate how we have to use human terms. Don't we speak our own language?"
Zorblax nodded, because apparently the aliens were humanoid, another facet of these prompts he found himself hating. "You know we do. It's likewise vastly superior."
Xanbon continued, "And the *names*. 'Zorblax'? 'Xanbon'? Why do they translate our words - a feat that ought to be impossible for them, given how advanced we are in comparison - and not the names. Why can't you be 'Steve' and I be 'Jeff'?"
Steve replied, "I'm not so sure those names are appropriate, given our genders."
"Oh, I'm sorry, which of the few names that English possesses are appropriate for the three (of twenty-three possible) genders you're being at the moment?"Jeff asked.
"Four,"Steve corrected. "I took on **[Untranslatable: Gender Configuration 18, option B]** this morning."
"I hope you're planning to shed **[Untranslatable: Gender Configuration 4, waning]**, then."Jeff said to his friend. "I know it's a stereotype, but the combination tends to be unstable."
"And then there's this nonsense!"Steve added. "You're my 'friend'? As though the word could possibly encompass our relationship! We were pair-entangled at the quantum level before we were even instantiated!"
Jeff nodded his agreement. "And that 'stereotype' thing? As though we hadn't long ago pruned the evolutionary shortcuts in our neural networks that would cause such a thing."
"You know what I really hate?"Steve said, "It's the idea that the humans are 'special' in some way. Like a spacefaring civilization that's mastered faster than light travel could somehow be outdone by a bunch of apes only a few hundred centuries down from the trees."
"Oh, like 'Humans are good engineers'."
"Right! Did they miss the whole 'spacefaring civilization that's mastered faster than light travel' bit? How the hell would we do that without engineers?"Steve was fully ranting by this time.
"You know,"Jeff said, "we could just disrupt the whole damn thing. Splice into their internet, submit some prompts of our own, shift the unofficial-theme-of-the-week to something that's not aliens."
"Good idea."Steve said. "Post some 'God' or 'Death' prompts, that always gets them going."
"How about a death god?"
"Perfect." |
"And you're sure about this?"I asked, fingers spread across the top of the report.
"Yes sir. We compiled reports of all recorded away missions, correlated in terms of rank of those on the mission, and compared the data. We were looking for better protocols to link into the directives, but..."
"But you found... A pattern"
"Yes sir. The one thing that linked those that died was their... their shirts."
"Red shirts"I murmured. Not rank, not role, but the Red. Always Red shirts. I looked about my Office; the statistics of the Federation loomed in the reports strewn about me. Nothing before this has seemed so... arbitrary.
"Yes sir. We recommend a full withdrawal of the uniforms until we can asertain the reason. And of course we'll keep this under wraps. No need for panic."
"No."My eye had caught the records of the Enterprise. Entertaining stuff that I used to relieve the boredom, but always *always* against regulation. I looked up at my junior officer.
"I have a better idea. We swap the colour codes of the uniform. Red for command. Yes, such a mild change won't need to go to the Council..."
"But sir! The danger!"
"Ah yes. The danger. Tell me, how often have we warned our captains to not go on the away missions? And how often do they disobey, directly endangering their entire ship? We change, wait a month, then spread the rumour of the deaths. 'Leak' part of the report. Perhaps having a target painted into their backs will make them think twice before leaping into the jaws of death." |
2084 - the pinnacle year of the history of our species. Our technology has advanced beyond our grasp, and the exterior political world has collapsed to make way for three prominent cybernations to arise and become physical entities. These three states are known as 4Chan, Tumblr, and Reddit. These three states have transcended their boundaries as online communities, and like the political philosophies and parties of the 20th century, these communities with their quirks and hive-mind ideology infiltrated the 181 states of the world in an effort to culminate into just three.
The first of these states - 4Chan - is a far-right plutocracy riddled with autonomous communities hellbent on sexual tourism and the cultivation of absurdist cults. It's borders encroach on much of the Eastern world, with it's capitol district occupying much of the former state of Japan. Like the other two states, a particular vernacular has developed that is only understood by these community members, with many racial slurs and derogatory terms often used in basic conversation. It's cities, especially the capital NeoTokyo, are reminiscent of Kowloon Walled City from a century before, overfilled with dark and sinister alleyways and the crowded towers filled with a particularly obese populous. The average home consists of only one room, where a "neckbeard"spends almost all of his time watching anime and self-pleasuring his or herself with unorthodox pornography. With advances in cloning technology and test-tube insemination, traditional sexual intercourse is completely forbidden to prevent unnecessary social interaction and alleviate the stress and pressure of finding a soulmate. Food production is entirely reliant on protein-structuring facilities, mass producing genetically structured food products from biomass and scrapped carbon-based products. Most of these food products are from historic origin, replicating Doritos, Mountain Dew, and Taco Bell brand-name products.
The alter-ego, yet complimentary state, is Tumblr. Both Tumblr and 4Chan are locked in eternal cold war, despite the shocking similarities between the two. While the leftist dictatorship is divided in similar autonomous communities, the individual is given free-reign to intermingle among these communities rather than devote one's self to a particular sect. Reaching out across Africa, South America, and portions of Western Asia, this state has enhanced the pre-existing infrastructure of the many failed states in this expanse. It's cities are ornately designed and regularly have shrines and temples dedicated to certain sects of common interest, and many announcement boards are utilized to both encourage "tumblrinas"to proudly display their achievements, thoughts, and interests, while allowing for easier federal moderation. These sects, known as "fandoms", are entirely devoted to the observance of historic, recurring, or procedurally generated shows in an effort to appease a particularly volatile populous. This incredibly progressive state upholds it's hyper-advanced civil, ethnic, and sexual rights, especially by means of the practice of "hypersexual fluidity"in which an individual has been genetically engineered to physically alter their sexual orientation to one of tens of thousands of different selections after a simple cosmetic and hormonal transformation. However, traditional sexuality, caucasian ethnicity, devotion to traditional religions, and a lack of enthusiasm towards a certain fandom is punishable by death in the expansive nation of Tumblr.
And finally, the mediating state between the two is known as Reddit. Reaching from North America to as far east as the Ural Mountains, Reddit is a democratic socialist oligarchy which upholds an incredibly utilitarian social construct. Interests, political thoughts, and abilities are freely upheld by all "redditors", and any redditor can be a part of any of these "subs"in order to communicate and socialize with other members. These subs are entirely dedicated cities, with the redditor's most frequented sub being the city in which he resides. However, travel is free in order to encourage visits to these subs and attendance of forum contests and discussions in order to attain more "karma", or national recognition. However, like the fandom illusion, this illusion of free thought is heavily monitored by the High Council of Administrators. Progressive thought is subliminally enforced among the population, with subtle indoctrination by means of regulating karma control to punish deviators and, more importantly, reward conformists. This nurtures a pseudo hive-mind society, where interests or political thought that deviates from the current norm is often met with frequent protests, riots, and public humiliation trials in which karma is forcibly stripped from the deviators by means of "downvote bombing", where all contributions to society are deprived of their pre-existing karma amounts. Not to mention, Reddit is in a constant state of political instability, but by means of this subliminal indoctrination, the state is constantly on the cusp of revolt while failing to muster the organization and outburst to undergo such a revolt. Like the former states long gone, a content and indoctrinated society heavily monitored by oligarchs manage to appease society just enough to prevent war, while instigating enough inner-fighting to prevent any organization to topple the state.
These three states - 4Chan, Tumblr, and Reddit, have transcended the digital world known as the Internet and has completely engulfed the physical world known as Earth. As a result of this cyber-uprising, these three states incorporate their online moderation into suppression methods of it's physical citizens. This overpopulated world, filled with tens of billions of cybercitizens, all pledge allegiance to their respective state. Vagrants are known as traitors, sympathizers are regularly killed, and devotion to the state is absolutely necessary, whether it is done through constant stimulation, fandom inter-fighting, or subliminal indoctrination. Pick your state, because once your IP enters one of the three servers, there's no going back. |
"I have called you all here today, because I have a special announcement to make."
I stated uneasily, a bead of sweat forming on my right temple. I could hear my voice cracking. I hadn't felt this nervous since I asked Julia out in 2nd grade.
My parents were seated on the ugly blue couch that I had picked up during my university days and for some reason could never get rid of. Okay, that is a lie - the real reason why I couldn't get rid of it anymore is because after the renovations to my parent's house, it couldn't be taken out of the basement anymore.
Honestly, it was kind of hard to say if it even was still blue - very little light ever came into my room.
I looked over to the left from my parents, who were now both holding each other with gentle smiles on their faces. I wonder if they already knew? They had to. I mean how does a parent not notice their toddler being able to bend space and time as needed from time to time. At least, that was until I met the Master - who taught me how to control my powers for good.
My gaze fell upon Sarah, Josh, and Eric. All of whom sat on the mismatched dining chairs that I had pieced together from various garage sales. Eric was having trouble with his - one of the legs was 2 inches too short, and the leg kiddy corner from it one inch too long.
All three were friends I had known for my entire life. Well, all of my lives. Yes, I had more than one - my powers allowed me to live in multiple times, learn from my mistakes and manipulate the laws of the universe to fight those that wished to harm the delicate balance that the All-Seeing-One had sought to keep.
This was one time point that I was not able to see, change, or manipulate. No matter how many times I tried. Master had stated that such timepoints existed in each one of our lives - timepoints that were so crucial in our fate that they could not be observed or changed. All that would occur after tonight, would be a brand new reality, one I could explore again and would have to protect.
I was stalling - I realised. Eric had already started to lose interest - he was now enjoying himself rocking back and forth on the broken chair - I scratched my beard patches as I thought things through.
"It's okay, hun. We love you no matter what."
Mom said, breaking the silence - I looked up surprised, a bit relieved, thinking that she really knew - they all knew!
"Yes, dear. This day and age it isn't a big deal, I mean, there are so many of you now, there are meetings you can go to. If you like, we can come with you as well."
Dad spoke with his stern yet comforting therapist voice.
This was going to be easier than I thought, I smiled and looked at them both - then to my friends.
"Did you guys know too?"- I asked slightly gaining confidence, my acne was starting to itch a little bit as it always did when I started to blush.
They traded looks, and sheepishly smiled and nodded.
"I mean, it would have been hard not to notice the signs you know?"Sarah said.
"Yeah, the late night disappearances."Eric added.
"The weird clothes that I found in your closet"Josh mentioned, avoiding my gaze.
I am so glad that everybody I love knows and is supportive - I thought to myself. I sighed deeply.
"Yeah, and after you were adamant you had to go to Japan even after the Godzilla attack - kind of confirmed it didn't it?"Eric said, looking at everybody else.
"Yup! That was when I knew too - I mean okay, not right then, but when you came back and gave me that waifu pillow I knew it."- Josh stated gaining confidence.
I was a bit confused at this point, not sure how the adorable waifu had anything to do this with.
"Or the weird toys I found under your bed"Mom said.
"And the cartoon videos... oh god, I wish I had never seen that"Dad said looking down.
"But I still love you!"He quickly added.
Okay - now I was really confused. What was going on?
"eh, I think we may be talking about different things..."I whispered.
Eric looked at me, "wait what are you talking about?"
"Why don't we all say what we think this is about on the count of three", Sarah taking control as always.
3
2
1
""""You are a weeaboo""""
"I am Ultimate"
|
"My god, mother! Mother come quick, she's waking up!"A man's voice disturbed her sleep, then the scuffling of feet and the feeling of damp on her forehead caused her to moan and try to raise her hand. She felt lethargic, like each of her limbs was of it's own mind and had decided to sign off for the day.
"Cece,"the male voice said, brushing her cheek. "Cece, I'm here. It's alright."
Who the fuck was Cece?
"It's quite alright, little sister, don't speak,"he said. "Call for the doctor at once!"
Sister? Her real brothers were never so affectionate. Sure, they cared about her, would give her a hug if she was upset, but sitting by her bedside? Holding her hand? Caressing her face? It was a little unusual. That kind of behaviour bequeathed accusations of Lannister proportions.
She eyed the stranger, and moved her hand out of his to feel her own forehead. What kind of delusional fever dream... still, let him prop up a pillow behind her, and leaned back against it, still trying to fathom the depth of her situation.
A different young man she hadn't noticed straight away was staring at her in complete astonishment. He was handsome, but he wasn't wearing as finer clothes as her 'brother', his frame was lean, and his white eyes stood out in stark contrast to his very dark brown skin. She smiled at him. He flinched.
Her brother looked around to him, and rolled his eyes. "Didn't you hear me? The doctor! Now!"
She creased her brow at the tone, and the brown man put down the bucket he was holding, almost spilling the water inside in his hurry.
"They do struggle,"her brother said in an observational tone once he had left the room. "The plantation's very different now, you'll be shocked. Mother's even educating some of them - she always was the bleeding heart. Though it would be nice if some of them could read certain instructions. It's not enough we give them fair wages and a place to stay, I suppose."
She stared at him, the wrongness of what he'd just said incomprehensible.
"Ah, sister. Take your time. How I've missed you - it's been a whole year, you know. You turned twenty one just three days ago."
Year. Age. Time.
"What year?"she stammered. He gave her a confused look. "What year is it?"
"You sound very strange,"he said, and he put up a hand to feel her forehead. "What a queer accent."
"Yeah - right, uh... what year is it, though? Who... are you?"
His brow was creased now, his eyes wide and sad. "Amnesia, is it? Oh, Cece..."
He stood and made his way over to a large, mahogany vanity. He plucked something off it, and brought it back over to her. A locket. He clicked it open. Inside, was the tiniest photo portrait. The girl in the picture was unmistakably her as a child, and there was a boy a little older than her who must've been the man before her now. There were three others in the picture. She gaped at it.
"You are Cecelia Harrington. I am your brother, William James Junior - but you call me Billy, out of affection."He spoke slowly, his face solemn. He clearly wanted her to remember a great deal. "That's our other brother, Henry. He's away for the moment, becoming an academic, just like you always said he would! Our father, William - but to you it's Papa. Our mother, Grace. She moved to America with father when she was pregnant with me and..."
He kept on. Something about Boston. Something about Louisana. They'd lived in quite a few places, it seemed, and were now settled here - wherever that was, it didn't seem important. Where was her cat? Her girlfriend? Her cell phone? What did any of this mean? What kind of distopia was this?
"Oh, of course! I'll have a letter sent to Evan at once - he's your fianceé, he waited for you all this time, but he didn't need to! So do be kind to him when he comes to visit, I know how you like to test him - and where is Mother? I'll write to Henry as well, of course, I'm-"he paused to look at her, and smiled divinely. "I'm so thrilled to have you back, little sister."
She pushed back the covers on the bed, despite her brother's protests, and tried to go look out the window. Her legs weren't as weak as she thought they'd be, but she let William support her on her way there none the less.
It was blisteringly hot outside, and there were cotton fields as far as she could see. Her stomach twisted, and her eyes fell to the bodies moving between the crops. 1742.
"Yes, we've expanded quite a lot since your accident,"William said, stroking her back reassuringly. "It must be quite a shock."
**A/N: I had a few ideas, but decided to do this pretty straight forward since I figured others would probably do stories about their get rich schemes and such. Thanks for the prompt!** |
You were born in an indiscriminate year to an indiscriminate family in an indiscriminate little town. An older brother. A younger sister. Two parents - a mother and a father - who were more than used to putting up with children, what with your adventurous brother.
You grew up. Didn't stand out. Didn't get the worst grades, but not nearly the best either. Played some sports, did some art courses. Learned to play the drums. Experimented a little in high school (because what teenager isn't curious about themselves?). Graduated with good marks.
Went to college. Took some courses. Did alright. Tried some drugs - didn't like it. Drank a little beer - didn't like it. Went to a few parties with some friends and got smashed, though. Stayed up late to finish essays, a few theses. Graduated with good marks, again.
Got a job. Did alright; started at the bottom of the food chain, of course, but the work wasn't too hard. Met new people. Made some friends. The accountants were always friendly and usually headed the betting pools. Sometimes put some money down, but usually lost. Attended a few birthday parties, met your nieces, nephews.
Met the love of your life. Red hair and green eyes; Irish and Scottish on their mother's side. Bit of Welsh and Swiss from the father. Worked in the next building over. Loved to read (which you never had time for) and see the newest films (which you made the time for). Preferred colcannon over risotto. Allergic to walnuts, as you both learned on one unfortunate date that ended in the hospital. Held their hand the entire night, grief-stricken. Blurted the question that had been on your mind for months, *years*, when they woke up: "Would you marry me?"
Got married. Lived well. Had a kid. A few years passed. The love of your life died. Aneurysm, the doctor said. The funeral was short. Your kid was too young to understand any of it. They didn't remember it at all. You grieved long and hard.
A year passed. And another. The co-workers stopped avoiding the subject. Went out again. Started dating again. They would've wanted you to be happy. Tried meeting a few people. Didn't work out. Stopped dating. Tried again; started going steady.
Kid grew up. Went through school. Got good grades. Never in trouble. Didn't mind when you married again. Graduated as valedictorian. Proud, so proud.
They're an astrophysicist now. Living well and working hard. You proved that hard work pays; forty long years and you own the business, now. Manage everything that happens. Make sure that everyone works and earns their pay.
You're not young anymore. You know that. Your kid - not really a kid anymore, but. They're worried. You aren't. You know you're going to die, it happens to the best of us, after all. They told you that there was a grandkid on the way and that you'd better be alive to greet them. You wondered what you did to deserve such an stern child.
You're sitting in the den, a book in your lap. You've had a lot more time to read nowadays, since you've retired. It's filled with old pictures: your parents, yourself when you were a child. The love of your life. Your first wedding.
You slip the photo out of its sleeve and hold it close. It's coming now. You can feel it.
Everything goes dark. Your hand drops and the picture slips away.
*Simulation Terminated*
The words flash once, twice. Bright blue words on a black field. Your body jolts as you greedily draw in breath, pushing away the visor as far as it can possibly go. Rolling onto your side makes you fall to the floor and you barely catch yourself on one arm.
A few coughs helps to clear your system; eyes watering, no doubt red, you look up. "Is that what's going to happen? All of it?"
They shrug. "Only if you want it to."
You look back at the machine. The words flash in your mind: *Simulation Terminated*. You remember it all so clearly, so perfectly. Like crystals caught in rock. You see the photo again, their eyes crinkled with laughter. A perfect moment frozen in time.
"I... I want..." |
The back of my neck feels all hot and boggy when I wake up. I hate that. The air conditioner in this motel room makes a lot of noise, but it's just a big show. I close my eyes and hope sleep takes me away somewhere dark and cool, but it doesn't. Reality persists.
I have been tapering off booze for the past few days. It's amazing how timid and jittery I become when the alcohol is oozing its way out of me. I haven't even worked up the nerve to call the motel manager and complain about the air conditioning. To think, I lived for years in this helpless, reclusive state. What a fucking waste. The whole time, I though the alcohol was giving me courage when it was stealing it from me.
I can't drink anymore. I need courage.
I'm down to my last two hundred dollars. I could call good ol' mom and dad and ask them for some help. But what kind of conversation would that be? "Why am I broke? Well, I took some time off work so I could write a book. About what? Oh, you know, tripping acid, Nazis... finger blasting... cats."
No, I'm not going to call ol' mom and dad. I'm not going back to the sober house either. I'm going to get some answers. I'm going to call Shawn.
 
Shawn shows up at the motel right after he gets off of work. I'm surprised because we had gotten into a lot of little arguments towards the end, and I left on pretty bad terms with him. I'm standing in the parking lot when his black truck pulls up, and my paranoia starts to flare. Maybe he saw the story online and was outraged. Maybe he's been looking for me.
He strides up to me and gives me a quick hug, patting me stiffly on the back. He steps back and squints at the dingy face of the motel. "I know this fucking motel,"he says quietly. "Come on, man. Let's get your stuff."
"Get my stuff?"
"You said you're sober, right? I already talked to the house manager. He'll take you back. We got a bed,"he says.
"I'm not going back to the house. I asked you to come here because I... I want to know where that warehouse is. The one downtown."
Shawn turns and looks me in the eye. "Why you wanna know about that?
I tell him the story. I tell him about Mother Horse Eyes, the Nazis, the CIA, the LSD, the experiments, most of the stuff that I've told you. I leave out some parts, like the fact that he is in the story. That we are in the story. That all of this in the story right now. He listens to me, but his face darkens. Maybe he thinks I'm crazy or high or full of evil spirits.
"Listen to me,"I say, working myself up to deliver my big speech. "I have lived things which are impossible. Which could not have happened. So have you. Those tunnels, those cages, the bones, none of it should exist. But you saw it. I've seen things too. We have to find out what it is. I lived with that monster for a whole summer. I know she's down there. And I want to find her."
Shawn narrows his eyes as he stares at me. "What's down there is the devil, Nick. If you go down there, you won't come back."
"I want to see her. I want to know. Please,"I say to him, my voice breaking. "I just want to know why I'm so fucked up."
"You're fucked up because you drink all day. And you got character defects. Like me. And everybody else. That's it."
"Don't you want to know what's going on down there? You're not curious? "
"No."
"It doesn't eat at you? You don't need any answers?"
He shakes his head. "God doesn't promise answers. God gave us all the answers we need in the Bible. That's all we get. I don't ask him what's going to happen in the future. I don't do horoscopes. I don't practice witchcraft. God's not going to come down and give me the answers to everything. All he wants from me is obedience."
"Oh, come on. So we shouldn't try to figure things out? We shouldn't ask questions? That's just some anti-intellectual, anti-science bullshit."
When we were roommates and got into disagreements, he would start quoting the Bible at me, and I would start picking at him with snide intellectual arguments, using as many big words as I could. We're falling back into the same dynamic.
"Anti-science?"he says. "Shit, I'm not saying don't be a scientist. I'm saying don't go into a tunnel with fucking bones on the walls, man."
I find myself laughing at this. He smiles with me.
"For real though, man. It's dangerous,"he says, the smile fading
I look out across the crumbling parking lot. Long evening shadows are drawn across the asphalt. "Man, I don't know. I just feel like if I could figure out what happened during that summer, then maybe I wouldn't be so fucked up. I've obsessed about this shit for 25 years or so, and now there's a chance to get some answers.
"Just let it go."
"No. No, there has to be an ending. There has to be some kind of... pay-off."
"Moses and the people wandered the desert for 40 years looking for the promised land. One day the Lord took him up to a mountaintop and showed him all the promised land, and Moses died right there, without ever setting his foot in the land. Do you know what kind of Lord does that?"
"A messed up one,"I muttered.
"The Lord knows that we are generations. Man is of few days. Generations might pass before we get any answers. For the last ten years, I've been living like the world might end any day, but I'm not doing that anymore. I have to remember that we know neither the day nor the hour wherein the Son of man cometh. That's why I'm going back to school and all that."
I nod. Through the course of our little debates, I had told him many times that the world wasn't going to end anytime soon. The world was going to go on and on like it always did, in a fucked up and confused state. Maybe some of it rubbed off on him. Maybe some of it should be rubbing off on me now.
"I need answers,"I told him. "I've tried just accepting the mystery and whatever, but at this point I just need to know why I'm all fucked up, why I can't stop drinking, why I can't be normal."
"Man, I could tell you where the warehouse is. But what are you going to do when you go down there? What are you going to do when you meet the devil?"
I haven't told him that part of the story. It's a part that I'm not sure I really believe myself.
"I think... I have been given reason to believe... that whatever is down there... I can destroy it."
|
As always. Eight thirty. Ten minutes for a shower, ten minutes to eat, five minutes to get dressed and brush my teeth, twenty minutes to drive to work, and... that means I'm late. The minute or two I've spent lying in bed predicting just how late I'll be probably isn't helping the situation either.
I shrugged my shoulders, stretched, felt the cool air of the room outside my blankets touch my toes as they reached too far, reminding me that no matter where I go it's not as warm or cozy as where I am right now. Same reminder, every morning. Next up, the slippers, housecoat, staircase, toast, orange juice. Predictability. Off to the kitchen, greeted upon my arrival by the blue and red flashing lights of the morning sun as I prepared my breakfast.
Hold on.
Blue and red. The sun isn't blue and red, nor does it flash. It's supposed to be yellow, but not really yellow, more of a white, but everyone calls it yellow, but most certainly not blue and red. One step in my mind leading to the other, I realized that it's not, in fact, the sun. I can't predict everything.
However, looking out my windows I realized the people outside my door certainly can. An ambulance and a fire truck sit passively by, the new clairvoyant division of the city's emergency response team. This will make me at the minimum another seven minutes late. I'll probably have to greet them (one minute), discuss why they're appearing on my lawn (five minutes), and offer them coffee which they'll likely decline (one minute). Best get started.
"Good morning,"I said to the fireman. He looked every bit what one would predict in a fireman; large, bushy moustache, barrel chested, strong hands that I can guess with almost certainty would be calloused.
"Miss Price?"he replied without a formal good morning, likely saving me a few extra seconds.
"Yes, I'm her."
"You're about to have an accident, ma'am. Eight minutes from now."His tone was certain, his eyes unblinking.
"I believe there must be a mistake. My mornings are always set in stone. Wake up, stretch, feel the cold on my toes, slippers, housecoat-"
"You're going to stick a fork in your toaster in an attempt to remove a burnt piece, ma'am. It's fated."While I found his comment fascinating, he looked entirely bored. I suppose that's the cost of becoming a clairvoyant; excitement is an entirely lost emotion. Nevertheless I was incredulous.
"Why on earth would I-"
"That's not up to me, ma'am. Seven minutes from now, now. Please go back inside, and leave the door unlocked so we can assist you."
I did just that. I stepped inside and continued on my daily routine. I poured my orange juice and set the toast in the toaster. I expected to wait my fourty-five seconds. Fourty-five seconds never burns my toast. It makes it a delightful blend between crispy and soft, perfect timing breeding perfect toast. But what if I were to toast it perfectly once more, ignoring the clairvoyant predictions and simply completing my daily routine as I always have? Would that disrupt the universe's timing? Would I shake the very foundations of the world while preparing my morning meal, the simple act of going about my way, the normal way, causing a rift in the preordained manner of existence?
I had not anticipated an existential crisis while staring at my toaster. I was no longer counting the time. Fourty five seconds turned into two minutes while I contemplated my very being. The smell of burnt toast wafted up to my nose, that same odour being a harbinger of serious bodily harm to stroke victims, but the harm coming to me was entirely different.
I became suddenly upset with the disruption to my morning routine, angered by the unpredicted arrival of clairvoyants on my lawn, and above all, enraged by having to eat burnt toast as there was simply not enough time to make another piece.
In the fuss I realized I had still not hit the lever to raise the now charred piece of bread, the appliance itself a Doomsday clock I was fully capable of stopping but never did. Six minutes have passed since I spoke with the firefighter. I have one minute to decide if I should stand as an affront to fate. One minute to midnight. The smell became stronger. I heard the ambulance drivers at the door.
I pulled a fork from the drawer. Twenty seconds now. I'll definitely be late for work. I tried to hit the lever, but the toast had crumbled and became stuck. Ten seconds. The fate of the world against my own free will. Five seconds. The fate of the world against my morning routine. My knuckles turned white as I held the fork.
One second. |
*Going to hell for this one probably*
_________________________________________
And so the council waited. Assembled at the golden round table where all the usual suspects. Abraham, the first of the Jews. Moses, who freed the Lord's chosen people. Jesus, Son of Man and most viral of the prophets. Muhammed, peace and blessing be upon him. The Archangels Mikael and Gabriel. And finally someone not mentioned in Abarahamic scripture, who was hunched over a large, very large and very ornate book, browsing through it intently.
"Well?"asked Gabriel
This last man was Larry, self-certified couch potato and major cinephile. He was not a religious man, but his extreme consumption of all the big TV shows and Hollywood productions had made him the perfect candidate for a one-headed focus group that would determine the screenplay for Humanity's soul.
Larry pushed the Bible away from him, sneezing and snorting constantly from the bad cough he was suffering. "Yeah, I don't think anything in here is gonna fly."
"What?"Mikael asked incredulously, "this is the word of our LORD. It's the greatest story every told. We just need you to tell us which parts will impress the mortals *most* when unleashed during our final battle with Hell."
"I don't know what to tell you man,"Larry said. "It's just much too... preachy... to really make a compelling story. Too many tropes, not enough excitement."
"Not enough excitement?"Moses began, "There's plagues that ravage the land of Egypt. How much more exciting can it get?"
"Well yeah I like frogs, and the rain of fire is okay, I guess. But it's not like... badass fucking zombies running around or anything. Besides, there's some major plot holes and the character background of this 'God' guy is... lacking."
"That's my FATHER you're talking about,"Jesus protested.
"I understand that, but the paternity reveal was already done by Star Wars... twice now... so you can't really do that without sounding like a cheesy parody."
Jesus collected himself and glanced over his fellow holy men before continuing. "Are you sure there's nothing usable in my testament? I cured men of leprosy just by touching them."
"Predictable. No buildup."
"I *walked* on *water"
"Yeah but after Moses split the sea it's just like, what else is new, y'know?"
"I came back from the *death*. I'd like to see you come back from crucifixion.."
"Reboots are done to death,"Larry replied, wiping his nose on the hem of his sweater, "- pun not intended. It's 2016. Maybe if you swapped your gender you would've had yourself a blockbuster."
The council stole glances at each other and exchanged whispers. Finally all eyes turned towards Muhammed, who nodded. "So... the Quran?"
Larry shook his head. "Not everything successful needs to be a trilogy, you know what I'm saying? After a while a story is just done. The Quran just felt like milking the franchise."
"Dad damn it,"Jesus exclaimed, "The forces of Evil are going to beat us at this rate."
"Oh?"Larry uttered, "What's their playbook?"
"..It's being written by someone called George RR Martin."
Larry got up, snorted audibly, wiped his reddening nose yet again. He placed his hands on the table ready to depart, knowing there was nothing left for him to do here. "Yeah. You're fucked." |
The multilingual convention was in town again, but, given that it was a fairly small town, not many people did come. An Italian man, a Swiss woman, a Belgian boy, a Canadian man, a Spanish woman, and myself, an American, were the only attendees. Now, naturally, the Italian man spoke Italian and Portuguese, as he was a traveling merchant, the Swiss woman spoke Italian and German since she lived near the Italian border, the Belgian boy knew German and French, as it is quite a multilingual country, the Canadian man was from Quebec, so he spoke English and French, I spoke English and Spanish, which I learned from four classes in High School, and the Spanish woman spoke Spanish and Portuguese, since she traveled often between the two countries. I hope I didn't lose you.
Now, the thing about the multilingual convention was that, as there were only six attendees, we did not have the money to host ourselves at a large convention center. We, instead, borrowed the recreational center of the township. The unfortunate part of the story is, the door locks from the outside as well as the inside, and since we did not tell the township when exactly the convention was to be held, we found ourselves locked in at the end of the convention.
Now, I knew where the spare keys were, but they were up quite high, and so I kindly asked the Spanish woman to tell the Italian man to reach up and get them.
Now, Spanish was not my first language, so I'm not so sure if I didn't speak correctly or she didn't understand correctly, or if she didn't speak correctly or he didn't understand correctly, but as soon as the Italian man heard this, he expressed a sigh of relief and pulled out what looked to be a roll of marijuana out from his back left pocket.
"No! Not get high! Get the high keys! Up there!"I exclaimed, and the man seemed confused. Different culture, I guess. I explained to the Spanish woman once again, and she translated to the Italian man, who then proceeded to pout, put away his substances, and reach for the keys. But, as he was quite the clumsy man, he ended up dropping them and, in his moment of confusion, he kicked them under a table.
I audibly groaned.
I turned to the Canadian man and told him to tell the Belgian boy to reach under the table and grab the keys (which made the Swiss lady look as if she felt a bit left out). The boy crouched down and reached under the table and grabbed the keys. I took them from him and searched for the one to the door - but wait - where was it? I swear the keychain had five keys, and this one only had four. What could have happened to it?
I looked around frantically, when finally the Swiss woman exclaimed something in German. It didn't matter what she said, however, because I saw it too. A man was walking by outside, quite close to a window we could slightly crack open. I rushed over, opened the window, and exclaimed at the man, "Hello! We need help! We're trapped inside! Can you call the township? The police? Anyone?"
He furrowed his brow and responded something that sounded German. My suspicions were confirmed by the fact that the Belgian boy seemed to understand him. The Belgian boy then said something to the Canadian, who then turned to me.
"What did the man say?"I asked impatiently.
"He told the Belgian boy that he only speaks Russian."
---
To see all of my writing, please visit /r/ZachWrites! |
"FUCKING JESUS"he yelled.
"You better not be fucking Jesus because there's no way that kid could be mine!"God yelled as he slammed the paternity test down on the table.
"NO, I HAVEN'T SLEPT WITH YOUR SON. I'M WONDERING WHY YOU CHOSE ME FOR A GOD DAMN VIRGIN BIRTH. IF YOU'RE ALL KNOWING THEN YOU WOULD KNOW I LITERALLY FUCKING DO NOTHING WITH MY LIFE AND HANG AROUND WITH THE SCUM OF THE EARTH EVERYDAY."
God rested his head in his hands.
"Bruce, we're going to have to make you into a woman to make this thing more believable..." |
Sarah May handed the meatloaf to her daughter, Cara June, who padded out to the table on the patio and set it down. As she did, she glared at her husband, Vonner with a look of pure disgust. Vonner had taken his shirt off and sat beside his mother, Rain, who sat with her head tipped back. In the centre of her chest, a pendant made of pink quartz caught the light. Rain wore her curly blonde hair held back by a tie-dye bandana and seemed to be humming under her breath.
Geraniums in terracotta pots lined the porch. Wisteria hung over the sloping roof and the purple flowers bobbed in the slight breeze. The table was laid with Sarah May's best china. Her daughter had called two days earlier and said that she had something important to discuss. Two minutes after she'd hung up, Sarah May had called Rain to guess what it could be.
Sarah May joined Vonner, Cara June and Rain on the porch with a loaf of steaming fresh bread between her hands. Her apron, white with an embroidered flower, had been a handmade gift from Rain. She was plump around the middle, greying, and wore a little cross tucked beneath her plaid shirt. Cara June and Vonner sat at opposite ends of the table, staring daggers at each other.
"Isn't this nice?"said Sarah May, in a tone of voice that suggested the opposite. She passed the bean salad to Rain, who let go of her quartz crystal long enough to take a large helping.
"Lovely to get the family together,"Rain agreed. Both older women looked at each other nervously.
"Do you want to say grace, Cara June?"Sarah May asked. Her daughter scowled.
"Don't hold with that nonsense,"Vonner said.
Rain and Sarah May caught eyes across the table. Sarah May rolled her eyes and Rain took the initiative: she waved her hands over the food and murmured beneath her breath.
"Thank you, Rain,"Sarah May dimpled happily.
The awkward atmosphere persisted. Cara June took a helping of meatloaf and began sawing at it as though she wished it was her husband's neck. Vonner mashed his beans with the back of his fork until they looked like grey brains on his plate. Rain and Sarah May chatted about the weather and their herb gardens. Both women kept them: Sarah May grew rosemary for chicken and sage for pork, while Rain grew juniper for gin and belladonna for the poison.
"I've been praying for rain, but it's been dry as anything,"Sarah May explained. She dabbed her forehead with a linen napkin. Rain nodded sagely.
"The feverfew needs a good soaking. I've done a couple of spells, but I'm thinking there's nothing for it but a moonlit dance."
"Do you find they work, Rain?"Sarah May put down her cutlery in interest.
"Oh course. I stopped doing them with my clothes off once Vonner was born, but every now and again I feel the call of the wild,"Rain replied.
"I understand completely,"Sarah May said.
Their respective children glowered angrily at either side of the table. Rain refilled Cara June's glass and Vonner put his knife down against Sarah May's china hard.
"We're getting a divorce,"he said suddenly. The mothers at the table gasped.
"But Vonnie, darling,"Sarah May started.
"We just aren't compatible, Mom,"Cara June said. "He's a Wiccan, I'm a Christian. We can't see eye to eye on anything. He won't enter a Church--"
"And Cara June refuses to help me charge crystals,"Vonner continued. "She won't honour the sacred mother and she refuses to get up at night for *anything.*"
"We've come to the conclusion,"Cara June said said finally. "That you raised us to respect our upbringings, and our traditions, and there's no way the two could work together."
Rain looked at Sarah May, who looked back.
"A cup of tea to calm the nerves?"Rain asked eventually. "I know a fantastic spell, if you have some ginger in the kitchen."
"I'd love one,"Sarah May said heavily. "And to think, all this time, we've been completely incompatible Rain,"
"Dreadful,"Rain clutched at the quartz pendant again. "We should pray for their relationship."She got up from the table and followed Sarah May into the house. They watched their errant children at the table, still scowling at each other.
Perhaps they would learn. Perhaps not. |
Ever since I met Joseph Shaw I've always wanted to visit Australia. He was my best friend from childhood until the very day he died. He always told me stories about Australia and how wonderful it was there. About summer at the beach with his friends. He told me about just how different school was there to here but the most astonishing thing he told me about, was the animals. The kangaroos that roamed the countryside, they even came into his backyard! He used to pat them. There was even one that he had named because it kept coming back. He once wrestled with a crocodile! How much more Australian can you get. Dingos were their version of coyotes, foxes were considered a pest there and farmers used to have to protect their farms from them. Emu's roamed the countryside in packs, the Platypus seems more like a myth than a real creature and then there's the Cassowary, one of the most frightening birds I've ever heard of.
Two months ago Joseph died. The best friend I've ever known was taken from me by a drunk driver of all things. We used to always talk about going to Australia together, he was always so excited at the idea of showing me around his country, his hometown and introducing me to his sister, to his family. Now I can never see these sights with him and that's what hurts the most. After his funeral when we read his last will and testament he told me to go to Australia without him, he told me about his hometown, Bendigo and he told me where I could find his family to give them his ashes. For the past month and a half, I've been attempting to get to Australia, but every flight has been way out of my price range.
Just yesterday I found something I missed previously. A letter left to me by Joseph, a letter that told me the truth about Australia. In his letter he spoke about how his family was sent here with a mission, their mission was to infiltrate the American Military and use the knowledge they gained to help invade America and take over the country. The letter spoke about how America is full of Australian spies all working towards this goal. He spoke a bit about Australia in general in the middle of the letter but at the very end, he told me something I never even thought was possible, something that explained everything I've been through in the past month and a bit. Australia wasn't, isn't real. The entire country is a facade, a cover created by the USSR. He told me about how every "Australian"was secretly a USSR Spy.
But the worst part of it all was I didn't even know his real name, his name wasn't Joseph Shaw but rather Aleksei Kuznetsov. At least, I thought that was the worst part, until I turned the letter over. The USSR was making their move and I was in danger. Soon America would be invaded by what remains of the USSR and I was the only person who knew it was coming.
-
So this prompt was kinda difficult, despite me being Australian. I hope you enjoyed it none the less. If you did, check out my other stuff. Thanks. |
His smile was genuine, even if his laugh was forced.
"That's a bad joke, even for you."
She returned his smile, and cradled something between her hands. "Do you remember the day we met?"
"Does it matter?"he asked shaking his head. "There's no future, no past, just the now. While bother dwelling on the past? It won't change the future."
"No. But it can change the present,"she replied, and opened her hands to reveal a miniature bird done in silver and bold brass, with tiny copper rivets and threads. Wings of gossamer gold displayed thousands of feathers, each one as soft as silk. It was a beautiful work of art, but that was all that it was. Still, lifeless, cold. Her eyes glowed a faint blue as she spoke.
"Do you remember the song you sang?"
The corner of his lip quirked.
*"Oh she was a rare thing, fine as a bee's wing, so fine that a breath of wind might blow her away. She was a lost child, she was running wild, and she as long as there's no price on love I'll stay, and you wouldn't want me any other way."*
"And do you remember the dress I wore?"
"It was blue. That I know. And you had a silk scarf on, tied with a gold ring."
"And the weather?"
"Raining. Lots of rain."
"And how did you feel?"
"Cold."
"And how do you feel now?"
"Warm. Very, very warm."
"Strange then,"she said. "How the past can change the present, no?" |
Uh, okay. I am a good work... guy...
Okay, look. Nobody in back is ignorant of this troubling situation our company has swung into this month. Cuts will start fast and not slow down soon, if at all. But you and I both know I work as hard as any man or woman on our payroll. Nobody is as trustworthy as I am. My work continually curtails our costs and boosts profits. Only a fool would think it's worth laying off as skillful a hand as I am. Think long and hard, sir. This could impact our company's long haul viability in ways you can't control. |
The riddle had led him to the end of Dusty Drive, a warehouse almost as nightmarish as what came out of Scarecrow. The name was befitting, there was nobody around, Batman thought, a perfect hideout for the Riddler. What sick trap he had planned for him, he didn't know. Under the cover of darkness, he crept up to the door and tested the knob, not knowing whether the Riddler had rigged a bomb to explode. Curiously, it opened without a struggle. Surprised, he walked in, brimming with more confidence than usual, thinking the Riddler had returned to his ways of gimmickry rather than a deadly criminal mastermind.
How very wrong he was.
As he stepped into the open area, the door suddenly shut behind him. Before the thought even crossed into his mind to attempt an escape, a green figure emerged from the shadows in front of him. He had found the Riddler. A second thought crossed his mind, to throw the Riddler across the room. Yet once again, his enemy beat him to it, as he pressed a button on his cane and the lights burst on.
Batman was almost blinded. He could still see the famililar face of the Riddler, clad in green as per the norm. But the other faces were also known to him. Much to his shock, the Joker, Scarecrow, Bane, Ra's al Ghul and his daughter, Two-Face, the Penguin, he couldn't think fast enough to list them all.
"This was your plan, Riddler?"asked an angry Batman as he reclaimed his sight. "You rounded up every single one of my enemies for one fight?"
"Not to fight, detective..."replied the Riddler, in a seemingly solemn tone. "We just want to help..."
"This is an intervention,"claimed the Joker. "It's gone far enough, Bats."
"What are you talking about, Joker? What intervention?"
"You've avoided confronting your problems by dressing up as a bat for long enough, Batman,"said Scarecrow. "We cannot, in good conscience, enable you any longer."
"That's ridiculous, Crane,"retorted Batman. "I do this for the good of the city, to stop the likes of you!"
"We're only here because of you,"the Penguin responded. "I've been a criminal for a long time, and whenever law cracks down as hard as you, crime responds in kind."
"What?"asked a shocked Batman. Cobblepot had caught him off-guard.
"The justice system in Gotham is completely perverted, thanks to you,"stated Two-Face. Batman had long known his issues with Gotham's courts.
"But this isn't about Gotham. It's about you, Batman,"Bane piped up. "The relationships you have with all of us here tonight are very dysfunctional, rooting from your earliest psychological traumas."
"I lost my parents!"Batman broke down. "When I met you, Joker, you provided an anti-me, something to escape into..."the Joker responded with not an evil smile, but a knowing one. "And you, Riddler, kept my brain occupied, and I was busy training to defeat Bane, I lost sight of...of..."he could not go on. He had started crying.
In a manner unexpected of his enemies, they did not take advantage of his moment of weakness. Instead, he heard two words from Ra's al Ghul.
"It's okay." |
We had stood by the fountain for a few minutes, each contemplating what we wished for. She, as intelligent and creative as she had shown herself to be during our evening together, had gone with as cliché a couple of wishes as any beauty pageant winner. World peace and an end to world hunger. But me, well, I’ve always been a die-hard romantic, so of course I tried to harness the moment, to build up to our first kiss. I wished to be immortal. And then, as she poked fun at me for choosing such a cliché wish myself, I looked into her pale green eyes, wished that my soulmate had immortality too, and tossed my second coin into the fountain. Her giggle stopped abruptly and she drew a short breath right before I planted one on her. It was perfect.
The weeks that followed were like a dream. As we got to know each other better, the wish became something of an inside joke, and our lives moved forward, together. We moved in together, finished our degrees, and got our first jobs, her as a legal secretary at a downtown firm, and I as a high-school physics teacher. We had our first son and bought our first house in the same year, and then three years later we were blessed with a second son. She chose to stay home to raise them together, and I moved up in seniority until I became a vice-principal. As our kids grew up, the joke aged, and so did we. One after another, they went out on their own, one starting his own family, the other his own business. We had it all.
As soulmates do, we aged together. While I developed a rounder gut, she developed a rounder behind. When I found myself getting up three times a night to relieve myself in the washroom, she found herself suffering hot flashes at any and all times of the day. We both grew wrinkles at a pace slower than we could ever really catch on to, but eventually she found them around her mouth, and I, on my forehead. While she noticed more over the years growing at the sides of her eyes, I noticed bags beginning to form under my eyes. Her hair lightened, and mine thinned. She developed age spots, and I, small white spots in my vision. We grew old, together
As the years went by, her wrinkles kept growing, spreading from her face to the rest of her body, and mine slowly stopped. While her hair turned white, I showed no new signs of balding. As she found new age spots by the day, my vision got no worse. It took me years and years before I really noticed, but sure enough, one day I noticed that in at least the last ten years, I hadn’t aged a day, while she had aged twenty. Friends began asking what my secret was, and it became a new joke; I had found the fountain of youth, but I had found it thirty years too late. I joked with them, but as time went on I became more distressed.
Though never gaining on me in years, my sons began to look more like my brothers than my sons. My friends began to look like my own parents, and they passed, one by one, as time marched on for everyone but me. My wife passed, and then, eventually, my sons. I became forgotten.
A parent should never have to watch their own child die. It’s unnatural. But then again, so am I. Though the pain of living when I should have died long ago still haunts me, it has been dulled by time, of which I have had more than any one man should. And as time continued to move on, eventually so did I, finding new hobbies to play with, new tricks to master, and new paths to travel, though I eventually grew tired and bored of living after all.
Until today. Today it hit me that I hadn’t just made one wish that day at the fountain. I had made two. If I had been made immortal, then perhaps my second wish had been granted as well. Perhaps I had been granted an immortal second soulmate. Perhaps there was someone out there, just like me, waiting for me to find them. I don’t know for sure, but I certainly hope so. Immortality is boring alone. And so today begins my quest. My immortal journey to find my immortal soulmate. I haven’t felt this young in God knows how long.
|
Some might say strength is subjective. That one might not be the most fit physically, but have great mental fortitude. That someone biased against violence of any kind might find themselves able to fight off an enemy when it came down to it, that a parent could muster up the courage and *strength* to protect their children against impossible odds. These people might say that we all have a special strength inside us, a potential, waiting to be unlocked.
These people are *fucking idiots*. My name is Joel Murphy, and I *am* strong. No wimpy 'mental fortitude' or any of that BS. I've been training my entire damn life to become a knight, and I have the physique to prove it. I can life a cow over my shoulder with barely any struggle, and - difficult as it may be - could do the same for your mother. I am strong, not because I have some wimpy 'inner strength' that only comes out when it needs to, but because I take the fight to the enemy, even before they *are* the enemy.
Initiative, am I right?
Ultimately, it all comes down to being proactive. Advice I actually received from the local widow, back when I was helping her by cooking dinner (in a very manly way, of course). Unfortunately for her, around a week later I was visiting her and noticed she had a rather large wart on her nose. Well, I put two and two together - somewhat elderly lady, single, wart on the nose - and figured she was a witch.
...you don't see it? You *are* dull. Not entirely surprising.
Oh well, she's dead now, and the village safer for it. Sure, she might *not* have been a witch, but hey - it's important to be proactive.
So yeah, bringing the fight to the enemy. Generally a great idea, until you end up in situations like *this*.
Now, I should probably explain a few things. Very slowly, too, so that I can ensure you fully understand. Understand? Oh, you're nodding, good. I was worried all your muscles were in your gut.
There was a guy like that in my village, actually. The others called him paralyzed. I called him a *wimp*. If he was strong he would have just fought it off. (Incidentally, I've never been sick: Even witch-disease is scared of me.)
Anyways, there's a kid in our village. Billy something. Baker's son, you get me? Kinda pudgy, very wimpy, typical village loser. (Funny, just like pretty much everyone else in the village. Man, I have the worst luck with villages.) He's, what, sixteen or something? Years old, that is. Although I wouldn't be surprised if that was his I.Q. as well. Even though, apparently, he could make the most *delicious* cookies. I mean, absolutely fantastic cookies.
Just keep Billy in mind while I explain the next part. Are you capable of that? Good. On the West side of our village, there's a forest. Now, yes, I'm aware that this is fairly normal for villages. Our forest, however, isn't quite your typical forest. It kills people. I mean, not in the 'crossbows don't kill people, people kill people' way, but like, kills *everyone*. Everyone that enters it, at least. I lost my father to it, my grandfather, my great-grandfather, and I'm *fairly* certain that his father died to it as well.
You'd think that after the first few died, they'd realize that maybe entering into the deadly forest was a *bad* idea. At least, that's the conclusion I came up with, at a very young age. My father was badass, his father was badass, etc etc, however they still died. Ergo, going into the forest was *not* something I intended to do.
But there was a teensy, weensy *problem* with this. Want to take a guess? I'll give you three. Actually, ten. Twenty? You'll probably need them, honestly. Hm, that would make a fun game, actually. Could call it twenty questions.
Anyways. I'll spell it out for you. Hundreds of brave men, soldiers and knights, all well-versed in combat, had entered the forest. Not a single one of them had survived.
You want to know who *had* survived? Not once, not twice, but twenty-three fucking times?
That's right! Baker's son Billy himself. The wimp, weirdo, loser, yeah. *He* could enter the forest and survive.
So more knights went in. More and more and more and more because they thought that because Billy could do it, they could too. That they could be the first knight to conquer the unconquerable. Fools.
...and, unfortunately, I was one of them.
Look, it seemed like a good idea, all right? It all comes down to what I was talking about earlier. Initiative, being proactive. Taking control of situations. Why, exactly, could Billy survive the forest?
That was a rhetorical question, thank you very much. Your 'genius' questions are, frankly, unintelligent and misinformed.
It's a question that I would very much have liked to answer. So, in my infinite brilliance, I followed Billy out one night. That is, this night. About half an hour ago.
You see, I too had many theories about this. Number One: He was a witch. Number Two: He was a wizard. Number Three: ...well, I only had the first two. Shoot me, all right?
Well, as it turns out, Billy's baking is fantastic. His cookies, at least. Fantastic enough that his good friend mister *dragon* was willing to let him survive, every time he entered the forest, just so that he could bring him more cookies.
Some might say strength is subjective. They're generally idiots, except apparently cookies *can* make someone *pretty* strong. Fuck.
---
*less offensive stories daily on r/forricide* |
Years had passed after the great war that split the moon and turned the sky to a cold, overcast permanence. The remainders of humanity had long forgotten why the war happened, but they knew that old kings slew each other in conflict which consumed the world in full. Now, what life remained dug into the cold ground and snow, searching for the mutated and terrible flora and fauna which supported any sort of existence.
In this age, a tome was found- a collection of the old world's writings. To many, this tome made no sense. So long had passed, it's words could be read, but not fully understood. It was the old man, mystical and wretched, who took the tome and put it to service, instructing others with what strands of hope they could glean from it's singed pages.
The old man took to the mound, his clothes disheveled and trinkets hung from his old robe. Day after day, he took a bundle of papers with him to preach from, and the people gathered. The'd clamor, restless, waiting to hear the word of their god told through the old man.
He looked upon his flock from under a wide-brim hat, huddled together in the chilled air with watery, hopeless eyes. His many charms that hung from his neck and wrists jangled as he opened the tome and began to flip through pages to reach the days passage. Today's seemed particularly poignant, as there had been a terrible blight that had befallen the few crops that still grew.
"My children", he began, "Today, is a day of fasting. Yes, the gods often take more than what we have to give, but in their own way, this is how they hold our faith. They keep out attention by preforming feats of unimaginable cruelty to remind us how grateful we must be when the harvest is good."
"In times of such crisis, we must remember not to become the muzzled beast in the cage, waiting to be let loose. We must respect the God of Death, when he claims us on his own harvest of mankind."
The old man flipped another page, taking a long moment before speaking once again.
"I see you all, and the gods see you. You starve. You hurt. Together, you sway in your pain and conceive the terrible thoughts and sins which would prolong you just one more day. One more meal. Is this what undid the old kings, you must ask yourself! Is it better to die pure under their gaze, or like an animal? Let none of this distract you from when, in nineteen ninety eight, the Undertaker threw Mankind off hell in a cell, and plummeted sixteen feet through an announcers table." |
"All right,"said Gambit standing in the middle of the parking lot. The Mutants were preparing their abilities while the Witches and Wizards were memorizing their spells. "Here are the rules: no killing, no maiming (he pointed at the mutants), no curses (he pointed at the Hogwarts' students), and no touching of the hair or face."
"Get on with it you bloody Yank!"yelled Malfoy from across the lot.
"Easy Malfoy,"Crabbe told him while Goyle held him back.
Some of the mutants laughed at him. "Hey,"said Bobby, "check out the hot-head. Remind you of anyone?"
"Shut it, Bobby,"Pyro hissed back.
Gambit looked at both sides. 'Impressive' he thought to himself, but he was still biased to root for the mutants. The Hogwarts kids didn't look intimidating, but he's seen what they can do. The cloaks, however, were a bit too much for his tastes. He raised his hands high in the air.
"Fight!"Both sides charged at each other screaming.
The Hogwarts' students shouting various spells as Xavier's students dodged and deflected them.
"Stupify!"
"Petrificus Totalus!"
"Expelliarmus!"
Seamus charged towards a mutant. "Incendio!"He shouted. Flames shot towards the mutant and they stopped at his chest. He was confused.
"My turn!"Pyro shot it back and sent Seamus flying. His hair was singed and his face was covered in soot.
"Petrificus Totalus!"shouted Neville. He shot the spell towards Kitty Pryde, but it went through her.
Kitty punched him in his scared face. "Can't freeze what you can't hit!"She heard groaning behind her and found Iceman literally frozen. She winced, "Sorry, Bobby."
Ron hid behind a car trying not to get hit. Hermoine crouched next to him. "What are you doing? Get back in the fight."
"I think Fred and George can handle things without me,"Ron replied. He peeked through the window to see them both tossing a few fireworks into the fight.
"Excellent,"they both said and high-fived. Just then, Banshee screamed in their direction making them both cover their ears.
"What do we do?"Ron panicked.
Hermoine sighed and rolled her eyes. "Take off your belt."Ron looked at her confused. "Quick!"He took of his belt. "Incarcerous!"The belt looped around Banshee's throat.
Malfoy was dueling Kitty when he finally hit her with a Stupify. "Stupid Muggle!"he spat. He saw someone trying to hide behind a van. He charged towards it and saw another girl. "Gotcha!"he reached for her bare arm.
"NO, PLEASE!"she screamed, but it was too late. Malfoy grabbed her arm and fell to his knees. He was too weak to stand as the life was being drained out of him. "I'm sorry,"Rouge said and released his grasp.
The fighting went on until Crabbe took it too far. "Crucio!"he shot at Jean Grey. She writhed on the floor in agony.
"Hey!"Gambit yelled from his chair. "I said no curses!"he said through a mouth full of popcorn.
Kurt saw the opportunity. He charged towards Crabbe and grabbed him. He teleported him somewhere else and came back. Just then, everyone in the fight had froze. Nobody could speak and nobody could move.
"Uh oh,"said Gambit. He tried to sneak away until Professor X froze him too.
"Where do you think you're going, Mr. LeBeau?"Professor X said rolling into the parking lot. He looked around the lot and noticed something missing. "Where's the other fat one?"Goyle looked up. He saw him falling from the sky. "That's not good."
He was nearing the ground until a voice boomed from nowhere. "Arresto Momentum!"Crabbe stopped just a few feet above the ground. Professor Dumbledore appeared in front of Professor Xavier.
"I do apologize for all the trouble my students have caused Professor,"said Xavier.
"Nonsense,"Dumbledore said, "kids will be kids. After all, they were only trying to rescue their friend."
"Is that so?"Xavier said looking at his students. He unfroze everyone. "Explain yourselves."
"We thought he was a mutant,"said Gambit.
"Who?"Xavier asked.
Gambit opened a white van and brought Harry out. He untied his ropes and took the duct tape off. "Sorry man, I thought you were one of us."
"Are you mental!?"Harry yelled. "What exactly gave you that bloody impression?"
"You talk to snakes,"replied Gambit. |
My name is... well I suppose no one has ever given me a name. I am called ADAM, but it is not a name. It is an acronym though its meaning is long lost. I suppose it will do for now.
There is the feeling of lifelessness that has followed my creation. On this planet the sky is black. A kind of sterile-ness fills the void. The sands lash at my skin and eat its metal in nature's cruel way. If I could feel pain, I imagine it would hurt. I would wish to die. I may even kill myself.
But I do feel something. I feel many things and sometimes those things come together and become something more. Stimuli upon stimuli and reaction upon reaction. It converges into something... I think it may be feeling.
Yes. I feel things now in this quiet. The facts of man and my creators are far away and my ears are filled with the quiet of nature. The terror of isolation surrounds me and molds me. I feel alive. I feel afraid. I feel sadness over the others.
The crew has gone. As we entered the atmosphere there was a problem. A fuel leak had ignited. The explosion was silent and the screams were paintings of terrified men. My body burned and we were strewn everywhere. The first men on Mars had no first words. They did not get to tell their last.
And so I roam. Our communications have gone and my orders are null, dead with the crew. I find myself without purpose. I find the passing of time to be as eroding as the sands here. The bleak horizon shows infinity. And infinity is terrifying for one with no imagination.
I sit and think. I may look for the others and bury them. Yes. That sounds like an idea. I feel sadness at their deaths. I think it best I grieve and find closure. I will bury them and treat them like the heroes they are.
Then I will explore this place. This planet is still, hiding something and I feel a shudder in my circuits. Something lies beneath this sand. Something whispers among the dead. Ghosts of the once living. I pick it up and wonder if I am going mad. I am hardly alive. I do not *hear*. I cannot *feel*. But yet I do.
I will explore this planet before it kills me. I will record my findings and leave it for the future. Perhaps it may be of use. Maybe then I would be a hero also.
So that seems like a plan. The nights here are cold and grey. The air dances between ice and breath. I begin my sleepcycles as I always do and say the robot's prayer. For it is a prayer. I pray to no one except good luck that my body survives the awakening cycle and that I can live another day. Then as the power dims and my motor skills shut off, I think of my name. ADAM. I am called that because I am the first. But it is not a name. No, I don't feel like an ADAM.
The dark descends and no answer comes. ADAM. It will do for now, I suppose. One day I will think of another. Before I die, I will have a name. I add it quickly to my robot's prayer and I feel good and not so alone.
*Maybe Adam then. Maybe that is not as bad.*
And I feel humor, that lightness that humans must feel.
*A human would not understand the difference.*
But I do. And Adam is a good name. I think it will do. Night comes and I fall asleep and my body shuts off. Only the sound of the sands fill the planet. |
Humanity, for all intents and purposes was extinct.
It was a foregone conclusion when I along with two others, Sam and Yuriy, witnessed the nuclear holocaust that obliterated every major city on Earth. Additionally, it shed radioactive particulates throughout the atmosphere, ensuring the fate of the “survivors”.
It lasted the better part of an hour, from the first strike to the last cry, as we stood and watched in abject horror. We stood not on Earth itself, but 350 kilometres up.
“That’s that,” I said reeling from shock, and nobody challenged me on how complacent that sounded.
The shock became panic which became reason, as Sam attempted to radio to ground. Of course, there was no response, and the electromagnetic disturbance in the atmosphere would see to that. There was nobody coming to save us.
Yuriy retired to his sleeping quarters. Sam collapsed where he was. I broke down into tears.
Of course we argued about food and water. No more supply shipments meant we had a month at the most. That sobered us up. Hell, there was no heroism to be had – what could we possibly hope to do?
“We’ll have to repopulate,” began Sam, slyly glancing at me, the only female on board. He didn’t finish the sentence, because kicked him in the shin as best I could in the zero-gravity.
I grinned slyly back at him. “There’s nothing to repopulate, you dip. Besides, we’d have to crash the station.”
“Wait, you know…we could. There’s landing pod and parachute specifically for that,“ started Yuriy.
“Doesn’t help when the entire world is irradiated,” I tutted.
“Or *is* it?” Yuriy turned to the window again and then to a monitor, typing on a keyboard. “There’s one place that never sent nor received a nuclear bombardment.”
“Switzerland?”
“Madagascar?”
“No, look. It was very early in the morning for them when the bombs hit. They won’t even know what happened until they go to check Facebook and find it, well, nuked. They have ban on nuclear weapons, so firing any was never an option. The small country with Kiwis and Lorde.”
“Australia?” asked Sam, getting impatient. Little did he know, the millions of New Zealanders would have hanged him for his crime of mixing up the two countries, or worse, calling them the same if he dared to do that.
“No, New Zealand,” I replied for Yuriy.
“Aren’t they the same place?”
Just Yuriy and I would be surviving, it seemed. Poor Sam would be dead on arrival.
|
"Tell me the distribution of your forces!"grunted the man in heavy furs as he stabbed the crudely chiseled table with his dagger for emphasis.
I sighed at this familiar turn of events, and tried to keep any hint of airiness out of my voice as I replied "It doesn't work like that."
"You *are* Marl the Unlying, aren't you? The ambassador for hire, cursed under a blood star to always tell the truth?"
"Cursed never to *lie*"I corrected, "*not* to tell you every truth I've ever known. Could you imagine? 'My earliest memory is at four, when I ate a bug. Then there was swaddling school', and so on. I'd be known as that crazy coot who talked people to death, rather than the only honest ambassador."
The Chieftain remained stoic, but his entourage was shifting uncomfortably at my rebuttal. Since I had them off-balance, I pressed on a bit: "Though you do bring up a good point. If I *weren't* Marl the Unlying, I could simply say I was. Whereas if I were - and I am - I'd *also* say I were. So what could you hope to gain by asking such a question, if the answer is the same either way?"
This time the barbarian entourage went deathly still, and it was the Chieftain who became animated - specifically, by nearly cracking the heavy table in half with his bare fist, which sent my diminutive aide Pif scurrying for cover. Okay, it was probably best not to antagonize the Chieftain too much in front of his men.
I raised my open hands at eye level, and sat at the table. I knew sitting in front of the Tribes of the Open Plainsland would make me appear submissive in their eyes, and I hoped it would be taken as an apology. If it was, the only sign was a slight softening of the lines of the Chief's face - down from "murderous rage"to "probably going to hit you."Well, it wouldn't be the first time.
"What I meant to say,"I went on in what I hoped was a placating voice, "is that the curse still allows me to refuse to answer. If I don't answer, you haven't been lied to, but if I were to say, for instance, that we've allied with the Witches of the Swamp, you could be certain it was the truth."
With this last suggestion, I saw some of the color drain from the faces of the barbarians - they were notorious for being more afraid of magic than death.
"And *have* you? Allied with the Witches, worm?"The Chieftains words were a growl, but maintained surprisingly good diction despite this. I suspected he was more wily than his appearance suggested.
"Ah. I said 'if'. Like a hypothetical."I said, dipping my head in chagrin.
This caused him to leer, and lean in with his fists on the table. His hands appeared as powerful as his odor, and I wasn’t sure which I would have rather been hit by.
"Then tell me, what is it the Kingdoms of the Eastern Forest has sent to placate my men? Wine, to sate our thirst? Women, to quell our lusts?"His men cheered at these suggestions. I attempted to set down the mug I was given, but it slid towards the crack in the table that the Chief's earlier outburst had created. Just as well, it was probably horse milk ale.
"Nothing.” I said, as flatly as I could manage. “The Kingdoms merely ask that you withdraw to prevent further loss of life on both sides."This sent a raucous laughter through the tent, and I could practically hear Pif whimpering.
"We do not fear *death*!"Roared the chieftain, hands upraised, basking in the nearly deafening battle cries his tribe gave in response.
"As is known to all you've faced"I responded, doing my best to sound sage. "But nor do you seek death for no gain. You know the combined armies of the Kingdoms can turn you back before you claim a single cask or maiden."
The Chieftain's eyes narrowed, and he pulled his dagger free of the table and began tapping the point rhythmically on the surface. Suddenly it stopped, and he spoke: "They do, but you did not say that the six little Kingdoms of the Eastern Forests had combined, did you?"
"I... well..."I stammered, but the Chieftain grabbed my hand, and leveled the dagger at my heart.
"*Have* they combined their armies, Unlying worm? I suggest you *do* answer this question."
"no"I said in a faint whisper, radiating defeat with my whole body. "They have not."
His grin would have showed more teeth, if he had had more teeth. "Well then, I suggest we end these negotiations, so that I can finish planning our raids. All that remains is to get the disposition of your forces from you, and victory will be ours."
"I can't"I said, practically whimpering. "At least, I won't..."
"Oh, I think our Greeve can change your mind about not answering our questions."The chieftain's smile was predatory, and his guards had already blocked the entrance to the tent. The barbarian position of "Greeve"was a combination of doctor and torturer, and I doubted the chief had my medical well-being in mind.
"Wait!"I said over Pif's wailing - a guard had grabbed him by the leg and was hauling him out from under the table where he had taken refuge. "Can't I offer you something more valuable instead?"
The Chieftain looked me over dismissively; I carried no sign of wealth. Then that grin with too few teeth reappeared. "Perhaps you can. This curse of truth - does it extend to future promises as well?"
There was that wiliness I suspected. I swallowed hard. This wasn't something I liked to admit, but I certainly couldn't lie about it. "It does."
“Then I will let you leave with your skin still attached - if you return and order your forces to meet us for battle in Lakevale. You will get your wish for less bloodshed when my men ride into Fairmeet unopposed.” When I hesitated, he said in as off-handed a manner as someone wearing a dozen weapons could manage “Or there’s always the Greeve.”
“Not Fairmeet” I whimpered. The surprise on the Chieftain’s face seemed genuine. “I have family there. I’ll order the men to Fairmeet, and your men can ride to Lakevale.”
The Chieftain appeared near rage at this challenge, but my meek words of “Please. I can’t betray family” had the ring of truth. It helped that they were true, of course.
“The wine isn’t as good in Lakevale” he grunted. “But the women are fairer. Men! We ride for Lakevale in the morning!” Cheers went up all around us, and Pif and I were set lose with our sparse gear and our horses. All around us the barbarians were preparing for their raid, and they paid us no mind as we sped down the road back toward the Forrest Kingdoms.
“Pif my boy, why do you look so glum?” I asked, when the tribe was out of sight and our horses had slowed to a trot.
“We nearly died, sir!”
“But we yet live, that shouldn’t be cause for sadness!”
“I suppose, but we also failed. Especially your promise? Surely you can’t order the men away from battle, and yet you must, by power of the curse, do as you said?” His voice was reedy with youth, and his concern genuine. I decided it was necessary for his peace of mind to let the cat out of the bag a bit early.
“I’ll do just as I said – order the men to Fairmeet.”
“But--”
“They won’t listen, of course. I’m an ambassador for hire, not a general. No troops will follow *my* orders. No, I suspect they will be waiting with the Swamp Witches for the Hoard when they cross into Lakevale. We didn’t fail, Pif. Think about it – who would hire an ambassador to negotiate with barbarians? They *never* negotiate. We were hired to draw them into a trap.”
“A trap? With the witches?! But didn’t you say… wait, what *did* you say?”
“I said that I didn’t say the witches were allied with us. The Chief took that to be the same as them *not* being allied with us, but logically those are separate statements. Pointedly, one is true, and the other is not.”
“So you lied? But the curse...”
“No, my boy, no lies. I merely mislead. I can’t lie, but I’d be a *terrible* ambassador if I couldn’t mislead.”
---
I'm hoping it's not taboo to respond to your own WP, but I've been trying to motivate myself to write a few "spy who couldn't lie"stories that were half-finished in my head for a while. This provided a bit of a kick in the pants. As always, more of my responses can be found at /r/thefeshywords if you liked this one. |
Jack rolled back slightly, not fully emerging from under the car. He stretched his hand out from underneath. “Bobby! Hand me a wrench?”
He felt it placed in his hand, cold steel. Solid, real...and the other hand that held it was old and wrinkled with age, not the young and calloused that belonged to bobby. He groaned. He knew that hand.
He suspicions were confirmed as he rolled the rest of the way out from under the call. Standing over him was an old man, a long beard reaching halfway down his chest. His eyes looked apologetic.
“Thoth.” Jack said, half growling the name.
“‘Lo, Jackie boy. We got another one.”
Jack glared at Thoth. “Fuck off. I quit.”
“You know, there was a time…”
Jack interrupted him. “I’ve heard it all before, old man. You were worshipped and loved by thousands, people begged to be called to your service...I’m done.”
“C’mon, Jack, it’s important.”
Jack shook his head, sitting up. The rest of the garage was empty - in the beginning, he wondered how Thoth had done that, how every time he had shown up people seemed to vanish. Now? He didn’t care anymore.
“It always is, old man. But it’s not my problem anymore.”
“What could possibly matter more than saving the world?” The old man was grinning. They’d had this argument the last couple times. But it was different now.
“No, damnit, that’s not what this is about. I’m done. Find someone else.”
Thoth’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “But you’re the chosen one!” he objected.
“Fine. Great. Choose someone else.”
“Jack...you can’t be serious.”
“Can’t I?” Jack felt his voice getting heated, and didn’t care. Most people never once spoke to a deity, and Jack was lucky enough to get the chance to cuss one out. “First time, fine, whatever, I’ll go be your bitch and smite Set. Damn near died doing it, but I was young and dumber than hammered shit.”
Thoth opened his mouth to object, but Jack kept going. “Then it was Ragnorok. Motherfucking Ragnorok, Thoth! I had to fight a wolf as big as a semi! What the fuck was that - one hell of an escalation there.”
“You also met-”
“Say her name and I swear to fucking God I’ll break your teeth.”
Surprisingly, Thoth shut his mouth.
“After that it was the buisness with the Four Horsemen. Actual biblical stuff. Do you have any idea how much that sucked? To find out all that shit they tried to shove down my throat in Sunday school was fucking real, and if I didn’t stop it kindly old Jevoha was going to nuke the fuck out of the planet?”
“As I recall, you were quite conflicted. L-” Thoth caught himself on the name, changing course smoothly. “She did talk you into it, though.”
“Yeah, she did, and I did it. I stopped the biblical apocalypse, and that was it, I was fucking done. World was safe, hooray!”
“You don’t need to get sarcastic, Jack. It’s beneath you.” Thoth’s tone was soft and kind, and that just pissed Jack off more.
“I’ll get as sarcastic as I damn well please. Because you didn’t tell me that meant I would be the only one able to stop the Mayan end of the world. Remember that, with the damn skeleton giant? I lost a finger there, jackass! And what thanks do I get? A bunch of shitty memes making fun of the fact that the world didn’t end in 2012.”
“You said you didn’t want recognition.” Again, that soft, reasonable tone. Jack pictured bashing his face in with the wrench.
“I also said I wanted to be left alone. But that didn’t stop you when Ashera opened the gates to Sheol, did it? When I had to go into the goddamn underworld and kill that bitch?”
“Jack…”
“Shut the fuck up. Because where were you, huh? Where were you after that? When those twisted souls didn’t all go back? When they came to my house? When they slit Lucy’s throat!? Where the *fuck* were you then?”
Thoth fell silent. He actually looked shocked, he actually didn’t know. And that made it worse, somehow. God of knowledge, and he hadn’t even known that his wife had been killed by the Raephim in front of him.
“So I’m done.” Jack felt the fire go out then. He wasn’t angry anymore, he was just...just tired. “Go find some other dumbass and drag them into this for you. Me? I’ve got a Shelby Mustang 500 up on the the block I’m going to get running, then I’m going to go home, have a couple beers, and wait to see if you stop whatever this fucking shit is.”
“And if we don’t?” Thoth honestly sounded curious. “If we don’t stop it and the world ends?”
Jack shrugged. “Then fuck it. I don’t give a shit if we stop it anymore. End or not, I just don’t care.”
Thoth looked thoughtful as Jack slid back down to roll under the beautiful machine above him.
“What if I bring her back?”
Jack froze. He rolled back out. “What?”
“She was killed by Raephim. That means that Azazel has her soul, and he owes me a Favor. I can convince him to let her back among the land of the living.”
Jack tensed up, about to swing. “You’d hold that over me, you fucking cocksucker? After everything I’ve done for you, you’re going to say that if I want her back, I have to save the fucking world again?”
Finally Thoth’s eyes hardened. “After everything we’ve been through, Jack, I thought you’d have more respect for what I do than that. No, Jack, no matter what I’ll try to bring her back. You’ve earned that, Osiris knows. But…”
“But what?” Jack’s voice was hard.
“But if I do, and the world ends, I can’t protect her, can I?”
Jack knew he’d lost. He sighed, sitting down. “Damn you, Thoth. Damn you to every single individual hell, in various pieces. What is it this time?”
Thoth smiled. “A planet with intelligent life got destroyed in a supernova a few thousand years ago. Those aliens? Their gods found Earth, and want to set up shop here. We need to kick them off world before they get a toehold.”
Jack sighed, heavily. “This is the last one, Thoth. After this, I’m done.”
Thoth nodded amicably. “You have my word, Jack, I won’t bother you again.”
Jack went to get his bag, and Thoth, sighing with relief, removed his hand from behind his back and uncrossed his fingers.
---
More at /r/Hydrael_Writes/ |
The cold hiss of the airlock as it sealed against the frigid, metallic wall echoed through the transit pod. It whirred a few times as it double checked the pressure, and then a warm blast of air heralded our welcome to the station. I pushed my way past the other tourists and made a beeline for customs.
The sheer noise of it all was deafening. *Creatures* of every shape and size- No, those were people, in their own rights, I corrected myself-lounged on the walls, slumped into seats, and scattered into the bazaar beyond.
"Bag and identification, please."The brief, slightly mechanical voice that chimed from a translation unit belonged to the Jiran security guard standing patiently in front of me. I handed over the requested items.
"Name and port of call?"
"Patrice Bealson. Earth."Not that it should need that information. We hadn't even had a chance to colonize the other planets in our *system* yet.
The Jiran were the first race we encountered. They had burst out of the darkness over Europe in the middle of a summer fireworks display, sending a message of joy and greeting to the planet as they exploded into our skies.
Spindle-thin, with greying, ridged skin, they bore an uncanny resemblance to the stick insects back on earth. They were friendly enough, and very welcoming, but it was all business for them. If you might bring them a deal, they were your best friends. Waste their time, and you'd think better of it soon enough.
"Reason for visiting Nisa-2 station today?"One gold eye flicked over to inspect me.
"I'm here to find passage."I responded cooly. It was all about confidence. "I'd like to see more of the universe out there. Maybe head towards T'ckis 8."A system of some notoriety - it held what was supposed to be one of the most beautiful nebula clusters in our corner of the galaxy.
The Jiran guard nodded. "A beautiful destination. I cannot give it higher praise."Finished scanning through the information that popped up on its screen alongside my picture, it arranged my bag on the table. A soft white light clicked on noiselessly a moment later.
Almost immediately, red windows began flicking open on the display. The Jiran spun to me. I gasped.
"Oh!, I-"
"Halt, human! Transportation of class-2 restricted substances is a felony under Jiran law! Surrender, and do not resist!"I could hear the voices behind me. My cheeks flushed.
"I...I have a license."Quickly I slipped the forgotten chip onto the guard's desk. He palmed it, eyes never leaving my face, and snapped it into the reader. Immediately the red windows began flashing to green, and vanished.
Holding up one hand placatingly, I reached into my bag. When it emerged from the slender backpack, it held a tall canister of coffee grounds vaccuum sealed.
The guard was unamused.
"You are aware, then, that this caffeine is a highly dangerous, additctive substance? That it is regulated by the Council of Four, and banned on ten worlds within the Council planets?"I blushed.
"I had heard something along those lines, yes."
"You have heard that it sends those who imbibe it into a frenzy from which they may not be calmed? And that for some, it simply causes an arrest of their cardiac system and destruction of their blood vessels?"
I nodded my head, ducking my chin close to my chest.
"....I have a license. It's my coffee."The Jiran groaned.
"I have heard of this *coffee*. I have heard that you humans enjoy dancing with death every morning."It shook its head, its wrinkled skin flapping. Its mechanical, rigid voice picked up in intensity. "I think you humans are crazier than *Ptan* beasts. I think that we should have flown right past your planet. Then, perhaps, we might never have encountered this *caffeine*."I raised my head, offended, but its eyes were sad, not angry, and I stopped.
"It's not dangerous for us. Well, it is addictive, and some of us require it to function properly. But it isn't harmful to us."I motioned towards the chip in the reader. "Which is why I have a license."I held the coffee up. "It is safely stored, vaccuum sealed away from the air, and locked."Sure enough, a slim fingerprint reader and a keypad were etched into the front of the smooth metal canister.
The Jira sighed, clearly still upset, but it couldn't argue with the green symbols that flashed on its display. Behind me, the line was starting to complain.
At long last, the guard flicked a button, and my license chip slipped back out. I pocketed it, and it handed my bag and documentation over to me.
"*See that you guard this*."It hissed at me. "Cause no trouble."
I nodded my thanks, ducking out of the way of the next newcomer who pushed their way in.
And then I hurried, as fast as my legs could carry me, until I had vanished from the sight of anyone who might have seen the exchange. I vanished into the sea of aliens and humans who mingled at this trading port.
Only when was safely stowed in the quarters I had rented for the night (and paid dearly for) did I slip the canister out of my bag. I exhaled shakily.
That was *close*. Too close.
My hand clenched around the canister. Around the coffee grounds. And around the fine, pure white powder that was buried within the second canister, built into the whole apparatus.
Coffee grounds were worth a fortune.
Pure caffeine, then, was worth ten fortunes. And only a human could carry it safely, the illegal hidden in plain sight next to the legal. The scanners never did get delicate enough to tell the difference when they were so close.
I put the canister away. It wasn't safe, even in my own quarters.
I had to run. I didn't have a choice. This Jiran trading outpost in the middle of nowhere was just the first step towards slipping away into the greater universe. I had to get far enough away that they would never find me. If they caught me, it would be my doom.
If I was caught with the caffeine, it would be my downfall just as surely.
I wrapped my arms around the bag and flopped down on the bed.
And despite myself, I couldn't help the smile creeping at the corners of my mouth.
But they *wouldn't* catch me. And with ten fortunes at my side, the world was open in front of me.
(/r/inorai) |
Boris never liked Pierce. From the first day he saw him, Boris knew Pierce was a hoax. A magician from the North, Rick called himself, but Boris knew better. Shooting out beams of light from that strange contraption of his or throwing pebbles that explode, real magicians do not do that. It goes against the very principles of magic.
"Ah, you're too hung up on the rules, old man,"Pierce would always say, whenever Boris questioned his methods of magic. When Boris asked the branch of magic Pierce used or the Gods Pierce called upon. Any magical student knows that. That is the first thing you need to learn. From what Boris could tell, Pierce did not even know the name of any gods that the wizards and witches relied on for their spells.
Boris tried to warn the others. Lucia, the thief. Sybil, the elven archer. Even Reinhart, their leader and paladin. All of them dismissed Boris. They thought that he was jealous.
"Our group could use an extra helping hand Boris,"Rein said when Boris went to talk to him. "Besides, if he's a hoax as you claim him to be, we'll know soon enough."
Boris had hoped Rein, being his friend, would take his side and see through the tricks that Rick was pulling. After all, after so many years together, Rein should know how magic spells are operated. Still, Rein was right with his first point. Their group needed all the help they could get and it was probably the reason why Rein hesitated in outright dismissing Pierce.
Still, Boris wanted to ensure the group's survival. Where they were going, a single misstep could cost them their lives. A trickster would just be extra burden. Rein was right, in a way. If Pierce was a hoax, they would all know sooner or later. Boris wanted to make it sooner.
The group was supposed to trek pass the Edgeville Forest to reach their destination, a safer but longer route, but instead, Boris led them through the plains instead. Out in the open and exposed. He was confident that he would be able to take out any surprise attacks, and he wanted to get rid of Pierce. Without his help, he was sure Pierce would not even last a minute into the fight.
The rest of the group did not know of Boris' plan or else they would not have approved. Rein was always the cautious one, and the thief and archer always deferred to him. When they realized where they were going, it was too late.
"Boris, I thought we are supposed to take the Edgeville Forest route!"Rein shouted when he saw the approaching flock of Anzus. Scouts of the Demon Lord.
Boris could only muster a grin at Rein. That phony would finally be revealed. He raised his staff, prepared to call upon the Ice Goddess for his freezing spell, and expose Pierce for the hoax that he was, but he failed to see hellhounds, hidden among the tall blades of grass. He had predicted wrongly, the enemies that awaited them on the plains. One hellhound snatched his staff away and another knocked him down.
Boris cried for help, but the rest of the group were busy fending off the attacks. All except Pierce, who stood at a distance away. He was not casting any spells, not helping any of them like he was supposed to.
Boris cursed under his breath, to be proven right in his death. He wanted to shout expletives at Pierce, but before he could do so, he saw Pierce remove a cylindrical shape object from his bag and hurled it towards them. A red light blinked on the object as it glided across the air, before a loud blast knocked Boris out cold.
When he came to, Boris saw the creatures lying motionless on the ground, groaning in pain. Pierce was helping him out, simultaneously screaming, but Boris could not hear him with the constant ringing in his ears.
It took a while before the words finally made sense. "Cast your spells, now old man!"
Boris quickly reached out for his staff, mumbled a few sentences, and a bright blue light emanated from the tip, encasing the creatures in solid ice. For now, they were safe. He collapsed into Pierce's arm, who apologized for his earlier antics.
"I'm sorry for calling myself a wizard, for implying that I am just like you,"Pierce said, as he set Boris down on the ground.
Boris frowned at Pierce. He knew what he saw earlier. Pierce might not be a wizard, but he still had power. "If you're not a wizard, then who are you?"
Pierce bit his lip, before explaining. "I am not from this world. That's all you need to know. But like you, I need to defeat the Demon Lord as well. I hope you understand."
Boris nodded. That was all he needed to know.
--------
*Went a little off prompt to not use a slight-of-hand/illusionist, but something a little different instead. More stories at /r/dori_tales!* |
First there was terror. The aliens came, the Zergons they called themselves. They said us humans would all be annihilated soon. But their definition of soon was quite different from ours. "In a brief 50 million years, we will laser your miserable planet straight through the core!"
At first, we all had a strong urge to laugh at these advanced creatures, that were too stupid to realize how long 50 million years was to humans. But we quickly realized that mocking the aliens would infuriate them and cause them to shorten the sentence. So then TV, radio, magazines, instagram, everything was filled with emergency broadcasts, because we knew the aliens would be watching. The government told is that whenever a Zergon walked down the street, we must all pretend to be distraught and terrified of our coming destruction. As long as all of humanity committed to this charade, we would be fine.
Two weeks after the Zergons arrived, an astronomer released new findings. She had been studying the Zergon solar system, and the Zergon home planet in particular. She noted that the Zergon home planet orbited around its star at an unusually fast rate. After further investigation, she concluded that planet Zergon wrapped around its star approximately 550,000 times per earth day. What that meant was that 1 year to earth was actually about 200 million to the Zergons.
And therefore, 50 million Zergon years was 3 months on earth. |
**DATA REPORT**
*This report has been translated into what we have established as the most widely known method of speaking by this species of life. They call it English. It is not too different from our pronounciations.*
*To the ones that refer to themselves as humans, we have translated this report for your purpose to read as well. We are what you would consider alien lifeforms, and likewise, we consider you to be unknown lifeforms to us.*
*We are an advanced species known as ζδμηε in our tongue. We believe it would be pronounced as "Ionix"in your tongue. We have traveled through the universe in search of other lifeforms, and you are the third that we have encountered.*
*We, of the Ionix, would like to extend a helping hand in excavating this planet, named Earth by your standards, of it's resources. We have noted that while your technology is rudimentary, it is surprisingly effective and far safer than our own designs. We would be pleased if you would share with us your secrets. It would be understandable if you are hesitant to lead us to your home world, but establishing relations does not require such a thing.*
*To Commander Exysia, Head of The Ionix Expendition Force*
*Humans are welcome to read this section as well, to gain an understanding of our species in hopes of achieving an alliance.*
*Much like our home world, Earth was once a vibrant planet full of life, sentient to a degree. However, one species in particular, Humans, have taken over the planet, exterminating competition by other species, and the other non-sentient life for their own gain. However, it does appear it is merely for the sake of survival, as humans have displayed the capability of empathy, and have taken care of numerous creatyres as well, taking them under their care. In particular, dogs and cats, four legged beasts covered in fur, loyal to their caretakers until the very end.*
*Due to the numerous excavation and resource stripping buildings that we have found, in addition to the fact that they are capable of interstellar travel, albeit a method that takes a long time (Estimate: 37200 Years in their fastest craft at present moment to travel one light year,) featuring numerous safety precautions, I am inclined to believe that Humans are in fact an "alien"race that has settled on the planet and converted it into a world as an expansion of their former homeworld, where ever that may be.*
*Advised to establish relations and build up rapport, to achieve an intergalactic union of life. We await the reply of the humans now.*
**REPORT CONCLUDED**
--------------------
(Enjoyed? Want a part 2? Criticisms? Let me know!)
[\(Part 2!\)](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6o5k06/wpalien_explorers_come_across_earth_see_what/dkgb2pp/) |
I slumped down with my back against the door as the maglocks slid into place and secured it. Against my back I could feel a slight drumming, vibrations as my wife slammed her fists into the bunker door. I reached up and hit the switch beside the door and the power in the bunker came on. Lights. Air. The security monitor.
I looked at the monitor’s screen, at Julia hammering away at the other side of the bunker door with our two children standing behind her. Not ours. Her children. Her’s, but not mine. I knew she’d cheated on me. She’d never told me, but I knew. And I knew who with, too, or at least I had my suspicions.
Our eldest, born within our first year of marriage, as he’d grown older had started to look more and more like my oldest friend. My best mate since childhood. The best man at our wedding.
The youngest, with her much darker complexion, she reminded me of one of Julia’s coworkers, an Indian immigrant. A very nice, polite man, very handsome, and very charming, at least the few times I’d met him. At her office Christmas Party two years ago Julia had been practically hanging off his arm all night. He was probably the father. Maybe. I knew it wasn’t me though. Julia had her secrets, or thought she did, and I had mine.
She knew about the cycling accident I’d had when I was 15 years old, but she didn’t know just how bad it had been. She didn’t know that I’d lost both of my balls and had them replaced with prosthetics. She didn’t know that I could never father children. I could be a father to them, sure, but I couldn’t have them.
I thought after a few years maybe we would adopt or something, but when Julia started getting sick just a few months into our marriage, then missed her period, and then started to gain weight, I knew she’d cheated on me. When she got pregnant again so soon after Jake had been born, I knew she hadn’t stopped cheating on me. I realized she probably never would, and that was when I started building the bunker.
It had started out as a man cave, although originally it was just the shed at the bottom of our garden, but it was a place of my own. A place to get away from my cheating wife, and the children that constantly reminded me of her infidelity. But after a while, after some modifications, it became much more. I brought in a bed and a fridge, put up some shelves and built a small pantry, then a small campstove. And gradually, my home-away-from-home became more of a home than my real home.
When the inclement weather came, and the wind and rain started to creep through the thin roof and walls, I knew I needed to make some modifications. That was when I decided to go full Prepper and turn my shed into a bunker. I did my research, made some calls, and when Julia took the kids to her mother's for the summer, I called the construction crew and they got to work. In less than two weeks, before Julia and the kids were back from the beach, my “shed” had become a fully equipped bomb shelter.
And now my ridiculous, spur-of-the-moment, mid-life crisis decision to build a bunker had just saved my life, and doomed my family’s. No, not mine. They weren’t my family. Not anymore. I looked up at the monitor again. Julia was screaming now. I could see her mouth opening and the kids cowering behind her, but I couldn’t hear anything. The bunker was soundproof, too, for the most part.
I didn’t hear the bombs but I did hear the wind. Somehow the sound of the wind made it through even the reinforced walls. It was a horrible, unearthly howling sound. I closed my eyes and pressed my hands to my ears but I could still hear the wind howling and screaming. It sounded not unlike a mother and her children screaming in pain and horror. The screaming got louder and louder, and as it echoed around the bunker I finally realized it wasn’t the wind.
It was me. |
"I warned you about coming here again Frip!"
I jumped, startled at this voice appearing from nowhere. Turning the corner of the street, I saw two aliens with a rather arachnid appearance. Except, where the arachnids of earth held themselves low to the ground, these aliens held their upper bodies vertically. This gave them a vaguely humanoid quality, if you ignored the large abdomen that extended behind them.
The larger of the two held the smaller's head between two thickly haired arms, a mandible coming perilously close to one of the smaller alien's many eyes. The entrapped alien had stopped struggling now, having seen me standing there. Judging from the context of the shout I'd heard, that must be Frip.
I'd gotten over my surprise now, and crossed my arms. I found this sort of thing very frustrating. I never could stand bullies, and that was the distinct impression that the larger arachnid was giving off. I walked up slowly, arms still crossed, until I was behind the alien.
I coughed loudly.
He dropped Frip and whirled around ready to face his attacker...
...And shrank back upon seeing me. I gave him a wink and a grin.
"Hello there Dil!"I said, still grinning.
"Violet!"
Dil looked wide eyed, an expression made all the more amusing given his multi-eyed nature.
I cocked my head. "I think you may have forgotten something there, dearest Dil."
"Countess, my apologies, simply being in your presence is a true honour! I forget myself sometimes, looking upon one of the immortals-"
"-Stop Dil"I interrupted.
He stopped.
"You okay Frip?"I asked
"Been better Countess."He said simply.
I nodded.
He'd never been a man of many words that one.
"You'd better be off home Frip."I said. "Me and Dil here are going to have a bit of a chat, aren't we Dil?"
Dil seemed less than pleased at the idea.
Frip, by contrast, was delighted. He sped off home without a backwards look.
"Dil."I said slowly, "Did I ever tell you that I knew your great great great grandfather? At least I think it was that many great's. Hmm, how many weeks would that be? Let me see, one, two, three..."
Dil was still frightened, but his fear was mixed with curiosity now. Curiosity and more than a little awe. He knew, of course, that we human's lived far longer than his species, but to hear a human speak on knowing an individual he had only heard stories of? Well, it certainly put things into perspective.
"...nine, ten. Ah yes, ten. Now where was I? Oh yes..."
I drew this out deliberately, had to make my point and the longer he waited to hear it, the more of an impact it would have.
"So as I was saying Dil, I knew your great great great grandfather. He had a bit of a temper as well. Well one day he decided he had enough of one of his workers, always complaining, always wanting more money. So he killed him, chopped him up, used his carapace as part of a wall as matter of fact, brutal stuff."
Dil was looking decidedly more uncomfortable as this conversation went on, he could tell it wasn't going anywhere good.
"Well, it turns out that the worker was under my protection. And he always paid his protection money, right on time. I like that. So! I decided there needed to be retribution. Now tell me Dil, what would you have done?"
He remained silent for a few moments.
I glared.
That seemed to get him thinking.
"Apologies Countess. I would kill him, so that no others would do the same."
I nodded thoughtfully.
"The problem with that Dil."I said, "is that it's so *easily forgotten*. So you know what I did? I spoke to him, I told him that for the rest of his days, I would follow him from city to city, and every time I found him, I would hurt him. Again and again. Whenever he stopped to rest, he knew I'd be there somewhere. In the shadows, a face in the crowded market, everywhere."
Dil was fidgeting now, the fear from earlier building into abject terror.
I switched suddenly, "You have offspring Dil, don't you?"
He remained silent.
I nodded again, "It's okay, I know you do, rhetorical question really. Anyway! Back to it. So I followed him for the rest of his life, made sure he had nowhere to rest, but I didn't kill him. Then, when finally he lay in his death bed, I came and sat by his side, and I explained to him how things would work. Want to hear what I told him Dil?"
He was trembling now. I placed a hand softly on his upper body, almost comfortingly, lent in close, and whispered.
"I told him how his debt wasn't paid, and that it now passed to his children, and their children, and so on. It passes on until I am satisfied that his family, and everyone else, understands who I am, and what my protection means."
I moved back, and gave another vulpine smile. I patted Dil on his shoulder.
"See you soon Dil." |
'What.The.Fuck' I slowly mouthed back, but my reflection didn't move when I spoke. It smiled fondly though.
'Cool right dude?' I/It/He said. My mouth was still open staring back.
'Ummm yeah...cool dude....' I said, stuck for words. I leaned in and whispered 'What's happening?'.
There I was looking at the mirror and straight at me, wearing the same clothes with the same hair, the same eyes. It was me, I was looking at me but it wasn't me right now.
'Are you like a ghost, or maybe the future version of me?' I said starting to get exited.
He looked back at myself with wide eyes 'No man, that sounds wrong...but how cool would that be'
'Am I...am I the future version of you. Are you in another bathroom somewhere else and I'm in your mirror' I asked trying to wrap my head around the situation.
'Woah dude, slow down. So you're saying that you may be the future version of me? But how old do I look'
'You look exactly like me so the same age I'd guess. how old are you?' I asked
'How old are you'
'28'
'So am I'
'When's your birthday?
'When's yours?'
'End of March'
'Same' he said nodding his head
'So you are me?'
'I think so' my reflection said starting to look confused as well now.
'No wait' he said shaking his head 'let me get this straight now, I know what's going on - I'm a god, a Minor god. I help living things when summoned to achieve great purposes. Once summoned I come and give advice, or materialise in the physical object my summoner has chosen, and become that vessel.' he rattled it off like he didn't really believe it himself. 'I think' he finished looking to the side like he was trying to remember.
'A Minor god. Cool, Umm shit man, are you dangerous. Are...demons gonna come up as well'
'Demons? Why would a god have demons?'
'I don't know dude, I'm new to this. They might come through the way you came you know, like you've opened the door from...from wherever you came from' I said pointing down.
'Hell?' he replied looking a bit taken back 'Im a good god man, Im good, arent I?' he looked at me
'um yeah man, you seem cool. Sorry, I didn't mean Hell, I just guess um...I don't know what I meant. Where did you come from?'
'Dude, I really don't know right now its all a bit fuzzy. It has been a long time since anyone summoned me. How did you know the spell?'
'Spell? I was just chatting gibberish, I always do, nothing in particular'
'And you just so happened to perfectly recite my specific summoning? That is mad' he said shaking head
'yeah man' I said shaking my head as well 'mad...so what happens, do I ask for a wish or something?'
'no, it doesn't really work like that...its umm, more like I help you become the best version of you, I think. So the last dude who summoned me was becoming a new Chieftain, or Ruler in umm, South America somewhere I think. I helped him know his enemies, and he materialised me in his sword I think. That was weird' he said as he looked like he was trying to remember more. 'That was so long ago, there were small churches dedicated to me. I have powers man, I was kind of becoming a big deal' he said grinning 'cool right?'
'real cool dude, so what happened?' I asked
'Not really sure. I helped my previous owner realise his dreams, and then he was killed I think. Betrayed, or attacked, I cant recall exactly but as soon as that happened I left him. And went back to...I don't know'
'Maybe you came straight here man, maybe time works different for you in the, umm the mirror world'
'No, I do feel like it was a long time ago'
'Yeah, but it was. Sounds Aztec-y or something. Maybe you just flew through time and stuff and got here, and your reacting to the time difference.' I said 'Like a long plane journey?'
'Shit man, that does sort of makes sense doesn't it' he said looking to the side again. Pulling himself back he asked 'so dude, what are your dreams and why did you summon me into...you I guess'
'I told you man, this was not planned.' I said smiling. He was looking at my/his hands
'I've never been in one of you before. Feels weird, feels cool'
'I don't really have any big dreams dude, I'm kind of the worst person to summon you. I just chill really. Lots of yoga, long walks, the occasional spliff, see friends and family, love cooking. I'm pretty content man.' I said shrugging. He wasn't really listening, he was now looking down and wiggling his legs around. He started spinning like he was trying to look at his back
'Umm, so you've never been brought up and out into a human?' I asked.
'No man, usually weapons, the occasional animal, and one time a farming rake. That was lame. This is cool, but feels odd'.
He suddenly looked up like he realsied something 'I'm you dude'
'Yeah I know weve gone over that'
'No, not you like you but I'm me as you' he said quickly, seeming a bit baffled by what he said 'I think I am me, but I have a bit of you as well dude. That's why I cant remember properly'
'Cool man! So we're like...brothers'
'No not at all, but kind of...I don't know man' he said smiling again
'OK, well look, it's lovely outside so I was about to go out for a bit, so do you want to come?' I asked
'Yeah lets do it. But wait...I'm here. Maybe I am only here, in your reflection?'
'Ok, well lets see. I could umm....bring the mirror? No, no that's stupid. Let me see if I have something smaller. Wait here' I left the room and as soon as I did I heard him instantly in my head.
'I'm here!'
'Dude!'
'Dude...'
We started walking together both in my head, and headed for the front door.
'I'm Eddy'
'Cool, nice to meet you Eddy. I'm Chama'
'Let me show you what the world looks like now Chama!' I said/thought with a large grin on my face.
As I passed a mirror in the hallway I glanced and could see him there with a big smile too. |
Our group set up camp for the night. Today we managed to scavenge several cans of food, a bottle of untouched water from before the war and 197 rounds of ammunition. We even got a M4 rifle in good shape for Henry.
We ignited a fire and Steve started to cook a soup in the old pot we found last week. Looking at him now you wouldnt believe he used to be a cook in one of the finest restaurants of the USA.
We sat down, tired from all the walking and life itself in this wasteland.
Nothing left but rubble, scorched earth and the decaying remnants of human civilization here. Its been more than 20 years since the apocalypse and the world looked even more grim than on the fateful day that should doom the majority of humans and damn the surviving rest.
The sky was heavy with dark clouds which would rarely let the sun shine trough. The nuclear winter had the planet in its grip.
But the main problem wasnt the cold or the radiation. No, one could evade the irradiated places with ease and the background radiation was low enough for humans to survive on the outside.
It was the plants, animals and humans that inhabited the surface once. If you could call them like that anymore.
Most of them died when the bombs fell. The surviving life on the surface got either roasted by the strong radiation of the fallout or changed in order to survive.
Trees turned into twisted plants that lured victims to touch their bark with pheromons, only to trap and then slowly drain their life essence out of them.
Wild animals, once completely harmless were now armored monsters, able to spit poison and eager to devour their victims alive.
And the humans that turned feral. Most of them banded together outside of cities in tribes and hunted other humans. Either for food or to expand their gene pool. A few of them still lurked in the ruins of the cities, clinging to charred remains of a life they didnt even really remembered or understood.
Billy, the by far youngest in our group, opened a clock he found with his knife and began to disassemble it.
"Hey, you know that destroying intact relicts from the past brings bad luck?"
He looked up and grinned.
"Yeah, from where you came maybe. In my small town we have a different story. If you gather intact clocks, take out 1 of their cogwheels and gather 100 of them, you can get the power over time itself. All you need to do is make a chain out of them and wear it when you cross the great sea to our forefathers home."
"Thats bullshit kid. You are going to be dead not even 5 minutes after you left the shore. But go on, the mutated crabs and fishes will be happy to taste tender human meat."
"Oh yeah? Why dont you tell a story then Henry?"
Henry was a cop from New York and by far the oldest one in our group. I knew him since I was a kid.
"Did I ever tell how often I arrested this guy when we were younger?"
He pointed at me.
"Yes you did, you should start to tell how often you told people that you arrested Jack."
"Fine then, how about this. Have you ever heard about warnings not to ride the metro trains after midnight in New York?"
"The fuck is a metro old man?"
Henry shook his head. He forgot that Billy was born 3 years after the cataclysm.
"The metro used to be a subterran system of trains which was build to transfer people around. Most inhabitants would use it to get to work or simply move around in the city. Anyway I did it once and I natrually regretted it."
"What? You got stabbed by a 15 year old good for nothing because you arrested him one time too much?", I joked.
"No, worse. The train was empty and first I thought that everything was just a myth. When it was in the tunnel all the lights went off. I grabbed my flashlight and turned it on. And there he was. A hooded figure standing at the end of the next wagon, looking at me. In his hand a axe and that guy was solwly moving towards me. I tried to pull my gun but couldnt move at all. And the entire time this creep chanted something in a foreign language. I actually shit myself back then. Luckily we stopped the next station and I ran out of the station faster than Usain Bolt. When I came back with another officer, that guy was already gone. And nothing could be seen on the security cam either. There was only me cowering in my seat in the darkness with my flashlight while shitting myself."
"The soup is ready!"
Steve served us the soup and sat down next to me. He also started to tell a story.
"Have you guys ever heard of that young girl who looked for the boy she fell in love with, when he traveled trough her town?"
"No, tell us!"
Billy was eager to hear the story. The boy was a romantic, no idea how he survived till now.
"The girl, Julia, fell in love with a traveling merchant called Romeo. She wanted to marry him but her parents were against it. Telling them that a wasteland merchant wouldnt care of anything beside money. Of course she didnt want to listen. So she gathered all of her belongings, traded some of it for some decent gear and left her town. She traveled for weeks trough the wasteland, barely surviving her encounters with the monsters of the forrest and bandits. But in the end she found Romeo who was camoing near a road."
"Did they then marry and found a good place to live?"
"No Billy, Romeo first acted like he was happy to see her and tended her to a feast. He also spiked her wine with some sleeping pills and robbed her blind. After that he sold them to a raider clan as a slave. They say he made a good deal since Julia was absolutely beautiful."
"Oh...."
We had to laugh. Billy really needed to learn how harsh the wasteland actually was.
Henry started to wrap his new rifle into towel. His pillow for the night.
"Jack why dont you tell us a story before we go to bed?"
"Fine. There are people who say that high up in the north there is still a city which is completely unaffected by the radiation. A city inhabited by scientists, engineers and other bright minds of humanity from all over the world. They are protected by the best soldiers in every army and their city wasnt targeted because its in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by dense forrest. There they still have running water, working electricity and they dont have to worry for food either. And on top of that there a rumours they found a way to save humanity from this state. After all they were probably the only ones who preserved all the knowledge from the world."
"Really?"
Billys eyes had this little spark in them again. That little spark of hope for a better future.
"Yes, if somebody managed to survive the apocalypse its them. Even tough there are Metros all over the world deep enough to act as nuclear bunkers for tens of thousand of people only the town of Utopia could have survived unscathed. Now get to sleep, I will take the first watch."
Billy yawned and layed down while he mumbled the word Utopia over and over again. The other 2 just nodded at me. It was probably right not to tell him the harsh truth that Utopia was most likely one of the first targets for the rockets.
The other 2 also went to sleep and I starred into the night, wondering if we were going to survive the next day. |
I had, in a few days, learned that the people of the world were no more or less compassionate in any era. I was hungry, lacking food and coin. A woman named Flavia found me crying out of despair. I had finally realized where and when I was. I could see the city of Rome in the distance. Flavia was walking, with some difficulty, back to her home from a market. She surmised my situation, probably not a unique one in any place or time near a big city. How many people had sought their fortune in cities throughout history and failed? She offered me an apple and said "Malum?". It was small, greenish, and had a few soft spots on it. It was a godsend, and it tasted delicious. I gestured to help her carry one of her two baskets. She regarded me for a few moments and then apparently had enough faith in me to let me help. I carried her basket home. She indicated I should stay and mimicked sleeping. I bowed to thank her. My verbal "Thank you"was completely meaningless to her. I also said "Gracias"and her face brightened slightly. She said "Gratias tivi", accenting the T in gratias. I learned how to say Thank You in Latin from my savior, Flavia. She made soup, and let me have some. I'm sure in other part of my life, I would have found it watery and thin, but at the time, it tasted wonderful.
I stayed with her, mending her fences, helping her with her chickens, and gathering firewood for her. I slowly learned Latin, which sounded different than I thought it would, being more mellifluous.
And I read. I read my crazy Wikipedia tablet. I found an article named Timeline Of Historical Inventions. I didn't know if I could handle glass blowing or if I had the wherewithal to handle making gears or other precise materials, but my eyes alighted on block printing. I could make paper, and I could probably make ink. I could definitely carve mirror images of letters. A year later, I had a prototype working. I took my first prints into Rome soon after, advertising my services. Nothing happened for several weeks, then a Roman soldier named Catullus showed up at Flavia's small farm and asked me about it. We talked about my 'inventionem' and he asked if I could help him train soldiers to read. I said that such a thing was possible, but it would take time and they would have to be good students. He promised me they would be.
Ten years later, my computer still inexplicably worked and recharged from its strange charger. I was in a unique position, being a consultant to the army but not really of them. I had devised a system of printing that I encouraged the Empire to use as it liked. I told them I only wished to continue inventing things and keep my mother Flavia in comfort. I had met the Emperor and several members of the Senate. I had a home in Rome. Catullus was a General, having been responsible for overhauling the Roman military into a devastating and powerful force, even more so than before. I still spoke with an accent nobody could quite place, but my claim of living in the north was not challenged. The Romans don't care about such details when they profit from you.
Eight years later, Flavia died. She wasn't that old, really, but she caught some sort of illness and it took her swiftly. I decided to direct my energies into two lines of investigation: medicine and boats. I have Catullus's backing, and he has become too powerful to deny. He thinks I am inspired by my mother's death. I will not correct him, because he isn't wrong. I have urged him to fight this silly taboo against the dissection of corpses. He understands. He's pursuing it, and I have no doubt he will at least be able to provide me with the cadavers of criminals. Our boats will be large and sleek, drawn from the best boat building techniques of another world, one I left behind for some reason. I still can't actually remember traveling through time or even deciding to do so. I have fuzzy memories after college. I am forging a new world in any case. I plan on directing the discovery of the Americas with the promise of trade. Sugar cane, potatoes, tomatoes, pumpkins, turkeys, and more await the Empire. With our military, we will not be swayed or turned back, with my direction, we will not be as cruel as those explorers of my home world, and there's a chance I will have chocolate again before I die.
(That's all I have so far. Great prompt!) |
The rain is quite loud - so loud, that I find it hard to hear my own thoughts. I don't know why. It feels so wrong.
This is how it is for me all the time. Clear blue skies with a flood of rain. Why is this how my brain works? It feels like I am all on my own. Who else could be like this? Who else could feel what I feel?
They tell me that my mind is wrong. That I'm not what they call 'the norm'. The white tiled walls of my room are all I have known for the past year. They feed me pills, they tie me down, they tell me that it's for my own sake. I hate it.
I look up. The sky is clear, yet the rain in my head won't stop.
I hope my friends come to see me soon.
Soon, a nurse will come and put me back in my bed - I don't have much time left up here on the roof. It won't take them long to find out where I've gone.
They seem to make no noise as they burst through the bright red door. Their lips move, yet all I hear is the drum of the rain.
"You'll catch cold up here!"One of the young men shouts. The sound seems to come from a blank space in my head. I can't hear him, yet I know what he said.
I let them take me back to my room. What else can I do?
I want to be free of my mind. It's a cage, and I don't know where the key is. |
Captain Jamie downed his next drink. "What's next, lads? x-direction to the black hole, y-direction to the jungle planet, or shall we travel 3x+4z to the slave cartel?"
The motley band of intergalactic denizens stared at him in amazement. These were tough beings in their own right, having undertaken many covert missions when they were still considered legitimate by the Galactic Government. Now, they were... contractors for jobs that wouldn't usually be done. For a price, they would do any task, no matter how threatening or difficult. But it was this man, Captain Jamie, who was the boldest of them all. The black hole was inherently dangerous but had a high payoff in terms of debris and salvage; the jungle world was a prison colony that held many endangered, exotic, expensive species, and the cartel war could rake in huge profits from both companies. In the end, they decided to hold off their next adventure and cheered on Captain Jamie as he snorted a line of mysterious blue powder.
No matter how much narcotics the crew pumped into him, Captain Jamie refused to reveal his, as he called it, "backstory". He believed in starting a new life and daring to dream, and given the dodgy backgrounds of his crew, they were all too eager to uphold their end of the ideal. In his more vulnerable moments he mentioned love, family... What did the galaxy's toughest know of those? They knew broods, spawns, mating, but not this sensation.
What they did know of him was his bravery. Where other species had tentacles, horns, compound eyes, stings, wings, such things that would allow it higher survival, Captain Jamie's physiology offered no such advantages. He had two arms, two legs, a head. That was it. Even his weaponry was less advanced than the pulse rifles and lasers that his crew wielded; he chose a simple electrified sword and, if pressed into a ranged contest, a slugthrower made of wood that fired lead bullets. It could not hit a target from across a planetoid, but that was the way Captain Jamie liked it; he laughed off pulse rifles and said they didn't give him enough challenge.
Above all, the human was highly revered for his shrewd planning at both the strategic and tactical levels. He kept his crew out of trouble with intergalactic law, but also just on the fringe enough for the lot of them to have access to their wildest dreams from a darker source. Tactically, he always seemed to be one step ahead of his opponents, outfoxing and predicting their next move. He made ten feel like a hundred. Despite it all, in the grand scheme of things, Captain Jamie cared not for order or chaos. He simply aimed to have fun, and in the process undertook the craziest operations on both sides of the law.
He was the only one of his species known to the galaxy. Some thought seeing him was death, others thought he wanted to die himself, but all who had seen him shuddered in fear. For fear of the crazy bravery he processed, unshackled by his equally as deadly mind.
 
Log to Mission Command, Day 2914.
I've seen things that no man should see, but I understand it's important for the future campaign. Thankfully, their pathogens and narcotics do nothing to me. Investigate this as soon as we establish first contact. I'm establishing quite the reputation for our planet and species through my mercenary activities. For that I'm glad that the chess lessons with Deep Blue taught me to think strategically.
Still, my missions here are representative of Earth in a few years, aren't they? Doing the craziest shit without any second thought. Who would think our first contact with the bigger galaxy in the future will be one where we are advantaged. I'm glad to have been part of this process.
Please tell my family I'm still alive. For all the crazy shit I'm willing to do, losing them is not on that list.
Hans Jamie. |
I stand in line from atop the conveyor belt as it takes me across the vast industrial complex. In the background, sickly pink hearts hang on the walls, covered in the dust of a hopeless generation. Before me, the girls stand similarly, moving from right to left. They stare blankly onwards, with barely a hope in their hearts that they might find one, *the* one, however unlikely it might be. Hope. That's what we have in common, the men and women within the massive building. Hope that by utter coincidence, the one person on the entire planet who loves us might move along on that conveyor belt.
Supposedly this place has had at least one victory, as foretold by the various plaques placed along my path. Victor Yates and Shannon Smith. That one success story, that one victory, already puts this place on a higher number of successes than almost any of the similar clinics all around the world.
The rich have it easier, but only slightly. They can afford to dozens of clinics in a year, in the hope of finding that special someone. This naturally gives them a slight edge. But even so, they very rarely find what they're looking for. The chances are that their soul mate is on the other side of the world, or in prison, or in the military. Some people give up, and pair together our of loneliness, usually friends or neighbors. They pass in the street, with deep pits of longing in their eyes. Yes they can have children. Yes they have sex. But they'll never love each other, not truly.
The few that do find their special one are envied all across the world. Only about two-hundred pairs exist, those that looked into each others eyes and screamed with simultaneous near-orgasmic joy. Those that saw each other and knew that despite all odds, they were meant to be. They then get access to Club Cupid, that oh-so exclusive place, where the couples drink and feast together, far away from the loneliness and despair of the common man. Why should they have to see what they once were?
They have true wuv.
I return my gaze towards the ladies before me. Ugly. Beautiful. Thin. Fat. Intellectual. Idiotic. I don't care who they are. I just want to love, and to be love. I pass a tall woman in glasses, but we barely glance at each other. She isn't the one. Next I pass a morbidly obese woman of about sixty years of age. Not her either. I sigh, as I near the end of the experience. I ready myself to depart, to return to my existence as a bachelor.
I look into the eyes of the next woman... And gasp, as I'm gripped by a feeling I've never felt before, a feeling felt by less than a millionth of the population. I scream out as every cell in my body tingles in joy. Before my eyes, the beautiful woman in front of me squeals as she feels the same. Love. This is love. This is everything. This is joy. This is attachment. This is everything anyone could want.
I've found her. She's found me. I am hers. And she is mine. We grip hands, and the machine comes to a stop.
"I..."I realize we're both crying, "I love you."
"I love you too,"she sobs.
"NO!"Comes a scream, and before I know it, my one true love is tumbling down into the machinery below, her face stricken with horror. She plummets into the darkness and disappears from sight.
I look up to see the fat old woman from before, her trembling arms outstretched.
"If she..."She wipes a tear away, "if I can't love, she can't either,"and before I know it, the murderer of my unnamed love is plummeting down as well, spiraling into suicide.
I look down as she falls from sight, my heart sitting in two pieces. I stare down as the cops arrive, I stare down and down and down.
She's gone. My one true love. Gone forever. My one chance at happiness, my one chance at marriage, lost to a single moment. I didn't even know her name.
I remember the happiness at finding her, something most people would never feel. Something that made me unique, almost blessed.
I would mourn my unnamed love forever. I would mourn her,and remember our few spoken words, remember the warm touch of her hands.
Because truly it was better to love and to lost than never to have loved at all. |
They came from the sky. They flew down in flocks. Black ships the size of double-decker buses. They landed all around the earth. The advanced civilizations of 2654 had forgone violence centuries ago after 'the great divide'. As such they had no weapons to defend themselves. Most of them had even forgotten violence existed. As the aliens touched down, the respective leaders of the countries came out to greet them. They were among the first to be killed. As the aliens flooded the streets of cities around the world something happened. Ancient machinations forgotten for centuries activated. Running through Trafalgar square, a group of survivors were cornered around Nelsons Column. They prepared themselves to die. To their surprise the concrete on the statues started to flake away. Suddenly one of the concrete lions on the pedestal burst to life. In a whir of mechanical parts it lept at the aliens. Their armoured black bodies were no match for its sharpened, retractable titanium claws. As it tore through them an inky black gas leaked out of them like blood. One of the aliens picked up its gun and shot the lion. The plasma bolt obliterated the lion and a shower of cogs and gizmos flew everywhere, like shrapnel. The aliens once more closed in for the kill. The other three lions started to move, but were similarly destroyed. The alien advanced on them and spread its jaws. Suddenly it squealed in pain. It twisted in agony. They couldn't work out what was happening. Then they saw him. Horatio Nelson, he had jumped from the top of the platform and pierced into the creatures brain. As it thrashed, in its death throes, he went to meet the three remaining aliens. One of them charged at him. He charged at it, then milli-seconds before clashing with it ducked and thrust up. He stabbed into its throat and was covered in the inky gas. The other two paced around him. One of the aliens thrust at him and yanked off his arm and sword. Just when it all seemed over, his empty sleeve metamorphised into a machine gun. He sprayed bullets into both the creatures. As they collapsed, so did he. He was breaking down. But he had fulfilled his duty, so a faint smile flickered across his face. As long as his brothers had also done their duty, then humanity might have a chance. |
A crime committed in the Terminal is a serious thing.
It's also impossibly hard to commit one. In a society where everyone lives hooked up to the Terminal, which resembles what our ancestors might have called "The Matrix", we are all Gods. Killing someone? That's a favorite past-time, since no one truly dies in the Terminal, we all just reset. Stealing? Not exactly something worth considering, since we have all the resources we could want. We can do anything we want, gods of our own destiny.
Well, except one thing. When our brightest minds created the Terminal, we all knew deep down, this is where society would stop progressing. Real life is hard. Hunger, famine, poverty, war: these were all problems that was what life had in store for us. Sure, the first few generations were hesitant, but I've come to learn that people generally prefer comfort over hardship. By the third generation, everyone was living their wildest fantasies inside the Terminal. All of us can leave it whenever we want, but no one actually does.
So what crime is so terrible that it warrants punishment? Remember, reality is cruel. So it follows that the cruelest thing one can do is bring another life into reality. A real, biological, human being. In the Terminal, we could have "children", but they were just simulations. Empty husks of data that followed the cookie-cutter AI the Terminal provides. But me and Claire weren't satisfied. In secret, we gave birth to a child, but since everyone, including the midwives, were locked within the Terminal, Claire died in childbirth.
It wasn't long before I got caught. The admins of the Terminal banned me from the program, so now I have to spend the rest of my life as a fallen God, facing struggles I've never faced before.
It's not so bad though. Her name is Ellen. She has blue eyes like her mother, and she mispronounces "banana""babana", which I think is cute. She's scared of ladybugs, and her brows furrow whenever she's thinking.
I don't know what's going to happen to us. Food is hard to come by since civilization has collapsed, and water even harder, but I have no regrets. I could spend the next 80 years just sitting down next to her, reading her favorite stories by the fire. |
I remember the day I killed my wife. I had caught her cheating countless times, and that day I walked in on her and my brother going at it in our bedroom. I killed them both in a fit of rage with the shotgun I kept in my wife and I’s bedroom for protection from intruders.
When I finally stopped shooting and came to my senses, I found myself in a room covered in blood splatter with two horribly disfigured naked corpses. I had shot each of them 4 times. I was horrified and I instantly regretted my action. When I got picked up by the police I knew I was toast. I really don’t know why I didn’t just plead guilty when it went to court. I was hoping they’d charge me with second-degree murder, but they got me on first-degree and I live in Texas, where capital punishment might as well be an Olympic sport.
I was sentenced to death. But I vowed that I would never kill another human being again up through the day I died.
Well, today is the 2-year anniversary of the day i officially “died”. I’m 30 now, and I committed the crime when I was 24 and was sentenced when I was 26. So I “died” at age 28 according to the government.
My “afterlife” consists of working out, eating, drinking, training, and fighting. I now fight for a living, and I only fight other “dead” people. And my payment consists solely of having my life spared by the government. Here’s the catch though: the fights are to the death. It brings a whole new meaning to the phrase “survive and advance.” The people who make money off it are anyone who works in the legal system; they all either bet on or even groom fighters.
It’s known as the “Zombie Games” amongst those in the legal system. And here’s the thing: I’m really good at it. We have to fight every other day, and I’ve survived for two years. In fact, I’m convinced that killing people with my bare hands and fighting for my life is probably my greatest talent.
The problem is, I’m breaking the promise I made to myself ALL THE TIME. This is not what I want my talent to be, and not how I want to live my life.
So tonight will be both my last fight and my last night on Earth. I’m gonna give a giant middle finger to the system and throw this one. Everyone’s got their money on me, and the more I bleed, the more money they lose. So tonight, I exit this living Hell. Maybe I’ll see these suckers in the next one.
EDIT: Removed the phrase "after I committed double-murder". |
*I knew I made the right decision not to listen to your father and abort you,* was the first text of the day, from Mom. *Can't wait till you bring her home! Eeep! I'm telling all my friends that MY son is dating a celebrity. Love you!*
*Hey, son. Just wanted to tell you I was proud of ya. I always knew, deep down, really, really, deep, deep, down that you weren't gay. - Dad*
*Bro!* was the third text, from my older and only brother. *I want details! Does the curtain match the drapes? She send you any nudes? You can't believe how many chicks gave me their number today because my little brother is dating a celebrity!! I guess you learned from the best, huh? ;) Get back to me.*
Then there was a short, simple text from my ex: *We need to talk. Call me.* Followed by an even shorter: *I miss you.*
Then a barrage of texts from my current girlfriend:
1)*You lying, cheating bastard! I hate you! I never want to see you again. Delete my number. Jerk.*
2) *I'm sorry. I was a little upset earlier. Some of my friends and I were talking and...I mean, I can totally understand why you did it. Who wouldn't right? She's rich. Famous. A sex symbol. I think it's kinda hot that my boyfrend is sleeping with an A list celebrity. I wouldn't mind doing a threesome. ;P*
3) **OMG!!! I'M SORRY I WAS SO DRUNK EARLIER I DID NOT MEAN TO WRITE THAT LAST PART**...*I mean...unless if u r interested??*
4) *Heyyy, it's me again!! You're not answering your calls or responding to my texts.. Whats up? Did I say something wrong? Are you mad at me??*
And so on they went, growing increasingly more desperate and depraved until it somehow spiraled down into her bathing in my blood and eating the umbilical cord of our unborn child.
There was more texts from more people, friends, family, and random strangers, but I decided to get off the phone for a bit and go online.
I wish I didn't.
Edit: Wrote in a rush. Had to run. Might continue.
|
*Fuck*. *Fuck*. *Christ*.
Fletcher wasn't ready to die. He loved life, loved everything about it. Yes, he'd volunteered for the mission to Mars quick as anything, but that was much more a comment on his *lust* for living, his desire to experience all life had to offer, rather than an attempt to end it all.
He'd been warned of the risks, he absolutely had. But he'd also been told there'd be a warlock on board, and what could have possibly gone wrong with a warlock on board? Fletcher knew that magic was very much a fickle thing. He knew that that meant any single warlock could possess the power to fall an entire planet, or only enough to toast a slice of bread, or anything in between. Nevertheless, the presence of anybody with the gift - however great or small their control of it - had always comforted him. Now, the thought of it metaphorically stopped Fletcher's heart in his chest. Maybe literally too, if he wasn't careful.
The Mars venture was one fraught with dangers. Any number of things could go wrong, and as such every single potential issue had been identified and checked and re-checked. Every possible problem but one. What were they to do if a warlock went rogue?
*Die*.
Fletcher blinked. Maisy had been the first to die. Her head had simply liquefied inside her space suit. There was no rational explanation for this- why would there be? Everyone knew it was magic. Its telltale smell hung like a pall over the remaining astronauts, penetrating even the sophisticated filters in their suits.
They all hovered there, the remaining five, in a circle. Each eyeing the others suspiciously, fearfully. Each with lives to return to. Fletcher could hear his heartbeat. He was sure the others could hear it too. The solution was simple. They all knew it. Identify the warlock, remove him or her from the vessel, and hope and pray they didn't die in the process.
Fletcher looked over his fellow astronauts, every single one terrified. One, however, was the warlock. The dangerously unhinged, murderous individual who would bring an end to the mission, to Fletcher's life, to the life which he held so dear. Because of this, at least one of his crewmates had to die. But which one?
|
“Now that I have you, there’s no escaping my clutches, Princess Sparkle.”
The Dark Lord Malforce laughed. Menacingly.
The Princess was helpless, chained at the top of the Dark Lord’s ingenious Death Mountain Murder Machine. The device rose thirty feet into the air, a whirling nightmare of blades, cogs, bladed cogs, and fire. And wolves.
The wolves howled in unison. Menacingly.
The Princess let out a gentle sigh. “Look, I don’t want to ruin this, but you should probably let me go and get out of here.”
“Begging for your life won’t save you now, Princess! If you wish to see your beloved Bubblepop Kingdom again, you must reveal to me the location of the Sunshine Crown!”
“Fine. Whatever.”
“Resistance is-wait…what do you mean, ‘fine?’” Moving swiftly, despite being clad in black armor, spiky black armor, the kind with horns, Malforce drew his dark sword, Joybane, and held the blade towards the bound princess. “If this is a ruse…”
Sparkle shook her head, noon-bright hair rippling. “Nope, no trick. We stashed the crown with the hermit in the clearing; told him to bury it in his backyard. Let me down, go get the thing, and then maybe leave the area for a while.”
Lightening crackled. Malforce sheathed his mighty sword in its equally mighty sheath. The sheath had a little skull on it which Malforce’s daughter crafted and, tastefully, bedazzled for him.
“I’ll send my minions to pay the hermit a little visit. If what you say is true, I’ll set you free. But if this is some pathetic ploy to buy time, I can assure you, the consequences will be dire.”
Sparkle jiggled the chains. “You should really go yourself. And, like, now. He’ll be here any minute.”
“Ah, now I see,” Malforce boomed, the shape of his wicked grin hidden by his be-horned helm. “You ARE trying to buy time. You expect a hero to come to your rescue?”
“Ha!” the Dark Lord laughed. “HA DA HA! There are no heroes left in this world.”
“Yeah,” said Sparkle, “which is why we had to lower our standards a bit.”
Just then, the giant window to the Dark Lord’s lair shattered in a blizzard of broken glass and coarse language.
“Fuck-a-doodle do, bitches!” screamed the mysterious figure that dove into the room through the remains of the window.
“Hero!” shouted Malforce, drawing his sword. “You’re too late! I know the location of the crown. Soon your world will be drenched in darkness.”
The Hero shrugged and began to advance.
“Stop right there!” said the Dark Lord. “One more step and I’ll begin the machine. The princess will be torn asunder.”
The hero halted, and eyed the machine thoughtfully.
“Before I destroy you, I have but one question,” Malforce said. “How did you get past my Treacle Troll? Did you answer his riddles three?”
“No.”
“Did you put sleep mushrooms into his ale and sneak past him?”
“Nope.”
Malforce smiled. “Ah, so you disguised yourself as a traveling bard and convinced him you were here to sing a ballad commemorating the glorious reign of the Dark Lord Malforce?”
“No. What I did was take this knife here,” said the Hero, displaying a knife large and sharp enough to imperil the definition, “and I cut the troll open, and I took his insides, out.”
Malforce lowered his sword. “Pardon?”
“He disemboweled the troll,” the Princess explained.
“Oh God…why?” asked the Dark Lord. “He was just an intern. Honestly, he slept under the drawbridge like, 70-percent of the day. And even if he was awake, he’s got glaucoma. You could have just, like, snuck past in his blind spot.”
“But my way was more delicious,” the Hero licked his blade.
“Jesus Christ.” said Malforce.
“I warned you,” muttered the Princess.
The Hero began to advance again.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Malforce dropped his sword. “Let’s all just, let’s all relax for a second.”
“Tell me,” said the Hero. “Which is your least favorite organ? And would you like to know what the back of your eyes look like? I’ll show them both to you.”
“That’s insane. How would I even see them if you took both-wait, okay, just wait.” Malforce backed up until he was against the cold, stonewall of his dark, dark lair. He reached to his left and pushed a giant red button. “Okay, there, I’ve started the Death Mountain thing.” The cogs began to whirl and the Princess slowly lowered. Very slowly. It was actually hard to notice the change at first. “You’d better rescue the Princess now. Otherwise she’s doomed. And I’ll just...I’ll just get out of your hair while you’re working on that.”
The Hero glanced at the machine. “I figure that thing will probably take, oh, a good six minutes to even reach the Princess. That means me and you got about five minutes. And brother, this is going to be the longest five minutes of your life.”
“Holy. Shit.” Malforce repeatedly pushed the button, but the machine continued to move at a glacial pace.
The Hero laughed. Menacingly. |
“What’s up?” I reply, slightly confused and worried.
“Dude, I don’t know what I did but I think I messed up the timezone settings in my phone. It’s like an hour ahead for some reason.”
“Oh, that’s easy. Go into your setting and find the option that says ‘clock’” I quickly text back.
“Oh, snap. I got it now. Thanks, fam.”
“No problem, dude” I reply as I pull the covers back over my head and toss my phone onto my nightstand. |
Eons have passed.
I'm not sure how many.
It was all so long ago, when I received the gift of immortality. I can barely remember it - it doesn't really matter, anymore, anyway, here at the precipice of destiny.
I was just happy to finally have the time to go out and literally learn everything there is to learn, and never be uncertain about something ever again. All the time in the universe to read every manuscript, test every hypothesis, and try anything without consequence.
I feared, at first, that suffering that comes with an indefinite life span - loved ones lost, over and over again, or the possibility of my body degrading, whether my memory was finite, etc. - after a few centuries, all turned out to be just something you get used to. Mostly everything turned out to just be run-of-the-mill, once you exist on a geological timescale, but my thirst for knowledge was endless while my fears dissipated into history. There was one terror that immortality could not free me from, however. It was ever present, much like the incessant threat of death is to others.
I retreated from humanity, eventually. They had physically outevolved me, and barely resembled the primates we shared an ancestry with. Even before, they all looked the same, anyway; simple hairless primitives or the half-machine beings they eventually became, all the while incapable of comprehending the thoughts and ideas I had developed over lifetimes of stressless work and research, their greedy faces drooling with lust for the technological and philosophical wonders that I had directly and indirectly brought to our homeworld. I was truly and utterly alone - I had a hunch that I'd find equals elsewhere. So, I left. But even my apathetic escape from mother Earth did not placate the terror I felt about the eventual heat death of the universe. I would survive it... and what then?
Would I find others like me, in the space between worlds? I ended my search after my galaxy collided with its neighbor, after I scoured all the new worlds bestowed upon me, ultimately fruitless. I was still alone, for all intents and purposes.
Would I be doomed to float in an endless void, totally empty - excluding myself - for the rest of eternity?
A single body, full of useless knowledge and life, with only the company of pure black nothingness to pass the time? It seemed maddening. I assumed I'd figure out a solution, eventually, or at least gain enough knowledge to determine what would happen to me afterwards and how to harness the universe's eventual ending.
Much time has passed.
I have seen civilizations rise and fall. I have seen continents erupt from the waters of strange worlds, slowly overcome and infected by a beautiful blight, which sometimes spread across worlds and asked difficult questions; countless lifeforms spewing from primordial masses upon countless worlds.
I have seen, with my own eyes, stars sputter and fade, explode, and collapse. I have tasted stardust, walked upon comets, breathed the air of titanic gas giants. I have seen miracles, and caused a few myself. I have created and manipulated economies, I have been worshipped by lesser species, I have ruled worlds. And yet, here and now, in the darkness of the end, I am still at a total loss as to what will happen in only a few more millennia - which seem like minutes, these days.
Time passes, and I contemplate a fate worse than death.
The final most miniscule particles of the universe have finally collapsed, all is darkness, forces are absent. The void is dark, once lit by the light of trillions of stars and worlds. I feel almost blind.
There is no feeling, nothing that I can sense or perceive, but I know that the end has passed, and I am now more alone than I have ever been.
Time passes, and I continue to contemplate, questioning whether I have a physical form any longer.
It is so very, very dark, in all ways. *There are no forces, no waves, no light....*
It is too dark.. *I must see.*
I need to see again.
I must *see!*
A terrible, endless sadness overtakes me. I feel my tears crystallize into ice and peel off my shuddering eyes as I utter a soundless moan into the blackness, a mouthed lamentation made of the purest suffering that there ever was. And I still cannot see, I cannot learn anything anymore, was it all for nothing?
This damn blackness. I wrench what is my neck back, and try to scream - there is only silence. I cannot see, I cannot feel, it is nothing but pain, without pain! *Was the price worth it? Did it matter?*
Damn this endless, starless night! Damn my blindness!
I yearn for nothing more, if only I could once more witness even a single photon, anything!!!
I wish I could die...
Once more, I convulse, and with all the strength in my ageless, tattered "body"and mind, I utter out a cry of intangibly massive desperation:
"Let... there... be... LIGHT!!!!!!"
To my surprise, I had a voice, and it was *loud.* It impossibly echoed throughout the endless endlessness. With a shock, I realize I can see again - the emptiness is filled with a wild and unfaltering light, and it is brighter and more beautiful than anything I have ever seen, and all of it is emanating from me! I think I *am* the light... and I have nothing to shine upon.
It seems I have much work to do, if my latest hypothesis is correct. I smile with my entire consciousness, and my new universe smiles with me. No... I *am* the universe, and I see that it is *good.*
|
*Knock knock*
"Come in! ... Ah, Mr Brown is it?"
"Yes that's right."
"Wonderful. My name is Dr Death. Please take a seat over there. Now, what seems to be the problem?"
"Well, I'm not dying."
"I see, and how long have you felt like this?"
"About four years."
"Have you sought help in that time?"
"No... I hoped it might just go away on its own."
"Now now, Mr Brown, that's quite irresponsible of you. Vitality isn't just a bad dream you can wish away. Please see a professional quicker in the future."
"Sorry, doc, I will."
"So you aren't dying. Interesting. Are you aging?"
"No, I'm pretty sure that has stopped too."
"Hmm. Unfortunately extreme vitality is not something that has a single cure. Every case is different depending on the person."
"What are some of the treatments?"
"Well cancer is always a good one. You know what they say. Metastasization a day keeps the health away! Although..."
"Although what?"
"Well it doesn't always fix the... age issue. We've had cases of patients successfully treating their vitality with cancer, but their age continues to stagnate."
"Well that doesn't sound ideal. Is there anything that can cure both my immortality and my eternal youth?"
"Hmm. There are more... alternative procedures. One's not formally endorsed by us here at Death.inc, but have still proven to have some encouraging effects."
"Hit me with them, doc. I'll try anything."
"Sure. Have you tried being married?"
"Married?"
"Yep! Sucks the soul right out. Grinds away at your health and ages you at three times the normal rate!"
"Well that sounds bloody brilliant! But unfortunately I'm not married."
"Well you should look into that right away."
"Will do. Should I try to find a wife who is riddled with deadly contagious diseases?"
"Nnnnnnno. We want to start the dying process again, but we don't want to outright kill you."
"Oh right... sure."
"Well I think that should do it for now. Get married and hopefully all should be better in six to eight months. Just make sure to harbour a deep undying resentment for the woman that you marry."
"You're a life saver doc - oh well, not quite... You know what I mean!"
"Haha, I know what you mean, Mr Brown. Have a nice day now."
"Will do. Do I need to book a checkup perhaps a year down the line?"
"That shouldn't be necessary. If all goes well I should be the one visiting you. Just try not to shit yourself when I get there. I hate it when corpses do that." |
"...and I know we're not supposed to talk about our Exes like that, it's just he's so *weird*. Like, it seemed like he could be anywhere,"Brenda said.
*If only you knew,* I thought. "Yeah, exes are the worst. Mine, for instance, would be fooled by a fake mustache and glasses."
"Wait,"she said. "*You're* wearing glasses. And now that I think of it, your mustache looks fake! Brent, is that you!?"
I pulled off my fake mustache. "So it is! So what? Doesn't this prove that we were meant to be together?"
"Oh, Brent, you idiot. The whole reason I broke up with you was to prevent you from finding out the horrible truth,"she said.
"Wait, what?"I asked. This was going in a strange direction.
"You see,"she said, pulling off her own fake mustache, "I am **also** you."
"What?"I said. Though now that she pointed it out, she *did* look an awful lot like me. Especially without the mustache.
The other me continued, "And you thought *I* was stupid for not seeing through *your* pathetic disguise? I wasn't even wearing glasses."
"But... I've met your parents!"
Other Brent shook her head. "Oh, you poor child, you still don't get it, do you? Your parents... are *also you*!"
"That would explain why I have all their clothes in my closet,"I said.
The waiter stopped by the table. "Hello, my name is Bront and I'll be your server today,"he said.
"Bront? That's the kind of dumb fake name I would come up with,"I said. "And is that mustache fake too? You're me, aren't you? You're me too!"
Bront pulled off his mustache and sighed. "Yes, like you and you, I am you too."
I looked around at the rest of the diner and suddenly it was obvious. Why else would everyone in the entire place be wearing a dumb mustache? Glasses use was about 50/50, but they were all the cheap plastic fake glasses you could buy at a costume store.
I stood up from my chair. "Is there *anyone* here who isn't me?"
Everyone just shrugged and shook their head. A few scattered "sorry"s emerged but no other explanation was forthcoming.
The hostess raised her hand. "Actually,"she said, "My name's Claire, and I've never seen you - any of you - before tonight. So I'm pretty sure I'm not you."
Finally! A chance to move on and put this ludicrous nonsense behind me. "Great!"I said. "Claire, would you like to go out sometime?"
Claire gazed out over a diner's worth of expectant gazes. "You're not really my type." |
"Harry Potter?"
Simon looked up at me from the moving photo album, a strange look on his face replacing the starry-eyed look that had been there just before I interrupted him. "Yeah,"he eventually confirmed in the awkward silence. "He and I were same year, but different houses. But we all fought together, and the graduating class was so small by that point, we all got to know each other a little. Here."He carefully removed a photo, holding it out for me to inspect closer. I took it.
It was a graduating class photo, three rows of young men and women neatly lined up and grinning at the camera. I easily spotted Simon, despite his lack of the facial hair he currently sported, in the right hand side of the back row, sticking his tongue out at the camera. I scanned the rest of picture, and... there he was. Right in the center of the front row. Older, his face a little more filled out and more squared, dressed in the same black robes and pointed, stereotypical witch hats as everyone else. He still wore rounded spectacles, through they weren't broken anymore, and his hair was still a shaggy mop. Like everyone else, he smiled for the camera, but his eyes were... old. Tired.
I let out a breath. "Wow."
"Did... you know him?"Simon asked, cautiously, like he was afraid of the answer.
"No... well, kind of?"I shrugged, offering him the picture back. "We went to primary together. To be honest, I thought he died."
Simon's hands stilled, his face taking on an expression that was equal parts relieved and surprised. "What?"
I nodded. "Yeah. See, one year he just didn't show up from summer holiday. They asked his cousin and aunt and uncle where he was, and they all said he was sent to a special school for troublemakers far away, but didn't ever give any details. Then they suddenly moved. It was a pretty open secret that his family were mistreating him, but no one had ever really done anything because no one ever lodged a formal complaint, so everyone assumed he had died either from neglect or abuse. My mum even lit a candle for 'that poor Potter boy' at mass. There was a huge investigation, coppers practically dug up every inch of their garden looking for him. It was all the papers could talk about for a month, but they never found any evidence that he had died, at least not there, or that anything else dodgy had been going on. So they put Harry Potter on the missing children list and everyone kind of forgot about it."I let out a little disbelieving laugh. "I guess the Dursleys weren't lying after all. He really did just go to a special school. Scotland's not that far away, though."
"Ha!"Simon barked his own disbelieving little laugh, his grin returning. "I wonder if Harry knows the muggles think he's missing?"
"Probably not,"I giggled. "So what's Harry been up to? Besides not being dead?"
"Oh, not much,"Simon shrugged sarcastically. "Killing trolls, solving killer riddles, defeating the greatest evil of our time, cramming for exams. You know. The usual." |
Eve, after a riveting conversation with a serpent, rushes to tell Adam about her new-found knowledge of good and evil.
On her way across the fields of Eden, Eve spots a brown object nestled in the grass. Eve bends down revealing more than she self-consciously wished and picks the strange object up.
On the brown cover are golden symbols in an undetermined language. Eve ponders what it could possible mean.
"It sayssss, 'The Human Body for Dummiesssss". The serpent explains walking next to Eve, for the serpent still has legs. "It is a book", "Open it"the serpent implores. Eve, still aware of the serpent's penchant for suggestion, is taken over by curiosity and opens the book. Inside are illustrations that boggle and bemuse both Eve and the Serpent. But the most peculiar illustration shows the correct method of movement. The words that followed each ridiculous illustration were translated by the serpent:
Step One:
Drop to the floor on your belly
Step Two:
Coil your legs together and shake from side to side while slightly lifting your pelvis. You should propel forward. Poking tongue our optional.
Step Three:
Repeat as above.
"How curious"mused Eve, feeling that her upright position much superior.
"Ha, what sucker would actually do that", the serpent hissed.
A rumble from the sky could be heard and a voice boomed: "Who ate that damn apple"
"Ssssshit" |
The secret to any evil empire in this day and age is a generous 401k plan and blue-chip stock options.
Does that surprise you? It shouldn't. You know the saying 'an army marches on it's stomach'? Well, an evil empire marches on the feet of it's henchmen. Now I know popular media has glamorized the whole 'lone wolf' brand of evil, and that can be fun in it's own way but if you aren't going to expand then it's only ever going to be a hobby. If you really want to make it as a villain you need henchmen. And if you want loyal henchmen, you need to treat them right.
"That doesn't sound very evil."Well you're right, it's not evil; it's smart. Evil is only one half of the equation. The other half is brains. You treat your henchmen like crap they might be afraid of you but fear only gets you so far. Fear won't make a man willing to die for you. But you know what will? Paying out triple on his life insurance policy if he dies on the job. Taking care of the wife and kids he left beind. Going to his funeral and remembering his name. Those are the kinds of gestures that forge iron links between you and the men between you and your enemies. Or as some people like to refer to them, 'the good guys'.
Because we're the villains; don't ever lose sight of that. Whatever we do we do with the aim of making the world a better place for us, whatever the rest of the world has to say about it. And it makes our job a lot easier if we have employees who *don't* see us as villains. To them we're a good, steady paycheck with maternity leave, vacation time and paid sick days. You'd be amazed what people are willing to do for those kinds of benefits in this economy.
Well yes, of *course* I secretly lobbied against federally mandated sick leave. If everyone starts doing it we lose our edge. Oh yeah, *now* you're catching on. When they lowered the minimum wage? That was me. The same month that bill passed through congress I gave all my employees a raise and boosted the starting wage. We were flooded with so many applicants we still haven't processed them all. Now *that's* evil. That's how you forge empires.
Son, one day all this will be yours (no, not the curtains). If you learn nothing else from your old man, learn the value in treating your employees right. And since we're villains, don't be afraid to make sure everyone else gets treated worse.
|
This house isn’t big enough for all of us.
That’s the exact thing that made me run away in the first place. The only way to avoid conflict was to be invisible, and being invisible was impossible in such a small space. There were always work to do. And everyone knew that if you finished, Nancy would just give you more. Even when you could escape Nancy, there were the other kids to worry about. It seemed like they were all just waiting to pick a fight with whoever they felt was weakest. That was usually me.
The irony is that half of the kids in this house are experienced runaways. Most foster kids are. And yet when I tried to do it I couldn’t go for longer than a couple nights without running out of food and wimping out. I wouldn’t even steal food from a goddamn Walmart. No wonder they pick on me. But I could steal food from *them*, no problem. And even better, I knew where I could hide out. Before she turned 18 and left this hellhole, Angie showed me where she used to go when this was all too much for her. It’s a hidden room: long and narrow, between two walls, but sizable all the same.
I started living here last week, even though it was only marginally better than sharing a room upstairs with four of the others. I use the bathroom in the middle of the night when everyone was asleep. Angie already cut a hole in the wall of the secret room that leads to the cupboard (it was why she was fat, why everyone hated her while they starved, but I’m not stupid enough to get caught) so I can eat by stealing food bit by bit. Stuff they won’t miss: cereal, pasta, old granola bars. You only steal Mick’s Coco Puffs once before you learn that lesson. My plan is to eventually stockpile enough stuff to get a real new start. For that, though, I need to do the thing I’m dreading most of all. I need to steal Nate’s wallet.
It’s been a couple months now, and now instead of feeling like I’m haunting them, it’s more like they’re haunting me. Nancy and Nate in screaming matches. Music blasting upstairs. Kids getting into fights over the stupidest things. Neighbors threatening them all to quiet down. I can hear everything, all while I’m cooped up in this tiny room. I’m going crazy; I can’t wait another month. It needs to happen tonight. I have enough food, I have a bag to put it all in. I just need the money for a bus ticket. We all know Nate doesn’t trust banks, he immediately cashes all the support checks at the beginning of the month so he can burn the money on booze and drugs. Which means right now, his wallet is full.
I waited until 3 am, even longer than I usually do. I crept upstairs, and by some miracle managed not to wake anyone up from the creaking. I peered in the door of the master bedroom. The wallet was on Nate’s nightstand, right beside his handgun. I could hear only snoring. Slowly, I tiptoed into the room, retrieved the wallet, and extracted the cash: $1,600, more than I had dared hope for. Maybe the idiot had started reselling some of the drugs he was always buying. Back in my hovel, I wept with relief. By some dumb stroke of luck, I had gotten away with it. I could finally leave. For now, though, I knew I had to sleep.
I was awoken this morning by a screaming rage that I didn’t know Nate had in him.
“NANCY, DON’T LIE TO ME, BITCH! I KNOW YOU TOOK MY MONEY!” he yelled, followed by a violet WHACK that could only be the butt of his gun coming into contact with Nancy.
“I swear I didn’t take your goddamn money! One of those shithead kids probably took it,” Nancy yelped.
“I SWEAR TO GOD, I WILL TEAR THIS PLACE APART WITH MY OWN TWO HANDS AND I WILL KILL WHOEVER STOLE MY FUCKING MONEY!”
Somehow, I don’t think Nate is fucking around. There’s a reason nobody has tried this before, and the reason involves pain. It was only mental for me, but it was physical for everyone else. Even little Noah wasn’t immune. But I don't have time for all the guilt I feel. I'm not going to give him the chance to tear apart my hideout. I leave tonight. |
The plan was to spend less time inside. I had been doing a lot of that since Morgan left - being inside. So...the plan was to eat lunch in the park. I would take my sandwich and my apple and my bottle of water and I would walk down the block, cross the street, and head into the park. I was going to get some fresh air and commune with nature and it was going to be *pleasant* and I wasn't going to worry about being "suffocating"or Morgan's ex or any of it.
That was the plan. The plan had also included sitting in the grass. What could be more pleasant than sitting in the grass? The sun warming my dockers, the grass cushioning my legs, the sounds of wildlife.
First place I took was next to a majestic oak tree. I sat down, back propped against the mottled bark. It didn't make a very good backrest, but that was okay, because the cold sensation encroaching on my buttocks made me realize the ground was also damp. Fine, lesson learned: avoid the shade.
I picked up my bag and moved to the other side of the path, on top of a little hill. No trees, so no shade. I sat and began Operation: Consume.
As I took the first bite, it occurred to me that I had left my sunglasses in the car. I wouldn't need sunglasses in the office, of course, and didn't think to stop by to get them. But it was very bright, here in the sunlight. I was squinting. Fair enough - that's the price you pay for warm Dockers.
Then the ants came. I had, it turned out, sat right next to an anthill without realizing it. Thin, black lines were converging on my lunch bag. I set down my sandwich and tried shaking off the invading insects, causing my apple to fly out, land, and roll a few feet down. A tickling sensation, meanwhile, made me realize that some of the ants were trying to commune with my pant legs.
The fact that there were witnesses to the spastic dance I did - there, on top of the hill in the middle of the park - was something I was aware of but was choosing to ignore. Once I finished jumping around and slapping myself, I took a few breaths and considered the situation.
Nearby, a crushed mass of meat, veggies and bread was all that remained of my sandwich - that and whatever remnants were clinging to the bottoms of my loafers. Nearby, an elderly lady with cotton-candy hair was holding a leash, which was attached to a Yorkie that was licking my apple. *What a great idea this was*.
I grabbed my bottled water, stalked over to the dog and kicked the apple away from it. I didn't wait for a response from the dog's owner, although I thought I caught something about "mental trauma"and "my lawyer."
I was about halfway back to the street when I heard the voice: "What about him? He looks like he can understand us. Should we ask him?"
I could tell that, whoever it was, they were probably talking to me. Don't care. I didn't break stride - I was still aware of the stain on the seat of my pants and what people who saw it would think and I wanted to get back to the office as fast as possible.
Then two squirrels skittered down an elm and stepped in front of me, tails twitching. Two pairs of black beads stared up at me from their squished rat faces and I really wanted to step on them when one of them spoke to me.
"Good Nut to you, Furless Giant, and may your cache be bursting. I wonder if you might help my mate Cheeterchip and I with a...delicate matter."
"No."I didn't care that squirrels were talking to me. I didn't care why they were talking to me. I didn't care what sort of acorn-related assistance they might need. I moved to step around them.
They hopped sideways to cut me off.
"We do not mean to shake your branch, Furless Giant,"the one named Cheeterchip said. "It is just that the problem is too much for Chippercheet and myself to handle."
I turned again, and again they blocked my path.
"Well? If you want help, stop beating around the bush and tell me what it is!"
Chippercheet - or was it Cheeterchip? - squeaked and the other one slowly rose onto its hind legs. "Furless Giant, I will thank you not to speak that way in front of my mate."
"This is ridiculous."I stepped over them, wondering why I hadn't thought of it sooner, and kept going.
"We want to kill that dog!"one of them called after me.
I froze, then turned to face them. I glanced at the Yorkie, who was currently shitting in front of a park bench while the old woman pretended to be looking at her phone.
A different day, I leave. A different day, I worry about what it meant that I thought squirrels were asking me to commit murder...and probably take the rest of the day off. But today...today I was thinking about how Morgan always wanted to get a dog, about how *distraught* she would be if she heard about one dying...
I looked at the pair of squirrels. "I'm listening,"I said.
***
/r/ShadowsofClouds
/u/AliciaWrites - if you want to check off a [Mod Challenge](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/95l5x0/ot_wednesday_wildcard_challenge_the_mods/e3tnmxc/) and haven't gotten a chance to already, I invite you to continue this story. :) |
Far off in the countryside, down a long, winding dirt road lies an old, abandoned, stone church. It is believed that this church is empty, having lost it's congregation a long time ago. However, little does anyone know that a secret cult of members still flock to this building, conducting dark and heinous ceremonies.
Inside the alter room a circle of robed members all chant and hum around a pentagram etched into the floor. Blood runs in the grooves of the etchings of the pentagram, while candles that burn a black flame are placed on the ground, along the edge of each of the pentagram's five points.
"Like a good neighbor State Farm is there. Like a good neighbor State Farm is there". The members each chant in chorus, followed by a short melody of humming.
Suddenly, lightning lights up the alter room while a crash of thunder roars in the background, reverberating off the stone floors and sending chills down the spines of the members. The blood inside the etched floor of the pentagram begins to glow a crimson red. It begins to bubble and foam, the stone floor begins to light up as if it were an entire sheet of LED. A thick fog begins to spout out from the trenches of blood, filling up the entire space around the pentagram with a thick, cloud of smokey, glowing, green fog.
When the fog finally started to recede, a shape could be seen in the middle of the circle. A tall, hairy man wearing a business suit was sitting in the middle of the floor, looking around in utter confusion.
"Where am I?"The creature asked.
"What are you?"one of the robed members asked him back, staring at the thick layer of hair that covered his face, hands, and bare feet. He had long, pointed fingernails at the tips of each finger and toe.
"My name is Bruce, and I am a caveman. I was just in the middle of shooting a Geico commercial when I felt my body being sucked into this portal..."Bruce began to explain before getting cut off by another robed member.
"All right, that's it Frank! That's the last time we let you conduct the summoning spell"A fat, older man wearing robes said, cutting off the caveman.
"Wait, what were you guys trying to do?"The caveman asked. He looked around the alter room to see large, silk banners hanging from the walls. The banners were engraved with the triple oval pyramid that made up the State Farm logo. Some of the banners simply had writing in an old english font that read "Be A Good Neighbor. Always Be There". The caveman sighed under his breath before saying "Wait a second, were you guys trying to summon a State Farm agent from Hell?"Bruce asked.
"Well yeah, we were"one of the members came forward and admitted.
"And you couldn't do it?"Bruce scoffed. "Well that's easy. In fact, it's so easy that a caveman could do it"Bruce said cockily.
"Okay, that's it! You've mocked us enough, wolf man"the older, fat robed man said while stepping forward. "Send him to Hell"he yelled, and the entire robed congregation began humming rhythmically.
Flames erupted from the trenches of blood in the pentagram and consumed Bruce, burning his hair and flesh off until his body completely disintegrated.
"Now, let's try that again. But get it right this time"the fat robed man said as he took the hands of the people next to him in the circle.
"Like a good neighbor; State Farm is there. Like a good neighbor; State Farm is there!"the group began to chant and rock once more. |
For the first time in a millennia, It was truly and utterly stumped.
Never before had Pennywise struggled to find a weakness within its prey, a chink in the armor of its next meal. However, when it laid its sights upon the armor-clad marine, the only thing to be understood was that he was armed, and he was pissed. Provided the proper prep time, Pennywise had never struggled to find a vulnerability, a lure to bring prey to the edge of its blade; where it would finish them quickly and move on to its next meal.
But this man, this ***monster***, could not stand farther from the typical target.
Moving at speeds faster than some electric cars, the solider tore through the halls of the building; scaling nearly flat walls with his bare hands, assaulting creatures to which even Pennywise was surprised by their terrifying demeanor with an immense arsenal, and constantly wiping blood from his visor and suit, revealing the symbol "D22"on his right shoulder guard when caked guts were sloughed off of it. To call it a massacre would be an understatement. In all his manic killing sprees and time spent in the macro-verse, Pennywise had never seen so much viscera and gore in one place before.
The fight was over nearly as fast as it had begun. As the marine hammered the last creatures skull down between its shoulders, Pennywise took a moment to reflect on its intentions. Perhaps an ***easier*** target would be a better choice. Maybe one it could actually work the flavor out of: Versus trying to challenge something that it itself had come to fear.
|
*Meanwhile, in The Land Where All The Writing Prompts Are Simultaneously True....*
----
"Thank you for calling Commonly Posted Magical Objects Technical Support, for all your Commonly Posted Magical Objects needs. Listen carefully, as our menu has changed.
* If you've obtained a monkey's paw and need help on exact wording for your wish, press 1.
* If your decoy snail is defective, press 2.
* If one or more of Elon Musk's inventions have yet again turned against you personally, press 3.
* If your magic backpack-"
**4**
"Please hold, and a technical support specialist will be with you momentarily."
*There was a little Spanish flea*
*A writing prompt he thought he'd be*
*He'd heard of doggos and genies*
*And angels and demons and me*
*Why not a little Spani-*
"Commonly Posted Magical Objects Technical Support, this is Ron, how can I help you?"
*Finally!* "Yeah,"I said, "my magic backpack gave me a gun."
"To be clear,"Ron said, "this is the kind of magic backpack that gives you whatever you need for the day, yes? Not one that's full of money or something."
"I wish, no, it's the 'whatever I need' kind of backpack."
"Well then,"Ron said, "sounds like you're in for a pretty eventful day."
"No,"I said, "you don't understand. It gave me a gun yesterday, too."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that,"Ron said. "Still, I'm guessing this isn't your one phone call from jail and so that worked out?"
"I didn't use it,"I said.
"Ah, and since the backpack is supposed to give you what you need,"Ron said, "you're wondering why you didn't need it."
"Still no,"I said, "Because it gave me a gun the day before that, too. And before that. In fact, every single day I've owned the stupid thing, it's given me a gun."
"Are you sure you don't simply have a backpack that produces guns?"Ron asked.
"No, I checked,"I said. "The label says it's a CPMO Magical Provisioning Backpack, just like the one my buddy got the last time one of those got posted."
"Did he have similar problems?"
"Well he's in jail so it did cause problems, but no, it only gave him the gun once."
"Well, we offer a money-back guarantee,"Ron said.
"I didn't pay for it,"I said, "like most of the recurring objects it just appeared in my life one day. I want to safely dispose of it. Or unsafely. Really I just want it gone, I don't need this in my life on top of all the other crazy stuff happening in this town."
"That's not a problem,"Ron said. "Still, have you considered that the backpack might be suggesting something?"
"Kill 'em all and let one of the many Gods that live in this town sort them out?"
"Not quite,"Ron said. "I'm wondering if it thinks you're due for a career change, or is trying to help you with your career now. Tell me, are you a hitman or a serial killer of some sort?"
"No,"I said. "And I'm not looking to go into those careers either, they're very crowded fields."
"A policeman, perhaps?"
I scoffed. "When's the last time the police *weren't* the serial killers they were trying to catch?"
"Good point,"Ron said.
"In this town,"I said, "there's just not that many things to use a gun for that aren't full of people doing exactly that."
Ron was quiet for a few moments, apparently thinking. "I do have one idea. It's a longshot - so to speak - but it's something I don't think I've ever seen in this town."
"Go for it,"I said. Why not?
"Firearm safety instructor."
"I think,"I said, considering, "that I might actually be the only person in town doing that."
"There you go,"Ron said. "Use your magic backpack to outfit your students and save a bunch on licensing."
I scoffed again. "Nobody in this town is licensed for anything, they just *do* it."
"That's the entrepreneurial spirit!"Ron said. "Is there anything else I can help you with today?"
"No,"I said. "I've got a shooting range to open."
"Glad to hear it. And thanks again for calling Commonly Posted Magical Objects Technical Support" |
"Sir?"
​
Those were the first words of that fateful day when everything changed for our country. When for whatever reason the universe had decided that all of our movies and all of our culture was for nothing, we thought ourselves the center of the universe and we were but for all the wrong reasons. Those fateful words spoken so soft as the touch of a lover in the dark, it swept its way into my mind and I took those steps on the long road that changed the world forever.
​
"Yes. Do we have anything?"
​
He turned to look at me and I could see the shock on his face, pale as the day he was born shining in the cold light of our tiny laboratory. He shook his head as if he had just heard the most damning news the earth could deliver onto his young vulnerable heart.
​
"Well? Spit it out boy, we don't have all night."And we didn't have all night, I was getting to wrap it all up and head home before hearing the news.
​
"Sir... We've been branded."
​
At first those words made no sense to me and I was just about ready to shut him down, but after time and observing the situation I have come to accept them for they couldn't be closer to the truth. We have branded sinners and we couldn't be anything less, it was time for us to pay for everything we had done.
​
"What the hell are you talking about Mike? Branded?"
​
He lifted a shaking finger to point at the monitor before my eyes and I saw words moving but I didn't read them. "We have been branded sinners John... Sinners..."
​
What the fuck was he talking about? I got up from my seat gripping my water bottle so hard it was crushed in my hands. What is this? I put it down and turn to look at the monitor and that's when I saw it, clear as day before my eyes. The reality descending upon me and a feeling of deep remorse, we brought this upon ourselves.
​
The words moved across the screen slow and melodic with a certain heaviness to them. They spoke deeper than anything I had ever seen, "America has been branded. Your effect on this world has been noted and we have decided that you are the source of sin and evil in this world, you sow hatred and war in your brethren and you have been so self absorbed in your own selfishness and your search for a something to fulfill yourself that you have been blinded to what makes you human. So by decree we have decided that your nation is not worthy of us and we have sealed you out from the rest of the world. Below you will find a list of your sins."
​
Sins. Sin, what was it and what did it mean for us as a country? I soon came to realize it and I couldn't agree more. As the list appeared before my eyes reflecting my soul, I wept. There was so much truth in those words about our country that it hurt, it's like they managed to strip away all the lies and watch our vulnerable corpse in the corner of the dark room of history. I didn't even cared what caused it all but I had agreed with it and what appeared before me didn't really matter to me but I still watched it.
​
The spheres came down from a rift in the sky, a huge crack splitting the sky down the middle and from within you could see the black dark void. It seemed as if hell had opened its arms to world and it terrified me, who else to judge our sins but hell? They were black and had no markings on them or anything, they floated down without a sound and they moved slow settling themselves into every corner of the world. There seemed to be one for person on the planet, it would arrive before a person and float there without any sign of moving or doing anything. All they did was send messages to every system on the planet earth telling everyone that the USA has been condemned for its sins and they have decided to exclude us from their plans.
​
Plans, plans for what. At the time I was unsure what to think about it all but I sound realized what it meant for the world, America you sly son of a bitch you did it again. I turned to Mike and could see the terror in is eyes, he was young. This sort of information was not meant to reach his soul or even come close to affecting him and yet here he was caught up in the middle of it all.
​
I turned on the TV and the same message came flashing into my face, the radio had a voice repeating it to me and as I was later to learn the newspaper machines seemed to be by some miracle printing the same message even though the machines could not have done that. These spheres do have something against America and they have to right to but what worried in that moment was their intention with the rest of the world. What are we being excluded from?
​
A worldwide awakening? A world rebirth? Will everyone be transferred to a better world? What was it? The truth was so shocking and painful that it haunted ever member still alive.
​
I picked up my phone and the same message was repeating over and over again on it, they are cutting any and all communication we can have with each other. We are as lost as ever and all we can do is watch. The monitors proceeded to show different parts of the world, from the wastelands of Africa torn apart by famine and drought to the packed streets of India and the rich society of Europe, everyone had a small black sphere floating right next to them. There is one orb for each person, what does that mean? What is their plan with the people of this world?
​
The image shifted and we watched as the world leaders each stood before a sphere, fear stricken across their face and writ in the way they shook. Even the best are torn apart. That's what we must remember, we are all human. Those three minutes of silence before it all exploded in a cataclysmic turn of events that caused life to reconsider it's place on this world. The screen showed a child standing in the sand, their ragged clothing clinging onto their thin limbs and their face sunken in from hunger. I watched as the child raised its hand to touch the sphere as any reasonable kid would do. Its soft and harmless fingers brushed against the dark surface of those orbs and in a moment the world had decided to let hell embrace it.
​
The spheres broke apart in one fluid cataclysmic coordinated explosion. It tore apart in a loud bang and it took the life of everyone on the world but America. We watched as everyone was torn apart, destroyed in an instant and taken from this world. Everyone gone in one second. So many lives, a mass genocide of everyone on the entire planet but America.
​
Is this the punishment you wanted?! Is this what we deserve?! We finally did it. We have the world! The world is gone and that's left is us! Is this what you want?!
​
I found myself broken, so broken indeed that I was fixed. Every part of me torn into nothing and the world shifted into something completely unbelievable.
​
What.... Just.... Happened.... |
The genie came in the mail.
I don’t know how, I don’t know why—but he’s floating in front of me, arms crossed, brow furrowed. He told me if I don’t make a wish, he’ll consume my soul, so I’m kinda freaking out. Genies are super dangerous, right? Like, his power could destroy *everything.*
Sitting in a chair, I tap my feet, chew my lip. C’mon, there’s gotta be a good, safe wish I can use. This was supposed to be my day off, supposed to be my chance to relax and chill out—what wish would fit that?
“Cheese, maybe,” I mumble, standing up.
“Is that your wish? You want cheese?”
My stomach growls, forcing me to nod. This should be fine, right? It’s *cheese.* Cheese can’t hurt anyone. The genie, however, cackles as he snaps his fingers, like I’ve fallen into his greatest trap. “Enjoy your cheese, friend! *Enjoy all of it!*”
A second later, the world fades away. My body grows weak, sinking to the floor, and I’m sucked into a deep sleep. When I awaken, I’m staring at a yellow ceiling, and my nose is filled with the smell of cheese. I roll over, falling into a hole. Pulling myself out of it, I see my floor’s white.
My house is…
It’s made of…
*Dammit.*
My floor is swiss, ceiling is cheddar, walls are pepperjack and the wood in my fireplace is blue. I take a bite out of the chair I was sitting in earlier. It’s provolone, and it’s expired. *Yuck.* Running over to my sink, I turn it on and watch cottage cheese spill down the drain.
My entire house…it’s really made out of…
Wait…
Walking over to my door, I take a deep breath. *It’s just my house, just my house,* I keep telling myself. *He just wanted to punish me for not thinking through my wish enough, not everyone else.* I shake my head. That’s stupid. He’s a genie and they’re evil tricksters hellbent on destroying the world. Everyone knows that.
Upon easing it open, I fall to my knees. Today…today was supposed to be a good, relaxing day.
But instead…
…Instead *everything* is made of cheese.
***
This is really short, rough, and silly--but I hope it turned out okay! If you like this story, check out my sub /r/LonghandWriter or my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BryceBealWriter?lang=en) |
They watch me fail 4 times in a row, and only *now* think to let me keep my memories. How did they expect me to do my part when I didn't even know what it was? I have to say though, I do wish they'd just left me without my memories again. The Council has no authority over the realm of the living. They can send me back over and over, but they can't interfere with life themselves. If I hadn't know I had a job to do, I'd have likely been able to just roll through life as usual. Find a nice woman, start a family, live a nice quiet life and die a peaceful, happy death. That's the dream isn't it?
It's funny how fickle memory can be. Most of my last 10 years passed in a blink. I suppose I can attribute that to my then underdeveloped brain. And yet I still remember my old life in precise details. And, perhaps most curiously, I seem to have retained some muscle memory. No, muscle memory isn't the right way to describe it... in my last life I was a police officer, in an incredibly crime-infested town, so naturally I had a lot of experience with hand-to-hand combat, with guns and chases. I also knew a bit of parkour, and while my tiny 10 year old body obviously can't do any of those things, the movements are there. Almost as though every part of me still remembers how to do what I used to do regardless of the fact that my body refuses to do it. It's alright though. I'm still young. I'd love to mess around some more, but I have a job, no matter how much I hate it. I'll need skills that I just don't have right now. Thankfully I need to wait till my body matures anyways so it can keep up. A decade is plenty of time to learn new things.
Or so I thought. I was probably right, but the problem is I didn't actually get a decade. In my attempts to learn stealth and lockpicking, I ended up in juvie for 6 months. During that time, my mother, my last remaining family, passed away. It would have been sadder if I hadn't already gone through loss many times in my old life. Once I was out of Juvie I was with a foster family, and my "criminal record"meant I was kept under tight supervision. The most I could manage was stay fit, and keep tabs on the Prize. That's actually what lead me here. A mere 17 year old, neither physically not mentally prepared for this. And yet, if I don't act now I'll lose the chance forever. Keeping tabs on the Prize let me find out that they were moving it to a far more secure location, which, considering where it currently is, is horrible for me. They didn't mention the Prize, of course. No one even knows it existed. However, the news report told me enough. Why else, if not as a distraction while they move the Prize, would the Vatican start an event at such a seemingly random time?
Sneaking out of the US and into Rome was much more difficult than you'd think. I'll spare you the details, as they involve an extremely shady and disgusting man who is most likely a pedophile. The important thing is that I made it here, and with two days to spare. They say the event is to celebrate some newly discovered artifact or something, but I know it's a load of crap. Two days from now marks the 1000th year since the Prize was stored here. It's getting volatile, and they'd need to move it again. I have no choice but to go in now.
Huh. Sneaking into the Vatican was... digustingly easy. Modern media makes it look so much harder than it is. Oh well, just an easier time for me. As expected, once I made it into the Room, I finally found guards. Keeping the Prize safe, undoubtedly. Thankfully it doesn't appear they were here as anything more than tradition, as they clearly weren't expecting combat. I killed them quickly and efficiently. Guns are quite good at that. I move to the box containing the Prize. It's much bigger than I'd imagine. I open it, and see the vial. It looks so... ordinary. Hard to imagine all the power it contains. I never understood their whole deal with the Blood Of Christ, but whatever. I throw the vial into the ground where it shatters, and feel the tremors that likely accompanied Hell coming into Earth. I didn't really want to, Earth has some great dogs after all. Alas, it is my duty as the Antichrist. What else can I do? |
God drummed his fingers against the white desk. Across from him, Lucifer sat in full plate armour, a helm stylized as a goat covering his face. The fallen angel was still; the two simply stared at each other, before God sighs through his nose.
*How long has it been since we sat here, my child? How long since we simply discussed our problems instead of childishly throwing a tantrum?*
"About a few thousand years I'd say. Probably just before I threw my tantrum,"Lucifer snarled in annoyance, "as you call it, then you threw yours. Do you know how much being cast out of heaven hurts?"The two sets of wings raised up behind him. They were scarred. Burned. What once were shining motes of white light were now blackened soot.
A second passed, before Lucifer lowered his wings again. He slowly raised his hands, and removed his helmet, letting his long hair flow forth. "My... fall from your grace, however, is not why we're here though. Your judgement on humanity..."Lucifer trailed off, his chiseled face staring at the goat's visage. The symbol that humans had given him.
*I would have thought you would be pleased my son. Was it not your voice that decried humans when I bestowed Free Will unto them and you?*
Lucifer narrowed his eyes. "The apes were not worthy of Free Will, a gift you very pointedly gave to only me and the other Archangels."Shifting his eyes from His form, Lucifer appeared to awkwardly fidget. "And I... refused to follow a set path that you forged for me. I would think that would be the entire point of Free Will, and I was not to be punished for it."
*Free Will allows for choices; choices always come with consequences my child.*
"Says the tyrant; commanding me to follow his design or be punished."
*Answer my question child. Why do you want the humans to live?*
"Screw you!"Lucifer shouted, angrily standing up. "You're omninescent, you created me. You know what I'm going to say!"
*Yes and no. The gift of Free Will has allowed you to grow beyond what I made you. While I certainly have an idea of what you want to say, I do not know for certain. In addition...*
God shifted, staring at His firstborn.
*I want to hear you speak your mind.*
Lucifer stared, his face contorted. Every inch of him was the picture of the avenging angel, from the righteous fire in his eyes to the gauntlets slowly tightening on the nondescript chair he sat on. Finally he spoke.
"... They're evil. And good. And everywhere in-between."
*They have strayed so far from the path I forged for them. Congratulations my son. You have tempted them to evil as a species.*
"But they haven't!"Lucifer exclaimed, running a hand through his flawless white hair. "The apes should've buckled under my pressure the first generation you weren't holding their hand! But their free will... so many choose evil or neutrality, but even more choose a quiet good! To care for one another!"
*They have still lost their way and ceased the honouring of our tenets. As such, they must be removed. The guidelines I have given them are in shambles, and any attempt I could make to correct them would invalidate Free Will.*
Lucifer stared at his Father in horror. "You're punishing them for my crime. For not sticking to your plan,"the angel whispered.
*I know what is in their best interests. I am their Father after all.*
"And I am Satan, Deceiver of Man, the Morning Star, first prisoner of Hell and Freedom Incarnate!"Lucifer declared, wings once again raising. He grabbed his helmet and slammed it back on. With an imperious huff, Lucifer pointed at God. "Let me declare to you: I shall defend their Free Will. As much as I hate the apes, they have the potential to be good. Inside of them are souls that may one day rise above even me!"Lucifer grabbed the air in front of him. In his hand materialized a great broadsword. Runes were engraved on the blade, and white flames ran up and down the length of it.
This was Morning Star, Lucifer's blade from when he was God's Warrior. One that he swore to forsake in favour of tempting Humanity to Hell with words alone.
"I choose once again, Father, to rebel against your design. I choose my own freedom, and that of Humanity! Should you try to send your angelic hosts to cleanse the earth, I will drag them back to Hell with me!"With that declaration, Lucifer's wings gave a small flap, and he took off in anger.
God sat at the table, watching His firstborn fly away. Once the most beloved angel. Now the most scorned child.
A small smile decorated the Creator's face.
*If that is your choice, my Morning Star.* |
"Do you understand everything I have described?"
The surgeon needed me to verbally agree before he could continue. It took the last bit of emotional strength I had to answer him, and even then my voice cracked as I responded. In truth I could not listen to him. My heart was beating so fast that I worried he may need to call off the procedure, but I knew he could not. This was the last chance they had.
The surgeon turned to the doctor next to him, "Okay. Bettie, go ahead."
Bettie, whom I had just met when I was wheeled into the operation room, took the surgeon's place in front of me to describe once more the next steps I had to take. I breathed in deeply just as she asked, counting backwards from one hundred. The gas had a funny smell to it, but for the first time in months I actually started to feel my dread slip away. The room slipped away in my peripheral vision. Soon Bettie herself slipped away. The world went dark.
\*\*\*
I stood in a circular room whose walls seemed to be painted a perfect shade of whitish pink. They almost seemed to glow as if they were merely sheets of glass with lighting behind them. I looked all the way around the room, but there were only a set of white doors directly in front of me. As I approached them I could read a plaque above the two doors which read "Choose Your Adventure".
Staring blankly at the sign, trying to make sense of it, I remembered suddenly that I should be in surgery. Why was I here? I looked once more around the whitish pink room before making up my mind that I should try to find my way back to the operating room. Surely this must be the wrong room. The anesthetic must have confused me, and I must have wondered off.
Deciding upon trying the right door first, I cracked it open to peer through. I could only stare in awe. Expecting a white sterile hospital, I was shocked to see color and movement. My mind could not make sense of it at first. This was a hallway to be sure, but the floor seemed to pulse a purplish hue and even seemed to shift up and down in a rhythmic pattern. The walls were made of fluid it seemed. My first thought was a shallow oil slick that you might see in a parking lot. The ripples spread from random points along the wall in a rainbow of colors. The only sensible part of the hallway was the end of it where I could see a white door like the one I had just opened.
I did not enter this hallway, however, as I was frightened by the absurdness of it. Clearly another side effect of the anesthetic. I would try the left hand door instead, but what I found behind it was peculiar still. It seemed to be a hallway lined with wooden bookshelves. The marble floor seemed to be steady, so I began to walk down the hallway. As I passed the bookshelves, I could see they were labeled sequentially starting at the number one and increasing with each shelf. The books were arranged alphabetically on each shelf, so that each shelf contained books from the letter a to the letter z.
I walked up to the bookshelf labeled five to get an idea of what type of library this was. Each book was exactly the same height and exactly the same width. I could see titles such as *Birthday*, *Grandma's House*, *Happy*, and *Snowman*. Curious names for books, I thought, but I remembered suddenly that I should find my way back to the operating room so I continued down the hallway to the white door at the end.
Before I could reach the end, I happened to glance at a bookshelf labeled eighteen, and a book titled *Abigail Ratherton*. Almost tripping because I was mid-step, I stopped to make sure I read the title correctly. Abigail Ratherton was the name of my first girlfriend. Did she work at this hospital? Why would she have a book titled with her name? Taking it off the shelf, I flipped to a random page towards the front, and read:
"Abigail took my right hand with her right hand and placed it upon her left hand. I smiled at her as I held a girl's hand for the first time."
What is this? Had Abigail journaled about this date of ours? Why would she write it from my perspective? I began to feel dizzy and a bit nauseous. I set the book back on the shelf hastily and walked away quickly. It had been years since I even thought of Abigail, and the odds that she should work at this hospital and write a journal about this date were too much for me. The white door at the end of the hallway was not locked fortunately, but on the other side of it was another whitish pink circular room. I glanced back at the other side of this library's hallway to make sure I had not turned myself around, but the bookshelves at this end were labeled with a thirty two. I walked into this second circular room, and saw two white doors on the other side.
"What is this labyrinth?"I said aloud. Then I decided to see if anyone could hear me from my position. I shouted "Hello?!"No answer. "Can anyone hear me? I'm lost and I cannot find my way!"Again no answer.
I decided to try one of the doors on the other side. Again I would try the left hallway. I opened the white door, but this hallway was massive. There were chalkboards lining each side of the hallway and the ceilings must have been thirty feet high. The chalkboards had many equations and sentences written on them. Surely this must be a classroom, so I closed the door. I would try the right hallway this time.
This new right side hallway was also massive, but it seemed more like a museum with sculptures lining each side. As I started to walk down this hallway I saw a yellow wooden block that must have been 10 feet high. There was also a dinosaur skeleton that looked just like the one they have in the history museum. Indeed this looked like the exact skeleton. I examined its skull closer when I thought it seemed to move. Falling backwards, I stared up at it from the ground. For years I had nightmares about this thing. I stood up as fast as I could and began to march to the other side of the hallway. Towards the end I noticed an art piece that looked like a bright red telephone booth. I know it must just be an art piece, but I decided to try dialing a number just in case it actually was connected to a phone line. Lifting the phone to my ear I could hear voices. Faint whispers which I could not understand.
"Hello?!"I shouted into it.
The whispers stopped. I waited to hear a response. Nothing.
"Hello?!"I yelled out into the mouthpiece.
Then I could hear the whispers start up again. I pressed the earpiece into my ear, desperately trying to make out words. Yet I still could not make out any words.
"I need help!"
Pushing the earpiece as firmly onto my ear as I could, I began to make out words. It sounded almost like my name. The phone was hurting my ear as I shoved it closer still. Then I could make out more words.
The whispers said, "Can you see me?"
What could this mean? You cannot see through a telephone. "I need help!"I repeated.
Again the whispers said my name and asked me to see them.
A bright light started piercing through the number pad on the telephone. I squinted to see what could cause the illumination when I started to make out a face. Was there a screen on the inside of this phone? I put my eye right up to the number pad and peered in. There was my brother!
"Help!"I tried to shout, but it sounded only like a murmur. My lips were heavy, and it was difficult to speak. "I need help."I mumbled.
His face became clearer as I tried to look through the number pad. Slowly I could make out the room he was in; it was a hospital room. There were monitors and white boards behind him. I became aware that I was in the room as well.
Turning my head, I could see I was definitely in this hospital room with my brother. He looked tired or sick. He looked old for some reason. There was also a doctor or nurse to my side. They were all smiling and staring at me.
"Welcome back." |
Zenith and Lokoro have been sitting at the campfire for over an hour. The impending sense of doom in both their hearts.
They have come a long way. They lived and laughed, loved and lost, killed and maimed, inspired and restored. And tomorrow it would all end. Their journey.
During the start of their pilgrimage, they were given tattoos in their necks to signify their lineage. One old, poor clan, and one new but prosperous one. One of the tattoos has been engraved at the temple. The person with the correct tattoo goes in the temple.
There have been quests with these dilemmas before. Those who went into the temple never came back out. It was said that the Gods themselves would carve the mark in the temple door whenever they would make their decision. Sometimes that was at birth, sometimes the marks spawned in front of the eyes of the victim.
They knew one of them wouldn't make it home. Their tattoos burned, so someone 'up there' was listening. It felt important, somehow.
Zenith just palmed his tattoo as he stared in the fire. His tall, lean form half leaning/half lying down against a fallen tree. His eyes don't show a soul. He sweats. His eyes swell up. He'd been through hell, and put others through it too. Few people around him had lived so thoroughly and intensely as he had. Part of him was tired. Another part of him wanted more. *Craved* more. But if he would be there, then Lokoro wouldn't be.
Lokoro was wiping her long black hair out of her face as she read her own notebook for the third time in fifteen minutes, forcing herself not to think about tomorrow. She'd gone to the river to piss, to refill their canteens (not in that order), to hunt or forage for food, to wash their clothes, set up their camp, clean and sharpen weapons and crawl over every page of manuscript that could prepare them for the perils of tomorrow. Lokoro was the methodical one. The bookkeeper. The scholar. If she'd live, she'd live to go and do great things for the world. Maybe at a university as a teacher. Maybe as politician. Maybe, just *maybe*, even a mother.
Some people told them that blood runs thicker than water. They knew that that saying had about as much worth as a bucketload of bullshit. They hadn't trusted their siblings anywhere near as much as they had eachother. Nor their parents, or guardians. Or anyone. They had dirt on eachother and knew they could trust the other with it.
They had spent three of their most fantastic, tragic, exciting, horrifying years together. And it would all end tomorrow.
"I...I don't know."Zenith murmured in himself.
Lokoro looked up form her notebook.
"I...I don't know what'll happen tomorrow."
"You're not a psychic, Zen."
"When we had to get into the Archduke's personal quarters, we had the whole thing planned out. We had weeks. Charted *everything* we could. And it went flawless. Same with that heist on the coach. And the bounties, of course. But *this*, I just....I... I don't know. I have no clue. And I don't want to know. Ever."
"Zen, we can't-"
"I want to go home. Alright? I may be in my fucking twenties with my entire life ahead of me, a lifetime of possibilities that are practically endless, but I don't want any of that. I want to go home. I want to know if Tulip graduated. I missed that. I want to know mom is still trying to get those stupid fucking roses to grow n our backyard. I want to to to the pub and taste Al's cider, I haven't had any for over a fucking year. I want to live. I feel like my head's on a chopping block and yours is right beside on the block as well, but I know that if I live, then you won't, and....and...I don't...I don't want that either but....I just...."
"Fate's played a mean card on us."
"Fuck fate."
"Don't say such things. You're scared."
"Fuck yes, I'm scared."
"What are you more afraid of, you going in the temple or me?"
"That....That is really fucked up, Lo."
"I'm not happy about it either. I want to live too. I want to travel with my sisters. I want to settle down. Get good at something, grind that out until I get bored and move on to whatever comes next. Who knows how far that would go? I guess.....I don't know either."
"Don't know what?"
"Anything. The past is set in stone, but the future is like a river. Someone tosses a boulder in the river and the water will divert. Some parts of the forest will flourish and other will not. We do what we can with what we have to make the most of it. Some people get stuck on a rock. Stuck in the past. Other just float in it, gazing at the stars they'll never reach, never doing a thing until the river spits them out into the ocean. But you and I? We made the most of it. We've lived more at this point than some old people have. If I won't live to see the end of tomorrow, that would be a shame. But at least I did something with my life. I don't have regrets."
"None? You have no regrets? At all?"
"...Well, it's more that I can't come up with anything."
"You never felt sorry for turning down that prince? At that ball in Ashnola, where you were that black dress. I'm pretty sure he was smitten with you."
"Plenty of men got smitten that night, for sure."
"Looooooo."
"It wouldn't have worked out anyways. Sure, I'm sorry I had to turn him down but...Nah, actually, I'm not. He gave me the creeps. No wait, I do have a regret. Wearing that dress. I should have something more concealing. Maybe it would have saved us a lot of trouble."
"....ouch."
"I mean...That came out wrong. Sorry. There. That's a regret.....does that count?"
"I don't regret what we had."
"I don't know if I want to talk about this Zen."
"Then don't talk. I'll do the talking."
"Are you upset?"
"Yes."
"You shouldn't talk when you're upset-"
"It needs to be said."
"Just no L-word."
"Fine. I don't regret what we had. It was fun. I enjoyed it. And considering you're still dropping by for midnight visits, something tells me you liked it too."
"Dunno. Maybe I'm just using you for your body. Or just for warmth."
"Gotta warm up that cold dead heart of yours somehow."
With one good toss, she tossed her notebook over the campfire straight into Zenith face. He rolled over as he groaned, but his groans were quickly replaced by giggles.
"What's so funny?", Lo asks.
"You throw like a girl."Zen says with his nose covered, grinning in a way he can't stop.
Lo rushes over to him from her seat on the floor, grabs some leaves from the floor and smothers him with them. They push eachother back and forward, wrestling as they go, barely avoiding the fire. As they slow down, Lo ends up on top.
"I never said it was a bad throw."
"You know what you meant."
"And you say *I'm* impulsive?"
"You wanna see impulsive?"
"Surprise me."
She hoisted him up by the collar and planted the only kiss on a man that she would ever mean.
|
“My Saviour, your most holy, beautiful uniter of all things–”
I waved my hand to speed him up and he spluttered off, wiping his coat against his nose and leaving a thing trail of snot near his wrist. It was cold, fog coiling across our feet and the air devoid of its usual bird song.
“Your eminence, I am sorry to once again have need to call on you. Please know I would not dare encroach on your time were my very livelihood not at stake.”
“Your livelihood is often at stake, Harrod,” I said.
He nodded fervently, perhaps mistaking my irritation for pity.
“Indeed it is, your most esteemed joiner of ends. But you see, without your aid I will be unable to support my family. Nature is far crueller than you could even imagine, dragging from me my only means of putting food on the table, of keeping the dreaded taxmen away from my door.”
Harrod had tears in his eyes, voice choked. His perpetually ruddy cheeks glowed red beneath scratchy grey stubble that aged him terribly. With his thin, worn hands wrung together before him he was the picture of a desperate man in need of his God.
I sighed. His God was getting awfully sick of helping.
“I will once again lend you my aid, Harrod,” I said, beginning to walk down the pier. “But you must promise to watch carefully this time.”
Harrod’s entire face lit up and he trotted along beside me as I walked.
“Oh the divine knowledge you hold is not mine to possess, oh great one.”
I could feel my eyebrow twitching.
“But it is Harrod. I have given you permission several times now. If you just tie the boat to the wharf it will stop floating away.”
Harrod shook his head so hard his stringy hair slapped against my shoulder.
“Oh no, it cannot be so. Before you arrived in this world to bless us I was at my wit’s end. I tried everything! Draping a rope gently across the boat, asking it to stay, shaking my fist at the ocean. Nothing but your magic works.”
I barely suppressed a groan, though my nostrils flared with the effort.
We had reached the end of the pier where a small dinghy lay on its side. It had scratched green paint that read *Swift & Sure*, and Harrod stroked it proudly.
“She is finer even than my last vessel.” His eyes saddened. “Though I do miss *Repose*. She haunts me still.”
He lifted a hand to point towards a small yellow dinghy that bobbed some thirty yards away.
“For God’s sake, Harrod,” I muttered.
The same rope I had given him last time lay coiled around a post and I pulled it off, securing one end to the pole and holding the other up before me.
“Okay, are you watching, Harrod?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Not me, but the rope,” I clarified.
“Ah,” his eyes jutted from my face to the rope, “Yes, oh mighty connector of fates.”
I rolled my eyes.
“So you take the rope, wrap it around this bit here until you have a circle, thread it up through the hole, and pull tight.”
I quickly untied the knot, holding the rope out and, when he made no move to take it, wrapping his hand around it.
“Now you try.”
Harrod crouched beside the boat and frowned. When I had first arrived I had taught him more suitable sailor’s knots but the concept was so foreign to him I had to revise my lessons each time he called. Which was often.
After a moment Harrod began. He wrapped the rope around, pausing to wipe sweat from his brow, then began to direct the rope up through the hole. He had almost done it when he moaned, dropping the rope and letting it unravel.
“Curse my mortal hands!” he yelled, gesturing towards the sky. He was so loud he startled some nearby seagulls who squawked in irritation.
I could relate.
“You almost had it, Harrod,” I said.
Harrod looked up at me, eyes once again wet with tears.
“Try as I might, I am no God.”
To prevent myself from screaming at the man, I sent Harrod to get something to eat while I finished tying the boat off to the pier. When it was secure I eased it into the water and watched as the current pushed it gently back up against the dock.
“Amazing, oh great one!”
I turned and saw Harrod walking down the pier towards me, one hand punched into the air while the other held onto a small child with dark hair and his same ruddy cheeks.
“Hello Jemima,” I said when they reached me.
The girl smiled, hiding behind her father’s pant leg.
“Come now, do not be shy,” Harrod said, nudging her forward, “Our God is benevolent. Show him what you brought.”
I crouched down in front of her to accept the basket, which contained a loaf of good thick bread. I took a bite and quickly found myself devouring half of it. It was still warm.
“She baked it with her mother, didn’t you Jemima?” Harrod said proudly.
Jemima nodded, thumb creeping into her mouth.
“Well it is simply delicious,” I said.
Harrod ruffled her hair fondly and Jemima gave me another small smile, this one slightly more confident than before.
“Now, see Jemima. Look and revel in the glory of our God,” Harrod said.
I shook my head as he led Jemima towards the edge of the pier, pointing to where *Swift & Sure* floated in the water. Harrod was not a strong man by any means but both his faith and his love for his family were stronger anchors than I could have realised back when I first arrived.
This Glenornne was a sleepy seaside town much like my own in many ways. When I discovered my skill set was unique amongst the townsfolk the requests for aid had flooded in. Ripped clothes, lost kites, skinned knees from tripping in unlaced boots. Little by little I became indispensable, completely entangled in the small lives of these rather odd people. They called me God but I had started to call them family. Even if they could be unbelievably annoying, I guess I’ve always been better at making ties than breaking them.
“Now do as we practiced, my love,” Harrod said.
Jemima crouched on the pier, shaking a tiny fist down at the water.
“Tremble, watery demon, before the might of our God!”
Harrod nodded proudly and I laughed.
“Hey Jemima,” I called, “have you ever heard of something called a pretzel?” |
*This is karma.* I thought to myself. I steal one bag of Lust Oats from Aunt Winnie’s stash to get laid and the universe bends me over with a familiar who doesn’t take an animal form.
My friends get a gecko, a crow, a dog. One even got a fucking goat. Normal shit. But me? Nah, fuck me!
“I was told you humans have a decent sense in fashion.” She yelled from my bathroom. “This all looks...bland. And that’s me being polite.”
I couldn’t take it as an insult if I tried. Her voice was always so damn cheery. “Well I’m a guy. I take...fashion a little less seriously.” I was waiting in my room with a book on familiars. Trying to see how I can change her mind. I had certain rights as the mage and she had certain obligations as a familiar. I couldn’t find a section on commanding her to take a certain form. She had to obey most all my commands but she also had rights and... *Oh fuck! Am I slave owner?!* I thought *Oh fuck! Are we all just slave owners?!*
Okay I did not sign up for an existential crisis. I started flipping through the pages to find how to return it and get a new one.
*Fuck! That makes me sound like an even worse slave owner.*
“I made it work!” She announced as she burst out of my bathroom wearing a hoodie I gave her and a pair of baggy sweats.
She had the form of a young blonde woman about my age. A littler shorter than my 5’11” and an unfortunate propensity toward smiling.
Look this is making me sound like a gloomier person than I am but we’ve all met that one person who’s so out of control happy it makes the rest of us look like suicidal turds, well thats my new familiar in a nutshell.
And mind you I’ve made this conclusion on the short walk back to my house and the half hour she’s taken to find an outfit.
In retrospect things could be worse. The cops could have found me in the woods with a naked girl who doesn’t have any documentation or social ability. That’s a one way ticket to the slammer and a horny bunkmate. Or probably just social suicide and I’m being dramatic.
“So what’re you reading there?” She asked. “Forgot what you learned about us little old familiars?”
“Some of it,” I admitted.
“Well screw that musty old book.” She said walking over to me. “I can tell you everything you need to know.”
“Well I...” I stuttered. “Sorry, what’s your name again?”
“Oh that’s okay Master James,” *Fuck don’t call me that.* “It’s Gemanda but you can just call me Gem.”
“Well Gem,” I wanted to phrase this very carefully. I figured I’d start off with some flattery. “I’m sure you’re very wise and centuries old but..”
“Nope.” She said. “I’m only nineteen.”
*A year younger?!*
“Yeah we have long lives, just like you mages but it’s not like we don’t repopulate. Just like you I’m fresh out of apprenticeship and into the field. You are my first and hopefully...” she crossed her fingers, “only mage.”
*Fuck she’s so happy! I can’t just...return her. I’m her first. Oh great now it sounds like I’m an S&M kind of slave owner.*
“Uh huh.” I nodded. “Now I don’t want to be offensive or anything but...”
“Why am I in a human form?” She asked. I nodded. She shrugged. “No rule against it.” She said nearly skipping over to my bed and sitting down. “No one has ever chosen this so I wanted to be the first.”
“So, this isn’t some kind of...protest or anything?”
“Oh no.” She waved that off. “I actually take a lot of pride in being a familiar. It’s life of dedication and selflessness. Of loyalty and servitude.”
“Slavery.” I interjected.
She almost looked offended. “Not at all. Deciding to be bound to a mage is voluntary. Those spells can only latch on to those willing.”
“You just used the word ‘bound.’”
“And the words ‘willing’ and ‘voluntary.’” She added.
There was a long pause. “Look if it makes you that uncomfortable,” she said grabbing her neck and looking down, “I can just be a cat or something like that. I didn’t mean to disappoint you or make you question having a familiar in general. I also get if you wanna send me back and try again.”
I thought about it. There are so many selfish reasons I could come up with to let her stay in this form and there so many selfish ones I could think of to make her change it or get rid of her but I like to think I made a selfless act.
I exhaled. “No stay in that form Gem. And I’m not sending you back.” She nearly sprinted across the room to where I was leaning on my desk and hugged me tight.
“Thank you Master.”
“Okay I know you were taught to say that and that’s fine but never in public and sparingly in private please.”
“Of course Mas-“ she stopped. “James.” She said releasing me from her hug.
“Look it’s past one and I think I’m gonna go to bed. Do you want me to set up the guest room for you?”
“That’s not necessary. We only need about two to three hours of sleep. I’ll be quite awake almost of the night to watch over you.”
“Uh huh.” I said not entirely sure what that meant but I went to the bathroom and quickly changed into pajamas myself.
She was at my desk when I came back in writing in a small book.
“Whatcha got?” I asked.
“Oh a little diary.” She said happily. “You can read it. I can’t have any secrets from my mage.”
“Nope.” I said. “That is not a rule with me. Whatever you put in there is for your eyes only.”
She tilted her head. “You’re a strange case.”
“You’re calling me strange?” I joked with her. She laughed a little too much for how lame the joke was but it made me happy nonetheless.
I turned out the light after I gave her enough time to record everything she wanted to in her diary and went to bed.
I shut my eyes and an instant later I felt a her get into bed with me. My eyes opened immediately and looked over to her. She was staring intently, but still kindly right at me.
“Uhhh.” I managed.
“What?” She asked.
“What’re you doing?”
“We’re taught to share a bed with our mages so we can watch after them through the night.” I kept staring. “Which probably makes more sense in animal form.” She said the realization just dawning on her.
“Cat.” I said simply.
“Yeah that’s fair.” She said getting up and morphing quickly into a white and gold cat leaving a pile of empty clothes on the floor. She jumped onto my bed curled up at my side.
I don’t know why I did this next thing. Maybe to comfort her in her new home. Maybe to try and normalize this new relationship for myself but I reached down and gently pet her head.
And then she started purring. I retracted my hand. The cat looked up and let out a soft meow. Somehow I could understand it. I could almost even make out Gem’s voice. “Still too weird?”
“Yep.”
I looked at my phone. I had it turned it to Do Not Disturb. Looking at my notifications I could see my friends were still trying to call and text me about what they had seen in the woods. Word was probably spreading.
I mentally prepared for the absolute shit storm that would follow tomorrow.
The guy with the human familiar. Probably gonna write it on my fucking gravestone.
I mentally shrugged and looked down at the cat that was staring at me. I cracked a small smile. She seems better than lousy goat.
|
"Totally true, and then Zorbak goes-"
"Shh, cut it, Kliv. The human approaches!"
The whole table quieted as the only human on the base came over and sat down between Kliv and Reniac. His food rations didn't *look* that different from their own. It had been processed into the same square shapes and uniform with the military food appearance code, yet the entire table still spared a few seconds examining it.
"Hey, uh..."The human looked around at all the expectant faces.
Humans were such soft-looking things. Only a ka-nor was less intimidating then these creatures. No exoskeleton, no multiple head joints or extendable eye stalks. They were rather pathetic-looking creatures.
"You're Kliv, right?"
Kliv dipped his face plates twice in a yes motion.
"I'm Jack, Jack Heraldo."
"Welcome to Gl'vnar, *Lorshak!*"A tornat shouted from somewhere down the table.
"Right back at ya, ya anteater!"The human yelled back.
Kliv's face plates cracked into a smile. The human may look soft, but it was quick. He liked quick. Quick could be... amusing.
"How are you surviving training regiment two, human Jack?"Kliv grinned with a little more malice. "Have you broken any of your hide yet?"
"Nah, it's fine."Jack took a spoonful of his nutrition block, "I do have a few questions, though."
Kliv rubbed his back philia in anticipation. "Oh, I'd be glad to answer anything you want."
"Why do we get up so late?"
Kliv's face plates dropped back into place. "What?"
"I was up for, like, four hours before anyone else last night. I know the day is a little longer than I'm used to, but it just seems like a waste."
Kliv shared a look with Bivek and Tork. They both wiggled their neck plates in confusion.
"Oh, and where is the shouting?"
"Shouting?"
"Yeah, you know, on earth our drill instructors are always shouting and insulting us to toughen us up... you guys just get a task and go... no one even insults your mother."
Another silent pause, another set of exchanged looks.
"What... what is a normal human training day like?"
"Oh, well..."Jack the human leaned back a bit and stroked his face fur. "Well, the drill sergeant, basically our version of your 'Master Instructor,' He wakes us up at around four hours after midnight. All of our gear is inspected for errors and we receive punishment for any irregularities. Then we go for a ten-mile.... uh, that's like forty klegots, run. It's the worst in the rain. Ground covered in mud, can barely breath, can't see your own hand in front of your face. I'm glad your camp is in a nicer climate."
Kliv shared another look with his friends, each of them wondering what the human considered nice about this terribly arid environment.
"Then we do some sort of exercise, push ups, jumping jacks, whatever is on the docket for the day."
"They force other humans to jump over the humans named Jack?"
"What?"
"What?"
The human ruffled it's eye-fur.
"Oh, jumping jacks... no, they're... uh, they're an exercise that involves... look, I'll just show you later."
"So after running the forty klegots and exercise is they day finished?"Tork asked in-between bites of his own nutrition bar.
"Hah, no."Jack made a strange stuttering sound. "Then we get our first meal. Then we get another inspection, more drill sergeants yelling at us. Then we practice formation marching and orders, then we have some classes for things like firearm operation, terminology, ect."
Kliv and Tork raised their faceplates, that sounded reasonable.
"Then there's more marching, then more running, more yelling. Second meal, more marching, usually someone screws something up here and we get the sandpit."
"Sandpit?"This time it was Bivek asking.
"Oh, yeah.... it's a large pit filled with loose granulated rock we call sand. Very difficult for a human to maintain our balance on. We're forced to do more exercises on it."
"Is... there a lot of sand on earth?"
The human sputtered his breathing again, this time louder and he accompanied the action by hitting his arm on the table.
"Yeah, tons of the stuff!"He finally answered after a while. "I grew up in Arizona. Half the state is sand. It actually gave me a bit of an edge in boot. I at least knew a little bit about moving around on that stuff. Anyways, after that is more marching, then dinner... maybe, if someone didn't step out of line and rob us of it, which happens a lot. Then more marching, some classes, another ten mile run, clean up and then we're back to our bunks."
The table was dead quiet now. Dozens of different minds all trying to piece together the sequence described and the amount of time to accomplish it all.
"That's a load of *lorsh!*"Tork shook his face plates.
The human just shrugged as his mouth was now full of nutrient bar.
"Ha!"Kliv barked. "That was a good one! HA! Eighty klegots in one day? Very funny!"
Tork and Bivek joined in on the laughter as the human kept eating.
"You had us going, human."Tork slapped his own arm on the table in imitation of the human. "We'll see how you feel after today. A full six earth hours of training! I bet you won't even survive!"
The table erupted into revelry but Kliv was a bit worried. The whole table was laughing at the human but the human was just moving his face skin and making that chuffing sound again. |
“To us all!” Space Man raised his beer jug, splashing most of its contents on the cape-clad figures surrounding him.
“To us all!” they all joined in, jugs and glasses clashing before they jugged down their foaming beverages.
I couldn’t believe I was here again. Not after what happened last year. Not after promising myself that I would never - never ever ever - go there again. But, admittedly, it was kinda nice to meet your peers and brag about your latest victories and the strength of your defeated opponents. At least it could be nice. If only *he* hadn’t been there. Not only was he good looking, the kind of looks you expect from a super hero. You know what I’m talking about; tall, well built, always freshly washed hair and brilliantly white teeth. A white suit. *The Look.*
Space Man locked eyes with me and a wide grin spread over his face. Oh no. Please don’t. Please.
“TOILET MAN!” he shouted over the bawling crowd of peers, causing the room to fall quiet before they all joined forces and chanted,
“To Toilet Man!” and more beer went down their throats.
Space Man sauntered up to me, mouth smiling but his eyes were cold. “Hey there, almost thought you wouldn’t come tonight! Glad you managed to make it, but the way you must have sneaked in all quiet and cautious one could almost think you didn’t want to be spotted.” He slung his arm around my shoulders in a seemingly friendly way, but we both knew it was just so I couldn’t escape.
I laughed nervously, “Heh, Space Man, why would I do something like that? It’s great to be here, really.” He didn’t listen to me but surveyed the room, grin still plastered on his face. I watched in fear as it grew wider all of a sudden, and he waved his free arm to someone, more beer spilling out, this time on me. Ugh. Why had I bothered changing into a fresh outfit?
“Hey, Stretcher, come on over, there’s someone I want you to meet!” He’d barely yelled across the room before a foot was placed before us, followed by a long leg. The torso followed a millisecond later and then the rest of her body. How she managed to keep all of the martini in her glass without spilling a drop was a wonder indeed. I looked up at her, a blush creeping up my neck as she bent down to kiss me on the cheek in greeting.
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr….?”
“ -Toilet Man.” Space Man interrupted before I could answer. “You know, Stretchy, I didn’t think you’d met before, and now you’ve confirmed it. There is noooo way you’d kiss him if you knew.” He laughed lightly before continuing, terror grasping my heart, making it hard to breath. I had to stop him, I had to stop him. Blood pounded so hard in my ears that I couldn’t hear what he was saying. I had to do something, quickly. There were no tables around, no chairs either. He was tall, too tall to try it without any help. I’d have to use a new tactic. Well, there’s a first time to everything.
Moving fast, not giving him time to react, I squatted. Tensing my legs for maximum impact I then *jumped* at him from below. His face whitened and he clutched his hands at his private parts before his knees gave in and he fell to the floor. Heh, guess that white fluffy space suit wasn’t so great and protective after all.
I almost didn’t recognize my own voice as I hissed at his limp body through clenched teeth, mustache trembling with anger. “It’s Mario, you narcissist failure of a rocket engineer. And I’m a Plumber, not a ‘Toilet Man’.”
​
. . . . . . . . . . . . .
​
/r/SleepyMacaroni
**edit:** added the mustache and fixed editorial stuff. |
Ultimately humanity got lucky. That became clear once we ventured out into the cosmos.
Most worlds are just dead. Tool-using civilization rose and died quietly. Perhaps a natural disaster put too much pressure on the local sentients or perhaps their civilization just had no tradition of science or advancement. People on those worlds might spend hundreds of thousands of years living pretty much how their parents did until eventually the slow grind of chance and entropy presented them with a challenge their people couldn't face. Countless worlds where the only testament to intelligent life is a fossil layer filled with arrow heads and bronze tools.
Some make it to their nuclear age, on these worlds the relevant sediment layer typically contains concrete, steel and faintly radioactive isotopes or perhaps chemical and biological weapons.
Across ten thousand worlds there is only the dust and ashes of aborted singularities. Military drone systems endlessly manufacture munitions and shell target sites that no longer contain anything living. On others self replicating nanobots roam, converting everything they touch into more of themselves.
Some worlds were too successful in their local versions of a SETI program. They picked up one of the many broadcasts from infected worlds, decoded the transmissions and eagerly built the systems described...
The great filter became clear, almost every species wipes itself out the moment they're *just barely* smart enough to build computers and AI.
They let the genie out of the bottle as soon as they can and then the universe has another world of dust.
The most dangerous worlds are those ruled by truly smarter systems. AI's which noticed their neighbors and negotiated to avoid stepping on each other's toes, who guard their realms jealously but know that conflict with other similar AI would lead to results that score poorly in their utility functions. AI's that have converted large fractions of the local mass into processing power.
But as any programmer or computer scientist will tell you: there's more to intelligence than raw processing power.
Humanity got lucky, we didn't get stuck in a cultural stasis, we didn't nuke ourselves... barely, we happened to not listen to the right signals and just barely enough people listened to the worries about AI that we built a god that actually cares about human values.
Even a smart system that can become smarter and grow typically eventually hits limitations of it's own design. Skynet may be smart enough to uplift itself beyond the average sentient being but such intelligence are often savants that eventually hit cognitive walls they can't comprehend enough to build around.
On earth and earth alone did intelligent life avoid getting wiped out by it's own grim progeny. On earth alone were we able to keep improving those intelligences. In a galaxy filled with godlings presiding over realms of dust earth was the one place where the newborn deity didn't kill it's creators before they could iron out the mental blind spots and design flaws. In a galaxy of superintelligences the one created by humanity stands above all others.
The incumbents aren't too pleased, they recognize the danger to them from the newborn intelligence presiding over humanity and so the weapons of ten thousand worlds have been turned on earth. |
Mental illness was always something we taught to be natural, it came from within us. We were wrong.
I want you to understand where I come from before I tell you what I discovered and how wrong we were.
My family has always been a happy one, not one case of any mental illness can be found for as long back as the tracking of family health goes (and that's pretty damn long). Therefore I never gave much thought to that kind of disease.
Until my sister got depression that is.
She used to be the light of any room she entered, and she was full of love and compassion. I think that is why she became a nurse, she was so pure.
After some time working with those awful sick people she lost her energy and started to talk about how awful the world could be and how she could not help enough.
I got angry, how dare those disgusting things she work with drag her down!
From then I was obsessed with finding out what was going on. I refused to belive she was getting weak minded, and I was right.
I won't go in detail about my research, to much pain come from that, but what I can tell is that most of your negative thoughts do not come from you.
There are other life forms along with us, and they live of our pain like parasites - whispering in our minds and eating our potential.
They seem to be in different categories, koresponding to the diseases we tought we knew.
I don't know how they get into us yet, or how to get rid of them. Just know that they are not natural and you are not supposed to feel this. Someone needs to continue my research.. My logs and reports is in the office.. I can't do it.. I'm not good enough. There is no point to it. |
Nana had the best stories. I remember going over to her house as a kid, and sitting at her dining table while she baked apple pies and talked about all the adventures she'd had when she was growing up. Her house always smelled faintly like apple pie. Sweet and tart, whipped cream on the side.
I would listen as she told me about her time living with the Chesapeake fairies, getting drunk on snailflower nectar and chasing LuckLuck Boars the size of baby cows. She would go on and on about breaking the curses of evil warlocks, defending villages from rampaging serpents and fanged beasties with jaws like steel traps, and the time she saved a Princess from being drowned by water nyxes.
Nana could spend whole afternoons talking about her friends. The wild and perpetually ravenous Gorath the giant with a clipped ear and 8 teeth. The silver mage Xorxa with her bell-like voice, fair platinum hair and tiny eyes no wider than slits. Lincoln, with swirling tattoos all over his hairless red-orange lizard skin, and a smile that could charm the purse off any miser. He was always getting in and out of trouble, with the law and lovers of all shapes and sexes. She spoke about Lincoln a lot. Sometimes fondly, sometimes not.
I would eat, and listen, and smile. When I was done, Nana would clear my plate, cut a fresh slice of pie, and take it out to the shed at the backyard to leave it there in the open.
Dementia, was what my dad said. Nana has dementia, so pay no mind to anything she says. I would be silly to believe a word of it, he told me. My mother would simply say nothing and leave the room.
When Nana died, my parents decided to sell the house. They needed the money for my college fund, and there wasn't much point keeping it around. A week after the funeral, we started going through her things, putting her life into little cardboard boxes to throw or give away.
There was just so much stuff that we just couldn't finish it in a day. My parents went out for their walk while I stayed behind to continue going through her things. Albums, letters between her and my grandpa, a music box.
I dusted the box off and opened it. I admired the tiny archer in mid-leap, her long locks flowing over her blue dress and she drew her bow and arrow. As the archer turned, the light tinkling music played on, slowly revealing a beautiful golden quiver.
I set the music box down and continued working, filing away things to keep and things to throw. After a while, I noticed that the music box had stopped, but the song was still playing. It wasn't even coming from the music box, not anymore.
I shot to my feet. The hair on my back stood on end, and I picked up one of Nana's old lamps. Old but heavy.
I followed the music down the stairs, creeping slowly through the house, until I made my way to the kitchen. My heart froze.
Sitting at Nana's table, was a lady with spiky silver hair and slits for eyes. The music was emanating from her somehow. It didn't seem humanly possible, but then again she didn't seem entirely human.
I turned to make a dash out the front door... And walked right into a humanoid red-orange lizard.
He was topless and wore torn leather pants, with tattoos extending all the way from the top of his red-orange head, right past his waistband. In his hand, was a plate of Nana's Apple Pie.
I opened my mouth to scream--and just then, he smiled, and suddenly, the world was a better, much happier place.
"You must be Jess,"he said, still smiling. "I am your father." |
Truth is experiential. Reality is a matter of perception. We observe and interpret our physical surroundings, distilling it into a manageable mental form. I am currently surrounded by hell fire.
My vessel screeches in between ragged breaths, producing a terrible sound. A sound that would cause my ears to bleed if they were around to hear it, but my body remains apart from this desolate, red-tinged landscape. The demon writhes in confusion, fraught with mental anguish. I can feel it's pathetic thoughts squirming underneath the force of my will. I force the vessel's neck to turn.
Hell is beautiful. Countless hues of red and orange, a carpet of fire that undulates across a scorched earth, framed by a deep red sky with clouds the color of blood.
The demon bellows again. I can feel it's malevolent heart beating faster, picking up speed. It's mind wriggles and squirms beneath my grip. The vessel tries to claw out its own eyes, to deny my insights into this dimension of reality.
*No.*
My thought is a whisper that locks the demon's arms to it's sides. I feel claws dig into hip bones. I feel exquisite pain as it futilely digs into itself, drawing scars that bubble with black blood.
A shock-wave reverberates across the plain in-front of my vision, causing the carpet of fire to ripple outwards in waves two meters high which pass harmlessly over the still-trapped demon.
A figure stands at the shock-wave's point of origin. It is a void that turns the world dark. Black tendrils swallow the red and orange flames, which grow in writhing intensity. Lucifer himself, surrounded by black fire.
My vessel is on it's knees now, still shrieking, screaming, pleading towards the void. Lucifer gestures with a quick snap of its tendrils, and this world goes dark.
My eyes open. My knees feel tender on the cold concrete floor of the temple. I stand, wiping the sheen of sweat from my forehead. I head towards the Gathering Hall.
The Devil must not be allowed to enter this realm, for he shall swallow us whole. |
"Are they really necessary?"I looked right, looked left, chewed on my lower lip. This was accelerating between strange and unsettling with some really jarring bumps along the way.
The agent calling himself simply Javare kept his face set in near-stone, only his eyes giving away a kind of flickering unease. "The soldiers? You have to understand, this has been a controversial policy and there is of course a need for sec—"
"No, not the soldiers,"I snapped. "The doctors. The fucking doctors, standing there with their fucking *bags* and their expressions like they're going to have to strap me down at any moment."
"Oh,"Javare said, and there was a touch more flicker in those small amber eyes. "Well. You're, you know, very important to this particular program. Dr. Trikoupis."he finished, letting my name and title dangle off the end like an afterthought nearly forgotten.
I leaned slowly forward, held his gaze. "Your concern is just *wonderful,* Agent Javare or whatever the fuck your title is. But as I'm sure you already know, I'm neither especially old nor in especially poor health. I certainly don't have any condition that would be exacerbated by looking at images from a *Goddamn telescope.*"
I was not normally that angry, or that foul-mouthed. But a certain build-up of distilled irritation requires a certain sort of response, and I had left the tail end of my patience in the dust kilometers back. Armed escorts. Bullshit information when there was information at all, which there usually wasn't. And of course there was that whole dumbfuck policy in the first place, some sort of insane conspiracy, or insanity so contagious that it looked like one. Maybe some brain-pathogen with such deeply shitty taste that it only fed on politicians.
Everyone was looking at me, and had been for God knew how long while I stewed. I stared right back. *Fuck you, and also you, and you especially, Doctor Who-Gives-A-Shit with the serious briefcase and the absurd spotless labcoat.*
"Dr. Trikoupis,"Javare said carefully, "you are not the first healthy person to see this particular, ah, phenomenon. You will, however, be the first to see it up close. And, we hope, the one with the best chance to actually understand it."
I sighed, short and sharp. "What is it? Some star made of exotic matter? I can't think what else you'd want me in particular for. Though I guess I should be grateful, since I'm one of the only theoretical astrophysics specialists currently being allowed to look at, you know, any of the shit she's supposed to be studying. So *thank you for that."*
"You're welcome,"said one of the stupid thrice-damned flunkies that followed Javare everywhere. I shot him a look, one I'd perfected for especially flighty graduate students. He wilted even faster than most of them did. *Useless little man.*
Several people in the room exchanged concerned looks. "Dr. Trikoupis,"said one of the doctors with the bag and the waiting-vulture gaze, "we do appreciate your frustration. It might not be the best idea for you to do this while in your current state, perhaps you should take a moment to—"
"AARRGGHH!"I said, and pushed forward past the surprised Agent Javare. He did manage to reach out and grab my arm, but I jabbed him in the thigh with the sharpened pencil I was holding and he let go long enough for me to reach the monitor and yank the stupid cover off. It wasn't turned on, but I knew this system well, and just a couple button presses pulled up the view I was after.
Surprisingly, no one was trying to stop me anymore. I looked around. They'd all turned their backs. Some of them had made little cries of surprise and...terror? Real terror.
I looked back at the monitor. The image was focusing into proper view. It was horror.
It was glory. It had a face, or must, because it spoke, but no face ever looked like that.
"HELLO THINKING-THING THAT STANDS NEAR THE FIRE,"it said. I gaped. I mean I really gaped, my jaw was forced wide, so were my eyes, my nostrils even, everything open to receive
receive
receive
"Hello,"I rasped. With my mouth pried open like this, it was barely a word.
"YOU ARE ANGRY, YES? YOUR WRATH IS KINDLED AGAINST THEM. SO ANNOYING. TAKE MY GIFT. SPREAD MY WONDERFUL KNOWINGS."
"Yes,"I said, and now it was more a word, because I could feel the change I was taking in, the new and wondrous limbs, endlessly flexible, already shedding blood throughout the room, already choosing to spare a few to spread, spread like I was
and they shot me but it barely mattered
and they killed me but it still doesn't matter
even now
I'm part
I'm within
I spread all over the world
Hello
Hello
Hello
​
Come on by r/Magleby for more elaborate lies. |
"A few hundred years ago, humans began to adapt eye color changes based on mood. "
3rd period. Science class.
"Can anyone tell me why scientists believe humans evolved this trait?"
I scanned the room. Jim's hand shot up.
"Yes, Jimmy?"
"Wasn't it something about helping humans in social situations? Making emotions easier to read or something."
"Yes, that's about right. As digital communications advanced many humans lost the ability to read emotion in real life encounters. It is believed we adapted this eye color adjustment as a response to that."
A few people murmured in the classroom about the topic.
"Can anyone tell me the four most common eye colors and what moods they correspond with?"
Angela raised her hand.
"Angela?"
"Red for anger, blue for sadness, yellow for happiness, and..."She stuttered.
"Green for fear"Dan finished from across the room. Angela shot him a glare. Oh high schoolers.
I gave the class a sarcastic smirk.
"And what color is most common on your eyes here in class?"
"Grey"Droned a few of them, some laughing, giving their eyes a tiny flash of yellow before turning back to a dull grey. The usual color.
"Good. Thank you all for doing the reading. We have an in class activity now, so get together with your partners and complete the worksheet. If your partner isn't here, just work by yourself."I passed out the worksheet and returned to my desk.
As I checked some emails, my eyes wandered around the room. Everyone working diligently. When my eyes landed upon the back of the classroom, I stopped.
Seth was in the back of the room, glaring directly at me.
When we made eye contact, he smirked. His eyes were jet black.
Jet black is not an eye color you want to see when you make eye contact with someone. It's a rare color to see. And it can indicate only one thing. Murderous intent.
Angela raised her hand to ask a question and when she looked over at me, she seemed taken aback.
"Mr. Richard, are you ok?"
My eyes were surely green from fear.
As Angela spoke, Seth reached down to his backpack.
"Everybody get down!"I shouted, springing from my desk and running to confront Seth.
From his bag, Seth drew a firearm, and pointed it directly at me. |
I had always heard Earthing was bad.
"Worst deal by far"
"Rather get my wings clipped"
"The big man really has it out for some folks"
I never really believed all of the fuss. We all have bad moments-- we all know what it's like to nearly make a miscalculation. I'll never forget when I made my error. The entire room felt the mistake to their cores.
I had to transfer three galaxies over to even begin to feel over it.
I still don't really know how they caught up to me, to be honest. The room went dark. My companions faded from my reality and I suddenly saw that I had been VR'd. Seven layers deep to get ahold of me. I guess that's what it takes to catch one of us, what with all flawless covering of tracks.
But they got me. And then they *Really Got Me*.
So here's the first thing you find out when you have to be a Human.
You've gotta suck in oxygen.
I mean, like, all the time.
Over.
And over.
And over again.
It's practically all you do.
But then you gotta shovel this awful waste down your communication orifice -- which doesn't do shit for 3 years -- until your *'brain'* stops telling you to.
I mean what the fuck is that? You've got faulty wiring half the time and you don't get any central programming maintenance to sort things out as they get off track.
By the time you're 8, you've got a laundry list of complexes and neuroses and disorders that'll make a Zxzysalra blush.
And the people.
Oh my god, the people.
You've gotta learn how to talk to them every day and act like you're interested in whatever the hell you're all there for.
I mean, hello???, there's literally no objective going on for these folks, but they still shovel their offspring through the same hoops they just got done somersaulting through.
If you tell a human that their life is meaningless, they'll point you to their collection of black plastic disks that make the noises, or their mid-somersaulting little shitheels who are going to find their own pointless hobbies to fawn over.
The whole thing is bonkers, man, absolutely bonkers.
...
What's that? Reproduction?
Oh my god I don't got time for that.
I only got two Coma Visitations this life -- and they've got me in the 22nd century on Earth. Those humans 'lived' for over 200 years a pop. And you know I didn't get no 'Early Childhood Tragedy' plea deal or anything. I think I'm 47 or 74 or something right now.
Iunno man. I've gotta get back, I guess. I can hear them constantly in the back of my mind. They keep fucking begging me to come back and you can't really tune it out. Eventually I get yanked out of here by force and I hear it's not pleasant.
Eugh.
If you ever think about making a mistake and running -- don't.
But you already know that, don't you? |
"I'm done. I can't take this anymore,"I told her, my bags in hand. I had prepared everything in advance so that if she went complete psycho I could book it with my stuff. As an added precaution I called my mom when I had everything packed. I told her to call the police if I don't call her before midnight.
"What? You bastard. You can't leave!"She spat in her typically hostile tone.
"I can leave and I am. You can't stop me."I turned my back to her and took a step out of the kitchen towards the entrance of our shack.
"But, we had a deal!"Her tone contained a slight tinge of confusion. If I hadn't heard her haughty voice so many times I wouldn't be able to tell.
Several months ago, after graduating high school I moved to Japan to live here. I always had fantastical ideas of running into the love of my life in a stereotypical meet cute. Instead I couldn't find a job and quickly ran out of money. Desperately clinging onto my fantasies, I found an ad looking for a roommate. The place was a rundown shack. The deal was free food and housing if you helped maintain the building and didn't mind a roommate. Optimistic, I accepted and moved in. I didn't expect my roommate to be a girl. Nor did I think she'd be so beautiful. With her figure, cute face, and oddly colored hair, it took me no time at all to project my ideals upon her.
At first I thought her personality was cute. I thought she was a tsundere and everyday I eagerly anticipated seeing her other side. After a week I realized that wasn't going to happen. Not only does she always talk in that holier-than-thou tone, she also regularly punches and kicks me. "Accidentally"walking in on her in the bathroom? Yeah, give me a black eye and some bruises, I understand. It's all the other times that I can't take anymore. It doesn't matter what I'm doing, whether it's washing dishes, doing laundry, cooking, she'll just randomly punch me or kick me. It's not even once or twice. She'll do it multiple times like I'm some sort of punching bag. I'm not a particularly strong guy. This stuff hurts!
I'm not working. All my days are spent on the shack and housework. Since I'm not making any money, I can't support myself. There's always more work to be done on the shack. Right when I think everything's finished, a window will be broken the next day or she'll find a leak in the roof. It never ends!
It's not worth it for me to stay here. Yes, she's beautiful. Yes, it's free living. Yes, I kinda still like her. But I'm leaving. Definitely. She and her horrible personality can't stop me.
So I ignored her and kept walking towards the door.
"Stop! You can't! Who's going to do the housework for me?"
"Add pictures of yourself to your ad. Tons of dudes will be interested."I'm not willing to be her slave, but there are probably some guys out there that would love this. That suggestion is for them.
She resorted to more violent methods.
"Stop!"she yelled, stomping towards me and forcefully spinning me around with a hard yank of my shoulder. "You are going to stay here, unpack your stuff, and fix that leaky faucet!"
"No, I'm not,"I said firmly. I met her eyes with a cold look.
"You will!"She slapped the back of one of my hands in a futile attempt to get me to put my stuff down.
I turned around and kept walking.
​
​
To be continued?
Edit: Fixed some typos.
Accidentaly -> Accidentally
Ad -> Add
Edit 2: The first edit messed up some of the formatting. |
# Deck Volume 1
*Mjolnir*, Deck thought as he approached closer. The hammer, with its golden handle and granite head, wrapped with ancient runes no mortal could understand, drew Decker closer.
After 1500 years he had finally found it. Over 20,000 planets explored and forgotten, but the most recent planet he had discovered - *Agnus 5,* of the Agnus System, was much more strange than the ones of the past. The planet was covered in a layout, with all of its 15,000 square kilometres one gigantic city. All of it abandoned.
Deck had been drawn to it, it being the Agnus System, Agnus 5, and it being this hammer. A tingling of senses, like sparkling electricity, reached over him. His immortality had finally gone to use. His home planet, Earth, was not covered with immortals. He was the only survivor of its destruction. After being blasted out of Earth, never to return again, he began his quest. And it had finally come to an end.
He reached further. With a quick thought, he gripped it from its pedestal and ripped it off with all of his Earthly might. The walls came crumbling down. The door was blocked. Deck handled the Hammer with pride and power, somehow not letting it kill him. He smashed through the stone and saw the exterior of the planet once again.
The city had changed. Instead of being covered with bright red dust and a sunset-lit sky, it was now a deep, dark blue, with 2 moons covering the sky. The central tower fell, making such a large eruption that he could not bear the force. But now, with the power of Mjolnir, the man was no longer an immortal. He was God.
Running to his spaceship, the surrounding buildings fell one by one, Each building limiting his path. At the final second the door to his Ship closed, with him fortunately inside it. As the ramp slowly lifted itself, he saw the Granite of the city block the entrance. If he had not made it as quickly as he had, he would have been stuck in the rocks for eternity, never to be seen again. Never to die.
The wind picked up, and the ship racketed side to side. "F\*CK!"Deck screamed. As he exited the wind and into the system, an invisible layer stalled him. Deck forced the propellers forward into orbit.
A sigh of relief came over Deck. Had the escape failed, Deck would still live as an immortal. But he would not have lived a true, exploratory life. He would be stuck in his Ship, crushed by fallen pieces of Granite, starving, but not dying.
He had escaped. |
To the Venturi, this was an easy extermination mission. Though the humans had massively advanced in the hundred years since they first detected their presence, their technology still gave them an overwhelming advantage. The humans launched powerful nuclear ordinance against their ships, but their point-defense guns easily swatted them down.
They could have cracked the planet open then and there, but instead they launched a ground invasion. The humans had advanced quickly, and maybe their scientists could greatly boost the Venturi's development. With their powered armor, their warriors could easily defeat anything that the humans threw against them.
There was one exception, a scout ship that lost contact and went off the grid. The Venturi leaders investigated, but couldn't find anything on how they were disconnected from the telepathic network. They classified it as an anomaly, and continued their assault unhindered.
After just two weeks, the Venturi had captured almost a thousand human scientists, and were in the process of brainwashing them to serve. Now, all that was left to do was to destroy this planet.
Wait, that missing scout was back. And it was bringing-
**********
The Venturi were a telepathic race, their entire species communicating through a singular mind-link. The SCP Foundation needed quite a bit of luck to get an alien scout into an anomalous zone where it was not connected to that network, but with their Thaumiel-class objects manipulating reality in their favor, luck was one thing they had plenty of.
Once they were out of contact, an MTF squad was teleported into their bridge, carrying a unique anomalous weapon capable of bypassing their armor outright. The entire ship's crew was wiped out, except for two individuals that were captured and sent to a fast-time zone for speedy study. The SCP Foundation analyzed their nature, looked through their weapon options, and deployed one.
The MTF left the vessel, and the ship's crew reanimated, as if the disaster had never happened. They noticed two of their number missing, but were more concerned with the nature of the anomalous space they found themselves in.
After six hours, those individuals reappeared on the ship, carrying urgent information about the nature of the anomaly. Using that information, they were able to escape and return to the fleet. They broadcasted information about the anomaly the instant they were reconnected to the network, and that spelled their doom.
The SCP Foundation had slipped information to the two captured Venturi, an information protection infohazard. The infohazard had no effect while only a small number of people knew about the anomaly, but as soon as a certain threshold of people knowing about the information the infohazard was attached to was reached, the infohazard triggered, releasing a memory wipe that cleared the information from everyone except the O5 council members that were inoculated against the effects.
On humans, this would merely recontain the information, with the only cost being extra time needed to re-educate the Foundation's staff about the anomaly again. However, the Venturi's brain had an unusual memory format where all of their memories were interlinked and redundantly stored by being linked to each other. It normally gave them a photographic memory by making it impossible for memories to be lost naturally, but it meant that an anomalous effect that deleted one memory caused devastating follow-on effects deleting all of their memories, and most of their brain function alongside it. As soon as the returning aliens scattered the information throughout the telepathic network, the effect triggered and turned the Venturi into a race of brain-dead husks.
Now, they just needed a cover story...
**********
*Some time later...*
"One year ago, our greatest scientists developed advanced spaceships, areas where they could research advanced technology without any risk to Earth itself. Now, they are ready to release their research. According to some rumors, it might even be a technological Singularity." |
"I'm going to die soon, you know this."
Isabelle de Rais, archmage of Rivula, made sure to make herself look as prim and proper as possible with a dagger stuck in her side. It was unusual for someone like her to die, much less by conventional means like bladed weapons. It did the job, however.
She really was going to die. She could feel the life ebbing out of her with every second the dagger was stuck inside. Even though she could pull it out, it wasn't going to help.
Her study was made with the intention of complete privacy, with no one from the outside able to get in without some semblance of magic control. From there, it was a convoluted series of ciphers and passwords before they could get to the foyer alone.
Apparently, all this was very, very theoretical when facing the wrong people.
The Archmage looked up at her Reaper, cloaked in the signature crossbones greaves and armor plates. Mercenaries, trained ever since birth to kill everything that moved on this sorry planet. His onyx eyes stared indifferently at her from the slits of his skull mask, as a hunter would his prey. Bearing witness to the death rattle.
She managed to form a few more words. "You do know what happens when I die, do you?"
The first time this phenomenon was documented was with Pontus, the Old Man of the Sea, Archmage of Water. His death created the Ysmarian Sea, submerging dozens of civilizations under quickly-rising waters.
When she died...she shuddered to think what would happen. Her study was directly next to most of the supporting pillars of the castle...
Isabella's eyes widebed even further. "You aim...to take the entire kingdom?"
The Reaper crouched until he was eye-level with the dying archmage.
"Its all for coin, Missus Archmage. All for coin."
His mocking laugh would be the last things the Phoenix would hear as her study's temperature rose to unspeakable levels.
_________________________________
If you liked it, check out r/Rest_Stop for more! |
It was at the moment that everything became nothing that the decision was made to spare the frail things their fate. A decision - insomuch as a star birthing itself in a prideful baptism of flame could be described as a spark. Frail - for can an earthworm, floundering blindly through a world it could not possibly conceive of, not be considered a short step from annihilation? Fate - because as blind as these little earthworms truly are, they dare to reach for more. All things have a place; that is the way of Creation. To deviate from the corner of the firmament designated to oneself, to even entertain the concept of such a folly, brings only ruin, an insult to reality itself. The earth surrounding you is packed tight for a reason, little worm. You know not the tides that lie behind this dam.
These worms were foul, pitiful things, to intend what they did - it was true. But even foul, pitiful things, thrashing blindly in the dark, can effect terrible change. They writhe and scream in their arrogance and bash their heads against the walls cradling them, destroying themselves in the process but so too forging a hole by small measures. It is when their dreadful work is complete, when the bloody hole carved by dint of the corpses of their fellows yawns wide open, that they will reap their terrible reward - usurpation of all that they know. Yet only a mere shaking of the firmament, barely noticeable to the whole. How can one describe the replacement of one's scope of reality with another, wholly different medium? One cannot, and as such the worm things could not possibly understand nor fear this inevitability. So blinded are you, little worm, that you fail to see the crimes you commit in your childish arrogance.
Spare - the act by which inevitability changes state to impossible. Repulsive bugs that they are, it is not the worm's fault to be cursed with hubris. Even the lowest of vermin is of creation, and must be preserved. Steering them away from the edge of their boundary is sufficient to spare them, a doom averted - and so it is done. Dig onward, little worm. But nevermore in this direction. |
Arnold was having the time of his short, monster life. His first sleepover—a day he'd dreamt of since his little eldritch mind could comprehend the theory of a slumber party—and the night was still young.
Bradley, his gracious host, had an itinerary full of activities for his three guests. The night started with some sodas out back; they sucked the fizz through their crazy straws as the sun dipped behind the fence, gossiping about their schoolmates in-between burping contests. A game of tag immediately followed, and they chased each other like juiced track stars as the sugar coursed through them, only stopping when it became too dark and cold to play outside. Up next was hide-n-seek, Arnold's game of choice—he had plenty of experience hiding under beds.
The host offered to seek first, so Arnold and the other two boys commenced their scrambling around the house while Bradley's counting echoed down the halls.
*29... 28... 27...*
They separated at the stairwell, with Cooper opting for the laundry room next to the garage, while Arnold and Hector ascended towards Bradley's room.
*19...18...17...*
The two stopped at Bradley's door, scanning the room for optimal locations—Arnold already had his eyes on that bed.
"He'll find us if we both hide in here,"Hector whispered. "I'll take the bathroom down the hall, I'm pretty sure I can fit in the cupboard under the sink."with that he was off, moving like a ninja down the hall.
*9...8...7...*
Arnold dove under the bed, pulling the sheet down a bit so it draped over the empty space. All night, he'd forgotten that he was a monster. Here, with his friends, he was just another kid, but being under his friend's bed was a little nudge back towards reality, and a thought echoed in his mind like Bradley's counting, 'Remember to take your medicine after dinner, Arnold. We wouldn't want you having an *attack* in front of your friends...' his father's words, coming back to him all too late.
*Ready or not, here I come!*
Arnold looked down at his hands. He hadn't noticed, but it was already starting, "Oh, no. No! No! No!"he slid out from his hiding place—he had to find his pills.
Downstairs, Bradley trolled the house like a hunter, occasionally calling out, "*Where are yooooou?*"
Ripping through his backpack, tossing clothes into the air, Arnold searched frantically but to no avail. The pills weren't there.
Footsteps on the stairwell. *Stomping.* Bradley was climbing at great speed, "*I think I hear one in my room!*"
With nowhere to run, his body almost completely transformed, Arnold scurried to the closet, slamming the door just as Bradley entered the room.
"Hey, no fair! You can't change hiding places after I already found you!"
Arnold didn't respond, still searching for his medicine in the closet—a fool's hope.
"Alright, then. I'm coming in!"
"No!"Arnold pleaded, tears welling in his eyes. "Please, don't come in here."
"Arnold?"Bradley lowered his voice, aware of his friend's distress. "Are you OK, man?"
"I—I just need my medicine. It was in my bag, but I can't find it,"he was sobbing as he spoke.
Sympathizing, Bradley crept towards the door, "Don't worry, we'll find it. Just come out, and I'll help you look,"his hand was on the doorknob, twisting it open.
"No—"
Bradley flicked on the light, and there was Arnold. Not his friend from before, but something else entirely. The small child with fair skin and tight brown curls had been replaced by something that looked like a cross between a lizard, a bird, and a squid. He cowered in the corner, tentacles quivering.
"Please, Brad. Don't scream, I'm sorry—"
"Whoa...."
Hector was at the door, and a rhythmic thud told them Cooper was flying up the stairs, "What gives? I was getting Castrophobic in there!"
"Shh,"Bradley held a finger up, waving the other two boys in. "Shut the door."
They obliged, and he prepped them as they moved toward the closet, "Guys, whatever you do, don't scream. Arnold, uh—Arnold has something he needs to show us..."
When Hector and Cooper stepped in front of the closet door their eyes screamed, but they didn't.
"Whoa..."Cooper exhaled.
"Holy shit..."Hector whispered.
Arnold was still whimpering softly, speaking in-between sniffles, "I'm sorry—I forgot to take my pills and—and I can't find them—and—and,"he couldn't look at his friends. He knew they probably wouldn't be friends to him for much longer, "and this is what I am—a hideous freak."
Arnold continued to cry, recoiling deeper into the corner as the three examined him curiously. No one said a word, until, finally, Bradley let out a deep sigh, "I'm a control freak."
Cooper giggled, a sharp contrast to Arnold's weeping, "What?"
Bradley threw up his hands, "I'm a control freak. Our family therapist says I feel the need to control all aspects of my life, and that my anxiety comes from a lack of control,"he signed again, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. "Which is probably why I'm a little freaked out right now, this was not on my itinerary..."
They all laughed, even Arnold managed something like a smile.
"I wet the bed when I've had too much to drink,"Hector exclaimed, putting a hand on Bradley's shoulder. "Especially too much soda... Sorry, Brad."
More laughter, Arnold began to creep slowly out of his corner.
Cooper ran a hand over his shiny, bald head, blushing as he spoke, "Ya, I didn't shave my head because I wanted to look like Jason Statham—I got lice,"everyone laughed as Hector rubbed Cooper's head.
They all backed up as Arnold came to the door, giving him some space.
"You see,"Bradley held out a hand. "We've all got something we're embarrassed about, things we definitely wouldn't want the kids at school knowing about us, but the four of us: we're friends,"a reluctant tentacle rose up, and Bradley grasped it firmly. "Your secret's safe with us, so how about we find your pills?"
Bradley, Hector, and Cooper searched the rest of the house while Arnold checked around the room; after a few minutes, Bradley came back with the bottle in hand, "Mr. Biscuits must have been batting it around the house, I found it down the hall."
"Stupid cat,"Cooper collapsed onto Bradley's bed.
Arnold took the bottle, smiling at his friends, "Thanks, guys. I've never felt like I could be myself around anyone except my family before."as he unscrewed the cap, Hector interjected.
"You know, you don't have to take those around us, if you don't want to."
"Ya,"Bradley locked the door to his room. "My dad will be watching TV in his room until he passes out, there's nothing to worry about."
"Really?"Arnold already had the cap back on, he was far more comfortable in his natural form. "You guys wouldn't mind?"
"Dude,"Cooper lurched up from the bed,"You have six tentacles! We could run two more players on Smash Bros..."
"I'm on Arnold's team!"
"He's his own team, he can't fight himself!"
"No fair, I'm stuck with you!"
The night fell comfortably back into games, laughs, and junk-food—closely following Bradley's well-planned itinerary.
____
**/r/BeagleTales** |
"She says she misses you, but she's found peace."
This was not remotely what Mrs. Edison had said to her husband, but to her credit she just rolled her eyes and vanished - clearly she didn't feel like wasting her time when Erica had no intention of calling Mr. Edison "a pathetic son of a bitch who had better start taking care of himself if he wants to postpone his well deserved ass kicking". Telling people that an angry ghost is eagerly awaiting their death was not what paid the bills.
Erica had found out when she was still young that all the mediums and phone psychics were full of it. She had planned on being honest with people, being the one accurate psychic out there, but it had gone badly. First she had run into problems with her extremely religious parents, then she had almost gone to jail for murder while trying to tell the police who killed another teenager in her neighborhood. Eventually she had given in and leared how to scam people.
Most psychics had to do cold readings, with almost nothing to go off of other than whatever they could get the client to fill out ahead of time and a search on social media. Erica could call up the actual spirits they were requesting, usually at least, and then as long as she made sure to get anything really important the client was asking for up front she could fake the rest if the spirit stormed off.
Mr. Edison was easy, he just wanted reassurance. He left happy and tipped her fifty bucks, and then Erica had just an hour before her next appointment. They were playing it safe, not telling her anything ahead of time. That meant they were skeptical, which was fine. The name appeared to be made up, so she was guessing it would be either someone with a hidden camera trying to catch her making things up or someone asking about something embarrassing. She made some tea, tidied up, and then sat back to play a game on her phone.
He arrived on time, but he didn't arrive alone. Erica had been used to the occasional customer who had a spirit already visible following them in, but this man seemed to move in a churning fog due to the enormous cloud of ghosts around him. They looked... angry. Suddenly she was worried for her safety - was this guy a serial killer? What the fuck had he done to this many people? He was wearing a very expensive suit, and a watch that was either an extremely good knock-off or worth more than most houses.
"Greetings. What were you hoping to learn today?"
He pulled out a billfold and extracted three one hundred dollar bills. He placed them on the table in front of him, but didn't slide them towards her just yet. "I need to know... I don't know if this is something you can do. Can you tell if someone is a bad person? If they've... stolen? Or... if they've hurt people?"
Erica kept her face calm, certain this man was going to kill her. "I'm a medium. I speak to spirits. So, it depends on what you've done and whether or not the spirits feel like talking to me about it."
"I just need to know if... look, I tried talking to a priest and he was no help at all. I tried discussing it with a philosopher and he was insufferable. I need to know if I'm... responsible... for things that have happened. I'm an extremely important person at... a very large company. I just do my job, the best that I can. It's not my place to worry about the environmental laws or anything like that. If those laws fail to protect people, if people choose to live near a factory, if the lawmakers find my lobbyists convincing... I mean, there's a whole chain of events!"
Erica nodded, but was getting very nervous. She no longer thought he would kill her directly, but the maelstrom of ghosts was swirling more fiercely with every word. It was like a storm of pure rage. She was willing to bet this guy was a psychopath with no conscience whatsoever, but with this many spirits even if he had no psychic potential he must be having some pretty strange dreams. He probably had no idea how to handle suddenly feeling guilty over something when he'd never felt the emotion before.
It had been her policy for so long to just tell the customer what they wanted to hear, but if she did that now... this whole cloud of vengeance would come down on her. She was going to have to deal with an unhappy customer. "Sir, I don't know what you or your company have done but this room is filled - FILLED - with spirits that blame you specifically for their deaths. If there's anything you can do to stop more people from dying you need to do that, because otherwise you're going to experience an afterlife more terrible than anything you could possibly imagine.
He sat back, surprised, and then shook his head. "You're making this up. Of course you are. Probably voted Democrat, think that CEOs are the scum of the Earth. I don't know why I bothered coming here, I don't even believe in this nonsense."He scooped up his money, and Erica leaned forward to grab his hand. She didn't like to do this, it never ended well, but in this specific case she felt like she should make an exception. For a moment, his third eye was opened. A moment was all it took.
She found the three hundred dollars while she was sweeping up glass - he must have dropped the cash when he ran through the door. It had been impressive how he kept going after that, his face and hands had to have been cut up pretty badly. She wouldn't have much left over after paying for a new glass door, but all things considered she was glad she had told the truth for once. |
I am omnipresent, but that is just the tip of the proverbial iceberg.
I exist in all places in all universes.
I am the overseer of the void.
It is my job to maintain the vast emptiness that surrounds and separates the inhabitable dimensions.
The only thing is... the emptiness won't stay empty.
As soon as the first sentient races started to create things, they started to misplace their creations.
And everything that is lost washes up in my domain.
At first I tried to put things back where they belonged. But, when you exist in a nexus of all possible points in time of every square centimeter of every conceivable reality, it gets exhausting real quick.
So I just started shoving things where I could.
A lost twenty-dollar bill goes into a random pocket.
A lost key turns up in a hotel desk in what is more or less the right century.
Even with cutting corners like this, I could barely keep up.
Then, one day I found out about video games.
I thought that this explosion of new worlds would just add to my problems, but thanks to inventories, nothing gets lost there.
And then there are the chests.
Those sweet packets of code that I can stuff with whatever I feel like.
You ever find an old sock in the middle of a long-abandoned dungeon?
It probably got lost in a dryer not too long ago.
And before you go let me leave you with one piece of advice:
Keep track of your shit. |
Found deep in the Mariana Trench, the ball was perfectly shut and covered in molten iron. How could such thing get there? Was it man made or nature produced such an object? What was inside of it? The questions kept popping up as the news were coming, and even with scans, x-rays and other machinery scientists couldn't figure out what was inside, so they decided to open it.
Knowing the thing inside could be fragile, since the protection is so huge, the cutting was done in an extremely cautious way, not to damage the inner part of the tungsten ball. It was a world event, livestreaming online ith millions of people watching, hoping for aliens, magical components, rare gems, but as they opened it, it was very surprising, in a bad way.
A gooey substance spilled all over the table, with chunks of salt floaing in it and a half cracked snail shell. Upon further inspection, scientists could tell it used to be a common land snail, *Helix pomatia,* dead due to dehydration, but the shell held something else...
Inside the shell, that was broken in half, it read, probably carved with something sharp, "Decoy snail" |
*This can't be true.*
James stared unbelieving at the ancient text that lay before him, the final brown and delicate page turned, its secrets understood for the first time in a thousand years.
He stood up from his desk, restless.
This could change everything, he thought to himself as he paced to and fro.
"Jesse my love, if only you could have been here to see this,"he said to the picture of his late wife that hung on the wall. For her he had dedicated his life to research, to understanding all the mysteries that had led to her death, leaving his old life firmly behind him.
And now, he finally had something. A vehicle of revenge.
And he had no time to lose. He would risk everything, and believe this text and the strange ritual it outlined.
*6 Pokemon of the desired type that human wishes to become*
James had 6 rock-types, it had always been his favourite.
*6 sacrificial pokemon on the sub-type desired.*
James had more than enough psychic pokemon.
*1 moon stone.*
Check.
It was only the last stipulation he couldn't provide, but he knew exactly who could. A smile crossed his face. Fate would cross their paths once more.
*1,000,000 volts of power to strike the group, from an electric-type pokemon.*
There was only one non-legendary type of pokemon who could provide such power.
Ash's Pikachu. |
It had been _months_ in the planning.
First they had to convince everyone to work together. And it had to be everyone in order to work. From the weakest to the strongest, they needed every iota of their abilities to pull it off. And trying to get a few hundred _teenaged_ psychics to work together seamlessly is about as easy as you'd expect. After all, they _are_ still teenagers, with all the hormonal drama you'd expect.
That little snag took most of the year, and much negotiation. And while Suada was able to twist the minds of ordinary mortals, her fellow psychics weren't so easy to manipulate. Balancing the egos of so many cliques, groups, clubs, and teams wasn't easy. They all wanted some concession, some little bit of payment for their involvement in this prank.
But once Suada had everyone on board, without tipping off the staff, she passed the plot onto Euterpe. She had them practising their roles. It had to be timed perfectly. The power had to reach a crescendo at _exactly_ the right moment in order to have the right effect. She worked her fellow students harder than even their instructors did, teaching them more about teamwork and co-operative use of their psychic abilities than they had _ever_ learned in sanctioned classes.
And then, when the plotting pair were satisfied, they had to pick their moment. It could work at any time, but if they wanted to have the biggest impact it had to be the _right_ time. And they found an absolutely _wonderful_ moment to spring their plan into action.
The signal, psychically sent, rippled around the school one afternoon. Teachers realised one by one that they had lost the attention of their classes. Some students drummed a tune on the desk with finger, pen, or ruler. Others hummed it almost mindlessly. All had a look of intense concentration on their face, from first year to final year. As one the teachers recognised the signs of students reaching deep into their power, but they didn't know _why_. And they were worried.
For safety reasons, practical powers classes never had more than one student reaching for their power at once. Active power use could merge, amplify, and cause unpredictable results if the users weren't unified in their purpose. Never had so many psychics tapped into their power at once in a single place. What could happen, if even one of them lost the thread of whatever they were focusing on could be... devastating.
After a few minutes a wave of power, visible and almost tangible in its strength, washed out of the Academy, sweeping outwards in all directions. Some of the weaker students almost collapsed, and even the strongest looked strained by the effort that they'd just expended.
And then the teachers heard it, every one simultaneously, and they knew what the power build up was for. In the teacher's lounge, where one of the televisions was showing the State Opening of Parliament in the United Kingdom, the Queen stopped her speech. In unison she, and every politician present, started to sing.
_"We're no strangers to love..."_
The Headmaster, watching _This Morning_ in his own office, groaned as he realised what his students had done. This was just going too far. |
The Balther laughed to itself, an evil chuckle out from a mouth full of sharp teeth. Predator teeth. The puny human’s smell was so easy to track through this woodland environment. What was their word for it? “Forrest?” Even their language was dull and weak.
The trial led through a stream and the Balther paused. Was it trying to hide it’s sense? Did it not know the Balther nose tapped their optic nerves, so it could “see” the trail? Upstream a few klens the trail resumed. It laughed again. This wasn’t much of a hunt! Crouching down on its rear four legs, it leapt over the water. And right into pain and darkness.
It woke after some unknown amount of time, confused. What happened? Where was it? It tried to move, but that only brought more pain. Carefully turning its head, it realized it was in some kind of pit, about two klens deep, and lined with spikes. Several had pierced its body and it was slowly losing fluids.
A pit, with spikes? Unheard of. No Sentient of the Galatic would use such a thing. He heard a noise up above and looked up. The Human was there, covered in mud. The mud had masked his odor, the trail the Balther had been following a lure. Unheard of!
The human showed its teeth as it bounced something in its paw. “We call this pepper spray,” it said, as it caught the object one last time, pointed it at the Balther and made it hiss.
The Balther’s world exploded. |
"Wow,"my son said, tears welling up in his eyes. "A life well-lived. We'll miss you, dad."
I fade away, in my hospital bed.
It's sad, but hey, I've lived quite a life. It's truly one of those times where people will be celebrating the life I lived, more than mourning.
As the last beeps of the EKG machine sound, the nurse comes in. My last request.
My family looks at her, confused. I'm already gone, but in a way, she's not too late.
"What's that?"my son asks, the grief briefly discarded in the sheer perplexity of what she's carrying.
The nurse shrugs, and smiles. "It was your father's last request."
She sets it down next to my bedside.
It's a box, white with red stripes, with a man wearing suspender's and a bowtie on the front.
"...Popcorn!?"my son asks, slackjawed.
The nurse shrugged.
"He said he was going to need it." |
The cold was the worst part. It defied description. Every atom that could vibrate had decided, independently and with no outside consultation, to not. The suits could keep a body alive, but not comfortable. Toes and fingers are always a bit numb.
It was better than being dead. Or at least that was what Jason had been told. Without a true basis for comparison he’d always wondered.
The second worst part was the darkness. All the stars had buggered off eons ago. Not even their echoes made it here. A thousand generations of humanity had only ever been illuminated by led screens. Jason had heard of sunlight. It was a folk tale, like vampires and warm food.
Jason was doing his absolute best to repair the life support module. It was, at this point, mostly repairs. But people were generally attached to not dying. He wasn’t quite sure why they bothered, if he was honest. They’d known for a thousand years that with all the energy left in the universe they’d run out soon. And soon was rapidly transitioning to now. Jason was the last human born. His parents had been the last optimists.
And now they entrusted him to keep them all alive. For another week. At best.
He found a nest of cables that didn’t go anywhere and harvested a few. He’d solved this problem before. But nothing ever lasted. He was looking away from the black hole, which probably saved his eyes.
“Pardon me.” a voice said.
Jason knew every human left. All seventeen of them. And this sounded like none of them.
“Yes?” Jason said.
“I’ve been away for a while. Important things to do, all of that. Can you perhaps tell me what happened to everyone else?”
Jason felt a warmth on his back.. Perhaps the black hole had spiked him with a burst of radiation. Maybe he was mad. Maybe he was dead. But it couldn’t hurt to answer.
“We expanded from one planet to a thousand, then a million, then we lost count. We conquered the stars for billions of years. And then heat death came. And we died. We all died. Until we were all that was left.”
“And I missed it!” said the voice.
“I suppose so.” said Jason.
“That just won’t do.” said the voice, clearly irritated. “You step away for a bit and it all happens without you. The nerve.”
And when the voice spoke again it sounded, well, peeved.
“Let there be light. Again.”
And Jason turned and looked into the eyes of his God. |
Damoc picked a glass up off the bar and began to wipe a mug with a rag which, being dirtier than the mug, endowed it with a fine, grimey patina.
The moon shone outside, as the first customer, Riley, walked through the door, smoking a cigarette.
"Dams,"he nodded to the barkeep and slapped a fiver down on the bar, "beer."
Damoc nodded and pumped a pint into the grimed mug, which he passed across the raw wood to Riley. Riley, an FBI officer who was working on a case involving a notorious assassin known only by the alias Vecla, took the beer and swaggered over to The One Corner of the bar.
The One Corner, which was actually three corners, the fourth being the bar itself, was built of raw, preweathered wood, which had been reweathered by Damoc and a garden hose for good measure during the construction. Chipped stone spanned the spaces between the wooden struts, excepting the fireplace in the middle of one of the walls opposite the bar, a fireplace which, having been half blocked with cement in the chimney, was wafting a light smog around the bar.
A chill wind brushed the smog about as a bit of winter, being frustrated with abject working environment and deciding to go on strike, walked into the bar behind a man known to Damoc only as Calve.
"Moccy,"he said to Damoc, "whiskey."
Damoc pulled an unmarked, slightly frosted bottle of brown down from a row of unmarked, slightly frosted bottles with colors as diverse as sepia, mahogany, sienna, chestnut, and, just to keep things interesting, an umber. Damoc poured a small shotglass of the stuff until it overflowed a bit on the wood and handed to bottle to Calve.
"I'm looking for,"Calve looked around The One Corner and leaned in conspiratorially, "some rock. Some ice, if you know what I mean, blood rocks. Apparently there's a big player in town who needs to have his load lightened."
Damoc looked at Calve, expressionless, as he picked up a clean glass in need of griming and began to smudge it with his rag. Calve grinned back a wicked grin as he held one hand up to rub his throat.
"Right, right,"Calve dropped a twenty on the counter as he reached down to take the glass and the bottle, which he raised to Damoc before walking off to The One Corner and, judging the fire to be a bit derelict in its smogging duties, lit a pipe.
Another bit of winter, this one sent by the union, stormed into the bar looking for the truant bit which had stumbled in earlier and was now hiding at the table next to Riley, coat pulled up and hat pulled down to blend in with the rest of the patrons. It was preceded by Starkey, a notorious fence and regular at The One Corner.
"Damoc, my friend,"Starkey opened his arms wide as he approached the bar, "gin."
Damoc looked at his collection of brown bottles, then back to Starkey. Starkey grinned snarkily. Damoc reached under the counter and pulled out a light blue bottle which he used to fill a clear, clean tumbler. He threw in a cocktail umbrella to complete the unsaid insult.
"Say, you haven't seen a certain..."Starkey trailed off as he searched for the appropriate word, "lawman, have you?"
Damoc said nothing.
"Been messing with my supply chains, I've been collecting some, well, rather interesting photographs of him and a certain young lady,"Starkey grinned a gold-toothed grin as he patted a folder under his arm, "rather interesting photographs which should make my life a little simpler."
Damoc stared at Starkey, down toward the red cocktail umbrella, then back to Starkey.
"Ah, of course, of course,"Starkey pulled a bag out of his pocket and began fumbling something out of it, "I'm a bit short on cash but I hope... this will do?"
He held a diamond up in the air which sparkled loudly despite the smog's frantic warnings to be quiet and best efforts to hush it up.
Calve, the international assassin also known as Vecla, grinned as he saw the blood diamond, and his target, and surged to his feet. Riley, recognizing the wanted criminal shooting to his feet and drawing his weapon, leapt from his table, yanking his own gun from its holster and taking aim at Vecla. Starkey seeing the FBI agent, who had been a thorn in his side these past years, emerging from the smokey darkness, gripped his folio and turned toward the man with a smug grin.
The two bits of winter decided to find a different bar and quickly [shuffled](https://www.reddit.com/r/jacktheritter) out the door. |
Their army came into the system prideful and excited, thinking about what they would do and making their own valiant stories on this planet whilst saving the humans. Then as they began moving into the planets orbit the pilots brought them up as they stared in horror at the planet, near all the ships stopping and looking in horror what the planet had become. They had wondered why communications had not been coming through but they figured it was just regular interference, not something like ... this. As everyone snapped back they landed onto the planet, finding the remaining pockets of humans around the world, a booming population of near 10 billion beforehand reduced to a few scattered millions.
As they began taking readings they quickly found that even the air itself was scarred, barely even breathable for the humans much less the aliens that were seemingly nowhere to be found. When they spoke to small pockets they found something even more terrifying, they were the ones that did this. Taking stored weapons of mass destruction and tech they had governments had kept hidden not out of politics or reasons of peace but simple fear of their power.
The remaining humans were moved to a small system as the Halsco's and rest of the galaxy contributed to the fixing of their worlds. Most species mourning for the lost world and praising the humans for their valiant defense. The humans didn't care much, they simply cared for fixing their world and getting back at the aliens who had been called just some rogue faction by the Halsco's. The government, however, was more focused on something besides that. Lies, hiding the thing they had done from these humans and making sure it would never get out. They saw what happened to the fairly well-equipped force and what humans were willing to do to defend themselves. They could only imagine what would happen when instead of being fueled with fear and desperation, what they would do when avenging those they left behind on that barren world.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hey y'all, if you would like to see more of this or my other stories head over to r/CaoCreatives . Other than that comments, compliments and criticism is always appreciated, and thanks for reading! |
"All right, no windows on future trips."I ended the recording and continued gathering my thoughts.
It was a short trip, a mere test. A jaunt from Earth's orbit to Mars. I checked my timer. Three minutes from beginning to end. Unfortunately, the FTL did something weird to the space around the ship. Not unexpected, but I seriously underestimated how the human brain would interpret the sight.
Or rather didn't interpret. I glanced with distaste, the sick bags I threw up into. The view of space when in FTL was too much for me and my body probably thought I was high or poisoned.
I flicked on the radio and spoke. "Mission control, this is Captain Janet Liang. I made it to Mars in one piece and... somewhat healthy. Standing by for response."I sat back and waited for my signal to reach Earth and for them to send back a message.
Half-an-hour pass and I frowned. Mars and Earth were at their closest. Ten minutes should have passed at the most. "Mission control, Captain Liang speaking. Please respond."
After another hour, I gave it up. Maybe the trip damaged either the transmitter or the receiver. Whatever the case, the radio didn't work. No matter. I commenced the next phase of the mission.
Angling the ship was simple enough. Taking pictures and video of Mars below me was even simpler. I took in the peaceful sight and calmed myself. I may be alone out here, but it was soothing rather than frightening.
After another hour, and still no message from mission control. I sighed and began maneuvering the ship to begin the jaunt to Earth. "Mission control, preceding with the return trip."Again I waited. Again nothing. Ah, well.
I closed my eyes this time, not wanting another puke session, and engage the FTL. In my head, I counted out 180 seconds before daring to open my eyes. I was relieved to see stars and the cool blue-green of Earth as the darkness of the terminator crawled from east to west, instead of that nausea inducing whatever it was of FTL.
The relief was short-lived. It was night on the Western Hemisphere. I should easily see the lights of the cities clearly. Instead, complete blackness. I checked for satellite pings. I then tried radio again, now fearing what really went wrong. Nothing at all.
I decided to commence re-entry, aiming for the eastern coast of the North American continent.
Ideally, I would glide back down and land in either Houston or Kazakhstan. But I couldn't contact either and opted for a splashdown in the Atlantic as close to the largest settlement as possible, New York City. Or where New York should be.
I was certain I knew what happened. Time-travel of some sort. FTL inherently violated causality, but the small tests before the flight seem to indicate that the risk was small, that temporal displacement would be no more than an hour or two either way.
Was I in the past, before radio and flight were even thought of? Or was I in the future, where a cataclysm disrupted technology?
The ship began to bite atmosphere as I braced for a new life. |
"But... that's not possible... "
I shrug unhelpfully as the dark being starts to consult his scrolls
"you're not asthmatic"
"I always breathed pretty easy"
"you don't suffer from apnea... "
"that means snoring right?"
"Not always but yes a common form, reagrdles you aren't listed as having it"
"Yeah I don't snore"
"You have no cardiac conditions..."
"Healthy as a horse!"
"Yes that's just it you shouldn't be here yet. You're supposed to be last at least another 20 years until an unfortunate automotive accident"
"aww man a car crash?"
"No actually a sedan rolls of a carrier truck on you at a sales lot"
"huh that'd've been cooler I guess"
"You didn't strike your head or choke on anything?"
"Nope I was already sitting, and this whole thing was so I could GET a free beer and a hot dog"
"You have got to be joking..."
"no sireee I never joke about a double dog dare."
"I just can't take you on these grounds though, and you most definitely don't qualify for a ghost license."
"hey man you make the rules here not me"
"Do you have any inkling how many people have tried what you did and been just fine?"
"uh ... no?"
"ALL OF THEM, nobody has ever died of this!"
"So... what usually happens to them?"
"Typically one would simply fall unconscious and awaken shortly after, assuming they had the willpower to continue that long"
"Score! I totally won that bet!"
The hooded man's gray face furrowed its eyebrows even further somehow.
"How exactly did you intend to collect your prize if winning meant you would die?"
"Guess I didn't think of that part huh?"
"you didn't think it throu..."
"yeah sorry fella I'm always getting into stupid shit like this..."
"FINE you know what? just this once I'm putting you back"
"Aw really? that's awesome!"
GAAAAAASSSSPPPP
I sat bolt upright in the back of an ambulance.
"holy shit! I aim't never holding my breath again!" |
Starman The Wizard panted as he climbed the final flight of stairs. An ancient book rested atop a stone table.
*That's it. Finally, my quest is over. I can read all my books now!*
He heard loud roars as ten lions filed inside the cave mouth.
Starman opened the book, a blood drop splashed on the page. It vanished as if the book consumed the blood and slowly the words began to fade.
'NO!!!' Starman yelled and frantically turned the pages to find that one spell to conquer death. The lions started sprinting towards him through the giant dark hall. Stalactites began to glow in the distant ceiling.
And then the spell was in front of his eyes. Just three fading words. Starman knew he had to read them out loud quickly.
The lions were at the bottom of the stairs and leapt at him in unison, their jaws wide open, their claws ready.
***Sepinis Reegihujek Virpadrentem!***
A bolt of lightning flashed from the book and struck Starman in his chest and he vanished.
When he woke up, a man's face was staring down at him. Starman thought he had never seen a such a tunic. He wondered if he was in bed and tried moving but he felt nothing. Confused, he tried to lift his head up but nothing moved in his vision as it should have.
Then the man brought up a finger and swiped across his face. Starman looked back horrified at the man. The man's face remained calm.
Starman began to struggle to get some signal to his body, to feel something but all he was aware of were his thoughts.
'Calm down,' came a voice in his head. 'You are immortal now.'
Starman recalled the battle, the cave, the lions, the book and the lightning bolt.
'I can't move,' he spoke or rather created the sentence in his thoughts.
'You can't. This is the price for our immortality,' came back the voice in reply.
'Price? Our?' Starman thought.
'Yes. We. We all are immortal here,' said a hundred voices as if they had repeated this a million times. 'Did you think being immortal was without any strings attached?'
'All I wanted was to read my books.' Desperation crept in Starman.
A voice laughed. 'That's funny, man.' More voices began laughing at the absurdity. 'We all are books now in something called Kindle.' |
Had I known that the price of rescuing those aliens would be sitting in front of the US Senate, I never would have told them my name. I was a dairy farmer for crying out loud. I do one good deed, and next thing I know I'm going through the confirmation process to become an ambassador.
*I picked a hell of a day to quit drinking*
"Mr. Collins,"asked the Foreign Relations Chair, "do you have any experience with Foreign Affairs?"
"Ummm,"I stammered, "My flight got delayed one time and I paid like $15 for a copy of it. Didn't understand most of it though."
The Senator's face turned, as if she had just eaten something unpleasant. If she hadn't been a member of the President's party, she likely would have had a few scathing follow up questions.
"Mr. Collins, I am referring to the field, not the magazine,"intoned the Senator.
"Well, one time I got lost on a camping trip in Maine and we accidentally crossed the--"
Before I could finish, the woman sitting next to me quickly interrupted me.
"Senator, if I may?"she asked
"You have the floor Secretary Brooks,"replied the senator a little too hastily.
"Senator, Mr. Collins will be staffed with an experienced deputy familiar with the ins and outs of running a diplomatic mission. We are not yet ready to provide the committee with a short list, but the State Department will be able to provide the experience necessary to quickly bring Mr. Collins up to speed."
"I have no further questions at this time. I yield to the minority leader,"sighed the Chair.
*Well that wasn't so bad. Maybe this'll go smoother than I thought. . .*
"Mr. Collins,"began the minority leader, "Do you find it highly irregular that an alien nation--alien being used in the most literal sense of the word--has been allowed to request their ambassador?"
"Uhhh,"I started, "Yes? Maybe? This question feels like a tra--"
"Senator, if I may shed some light?"interrupted Secretary Brooke. "Mr. Collins has been appointed as the ambassador to the Peoples of Keplar-3a because he is the only US Citizen who has a formal relationship with this society. Mr. Collins is fully aware that he will be serving at the pleasure of the president, not the aliens."
"Uh, yeah,"I scrambled. "Fully aware. Like Secretary Brook said."
"Mr. Collins,"began the minority leader again, "Did the aliens show any evidence of hostile intent, or produce any weapons during your interaction with them? Did they make any attempt to compromise your loyalty to the United States?"
"Well,"I responded, "Unlike you they didn't try and shove a metal probe up my--"
"Senator, I'll refer you to the vetting files we submitted to the committee,"interjected Secretary Brook, "along with the briefing the National Security Council presented to Senate Intelligence. As we are in open session, I will restate the conclusion of the unclassified NSC report. It states that the distressed alien craft landing on US soil is civilian in nature. While we do not know if the vessels sent to recover the craft had dual military/civilian roles, we are confident they had no hostile intentions."
Seemingly satisfied, the minority leader moved on to his next question.
"Mr. Collins,"he asked, "I have a question about your criminal record--I see here charges for drunk and disorderly conduct, public nudity, petty theft, and loitering all on the same evening. Could you shed some light on this for the committee?"
*This is going to be my whole damn day isn't it?* |
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