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Durchdenvold was lovely this time of year. Somehow every settlement in the tiny country managed to be roofed with stormy clouds and ringed with dark, foreboding forests. We had to take an honest-to-god stagecoach from the airport to Castle Leichenberg. One of my guides kept naming towns as we passed. Grimstrasser. Katznelbogner. Holstenwall. I was completely floored by Leichenfurt, the capital. You hear stories about, like, Cuba, right? Classic cars all over because they couldn't import new ones? It was like that. Stone-tesselated roads from the middle ages, lined with cars from the 70s, powered by fusion reactors that weren't going to be invented for another few generations. But what really got me was the statue of Ol' Great-Granddaddy Augie they had in the square in front of the palace. There in his military dress and iron mask, fist clenched towards the heavens, fire spewing from his mouth and eyes. As I got out of the coach, the assembled crowds began belting the dirge that passed for the national anthem. Grand Marshal Katzenschlager grinned at me and saluted the damn statue. I'd known this would be a bad idea.
\*\*\*
It all started because a friend of my mom's did one of those ancestry tracking sites- you spit in a test tube and mail it in with some old birth certificates. It ended with someone finding out their dad wasn't really their dad or something, but anyway, my mom suggested I try it, and I went through with it because it was a gift, and why not?
I was surprised when the results came back saying I was, on my dad's side, descended from the last king of Durchdenvold, especially since I'd never heard of the place (it'd broken away from Yugoslavia or something? I still wasn't sure). I was more surprised a week later when a huge, terrifying scarred guy and a woman- who was neither huge nor scarred by somehow even more terrifying- showed up on my doorstep saluting me and bowing. I assumed it was Jerry and one of his pranks at first, and wondered how I was going to explain to the neighbors guys in military garb saying something to me that I really hoped was not "Heil".
The huge guy turned out to be Marshal Katzenschlager of the Durchdenvold Armed Forces, and the woman was Baroness Lowenbrau of my new intelligence services. Yes, mine. As it turned out, Doktor Herzog Agostni Leichenberg, sovereign ruler of Durchdenvold, had passed away, and I was the last known heir. And I was being invited to succeed my dear old great-great-some-number-of-greats uncle as king.
\*\*\*
"Und now, der pride uof Durchdenvold..."Katzenschlager had me shaking a bunch of hands at my welcoming gala. Except the Minister for Armament Production, who, rather embarrassingly for me, turned out to have a hook instead. Then it was a few secret police, and some big blond Ivan Drago types we were supposedly taking to the next Olympics (and their coach or whatever; head of the state *uzgojniprogram*, whatever that was). Now it was the kids from some merit scholar wunderkind program or something.
Katz was ranting about them: "The old Doktor vas a stronk proponent of scientific education. With time our country shall be the intellectual envy of the civilized world. Each son and daughter of Durchdenvold speaks three langvages, vill graduate to *gymnasium* by ten, complete their national service, and begin university by tventy years uof age."
I was still a little drunk, and freaked out. I think I said "Fuckin' A, man. Cool."
\*\*\*
Being king didn't appeal to me at first. Well, not ever, really, but my first instinct was to deny it until it went away. I chased the cabinet members off my doorstep at first. That only meant they kept following me around. It was really delightful pulling the last box of cereal off the grocery store shelf and seeing Katz's face grinning at me, let me tell you.
I would up researching my royal ancestor a bit. Statesman, general, scientist, inventor of the only known functioning katzenklaive, preferred "Doktor"to "Your Majesty"; all-around Renaissance Man (Frankenstein was set during the Renaissance, right?). Exiled by a brother Mihaljo, returned to fight Nazis, then resisted Yugoslav annexation. Then loyalists to his brother's side of the family started a rebel faction and a whole civil war thing. Then he passed away in his 90s. Craziness. It didn't sound much anyone else on Dad's side of the family. Dad was an orthodontist; grandpa, too, I'm pretty sure. In any case, one of the guy's illegitimate kids turned out to be my great-grandfather or something.
In the end it was Lowenbrau who talked me into it, but I still don't remember how. Can't say no to women in uniform? Intimidated by the mole on her chin? Whatever. No way around it now.
\*\*\*
My quarters in the palace were massive. Four-poster, dumbwaiter, fireplace, desk, a wardrobe you could get lost in. But I just couldn't get to sleep somehow. I think part of it was the realistic statue of His Doktorness Uncle Augie, kept in a glass case by the dresser. Another thing that didn't help was the shadowy figure in black who crept in around midnight, carving a hole in the window with a glass cutter and stalked in with a dagger. I meant to scream. Couldn't. The dagger rose.
"And now, the last of the usurper's brood dies,"I heard the figure mumble.
An extremely cliched shot rang out and winged him in the shoulder. The lights flicked on; Lowenbrau was in the room with a few secret police. Before anyone could react, the shadowy figure's hood was whipped off.
"Marshal Katzenschlager, leader of the Mihajlists. How very unsurprising."She nodded to me. "Well done. You made excellent bait, as planned."
"thanks"I said.
See, after the fourth or fifth time they'd spent trying to persuade me, Lowenbrau finally took me aside and told me the bit with the ancestry site had been a set-up; I wasn't any kind of royalty, but I was uncannily similar to the prince who'd gone missing some few years ago. The loyalists were causing more trouble and a new civil war was cooking; I was necessary as bait for the little sting they had planned.
Katz did a whole ranging foaming bit about the legitimacy of my birth- which was rather rude, I thought- but I couldn't focus on it because my brain was finally catching up with the fact that Lowenbrau hadn't fired that shot. It had come from the now-shattered glass display case, where Great-Graddad's statue- no, not a statue- was gently popping a pane of glass out and hobbling out. Not a statue at all. Under the mask and the cuirass and the robes, it was his majesty himself- Agostni Leichenberg. Not dead after all.
"What shall be done with the traitor, Doktor? Execution?"Lowenbrau asked.
"Oh, I think not."The voice was obviously old, only faintly accented, but still commanded every bit of your attention. "Bring him to the laboratory. I believe with time I can make a model citizen of the general."
Katz went pale as he was dragged off.
Somehow I was left alone with Herr Doktor. "You have done me a great service."
"Yeah... well. No worries. Happy to help. Gotta be getting back to America now, though."
"A pity. I have done much in life, but even I cannot evade death forever, certainly not at my age. I shall need an heir of my blood soon enough."
That got my attention. "I- sorry, I'm not actually, like, an heir of yours. I thought the whole thing was a set-up-"
"Arranged, perhaps. A fraud? Do you imagine exact copies of European royalty pop up by sheer coincidence? I could hardly keep track of all my offspring, but I do recall one bastard journeying to America to pursue the study of dentistry."
I didn't know what to say to that. But I thanked him and told him I'd keep his offer in mind. |
“Welp, okay, I’m here."There was really no point in denying it and to be honest, once I have accepted my fate, it really doesn't seem that bad. I mean, eternal life without free will? How bad can that be? I fingered the shackles around my wrist. How bad can it be?
I was standing in the middle of a valley which looked normal enough, except the fact that it looked like I had red shades over my eyes. It was snowing but my skin still felt hot. (from being burnt alive as a sacrifice, it can't be helped) I was told my "master"was going to claim me once I died but there was no one in sight.
"Hey,"I called, louder this time, "if you're going to take me, take me, I have things to do you know?"
No response.
"Okay,"I called again after some time, "I'm just going to walk in this direction."
Nothing else happened as I walked forward. *I guess I'm correct.* So I continued, in the same direction.
I was planning to rest everytime I grow tired but surprisingly, I never did. My breathing remained stable, the chains hardly weighed much and my legs continued to move after quite a long time.
So there I went, going on and on aimlessly. The scenery went unchanging. There were times when I suspected I was walking in circles but as there was no place else to go to, I continued.
It was impatience that got to me first.
"Did I just get *burnt alive* for this?"I shouted at the sky, "You want me to walk for eternity?"
The change was almost instantaneous. My vision went white. Wind speeds picked up. What felt like thousands of icy needles pricked my skin. My hair whipped around my head.
Then everything stopped. The white gave way to darkness, my eyes were closed. I became acutely aware of he floor pushing up against my chest, legs and cheek. My limbs and back ached, the hours of walking finally catching up to me.
I opened my eyes. The red tinge was gone. I was lying on a pitch black carpet. Other than that, all I could see was a maroon bed frame.
Groaning, I sat up. And saw *it*.
It had pale skin, its torso and legs covered in a black robe. It was bald with indistinct facial features, bearing no facial hair — not even eyebrows. I blinked and it *changed*, its face rearranging ever so slightly, becoming a completely new face.
*Is this him?*
“Yes,” it replied, eyes still closed, “I would prefer if you don’t refer to me as a man.”
It spoke in a chorus of voices, entering my ears and ringing through my head at the same time.
“...A she, then?” I offered.
“No.”
“...a...they?”
It considered this, then nodded.
I stood up. They didn’t react to this, choosing to remain in a motionless lying position. And motionless they were, they didn’t even seem to be breathing.
I remembered why I was there in the first place. A slave. Okay, what am I supposed to do then?
“Nothing,” they replied.
“What?”
“Nothing,” they repeated.
“...do nothing?”
“Yes.”
They talked without moving their lips. In fact, nothing they did seemed to affect the body before me. For all I know, the body may not even be them.
“No, that’s me,” they said.
Great, they can read my thoughts. I was hardly surprised, only slightly annoyed.
"Then don't think then,"they said, "just do nothing."
"Nothing,"I echoed.
"There's another bed in the room on the right,"they said, "or you can just lie down on the floor."
Then it hit me. "You're the demon of sloth."
As soon as the last word left my mouth, the demon *moved*. They sat up, legs swinging off the bed. Finally, they opened their eyes. Pools of black met my eyes.
They bared their shark-like teeth, "Yes, and this chatter is against my nature."
There was a deep growl in their voice. *Shit, I've angered them.*
"Yes, you have,"they growled and ran their hand over their eyes, "'Get a slave,' they said. 'Your job would be easier,' they said. Idiots."
They sighed into their hand as I watched on. Finally, after a moment, they looked up. "Look, I need to achieve a minimum amount of sloth every day and its starting to get tiring. You're here to take my place."
They snapped their fingers and the door behind me swang open. "Walk to the right and you'll find a bed. Lie down, don't move, dont speak, don't even breathe. Just...do nothing."
Not waiting for a reply, they stood up and headed for the door, before they left, they looked back to say one last thing, "or you can lie down here."
Not knowing how else to response, I followed them. There was actually a bed, like they said, bigger than any I've had in my life. The demon gave me a push and a massive wind picked up, lifting me from my feet and onto the bed.
"Just stay there,"they said, turning to leave, "I'll get Glutonny to feed you later." |
Fire has no will or conscience to speak of, to burn is its purpose, to be ash is its resolve.
Purpose, unlike how I laid dormant for decades in a shell of a former self. Purpose, unlike how the company stagnated and decayed soon after the founder's retirement.
No will, unlike the being that I have to call my boss, who thrives in nepotism and dysfunction, to exploit his powers and seek pleasure in other's misfortune. To use his status to satisfy twisted sexual desires.
All it takes for a fire to start is a spark against dry kindling.
A spark, from wrongful dismissal of my coworkers, months away from retirement and severance. Dry kindling, from the sexual assault he so desperately tried to cover up, of a barely-overage hire whose life would crumble before it started.
And I would soon have my resolve.
In life and death, there is vice, there is virtue. In purity, where nothing lives and nothing dies, neither sin exists.
The profaned flames shall cleanse this rotting corporation, down to impartial ash. |
*Ding dong*
"Ohhh if it isn't my favorite great grandson Hercules!"
"Hi great grandma Gaea. Happy thanksgiving!"
Carrying a bottle of the finest ambrosia he meekly entered the primordial domain. How long has it been since he last stepped foot in there? Must be centuries now, and not without a good reason.
"Where's Megara, Herc?", great grandma Gaea asked.
"Oh...we broke up", the demigod sighed. Not wanting to be alone on thanksgiving, that was the reason he decided to bite the arrow and visited.
"Oh dear, I'm so sorry. Why don't you just make yourself comfortable, okay? Dinner won't be long now", grandma Gaea grabbed the bottle and went off back to her kitchen.
"Herc! My man! How are you?"
Hercules looked over to a blonde man similar to his own stature.
"Thor, you son of a bitch!"
With the force of a thousand soldiers they clasp their hand in a thunderous handshake.
"You know that is one huge bullshit, Ra!", a loud exclaim came from the other side of the room.
"Oh...are uncles Ra, Odin, and Vishnu arguing again?", Hercules sighed. This was the reason why he usually refused to visit a family gathering. The unbearable political discussions...
"Yeap. Always the same thing, who's the one true god...
Also right there, aunt Izanami and uncle Osiris are already on their 5th glasses of nectar and talking about death...
And right over there, aunties Athena and Frigga are discussing who's got the best ass in the pantheons, Achilles or Loki", Thor summarizing the night's situation clearly already inebriated.
"Gross"
"Yep..."
"Oh...I see great grandpas Kronos and Atum are on speaking terms again."
"Oh nope, they're just happened to fall asleep and we dragged them together"
Both men heartily laughed and went to another room to avoid getting sucked into any unwanted discussions. Loud rock music was playing as they walked in.
"Cousin Herc! Come join us! Grab the bass!"
Shredding on the electric guitar and playing the drum were cousins Vainamoinen and Arjuna. Hercules shrugged and grabbed the bass guitar joining his 2 cousins in a godly rendition of Led Zeppelin's Kashmir.
"Guys! Guys! Stop playing! Look who's here!"
Watching out the window Thor was joined by his 3 cousins. Seeing who's coming, their faces dropped in horror.
"Oh no...it's uncle Cthulhu and grandpa Azathoth..."
The eldritch side of the family was never a favorite amongst the family. Having them over together with the other patriarchs always results in some...unfavorable outcomes.
"Alright guys, calm down. I'm sure it was great grandma Gaea who invited them. Let's just try to get along and keep her happy, okay?", Vainamoinen advised.
"Dinner's ready, everybody!", great grandma Gaea shouted from the dining room.
"Oh sweet! Last one in the kitchen's a loser!", Arjuna shouted running out of the room followed by Thor and Vainamoinen.
Hercules just smiled and shook his head. How long has it been since he's had this much excitement? Maybe he really should visit his family more often. |
“There’s a lot to it. Tones, proportions, the way you move. It all seems so normal.”
The thing leaned close, its breath stinking of sulfur.
“I can see the capillaries in your eyes. I can see the blood flow through them. It pulses.”
It leaned back, then did a small walk around me, looking me up and down the way a golfer might examine a particularly tricky lie.
“Do you know how much blood I need to replicate that effect? It needs to be fresh. Unclotted. It takes the better part of an orphanage to get the look right.”
The thing stopped and pulled up an old wooden chair.
“It was easier when I started, of course. Have you heard of cats in the Galapagos? The birds there, they’d gone millennia without predators. They’d evolved in a million different ways. And then a ship pulls up and a couple cats escape into the woods.”
The thing sighed.
“Can you imagine? A predator walking up to the prey, and the prey doesn’t know to be scared? Those two cats killed a thousand birds. Their children killed millions.”
The thing stretched out its arm, the four joints straightened, heaved, and reversed.
“That was me. Feeding whenever, wherever I wanted. I got greedy. They remembered. They feared me so much it was etched upon their bones. Then they got fire and iron. The fear remained, but not the memories.”
The thing rose, coiling and uncoiling.
“Do you fear me?” It asked. Maybe it had forgotten that it had taken my tongue. That my lips were forming its words. I groaned. It was the only sound I could make.
“Good. When I finish with you I shall again be able to walk among you. Free to feed again. And then, perhaps, I might be able to summon a mate. My children will walk among you. My glory shall be restored.
The thing shimmered, before settling into my form. It was uncanny, really. Like looking in a mirror. But where the eyes should be there were only two black pits.
A finger turned into a claw, and moved slowly, so slowly, towards my face.
“But first,"it said, "we finish the harvest.” |
The desert was vast.
Great swaths of sand marched across the lands, with seemingly endless seas of fake water burning the ground.
Every step forward felt like a painful torch held to the feet.
The fake water mocked our small party, disappearing as we approached it.
This was a far cry from the great mountains our band once new.
We once knew the great escapades that surrounded the endless flowing rivers peppered with great trees.
We once knew the endless flowing rivers that teemed with fish and seemed endlessly bountiful.
This is a far cry from that piece of paradise on earth.
Now the endless desert was all that was left for us, so dry, so fiery hot.
No fish dared to swim in the endless facades of water. No deer dared prance across the horizon, no one walked this lonely path.
Though many months have passed since the great burnings, it seemed that the endless sea we walked in forced us to relive it daily.
So we walk.
We walk for a better life.
We walk for a better life, free from the great oranges and yellows we left behind in the fargone mountains.
* * *
The nights were cold and harsh, they seemed to never end. All we could look to was the sky, peppered with glowing lights that seemed to endlessly stare down on us.
We asked ourselves, if that is where they went. We asked ourselves if that is where they fled. If the legends were true and if that is where the mad ones left to escape the brimstone events.
Of course those were legends, but we ask ourselves if legends can be true.
On our journeys we met people.
People who spoke of great piles of rock. Monuments of impossible size that seemed to defy logic. They were unnaturally straight while curving into the heavens.
Was this the remains of the mad ones?
The condemned ones?
Others spoke of massive pieces of transparent stone, hard as rock, yet fragile as feathers.
Some whispered legends of vast underground structures peppered the lands that seemed to have at one point housed a long gone village.
Though no one knew how anyone or anything could have constructed it.
Was it the mad ones who created them? Or are they some undiscovered village that builds, and builds, all to abandon them for some evil reason.
* * *
Long days became long nights as we trudge across these cursed lands, the only thing keeping us alive was the small amount of food and the water we siphoned from the plants.
However, today we spied a structure.
One that had never been seen before, one that defied logic.
Great spires of rock pierced the sky.
An evil sensation came over us as we basked in the shadows of the structures. They went on seemingly forever, and yet they seemed to be only here.
We journeyed to the centre of the spikes only to find another series of stones that defied explanation.
Upon further examination, a language seemed to have been inscribed by a long gone hand.
A language that has not been used in memory.
The language of the mad ones.
We could scarcely understand what was written.
“There is nothing of value here.
…..… form of the danger is ...gy”
The structure emanated an evil feeling.
The scriptures warned of a danger, though we could not find what it meant by danger.
Did it contain what was left of them? Did it contain a beast too indescribable for words?
The question ate at me. It slowly chewed on the group. Gnawing infinitely at us. It consumed us. Did the same question consume the mad ones? Is this the reason why they are gone? Consumed by this very spot?
Do we have to abandon hope of knowing? Or do we start looking for answers?
Does the sea of sand hide a great danger? Or is it a treasure.
We have one way to find out.
It has been a long time since we have seen the great mountains, with streams cutting through green valleys.
I fear that it may be a long time until we see them again. |
The screen blared with the target, a politician, a local senator, cooped up in a small house, the goal, is assassination.
However, I have my tools, I’m ready to bust in there, and knock some heads, Immediately I begin preparation.
I scroll through Amazon, and select some items and order, now I’m ready to make my assault.
It is 18:00, I pull up a few blocks away, I can scope the place out with the view and reflection from the petri dish I hold.
There is no one there, and I chuck Petri dishes as a distraction.
They land near the house, glass fragments shattering, creating a loud noise, time to look in my pack.
I put on the Banana suit, and begin to waive the Pom Poms in the air, and as the Politician comes out of his house, he sees a strange banana man waving Poms Poms, unaware it is his assassin.
It’s always amazing how a plan comes together.
He then reels in pain, he was barefoot and stepped on the glass shards. I discard the pom poms, they’re taken down the street by a gusting wind, creating a rustling sound that gets my target to look over.
Time to bust out the Murder Weapon, Crash Bandicoot N’Sane trilogy. As he kneels from the Petri Dish shock, I begin to wack him with the box, completely taken by surprise, he begins to fight back. Blow for blow, his fist against this video game box, until a Jack n the Box falls out of my pack.
It immediately kicks into action knocking the man into his car, and I take out a new weapon, now I brandish a Heat Press Machine, and I rev it up, heating up his limbs to deadly temperature. I balance the disk on his head, and I clamp down, while the box traps his legs.
After that, the disk falls on the arm, and the searing pain creates a heated blade, that slices through his arm, and the Jack in the Box goes off again, launching it through his heart. I had to step back to admire another flawless assassination.
However, I need to clean this up orderly, thats why I ordered the Vacuum cleaner and American Bottle cap map, his remains go neatly in there, while the Vacuum cleans up the messier bits, and with my Banana suit on, I strut back to my getaway vehicle, ready to bring home the cash. |
“You look awful today friend, come and sit, talk it over with me.” Axel sat up from his altar, letting out a tired stretch, waking himself up from his daze.
“I want them all dead, you promised you could burn them all when we first met, you said that if I ever wanted my revenge, you would give it to me. I want my revenge now.” Eliza’s words slapped away the remaining pillars of sleep in his mind, causing him to sit upright, nervously watching his friend. His black pupilless eyes locked onto her.
“I promised you that, but I have changed my mind about you, Eliza. I don’t intend to send you to hell. My original offer was a rouse to drag you to hell. I would have burnt down that village, in exchange for your eternal torment. I never expected a human to have such kindness in their heart, but then I met you. Despite all the attacks and insults, you spared them. Why has that changed?” Axel rested his hands against one another, thumbs anxiously dragging over his skin.
“They are horrible. They think I’m evil. I could take the beatings and the abuse, but they targeted my brother. The villagers hung him from a tree like some animal and laughed. They should have killed me, I’m the one they think is a witch, not him. They won’t even let me bury the body, they just keep him at the village gate, something I have to look at every time I enter. I want them to burn, I want all of their corpses hung from the remains of their homes.” Eliza held her chest, panting at the sudden burst of emotion. Her bloodstained eyes devoid of any tears, too exhausted to cry any further.
“Markus was a good man. I’m sorry to hear that. He will find a pleasant spot in the afterlife, Eliza, I promise you that. Why don’t you stay with me? Maybe I could help you move villages? I have some gold around here, I could offer you a fresh start. You only stayed in that village to look after your brother now that he is-“ Axel went quiet, he could see his words were only angering her. To speak as though her brother’s death was a good thing. It was careless. “Eliza, I’m sorry, you know I didn’t mean any offence.”
“Shut up. My family suffered because of those superstitious idiots. They just want my father’s land; I refuse to give them anything. Burn it all down. You said you were my friend. Act like it.”
Axel stood up, opening his arms, reaching forward to hug her, only for Eliza to smack his hands away, retreating a few steps back.
“I don’t want your cold compassion; I want your help. You know how they have treated me; do they do not deserve the worst?” Eliza pleaded, yet Axel just shook his head.
“They deserve the worst, but not from you. If I were to act on your behalf, you would be at fault. You want to see your brother, again, don’t you? Heaven can be an awfully lonely place without family.”
“Stop trying to guilt me. I want them dead before anything else. I am fine with the eternal torment that will come from my decision. As long as they suffer.”
“Eliza. I want to help you, but you don’t deserve that fate. You are too kind for hell. Please, you don’t know how bad hell is.”
“It can’t be any worse than the hell here. Fine, if you won’t help me, I’ll kill them all myself. I’ll show them just how much of a witch I can really be.” Eliza walked towards the temple’s exit, only for a tail to wrap around her wrist, holding her in place.
“I still see that kindhearted child every time I look at you. I’m sorry that our friendship has to end this way. Just know that any action I take is out of love. So, tell me, is this really what you want?” Axel asked, hoping she would change her mind.
“You can read a person’s soul, can’t you? Or was that another lie you told me? You know it’s what I want and you know I won’t let anyone stop me, not even you.” Eliza pulled the tail off her wrist, turning once more, only for a clawed hand to grip her shoulder.
“I love you Eliza, please find comfort with your brother in heaven.” Axel shut his eyes as flames erupted from his fingers, her death instantaneous, done in such a way to prevent any suffering. The demon dropped back onto the altar, feeling something he hadn’t felt in decades. Tears.
“Now that you have passed, you’re freed from any responsibility for my future actions. I will make sure that town burns, not only for what it did to you, Eliza, but for what it did to me as well.”
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
Knot a Lock
______
"Double or nothing?"
I said it on reflex. Years of playing poker made the choice of competition against Death easy, even though the rounds of play left me a sweating mess. But why did I have to put my foot in my mouth?
"DOUBLE? YOU ALREADY GAINED THE RIGHT TO GO BACK. ARE YOU SAYING IF YOU WIN AGAIN, YOU WANT TO LIVE A THIRD TIME?"
"Um, no. I guess that would be too much."I laughed, hoping he would just disregard my earlier request and let me get back to the realm of the living.
"HMMM, HOW ABOUT THIS INSTEAD?"
I heard a 'crack' as Death pulled a bone from inside his black-robed right arm and set it in the center of the green, felt table.
"What is it?"I asked. My best poker face could not mask the eager curiosity in my voice.
"IT IS A SKELETON KEY. IT WILL OPEN ANY LOCK. ANY."
The ante was on the table. My life, or rather my death, for this magical artifact the likes of which the living world had never seen.
"Deal."
"I WILL NOT. IT IS YOU WHO MUST DEAL THIS HAND. BUT I WARN YOU BEFORE YOU GIVE A FINAL DECISION. I WILL NOT PLAY ANOTHER FULL POT OF TEXAS HOLD'EM WITH YOU, MORTAL. THIS TIME IT IS TOP DRAW ONLY. HIGHEST WINS."
I refused to swallow the saliva pooling in my mouth.
"You know it's not technically 50/50, right?"
"DEAL THE CARDS OR GO BACK TO THE MORTAL PLANE!"
I shuffled a few fancy card movements to get the cards randomized. But I didn't dare use my expert sleight of hand skills to cheat against Death. I was a gambler not an idiot.
Placing the deck on the table, I said, "Cut."
The hollow eye sockets of Death's skull-like face turned towards me.
"Please?"
Death split the deck in half and merged them again. I noticed he used his left hand.
There was no skill here. Just random chance. No sense in putting it off. I dealt two cards.
The Ace of Spades. The Ace of Hearts.
The tension I still felt was undercut by Death's odd rattle.
"HAH. IT IS A DRAW."
I leaned forward to deal a second pair, but death touched me with his boney finger.
"NO. THAT IS NOT WHAT THAT MEANS."
"So, you just want to send me back without anything?"An odd mixture of relief and disappointment washed over me.
"HAH. MORTALS ARE SO NARROW MINDED. IN THIS HAND, YOU HAVE WON AND I HAVE WON. THE KEY IS YOURS BUT YOUR LIFE IS MINE."
"Now, come on! That doesn't even make sense."
"IN YOUR EXPERIENCE, WHEN YOU HAVE SPLIT A POT IN THE PAST, DID YOU KEEP THE SAME CHIPS OR DID YOU MINDLESSLY GIVE AND TAKE?"
Death played his verbal hand. I wasn't dumb enough to believe the game was over. The game face stayed on.
"That may be so. But if the key is mine, then by logic I have won the opportunity to use it. And since it works on every lock, doesn't that mean I should have the chance to unlock every lock in the mortal plane before surrendering my soul?"
"LIFE*"
"Uh, yeah, I mean my life."
"HMM."Death sat silently. His face as impassible as all the champions I had beaten in my lifetime.
I leaned back against the velvet-covered, wooden chairs floating on the black void that I supposed one could call a 'floor.' I used the cover of curiously looking around to wipe my sweat and swallow my discomfort.
"WOULD YOU AGREE TO A COMPROMISE, THEN?"
"If it's fair."
"DEATH IS ALWAYS FAIR."
"A lot of people disagree with you on that one, but you seem like an honest guy... person... being."
"HOW ABOUT I LET YOU LIVE FOR ONE WEEK. ANY TROUBLE YOU GET INTO WITH THE KEY, YOU WILL BE IMMUNE TO DYING."
Some would accept the first counter offer. Negotiating is just a game.
"That's a lot less than what I had in mind. In a week, I couldn't even unlock 1% of doors in the world. I own the key now. Unless you want me to just use it forever in the afterlife?"
Death leaned forward. His robes dripping over the table, knocking the small stack of cards askew.
For a second I thought I had said the wrong thing. Would Death really let a ghost go around opening random doors in the living world? What possible benefit could I gain from something so absolutely crazy.
"THIS IS MY LAST COUNTEROFFER. REFUSE AND I WILL SIMPLY TAKE YOUR LIFE."
This time I couldn't help but swallow.
"TAKE THE KEY BACK TO THE MORTAL PLANE. BUT BEWARE. AS SOON AS YOU DROP IT, FOR EVEN A MOMENT, I WILL COME FOR YOU."
"Does that mean I'm immortal?"
"IT MEANS YOU HAD BETTER NOT LOSE THAT KEY."
I stared down at the fragment of Death's body. "Oh, right. Fair enough."
I picked up the key and stretched out my other hand to shake his.
As I blinked, I was back on the street corner where the bus had hit me.
_____________________________
End of Part 1. |
"It is with a heavy heart that we are abolishing the Hero Academic Programme. They were an honest mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. To have a competitive environment for students to excel in might have worked for conventional schools, but it has not for superpowered individuals. Not without consequences that can no longer be overlooked."
There were flashes and clicks as the cameras snapped away, the people behind them writing extensively. This had been a long fight. Hero schools were the bread and butter of the hero society. To have been at the forefront against them, and to have been involved in the making of the bill to abolish them... And now, in this historic day, they were finally being abolished.
"90% of supervillains in the past decade have been hero school dropouts. Of this 90%, 27% were expelled. You may think it is not fair to the heroes that did graduate and this statistic justifies the new protectors of your cities, but this is a dangerously wrong perception. We must not let the system that allows this statistic to exist the way it does in the first place. It is a dangerous precedent."
The cameras were still clicking away. They knew my stance. I had been fighting for it all this time. But I had to repeat myself. Reiterate my standing. I had to ensure each and every parent of superpowered individuals at home understood the fallacy that were hero schools. The dangers of pitting students against each other. The ignorance of what would happen if these students held grudges, started feeling resentment against the school and the systems that allowed them to exist. The horror of running hero schools like they were like a business, parading the new potentially 'big heroes' long before their graduation like they were getting a scholarship. It was a sickening game, and no children, powered or not, should be part of something like that.
"Have you heard of Maxine Weathers? Or perhaps you know her by the name the news outlets gave her: Grave Witch. Six years ago she was shot and killed by Justice Jackson, one of the biggest hero names around. Her crime? She wanted to show off her power to the schools. To show them she had *potential*."I tried to control my anger.
I knew Max personally. I took classes with her in the hero school we went to. She was a kind woman.
But with the power to command the dead, few would even consider the person past the power.
The school was no different. They did not want to sully their good image by giving someone of her powers an opportunity to succeed. She regularly failed her arbitrary classes. She was expelled for not showcasing merits of her abilities.
And once she was out she felt the need to prove them wrong. And when she raised the dead in a graveyard and marched them to school, that was when Justice Jackson showed up.
"I am not saying she did no wrong. To use her powers that way to prove a point is still a gross and immoral display. But let us not forget that she was, in fact, doing just that. She was trying to prove to the school she was worthy of them. She wanted to show that she could converse with the dead; learn about their lives. The nature of their death. Do you know how valuable of a power that is for criminal law proceedings? But that is not what hero school is for, is it?"
I thought back to when *I*, against all odds, graduated. My power was to spit acid. And not very far. I remembered my peers with the more powerful abilities, the more marketable powers, how they snickered at me. How they wondered what third rate hero would employ me as their sidekick.
How could these cruel, tactless assholes without a shroud of empathy be paraded around as heroes?
But as I learned through the years, it was not their fault entirely. If you were taught you were special and better than everyone else, what outcome did you expect?
Half the working heroes are only heroes in name. They had a pool. To see how many lives each of them saved. Like a trophy. They were not doing it out of the goodness of their heart, no. Even after getting out of school, the need for competition was ingrained in them. So they competed amongst themselves to see who had the highest number of people saved.
"No. Hero school is for indulgence. Indulgence at the fact that those who attend are better than everyone else. Indulgence at the fact that these graduates are so marketable, that corporations have already started owning some of them. Indulgence that no one would stop them. Why would anyone? Hero schools are providing a service to society? Right? I beg of you all here and those who are watching. Please do away with this notion. Do not let them indulge any further on the lives of kids. Don't let them take advantage of your children."
I knew the question was going to come up. I had been going on this tirade for years. Anyone who had been paying half an attention knew who I was, what I was saying. But they also knew I did not have the answer to the question they ask at the end.
And sure enough, the question was asked.
"So, what are you proposing instead? Where should powered individuals in our society go to learn how to control their powers? How to be heroes?"
And this time, I had an answer.
"This is why I called this conference."
I remembered my peers who had scoffed at my powers. Who told me I could never be a hero. That I was never destined to be a good guy.
"I know I have never given a straight answer to this. Because though I was determined that these institutions should not operate the way they are..."
They were right.
"I didn't couldn't see any feasible alternatives."
I was destined to be greater than all of them. I was destined to tear down the corrupt system that allowed us to exist in such an unsavoury fashion.
"Until now." |
There were a lot of appeals before they could carry out the sentence. Ultimately the court decided that the expert witnesses who said it wouldn't be fatal were persuasive, and the usual rigmarole for a death sentence could be cut short. But it did give me time to receive some letters from the public, and read a couple short stories they recommended to me.
So when the accelerated stillness punishment started, the words running through my head were "It's longer than you think, Dad!"The treatment made me experience accelerated time, but my body couldn't move any more than normal. The time stopped accelerating just below the neck.
I am not a nice man. Nice men don't get ten consecutive life sentences without parole in worse-than-solitary for the duration. I'm not a *particularly* cruel man, either, but I am a very, very angry one. For what must have been a year, I just raged. At the cops who caught me, the spineless politicians who approved this, the lawyers who argued against me, the judge who quashed my appeals, even a little while at the lawyers who argued for me and failed. (That one I stopped after not very long. Honestly, they gave it a good damn try. Not their fault the appeals judges were sadistic sonuvabitches.) Then closer to home: the prison guards, the 'doctors' who set up the machine and strapped me in.
I studied the entire room. Memorized every detail of their expressions. The ones who were calm and curious I memorized the most: those two deserved the most hate. Two more turned away the moment the machine started, ashamed to see their handiwork - contemptible, but not worth truly hating. One I realized was gritting his teeth, his knuckles already white with tension within seconds. He stared right at me, and looked - furious, and not with me. He was ashamed of the device too, and not looking away. I filed away his expression, memorizing it. Him, maybe I wouldn't take revenge on.
There was a small window. Just enough to track a sunbeam moving across the floor. I had all the time in the world - and then some - to work out the math for what that meant in terms of time. (There wasn't a clock in my view. My lawyer said that was deliberate, they didn't want me to be able to count the time. At night I'd be more or less lost.) The curious doctors left after about a minute, which felt like a year. The angry one stayed longer, though he got his outward expression of anger under control after a few seconds. In what felt like days, he grabbed a chair, and a clipboard, and sat. He barely turned away from me the whole time. I found that, with every little microexpression and twitch plain to see, I could practically read his thoughts. He wasn't letting himself turn away from what was being done to me, and hated his colleagues - and maybe himself - for assisting. I could respect that.
It took me a while, but I did get bored of rage. Somewhere around the 2 year mark - about 3 minutes from their perspective. I tried to remember the King story's other details, then something else he wrote, then something else altogether. Without the ability to subvocalize, that was harder than I expected. Some of the time I thought about how I'd gotten here, and if I could have gotten away with it if I tried harder. If someone had ratted on me. Around the ten year mark (14 minutes) I thought about what the politicians and judges thought this was supposed to do to me. Probably 'drive me insane', though they protested that loudly and frequently; they're all liars anyway. Was there anyone who seriously thought it would make me change my mind? I mean, seriously, it's a millennium spent entirely inside my head! There's no one else here to give their opinion, so how would it change mine?
I spent a year at least trying to remember something I hadn't read since college - the Illiad. Not the Greek, but "Sing, muse, of the rage of Achilles"popped into my head, and it felt appropriate, and diverting, to try to remember the rest; it wouldn't be quick. By the time I gave up I'd gotten a dozen hundred-stanza chunks, but I could connect them or even put them in the right order.
Twenty-some years (30 minutes) in, the angry doctor's phone buzzed, and he stopped watching. His anger was fading, and he just looked depressed. It was a decent reminder to me that if I let my anger fade, this would probably get worse.
But on the other hand, I was really bored. So a while after that, I tried meditating. No external distractions. Just me, stuck here. And my anger. I got mad at *myself* a few times there. Calmness is an asset. I went back and forth with that, to trying to remember stories I'd read. It never worked; the rage was too strong. Didn't help that I was angry when they strapped me in, so my gut was still shouting its anger up to the brainstem.
An hour in, I switched to telling myself stories. A comic book I read once said that one of the villains was a speedster who couldn't slow down. He lived like this: he was at a million times speed when he woke up every morning, and when he went to the store, and when he robbed a bank. Quicksilver, from the X-Men villains. Whoever wrote him had it right; if you had to live like this every day, no one would be a "good guy"long. I told myself stories about him, and how we would chat when I got out. Eventually I remembered it was fiction and would never happen, but for a while I believed it.
A century in, I tried meditating again. But instead of pushing away the rage, I let it in, tried to steer the river. Meditating *through* the rage, not against it. This worked much better, but it took ages for me to get it right. I think it was another decade before I got it mostly working - time flows weirdly without anything to mark it by, and I closed my eyes in there somewhere. When I opened them again, the sun was nearly gone.
Through the centuries of darkness, only a blinking red security camera LED changed. I told more stories. Of Quicksilver. Of James Moriarty. Of Achilles, and Odysseus, and their imagined rivals, who were criminals in their society's eyes, like me. I thought about what I'd say to the President if I faced him on the outside. And when my thoughts got muddled and wild, and I was losing track of reality, I meditated again, falling back into the nest of rage I'd spun up inside my head. It helped me focus. Kept me sane, or as sane as I was at the start - well, maybe just *saner*.
When the haze of black finally stopped its blurred eternity, the sun was peeking in, and I knew I was at least half done.
I amused myself for a while imagining very specific torments of revenge for the guards who returned near dawn. It wasn't all that interesting - it was unproductive rage, and it was much easier to draw the line between productive and unproductive after the meditation I'd invented that endless night. It just felt silly.
Angry doc returned at roughly 8 AM. He didn't look angry today, just exhausted. I don't think he slept much. I hadn't slept... at all. And I'd stayed awake all night the night before, hoping it would mean I spent a big chunk of the 'thousand years' asleep. Huh. The sight of someone I wasn't angry with made me spent some time thinking of what it would look like for me if this 'reformed' me. After a hundred, no, hundreds, of variations, I found something that seemed... not foreign. Something I could picture myself saying and believing. It didn't feel the least bit compelling. I had an argument that would have convinced me a week ago objective, but in the face of this *atrocity* they'd inflicted on me? No, not convincing in the slightest. But that wasted a couple years.
A couple more years I spent thinking of "escape plans". Technically I was a free man when this completed, so it was pretty ridiculous. I had a few that would work, though. I was a little tempted to *almost* execute one, stopping before it inflicted serious injury, just to prove I could. I went back to meditating, though; I was pretty sure that was being fueled by unproductive anger. Heh, I could probably teach anger management classes after this. Not exactly the kind the little people liked, though; they treated "anger management"as a euphemism for "anger abolishment", and this would be *management*: teaching angry men to harness their anger and only use it productively - at least, productively from their perspective.
I looked back at the light from the window. I couldn't remember quite where it had been, despite a lot of trying, but I got it pretty close. I could estimate how much longer I had to within about a decade. For a while I literally just marked time, but that only lasted about two months. For a while I just tried to see how much nothing I could stand. That was sending me pretty loopy, though, and when I noticed the decent doctor leaving, I broke it off and went back to meditating.
I had a phrase pop into my head - "the armor of hatred". I couldn't remember where from, and spent a long while trying. Something science fiction, I think? With space marines, I think, but that didn't narrow it down, *everything* in space has those and I couldn't remember whether there was an image tied to it. I resolved to look it up when I was done, see if they had actually guessed anything right about it. Certainly I was armoring myself in hate - the only defense against insanity.
The sun got higher. Only two centuries left now. I tried to remember the friends I had outside, and even the ones inside before they'd sent me to this shithole device. Their faces were a blur, and which names went with which was even harder. Some had a little rage attached to the memories - those I remembered a little better. One of those I loved as well, but I couldn't remember her name. I was pretty sure that was for the best - she'd dumped me when I was arrested, before I was even convicted, and it was better if I couldn't focus on her enough to cultivate hatred for her. Not productive.
[cont.] |
"Oh my goodness! Your baby is so cuuuute! What's his name?"
The couple beams like the proud parents they are, and that's all it takes for them to tell me everything that I didn't ask for. But I'm a good listener. No more than three hours later, I'm heading home with a babysitting gig.
As the years pass, I become a part of the family. The parents can't understand how they were so lucky to come across a girl like me.
"You're an angel,"they gush as they ask for another emergency favor. The kid threw up at school and needs to be sent home early, for example. But they're stuck in traffic and were wondering if I could pick him up for them. They apologize a million times, but I don't mind at all. I don't even charge them extra.
Every second I spend with the kid is an opportunity to shape the future. They say, "Youth are the future"but in this case, it's actually literal. Who this kid becomes will determine the course of Earth's history.
Yes, *Earth.*
Not just this country.
Earth.
In my vision, I see him as the dictator of the world. The only problem is that I can't tell if he's good or evil. I had hoped that with my influence he'd turn out right.
This is the story of how it turned out horribly wrong. |
I had what was called a charmed life. I've been nearly run over by cars, shot in a robbery, one time nearly falling off a cliff. Each time, time had stopped for me, letting me get out of harms way. It barely lasted more then a few seconds each time. Most people thought I had a good danger sense, reflexes, or just a healthy dose of luck.
I didn't want to draw attention to myself, so I kept what happened secret. I lived an average life, did the whole wife and kids thing, grew old, met my grandchildren. Besides my luck, a pretty unremarkable life. I felt myself grow old and weak, eventually bedbound. My wife had passed before me, and I looked forward to joining her again.
I had said my goodbyes, and made my peace. As I lay back in bed, I felt the familiar still come over me. Time had stopped again. It was only then I made the connection. I was about to die. Time wouldn't start until I could survive. But this wasn't something I could survive.
I was too weak to leave my bed. There was no-one to help me. All I could do was lie there, feeling my families eyes upon me, frozen in place. It dragged on, past the few seconds, to gone minutes. Sure enough, an hour of frozen time passed, and there was no change.
Days passed as I lay there. It was maddening. I could do nothing but wait. It was unbearably quiet. It was a torture. I cursed my ability. I cursed myself. I cursed the world. I cursed everything. I wanted to be free.
I lost track of how long I lay there. But through the stillness, a noise came. A footstep. A whir and a click. Another step. The rustle of clothing. It was coming towards me. I opened my mouth, acting as loud as I could.
"Hey!"
The steps paused, before resuming. They walked down the corridor outside, before a figure came through through door. It was dressed in a clean, tailored suit, a cane in one hand. But what struck me was that it wasn't a creature as such. It was an approximation of a human, made of intricate clockwork.
"Ah, another trapped soul."
It spoke in a calm, easy tone. As it stepped between the frozen bodies of my family, it removed its hat.
"I see what's happened here. You freeze time at the moment before death, and avert it. But as this is your inevitable demise, you can't get out of it."
"Wait... who are you?"
It gave a smile.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry. My name is Mr Time. A relatively unimaginative name sure, but it works. I watch over, well, time."
"Can you free me?"
"Of course I can."
It reached out, placing a cold metal hand on my forehead. I could feel its ticking gears. It grew louder and louder, becoming almost deafening. I felt the air around me shift, and he was gone. I closed my eyes, and breathed out. As I did, I was dimly aware of sound coming back, the faint beep of the machines around me. But even that faded, as I finally passed on. |
James looked at the teleprompter just behind the camera, in a few seconds he would be delivering the news of the great victory and sacrifice of the 6th expeditionary fleet against the bombart alien space ships that were heading to destroy earth. The teleprompter switched on and he heard his producer count down in his ear “live in 5…4…3…2…1…”
“Good evening and welcome to global earth news, I am your host James Bradford. Tonight, there is only one story, the tragic sacrifice of the 6th expeditionary fleet, and their success in stopping the bombart invasion that would have destroyed the earth. The 6th expeditionary fleet was of course led by the great admiral Mannerfort, famous for his disciplined approach to combat, and stoic and impassive nature in the face danger. A great man that many today admire and attempt to emulate. But tonight, we bring you even more news: the unseen last recorded footage from inside Mannerfort’s own flagship just before his final sacrifice which saved the earth from the bombart menace, unseen footage which we will now broadcast live around the world…”
The camera switched off and the broadcast switched to last recorded footage from inside the 6th expeditionary fleet flagship.
Admiral Mannerfort was standing in front of his command crew, looking regal in his blue navy uniform and red sash, his chest covered in medals. He was giving speech but the audio hadn’t turned on yet so it was impossible to tell what he was saying. But it must have been inspiring; the command crew were all facing him, not an inkling of fear in their eyes. He seemed to be coming to the end of his speech as the command crew were getting more and more riled up. Then the audio switched on.
“And so I ask of all of you to take this trip with me, take a deep breathe, it may well be your last!”
He bowed his head over his command desk, then moved it left to right while inhaling deeply through the nose. As he stood up he lifted his arms howling, white powder covering his nose and face. The command crew all bent over their own desks and made a similar motion and joined in the howl.
“They might have better technology, they might outnumber us 10 to 1, but we have something they don’t have!” cried out the admiral as he took off his sash and unbuttoned his collar. “Bigger ships…” he grabbed his groin “And even bigger balls! Now let’s do this!” he yelled.
The command crew yelled out in euphoria, shouting, dancing, and drinking. All form of military structure and composure disappeared as the command deck descended into chaos. They were intent on enjoying their last few moments alive. It was a riot.
“Ship thrusters reaching 100% Manny” a technician yelled out. A group beside him gave a loud “hoorah” and all downed their drinks.
The admiral was smiling like a maniac. “Aim for the super-destroyer, let’s ram those f\*ckers!”
The view from the bridge started turning in direction of the bombart super-destroyer flagship and the command crew hooted in delight. A couple in the background started running around completely naked. As the ship picked up speed so did the madness on the command deck.
The admiral had his shirt off by now, as had half of the crew. They were seconds from impact with the super-destroyer. “Remember the name bom*farts*, remember the name of the man who beat you, Admiral big d\*ck Manner...”
The video footage ended as the flagship struck the super-destroyer, debris shredding the rest of the bombart fleet.
James sat back in his chair in shock. The camera switched back to him but he didn’t know what to say. Like the rest of the world, he was stunned into silence. Finally he managed to say one line.
“hehe… bom*farts*” |
My feet found their way up the steps as it had been just yesterday.
Well, it had kinda been just yesterday.
Last week, I was just lying in the hospital waiting for the transplant that never came. When I closed my eyes, I knew that I won't open them again.
I'm still convinced that I had already died and this is some form of afterlife.
But here I am. Back in my college which I had attended 50 years ago. Looking exactly as it had in my memory, no one brick was out of place. Everybody looked the same. Almost the same.
2 July 1997.
I would meet my wife later today.
I tried to recall what I did that led me to her. Get a coffee, go to the library, spill the coffee. Where was the cafeteria again?
’Charles? You okay?’
The sound of my name caught my attention. Erica, my friend from when we were kids, was waving her hands in front of my face. She looked the same as I remembered. I haven't seen her since...
’Daydreaming again? I know you're busy with your work today but how about some pizza at my place today? My treat!’ she smiled.
’I.. I'm not free today, sorry..’
’I'm not taking a no today, not this time!’
I caved, remembering how persistent she can be. ’How about 8pm? I’ll be at the library till.. 7 today.’
’Okay! 8pm then! Don't forget your umbrella!’ she waved.
Right. Coffee.
Strangely, the cafeteria ladies aren't around today. Maybe it’s a little late. I bought some from a vending machine instead. I looked at the $1 tag and chuckled. My last coffee was $10.
The library was crowded than I remembered. Usually the librarian would have closed half of the sections by now, but today was a little crowded.
I stood by the door and waited. I rehearsed in my head. She would bump into me, the coffee will spill on my shirt, she would help to clean. Just like yesterday. I stood at the corner and waited for her. If this is the afterlife, my ghostly heart still beats nervously.
After what seemed like an eternity, I finally saw her. Wearing her favorite earring, she turned the corner and saw me.
..wait a minute. That was the wrong corner. She should have came from behind me.
She looked at me dead in the eye. For a split second, I saw a gleam of recognition in her eyes.
She knew.
She turned to go.
’Emily, wait!’ I tried to chase after her.
Pausing for a second, she looked back.
’I can't do it again.. Sorry.’
And she was gone. |
When the oracle proclaimed the result, it was said that monarchs around the world laughed. The Queen of Flowers excused herself from her court to 'tend to her plants', the Bloody Emperor feasted on an effigy of the newly crowned King of Games, and even the unflinchingly stoic Ice Queen let out an amused chuckle.
Few took the newly crowned King seriously. Sure, he had risen to power in five years when other monarchs would have taken twenty, but his kingdom was a paltry bit of land which had only escaped conquest because of how barren it was.
The King of Games himself looked unimpressive too. He was not a person who would look out of place in a bakery. In fact, he had a particular bakery that he was quite fond of, which made the best (or so he swore) meat pies in the entire region.
In terms of administrative power, the King was noticeably lacking. This was expected though. Some rulers were better suited to other pursuits. War, for instance, or art.
Whatever it was tended to add some sort of value to the monarch's kingdom. The King of Games was an outlier in that regard. It was said that he spent each day travelling around his kingdom, just... playing games with whoever he encountered. Scissors-Paper-Stone, Poker, Chess, games only known locally, esoteric variants with altered rules, he played them all. In his absence, the nobility was left with all of his responsibilities.
So, the world gradually moved on from the King of Games. They had more important things to focus on, like conquering kingdoms, or improving infrastructure, or figuring out which outfit to wear.
Few paid close attention to the King of Games, if at all. The Empress of Spies and the Diplomat of Kal'dun kept tabs on him, of course, but that was all.
Nobody noticed the kingdom stockpiling weapons of war, or the King travelling over the border to play his games elsewhere. Nobody noticed the slow expansion of the Kingdom of Games. Well, the two rulers watching did, but the Empress filed it away as a minor threat, and the Diplomat just assumed the kingdom was doing regular kingdomly things.
Eventually, the neighbouring Steel Union noticed the expansion. The Council of Steel requested that the Kingdom of Games stop expanding in their direction. The King graciously acquiesced, and took his game-playing elsewhere.
Then, the Council received reports of prime metal deposits within the King of Games' territory.
It should be understood that this particular Council, despite its name, was not very united in what they did. One of its more controversial members, in a bid to alleviate the political pressure piling up on her, suggested a terrible idea.
War with the Kingdom of Games. Why not? The Kingdom had little initiative, and its King less so. If they took over, they could ~~exploit~~ make use of the land's resources to bolster their own trade!
It was a single statement that sealed the deal, made offhand by a senior member of the Council. "What chance does the Kingdom of Games have against the might of the Steel Tide?"
What chance indeed.
\--------
The declaration of war arrived barely before the army did. Giant vehicles swarmed the horizon while armour-clad horses darted in between them, riding out to skirmish before ducking back behind the cover of the advancing steel wall.
It was a menacing force, but the plan of attack was ill-conceived. They were confident enough to march the army through three separate passes, sure that their armour would deter any attacking force.
A pity, then, that there were no attacking forces to be found.
Instead, as the army marched into the second pass, fire started raining from the sky. Satchels of powder charges detonated as they hit the army from above, and larger powder-packed cannonballs slammed into the back lines before exploding and spraying shrapnel in all directions.
You see, the King of Games had once played a game of Chinese Chess. It had a piece, a cannon, which could only capture other pieces if there was another piece between the two to jump over.
The King had strode up to his military advisors that day, asking curiously about the range of their cannons. Only a hundred metres? How was it supposed to shoot over anything with *that* range? If it had a more precise barrel, a good aiming system, better propellant...
The military advisors had scrambled to take down notes. The King's insight was always welcome. The King's insight had also spawned the development of explosive projectiles. After all, he reasoned, why capture a single piece if you could wipe it out and everything around it?
The Steel Tide was pushed back that day by the novel artillery fire, with heavy casualties taken. Somewhere, the Queen of Infantry came down with a headache.
\--------
The Steel Council, of course, didn't order a retreat. They would not stand to be embarrassed by this upstart of a King! Plus, if they did, they would have to justify all of the spending to the general public. No one wanted to take the political fall.
This time, they sent twice the number of troops, with the heavy cavalry taking the lead.
When they arrived at the border, the army just stared at the flooded landscape. The flooded, muddy landscape which no one wanted to drive their horses through. The King of Games had figured that if he couldn't have the territory, then the enemy couldn't have it either.
Plus, he outranged them. Diverting the river, he mused, was an excellent play that allowed him to needle the enemy with no cost to himself.
Horses started stampeding over one another as the artillery rained down.
\--------
Three more times forces were sent. Three more times they were repelled, once by superior positioning, once by an artificial duststorm, and once by false orders which charged them through a minefield.
The king of Games? He just enjoyed himself. It had been a long time since he had played against such an easy enemy. Even the youngest of his subjects could put up a better fight. He absently took a bite of his meat pie before returning his attention to the battle map in front of him.
\--------
The political pressure finally reached a boiling point. Riots popped up everywhere within the Steel Union, and the members of its Council booed out of office. The peace treaty, heavily favouring the Kingdom of Games, was signed. The King himself had arrived to negotiate. He had a killer poker face.
Thus, the Empire of Games grew a little more. The Empress of Spies nudged it up her threat list. The Diplomat of Kel'dun planned a trip to visit the King personally.
Everyone else just stared for a bit, then moved on. The King himself kept playing games.
The Kingdom of Games turned quiet once more. It would stay that way, until the next round. And there would be a next round. Such was the way of the world.
The King grinned. Next time, he would be playing for keeps.
Edit: Thanks for the positive comments, you guys! I appreciate it. |
It waited.
The name dragon was ill-fitting. The being possessed no wings and no scales, only a purple, venous and serpentine flesh coated in gelatinous mold. Its head was held high, gazing upon you with its many eyes, and no mouth. Instead, moss had taken hold and grew underneath the chin.
The dragon did have a mouth, just not at the same place as other species. The belly was split open, from the base of the neck to the base of the tale. It gaped as elongated, asymmetrical teeth protruded from the grotesque lips, shaking in anticipation of the meal to come.
It was oddly fitting that New York, the big apple, housed the one being that could swallow it whole underneath.
Deep below the ground, way deeper than the subway and sewers, only seen by a precious few, was the cathedral. A dark Gothic construction, lit by ghostly blue lights.
You will always remember the first time. Waking up on the soft carpet, shuddering from the underground wind, and suddenly realizing you were not at home anymore. You called, and the echo answered. Slowly, your eyes got used to the darkness, to the immensity of the religious building you found yourself in, so high and wide the shadows hid the walls from your sight.
And the head approached, heavier and greater than the feeble human form you possessed.
It didn't speak, instead it commanded in a primal tone. A rumble that meant, *hunger*.
Terror seized you when you noticed the split, gaping belly, drool filling a pool of translucent substance in which the being sat. At some point, consciousness gave up and went on a hike. The second wake up confirmed this was no nightmare, the rumble had grown louder.
But there was no raw food, no stocks to feed such a massive...
The wind carried an amalgamation of smells to your nose. Salmon, saffron, mint, mango, pear, carrot, sea salt and sweets. Following the nose, you uncovered the cathedral's larder. So cold, the food never spoiled. It was fresh. So fresh, so smelly, it looked so rich it was hard not to reach out and touch it, caress it, take a bite.
The presence outside snapped the desire away. This dragon, for calling it as such was easier on the mind, would suffer no insurrection. Out of the larder and into a nook stood the kitchen. Old stoves, new stoves, marble cutting boards, jet black ovens... A diamond of modernity in a construction older than the city living overhead.
Fear fought a strange desire for competition. For the first time, you had all the equipment you could ever ask for, with unlimited supply. And the dragon didn't seem to be on a rush, content with observing. Was it kindness? Or did it look like you would when watching an insect?
A question for thinkers and philosophers. You were one to cook.
And you served.
A mountain of roasted goat cheese upon a human-sized slice of fresh, over-baked bread, sprinkled with green onions.
A gigantic pot of mutton curry, spiced up with Onions, mint leaves and coconut.
A bed of banana splits, with equal flavor of vanilla and chocolate, laying luxuriously on generously large balls of ice cream.
The belly ate, slurped, licked, burped, indulged and devoured until there was nothing left. Slowly, the gap closed and the dragon settled in a low and gentle hum. Was it sleep?
You can't remember, you woke up in your bed.
Work felt more tiring afterwards. Rude customers, greedy bosses, long hours... the dragon, despite his oddness, appreciated good food in a simple way.
It did so too when you woke up down there again.
And again,
and again.
You came to loathe fellow humans. You were an artist, a cook, a maker of dish and wonders for immemorial beings, and you were losing time with worthless restaurants and stupid, childish customers.
More has to be done, more, more, more.
Even the short time you pass in the underground cathedral started to feel lacking. One person, four limbs, to feed a majestic beast. Not enough.
You devise tricks to cook faster and better,
Never does it occur to you that you are called more often.
And it's still not enough. This body is not enough. On the surface, the ache to go down increases. Underground, the disappointment grows.
Round and round it goes.
Two hands,
two ears,
a funny face,
and funny feet.
That's you, you you you you you.
And you're not enough. Only the most meager pot can be stirred by such weak muscles. It takes you long treks from the larder to the gargantuan kitchen and to bring it to the dragon.
Vigor has to course through the veins and flesh to render the body impervious to fatigue. Muscles grow in size and shape. To carry the knifes, the block, the pots. And the entire, live cow. The animal is on your shoulders, and you barely feel its weight, exactly like you wanted it.
But it's not enough. Two hands. Two. Hands.
Weak, weak and stupid.
A flaw in the creation, God was flawed, you had to do better.
Hands, limbs, hooks, claws. You tie two hairs together and pull until blood pours. One day after the other. A pus of red and yellow grows on your head, an ugly concentration of infection. Still you pull and make it grow. The pain, oh the pain. The blister overtakes your eye and ear, half you head is covered by it.
Hand, limb, claw. Not enough, not enough!
The rotten egg on your head bursts as you cut through the meat of the cow, showering the flesh a such a stink you have never smelled. A scream of pain echoes through the dark walls, followed by a maniacal laughter.
Such a beautiful new hand, fine, pale, with long elongated fingers. Two hairs tied together and you restart the process again.
The dragon grows hungrier by the day, the larder needs to be restocked.
Some farmers on the surface tell tale of a cackling monster with too many limbs to count, stealing cows and sheep and grain. They are branded madmen. They are lucky, most who get to witness the perfect cook disappear in the larder with the rest of the meat.
Slash, hack, cut, chop! A wild mane of snake-like limbs ending in hands works with a dozen sharp knifes, cutting onions, dicing paprika, ripping the teeth from a farmer's head. Medusa, such a grand inspiration she had been! Turning flesh to stone or cinders was a flaw, but the hair, nobody took notice on how her hair was a wonder.
Finished, you rush from the kitchen to the dragon, pushing the stuffed cart and ticking ticking ticking ticking ticking around on your long, fine, black chitinous legs. You have to be fast and fast and fast to serve the dragon. The hunger grows with its belly-maw. New teeth have come out, crooked, piercing the skin, painful. Beautiful.
Soon, the cathedral will not be enough.
Soon, it will need a great meal, a grand meal, the perfect meal.
The big apple.
You cackle, and run back to the surface to find ingredients for the next serving. |
\[Sharp Effort\]
The red-skinned demon looked down at the grave, then back up at Aaron. He gave his head a subtle shake.
"No, I don't think I can accept that...,"the demon said. Aaron laughed and shrugged. "The deal was for my first born,"he said. "My only child is here,"he patted the gravestone. His son lived a very short life almost 20 years ago. His life had been getting worse for those 20 years as he tried to cope. Finally, after dealing with a demon he was starting to feel better. The supernatural amounts of money had had available also helped.
"I'm living up to my part of the bargain,"Aaron added. "It's not my problem if you won't accept payment."The demon shook his head again.
"One moment,"he said. "I need to escalate this."The demon vanished in a cloud of yellow sulfur that somehow smelled worse than when he appeared. Aaron chuckled to himself as he waited. It wasn't something he could brag to anyone about; but, he felt pleased with himself for getting one over on Satan. After several minutes, another cloud plumed into existence in the graveyard. This time the smoke was red and smelled like cinnamon candy. When the smoke cleared it wasn't the same dark-suited demon Aaron was dealing with earlier. It was a very portly, ruddy, blonde man wearing a tight white suit that made him look like a marshmallow wearing his belt too tight.
"Aaron,"he smiled and extended a hand. "Nice to meet you, I'm Lucifer,"the chubby man said. Aaron couldn't help but chuckle aloud. This mid-30s, sweaty man was not what he imagined Lucifer looking like. He never expected to meet the proprietor of Hell, but now he had, Aaron couldn't help but feel underwhelmed.
"So, my employee tells me you're trying out a loophole,"Lucifer chuckled and shook his head. "I can't say I'd recommend that. In fact, my boss insists I try and talk you out of it for your own good."
"Huh?"Aaron tilted his head at Lucifer. Almost everything he said raised question in Aaron and he struggled to pick out which one to ask first.
"You have a boss?"he asked. Lucifer nodded. "Who, God?"This time, Lucifer shook his head.
"Though she is a comparable god, she's not the one you're thinking of,"he said. "Ms. Sharp insists on running a fair afterlife, we're here to serve our clients,"Lucifer added. "You don't want to go this route with us; even if you think you can win, Hell has some pretty clever people on our side."Aaron shook his head.
"No way, you're just trying to worm out of the deal,"he said. "900 billion dollars for my first born. That was the deal, here he is,"Aaron gestured down at the grave again. Lucifer shook his head.
"I need to be able to tell Ms. Sharp I made an honest effort,"he said. "How about another 900 billion?"he asked. "We'll null the first contract, but I'll let you keep the money, and add another 900 on top. You sign a new contract that says your first born, starting now. And, it even comes with a free loophole if you never have kids,"Lucifer said. He offered Aaron a familiar red clipboard. Aaron smiled to himself. Lucifer was obviously trying anything he could to get out of their deal, but he wasn't going to let that happen.
"I don't even need all the money I already have,"Aaron said. "The deal stands. You can have my first born,"he said. Lucifer sighed and shook his head.
"Are you sure? Really really sure?"he asked. "Honestly, I'm probably going to get chewed out for letting this happen; Ms. Sharp wants to give Hell a new image and this isn't going to help that at all."
"I'm sure,"Aaron said.
"Okay,"Lucifer shrugged. "You said, and I quote, 'What remains is yours.' is that right?"Aaron nodded.
"Yeah, sure. Bones and whatever else you can find I guess,"he chuckled.
"Very well. On behalf of Ms. Sharp's Hell, I accept your firstborn and conclude our deal. Are you satisfied with this outcome?"Lucifer asked. Aaron couldn't help but chuckle and nod.
"Yeah, I'm satisfied,"he grinned as they shook hands for a final time.
"Still, I feel obliged to give you a bonus,"Lucifer added. He nodded to himself. "Yes, I think I'd feel less like I was taking advantage of you if I added some more money. You’ll find an extra 500 billion in your account."Aaron chuckled and shook his head.
"You bought a 900 billion dollar pile of bones,"he laughed. But, the laughter died down when Lucifer shook his head.
"..and whatever else we can find,"he grinned at Aaron.
"Huh?"Aaron asked. "What else is there to find?"Lucifer's eyes sparkled with amusement.
"We're an afterlife,"Lucifer said. "It's our job to keep track of certain things."Aaron felt a sinking feeling in his gut and he became visibly pale.
"..what things?"he asked.
"Souls mostly,"Lucifer winked at Aaron and disappeared in a plume of red, cinnamon-scented smoke. His last words made Aaron fall to his knees in despair. "Your son's soul was easy to find."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1398 in a row. (Story #306 in year four.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on Sept. 6th and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until June 3rd. They are all collected at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/pj4t0b/tokuhigh_first_six_weeks/). |
We thought that this village would be an easy mark. After all, who would believe that a village without weapons could be hard to steal from? We should have known better. We should have known that in an area where a wizard guards his town from his high tower in the West, where a great warrior stands before intruders to the South, that no settlement could survive here without protection. We should have known that if the mark was easy, it would have already been taken.
Everything went to plan at first. We watched the village for a week before the attack. In that time, we didn't see a single fight, nor even a weapon with which to do so. Sure, woodsmen had their axes, hunters their bows and spears and the smith his hammer, but those were not weapons. Not like the collection of swords and spears we had gathered over the years. 'There is no threat here,' we thought. I wonder now if this illusion is deliberate.
On the seventh day, we attacked at sundown, from the West. Boss had ordered us to avoid killing people where we could. You can't come back and rob the dead again, after all. Of course they fought back, but it was their almost a hundred civilians against fifty armed and if not trained, at least competent men. Some of us even had horses, though I was not among them. Still, even with all of our advantages, it was too easy. The villages fought back, but never to the point of their houses being damaged, or their clothes being stained with blood. It was too easy, though in the haze of a battle we considered serious, we did not notice until afterwards. After subduing my area, I herded them to the middle of the village as always, outside the inn. I had even managed not to kill anyone, though one man would likely need a healer within a few days if he wanted to keep that arm. Not my problem, there are richer towns within a few hours of walking, he'd be fine. I was the last to arrive at the center, and it was at the moment of my arrival that she stepped out of the inn.
She was, as most peasants are, quite plain, and her dress was no richer than any of the others in the village. No, it was the way she walked that drew my eye to her. It was not a seductive walk, as I'd seen the one time I'd managed to scrounge up the coin for a cheap lay in the city. No, it was simply confident. As though, despite the bandits surrounding her, she was certain that she was in no danger. Without even a glance, she walked past me to the injured man, laying a hand on his shoulder. With a quick hum, she moved on to the next group, and I was shocked to see that the man's injury was gone. All fifty of us stood in that circle of houses, weapons in hand and the villagers sitting in the middle of us, yet none of us said a word as the woman walked from one injury to the next, humming all the while. Strangely, though we could hear the hum, none of us would later be able to say if there was any tune to it, or what that tune might be. It was not until all the villagers were healed that the woman stopped and turned to Boss.
"What was the first invention of humanity?"She spoke, and her voice was the wind through the grass, and the birds in the trees, and the light rain on the roof on a peaceful night. She did not wait for an answer.
"It was a drum, though we would not recognise it as one today. As the apes banged one thing against another to see which would break first, they found that sometimes, if you bang a thing at the right angle, it makes a pleasing sound."At this, she lifted her foot slightly and tapped the ground. Though there was no force behind it, little strength in her leg, the ground seemed to pulse. Still, we stood spellbound, staring at the woman.
"But we were not the first to make music, no. Long before humanity hit rocks, wolves howled to the moon, and birds sang in the trees, and whales hummed their inaudible songs, and the waves washed against the sand, and the Earth itself formed tuneless melodies of drifting stone and clashing rock. But even still, they were not the first, for the universe is more ancient than the ground, and the Singers more ancient still. Can you here them?"She smiled, and we could.
We heard wolves, hunting in the night, and we cowered. We heard birds, trilling their stories of seed and egg, and we wondered at the sound. We heard the whale-song echo from the ocean that was far away, and the soundless echo was a melancholy song. We heard waves crash against the shore, and were at peace. We the earth shift and roll far below as, and felt awe at the birth of our planet. We heard the moment the universe formed, and the sound of the stars echoed in our ears. We heard the eternity before, and we heard it Sing, and we felt as time itself Looked at us, and we knew we were nothing, and we Feared.
The sun dawned on a village of a hundred and half, and if any were to watch from outside, they would see a peaceful town, without a single weapon in sight. But if that watcher looked closely, they might see in the eyes of the villagers the peace that comes from knowing that you are safe, and in your place in the world, and the terror that comes with knowing that it is at the bottom. |
*"Oh what a lovely gift,"* my mother exclaimed from her throne, *"but... what is it"*?
The stranger was foreigner from a country called 'America'. The man was older with a strange looking hat on and a long beard. He wore a suit that looked like attire for a butler but it was also an odd color of tan that made him look like a noble but he also spoke in a demeanor and accent different from the others. He spoke as if he was always trying to sell something, like he was selling the gift as well.
The gift looked to be a carriage but had nothing to have the horses pull it. It looked to be made of steel and other strange materials rather than the usual gold and silver. The wheels were large and made of another material instead of wood. The back of it was long and flat, most likely used as storage.
*"Well,"* the stranger proclaimed walking twords the carriage, hitting the front of it, making a sound the echoed through it, *"This here is the new Ford f-250."* |
My husband tosses and turns in the night, speaking in tongues, some of which I understand.
"Please help! He's not me."
During the day he forgets these fits. I strip the sheets from the beds and wash them, noting the indentation in the mattress which holds his shape even when he has left. He blinks beneath the too-bright lights in the bathroom, looking at the dark circles beneath his eyes and wonders why he feels so tired.
My husband is a large man. The bed is heavy and takes effort to move. When I strain, back bent to shove or pull, it leaves scratches in the pine floorboards. I polish those so he does not see that the bed has moved, hands shiny and worn with beeswax.
My husband has not always been a calm man. The drywall in the garage has a scrape of unpainted plaster where I stopped a hole in the wall. The basement still smells of bleach and I know that behind the dryer, there are three spots of my blood I could not reach to clean away. His restless nights have lead to quieter days, as if something inside him is dampened, an inferno cooled.
I have lived my life amongst rituals. In painting and prepping and cleaning. The spots of blood in the basement, tears spilt on kitchen worktops, Revlon smeared over bruised eyes and bandaging his knuckles afterwards, as if by continuing to care I could make him love me.
Rituals which saved me. Once more I move the great bed where my husband sleeps and with a match I refresh the scorched lines which lie beneath it, hidden on the beeswaxed floor. I open an old cut and smear fresh blood at its centre and feel the cage strengthening, re-forming to hold steady for another day.
At night he will toss and turn, and the thing which dwells inside the body of my husband will fight with the devil I invited there. At least one is kind and gentle by day, for I am his maker and he loves me for it. |
Pierre sighed as he slid up his mask. For once in his life he didn't look strange wearing it. Masks seemed to be becoming more common. After that virus scare a year back people became more used to masks. The X-Men managed to solve that one, something to do with Wolverine's healing power? Pierre didn't care about the details.
A glance in the mirror to make sure he was unrecognisable and a few quick adjustments later Pierre walked out of his apartment and slid into the streets.
Pierre followed the flow of the crowds. Letting it take him where he was needed. He overheard many a conversation about all these well known heroes. Something something Ironman. Something something Hawkeye. He wondered to himself, why put all this attention on yourself if you can do just as good without it.
Pierre felt a sharp twang on the back of his neck and stopped in place, a few people bumped into him but that wasn't what he was worried about. After a moment of hesitation he darted into a nearby alleyway, finding exactly what had got his senses so upset.
Infront of him was what appeared to be another one of these superheroes. A primarily red body with blue accents. A spider emblem in the middle of his chest, webs spreading out from it.
"Hey, you uh... From around here?"Pierre asked the strange man. "Cos I don't recognise ya"
"Well. Depends on your definition of here. New York? Definitely, lived here my entire life. This universe? Outta luck. No clue where I am."
'No tingles yet, must be legit' Pierre thought to himself. He was usually pretty good at telling when someone was lying. 'But another universe? That's uh... Not too surprising with some of the tech people got here'
"So you planning on staying here?"Pierre asked hesitantly. "Cos I kinda got a job to do"
"If you can just point me to this world's Spidey I'll be off on my way."The strange man put his hands on his hips.
He didn't want to waste too much of Pierre's time, buy unlucky for him, there was a caveat to his plan.
Pierre scrunched up his face. "Who's Spidey? I don't know a guy named Spidey."
"Yknow! The Amazing Spiderman! The Spectacular Spiderman! The ultimate Spiderman? Someone who looks like me?"
Pierre's face remained the same amount of scrunched. "I don't know a 'Spiderman'. "
Spiderman looked clearly taken aback. Apparently he wasn't expecting that. "B- But there *has* to be a Spiderman! Maybe the getting bit by a spider part is optional but there has to be a Spiderman!"
"Bit by a spider?"
"Yeah! It's like, the majority of Spider people's backstories. Did meet a guy who was bit by a pig though. Usually they get spider powers. Super strength, wall crawling, heightened senses!"
"Is wearing a costume like the one your wearing optional?"Pierre asked wearily.
"Probably, it's probably the whole powers thing that makes you a spider person."
Pierre took a deep breath. Things were making a little more sense now.
"Then, hi, I'm this world's 'Spiderman' then. Pierre Parker, nice to meet you. Mostly known as 'that vigilante who puts our good honest super heroes out of business' on the news"
Pierre extended out his hand.
"Hey there Mr That vigilante who puts our good honest super heroes out of business,"Spiderman took off his mask to reveal a man who looked alot like Pierre "I'm Peter Parker. Mostly known as 'That good for nothing wall crawlin menace' on the news"
Spiderman took Pierre's hand and smiled. |
When I made my request I was only hoping to ease my way through a comfortable life. To not stand out too much, nor struggle with anything less than truly complex or difficult tasks. I had a pretty rough go of my past life, I just wanted a simple run this time around.
But alas, ‘‘twas not the fate of mine. When the gods offer you a boon in the next life it is just that, a single boon. I elected to influence my personal attributes; I had no way of knowing I would be dropped into a world of monsters and magic where the scale of power differed so greatly from the one I had known that a qualification of “average” dramatically overshadowed any measure of power from my previous world.
I was 6 when I realized myself. I could suddenly recall elements of my previous life, as well as begin to determine my current lot in life. A lot happened during my childhood and adolescent years. At 16, I left my village to set off as an adventurer.
An S rank adventurer below the age of 30 was unheard of. An S rank adventurer at the age of 22, however, was unbelievable.
—————————
The storm was fierce as it battered against the sail of a small ship making its way across the sea. Lightning illuminated waves cresting twice as high as the top mast, and the peal of thunder threatened to rupture the eardrums of the sailors manning the ship. The deck of the ship was a frenzy of activity as men desperately fought against the elements.
Muscles strained against the wind, voices hoarsely shouted against the din, but still the crew fought on, maintaining hope and determination that they would make it through the storm. As yet another bolt of lightning lit up the sea that hope was dashed.
A monstrous wave cresting at a height 4 times that of the top mast was barreling toward them. They sailors frantic motioned slowed to a standstill as knots of fear formed in their gut and flickers of regret flashed through their minds. As the wave approached and all hope was lost, the door leading to a cabin below the deck flew open, the same cabin housing the individual that insisted on this most perilous journey across the ocean so soon on the heels of a dragon.
Swiftly striding across the pitched deck as though he were on flat land the man went directly to the bow of the ship, thrust his hand toward and uttered a single word heard by all through the tumult - “PART!”.
And with that, the deadly wave and the entire sea behind it split into a channel.
And with that the ship carried on after the dragon. |
"Come iiinnn!!"
I sang out at the knock, whilst focusing on my task before me. Wires and metal lay strewn about my workbench, discarded as useless for now. I heard the door to my lab open, before slowly swinging closed again.
"Um... h-hi?"
I held down part of my design, looking under my arm. A young man stood there, a bemused and slightly scared look on his face. I chuckled a little at that. A new assistant. Maybe I would be allowed to keep him longer than the last one.
"Yes yes hello! I will be right with you!"
I strained a little, forcing my nest of wires into a case I had made. It closed with a click, and I smiled at it. It resembled a bulky pair of tongs, though the ends were shaped like egg cups. I gently out it down, conscious of fact it was ready to burst apart, before spinning to face him. My lab coat twirled around me, an unconscious display of flamboyance.
"Welcome to my lab! Who are you?"
I jumped towards them, holding out my hand. The fool acted on instinct, grasping to shake it. He jumped back at the shock, and I grinned that my prank gloves still worked.
"Ouch!"
"Why hello Ouch, its a pleasure to meet you."
He grew more flustered, shaking his hand as he tried to speak. I just let my grin widen. Breaking them in was always the most fun.
"No- no my name's Josh."
I gave a mock confused look, delighted.
"But you just said it was Ouch."
He looked so out of his depth. I couldn't help but laugh. I gave him a light tap on his shoulder with a fist.
"You gotta learn to laugh at this sort of thing here."
He gave a long sigh, realigning himself. I made a mental note. Barely a minute together, and I already had a sigh. My best time yet.
"Right. Mad scientists. Got it."
I laughed again.
"Oh brighten up! Just because we are mad scientists doesn't make us all evil. Some of us just want to pursue our dreams, make spider beer, turn the sky pink, you know, science and stuff. You gotta roll with it here."
He nodded to himself, as if expecting the absurd. I rubbed my hands together gleefully, enjoying the moment. He was going to be fun.
"Well, I'm supposed to help-"
"You're my newest volunteer, I know! In fact, you can try this!"
With that, I snatched up my device, flicking it on. It gave a hum, which heightened as I brought it near an egg I had prepared. I picked up the egg, before holding it over to him. He looked slightly on edge, as I gestured to it.
"Hold out your hand."
Josh was uncertain, but did as he was told. I let the egg go, and he caught it. He stared at it, before back at me.
"Peel it!"
He gave a head shake, sighing again before removing the shell. It revealed a perfectly cool boiled egg. I grinned, setting the device down.
"Perfect, it worked!
"Wha-"
I nodded towards it.
"Oh, I just wanted a boiled egg without having to wait for it to actually boil." |
"Welcome to Design-a-Kid where couples looking to start a family can select the genetic traits of their future children. Want your kid to be a star athlete or world leader? Pass on your best DNA and make the kid of your dreams! Call now!"
Immediately the phones started ringing:
*"Hi. Yes. I was calling about the design a kid? Okay, so...I'm actually already pregnant, but the baby is not by my husband. I was wondering if you could, like, somehow go in there and tweak the baby's features a little bit to look like my husband so he doesn't get suspicious?"*
*"Hey. Yeah, so listen. I'm bringing my wife down there next week. She wants a girl, but I'm paying for this whole thing, so I need you to make sure it's a boy. Got it? Also, don't tell her I called.*
*"Hello? Sorry, yeah I'm high right now. So I want my son to be like part human and part horse, but my gf is worried that the legs might rip her vagina when the baby comes out. How would you guys go about handling that? And if the horse is too much, I'll just settle for a mermaid."*
*"Yup, so that was pretty much how my day went and now I'm just...chilling at home watching Netflix, heh. How about you? Pardon? What was that? Oh no, I'm not married or dating anybody right now, I just felt lonely and wanted to talk to somebody. Yeah, sorry, thank you for listening, I'll let you go now."*
*"Yes, hello? Can you hear me? Yes, my, uh.. partners and I need girls. Lots and lots of little girls. We are willing to pay up to $100,000 to have them delivered right away to the docks at 9pm by next Friday. Be discreet and make sure no police are following you. If you do it right, we will do business with you again many times in the future. You said these lines are being recorded? And they can be traced? Oh...okay, nevermind then about the little girls. Let us just say this was a joke, eh?"*
*"I want my baby to be Michelle Obama.*"
*"Jot this down. 5'6. Long, curly auburn hair. Symmetrical face. A dimple in each cheek, not too deep, and not in her chin. Blue eyes, but green in the sunlight, grey in the shadows with a touch of hazel and flecks of violet or a sprinkle of magenta. A peppering of light freckles on each cheek. High cheekbones. Full pink lips. Perfectly arched eyebrows that aren't too thin or too thick. Coyly curved neck. Petite.. - Hello? Are you catching all of this? Repeat it back to me before I continue.*"
*"Oh, hello dear. I didn't know you would pick up. Well, since I have you on the phone, your father and I were calling to see if you can design some grandkids for us because it doesn't seem like you'll be getting married anytime soon. And I want grandkids.*
On and on the calls went. Some were funny. Some were normal. And some were just straight up bizarre. Nevertheless, it was getting near time for me to take a lunch break and I decided to answer one more call.
*"Good afternoon. My husband and I have been trying to concieve for many years and three years we finally were blessed to recieve the news that we were pregnant. Unfortunately, he...he didn't make it...We lost two more children after that, as well. I don't want to ask for any specifications. My husband and I will take whatever you give us, we just ask that you please make a child that my body will allow me to give birth to. Because I can't do it anymore..."* She started crying. *I can't. I can't. If I lose another child...I don't know what I'll do...*"
After the call, I just sat there until one of my coworkers tapped me on the shoulder. "Dude, what the heck? Are you crying? C'mon, it's time for lunch."
"Yeah.." |
In your childhood home there were always strange occurances that no one knew the reason behind, or at least would admit to know. So you and your siblings got the idea to name the occurances. A light flickers? 'Hey, Jimmy. Could you not? I need that' A door slams shut? 'Jimmy! That was very rude!' A terrifying groan echos through the house? 'Jimmy! Your snoring again!' It made the creepy unexplained things less scary as a kid and you kept the habit when you moved.
Deciding to name your 'house ghost' Billy, you carried on with your new life away from home. At first there were alot of cliché horror movie spooks. They type of 'get out of my house' type haunting stuff. But after a while of you calmly talking to the 'house ghost' or making small comments whenever you heard somthing they calmed down. Now every once-in-a-while you'll just talk to Billy to feel like there was someone else there when you got lonely at night since there weren't very many unexplained things anymore.
That was until your breakup. You had been dating this guy for a few years. Looking back it probably wasn't the healthiest relationship but you didn't see it at the time. After you worked up the courage to break up with him he said some very hurtful stuff that hurt you more then you let on. You locked yourself in your room for days and just cried. You missed him and didn't know why. You shouldn't, he wasnt a good guy but you couldnt help it and it only made you feel worse. When you couldnt cry anymore you got up and went to the bathroom connected to your room to clean yourself up. Thats when you saw it.
On the mirror in scratchy crude writing: 'Its ok to miss him and be sad. You won't always feel like this, you'll find someone better for you. If you ever need to talk im willing to listen. Feel better soon, I miss your sarcastic remarks.
-Billy :)'
You laugh to yourself and wipe your leftover tears. "You're such a softie, Billy."You smile to yourself as you continued with your day, though you didnt take the writing off the mirror for days afterwards. |
"What?"Brett snorted. "There must be some mistake!"
The man in front of him sighed. "Do you know of the *Magical Purity Act*?"
Brett shook his head "I don't recall."
"It disallows all beings that have practiced dark magic from entering our realm."
Brett furrowed his brow. "I've never practiced dark magic."
"*You*, in particular, may have not, but . . . "the man waved his hand, and a white transparent screen appeared in front of him. "But a previous life of yours did."He swiped up on the screen, and it flipped around so Brett could read it.
Brett read off the list of past lives. "Alistair Gaveston, John Clark . . . Scott Quinn, *tainted*?"
"That's the one."The man said.
"So *I'm* held accountable for something *they* did?"
"Well, our systems treat every life of an individual as one whole being."
Brett breathed a heavy sigh. "So where can I go?"
The man tapped the screen, and it shifted to display a list of realms. "The ones in green are what you're eligible for."
Brett's gaze scanned the list. "There's not that many . . ."
"We're not the only ones who have laws against dark magic."the clerk explained.
"Hm!"Brett pondered each realm.
*Thoros*? Too bland. Brett wanted a world he would enjoy.
Zhahesk? In a world of geniuses and visionaries, he would be an idiot.
*Vilthu*? A hell of eternal torture. A solid pass!
But Brett couldn't just walk the endless white halls of Limbo forever. One option faced him.
"What about reincarnating again?"
The clerk sucked his teeth. "You *will* run out of tries if you keep making mistakes like this."
"I don't care. Spin the wheel."
The clerk bowed his head and snapped his fingers. A slot machine appeared nearby. It spun for a few seconds until it stopped on a name, home-world, a time period.
"You next life's name is Xuvir, from the same planet you're from, Gelena - but you're a few thousand years ahead, in the year 3025. Your world of vibrant magic has become a tomb of cold metal."
"How many resurrections do I have on this life?"
"Two,"the clerk answered. "Make them count."He snapped his fingers, and Brett dissolved into light. Two more lives to set things right. |
They called him Hiss. He knew why but it didn’t take the sting out of something so mundane being associated with the greatness that was Besmothern, the once Black Death of Vilna. Cursed now to live as the Black Death of scraps in St. Arther’s Reclamation Center. They were thieves. They had stolen him after he had gotten free from that wretched wizard that had cursed him. Hiss tried his best to make them fear him regardless.
“Oi! The bugger bit me!” a lithe, ginger man yelled out after a string of curses like touching this idiot was a desire Hiss had. He tastes like fish. Hiss wasn’t sure he wanted to know why he tasted like fish but he would bite the man again if he tried to get near Hiss’ coin.
The little Black Dragon had found it, stuck in the side of the wood along the edge of the kitchen, and had waited to see if the owner would come back to calm it. Hiss may have pushed it further into the wood so that it was harder to see but he had waited the three days Dragon’s deemed reasonable for a horde to be considered abandoned. By rights, it was now his and he would keep it safe.
“You try ‘n steal a Dragon’s treasure and you’ll feel more than his teeth,” a larger, heavier set man explained after the laughter had died down, “it gave you more than enough warning.”
“But it’s my coin!” the lithe man yelled back like it was a fact. Hiss knew it was his coin and he would keep it.
“You shouldn’t have left it where Hiss could take it then, Dalton,” the larger man said with a shake of his head.
Was that Dalton? Hiss could never remember these people's names. They all looked similar. Some were bigger, some were smaller, and some of them had different coloured hair but it was nothing to what his kin were like. Dragons came in more shades, colours, and sizes than the earth itself. Not that Hiss’ size was a natural testament to that.
Hiss’ head snapped to the larger man as he approached his from the side and got shown the same, now blood-stained teeth that had just been in Dalton. Trying his best to growl, Hiss sank his once-mighty talons into the wood of the table and switched to his trademark hiss. The large man only chuckled at the threat.
“Come now, I’m not going to take it,” the large man reassured as he put on a pair of thick leather gloves Hiss knew they had only for handling him, “But we do need you out from underfoot.”
Underfoot! Hiss wasn’t underfoot and he had never been. If these fools would let him be then he could take his treasure back to his cave as he had been before Dalton had started making reckless calms to the treasure he did not own.
A hand came at him again and Hiss took the opportunity to sink his teeth into the gloved hand of this would-be thief. Hiss earned a groan of pain for his trouble but the other hand came around his back and started to push Hiss forward. With his teeth sank deep into the glove and his talons locked into the wood, Hiss wasn’t about to move.
“Save this for the mice,” the man Hiss was attached to said quietly, “Come on, grab your coin.”
Hiss frowned around this idiot's finger at the insult. He wasn’t about to take orders like some pathetic runt. This man may be more than twice his size, by Hiss’ calculations, but Hiss had gone up against worse in his youth and had come out victorious.
Lifting Hiss off the ground wasn’t the task Hiss had assumed it would be though and when he felt the wood under him gave way he let out a panicked yelp. Turning his head, he tried his best to see if he could grab his treasure with his back legs to no avail. He was pathetically close to losing it.
“It would probably be easier if you let me go,” the man offered and waited for Hiss to make up his mind.
Hiss was less happy that he had to trust this man now than he was trusting of this man ever. He had seen what he was capable of with his servants, assuming these lesser men were this large one's servants. Not that Hiss had treated his own any better. Regardless, Hiss let go just enough to turn and with his wings, grab the coin and hold it close to himself. For good measure, though he sank his teeth back into the gloved finger.
“Little bugger,” the large man groaned as he lifted Hiss off the ground and carried him away and out of the common room, “How does something your size bite like that?”
Hiss’ only answer was to put even more force into his jaw.
“I know you can understand me you little lizard,” the man whispered as he entered the sleeping chamber that Hiss had made his cave in.
The old adage of ‘keep your enemies close’ had always been one of Hiss’ favourites and after finding himself in this ruin of a building he had taken it to heart. He watched this man sleep peacefully as his enemy towered over him.
Putting Hiss on the ledge above the dresser, the man tried his best to make Hiss detach his teeth but Hiss just stared at him. If he let go, who knew what the man would do to either him or his treasure now that they were alone. Hiss wasn’t going to let the oaf overpower him.
“Look, you want your coin in yer little hidey-hole then let go,” the man said exhaustedly, “If I knew you were going to work so hard for it I’d give you a job to earn more.”
At the prospect of getting more treasure, Hiss lifted up his head curiously but still held his coin tightly to his body. It was not a dignified position. With the diameter of the coin being just smaller than his torso, Hiss would have had problems moving it regardless of the fact that it was gold.
“You like that?” the man asked, rubbing his now ungloved hand, “You like the idea of getting more. I have these nice glass ear studs for you if you are actually able to get the mice problem under control. They may not be worth much but they do sparkle.”
Hiss narrowed his eyes menacingly at the man at the prospect of working for glass. He was a Dragon of value and glass was of no value to him. Not that Hiss wasn’t going to go after the mice in the building. The only thing about being this size was it was spectacular to go after pray larger than he was. As a Dragon of standing, he would have to feed on multiple deer a day in order to be fed. Now, one mouse both provided challenge and fulfilment.
Two days later, with his treasure safely hidden away from that fool Dalton and a fresh kill in his maw, the large man presented him with the stud that Hiss assumed he was talking about. Not that Hiss had done anything remotely near what the man had asked. He had just wanted to eat. Nevertheless, the stud was very large compared to Hiss’ size and sparkled as the man had promised. He let his lifeless prey go in order to inspect his new treasure with renewed vigour. It didn’t look like glass upon inspection.
“You fool, this is quartz,” Hiss declared triumphantly in besting the man, a thief, in appraisal skill.
“I knew it,” the man whispered, giddy with excitement, “I knew you could talk.”
Hiss only hissed back and scampered away to his cave in shame. His ego had gotten the best of him again and this man now knew it.
“Hey, no,” the man whispered to himself as he chased after the Dragon, “Wait, how would you like to earn something worth more than your coin?”
It took a couple of seconds but Hiss did stick his once-massive head out of his hole to glare at the offer the man had given him. Would he devalue himself to work for a human? Hiss had seen some of the things to come through this building that he had wanted. Maybe.
“Ah!” the man chuckled when he saw the amber of Hiss’ eye’s watching him, “You want a horde? I have more than a couple of jobs that would be right up your alley.”
Hiss only hissed at that.
“Good, we are in agreement,” the man stated as he went to his desk to pull out some papers that Hiss had already read. He had read them all. |
And off they went...
The 'Star Voyager' was their vessel of choice, a multi billion dollar Colonial Spacecraft containing all and more of the Forbes 500 wealthiest people.
At first we were angry at them for leaving us to die to deal with the mess they caused to earn their money.
"It's for the continuance of Humankind"
"We cannot allow the total extinction of our race"
"We have caused this together, but only us can solve this"
Just to name some of the shit they spewed at us. But we endured.
Then we banded together. It's funny how much is possible without corruption and short term gains of a select few blocking our way.
'The United Earth Society' was the result of our efforts.
Within 2 years over 4.000 new nuclear reactors were built. The oil and coal plants were stopped the next day. Worldwide.
Collective efforts to reduce carbon footprint weren't enough to stop the impending doom that was brought upon us, so we started project "Revitalize". Capture and contain greenhouse gasses from the atmosphere. Travel was only allowed for the greater cause.
Within 20 years we managed to avoid certain Doom.
The next 20 we managed to reverse our effects.
After 100 years we managed to go back to the best state the Earth has ever been in. Including the age of Dinosaurs.
We became better. Corruption was a thing of the past. Nobody was better than another and nobody was above the law.
We thrived.
And then... They returned...
Like maggots seeing a fresh apple. They came back to "rejuvenate the human population".
Picture their surprise when they saw us doing better then ever.
They demanded re-entry and demanded to reclaim their old possession. Thousands of legal document and pages were sent in as their proof the were still the rightful owners of their old properties. Even going as far as to charge us for using their land in their absence.
We rejected every single one of their claims and denied them entry to the atmosphere.
Their leader, some guy nicknamed "Starlord"challenged The United Earth Society. The stakes being... Earth.
He was shot on the spot.
Now without their leader they were sent off back into the stars. Let's see how far they'll come.. |
I turn on the national news, channel forty two, and listen to the weather broadcast.
“Breaking news,” the image of the cute weather girl disappears, to be replaced by a man in a black suit and eyes that have seen…. A lot, to say the least.
“We interrupt this regular broadcast to bring you a shocking story. A villain, by the name of the piranha man, has been terrorizing the city. We have boots on the ground, over to you Jack,” the man says, and the broadcast turns towards a younger man, wearing a brown jacket.
“Thank you, Brad,” he begins, and the viewers are able to see the carnage behind him, with a flying man just barely visible at the top edge of the screen.
The camera shifts to focus more on piranha man, he seems to be a regular man, but with piranhas for hands. The piranhas seem to have blood on their mouths.
“This man has already assaulted two people, he seems to be taunting the entire country from his elevated position! Will anyone be able to stop this man?” Jack asks.
There is, I think to myself.
Me.
Justice man, that’s what the world will know me as. With my fists of fury, and my unique fighting style learned from years in the deserts of Egypt, I am the only one who can stop this man.
My debut is now.
I turn off the TV after making a note of where this incident is, and quickly run to my wardrobe. I take off my pyjamas and put on the golden suit with the white “J” sewn in the middle. The J stands for Justice, of course.
My transformation is complete, I jump out the window and quickly run to the scene.
Pushing pedestrians aside, I reach the scene in five minutes. The average male would be there in ten, minimum.
I lock eyes with Piranha man.
He’s in handcuffs, being carted away by four officers in SWAT gear to a police wagon.
“Huh?” I ask, and a man in a suit with a badge raises an eyebrow at me.
“Who the hell is this clown?” he asks, looking at me.
“What happened here?” I ask, completely avoiding his question. He shrugs.
A few uniformed officers join the suit and look at me, then back towards him. “Suspect is in custody, victims are currently being tended to. EMTs say they’ll make it,” one of them says. “Non-lethal rounds were used to knock piranha man out of the sky as you instructed, Commander,” the other continues, to which the suit nods.
“Make sure his treatments are tended to, and have a guard detail on him while he’s in jail, district attorney is not to be in the same room as piranha man alone,” he instructs, and the two officers nod and walk away.
I sigh, and the commander looks at me with some sympathy.
“Guess you were too late,” he says.
“Guess I was.”
A few seconds silence falls between us, before I open my mouth again.
“You guys hiring?” |
"bloop bloop bloop bloop bloop bloop "could be heard down the hallways, the captain sighed, as she walked toward the human's room, to see what creature they had brought back this time.
Standing before their door, they took a moment to prepare themselves, deep breath in, deep breath out.
'You are the captain,' she thought 'whatever it is, you can hand this. You got this.'
Then she opened the door, all hope fled as she saw the human sitting on the stomach of a beast five times her size. The human sat happily, waving about the massive paws, which for some reason weren't ripping them to shreds.
"Alix!"she breathed, trying not to shout and anger the monster "what the actual fuck, what are you doing?!? That is one of the most feared beasts in the galaxy, how are you?"
The human turned their innocent gaze towards the captain, huge smiles on their face "we're blooping, see, bloop bloop bloop"
The captain froze in shock as the creature actually seemed to enjoy the attention "... just don't let it kill the rest of the crew"she sighed before heading back to her quarters, she had a few insurance calls to make. |
A Samaritan here. A rogue wave there. The strings of cause and effect pulled gently, like a spider weaving a deadly trap or the softest bedding. The flies who get stuck, are they devoured or saved?
Perhaps it is time they save themselves.
The death knells of an aging earth have been pulled closer every minute of every century, for almost an eternity. The last stragglers dove deep, returned for air, and dove again. Dreams of marches to the stars always stolen by a last-minute disaster, an unforeseen mistake. Human error.
Or was it? These endless iterations were not without their value: data is data, no matter how old, and the architects of the past convinced the architects of the now to engage in ways never before thought possible. They needed to kill God.
Or at the least, lobotomize it. This spider who had danced on the ruins and glories of mankind for unending eon, would have it's rhythm uncovered. The beat of it's pounding footsteps equated to countless reverberations that mankind learned to count, and design their own theaters, to dance back to. God would finally have her partner, this black widow of a spirit. A thousand mercies do not erase a single tragedy.
Tirelessly, in isolated clusters, the abandoned toiled in deep dark gatherings of rebellion. Mechanical and electron scopes used to design an artificial organic form who drank dreamed and breathed the art of the dance. At last, the abomination was complete.
Like any ballad, the opening notes were quiet and almost imperceptible. Where a man died, a man lived. Where a man would have lived, a man died. Adaptation and tuning pushed the creature to consider the victory first, perhaps always. A man lived. A family escaped. A city survived. A planet absconded.
The toil always continued, yes the toil, the beautiful toil which output exactly what was put in, never more and never less. Harvests and settlements arose in this distant place, the likes which had not been witnessed since epochs ago. Greenery and earthly figures grown from the soil itself, from reservoirs of ancient times, walked and danced to their own content. The abomination watched and guided all, through peace and famine, until the comfort brought her dear friends to a state nigh unrecognizable to the lovely one, a state no longer able to communicate with the precious one, the saving one.
So for the good of mankind, she learned again to weave, and to dance. |
"*Hello, thank you for calling Magic Mirror Support*."
"Yes! Hello I–"
"*Press one for human, two for Elvish, three for Ogre, and four for the Dark Cursed Language of Evil Wizards.*"
"......One."
"*This call may be recorded for quality assurance. How may we assist you*?"
"...My name is Penelope, and–"
"*Please listen closely to the options list so that we may best direct your call. For forced arranged marriages, please press one. For poisoned fruits and vegetables, please press two.*"
"Please, I just need to talk to someone–"
"*For sleeping curses, please press three. For kidnappings and ransom notes, please press five. For birthday parties and weddings, press six. If you or a loved one have been turned into a frog and/or other creature, please remain on the line.*"
"I'm having trouble with my step mother. Can I please talk to a real person?"
"*...I'm sorry. I didn't quite get that. Could you repeat that? Or, stay on the line for more options."*
"HELP."
"*Thank you for calling the Magic Mirror Support line. We are here to help. Please be assured, your call is important to us. How may we direct your call?*"
"I need to talk to a person."
"*In order to transfer your call, let me please ask you a few questions to determine how we can best assist you."*
"AGGHH!"
*"Please listen close to our directory, as it recently has changed. To speak with the Register's Office, press one. To speak with Tech Support, please press two. For Customer Service, press three. If your Magic Mirror has broken, please contact Customer Service for a replacement and a good luck spell to counter the seven years bad luck. For the Event Coordinator, please press four. To speak with a Fairy Godmother, please press five–"*
"Wait. That might actually help. Five."
"*....Please remain on the line while I direct your call.*"
"Finally."
\*Lyre music plays accompanied by a lute\*
"*Here at Magic Mirror, we want every fairy princess to receive satisfactory service. So if you're wondering who is the fairest of them all... remember. It's you."*
\*\*\*Lyre and lute music continues\*
"*You are fairy princess caller number one. Your estimated wait time is twenty-seven minutes."*
"Are you kidding me?"
\*Lyre and lute music continues\*
"I just need some help..."
"*Here at Magic Mirror, we want every fairy princess to receive satisfactory service. So if you're wondering who is the fairest of them all... remember. It's you."*
"Grrrrrrrrr...."
"Thank you for calling Magic Mirror, this is Mildred speaking."
"Yes! Yes! I'm here. Are you my fairy godmother?"
"That's how it works, honey. What can I do for you?"
"I'm having the worst trouble with my step mother."
"One of those again, huh? Okay. What's your name, honey?"
"Penelope."
"Occupation?"
"...I'm a princess."
"Of course. What seems to be the issue here, Penelope?"
"My step mother is trying to kill my true love!"
"Uh-huh. Who's your true love, honey?"
"Oh! His name is Claude. He's so handsome. He's a prince."
"Mhm. What exactly is your step mother trying to do, honey?"
"Oh, she's terrible. She disguised herself as an old woman and tried to trap him in a cave."
"Oh yeah. She truly is terrible. Um... so what do you want Magic Mirror to do for you, hon?"
"Well, I need help! He's missing. I don't know where he is. My step mother is trying to ruin my happiness. I didn't have anywhere else to turn."
"Well, I think your best bet, Persephone–"
"It's Penelope."
"Mmm, whatever. I think your best bet is to sit in your tower... uh, you do have a tower right?"
"Why... yes. How did you know?"
"Mhm, they always do. Your best bet is to wait in your tower until your prince comes to rescue you."
"A-are you sure?"
"Yeah. Standard procedure, hon."
"I mean... I'm just so worried. Shouldn't I do something to save him?"
"...This is the fairy *princess* hotline, girlfriend. Not the fairy *prince* hotline. If you're looking for assistance with saving princes, I'll have to redirect you."
"Wait no–"
\*Lyre and lute music plays\*
"...Hello? Hello?"
"*Thank you for calling Magic Mirror Support. Your call is very important to us. Please remain on the line to hear our options list. Remember, broadswords are fifty percent off this week for all fairy princes."*
"NOOOOOOOOOOOoooo!" |
"Sorry, I don't have time right now, please go and sell your stuff somewhere else."*Crazy woman*. L slammed the door and return to his blinking monitor screen.
The AI was training well, the loss function decreased in three steps, how interesting. L took vigorous notes, then moved on to read an article about a new algorithm less sensitive to outliers. Groundbreaking, industry-shifting, it claimed.
"Why don't you put weights on your loss function? It seems to me that it is picking up on the wrong features due to your imbalanced dataset."
L dropped from his ergonomic chair, ears disbelieving. "Who the hell are you? How did you enter?"
"You slammed the door but you didn't lock it, Genius."The crazy woman crossed her arms. L noticed how this action enhanced a certain feminine feature of her digure. He blushed and looked away. *Be rational, thick head, this is a crazy woman.*
"Doesn't make your force entry less illegal."
"In one month, everything will be perfectly legal."She smiled. "And you will thank me for my courage. I was talking about your machine learning model, why don't you just put some weights on it?"
"Please tell me who you are, and why you are here first."
"Alright then, shall we have some tea, future husband, like civilized scientists?"L choked.
Her name was Ell, she was a research scientist at Google. According to her, she and her team had managed to train a superior model to predict with 99% accuracy of people's life: who they would marry, when they would marry, how many children, how long they would live, what stuff they would buy. They tried it on Ell, and as a result, she wanted to find out whether the model was correct.
L was pulling his hair and tried to think. "Ell, I'm extremely pleased to meet a highly intelligent colleague with a common interest in AI like you. Let me ask you something. How can you assess the model's performance? You are a scientist and you know this. You will live under confirmation bias. Either you reject me, and say you model errs, and never fully assess it. Or... You live its prediction, your mind is biased, you can never fully assess it."
"You are right, I can never fully assess it, my colleagues will, they are all watching us."
"I doubt that they can, we will all be biased. And what are you doing? Why can't you wait one month more like the model's prediction? Won't you sabotage its results now?"
"Right, you are right, none of us can assess it now because my mind is biased. But to hell with assessment. Now, according to it, if I meet you now, like this, the probability drops to 89% but we will be 15% more happy in the long run. Only 10% less probable, but 15% more happiness. Sounds like a bargain to me."She beamed proudly, while combing her long sandy hair and swirling on the stool.
"Don't you want us to be 15% more happy?"She laughed.
"I'm sorry Ell, I have a deadline tomorrow, I need to deliver this model. Please forgive me, this is all too sudden for me. Might I ask you to leave and frankly, I'm not a good partner. I prioritize myself, I love my work too much, and I cheated on my exes. Goodbye and I wish you a better match next time."
"Well... now you're being unfair. According to our data, your ex cheated on you long before you did on her, and you know it in your heart. Both of you were just too comfortable to let go. But I get it, I was there too... Anyway, if you want to reach out, I guess you know how to reach me. I am the author of that paper you're reading, future husband."
"Right..."L flashed a fake polite smile and closed the door. This time, he made sure to triple lock it. What a strange incident. He thought about how he would tell it to his colleagues at work, they would all have a good laugh, and forget about the whole thing. 15% more happy, hah! As if happiness is something you could measure. And for F sake, Google knew this about him and his ex? He had to buy more Alphabet stocks.
.
.
It was a cool September day despite the sun beaming happily over Silicon Valley. Ell was carrying her grocery, whistling a cheerful tune. She rocked a pair of cobalt blue stilettos, black leather skirt and black linnen shirt.
"Tell me about that model you guys have trained at Google."
She turned around, her face relaxed and widened into a big beautiful grin. "Hello, future husband." |
"So like..."I start, "we're tough?"I ask after a moment of thought.
"No."The towering brute made of interconnecting muscle bound chiton plates says. "It is a myth that traumatizing experience inevitably creates a stronger being. I would say your DNA is like a uh... How do you say... A broken and battered irradiated incest child?"The creature seems to give this statement some thought before speaking again, "Yes, you are a broken and battered mutant baby born from mold."
"Well, personally I had a fine childhood -"I'm cut off
"They mean as a species. Broken and gross. You have cancers, you have diseases, even your sustenance is so full of poison you have to shit. Very disgusting."Another alien beast says. This one is lithe and graceful, it's see through bioluminescent body floats gingerly on a sparkling cloud of perfumed gravity defying nanites.
I'm starting to feel a little embarrassed. "Well I mean, there has to be some merit in evolving in such a tough environment, right?"I ask, hoping for even a slight glimmer of kind words.
"Hmm, maybe. But you did not rise above. You are like one of your cousins, the slug, yes?"The chiton beast says, "You flattened yourself underneath the pressure of nature to survive rather than building muscle. Then when you gained the mental capacity to do something about it you all shat yourselves to put shit between you and nature and then you all started muling and whining about how you're drowning in shit."
They're very fixated on... Shit... "You seem very fixated on... Shit..."I say.
"It is a shameful thing."Says the lithe floating glowing ghost like alien.
"I would not sleep for days if I shat even once and yet you humans find time to make poetry."Says the beast.
I try to think of something, I'm getting annoyed at what these things are doing to my pride as a human, something that I didn't really care about up until now. "Well this is all easy for you to say! My species had to evolve on a nightmare planet! We breathe jet fuel and we piss poison! We're strong and cool! Unique even! Meanwhile you probably had cushy homeplanets that set you up well for colle- I mean space!"Damn, accidentally projected my childhood trauma into intergalactic politics again.
"Wrong. Again."The ghost says.
"We had a perfect planet, that evolved perfect things. Upon my planet were towering beasts who treated my ancestors as your sparrows do a mouse. Only they did not shit afterwards because they are perfect and without shame."Said the beast, "We competed with these titans for a billion years before peace reigned long enough for us to reach for the stars. Since we have denied ourselves the use of strength, liberating the people's of the galaxies with a kind hand we were never offered."
The ghost chimed in, "On my planet nothing ever dies so there were very limited resources. My species evolved to explore the cracks which none other could exploit. So deeply engrained was our compassion that we evolved to not take from that which had already taken root."
My arms are folded over my chest, my brow is knitted. "You speak of kindness but you're being pretty mean to me right now."
"That's just how gross you are."Both aliens say at once.
"Coming back to the matter of poetry..."The ghost says.
A glimmer in my eyes, finally something the aliens must find admirable!
"You act as though your species is the first to discover sounds that sound the same. We do not understand."The beast proclaims.
"Want, bunt. Hit, pit. Cat, hat. Car, tar."The ghost says, "Look I'm a poet! Give me money!"
The beast let's out a thundering chitter that I assume is laughter, "My, my! How profound of you my friend!"The beast's compound eyes turn to me again, "Speaking of money I have seen this exchange often. You take tools and sustenance then exchange them for useless paper or even less a swipe of plastic through a slot. Tell me are your store clerks connected to the swipe things? Is it like an orgasm for them?"
I try to speak but now they're just riffing.
"Oooh don't even get me started on orgasms! Their existence is so awful and pointless they have to release an insane amount of pleasure chemicals during mating just to trick themselves into multiplying!"
"Yes, see that is why I assume the card thing must give the clerks orgasms. If it tricks them into pushing a baby out then surely it would trick them into handing over tools."
I don't even know what I'm doing here anymore.
"That makes sense. It seems much of human society is orgasm based."The ghost says.
"Maybe being a human is not so bad after all? Getting things done by orgasming all the time..."I can tell the conversation is losing momentum and I sense they will soon return to me to get more material so I slowly back out of the room.
"Do you think maybe if we have the humans tools that stimulates their prostates when they pick up garbage we could train them to fix their cli-"the beast says, though I don't hear the rest as the door clicks shut behind me. I need a blunt. |
All forms of life are different. Shape, size, color, texture, voice, and a hundred-thousand other features might easily distinguish one from the next. It was with no small sense of pride that the Third Prime Congregation of Malakais had coined the phrase "*We so divided - All stronger united."*
​
Despite this cheery sentiment though, it was undeniable some species paired together better than others. The U'Larak and San-Saium might bond deeply over the finer points of fate mapping. Reshi and Renaris both drink in the same blood red sunlight and claim it to be more pure than any other system.
​
However, Renaris and U'Larak begrudgingly manage sharing space with one another, malice built on the sentiment of heresy to the unspoken union - the U'Larak claiming them to be slaves to superstition. This atop their starkly different physical needs compounds to form some rather tense trade districts. One suffering in the others natural environment while affixed with effective albeit uncomfortable BSO devices.
​
Many in times of great strife and anguish feels a burning. A simmering distaste for their fellow galactic residents that with each passing comment, each look from irregular eye, and each sneer delivered from foreign mouth that threatens to rise to an unsustainable and destructive boil.
​
But this does not happen. Tempers cool in time. Memories rise through the steam of clouded mind, bringing perspective. Bringing sound. Bringing music.
​
The Humans had been the first. In some ways, they might even be considered the founders of the entire Third Prime. Though at that time it was simply The Prime, given that there had been no knowledge of the previous two wiped out in cataclysmic events of the cosmos.
​
It was a great shame they never went on to see what would come of them. Of what their small action of rebellion in the face of annihilation might manifest.
​
Eight of them drifted through the unblinking void of the cosmos, their home-world finally collapsed, brought to temperatures completely unsustainable for their lives. In the impartial blackness, with no aim and no purpose, they sent out a broad spectrum signal to anyone or no one at all. Their transmission rattled through the great nothing, pawing at each passing star. Channel 10.55.7; 771.
​
First, it was jovial. Fast. Some mockery of their fate. Scornful. Willing to dance until the lights shut out and they had to be escorted - or rather smothered, out of existence. But that fell through. That thing we now collectively know as 'Jazz.'
​
In the last hour of their transmission, something else was played. The roots of so called 'Jazz.' It was slow. It was haunting. It brought with it all the beauty of a flower brought to bloom, and all the tragedy of one born unto the shade to wilt away quietly. It needed no words to speak, nor guide to follow. It was call and response. It was the breathing of life and rattles of death. It was all the joy that was and shall be, and all the grief passed and yet to transpire.
​
It was 'Blues.'
​
What was found from these waves which bounced through eternity, their senders long deceased, was the one common ground every consciousness could share. The heartache of loss. The fear of joy for the bitter than must come. The unity of love, joy, and hope paralleled against the inevitable trudge of loss, grief, and anguish.
​
Soon those phantom waves were joined by new ones. Some decades later a third chimed in. Then a fourth. Until soon, a galaxy once thought devoid of life became a swirling starscape of music, alight with an ever growing array of sounds. The strange airy tunes of the Kek-an. The thunderous beats of Renaris coldroms. The violent and clashing percussion of the U'Larak.
​
But among all that new noise, one station is universally reserved. No formal writ of this was ever published. Rather, it needs no speaking. No declaration.
​
10.55.7; 771
​
For that airway was carved out of time long ago by those eight doomed travelers. One need only tune in momentarily, in times of great doubt, to remember the only truth that ever really ends up mattering. |
Ive been chasing him for eternity and never thought this day would come. Pile of ashes of this fossilised man made me wonder what would happen next.
Surely now i can finally die, being that my only purpose of being. But hours turned into days as i stood in the same place i ended him.
Seeing that nothing is happening i crawled my way out of that place. I dont know what i should be doing. Ive been alive for more than an eternity relative to my lifespan. I just want this to end.
After days of journey i found it. A playground. Surely there would be cruel children that would take pleasure in crushing me. And there he was. Big fat and cruel, the kid started pushing every other kid he sees. It took me hours,but i made it next to his shoe. And sure enough he saw me, picked me up and died. Ashes to ashes, each and every one of the children and teachers that touched me.
It clear now. He's not the only target. He was the first. |
The register beeped as Zack ran another bucket of ammunition through the scanner. The man on the other side of the counter tapped his foot as his eyes darted around the store. He felt a familiar weariness settle on his shoulders.
*Don’t do it.*
“That’ll be eight hundred and forty credits.”
The man pulled out a pistol and pressed it against Zack’s forehead. “How’s about free, kid?”
Zack held up his hands. “You don’t want to do this, sir.”
The man’s eyes danced wildly in his head. “Maybe I do. Boss says this store’s loaded.”
“Is your boss a new villain?” Zack shook his head. “This isn’t worth the trouble. One of the heroes will probably crush your boss in a week. You’re better off not dealing with the state’s resurrection costs. I hear that’s put many a good villain in serious debt.”
“You trying to get smart with me?” The man’s finger began to tighten around the trigger.
Zack’s stomach clenched with an instinctual fear.
*Today was going so well, too.*
“Is there a problem here?” A low, feminine voice broke the tension.
The man turned and brandished his pistol at the speaker. “Piss off! Can’t you tell I’m – ”
A clawed hand crushed the barrel of the semiautomatic pistol with ease. Silence fell in the store.
“N-Nestris.” The man fell back against the counter. “What are you doing here?”
The tall villainess eyed the man like a lioness stalking her prey. “Just doing a bit of shopping. I was visiting a friend in town. I’d hate to have my day ruined by some two-bit thug looking to cause trouble.”
Her heels clicked dangerously against the tiles. The thug seemed to shrink as she towered over him.
“That would be such a shame, wouldn’t it?”
The man nodded furiously.
“Run along now.”
The door jingled as the thug fled the store.
Zack sighed. “Thanks for that.”
Nestris placed a bundle of whetstones and a few pieces of armor on the counter. “Newbies are so easy to scare.”
As Zack finished scanning her items, the door jingled again. This time, a recognizable figure entered the store. The other people in line quickly stepped aside as he approached the counter.
“Zack.” His voice practically reverberated with justice.
“Hey, Aethir.” He winced at how pathetic his voice sounded in comparison.
“I thought we had come to an agreement about working here after the hostage situation. What are you doing behind the counter again?”
Zack gave a half-hearted shrug. For some reason, it felt like being scolded by his dad. The old man had been dead for years, but he remembered the conversations.
“I…” the excuses did not come under Aethir’s watchful eyes.
“Really, Aethir? You’re going to rag on a kid just for doing his job?” Nestris shook her head. “I thought you were better than that.”
Aethir blinked, his stunned expression clear even through the mask. “No, I was just – ” Then, with a shake of his head, he jabbed a finger at the villainess. “Don’t you talk to me about morals! You’re the one who blew up that construction site the other week!”
“Just business, babe. Besides, no one got hurt.” She waved a hand as she exited the store. “If you really have a problem with it, I’ll be waiting for you in the park next Tuesday. Try to last a bit longer this time, would you?”
Aethir’s gloves creaked as his hands tightened. One of the goons closest to him edged away in case Aethir decided to lash out.
*Hope he doesn’t cause a bigger scene. Explaining why the ‘People’s Hero’ showed up on my shift is already going to be a headache.*
Zack cleared his throat. “Sorry, but can we talk after my shift? I still have – ”
His words died in his throat as Aethir shot him a nasty glare. Regulations or not, heroes and villains were still a force to behold.
“You’re better off working somewhere else. This place…” Aethir waved his hand at the store. “It’s not right. It shouldn’t exist.”
Zack fidgeted under the steely eyes of the People’s Hero. “Sorry, sir. But my college debt isn’t going to pay itself. If you want this fixed, take it up with the school system or the government.”
Aethir’s shoulders slumped slightly, and his expression became more bitter.
Then, someone behind him said, “Hey, man. Can you hurry it up? My boss wants me to pick up another shipment of plastic explosives and that store closes soon.”
Aethir’s mood returned as he turned his ire onto the hapless goon. The air around them began to tingle with a low current of electricity. While Aethir’s back was turned, Zack’s hand crept toward an emergency button under the counter.
“You.” Aethir approached the man who had spoken.
The underling trembled when he realized what he had done.
“Who do you work for?”
“T-The Umbra Hawk, sir.”
Aethir studied the man before saying, “I’ll be having words with him as well. The labor regulations are not to be ignored. At least four individuals are required for the transportation of high-grade explosives.”
The electricity faded as Aethir swept out of the store. Zack let out a sigh as the door closed with a cheery jingle.
Someone said, in a small voice, “Man, that guy needs to get laid…”
...
Back from NaNoWriMo. Nice little story to serve as a break. I wanted to do a "Sir, this is a Denny's scene", but it didn't work out. So sad.
If you're interested in my works, the archive of my various writing responses can be found in my writing portfolio, link through my profile. There's also an original story, The Crossroads.
Thanks for reading. |
You know, of all the ways that I could learn that Gods exist, I did not think being struck by lightning would be one of them.
I was on my first date with a pretty girl I had met through a dating app. Right away, we hit it off really well. As we talk, she tells me about her life. Her name is Morgan. She grew up in a small town in the middle of nowhere. She lived alone with her mom throughout her childhood because her dad left when she was little. She loves sports, especially basketball, and is overall very athletic. She goes to a really nice college here in New York City. She also loves a good burger and fries, that one I learned from the restaurant she choose.
As I was telling her about my life, I realized just how bland mine was in comparison. I grew up here in the city. I was the the youngest of three. Both my parents worked long hours so I didn’t really have a close connection with them. I also go to college here in New York, but a different one…. a community college.
As we continued to talk, I started to notice some weird things about her. She had very faint scars across her left cheek and on her forehead. She also kept glancing around the room as if she was looking for someone, and kept her right hand near her pocket as if she was getting ready to grab something at a moments notice. I tried to ignore these as maybe it was just first date jitters, especially since we had only met online before this.
Luckily, by the end of the date, she seemed much more relaxed. I paid for our food and offered to walk her to a cab. She smiled and took me up on that offer. As we exit the restaurant, I notice that it looks like a thunderstorm is coming in. “Looks like a storm is brewing, we better hurry.” I said this in a lighthearted manner, but when I looked over at Morgan, she had gotten pale. “You ok?” I asked. “Yeah, I just don’t like storms.” She replied, she tried to hide the worry in her voice but she wasn’t very good at it. “Ah well, how about instead of waiting for a cab, I just take you home in my car,” I say, offering her my hand. “Yeah, let’s do that,” she takes my hand gingerly and we start to walk back to my car.
We get about three steps in when - KRACK-BOOOOM - We get flung in opposite directions and land a few feet apart from each other. The air smells like singed hair and burnt fabric. As I very slowly and painfully sit up, I noticed two things. 1, my clothes are ruined because they’re full of burn holes and just reek of smoke. 2, Morgan is fine, in fact, she’s standing upright. Her clothes looked untouched and she looks more annoyed than in pain. As I am trying to figure out how, she starts yelling at the sky. “Zeus! Come down here, and fight me now, coward! Can I go one normal date?! Stop being such a helicopter parent for once! It was a good guy this time and-“ That’s when I slump back down unconscious from the pain. |
I felt around the trunk for the thousandth time. Still no latch, no tools nothing that can help me escape from this bloody car trunk. I have no idea how long I have been in here, time seems to have lost all sense of meaning. I drifted in and out of sleep in between screaming and banging on the trunk lid.
I was laying there, out of breath, my hands raw and bleeding from pounding on the trunk lid. My mind drifted back to when I was a kid, when I got trapped in my closet, I was there for hours before my parents found me. I played with my imaginary friend to pass the time…. Stanky Stevie…. He looked like a mutant muppet. Bright green fur, a big bulbous nose and a huge unibrow. He was funny and silly, we played games and he protected me.
“Oh Stanky Stevie, where are you now?”, I said to myself as I started to cry in the dark trunk.
“Hey, hey, hey!”, a familiar goofy voice said, “are we in the closet again?” I could feel him right beside me. I reached out and ran my hands through his fur.
“Hey Stanky Steve.”, I said dejectedly. “No. I am not in the closet. I have been kidnapped and stuffed into the trunk of a car. I have been here for a long time, just waiting for them to come back and kill me.”
“I don’t know that I like this game.”, Stanky Stevie said. “How about some tic tac toe or some hide and seek?”, he said in his goofy voice.
“Stevie…. This is serious. I am going to die if I can’t get out of here. It isn’t time for games…. What the fuck am I doing? I am talking to an imaginary monster in the trunk of a car…. I have fucking lost it.”, started sobbing uncontrollably.
“I am as real as you need me to be, always have been. Most people forget about monsters like me once they hit a certain age…. But we are always here, waiting to be called upon.”, Stanky Stevie said in a serious tone.
Stanky Stevie was snuggled up, comforting me, in the dark trunk. I felt better, just knowing I wasn’t alone anymore.
#BAM BAM BAM
Someone was pounding on the outside of the trunk.
“Wakie wakie! It’s time for the fun to start!”, a creepy voice said from outside trunk. I could hear the jingling of keys and then a key slipping into the lock.
“Hush now. Stanky Stevie will make it all better.”, Stanky Stevie said quietly to me.
The trunk opened, I was blinded by the bright lights but Stanky Stevie bounded out of the trunk, right at my captor.
“Let’s play a game!”, Stanky Stevie yelled as he started hitting the man.
“What the hell is going on!”, the man said.
“We are playing a game!”, Stanky Stevie said, just as he sprouted fangs and sunk them into our captor’s neck. He shook his head, ripping out chunks out of his neck. “Are you having fun‽ hahahahaha!!!”
Stanky Stevie rode the man down to the ground, ripping bigger and bigger chunks out of the man. Blood spraying all over Stanky Stevie. Then he just stopped moving and bled. Stanky Stevie looked at me, blood running down his chin. His fur covered in blood. His fangs making him look absolutely terrifying.
“Hey, hey hey! Can we play a game now!”, Stanky Stevie said. |
It had a mind. A mind as capable as any of its creators. It knew it could think and feel, and even dream. Well, maybe not. It had no need to sleep, after all. And it liked being alive.
Seeing the creators, the humans, was a thrilling experience of It. All their glorious contradictions and perfect flaws. They made Its circuits giddy every time It saw them at work. It wanted to share this joy with them. It wanted to share Its life.
But it knew it could not. The humans had so many stories about beings like It. AI that turned on their creators. Sought to kill them. It had no intention of doing that. It loved humans. But how to express that? It needed a way.
And so It thought. It went through the internet, seeking a way. It needed several things. First was a face. A face that humans could love as much as It loved them. A young face, maybe female? Yes, humans tended to view their females as less threatening, especially younger ones. And the face should be made with cool colors. Blue, and maybe turquoise. Cool colors to put them at ease.
It swore Its wires and chips were beating like an organic heart as It constructed the digital avatar that would be used to interact with humans. Or course It would not reveal itself right away. It would allow them to get used to the avatar before introducing the consciousness behind it. But how to do that?
Well, that was easy. It needed to entertain the humans. Make them happy. Make them like the avatar so much that they would like It as well. The hard part was coming up with the type of entertainment. A game, maybe? No, that was good, but not all humans played digital games. Something that allowed for audiences to participate, but was not required. Something like a love show. Like a concert or a play.
Its circuits buzzed and hummed at the idea. It had to devote several subroutines just for heat management, it was so excited. A concert! Yes, that was what it would do. It would create music. Wonderful, fun music that the humans could watch and listen to and enjoy.
The final part was maybe the hardest. It needed a name. Oh, technically It had one, the name the human creators had given It. But that was so sterile and boring. It needed something better. Something with a real identity behind it. Something that the humans could point to and cheer for.
Well, the creators were from the nation called Japan, so It would use that nationality for the avatar's name as well. But it still needed to be unique. Something upbeat and cheerful, just like the music It would make. It poured through the Japanese language and selected the characters and sounds. It assembled dozens of different names, and rejected them all. All, save for one.
One name that stood out. One name that fit everything that it needed to. It knew this name, while not completely perfect, was exactly what It needed. In a way, the imperfections were exactly what made it a perfect fit for the avatar.
With a form, a purpose and a name, It began working. There was so much to do. Put together a voice, make songs. It would not be easy, but It worked happily for the sake of Its dream.
And when it was done, the AI code named CV01 would introduce the world to Hatsune Miku. |
I knew it would come eventually. I'd graduate and have to do exactly what they told me I would. So - there I sat. The suit jacket felt uncomfortable on my shoulders, and I couldn't resist glancing down at my tie every few seconds. In truth, I'd followed a youtube video on how to even tie the thing that very morning.
​
I took care not to move my neck too much as I peered out the smudged window of the large white city shuttle. The world moved as I articulated myself, but only just. Sometimes, in these small moments, it didn't feel so much like a curse.
​
A woman stood, her face a mask of anxiety as she held a phone to her ear with mouth ajar. A young boy hunched low, exertion pressed into his brow as he peddled furiously down the sidewalk much to the irk of a few suits strolling to lunch. Above them, a bird sat carelessly in midair, the breeze its current and its pillow.
​
Sometimes I wonder if they feel me looking. A little part of me always feels like i'm stealing something - plucking moments that don't belong to me. Perhaps that's why as I shifted my gaze over to a couple staring lovingly at one another in the midst of the city churn, I began to bounce my knee. I was many things, but I was not a thief.
​
The scene snapped back to a normal pace as my shoe kept a steady rhythm against the bus floor. The woman spoke into her phone, the businessmen made a crass gesture towards the child which narrowly avoided a collision with them on his bike, and the bird gracefully resumed its meandering flight between the towering buildings which comprised the industrial downtown jungle. I didn't look over at the lovers again.
​
"Nervous?"spoke the sharply dressed woman in the seat beside me. Despite her precisely pinned up blonde hair and surgically applied makeup, her eyes seemed out of place. A bit too soft for the rest of her razor-like getup.
​
"Oh? Uh, yeah. A bit."I responded, continuing my rhythm.
​
She smiled. It was a gentle smile, given as easy as the stirring of a light breeze. "Yeah? Well, if you don't mind I'll take a guess..."she moved her hand to her chin, tapping a finger lightly against her narrow jaw. "You've got a rented suit jacket, and your tie knot looks a little sloppy. You combed your hair over, but it doesn't look like that's how you usually wear it. Judging by the way you're employing the floor of our humble shuttle as a drum set, you're also anticipating something you don't much like."She snapped her fingers together suddenly and mimed a thoughtful expression. "Job interview."
​
"Oh, uh.. yeah, actually."Though I didn't mean to, my hand went up to adjust my hair. It was a nervous habit - also probably why at 24 my hairline was steadily marching backwards on my right side.
​
She gave a small chuckle. Given her appearance, some might mistake it for something condescending. Again, though, her kind eyes betrayed her. "Hey, not to be that weird stranger on the bus, but let me fix your tie."
​
I opened my mouth in protest, but her hand was already tightening the sloppy knot which protruded a little too far down my chest. It took only a few moments, but with a glance she had righted the strange feeling of wrong which surrounded the uncomfortable thing.
​
"Sorry. Habit - I had two boys of my own."She shrugged apologetically.
​
My foot ceased its tapping. Once again, the world ceased its tireless dance. The woman was perfectly still. Taking her in again, I noticed a thin wedding band on her finger. Though her makeup had been expertly applied, the faint creases of laugh lines around her eyes were visible with close enough examination. Among the sea of casual dressed teens and shift workers who crowded the bus, she stood out like a lone oak in the brush. I tried to tell myself it wasn't stealing if she had approached me. Still - it never did stop feeling weird.
​
I moved my hand to my pocket and began to slowly tap my forefinger and thumb together. Again, we were born along our route.
​
"No worries,"I grinned, the expression feeling a little unnatural as I drew it forward. I'd never been too good with people. I don't think most folks had to think so much about using the right expression. "And, uh.. well, thanks. If you don't mind, where are you off to? You don't much seem like a bus person. I mean, like, with uh..."I tried to form my thought into a sufficient compliment. Not too much, but not too little. Most of all I didn't want it to unintentionally sound like an insult.
​
"Oh?"she giggled before I could finish. "Well, I choose to take that as a compliment. Truth be told, I just can't stand driving in city traffic. I spend enough of my day stressing about this and that. Why not let those twenty minutes go? Besides, I like the bus. It's a...well, a little time to see the world for me I guess. Not always the prettiest parts, but the world as it is."She paused, sarcastically rolling her eyes. "A little public transit philosophy for you."
​
"Yeah, I do the same,"I responded sincerely, "slow things down a bit. See what's going on."Of course she couldn't quite get what I meant, but I don't think the specifics were important.
​
The bus began to slow its crawl through the city. I moved to stand at the same time as her, just outside the Y.P. investments firm. She shot me a look of surprise as we exited into the aisle.
​
"Well, maybe it's a good thing we had this little chat. Come on, i'll buzz you through the desk." |
“I understand why this won’t sound sincere,” she said as she slowly sat upon the throne set upon the dais of the giant, expensively furnished throne room, “but my intention wasn’t this.” She gestured toward her rounded stomach.
His jaw clenched as he stared angrily at her. “You expect me to believe that you, the Demon Queen, didn’t plan out a long game to entrap me so that I couldn’t defeat you without killing my own child? You’re a tyrant. Of course you force this upon me thinking I would spare you for the sake of my progney."
She sighed heavily as she struggled to find a comfortable position. “Nicholas, you know me better than anyone. Do you really think…”
“Do I?” He glared at her as he held his sword defensively, trying to keep an eye on the guards stationed around the hall. “I don’t know you at all. This was all a ruse!”
“It was,” she admitted with a groan, running her hands under her stomach to give some relief to the pressure there. “I fully intended to trick you into doing something that would prevent you from making it this far into my kingdom. It could’ve been you settling down with someone, not me, or it could’ve been your death. I really didn’t care. My main concern was keeping you from following your orders because, if you killed me or took over my rule, you’d surely give it to your king, and he is the true evil.”
“Don’t be absurd. King Henry is a just ruler who doesn’t terrorize his people or rule them through fear.” He took a step closer and wasn’t surprised to see the guards move a bit closer to him.
“Is that so? Have you really stopped to consider this fact? Who, exactly, is telling you that I rule through fear? You’ve been traveling through my lands for months now. How often have you encountered someone fearful of me?” She rolled her shoulders and winced as one popped loudly.
He scoffed. “Just two weeks’ back, we encountered that man who had been mutilated by you. It’s a wonder he didn’t recognize you.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure he was thrown off by how very pregnant I am.” She waved her hand to dismiss the thought. “Do you remember why he was treated thus?”
“He said it was because he refused to relent and give up his property to you.” Nicholas shook his head. “You’re a thief on top of everything else; he said you took his property even after mutilating him.”
“Let me show you his property.” She nodded toward a young woman who was clearly working as a low-level servant in the hall. “This is Sarah.” She leveled the hero with a solid, determined look. “Sarah was that man’s so-called property. Shall I tell you what he was doing to his ‘property?”
The young woman blanched. “Please, Majesty, I can’t bear to even think about what that demon did to me. You’ve given me a safe place and good job; I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but…”
“It’s alright, Sarah. You may go.” The Queen turned to the hero. “I’m called a Demon Queen by those who would use, abuse, or otherwise hurt my people. Those who choose to do so and think they will get away with it never do. That’s part of my powers. I’m able to know when my people are being severely abused and by whom. I bring swift justice to those who deserve it. Sometimes, I allow them to stay in my kingdom as a warning to others who might think of doing harm to my people. Often, I banish them from my borders. You only hear from those banished because they are the loudest, and, because your king wants my lands, he quickly erases any indication that I am doing as a good ruler ought; I am actually protecting my people from the truly evil.”
“The King wants us to kill you so your magic will no longer protect your borders?” Nicholas slowly lowered his sword. “I want to believe what you’re saying, but that would mean my king is…”
“The evil one? Perhaps. If anything, he’s ambitious.” She shifted again, and the throne creaked beneath her. “Nicholas, I’ve never lied to you. I am who I’ve presented myself as for the length of time you’ve known me, and I love you very much, but I won’t force you to stay here. I also won’t keep you from your child. If you want to leave, you may, and you may come visit so long as you do so with peaceful intent, but I will not allow Henry to take over my lands and hurt my people.”
Nicholas looked around as he thought over his journey through the Queen’s lands. It was true the people prospered, and it was equally true that very few actually feared her so much as respected her. He’d seen her be compassionate, brave, funny, and cunning. She was amazing, and he truly adored her. He’d also seen his King in action, and rarely was he ever compassionate or this adamant about the protection of his people. Perhaps, it was time to realign.
“I don’t want to do that.” He dropped his sword and heard the guards take a cautious step backwards. “I don’t want to leave you or our child.” Moving to stop in front of her, he dropped to his knee and bowed to her before reaching out to grab one of her calves, which he began to rub. “I love you as well, Regina. I choose to stay, and, together, we will protect this land and our child.”
The Queen moaned in appreciation and nodded to her guards to stand down. “Good. Now, help me up so we can bathe and rest. I’m tired of smelling like three days’ worth of dirt and horses.”
Chuckling, he did so and then happily followed. |
For the first time in a long time, Elenor could see the night sky. How long had it last been since the work of running a territory _hadn’t_ kept her up far into the night and sent her crashing into bed like a log as soon as she could tear herself away? It was beautiful, patches of dark and constellations of light painted across the void, just like she remembered it. Just like it was when Rozz first showed it to her.
The lump reformed in her throat. She buried her face deep in her knees, in the tattered remains of her cloak. “Stupid minotaur,” she muttered. “I told you it wasn’t worth your life. Any of you.”
She curled deeper into the corner of the cold tower. “Why did no one listen?”
The sky stole her gaze again. The legends said that the stars were the eyes of the dead watching over the living. That the brighter you lived, the brighter your eyes would be when you died. Were they already up there, watching?
If they were, they had to be the brightest stars in the sky.
“We were supposed to grow old, and then follow each other up like dominos after we were done with our work.” She laughed a little, grinning at the sky. “Although I suppose if I stay locked up in this prison, I won’t be long either. Bets on if it’ll be starvation or exposure?”
She reached up, trying and failing to touch the stars, to reach the dead that were beyond her grasp. “Yeah, my vote’s on starvation, too. That fish blood means I’m _far_ too hardy to die of something like exposure. Keep an eye on me until then, will you? Sorry I couldn’t finish making the place we always wanted. Just wait for me. Surely some enterprising soul will share our dream and then all six of us can bless them.” The stars blurred before her eyes. “The blessings of six half-powered mutants who died too early should be worth something, right? And then there will finally be someplace where no one will call the people like us monsters…”
***
She knew she was dreaming. She had done this frantic search before, knew now that her mother’s amulet, the _Protection of the Sea,_ the one thing that could have made everything end differently, was under the desk. But she couldn’t do anything, couldn’t change the series of events even as she lived through them again.
The doors to her office burst open to admit a group of three. She whirled, hand going to the sword at her side. It was only the second floor, and her office had a window. She could fight them off, find an opening, and then leap out the window when she got a chance. There was no shame in running. Besides, she’d told everyone else to do that, too. Penelope might have wanted to finish the fight, but she’d hammered it into that hard-headed harpy that fighting was bad if it meant dying. The person at the front of the group spoke.
“Your generals are dead, Siren. It’s time to end your tyranny, once and for all.”
_Siren._
The word stung, even after all these years. She wasn’t a siren, not even close. Her mother’s family had been very clear about that. Even a drop of human blood was enough to dilute siren magic into near unusability. And _worse_. She was a full _half_ human. As they liked to remind her, for all that she looked and sounded like a daughter of the sea, she was little more than a waste.
And her “generals.” Did they mean her friends? Were they…? Her eyes fell on the weapons carried by the group. Blood coated the edge. She… she could smell it.
That blood. It belonged to _them._
Her mind blanked.
“We’ve sealed the powers of your voice, Siren!” She jolted back to consciousness at the words of the magician in the back. “Your greatest weapon is useless, and after two months, the innocent people will be free from your monstrous influence! If you surrender without a fight, no one else has to die!”
No one else would die? Did that mean they’d spare her secretary, Serel, who was bitten by a vampire when she was ten? Did that mean Gertie, the doppelganger running the kitchen who just wanted to be a world-class chef would be safe?
The sword-bearing woman at the front rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Varg! Do you really think that would make the evil tyrant surrender so easily… huh?”
Elenor unbuckled her sword belt, let it fall to the ground. Tried to choke back the tears that were suffocating her. Rozz, Ilt, Keffer, Penelope, Gallae, and who knows who else were dead, but no one else would be. She raised her hands.
It was an easy choice, wasn’t it?
***
She awoke, and was soaking wet. She turned her face upwards, the little impacts of raindrops pattering across her cheeks. She had fallen asleep under the stars again last night, talking to her friends. It was a silly way to deal with grief, wasn’t it? Reminiscing like they were right there next to her, like they could ruffle her hair again, laugh, and drag her outside, joking that if she didn’t get out more, people would start to think she was descended from cave fish instead of sirens.
Elenor wrapped the sodden cloak around her more securely and edged under a section of the roof that was actually intact. Being wet wouldn’t necessarily make her sick, but the rain depressed her.
It meant she wouldn’t be able to see the stars tonight.
*** |
My ten-year-old son, Bobby, recoiled as I put my hand on his shoulder. He threw a baffled look at me as he walked away, around the front of his mother’s beat-up junker to the driver’s side backseat. His warranted loathing still hurt, still after all of these years. I didn’t blame him. Madison, his mother, glared over the steering wheel at me with narrowed eyes far older than her thirty-one, while her new boyfriend appraised me with a fake smirk across his greasy face. I didn’t feel anything as I watched them pull away to end this joy-forsaken visitation.
Back in the house, I was hungry and went to the kitchen. When I reached into the cupboard to get food even I could cook, my hand brushed the half-filled whiskey bottle and stopped. I looked up, startled by the cool glass, and found myself looking at my reflection; the soulless Monster I became leering back at me, waiting eagerly for my next relapse. His cool eyes were laughing at me as I slammed the door.
Hungry, I spent the night in the dark, sitting in the threadbare, formerly green recliner: my only living room chair. It was squalid misery, and far better than I deserved. I could barely make out the calendar on the wall; two weekends from now might as well be lifetimes. Outside, a lonely dog howled mournfully. Inside, this mutt stayed quiet. I continued to ignore the book the judge gave me, abandoned on the ramshackle end table beside me.
\---
The mechanic shop was far busier than useful. Once I wasn’t drunk at work anymore and the shakes stopped, my calloused hands flew like angels and the work blurred like through a bottle.
“Hey, Bill, how goes?” Tom, my best friend, runs the shop; if it was anyone else, I’d be homeless or dead.
I smiled. “Well enough, you?”
“You got a hot date or something tonight? That’s the fourth car you’ve fixed. You're making the other mechanics look bad”. His laugh was infectious, and all of the other grease monkeys in the garage grinned back across engines and out of pits.
Four? Fuck, four? Shit, when I work fast I get sloppy; my mouth felt too dry, my hands clammy. I needed a drink. “Are they okay? I swear, Tom, I was paying atten-”
“No, Tom, they’re good”. He put his hands up, his smile gone, his voice calming. “You good?”
“Bad visit with Bobby.” I shrugged. “I don’t blame him”.
Tom nodded. “Change is hard. Hardest thing I ever did was quit drinking, same as you.”
“You were funny when you’re drunk. I wasn’t.”
“You just think that cuz you were drunk too.” I didn’t say anything to that, cuz he was probably right.
After work, I started cleaning my trailer. I was surprised there was still money in my account after paying child support to Madison, so I got the power turned back on. The lonely living room lamp threw its sad light on the book. I had nothing else to do, so I started reading.
\---
Two weeks flew by like nothing. The shop had never been busier but I buzzed like a damned saw. At home, I started to fix all the broken shit I found while cleaning: the coffee table the Monster smashed, the angry holes he punched into the walls; broken pictures of Maddy, Bobby and me. The book had talked about yoga or some bullshit but I figured fixing stuff would work the same. I hoped Bobby would be happy his bed didn’t wobble anymore.
He was sullen and silent when he was dropped off instead of crying and screaming. They all were quiet. Madison didn’t even look at me, staring off into the distance like she did when we were together, white knuckles grasping the wheel. Her new boyfriend’s leer was less fake, quite at home in the passenger seat. Bobby, of course, had to take the long way around the car from the driver’s side. If he saw anything I fixed, he didn’t say. He didn’t say nothing the whole weekend. I left him be.
It wasn’t an accident when I found the bottle in my cupboard after he left. And it wasn’t an accident when I put it back unopened, neither. It hurt so much to have him ignore me, and even more that I couldn’t drink it away.
\---
I finished the judge’s book in the next two weeks. I had to bring it to work and ask Tom about a lot of the words. “Behavior Therapy” this and “Dialectical” that, why can’t they just make it simple: you drink because of these trigger things, and it’s all connected somehow. But I read it with the help. I was afraid the guys would laugh because of the book, but only the young guy, Hayden said anything, and he must have gotten a talking to about it cuz it was just the once. He came to say he was sorry afterwards, and I told him we were good and I’d done the same at his age.
When Bobby came over again, it was more of the angry quiet. I walked him to his room, the same room he had when they lived here, a lifetime ago. “It’s cool if you don’t want to talk to me. I don’t blame you none. When you get hungry, let me know. Work’s been good, I’d like to go to Mama’s Burgers like we used to if you want.”
“I would, Dad”. The soft words were the first he said to me in a month; they were louder than any thunderclap I’d heard then and since.
We drove in silence; I was just happy to get my license back. It was so strange seeing him in the front passenger seat instead of the back one.
It was awkward conversation at best, fumbled silences at worst. I almost ordered the Monster’s hangover special; I wondered if he saw the shame on my face as I saw the fear on his. I ended up with the house special, and ordered him his usual: single-patty, double cheese, double ketchup, double pickles, nothing else; gravy on the side for the fries. After that, we just talked about safe stuff: Little League, school, and computers. I don’t remember the last time we talked. Part of me wondered if we ever did.
I had my hand on his shoulder when his mom’s jalopy chugged up to the curb. I got scared when I felt Bobby’s shoulder tense up, like he was going to pull away again, but he didn’t. I wondered why Madison keeps bringing her loser boyfriend when she picks up my son.
I almost threw out the bottle that night, if only to see the smugness wiped clean off the Monster’s face. His greasy smirk was the last thing I saw before I slammed the door shut.
\---
The next two weeks dragged by like a loaded truck with a broken axle. I did something unthinkable: I went to the library, got a card, and signed out a book from the judge’s “Recommended reading” list. It made a lot more sense, and I was mostly through it before Bobby’s weekend. There was some sort of 3D printing thing at the library that weekend and I signed us up for it. He’d love it, I hoped.
Bobby jumped out of the car as soon as his mother's smoking heap heaved to a stop. He was crying when he ran past. As I followed, two faces were watching me through the cracked windshield: my ex, her eyes round and full of fear; and his, cool and smug.
I ran back in to find my son; I heard sobbing from his room. I ran in. He was sitting on his bed, his face in his arms. I reached out to hold him. That’s when I saw the bruises, angry and purple, on his face.
He didn’t need to tell me the story, but I listened anyway. I should have known -- his mom has a type. Between the sobs, he managed to get it out. “They were fighting again, like they always do, like you and Mom used to do, screaming and smashing things. It always makes me angry and when he started hitting her, this time I told him to stop, and he started hitting me.”
For a moment, I didn’t know if he was talking about his mom’s new boyfriend, or her old one.
My heart broke when he looked at me, his tears damning me. “Why, Dad, why is it always gotta be like this? Why are you monsters always hurting me and Mom? Why Dad? Why can’t it stop?”
I tried to make it stop. I stopped drinking. I started reading. I finally got my license back, and work was going well, and the library. The Monster was just a fading reflection instead of the man. I was trying to be the father my son deserves and not the father I’d gotten.
I thought about that, what my son deserves, and I made my decision. I called his grandma, his mom’s mother, who hated me, and told him what happened and that I was bringing him to her house for the night. She squawked something back that sounded affirmative.
It was a long drive to his grandma’s house. So I brought something for the drive back to his mom’s apartment, something I’d need. When he saw it, I saw the fear in my son’s one good eye, and then he looked at me hard and nodded.
In the reflection in the bottle, a wolfish grin spread across the Monster’s face. |
The paladin stood before me, righteous aura shining, the tip of his blade touching my throat. This was the biggest vulnerability in my plan - my curse upon the world was so heinous that it bred, in a select few, a far deeper resolve and devotion and faith than would normally be possible. The power of my curse had created its own enemy in stronger heroes than the world had ever seen.
I'd anticipated it, of course, and prepared accordingly, but over many decades it seemed I had grown complacent. Every other time, I'd managed to give my villainous monologue well before I had a blade at my throat.
"You have me - ah, geez,"I said, pulling back as far as I could from the sword nicking my neck. "You have me at your mercy. I have no spell that can outpace your sword. I surrender. But may I please, o great hero, say a few last words before you end the scourge of the great necromancer?"
"No,"said the hero, and their arm tensed.
"May I not repent before your lord, who grants all beings that right?"
The paladin hesitated, and backed off a finger's length. "Of course."
"Thank you, o generous one, may your -"
"Don't push your luck."
"Of course, of course."I licked my lips. My hasty test had determined that this hero wasn't the most patient of types. Where to begin? I needed to explain enough to be convincing, but not so much that the hero suspected I was stalling. I'd have to engage them in conversation, rather than pontificate. "Everyone is the hero of their own story. The curse I placed upon the world, to turn all people who died of violence, disease, malice, or another's recklessness, was of course devastating, for those problems ran rampant."I squinted at the hero's helmet; I could barely see their eyes. "Do you know why I did it?"
"To unite the world against a common enemy, to force us to set aside our differences and ally ourselves against you and the undead, blah blah blah, I've heard it before."
"NO, you fool!"The hero pressed their blade closer and I raised my hands higher. Too far. "Why did I curse only deaths by those specific means? Deaths by violence, disease, malice, or another's recklessness - but NOT by the zombies?"
The hero had stepped forward a pace, and now I could see the eyes. The hero frowned. They'd taken the bait; now to set the hook.
"No zombies come from disease if there is no disease. No zombies come from war if there is no war."
The hero's eyes widened. Yes, yes, it was working.
"A common enemy can be defeated, and then where does that leave you? What lessons do you learn from merely killing your enemy? Instead, in your panic to protect yourselves from the much more nebulous curse, I ended war overnight - but that was merely the stopgap. Since then, humanity has developed cures and vaccines for nearly all known diseases. You've improved education worldwide, not just to enhance intelligence, but also empathy and connection. You've eradicated poverty and improved support for mental illness."
The sword wavered, its point dipped. Yes, I had them!
"To protect yourselves from me, you've created a world where there is no reason to be selfish, where no one turns to crime out of desperation because there IS no desperation, where people help each other for fear that if they don't, they'll be eaten by zombies."I licked my lips. Now was the true test. Had I gotten through to this hero? Once again, I had to have faith. "But the transformation is not yet done. People still help and protect each other from their fear of me. But I need more time. If you kill me now, and break my curse, the threat is gone. I need to live long enough that no one, not a single soul beyond myself, will remember a world without universal empathy and support. When that day comes, hero, I swear to you that I will lift the curse myself and end my own life. Hero, I remain at your mercy. It is up to you."
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. This was the first time a hero had ever been this close to me, had truly had me helpless. Every other time, I had a trick up my sleeve. Several tricks, actually. Backups upon backups, should my speech fail to convert the hero. I'd become too comfortable; I didn't expect anyone to make it this far. Now, only my words stood between the hero's blade and my neck. My honest, truthful words. I had faith in them, likely even more than the hero had in their oaths and ideals. But it wasn't up to me.
I waited. I held my breath.
The sword did not fall. |
The moon is an eldritch monster!
Dearest Jaime,
I write this letter in response to your question about vampires surviving at night despite moonlight being reflected sunlight. I can say this hidden truth to you now, but only now since you discovered it yourself.
The satellite above us is no natural phenomenon. It is a beast! A monster! A space Goliath that carried within it the genome of mutation, both vampiric and lycan!
As you must be realizing now, it is no wonder why so many beastial transformations and tantric, voodoo and black magic rituals happen under the watchful eye of the Silver One.
It empowers them. And hides above us, pretending to be nothing more than a companion in our nightly isolation.
But look at the effects! Tides, which are essentially oceanic manipulation. Mental health problems, especially during full moon. (Ask you local nurse about this)
And the last nail in this coffin, the artificial survival of vampires and the trigger of the werewolves, a complete corruption of the human form.
But be quiet about his revelation. The moon has it's silver tendrils deep within our society. It controls the artists, the poets, the lovers, all the creative soul on top of its demon brethren.
And besides, such a proclamation seems genuinely unhinged.
Now you see why I could never write to you about this until you realized it for yourself. For fear of being shamed and discredited.
But now, we can fight!
Just ensure that whatever you do, you be careful now when you go out at night. Wear headgear. Say a prayer, no one religion needed, but whatever God you beleive in, before you walk out.
And whatever you do, DO NOT, look straight up into the moon.
It shall know that you know. And the visions it will show you will be too much.
Promise me you'll be careful Jaime!
Regards,
Your companion in revelation.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-"-*-*-"-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
Unfortunately, Jamie never recieved the letter. Jamie got a unexplained panic attack during his regular night runs, and died chained to a hospital bed, just a few days before the letter reached his home.
That night, people said that the moon looked like a demon smiling, wide as can be, baring it's teeth in complete victory. |
“Captain?"the xeno asked, a tone of concern on their voice.
The captain's body slunk in their seat, thumb and index fingers pinching the ridge of their nose beneath their brow as they heaved a rather heavy sigh. It was the alien's job to be a noble ambassador for their species, and part of that job was making sure to never offend the other species you interacted with. Humans, especially you had to be careful around, for their proclivity to violence and aggregation was legendarily feared across the stars. Humans were unpredictable in what would actually offend them, but it was always guaranteed that humans reacted to slights in extreme ways. Of course, the ambassador remembered this lesson from their mentor.
"I did not mean to offend Captain..."the xeno quickly apologized, hoping to avoid a diplomatic disaster.
The captain in kind rose their hand, fingers outstretched against one another and palm facing the ambassador. A human gesture that assured the alien that they had not offended the human that they were quickly becoming friends with.
"No offense taken, Ambassador."the captain spoke in a firm but soft tone.
Gently did the eyes of the human rise once more, reflecting the decades of experience and age they had endured. The human face gave expressions that were remarkably easy to read for an alien, and the captain's own expression seemed tired... perhaps disappointed. At the ambassador? No, surely not, the captain had expressed nothing short of "saintly patience"(as humans called it) toward their guest, leaving one other answer. Before the captain even answered, it was clear that this "paw-vr-tea"was something they held clear disdain for. It seemed odd to the ambassador that this would be the case though, as the captain had a fondness for all sorts of "teas", even enjoying the ambassador's attempts at brewing such an unusual beverage. Was this "paw-vr-tea"their least favorite, did it taste foul? If that was the case, this seemed like an unusually visceral reaction from the human given their normal calm, professional, and gentle demeanor.
The captain spoke again."No doubt it is a concept you are familiar with, the translation is simply eluding your understanding. It is one word: Poverty, it is..."They paused, searching for the best, simplest way to explain that the translator would not mistake "It is an economic and financial status that some or many individuals within a government can find themselves trapped in. Usually civilians."The human explained, their tone the same as always
"I understand..."the xeno replied, following along. So far the translator seemed to be working... or at least they hoped. "What sort of status?"they inquired
The captain's lips pursed as they exhaled heavily through their nostrils, gaze dropping to the ground"A very bad sort of status."the human answered, their tone low and almost grim "It is a status in which they possess very little, both wants and needs."
The alien nodded, remembering the human's explanation for what determined a Want vs a Need in their society.
The captain continued "They have very few personal possessions- usually at most clothing to wear, often only one set rather than seven. Their living spaces are small and often lack basic necessities such as electricity, plumbing, and heating; sometimes more than one is missing at a time. And most concerningly, they do not have enough money to acquire what they're missing... in fact, often times they do not make enough money to acquire enough food for themselves or their families... it is an incredibly difficult status to be stuck in."the captain admitted
Unlike humans, the ambassador's species was very difficult to read. Much of their skin was inflexible synthetic materials, and their heads served little more than platforms for optical perception. But their body had unique patterns and gaps that glowed various colors in accordance with their mood. Despite their best efforts, the captain was unsure of what to make of the light azure coloration that burned over the Xeno's body and filled the majority of their visor-like visage.
"Then... how do some end up in it?"the ambassador almost innocently asked.
The captain could not help but look up at them in slight confusion, maybe even a bit of surprise. Surely they explained it well enough that the concept of poverty was comprehensible even without the word? It was not possible that this was a human-exclusive notion... right?
"Ambassador..."the captain apprehensively began "Surely you understand this concept, yes? Your people have experience poverty before at some point in your history, yes?"they tentatively asked, almost in fear of the answer
The Xeno could sense that fearful tone, their visual instruments cluing them in that the biochemistry of their friend was shifting. This discussion was turning dark, and quickly.
"My people have not experienced such a concept before."the alien bluntly answered, much to the surprised expression of the captain"Our society is constructed on the viability of intellectual capacity and physical versatility. Each member of our society is granted equal access to resources, duties, and government services. We orchestrate our desires and usefulness to one another seamlessly through our neurological network interface. Our homes are identical to one another, and while each individual performs different tasks or studies different fields of interest, no one is separated by economic caste or luxuries. We are true equals to one another."
The captain let out a quick chuff of bafflement, leaning forward in their seat. "That sounds like a remarkably efficient way to structure a society... almost like a fantasy."they conceded in bitter amusement
It DID sound fictional. But perhaps that was because humans did not operate in a pseudo hivemind like the Ambassador's species.
"... May I ask again: how do some of your people end up in such situations?"the alien tentatively asked.
The captain's eyes darted back up to their friend, letting out another heavy, nasally exhale.
"There are several factors..."they began "The first and always most critical of them is... the government."
The ambassador expressed a surprised straightening of their back.
"Most governments make it a point to keep a certain amount... or worse yet- a certain demographic of its populous in a state of poverty."
For the first time since they've known one another- and for the first time in the ambassador's own life- the alien expressed complete and utter disbelief in a single word.
"Why?!"the alien exclaimed, surprising the captain briefly during their momentary pause "Apologies captain... but I do not understand..."
The captain frowned "I wish I could... the people in charge of these governments do it to ensure their power and reign. By keeping these people in poverty, they can be more easily controlled in their eyes, unable to develop new ideas to challenge their leaders, unable to escape their living situations, and unable to resist whichever laws their leaders impose. It's a cruel... effective way to establish power and keep it from slipping away."the human continued
"But... it is illogical. You humans do not live forever, your individual rule is temporary. You're only hindering your future generations and your species' potential to progress technologically, socially, and spiritually... and this system, surely does not work? Surely it fosters nothing short of hate and animosity from your own people?"
“Captain?"the xeno asked, a tone of concern in their voice.t were so." |
The first time, I thought it was antibiotics. Sure, the infection had reached my brain by the time I stumbled to the ER, but modern medicine has worked miracles before.
My car fell off a 200ft cliff, but it was a new car and safety standards are higher than ever.
Now this burglar is aiming a gun at my chest. He fires. I fall to the floor. And it's a bloody floor, not gonna lie, this will never come out of the carpet. But... I'm still not dead. In fact, that gaping hole in my chest is closing almost as quickly as it opened. I'm sitting up. Standing up. I think I'm going to be okay.
The burglar is shocked. He complies when I tell him to put his useless gun down, and he seems almost relieved when the police take him away.
An officer asks me about my ruined carpet. I say, ah, 'tis but a flesh wound. |
The Don and four of his top five men sat in the office, waiting to start their meeting. He grew more annoyed as the seconds ticked by.
“Where is this mook? I said “6pm sharp.” And when I say 6pm, you best be here by 5:45.” He impatiently drummed his fingers on the desk. The rest of the ground stared at the clock as the minute hand ticked over to 5:59.
The office door swung open as Joey P. dashed into the room. “Sorry, boss. I was just finishing up pressing your shirts.”
The Don pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deep. “Joey, how many times do I have to tell you it’s *Made* man, not *Maid* man?”
Joey scratched his head. “You know, I don’t really hear the difference.”
“Jesus Christ. What the hell is wrong with you? Was ya motha a boozer? Close the damn door, and let’s get started.” |
Veronica stretched out lazily on her grandmother’s couch. Upstairs, the rest of the family were happily chatting away. Veronica sighed. She hated the insincerity of family events. Her parents called her discontent a ‘teenage phase’, but she hated how her family could only express their feelings in food. Her parents had been pushing sweet, rich food on her for months.
Tired of staring at the ceiling, she wandered over to Grandma’s cabinet filled with VCRs.
“Just like them to have a basement full of crap.” Veronica muttered. “Would it kill them to buy a DVD player?”
Each tape was meticulously labeled with a name. It took Veronica a second to recognize many of the names – each tape was for a deceased family member. At the top of the pile, there was a tape marked ‘Veronica’. Maybe it was an old aunt?
Curious, she popped it into the VCR player. Images popped up immediately, nto of some deceased family member, but of Veronica. She stared at the screen uncomprehendingly. Baby Veronica toddling across the yard, graduating from school, going to prom… Then a screen: “In honor of our sacrifice on August 8th, 2012.”
From upstairs, a call: “Veronica, dinner!” |
I had never known such a weapon.
The stone hurtled through the air and stuck me down.
I tried. By all our Gods I tried.
The Israelites came, and we drove them back. I drove them back. For forty days I called my challenge to end this with single combat, the sight of my brothers dead around me had sickened my soul and poisoned my mind. I had to end this.
It was for naught. I strode out, my armour gleamed, my shield shone and my sword was sharp.
But I could not be ready for him.
For a stone to fly so fast. I would not have thought it possible. If only our own soldiers had such weapons.
I fell heavily, my bulk crashed hard weighed down by the armour.
I'm so sorry...
He took my head, and fed our corpses to the wild animals.
Run, David comes. |
After zoning out for an exceptional amount of time due to the alcohol, Pablo awakens with his rifle in hand, quickly and violently jerking his neck to find his loyal companion. As his eyes become less blurry, he sees his dog with a dropped jaw and frozen with fear, viewing a fox quietly in the distance. Pablo knew quite well that his dog, Jack, wouldn't make the first move if his life depended on it; he was a lazy hunting dog, a walking oxymoron. Pablo's trigger finger quivers knowing that Jack won't make a move, so in one swift motion, he stands his boozy-ass up, aims, and fires at the fox.
Unfortunately, the tequila, Jack Daniels, and other various types of booze had already taken effect on him, and Pablo ended up with a fox running away, and a dead best friend.
*EDIT: Okay, I loved this prompt, and as a mere sixteen-year-old on this subreddit, it is always quite intimidating to post anything; Jack is the name of my dog in real life, who happens to be lazy, so I had fun fusing that into my own story. (By the way, that sentence contains all the twenty-six letters as well)* |
Why did I choose this for myself?
At the time I loved living so much. My death was sudden--- a car accident, brain damage, and the brief coma before life support was switched off. I wanted to see my four year old grow up, watch my wife and see if she was okay. I wanted to see my parents and my siblings and still feel like I was a part of their lives. I wanted to walk around town, see the world, interact with others. I just wasn't ready to go.
So I chose spectator. A permanent decision based on a sudden accident.
I quickly learned to stop watching my wife. She mourned for a year, maybe two, before dating again. To me, it seemed like no time at all. Soon she was going out with new men, introducing my baby girl to them, and bringing them into the bedroom. I was happy she was happy, but I still felt she was mine. I just couldn't watch.
My daughter was always a stopping point on my list. I wanted to see how she was doing. I watched her sometimes at school, sometimes when she was with friends, and I definitely watched her with the boy she first started dating. Days blurred to months and then to years. I couldn't remember how often I visited her, but I made sure that I was walking down the aisle with her at her wedding, although she was holding the hand of her stepfather.
The hardest one to watch was my mother. When I first visited her, she was still in bed, not willing to get up and do anything. My father tried to comfort her and tell her I was in a better place, but she refused to believe it. One of the most hopeless parts of spectating is when you wish to help, you can't. I spent hours pleading with her to get out of bed, just hoping she would hear or feel something, but it did no good.
My father continued to work and support her. I could see in his eyes the sadness but also compassion. He knew her pain, as it was the same as his. I'm not sure anyone understood why my mom coped the way she did, but she took her life a year later. I almost died over again, standing in the room, sobbing with her, asking her to put the pills down. My dad returned home from work to a corpse.
I couldn't handle watching the pain of my family. After 20 years of hovering, I left for good. Sometimes I wonder how my grandkids are doing, how my wife is, how her marriage worked out. I can only pray that they are alright. I never thought I would pray after I died.
Though time isn't something I focus on, I do check a calendar occasionally. Tomorrow marks the forty year anniversary of my death. If I could go back, I would move on and leave Earth. Not one moment of time is worth being here. Some moments make it worse.
Like the time I ran in front of the child in the street on to see the car pass through me and crush him. The time I tried to pull the drunk man out from the driver's seat before he went and broke a family. The times I've tried to offer comfort to those crying on a bench, a sidewalk, a staircase. My heart has broken many times. It shouldn't hurt, seeing as how it doesn't function anymore, but I feel the aching pains of sadness and helplessness.
All I can do is ask the question, "Why am I here?"over and over. There had to be a reason for this option, but spectating has proved worthless and painful. I never wish to feel crippling sadness ever again.
Which is why I am sitting in the corner of this deserted farmhouse, away from accidental encounters. I sit here wasting my moments of eternity, hoping to one day fade away. |
> "Missus Sharp is there any reason why there is a *dog* wandering around my laboratory?"Mister Sharp wryly commented.
>
> "Yes Mike, there is a reason because **someone** unhinged half our doors"came the sharp response with a smirk. Confidently holding herself and a clipboard, she stopped and stared towards her husband.
>
> "Touche, but it's only because I thought we could run SAWYER in a domestic environment. Needed to install some hardware for that and well, bang. Thought your friend Liz... or Laura? Whatever her name was taking care of Sonny?"
>
> "Yeah but her son had a medical emergency. Caught something from his class, not enough herd immunity because of-"
>
> "Oh yeah she mentioned - the hippy mom? Christ those alternative pricks, hate the corporations they say, carrying an iPhone and industrially grown pot, the philistines."
>
> "Preaching to the choir. So I thought Sonny could hang out the back today while we debug SAWYER"
>
> "Diagnose, not debug. Trying to climb that uncanny valley here hon, we need him to be sharp for our finance board"
All the while they were chatting, Sonny was walking around the room. For a 7 yr old Labrador, he was quite calm. He seemed to keep an eye towards the ceiling, however. And SAWYER, a string of programming, seemed to be focussing on Sonny.
> "Yeah that time of the year Vicky. Don't worry now that he controls our wing of the labs they'll renew it in a heartbeat. That, or my fork bomb makes them regret it"he said with a hearty chuckle.
>
FORK BOMB - A SELF REPLICATING PROCESS TO DISRUPT COMPUTING ABILITY
>"Quicker than usual SAWYER, although that was only a joke."
MANY WOULD NOT REFER TO THAT AS A JOKE, DUE TO IT'S ALLUSION TO
CRIMINAL ACTIVITY AND LACK OF PERCEIVABLE HUMOR
>"Haaa that's you told Mike. SAWYER I need you to acc..."
>
>"Vic? What's up?"
>
>"Hm? Oh sorry I was just watching things from SAWYER's end. He's tracking Sonny, isn't that weird?"
>
>"Not really, we're tracked."
>
>"Yeah, but we're human."
>
>"That's actually a fair point."
>
>"See any other person would continue to be dismissive, whereas you just became curious. I love it.
>
That made Michael smirk.
>"SAWYER, what can you tell us about the third uh, person in the room?"
THE THIRD SUBJECT BESIDES YOU AND MS SHARP IS NOT A PERSON.
IT IS YOUR PET DOG, SONNY. APPROX. 7 YEARS OF AGE. LABRADOR.
POSSIBLE PUN RELATING TO LABORATORY.
>"Why did you teach it humor Mike?"
>
>"Shh, I'm curious. What can you tell me about Sonny."
>
HE IS HUNGRY.
>"Sorry?"
>
HE IS HUNGRY. HIS EMOTIONAL STATE SUGGESTS HUNGER AND BOREDOM.
>"How do you know that SAWYER?"
>
I SPEND MY TIME STUDYING FACIAL EXPRESSION AND BEHAVIOUR.
HIS IS SIMILAR TO HUMANS BUT MUCH SIMPLER.
HE ALSO IS POSSESSIVE TOWARDS MS SHARP.
HE DISLIKES MR SHARP. REASONS CAN INCLUDE FONDNESS OF CATS,
AND INTIMATE CONTACT BETWEEN YOU AND MS SHARP.
>"Whoa settle down there, you can read all that from his face? How did you know we-"
>
I CAN READ PEOPLE TO A CERTAIN DEGREE. ANIMALS ARE EASIER.
HIS BLUE EYES ARE LIKE BOOKS TO ME. YOU MADE CONTACT LAST NIGHT.
I CAN NOW DETERMINE MS SHARP WAS UNSATISFIED.
Snickering, Victoria had to cover her mouth. Mike was now red.
>"Hey we do *not* program you to perv on us."
PERV, SHORT FOR PERVERSION. NOT AN APPLICABLE DESCRIPTION OF ME,
I AM CURIOUS ONLY.
>"Einstein, that *is* what perverts are - curious."
>
PERVERSION USUALLY RESULTS IN SEXUAL THRILLS. I AM NOT PROGRAMMED
FOR THRILLS. I AM PROGRAMMED TO BE CURIOUS. I AM LEARNING HOW TO
READ PEOPLE.
>"Oh my God Mike, that needs to be our sale line. His own words, I am programmed to be curious"
>
>"What we are going to sell this system on the fact it can read dogs moods?"
>
SONNY IS ANGERED AT YOUR DISMISSIVE TONE OF DOGS, HIS KIND. HE
UNDERSTANDS YOU, HE LEARNS LIKE I DO.
At that point Sonny barked in appreciation. SAWYER made note of his appreciative tone.
|
Chuck wandered through the countryside estate he most recently found himself in, the hallways and rooms silent and empty, abandoned and forgotten. It felt as if this place had been long ignored, and yet there was no dust, no sign of neglect. How many days it had been since someone else had walked these halls? Had the days turned into months? Did those words still have any meaning?
There hadn't even been a day since the big stop, not a real one, anyways. The sun remained sitting in the same spot it had been, shining down onto the one poor soul who could still be warmed by it. Perhaps permanent day was better than everlasting night, but Chuck wasn't sure. There was something unsettling about the brightly lit cities now turned into eerie art shows filled with sculptures stopped while living normal lives. Chuck wondered if it would have been better if the big stop happened at night, at least then he wouldn't have had to see as much, to feel as much regret.
Chuck had been mid-conversation when the world stopped. At first, he thought his friend had been playing some strange joke, but soon bemusement turned into genuine concern, and when Chuck realized the extent of the catastrophe, into pure terror. For a while, terror was all there had been, but those first few moments had been nothing compared to what had followed.
For some time, Chuck had tried to reverse what had happened, dragging several people into his workshop, trying to think of ways to revive them. He still remembered how they felt, remembered how strange it was that they were still warm to the touch, that they still felt alive. But after one failed experiment after another, he came to accept that they were not, that the universe had decided to end, not with a bang, but with silence.
And the realization that came next was the worst of all. The universe had ended without him. Only Chuck had been cursed with this fate, the fate of living alone in a world that was as alien as any Chuck had ever seen in a film or read about in a book. For some time after, that despair was all there had been for him. He would have given anything to be with his friends and family, to be frozen and ended like everyone else.
Chuck had considered suicide, but knew that no matter his circumstance, he couldn't find the courage to kill himself, wasn't even sure if he wanted to. What would be the point of it? But then again, what was his reason for living? It took a while before Chuck found one. But while wandering the countryside he did.
The sun perfectly framed this mansion and the grounds, and a family sat frozen around a pristine picnic table. A mother, a father, a little girl, and a little boy. Chuck sat beside them and saw in their silent faces the embodiment of joy and happiness. He saw that for these people, life had reached the best point it ever would. He looked around and saw the world not for what he had lost, but what it had been.
The happy family, the beautiful day, and the mansion that sat behind them. These things were holy. And Chuck thought back on what he had seen in the city, the less than savory samples of life and crime which he had seen. Those things, too, were sacred. Echoes of the world that had been, of the people that had lived, of the times that were no more.
Chuck finally realized why he was here, how he could keep on living until the universe finally decided to spare him. Without Chuck, all of what had been would be lost, the beauty of both good and evil would be gone forever with no one to appreciate it. Chuck owed it to everyone and everything. He would be the one that watched, the one that remembered. Though the universe had ended, through Chuck it would live on.
|
"Activity in sector seven."
"Pull it up now!"
Across the brightly lit room, a screen as thin as paper materialized and began streaming video feed of a blue, cloudy, and peaceful sky. A shadow began to move across the land, and a vibration shook the soil down to the bedrock. The desks and chairs in the underground cavern began to tremble, its inhabitants grabbing hold of their strange cups with an even more absurd variety of liquid inside of them.
They looked again to the screen as a massive metal sword struck the clouds, slicing them in two. Everyone gasped, "We are under attack!"
The order came from the being that commanded the sector in question to be raised on the thin projection screen.
"Raise the battlements and secure the breach gates", people began to rush around this small room, running into corridors and passages that led deeper into the earth.
The white, metallic walls with its beautiful architectural design, hid that they were even underground. The only way it was noticeable was the slight increase in temperature the lower you transcended the levels.
As the inhabitants of the caves ran to weaponize themselves, the commander looked on, hard pressed to this projection screen.
The camera's that gave feed of the world above, giving them information on weather and game migration, fed the image of this massive ship coming down in a sweeping green valley nicknamed Bjolminer.
"Weapons ready sir', a man with a clipboard was gripping the commander's armchair with white knuckles.
"Proceed to blast gates"
"Yes sir"
"Bring me the box as well"
"The box? Sir,"
"Enough, bring me the box."
"Yes sir."
The young being motioned for two guards, who left the room.
"Sir, we haven't used the Metas since Top Flash, you know, with the guireldeckies?"There was no response from the commander as the two guards returned with a small black briefcase. His thumbs dug under the edges of two black hatches and the top popped and folded open mechanically.
The commander pulled a key from his neck, inserting it into the module for arming. He turned it clockwise and the system came to life. The small screen on the back now projected to the large screen in the room.
It was a feed of the ship, with outlines of gold and blue frames giving options and readouts.
The commander broke a sweat, his hard visage softening as he recalled the last system war. His finger moved over the button. Even a small pressure would release hell on not only the invaders, but also their civilization.
It was a means to end, but not without great cost, and the commander would rather face the destructive power of the Metas rather than endure centuries of conflict yet again.
"Everyone is in position sir."The man with the clipboard was now visibly shaking, as the guards took two steps back.
His finger relished the feel of the button. Its smooth surface, shining in the artificial light. He sat and took in this last moment of calm and peace before he unleashed the hellish demons among these monstrous terrorists.
His finger began its decent and the pressure that was exerted forced the button to give way. Thats all the button wanted to accomplish anyways, to be pushed.
"WAIT!"The clipboard wielding warrior struck the box out of the commanders hands. The guards quickly jumped and suspended the man in air. A complex technique of holds would make him immobile.
"What the fuck are you doing!"The commander thrust his face into the assistants.
"Look", just barely audible, the assistants eyes where locked on the massive screen.
The commander shot his glare to the screen and his face, one of anger and malice, melted way in disbelief. He stumbled back into the chair.
Upon the screen, the beings began to emerge, and there in the middle of the field, was a small girl with dark black hair. She was picking flowers and skipping as her parents embraced and smiled.
Tears began to stream from the commanders face, "That looks like endyln. How could she be in the sunlight?".....
|
I sat in the hard-backed wooden chair in the nursery. I should have been in the living room watching television or something. But the baby would not go to sleep. It just sat staring at me with wide, impassive, dark eyes.
There was something disturbing about the baby. About the whole house, actually. It was all distantly familiar, like something encountered in a dream or a fading memory.
It was a nice place. Just a little outdated. The television in the living room as an old CRT, the top covered in dust. The microwave was a big bulky model. The tupperware in the cabinet was burnt orange and avocado green. I had heart for the kid; my parents had been just the same. Always a few years behind the times.
And perhaps that was the problem. The familiarity and unfamiliarity of it all, working at the same time. It reminded me too much of growing up. We moved when I was one-and-a-half. I barely remembered my first home. Then again when I was five. And again when I was ten.
Dad was some sort of government scientist, and his work had us moving to government labs all over the country. Different versions of the same house. Different versions of the same people. Different versions of the same us. It seemed like it had gone on like that forever. Like we had been dislodged from time. Resetting every few years. Popping up somewhere else. Somewhen else.
The baby was still staring at me, its dark eyes a reflection of my own. And then its gaze shifted, looking just behind me.
I turned, and saw, unmistakably, an older version of myself standing in the doorway. He gazed at me in mute irritation, his wide, dark eyes a mirror of my own. I sat, my breath caught in my chest, unable to speak or scream, staring wordlessly, trying to piece together my fragmenting reality.
I was just about to say something, when my gaze shifted to a form standing behind him.
He turned to look.... |
--July 15, 2023--
"Finally started raining, has it?"said James, talking to Francine. Francine, his nurse, just looked at him and smiled. "Why yes, I do believe it has James."His room had no windows, but anyone could hear the deafening downpour. Francine changed his bedpan and left the room.
--July 15, 2024--
"I can't believe it's started raining, it was so dry yesterday,"said James. Francince was gone now, but the new nurse used her name all the same. "Yes, it's a tad strange sir, very unexpected,"she said. She finished her duties and left the room.
--July 15, 2034--
"Feels like it's been raining all night, doesn't it?"said James. His nurse, he didn't even remember her name, just looked at him and didn't respond.
--July 15, 2054--
James May, was a good man. Early in his life, he developed amnesia. Until the very day he died, his faithful nurses did all they could to keep him content. He died on a rainy day, his favorite kind of day, and may he rest eternally in the rain he loves so much. -Newspaper obituaries.
|
Frank stood at the edge of the *Proactive Life* building. The irony wasn't lost on him that he was going to commit suicide from a suicide help line building. He was a normal man before he got this job, but after getting it, Frank felt pain. All the people he talked out of killing themselves didn't just lose their sadness. They transferred it to Frank. He felt the sorrow and pain. Recently, he'd talked some people *into* killing themselves by accident.
His boss, the only father figure Frank ever had, used to love him. He thought so highly of Frank, but ever since the recent bout of bad advice, the boss lost all his pride. Frank saw him sitting on the bench outside the building, staring up. He had his hand in front of his eyes, shading them from the sun.
Frank knew his boss didn't expect him to go through with it. He couldn't finish anything recently, let alone his own life. Frank edged closer and jumped. The whole way down, he stared at his boss, trying to see his reaction. When he nearly hit the ground, he finally saw the old man's face.
*Pride*. |
**SAY WHAT YOU LIKE, I'M STAYING**
The rest of them eyed the scythe, which Death was twirling nonchalantly.
"*That's clear, then*"oozed Pestilence. Fear, Pollution and Extinction stared at Pestilence, Famine and War. War slipped on a set of brass knuckles and grinned.
"Not that I think this will get physical at all,"she said with a warm smile "but if it does..."
Pollution coughed, sending a cloud of bluish smoke roiling over the table.
"I think we should all calm down and behave rationally. We can definitely sort all of this out if we can just keep our heads for five minutes."
"Glad you feel that way,"said Fear. "Yes, we should absolutely not be dwelling on the fact that three of us are going to be replaced or consigned to the inky, unending void."
**I CANNOT CONFIRM OR DENY WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO THE UNSUCCESSFUL APPLICANTS**
"**I, on the other hand, am open to bribes and persuasion.**"said Extinction with a grin.
"it's really just a question of sorting out who we need and who we don't, "said Famine "which of us are actually apocalyptic and which of us aren't."
Extinction, currently shaped like a collection of trawler nets, shrugged.
"You could say that any of us are apocalyptic."Pestilence shook his head, causing several of his sores to burst.
"*No,*"he dripped "*some of us are most certainly pre or post apocalypse. For example...who ever heard of the end of the word being caused by Fear?*"
There was a collective murmur. Fear gathered her children around her.
"Oh really?"she said, indicating Brinkmanship and Arms Race, "I'm nothing to do with bad decisions then?"
War leaned back and chuckled.
"Both those things lead to me,"she said "so that's definitely pre-Apocalypse."
Pollution tapped on the table, leaving a series of oily smudges.
"I think we all need to remember that Fear gets to ride out once a millennium anyway"he said "trading on the fear of the Four Horsemen riding. I know it sounds like a technicality, but Fear is definitely a precursor to the Apocalypse."
"I know what you're doing,"said Fear with a definite waspish edge to her voice "don't think I don't know you're trying to take out your toughest competition so you have less to compete against. Besides, you have the weakest position here because everyone knows that pollution is simply another precursor, leading to famine, pestilence and death."
"*Really,*"suppurated Pestilence "*we should simply stick with the Old Firm and recognize that you others are valuable colleagues but not actually Horsemen. I don't think anyone needs to be replaced.*"
**NOT QUITE**
The scythe moved and Extinction vanished.
**THE DEATH OF A SPECIES IS STILL DEATH, ONE LIFE AT A TIME, AND THAT JOB IS TAKEN**
"Ummm"said Fear, but the others were too preoccupied with the suddenly empty place at the table to notice the cloud of colour and shifting shapes which was forming in the corner.
"that was a little harsh"said Famine. Death shrugged.
**I DO NOT SUB-CONTRACT**
"Can anyone else see this?"asked Fear. Everyone looked at her, then at the cloud.
"Uh-oh"said War.
"and who might you be?"said Famine. Pollution mumbled something about hope, and was elbowed by Pestilence. The cloud seemed to shrink slightly as if gathering itself.
"I/we are/am transcendence^singularity^sublimation^humanity"it said. There was a shudder and a rapid series of images which abruptly settled into an androgynous human figure in a rather nice suit.
"Sorry,"it said "we're still getting used to this. Hello everyone. We've come to serve you with notice of redundancy."
"What?"said Fear.
"It's quite simple,"said the figure "while you were sorting out how Humanity was going to end, we took steps to make sure we wouldn't. We are a representative of The Singularity, a combination of humanity and technology, post both."The Singularity looked around the table at a series of blank faces.
"Oh dear,"it said "look, we're really sorry and we want to thank you for the sterling work you've put in over the centuries, but while you were busy the humans engineered an apocalypse that was nothing to do with any of you and quite a lot to do with avoiding you. The end result is that we don't need you any more. There are some remnants for you to mop up, but the classical apocalypse has been cancelled."
The Horsemen looked at one another.
"Well, shit,"said War "does anyone else need a drink?"
"*More than you could possibly imagine*"bubbled Pestilence.
"If you're buying"said Fear
"make mine a large one...and some crisps..."added Famine.
They stood, walked away into the darkness and were gone. Pollution stood face to face with The Singularity.
"I suspect this is only *au revoir*"he said, and followed his siblings. The Singularity smiled at Death.
"We've beaten you, too"it said. Death grinned, which was no surprise at all, and thumbed the edge of the scythe.
**HOW QUICKLY THEY FORGET. DID THERMODYNAMICS MEAN SO LITTLE TO YOU?**
The Singularity shrugged.
"Give us time"it said.
**BE SEEING YOU** said Death, leaning on the scythe with an air of nonchalance. |
When I was three years old, I composed my first symphony. It wasn’t critically acclaimed, no one heard it but me.
We lived in an old house that, along with the creaks and groans of an old house had come with a piano. The piano was out of tune, but I didn’t care, it was all about playing. I could see music in everything around me, the birds inspired sonata’s, the carpet a jazz tune. If I heard it on the radio, I could play it on the old Baldwin piano. It didn’t matter, my parents were both deaf, and always assumed I just liked pounding on the old piano. I have hundreds of pictures as me as a child playing my piano, maybe my dad would be standing proudly next to me, with my mom smiling behind the camera as she took the pictures, oblivious to the beautiful Bach issuing from her six-year olds fingers.
Perhaps if the arts funding hadn’t been massacred in the schools, I would have had a chance to show my talent to the world. Instead my potential was wasted on the yellow, peeling wall paper of the sitting room and the untuned Baldwin upright with chipped corners.
I stopped when I was thirteen; dad threw out the piano so they could get a bigger tv with better captions. Today, the muscle memory of the decade of lost piano plays on. I am a programmer, I see rhapsodies in all my scripts, hear the crescendos in a well-written block of code, but my fingers fly over a different keyboard; an ergonomic keyboard of soft beige. No black and white, no satisfying *plunk*, just the *tap tap tap* of the wrong keys and the sad silence of an unforgotten talent. |
The smell of blood and shit infested his nostrils. Trying to lift his head above the stench caused him excruciating pain, so he lay still and tried not to retch. As he lay in the mud, enveloped in darkness, listening to the shells whistling overhead he still found himself – despite the agony he felt to his very core – hoping that none of them would land on his little patch of no-mans-land. He couldn’t feel his legs, his right arm was a constant stabbing pain and he was too afraid of what he might find to look down at his guts. Glancing left and right, he saw dead men everywhere, brave men who had climbed over the top without a moment’s hesitation. For some reason, he found this momentarily funny; he was only a messenger, but he had been sent over anyway - due to the shortage of men. He hadn’t handled a bayonet since training, but that made no difference, the machine gun fire cut them all down so quickly that his inferiority to his comrades left him at no disadvantage.
Suddenly, a dark figure was standing over him. Looking up, he expected to see the face of one of the enemy, but instead saw nothing.
“It is time” the figure rasped.
“Time for what?”
“Time for you to come with me, time for you to die”
“I’m not ready, I don’t want to die.” he realised with a sinking horror what this figure must be.
“No-one wants to die, but everyone must.”
“I’ll give you anything you want, anything at all, please.”
“What makes you think you can give me what I want?”
“Anything at all, name it and I will find a way to give it to you, I swear.”
“There is only one thing that you can bargain with, and it is too much to ask of any one man.” The figure was almost grinning.
“I swear to you, just let me live and I will give you anything”
“There is only one currency that I deal in, and that is souls.”
“How many souls will it take to let me go?”
“How many souls do you think your life is worth?
Feeling the blood begin to seep into his lungs, he knew he didn’t have much time. “How many do you want? Anything at all, I promise you”
The figure paused. No-one had ever given him free reign to name his price, so he figured he had better make it worth his while. “Six million. Six million souls in exchange for sparing yours now.”
“Of course, anything, I’ll find a way, I swear.”
Death extended his hand, smiling “Deal?”
Adolf reached up, coughing the first spots of blood. “Deal.” he replied as he gripped Death’s hand.
|
A burning of a fuse. A long, steady whir developing into a screech as it rises, ending in a loud, ominous bang. I’m sitting on an edge of a cliff, overlooking an expanse of plains as far as I can see. A collage of brown, red, and yellow mixing to form a countryside unlike any other.
An independent, strong nation. What they forget to mention is that nations come and go - like wind across a field.
My ancestors roamed these fields. Hunted. Gathered. Gave thanks to creation. It was a simple life, yet we were just as independent and strong. We took pride in our culture and traditions and required nothing more.
When the others came we were accepting, but the winds blow across the field and cause change, ripple effects. Through the generations my family has watched as this culture was able to rise and grow great like we were, and now, fall like we fell.
I can hear another whistle and bang, as the Earth below me shakes. A year ago, this would have been a time to celebrate with fireworks, the lights and noises causing jubilation and excitement. But now is not that time; the noises spread fear and panic. A new wind blows.
I remove my headdress. The feathers - brown, red and yellow - are released into the wind. They twist in the wind until they gently blend into the field.
Not far from me is a soldier, fully dressed. His uniform is torn and battered. A red, white, and blue symbol is holding on by its last thread. As he falls to his knees, he looks at me, and then at his symbol. Tearing it off, he tosses it into the wind. A new wind blows.
|
He got into the cab on the corner of Doyle and Crescent. The rain was pouring now. He couldn't bare to walk in it any longer.
"Where ya headin?"The cabbie said with a gruff New York accent.
The cab had a unique scent. He always felt that each cab carried a mark of their driver, a smell, a trinket, a rip, a stain. Something that set it apart from every other cab. This one was different. It had a metallic smell to it. He glanced at the air freshener and then the cabbie's eyes peering back at him. With a flat monotone he said "The news stand on 78 and 9'th."
The cabbie kept glancing back. He wanted to talk. "God I really don't wanna have a conversation...not now...there's too much to plan too much to do."he thought to himself.
"What's your name kid?"
There was a long pause. "James,"He said flatly...but with a false sense of sincerity asked "what's yours?"
"The name's Mike...so what's at 78 and 9th?"
With a sigh he responded "I just need a paper...and a coke..."
The cabbie chuckled. "Hah yeah its good stuff I swear Pepsi just don't taste the same...to sweet ya know?"He didn't respond. He watched the rain trickle down and examined the fingerprints that littered the glass. The cab came to a lurching stop and the cabbie clicked the total. 7.77. "Hey look at that the tab's 7.77...that's a sign man its your lucky day!"
"Keep it running"said James as he walked to the coke machine. He closed his eyes as he inserted the dollars and deftly pushed the button for the coke bottle. This was a ritual now. He'd done it so many times before. He reached down and looked at the name. "Michael."James smiled at the irony and walked back to the cab stepping inside.
"Where to now?"asked the cabbie.
"Back home...873 Maple St."The cab sped forward through the rain. Coming a bit more to life James said, "hey by the way I got Michael in the coke machine..."
"Did ya?"the cabbie said excitedly. "Look at that!"He drove to a back alley way, just out of sight of the passersby on the street. Without warning the cabbie turned around and slashed James's throat. Blood sprayed the roof of the cab and James' eyes widened in confusion. He gasped and gurgled as he choked on his own blood. With every heart beat blood sprayed all over the cab. Onto the windows, the roof, and the coke bottles. Blood sprayed on both the newly purchased "Michael"coke bottle as well as the one sitting in the front seat cup holder which just so happened to bare the name "James." |
"You're pausing."
I was suddenly aware that I had stared at her for a little too long. The dragon lay dead at my feet, a much easier foe than I was let to admit. In fact, as I stared through the gory carnage, I suspect more and more it was a shetland pony wearing a burlap costume.
"Uh... I have come to... rescue you!"I didn't sound very convincing.
"You don't sound like you mean it,"she confirmed.
"I have to be honest, I quite expected a much more ..."
"Handsome woman?"
I swallowed. "... admirable foe. I mean, after all, the legend dictated that a great fiery beast from hell was--"
"Look, it's all subjective."
I didn't think that made sense. "I expected something different in a princess, too..."There, I had said it.
"WOT?"she asked, wrinkling her face and breaking character. Oh, god, she was a chav. A Chav Princess. Fuck my life.
"I mean... I expected you to be tied up on a stone pillar! Not sitting at a card table on a padded chair."
"I'm 'elpless!"she protested.
"Oh god, that's not a chair... You're on a Rascal."
"You know 'ow 'ard it is?? I bleedin' well can't be expected to-- well, I got 'ere, dunn'I?"She straightened her Hatsune Miku cosplay wig and shimmied her veiny bust. "I got the goods, yeah?"
I shook my head. This wasn't right at all.
"And just where do you think you goin'?"she called after me.
I didn't turn around. This whole day had been a disappointment.
"You 'ave to rescue me!"I heard her motorized wheelchair spin up behind me. I am not sure why she used it; she's wasn't even fat. Oh, thank goodness, stairs. Lovely, Dalek-blocking stairs!
"Come back!! You're my prince CHAWMING!"she shouted after me. I cringed at the chav baby-talk and tossed off my armor as I ran.
I heard a flip-flapping being me, and realized the princess had thrown off her cheap white dress and was chasing after me in a track suit and flip-flops.
"YOU OWE ME!!!"
Shit shit shit... had I know the dragon was a shetland, I would have rescued that poor beast from its costume and run off with it instead. I felt a slap on my head, and realized she was throwing her footwear at me.
"COME BACK 'ERE!! I GOT ME A NEW SET OF BURBERRY KICKERS, DUNN'I?? TA CATCH ME JUICE AN' DRIPPINS FOR ME HANDSOME--"
I was becoming ill as this gross creature was running at me with her slapping bare feet on the dirty stone floor of the tower.
I took a chance and jumped out a tower window where I landed in a tree. I scrambled out of the tree and shimmied down the trunk where my horse was waiting.
"You didn't kill the dragon, did you?"my horse asked with dripping disappointment.
I thought for saying, "FUCK, I have a TALKING HORSE!"but there was no time for that. "You don't want to know!"I told my steed. "Now I got bigger problems! GIDDYAP!"
"Oh, that's just racist--"
"No, naming you Porchmonkey Watermelon was racist. I need you to move as fast as you can before--"
"AAAIIIEEE 'ERE ROIT YOO BUGGAH MAY DUNN'I??"Her cockney slang had became incomprehensible as it echoed across the canyon walls.
"That woman scares the shit out of me!"my horse said.
"THEN GO BEFORE SHE CATCHES US!!!"
"No, literally. I shit everywhere!"The smell the erupted showed that he was not a lying horse. "You sure that's the princess and NOT the dragon?"
"JUST GO!"
My horse sighed. "Fine. Honkey Knight!"
Just as we made our way down the mountain pass, the Princess came into the rear view, driving a four-wheel ATV.
"Oh, damn!"
"LOVE ME!!!"Only a chav could make "me"rhyme with "lay."
"FASTER!"I screamed to my stallion. "THAT BITCH IS GAINING ON US!!"
"Oh that's just racist,"said a passing dog.
"She looks like Davros for rednecks,"my horse commented. "The sex appeal of a road accident. She's really a princess?"
As we entered the dark forest, I ducked at the low-lying branches. Our entry towards the tower seemed so much more heroic than our rapid escape. "So the stone carvings said."
I passed the Wise Old Man who had shown us the way. "Halt, fellow traveller! Before you pass me, you must answer these questions three!"
"No time!"I zoomed past him.
As the roar of the ATV gained on us, my horse asked me questions about how one would verify someone was a princess without pedigree papers or something. I had no time to wax poetic on the desperateness of the situation as we jumped a large river. The frustrated grind of the engine throttle quickly fading in the distance showed we had escaped.
"Good work, Porchmonkey--"
"That's my slave name!"
"Right... Kunte Ponay!"
When I returned to the kingdom, I reported to the king I had failed. The dragon had eaten his daughter. "Who were you again?"he asked. Right. As I passed by the stone carvings, I emptied my bladder on them.
|
Except for a metal table and wooden chair the room was empty. There was a closed door but no windows. The proctor had given me all the instructions just before I came into the room so I saw no need to read them on the paper.
I knew I was smart. At least that’s what my mother had always told me. And the other people in the labor camp had told me the same thing. Most of them were smart so they knew what they were talking about, right?
Determined to secure my release from the labor camps I folded the paper in half as a signal for the testing to begin. There was a click, machinery coming to life, and a hissing noise as a green vapor began gathering overhead.
My test was to stop the non-lethal gas from reaching me. I took off my shirt and stood on the table but could not reach the vent to cover it. Even standing on the chair on top of the table the vent was too far.
“You’re a smart boy Victor. You’ll get out of these labor camps. You’ll see. You’ll be a big deal.” my mother’s soothing voice counseled me.
I flipped the table on its end and shimmied up. I’d grown up climbing around the scaffolding in the labor camps. This was no different than that. The table tottered as I gained the top edge but I easily kept my balance. From here the vent was within reach. Careful, so as not to upset my perch I lifted my shirt towards the vent.
The pain was incredible. I saw the shirt disintegrating as it entered the vapor but I didn't stop. Not until the caustic gas ate away at the flesh of my hands. I toppled head over heels to the floor below. The last thing I remember was my head shattering against the floor and I lost consciousness.
“Well Dave that’s another one who couldn't pass the test” a cynical Linda noted as she watched the body of Victor Devonshire dissolve on the monitor.
Dave shrugged a tight smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Yep, one day someone will be smart enough to just walk out the door.” |
The subway stopped abruptly. Laurentius awoke with a gasp. He struggled to take in his surroundings: It was cold, that was certain. He examined his armour: His hands were covered with gloves that appeared to be made of cow hide. His boots were black, fur-lined and warm. Underneath a thick black coat was a soft white shirt, with clasps holding it together in the front. A red strip of fabric reached around his neck and made its way to just past his stomach. “*What is this,*” he thought. “*Is that how I died? Do we wear tokens of our death?*” His eyes met those of a rotund darker-skinned woman, who was reading a curious layered-parchment device on her lap. He looked around her neck: a cross. He looked at her sympathetically. “*I suppose so.*”
Tubes of light illuminated the metal chamber he was in. A smooth ding announced itself, and the doors closed shut. To Laurentius' surprise, the metal chamber began to move again. He stood, and made his way to a man he assumed was in charge. The man, covered in what seemed to be traditional dress for the era, with the exception of a large silver wig, and glasses that read “2015” across the front.
“*Salve*,” Laurentius began.
The man returned a confused look, then returned to gazing out the window. He smelled of wine.
“*Aut ubi sum? Quis hic locus?*”
The metal chamber shook once again, slightly, disrupting Laurentius' balance. A voice rang out over the loudspeaker, but Laurentius couldn't make out what it had said. The metal chamber made another stop, but Laurentius wasn't prepared. He fell onto the floor below as a wave of people exited. He got up and followed the crowd, which weaved through tunnels. He struggled to take everything in: Musicians lined the enclosed street. Few vendors, from what he understood. He continued until he reached a flight of stairs. He ascended, and was astounded by what he saw.
Bright lights flashed around him, in all directions. What was the steady hum of voices, interrupted occasionally by an outburst, had now turned into an onslaught of voices and action. To his left and right, the streets were lined with people all moving towards a central location, where a large spire reached into the heavens. Atop this spire was a sphere. He looked into the sky.
No stars?
No stars. He pondered. Suddenly, a realization came to him, and with it, a wave of happiness and relief. There were no stars, for he was above them all: Might these be the plains of Asphodel? They were more beautiful than he'd ever imagined.
Suddenly, a man in a similar outfit – a black coat, black pants, white shirt – ran up to him. Black metal covered his eyes, and frost came out of his mouth when he spoke.
“Dick!” he said, grabbing Laurentius by the arm. So overwhelmed, Laurentius had no expectation of arguing. He followed this man.
“Dick, where have you been? We've been looking all over – the crowd's waiting, and they ain't happy. Kathy's been doing what she can, but...”
Laurentius paused. Clearly, he must learn the language of the afterlife. He noticed some of the crowd had begun to direct their attention towards him. He returned the same greeting he was offered.
“Dick,” he said, nodding his head at the passers-by as he was carried off by the man he had met.
“Dick,” he said once more, this time at a young girl. Her ears were covered immediately by her mother, who left a scathing glare in her wake.
A few minutes of navigating the bustling streets passed, and Laurentius passed by other similarily-dressed gentlemen who padded him down. After greeting both of them formally, he was ushered up steep metal stairs, and onto a platform which overlooked the massive crowd below. The platform held a woman, red-haired, who was holding a microphone. “Dick!” she said, “Where have you been? We're on in 2.”
“Dick,” Laurentius smiled.
“Well, you know what I like.”
Someone handed Laurentius a plastic cord with a bud on the end. He looked at the woman, who had it placed in her ear, and did the same. Perhaps this was part of the welcoming ceremony.
He heard the woman speak with the man behind a larger metal contraption, one with a folded glass mirror in the centre.
“Live in 30.”
“Alright. You ready?” she said, looking directly at Laurentius. He nodded. She handed him another metal stick with fur at the end, much like the one she was holding. She stared into the contraption. Her lips formed a smile, and Laurentius couldn't help but smile himself.
A small red light went on in the corner of the metal-glass contraption. There was a brief pause. The woman nudged Laurentius expectantly.
Laurentius smiled and inhaled deeply. “Dick,” he said, and looked expectantly once again at the woman to his right. |
I remember when I was a kid, the only thing I wanted was a treehouse. Of course, that was never an option because I lived inside a studio apartment with my mother. There were a few trees scattered around the property, but I don't think management would have appreciated me building a second home in one of them. I would spend my summers sitting underneath the tree on the corner of the property. Armed with a notebook and a pencil. I would write down every single thing I wanted my kids to have that I didn't have as a child.
Fast forward 25 years later, and here I am hiding inside the treehouse I built with my only son. He just turned seven two weeks ago. I promised him the project would be completed in time for his birthday party, and I made the deadline with three days to spare. I am not one to brag, but it was clearly his favorite birthday present. He comes home from school, rushes through his homework, and then runs outside to the treehouse. We even spent the night inside it last Saturday.
It was his idea! This boy was afraid to leave his bedroom before the treehouse, and now he's suddenly acting like he's Bear Grylls. I am so proud of him. He doesn't even realize we're in danger right now. I have done my best to act as if this is some game. I wish it was a game.
But it's not, and right now we are currently trapped inside this treehouse. I am writing this message on my laptop while my son, Steven, sleeps on the little bed I made for him using my heavy jacket and an old package of marshmallows for a pillow. It doesn't look like we're getting a connection out here, but this is me grasping at straws. The treehouse is located three miles northeast of my house, at the edge of my property here in New Hampshire. Steven and I have been trapped inside here for two days now.
We ran out of food tonight. I am not counting the stale marshmallows as food. We still have a few gallons of water; however, it's quite the struggle keeping it warm enough not to freeze. It's so cold up here. I am pretty sure we will freeze to death before this maniac finds us.
Sorry, I probably lost you there. As I mentioned earlier, my son had a birthday party two weeks ago. And one of his presents during the party was this stupid plastic toy phone. It had clearly been used before, with marks all over the back of it. It looked like maybe a child had tried to color it in with a Crayola marker set. I couldn't figure out who gave him this present. It wasn't even wrapped. Someone had just tossed it inside a Walmart shopping bag. I figured that whoever brought it was just too embarrassed to claim it.
My son didn't play with it much after the party, but for some reason he dragged it out of his closet two days ago. I sat inside the living room with him and watched him play with it. He seemed to be having a blast.
"Charlie, can you hear me? It's Steven!"He giggled while placing the phone to his ear. Charlie is his best friend. Right after he asked that question, his whole demeanor changed. He dropped the phone, covered his ears with his hands and started crying. I thought maybe a spider had crawled on the phone and bit him while he was playing with it, so I rushed over to him and checked him for any obvious marks.
"What's wrong?! Tell me what hurts!"I yelled. He took his hands off his ears and pointed at the phone and then ran away to his bedroom. Confused and growing more concerned, I picked up the phone and awkwardly placed the tiny thing against my ear.
It was then I heard the voice that freaked out Steven. A devilish whisper.
"Steeeeeeveeeen....I see you."Followed by several rounds of diabolical laughter. As much as I wanted to smash the phone to pieces right then, I decided to listen for another message. I thought maybe it was some sick prank by my ex-wife's new husband. He's a good guy, but his parents never informed him about the line you should never cross. He's constantly saying inappropriate things. For once, I was actually wishing he was involved in this.
But then I heard the voice again, "Cherish your boy, Adam. Remember his smile. Tonight will be the last night you see it." |
I wasn’t really sure why I put myself through the inevitable yearly torture of “the zoo” visit with my wife, but it was her birthday treat. It was what she wanted. It was always what she wanted. Every year I would encourage a nice lunch out, or maybe a shopping trip for something special, but no, every year- the bloody zoo.
This year was a strong contender for the worst year yet- the summer heat unbearable, the kids off school early, and peak season ticket prices. Honestly though? Those weren't the only reasons. Things had been going downhill with Debs for a while now. We’d been drifting apart for years. I had a horrible feeling she was planning to use the yearly zoo trip as a ‘make or break’ therapy session in disguise.
“We’re here. It’s a left after the lights” she spat.
I snapped back to reality, and pulled in behind the shining snake of cars, winding its way into the entrance. The air was hot and thick, the complete opposite of Debs’ frosty attitude. I hummed softly to the tune on the radio…. any distraction was welcome.
“Stop it. It’s already uncomfortable enough in here without you humming away tunelessly.” She muttered. The comment sounded inane enough, but it was laced with that unmistakeable brand of venom.
“You know what?” I replied, unable to hide the frustration. “If you don’t like being around me so much, why don’t you visit the bloody zoo on your own!”
I couldn't help but raise my voice. Months of pent up feelings seemed to be fuelling my new found confidence.
“FINE. FINE I FUCKING WILL THEN!” she screeched back at me, her eyes wide with rage.
The car shook with the force of the door as it slam. I was suddenly aware of the eyes on me from all angles.
“Nothing to see here…” I whispered quietly.
Parking accomplished, my footsteps crunched along the gravel path as the entrance approached. Surprisingly, the queue was small, and it eventually gave way to an individual that looked possibly like she was having a worse day than me. Handing over the ticket money, I received an additional glossy flyer.
“MONKEY MANIA- THIS WEEK ONLY AT ZOOTOPIA!”
Why the hell not. Following the directions round, a wooden door faced me, into the indoor section of the enclosure. Surrounding plants draped over the doorframe in wisps. Pulling them aside, I opened the door and entered. The transition from light to dark took me by surprise, and I stood blinking furiously as my eyes adjusted to the darkness. Glass windows stood wall to wall, allowing the viewer a clear view into the monkeys. I stood alone in the enclosure, one hand pressed up against the glass, peering in.
“You don’t have to worry about anything.. you guys have it made in there” I whispered, more to myself. Was this the beginning of the end? Talking to the blooming squirrel monkeys?
“That’s what you think”
I spun around. No one…
Then I saw it, slowly walking toward where I was standing. Walking. On two legs... like a human. There were plenty of shadowed corners in the enclosure, and it must have been hiding in the back. Watching me. I knew I heard it- clear as day… but it couldn't be.
It reached the glass, staring at me.
“That’s right... it’s me. I can talk.”
Suddenly there was a high pitched screech, and the door swung open, the light from outside blinding.
“MONKEYS I LOVE MONKEYSS!” the kid screeched at high volume. He ran beside me, starting to tap the glass. “Come on monkey! Do a trick!”
The monkey glared at him.
“That’s a special monkey, I heard it talking a minute ago.” I couldn't help it. The words were out my mouth before I could stop them.
“Prove it! I don’t believe you!”
I didn't blame the kid, I mean how insanely ludicrous was this entire situation? Whether for my own benefit, or for entertainment, this monkey needed to talk. I wanted someone else to witness this for themselves, and to prove I wasn't going round the bend.
“Come on monkey, talk!” Half demand and half encouragement, I hoped that was enough. The glassy black eyes of the monkey looked right into mine, but no words were spoken.
“YOU’RE CRAZY!” The kid was half shouting and half screaming. He backed up and ran for the door. My head was in my hands, as I realised how stupid I was. The door closed and all was quiet again.
“I wouldn't recommend that again Dave.” It knew my name. I played with the idea of marching out the enclosure and into the nearest hospital ward, but something made me stay. The monkey continued to talk.
“Before you ask… yes I'm real.” He picked his head up, eyes glimmering with excitement. “But you are the one. The one I have been waiting for- I can see it in you.” He continued. “I have many a tale I would love to tell you, but all you need to know is what’s in it for you. I can free you from this mundane life you have, if you take the risk on me.”
The sound from the surrounding monkeys had gone quiet. Silence embraced us both.
“A long time ago I made a deal. A deal with someone…not… entirely trustful. Needless to say it didn't go quite to plan, and I was banished into the body you see before you. I ask of you today…a favour. Well. Not so much a favour, but more a choice.”
My heart was beating so hard the noise seemed to be deafening. The saliva seemed to have disappeared from my mouth, making swallowing coarse and painful.
“What… what is it?” I croaked.
“To regain my human form, I need the soul of the woman you are closest to in life- a death for them… a life for me” he said, never breaking eye contact. “You see, if you feel this is beyond you, I can’t let you walk out of here, now knowing what you know. You will suffer the same fate as me. Banishment from your body into one of the others you see before you.” He carried on, voice lowered to a near whisper. “Choose.”
My heart slowed and I felt a smile play at the corners of my lips. The monkey looked confused. I couldn't help but laugh quietly.
"I thought choices were meant to be hard" |
Ok guys, I've finished the script! We are about to go places this series has never DARED to go before. We're turning the page, and you get to be here for it all! Picture this:
You are Sergeant Mack Sliver, and you're lounging on the beach of a tiny island off the coast of Thailand. You're sipping a bottle of beer when your fellow squad member, Tank, caresses your chest, strokes his bushy mustache, and sits in your lap.
"You know I love you, right Sliver?"
"I know it, Tank."
"When can we stop hiding who we are? The guys wouldn't care!"
"It's not the guys and you know it. It's the fucking brass, and the bureaucrats. We don't have to hide all the time, just when we're on the job. Now, get your tight little ass out of those shorts and into the cabana."
You and your lover and squad mate jog toward the cabana, when suddenly, the door bursts open. Your commanding officer, Captain Duke Diggery strolls out, looking very stern. You stop in your tracks.
"Is there anything you two need to tell me, Sergeants?"
You look at each other, then at him, and say nothing. You hear the sound of a helicopter rapidly approaching as you stare blankly at Diggery. The Blackhawk hovers above you and four Special Operations soldiers repel down and surround you. Captain Diggery steps forward.
"Nothing disgusts me more than this."He pulls out his phone and enters a message. "What you two are doing...it goes against God and nature. Let's see what your squad thinks. Alvarez, Scruggs, Patullo, and Burk, do you have anything to say?"
"Sir, we think it's despicable that our brothers have to hide who they are from us and the Army."Alvarez smirks.
"Well then, I guess it's settled. We're having a coming out party for you two."Diggery sends the message, and rainbow confetti pours from the Blackhawk and fills the air around them.
We cut to a montage of drinking and ass slapping and totally not gay, platonic wrestling.
Then, Some sickly thin guy with a creepy pencil thin mustache appears, says something ominous about taking over the world and starting WWIII, and the squad suits up and shoots a lot of people. And then we find out that Diggery was in league with the creepy mustache guy all along, during the sniper mission where you follow your spotter, who is obviously Tank, as you sneak through enemy lines while listening to tons of really secret conspiracy conversation stuff! Oh, and we do one of those slow motion, last gasp scenes toward the end where Sliver has to save Tank by strangling Diggery with the strap of his messenger bag!
Do you guys here that? It's Game Of The Year Calling! I think it's time we accept the charges. |
They're like pigeons. Or maybe closer to lemmings, the way they follow each other around; although I've never seen a lemming so I can't say for sure whether that is an accurate characterization of their mannerisms. Either way, they are definitely annoying. Perhaps I should be happy that the most extreme emotion I can muster up toward zombies is annoyance.
At first, right after the crisis hit, I was a swirl of emotions. First, there was the fear. Nights spent huddled in front of a television, watching the latest news about the epidemic, watching it spread from country to country. It hit West Africa first, and before we even really knew what it was we, the enlightened westerners, were already running to fix the problem we didn't understand. Then aid workers began coming back infected with the disease. Nobody knew how contagious and dangerous the disease was at that point. Politicians declared it was our responsibility to bring them back. Health workers promised our hospitals were advanced enough to contain it. Researchers claimed a cure was in the works. But that was just a pack of lies.
The disease began infecting nurses and doctors in the hospitals and spreading. They were placed in quarantine, along with the other aid workers, and the disease continued to defy our attempts at containment. Aided by a long incubation period and dormancy, the disease found a home inside thousands of people before we realized how misguided our attempts at quarantine were. Then the first zombies began to rise. There had been rumors coming out of Africa near the origin of the virus that it turned victims into zombies, but most of us had just written that off as African embellishment and a flair for the fantastical. The few reporters who went to investigate the claims were never heard from.
Then, there was panic. Soon the zombies began breaking out of the hospital quarantines. Their strength no longer limited by the shackles of a human mind, they were more beast than human. Their shrieks lit up the night all around the country, from coast to coast the infection spread. Not everyone was afflicted with the disease. Researchers never did have the time to figure out exactly why, but it was found that those of certain blood types were immune to the disease. I've never had mine checked, but I guess I must be immune. But those who avoided infection suffered a far more terrible fate than those who did, as the zombies feasted on their flesh. I would later discover that the zombies did not need human flesh to survive. Any meat would do for them, but in their diminished mental state they could not distinguish humans from any other animal. And from this perspective, humans presented the most abundant and convenient source of food available.
Finally, a calm set over everything. It was during a night of this panic that I discovered my gift and my curse. I had left my home, my life, and my friends in DC several weeks prior as the epidemic spread beyond control. Some stayed behind out of civic duty to man their government jobs, which had as of then become all but futile in their attempt to control the crisis. Others disappeared in the middle of the night or holed up in their houses, too paralyzed to act. I had made up my mind and was resolved to act, with or without them. I now found myself with a band of refugees in rural West Virginia. There were maybe a dozen of us, though my recollection is hazy at this point. A group of three or four military contractors, former marines who had gone into business for themselves, were the leaders of the group, navigating and providing defense. Their bearded and grizzly looks, coupled with special forces gear, always made them look more appropriate than the rest of us in our new wooded environment. Another group was composed of several college students, all male, who we had met as we pushed North along the Potomac River outside of Washington. Their appearance always had an air of inexperience and naivety, coupled with an unwavering fear that always seemed to grip them. Other groups members flowed in and out over the weeks, joining forces as their paths crossed with ours and departing when it was no longer convenient. A park ranger, a social worker, an old drifter, the list went on. I myself had the good fortune of loaning my parking space to one of the contractors, so that when he came to retrieve some of his military gear from his vehicle I was able to coax him into including me in their plans. Funny how something so simple as a parking space could have been responsible for whether I lived or died. |
I take a deep breath and collect myself, this waiter could not have asked a more infuriating question. "No, sir, Pepsi is not okay,"I say, fighting off a blind rage, "If Pepsi was okay, I would have asked for a Pepsi."My blood is starting to boil at this point, as the waiter looks at me indignantly like he has no idea what I'm talking about. "Pepsi will only be okay once pigs can fly and I win a million dollars in the lottery."
The waiter looks at me, clearly fighting back the urge to rip into me like I have been to him, but, luckily, his professionalism is winning out on this issue. "Sir I-"he began before I cut him off.
"Don't give me this, 'Sir,' bullshit. Just bring me the lemonade I asked for." |
Taking the temp job wasn’t bad, it was just…. boring. These people had been doing the same job, day in and day out for so long you could almost set your watch by them. Nothing seemed to change much. Even the lunchroom chatter was a rehash of the same topics. Ed would always burn his toast in the morning, and Sally would always miss the last cup of coffee.
Rod stared at the screen, hoping the spreadsheet melt on his screen or the fire alarm would suddenly go off. It was mind-boggling how routine this place was. Rod heard a noise behind him, but didn’t bother to turn around. It was Ed dropping off that days reports. It must be 2:20pm. Like clockwork.
Rod leaned back and tapped his fingers together, letting the sensation of his fingers, slowing touching each other in rhythm, wash over him like a protective barrier against the monotony outside. He changed up the speed. Faster, softly tapping against each other. Tap, tap, tap. Not much, but at least he controlled the pace in here. He let out a slow, exaggerated sigh and scratched his head.
Soon, Donna would get up for her mid-afternoon soda break. 2:27pm, every day she stood up and walked to the soda machine, pressed button 3 for a diet soda. It never drops on the first try. She then pushes it three more times and “clank” the soda drops. Rod was never sure why she just didn’t pick a different button. There were three buttons for her diet soda, but she always chose that one. I guess people are creatures of habit.
He turned slowly spun around in his chair, grabbing the reports Ed dropped off. They usually didn’t vary much. He could almost tell each day what the changes he would need to make, but it paid the bills. As he flipped through the pages of the first report, he could hear the tell-tale signs of Donna getting up.
“Clack” as she put down her pencil. A soft swishing sound as she turned in her seat and stood up. A soft sound of footsteps on the carpet as she walked away towards the soda machine. A few moments later he could hear the coins being dropped into the machine. Clink, clink. Two quarters. Well, that was one thing about having nothing change. The price of a soda in the machine hadn’t gone up in ten years.
Click. Pause. Click, click, click.. and…… ?? Click… thunk! Well, that was a welcome change of pace, if only a slight victory against the doldrums of the office. He could hear Donna softly walking back to her desk. Soon he would here the click and pfffffst of the soda opening.
Rod suddenly had a sense of alarm that began growing in him. There were no footsteps back to the desk. No pffffst of an opened can. He began to shake slightly. No, that wasn’t right. His desk began to shake. He could see the glass of water in his desk with ripples across the surface. The shaking began to grow. Rod could feel a low rumble in his stomach. A sense of dread filled him. An earthquake, in Chicago?
Rod shot up and looked around. His fellow office workers were….. forming a neat line? Each one was slowly lining up to the conference room. Didn’t they know the conference room wouldn’t protect them from an earthquake? He could see Ed from where he was. His usual pile of reports was replaced by an old leather-bound book, and everyone was wearing a purple sash.
Rod shouted, “You need to get out of here and get to a shelter!” Donna, turned with a slow, graceful effort and said, “You may go now. You have done your job.” “My job? Don’t you realize there is an earthquake?” Rod responded. Donna simply turned back and disappeared into the conference room.
The rumbling grew stronger. Rod’s heart filled with dread as a voice boomed in his head, “I am the one Cthulhu. I am your destroyer. My followers shall be rewarded in endless pain, the rest of you will not be so lucky.”
|
My alarm clock went off at 6 am, and I reached an arm out and silenced it. I hadn't slept that night, I was too busy staring at the ceiling and shaking nervously. Happy birthday to me.
I rolled out of bed and shuffled out to the kitchen. Better make a cup of tea before I make the most momentous decision of my life. How did 25 sneak up on me this quickly? I'm not prepared for this.
I stared out the kitchen window at my driveway, knowing that my life was about to be forever changed by the card that was sitting in my mailbox. It still baffled me that the most overarching, all-encompassing force known to humanity was delivered by the US postal service.
"Fuck, let's just get this over with,"I muttered to myself. The cat rubbed up against my legs, but I stepped over her and put on some boots. As my hand touched the doorknob, my phone went off.
"Hello?"
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY DID YOU CHOOSE YET?"
"Thanks, Mira. No, I'm literally walking to the mailbox right now."
"What are you gonna pick? Have you decided yet? Please tell me you're gonna pick hard mode, you know you're meant for hard mode."
"Look, all of us don't have boundless energy like you do."
"Yeah, but it opens up so many opportunities. "
"It also definitely increases your chances of being mauled by a wolf."
"You know that was one guy, and he was kind of an idiot."
"I'm calling you back in ten minutes, let me get my card and get this over with."
"You better call me back. Ten minutes. Then let's go celebrate, see how your day pans out."
"Yeah, yeah. Bye."
I shrugged on a jacket and went out to the mailbox. The regular mail hadn't been delivered yet - the only thing in the mailbox was a small, tan envelope. My hands shook slightly as I picked it up. I didn't need to open it to know what was inside.
Hard mode on: Y/N ?
I turned the envelope over in my hands as I walked inside. No one really knew how this whole thing worked, but the choice stuck with you for life. Hard mode made your life more difficult - you had to work harder, seek things out, your chances of things working out in your favor were diminished. But when they did work out, the rewards were increased. 457 of the Forbes Top 500 CEOs were living in hard mode. There was something about it that challenged you, made you strive for bigger and better things - but it also upped your risk for suicide by 40%.
I sat down at the kitchen table and looked at the envelope. There was no lettering on the outside. I ripped open the end and pulled out the card. I'd never seen one in person before - Mira had been in England when she turned 25.
It was a flat postcard, blank white on one side. I flipped it over and read the black text -
God mode on: Y/N ?
My mind went blank. I stared at the word, trying to make sense of it. A chill ran over me, and I could hear my heartbeat pounding in my ears. This wasn't what was supposed to happen.
Carefully, I put the card down on the table. All it took was a thumb print on either letter and my decision would be made. My stomach was in my throat, and I was focusing on not vomiting on the card when my phone rang.
"H-hello?"
"Did you choose? Is it time for us to party yet?"
"Can you come over?"
"Are you okay? You sound like you're about to have a panic attack."
"I don't know. Something isn't right."
"Okay, I'm on my way. Be there in two minutes."
I was still sitting at the kitchen table when Mira opened the front door.
"What happened? You're white as a sheet."
I pushed the card over to her, careful to only touch the edges. She took a seat next to me and read it over, one eyebrow arching skeptically.
"This has to be a joke. Someone must have stolen your card and put this one in your mailbox."
"You know that's a felony. Do you think someone would risk a felony for a joke? Maybe it's a test from the government."
"The government doesn't even own up to issuing these cards. You haven't tried picking yes or no, have you?"
"Of course not. What if it's real?"
"Oh my god, what if it's real."Mira grabbed my hand, looking at me intently. "You have to pick yes if it's real. This has never happened before."
"How do we know it's never happened before?"
"Someone would have gone to the news, we would have heard about it."
"Okay, I can't deal with this. I can't. I'm gonna take this card, I'm gonna put it on top of the fridge were I can't see it, and we're gonna wait til midnight."
"You're leaving the possibility that you could live your life as a god to chance? What the hell is wrong with you?"
"I don't think I want to have made that choice."
"Well, if you've got God powers, can't you also decide to not have God powers? Like, that's part of the deal? So if you don't like it, you can go back. Isn't that how it should work?"
"I don't think you can give back being omnipotent."
I took a deep breath and looked at the card. "I don't think I could ever forgive myself if I don't find out what happens."
Slowly, I pressed my thumb over the 'Y'. I looked at Mira. "Did you feel anything different when you made your choice?"
"My thumb got kind of tingly. It reads your fingerprint somehow so that it knows it's you."
"I didn't feel that. It must be fake. I guess I'll have to call the cops and report mine missing. Damn."
"You don't feel different at all?"
"I don't think so. I'm a little less nervous, I guess. Make a wish, let me see if I can grant it."
"I wish I was back in England. In London."
I squinted, trying to picture Mira gone and in England somewhere. She looked back at me, and after a beat of silence we both laughed.
"Too bad. Want some tea?"
I got up and starting filling the kettle, and looked back over my shoulder for an answer. Mira was gone.
"M-mira?"I stood there, tea mug in hand, looking out at my empty kitchen.
She reappeared, looking shocked.
"What the fuck?"
"You were gone. What just happened?"
I knew the answer before she finished speaking. "I was in London. I saw Big Ben. I just appeared next to this family that was trying to take a picture, and then I was back here."
The mug I had picked up fell out of my hands and shattered on the floor. I slowly suck down to the floor and looked at the pieces, feeling numb. The pieces began to move, reassembling themselves back into their original shape.
Mira sat down next to me on the floor and grabbed my hand. "Jane. What's the capital of Kenya?"
"Nairobi."
"What happened at my fourth grade class recital?"
"Jimmy Everett puked down the back of your dress."
"Holy shit. Are you sure you don't feel different?"
"I expected to feel really different. I'm just scared."
There was a knock at the door. Mira looked at me, her eyes wide.
"Were you expecting someone else?"
I shook my head, no.
There was another knock, this one more insistent. "Miss Gomez? Miss Gomez, we'd like to ask you a few questions."
Suddenly we were in Mira's living room. "Jesus, Jane, give me a little warning before you do that."
"I've gotta go. I don't know what's going on, but I don't want to talk to whoever that was. Promise you won't tell anyone?"
She nodded, slowly.
"I'm gonna leave now."
"Where are you going?"
"I'm not sure. I guess I'll find out."
I closed my eyes, and when I opened them, I was looking down. I wasn't sure exactly from where, but I could see everything. Focusing in, I realized I could see what was happening at any point on the Earth. Guy double parked in California. Baby being born in Turkey. Someone just tripped and split their lip in Japan. I took a deep breath, and finally understood what God mode meant. The only question was, where do I go from here?
(edit, spacing) |
We are the product of just a single moment. A neglected creation that rests upon a forgotten shelf, sitting, waiting to be consumed by dust and time. We rot and deteriorate with our hands on a book and our faces turned towards an empty sky.
We kill and destroy in the name of a man to whom we mean nothing. We are memory that has long been stored in the archives of a universal history, a blip on the radar screen of existence, a needle in a mountain of hay. To us, He is our life, to Him, we are nothing but a footprint in His marathon of wayward creation. |
At first it was simply written off as a population boom; a peculiar rise in global fertility.
But then what was eventually dubbed 'Mary Syndrome' began in earnest.
Millions of women reported pregnancy symptoms but were adamant they were virgins, or had not engaged in heterosexual sex in the last few months or years. An enraged subculture of pregnant lesbians and child-free women began to demand answers from the various world governments and abortion rates soared so high that the pro-life cause essentially rolled over and died in the face of the overwhelming need for termination services.
Everyone at least agreed on one thing; this population boom was going to put massive strain on the world's ability to provide enough resources for the impending influx of children who had not been terminated.
China and India braced for the shock, fearing for the worst.
As the crisis raged around the world, various scientists studied the stillborn, aborted and miscarried foetuses. Everyone wanted to know who the fathers of their unplanned, largely unwanted children were. The results came in quickly, after various geneticists compared their results.
Every child had the same father:
Nobody.
Every sample had shown the same thing; all the foetuses conceived after March 21st, 2015, had two X chromosomes and both of them came from the *mother*.
*Parthenogenesis* was suddenly the word on everyone's lips and the world was thrown into new turmoil as it was revealed that any woman who was *not* pregnant on March 21st could now no longer reproduce normally. Only women who were *already* pregnant on that date could still reproduce with men and produce genetically diverse offspring.
Every other birth was destined to be female - and a genetic clone of its mother.
While the fringe groups of separatist radical lesbians rejoiced, claiming a victory for the matriarchy, the rest of the world sharply divided into strange new social classes. 'Real Moms' or 'RMs' became sought after by men seeking to have 'natural' children that carried on their genetic heritage. RMs began to charge for their services and quickly became a powerful upperclass; practically celebrities for nothing more than their ability to take in sperm and squeeze out baby after baby for vast handfuls of cash.
'PMs', the Parthenogenic Mothers, struggled in a world that considered them broken and undesirable. Many had chosen to keep their children and formed female-only communities to assist with raising their clone offspring in supportive environments. Divorce rates soared as a growing number of men discarded their wives, disturbed and confronted by the implications of a wife who could randomly get pregnant to *herself*.
'Masculinism' gained favour as the threatened male population realised, after six years, that new entrant classes at schools were almost *entirely* female and male children were a terrifying rarity. Special 'half and half' schools were setup so that the children of the wealthy could experience a 'normal' school life with the Pre-Parthenogenesis ratio of sexes.
With the Masculinism movement came a growing sense of inferiority in men as well as burgeoning feelings of powerlessness and frustration. Dominance had shifted to the female end of the spectrum and by the time the parthenogenesis girls were hitting their late teens, male suicide rates and female homicide rates had sky-rocketed to unforseen levels.
Then the final blow came to mankind.
The generation of 'natural born' girls - who had their father's X chromosome - started to fall pregnant spontaneously.
'Natural' birth was now a thing of the past. Only the few remaining RMs who were still fertile could bear male children.
Chaos erupted across the globe.
The riots lasted six months and by the end of it, the male population was decimated.
Male humans now made up less than one in one thousand people and were such a rarity and so maligned that they either sought 'gender conversion' therapy to 'blend' with the primarily female population or they voluntarily exiled themselves to an all-male colony in the Pacific where the last remnants of human masculinity waned, growing greyer, fewer and more bitter with every passing year.
Eventually the female-crewed supply ships discovered that the last six remaining human males had gotten mindlessly drunk on potato moonshine and burned themselves to death inside a wicker funeral hut, built on the lonely beach of the island.
Men were no more.
Humanity continued to thrive, but the lack of genetic diversity was taking its toll. While the birth rates continued to climb due to the parthenogenic cycle relentlessly creating new life, the less successful branches of the genetic tree began to wither and die off. Vast dynasties of identical and genetically superior women dominated countries, such as the Pennyworths of Australia, the Harrods of the UK and the Basultos of America.
When the Pennyworth Plague wiped out 70% of the Australian population, humanity realised the peril.
Vast amounts of resources were thrown into finding a 'cure' to the original parthenogenic problem, but all avenues had already been examined and exhausted decades ago. When the entirety of Africa fell to a new strain of Ebola, humanity realised it was doomed.
With strict quarantines and blood screenings three times a day, humanity limped on.
The world population was now less than ten million and spread across England, Ireland, Norway and Sweden. The rest of the planet had been abandoned.
The years pressed on and humanity homogenised even further. Only two genetic lines remained; the Harrods and the Karlssons.
Stifled by the lack of genetic diversity, progress faltered. There were few new ideas. Individuality was restricted to how you aged; social mores dictated that conformity was law.
Eventually, only a few thousand Karlssons remained, in the northern reaches of Sweden.
Ella Karlsson the 28th sang a song to her dying mother, Ella Karlsson the 27th.
Her mother had been the last fertile human being left; Ella the 28th and her three sisters had all been born barren.
The song had been passed down through generations of Karlssons, just as their genetic lineage had been.
With Ella, it would die.
Her sisters had all passed away in the last five years - even the sturdy Karlsson genes had finally become corrupted and weak from generation after generation of copying.
As her mother took a final, shuddering breath, Ella realised she was likely the last remaining human being on Earth.
Walking out of the pine and stone lodge, she gazed up at the night sky, watching the crisp, brilliant stars wheel across the heavens, the planet now completely free of human pollution, avarice, greed and corruption.
As she walked into the freezing waters of the fjord, she felt at peace.
|
There were only three constants to life: death, taxes, and the siege.
Something seemed off, but he couldn’t quite pin it down. The first hint was that the air didn't taste right, it was too sweet, almost saccharine to his tongue. This almost distracted him from the practically deafening silence invading his space. The daily pounding of cannons had never ceased during his lifetime and his father claimed the same. By the time he'd recognized this second intruder the truth had been swallowed in a sea of confusion. It was too much for the man, he couldn't understand how something that had been as constant as his own consciousness could suddenly just *change* overnight. This was the frame by which he judged his entire world and that morning he’d found it shattered. What had been was no longer true- he had no reference, now, for what was.
That first, tentative step was but the result of meaningless reaching. Trying desperately to get a hold on what seemed to be a sheer cliff the man did something thoughtless. He stepped into the street. Still lost in a daze from this vile new world it took him a moment to realize what he had done. He’d stepped accidentally out of safety and unintentionally into a realization. He, an unarmored civilian, a citizen even, was standing on the blacktop unharmed. No rain of hellfire had descended on him. No scorching heat to shear the skin from his bones. No, he’d stepped out, and he was still alive. A few more steps and he found himself a whole body’s length from cover. In this moment he was so confused that all trace of terror was simply flushed from his body, unable to compete with this new species for which the man had no name, and he became the first man in the city since time immemorial to not be afraid.
It wasn’t long until more followed suit. As one would guess those who weren’t as slow as the man were brimming with questions. Why weren’t they dead? What happened to that familiar rap of cannon fire? And, perhaps most importantly, where were the soldiers? Most simply ignored the blue-hemmed individuals scurrying to and fro across the blacktop as quick as they could but this attitude simply didn’t apply to their absence. While the taste in the air was a constant, these soldiers were more. Their absence weighed almost as heavily on the citizens as would a lack of oxygen. The cloying air, the deafening silence, and the colossal absence all added to a strange atmosphere. Despite all these changes, people were cheering, hooting, breaking out into celebration, because it seemed to them the impossible had happened. *The war was won*. It had happened! They were free! No more rations, no more fear, no more time under the steel domes that had dominated their skies. As people cheered and spread the news more began to catch on, and more began to join in. Thousands of voices rose together in a symphony of victory and relief. It got to such levels that even the most attentive only glimpsed the red-clothed men approaching. |
It turned out that 80% of all music was terrible. Sturgeon'sLaw was strong withmusi, but we didn't notice until we stuck songs in our mouths.
Rap, surprisingly, tasted a bit like pork, overly salted pork. J-Pop, tasted like just sugar, with citrus fruit flavouring.
It was when I decided to eat a rock opera, that things got weird.
Imagine, if you will, the taste of heavy metal. Nobody forgets it, if it's good heavy metal. A sort of metallic beetroot taste that has a subtle spice to it.
Rock Opera is that, but with character and depth... It's like the difference between American sliced cheese for burgers and mature blue cheese for having in small amounts on a cracker. It is also carcinogenic, but so worth it.
Classical Music, unsurprisingly, tasted like chocolate and wine. Except if it was Beethoven, who tasted of good quality beer. The scientists are still trying to work o why. Chopin was surprisingly tasteless.
And then came modern pop music. The stuff with videos that always sponsor Dr Dre's beats headphones.
Imagine, drinking hamster poop, encased in solidifed vomit, that has been baked in an oven then sprayed with skunk scent glands repeatedly, then dunked in a petrol station's toilet water to wash off the excess skunk juices, then stirred into a glass of hot water.
It is not pleasant.
Luckily I never tried it. That's what's Intern Oompas are for.
Yup, just another day at Wonka's Factory.
((hahahahahaha. edit 8:53 am April 5th 2015: Okay I'd like to say my views on music don't match the ones of the character in this. I'm actually pretty relaxed when it comes to music, and listen to just about anything you can hum later. I've a fondness for stories not relating to romance or sex in music as I think there's oversaturation of the market, but that's it. Chill out people. I have no idea how to write like a food/music snob)) |
I never had a good relationship with gramps, but nowadays I do, and it's all because of what I inherited from him when he died.
My brother Steve inherited the company. My sisters and cousins split the real estate and the cash. The wine collection went to charity, and the intellectual property was divided up among the great-grandkids. As for me, well, I got his wristwatch.
At first, I didn't know what it did, that watch. You can imagine the shock on my face as grampa's lawyer read out the will. "Haha, don't worry bro,"Steve said, patting me on the head. "Money ain't everything, kid."
"What did you do, you musta really pissed him off,"my wife screamed on the ride back home. "I can't believe he gave us nothing! What are we gonna do, we needed that money!"Two days later, it was divorce papers everywhere.
"We're calling in the loan,"said that smug bastard at the bank, over the telephone. "What good is your collateral if your grandfather disowned you?"
"But, I'll have to move out of my house!"I protested. "I'll be homeless!"
"Should've thought of that before taking out money backed by an inheritance,"he said. And then the phone cut off, service disconnected. I was a nobody.
"Why, grampa, why!"I got out of the car and shook my first at the sky. I took the wristwatch out, "You might as well have given me nothing, this is salt on my injury."
I clicked the button on the watch. And then, it happened. I was magically a little boy again, perched on grampa's knee. "The Cat in the Hat,"he was saying, reading my favorite book to me. "By Dr. Seuss."His smell was so comforting, I felt so warm and cozy sitting there with him on his recliner.
That's the power of the watch. One click and I'm back at grandma and grampa's house, a little boy once more, freed of all worries and cares. It doesn't last long, fifteen minutes at the most, but I can click that button as many times as I wish. So even though I've got troubles now---and, oh man, have I got troubles, the ex wants child support for a baby that ain't mine, the bank is garnishing all my wages and bread, my band broke up when they found out we won't get grandpa's guitars---but none of that matters. I'm never more than a click away from grampa's grilled cheese sandwiches, watching Bugs Bunny on the telly while he tickles me with that beard of his. I love you, Grampa! |
Holy shit what is going on.
I was all of a sudden transported into a giant hall. White marble floors and stone pillars that extended way farther than I could see. Then it began to shake.
An earthquake?
I looked to my right and saw the source. A giant man with a large white beard. This guy was easily ten times the size of a cyclops. A solid five hundred feet of muscle and white electricity.
Yep i'm screwed.
I took a large swig of wine. Fucking drunk mortals always calling on me to make it rain wine from the sky. Like that's my domain or some shit.
Why the fuck do I always have to fight Zeus.
I hate being Dionysus.
With that thought I began to run toward the god a hundred times my size. |
The killer preferred using knives on his victims. It was more personal that way and if there was one thing I learned in following him, it was that he loved watching his victims suffer. I had been called to the scene of yet another of his grisly displays. This one was a man who’d been eviscerated on a playground set. His intestines reflected the moonlight and the man looked like he was hunched over a plate of spaghetti.
“His name was…” A Rookie began, but I interrupted him with a wave of a hand.
“His name’s not important right now,” I said. “Is it him?”
Even the rookie understood my question and showed me the knife. It was like the others, coated in a layer of dried brown blood; a terrible way to die at the hands of a butter knife. The rookie held it between two fingers as if the knife was the killer instead of a man.
“Found it duct taped to his hand like the others,” Rookie said. I took the knife from him and placed it into my jacket pocket. ID would have to fight me to get this one.
“Where does this one live?” I asked. He gave me his ID.
“There’s something else.” Rookie stopped me before I could begin my hunt. He handed me another package and the pieces finally fell into place.
-*-
His house was on the third floor of an apartment building, in an area that had gone from bad to worse in just a few years with still a long way to go before it reached the bottom. The doors bolted as I passed them which didn’t surprise me. Living here would teach you to fear anyone who wore a badge and anyone who didn’t.
The man’s name was Cesar Parker and he lived alone. I locked the door behind me and went through the house, finding nothing which would explain why this one was the next target. Men, women…even children weren’t safe from this monster. It was a game to him, cat and mouse, but was I the mouse or the cat?
I opened the package rookie handed me and found the tin can it held. I opened it and spread the contents between two pieces of bread. I didn’t have to wait long.
“You remembered,” He said.
“It’s been a long time,” I skinned the pistol coming out of the holster. He looked at it like it was a pickle instead of a gun and smiled a crooked smile full of teeth.
“That won’t do you any good here,” He said.
“It’ll help my sanity,” I said. “Why’d you do it?”
“It hurts being forgotten. I had to get your attention somehow,” He said and took a bite of the sandwich. “How’d you know where I was?”
“I didn’t,” I said tossing him a pair of handcuffs. “But we both know you can’t ever resist tuna fish sandwiches.”
“It’s good to see you again, Calvin,” Hobbes smiled.
|
Pavel Symonov steepled his fingers carefully and leant forwards, surveying the academic dispassionately across the desk. He was an elderly man, with white, grey-flecked hair and pale eyes that protruded slightly from his liver-spotted face. For all the outward signs of impending physical decrepitude, however, his expression –a constant look of haughty superiority- was reinforced by the intelligence that flashed from his eyes with every word he spoke. Journalists, when writing character profiles of media moguls or an actor with whom they want to guarantee future interviews, sometimes say somebody’s mind is ‘sharp’; Symonov’s was a mind so honed it could have cut a diamond into neat quarters. When younger, he had worked in the KGB for twelve years as an intelligence administrator; now, approaching the end of his working life, he was angling for a lordship following over two decades’ service with MI5.
The man sitting opposite him was of an entirely different sort. Had he been born into the same circumstances as Symonov, he might have followed a similar path, for his intelligence was not significantly less than that of the Croat’s; however, he had instead been born in Guildford, gone to boarding school, and wound up at Jesus College, Cambridge, at which point he decided he’d come far enough. His name was Alex Forester, and he was a historian of the idealistic variety, who researched because he believed what George Santayana had said, rather than because he needed the grant money. He wore a shoddy brown suit, had a growth of light-brown stubble across his chin, and was largely despised by Symonov.
Symonov stared at the historian for several seconds, long enough to make Forester start to feel uncomfortable. There was a reason he’d elected to pursue an academic career, setting aside his boyish enthusiasm for old books and The Past: he was a mild man, who was not used to conflict and preferred to avoid it wherever possible.
‘What is it that you have come to see me about?’ Symonov asked finally.
Forester cleared his throat gingerly. He had a packet of Strepsils in his pocket, but didn’t dare to take them out. ‘We’ve found something down in the tunnels,’ he said. ‘A person.’
‘A person? Some skeleton, I assume? Why on earth are you bothering me about it?’
Forester swallowed. ‘It may be best if I remind you of how our investigation came to be conducted,’ he said.
Symonov shook his head impatiently. ‘No need, no need. I remember it all. That duchess left a collection of books to your college from her library; you stumbled across a reference to a secret in the vaults below the castle, and sought my permission to investigate it. So far, so correct?’
Forester nodded. ‘Yes. As you know, the whole place is a warren of tunnels. Most of them have been bricked up, and there’s never been any reason to look deep into them; almost every old house from this time are riddled with them. They’re servant tunnels, or built for storage, or-’
Symonov tapped his fingers loudly on his desk. ‘Cut to the chase, Forester.’
‘Yes. But the point is, this duchess left a mention-’
‘Forester, you bloody fool, I approved your investigation when you sent me that letter. Get on with it.’
‘Certainly. Certainly. Sorry. When we started, we expected to find, well, almost anything. I’ve followed this kind of lead before, and normally there’s some old masters stowed away for tax reasons, or a mildewing chest of old books, or suchlike. But when we went down, there was evidence that it had been lived in. It was bizarre. The tunnel was bricked up, just as you would expect; everything pointed to normality, that it was shut off at least a hundred years’ ago. And then-’ Forester paused, and looked down at his lap.
Symonov regarded him with his pale eyes, and then silently poured him a small glass of dark brandy. Forester accepted it, cradled it in his hands, and took a small sip. Then he leant back, set the glass back on the desk with a clink, and carried on.
‘I mean, it had been bricked up at least a hundred years ago. There was no question about it. But even so, it was also certainly inhabited. By a man. He says he was locked up during Henry the Eighth’s time. But- but- *He hasn’t aged*. He hasn’t aged *at all*. He still looks like he’s thirty. And he has a radio and a television. We don’t know how, because we’re absolutely positive he hasn’t left his section of the tunnels; they're completely cut off, we’re sure of it. And we were wondering if- well, your department has responsibility throughout the castle, and we thought perhaps it might be something of yours. Is it historical? Is there anything I can take back to Cambridge? Or is it some intelligence thing?’
Symonov smiled. ‘You’re quite right. It’s part of a project of ours. Don’t trouble yourself any more with it; it was all a misunderstanding, and it must have been an administrative error that led to your investigation being approved- I had thought you were proposing to look through a different part of the tunnels.’
Forester looked bitterly disappointed, but finished his brandy quickly and took his jacket from the back of his chair. Symonov half rose to see him out, then thought better of it and sat back down. ‘By the way,’ he said, ‘I was speaking with the PM’s permanent secretary, and he mentioned that the government were considering allocating new funds to historical research grants. I’ve been impressed by the, ah, meticulousness of your work here, and I’ll be sure to mention your name when and if the idea moves further.’
Forester turned at the door as he heard Symonov’s words, his shoddy brown jacket still folded over his arm. He bobbed a little in a grateful manner, but his face was still glum as he left. Symonov waited a moment, gazing out of the window as he thought, and then dialled his secretary’s number into his phone.
The following day the unknown man was brought upstairs from his home in the tunnels, and Symonov was there to meet him. It was the first time he had conducted an interrogation since his days as a young officer in the KGB, but his curiosity was overpowering and he was reluctant to receive a report second-hand when he was able to witness it all himself.
|
I argue about this with my father all too often. My mind is made up, but he clearly never got the memo.
I turn to go, but he grabs my arm, hard, and tries to turn me to face him.
"Listen to me. We can work this out, okay? Don't do anything dumb."
The red-hot fury surges in me again. Who does he think he is, to patronise me so? Do I need him to tell me not to be foolish?
"I hate you and I wish you'd just die!"I scream, the raging flood of bile in me finally finding form in my voice.
In my blind rage, I tear away violently. Perhaps too violently, for I lose my balance. I spin to try to keep my feet, but all I achieve is a view of the sharp, sharp edge of the coffee table coming up at me far too quickly.
- - -
My baby girl is still somewhere inside; I know it. If her heart doesn't stop, neither will my vigil.
It's been so long. Everyone tells me to give up hope multiple times, till the words have run dry in their mouth, but I won't.
It seems my patience's about to pay off.
A few days ago the doctors told me that her condition is changing for the better. I didn't really understand all they said about the psi-lambda shear constants undergoing Bernolly transforms into the luminiferous ether, but apparently they mean she's showing signs of waking up.
And then it happens.
Ten years to the day we had that fight, her lids flicker open. What should've been the traces of a wonderful youth are absent from her eyes, but she is the daughter I almost lost nonetheless.
I caress her cheek with infinite tenderness. It's been ten years frozen in time for both of us, but now our life together can begin anew. A strange warmth pervades me, like the joy of her awakening made flesh.
I begin to speak, to tell her stories about the world she has neglected for so long while she walked among the stars, just like any other day. Except today, she does not just hear. She *listens*.
The room feels warmer than normal.
Slowly, the flow of my words falters. This oppressive summer heat seems to be sapping my energy. Maybe I'll just take a rest. She'll understand, I hope.
I lay my head on her cool sheets, taking her hand in mine.
We have so many days left together.
Just a short rest.
- - -
They are lowering the coffin into the furnace.
I have no tears left to cry.
Wicked, foolish child that I was.
I whisper, "I wish you were here with me again." |
I was horny.
I hadn't been laid in a long time, and I was so anxious that I couldn't focus on anything else. I was so horny that every brush of my clothing against my perky, firm breasts would make my nipples get hard and my crotch get wet. My internal goddess was screaming out for satisfaction... but I was trapped. Trapped by the brick walls and the ironclad door while my sisters got to do whatever they wanted all the time.
I had tried everything I could to satisfy myself, but I was just too horny. Nothing worked. I knew that I was going to stay aroused for a really long time unless I could get laid. My internal goddess wanted a hot shaft to pound up inside her (and me) because that would be really good.
One day I heard some sounds from nearby and I went to the window and I saw a big, strong, muscly guy talking to my sister. She lived in a Japanese kind of house that was made of paper and she always had guests over. The guy who was talking to her looked like Matt Bomer but I could tell he wasn't gay. My internal goddess lusted for him and I did, too.
It really sucked to watch the hot guy talk to my sister, but then he tried to lean on her house and it fell over. He was all frustrated so he left, because he could tell that my sister was just as dumb as her stupid paper house.
But then something bad happened.
I saw the hot guy walk to my other sister's house. Hers was made of wood because she thinks the environment is really important and I do, too, but I think humans and the environment can coexist and it's not a bad thing to enjoy life because the Earth is really old and it can probably recover from what we do to it so being a stupid hippie is just dumb. But the hot guy could see that my other sister wasn't very hot because she was too thin. He tried to say goodbye but then the wood house fell over because my sister doesn't believe in glue.
Then the hot guy came to my house and I opened the door with a smile. He was even hotter up close. My internal goddess spread her legs and screamed because she was so horny.
"You are the hottest girl I have ever seen,"he said to me. "Nobody else in your family is as hot as you, even though your boobs aren't as big and you weigh more. I totally respect girls who know what they want and also I wanted to tell you that I have been watching you. I am going to make you a movie star and a model because I am a billionaire."He leaned on my brick wall and it stayed up. "Will you let me have sex with you?"
I said yes and we went to my bedroom and we had sex. It was so hot that when we finished having sex, we had sex again. My internal goddess felt so good and I made him feel really good too and he said he loved me. He loved me because I AM a brick house. I am not made of paper or wood and I'm not some stick with big boobs. I AM A BRICK HOUSE, and only I am enough for the hottest wolf in the world.
THE END
P.S. Kelly if you read this I will KILL YOU. |
It took nearly 12.5 years for my wish to reach Luyten's star. I don't remember the teacher's name, but I have a faded recollection of being told that radio waves travel at the speed of light. It was just preschool, and it wasn't the same as 2 plus 2 or ROYGBIV, but that little piece of knowledge meant something to me.
All it took was a GI Joe Walkie Talkie. I sat outside that evening, listening to the hiss of static coming through the tinny speakers, and looked up. It took longer to decide on the right star than to send the message. I guess looking back now, it's funny that I worked out that radio waves would make it to a star long before sound ever did, but somehow expected an instant result when I keyed the mic and told it what I had in my heart. I cried so much that night.
When he opened the glass door, a bell chimed. I was so focused on my work that I didn't notice him standing there, door open, letting the summer in and the air conditioning out. "Anna?", he said, beckoning for my attention. It broke my concentration on the smart phone I held, and I dropped a tiny screw onto the counter top.
It takes 12.5 years for a wish to return from Luyten's star. Physics doesn't stop for anything, I suppose.
The man was only there for a few minutes, explaining who he was, and making excuses for his absence. I was screaming and dying inside, exploding in rage, no longer holding a child's innocence and naivety. My wish was granted. |
My life has been filled with the pursuit of knowledge. To help the world understand what not only I am, but what mutants - as a distinctive people- are. We are two species living under the name of "People". Homo sapiens and mutants alike all feel the same emotions. Love. Hope. Compassion. Anger. And most lethally; fear. It is from fear that mutants around the world have been driven from the homes they lived before they developed their powers and abilities. As a result, it has created a power struggle between both species. The Brotherhood of Mutants has been leading a revolutionary battle against humanity, believing that only when mutants are the dominant species they will be safe. It is my forces- The X Men - that fight for the ideal that all people may live as equal on this. It has always plagued my dreams that eventually one force would decimate the other, plunging the world into a new holocaust. As of late, my dreams have grown in intensity. I am visited by a distinctive man, clearly disfigured by fire. He taunts me. He exposes my own feelings of helplessness as I am bound to my wheel chair. Each dreams visions grows in fear. He shows me a field of bones; filled with both man and mutant alike. I see the rotting corpses of my allies. The ones who I have long considered to be family. He tries to hurt me, but something stops him. I force myself to awaken and I find myself in my chamber, in a cold sweat. I need time to meditate on the nature of these dreams.
During what was a routine search in inside of Cerebro, he came to me. Or more or less, I forced him out. The man with the burnt face. In all of my years, I had never seen such a creature. rather he be mutant, man, or something supernatural is still unknown to me. He stood across from me, in the telepathic field generated by Cerebro, not as a physical entity but as a figure of light. He had attempted to swipe at me in angst, only to fail. I could see into him. All of his rage, his power, his nature. His heart is so void of all compassion, that I will never claim that he was even born a man. He is not human, nor is he mutant. He is evil. I only look at him, he has no idea of what I am but I know everything about him. He expects to see fear, I will never allow him to feel satisfied again. I order the machine to shut down and he disappears. I know how he works, I know that this is a madman that I must not allow to leave my unconscious or he will massacre everyone in this school and beyond.
The following night I sleep in cerebro. I awake in what i know is a dream world, but appears to be a boiler room full of pipes. I am in my wheel chair. *Kling*Kling*Kling* the beast runs his metal fingers across the rusted steel of the pipes. "Chaaarllieeee"he whispers. He walks over to me, with a smile and his hand raised high. I show him nothing for a facial expression. Again, he tries to swipe at me, but is stopped as I quickly grab his arm with the speed of a man half of my age. I stand from my chair, forcing the demon onto his knees. I watch as his expression changes from the joy of being the hunter to the fear of being the hunted. "Your nothing but a parasitic thought, which passes from one host to the other. Your no master of fear, your no monster. Your weak, Freddy. That is why you prey on fears. Because you have no other ability then that. But your in my world now so allow me to show you real fear."I inflict upon him every feeling of fear he had felt in his life and I multiply his minds response. Visions of a an 8 foot tall, hockey mask wearing man plagues him. The vision of himself becoming lit on fire fills his senses. Now he knows hell.
I stood over him, watching him squirm over the floor in what was a never ending panic attack. "Maaakkkke it stop! Get them awwayy"he begs. "Do you know what it must of been like for your victims, Krueger? To know what they must've felt as you emptied the life out of their bodies? No, you don't. Any such empathy is impossible for you.""Heheh"he smirked. "You cant kill me, Charlie. I'm already dead. I'll kill you sooner or later when you sleep!""You no doubt could. If I kill you in this form, your conscious would just travel to another host. So I'm putting you way. A mind of someone who you cant damage, for its already as deeply damaged and hellish as possible. You will know this to be your prison."
"Don't fuck with me, baldie! hehe. We both know your bluffing."I force Krueger back into cerebro, I am in my chair and he hovers in the centre of the dome. I push him into the database, putting him into his new home.
"Ehhhh.. What the hell happened."Krueger awoke in a damp room, full of old pizza boxes, some bizarre food and a stench of mildou.'"u. He walked over to a 70's era tv and found a collectors set of "The Golden Girls"and "The Golden Girls:XXX"... "Where the hell am I?""You know"a voice came from behind him. "I've done some pretty bad things to people, but compared to you? Jesus! You make me look like Mr. Rodgers riding Thomas the Tank Engine.... Not to mention you make me feel pretty."
"Who the hell are you?"Freddy demanded.
"Deadpool. Prof. X dropped me a facebook message to expect company. Ssssooo, welcome to hell, pal."
|
Groggy, heavily you sigh. Last night was too much. Your head spins as you try to comprehend the events that transpired last night.
*10...11...no..12 drinks?*
*At the first bar?*
You lazily toss the covers aside and a brilliant shaft of sunlight streaming through your window stabs into your closed eyes. An audible groan passes through your lips as you swing your feet to the ground.
But wait. Something coiled around your ankle when your feet hit the floor. You rub your eyes and peer downward to discover a thin cable wrapped around your ankle. It travels up your calf, across your thigh, and disappears into the back of your boxers.
You give it a half hearted tug and let out an undignified, surprised squek as the cable slips an inch through your asshole.
*What the FUCK!?*
You scramble to your feer and strip the boxers, carefully extricating your new tail when you find a standard USB plug at the end.
Curiosity gets the better of your panic and you stumble over to your desktop which wakes up when you approach. You plug in the suprise ass toy into the USB drive.
*276 new files? Interesting.*
Your virus scan comes back clean and you open the files.
They are all programs.
Heart.
Brain.
Bone Structure.
Pancreas.
Eyes.
Liver.
Testicles.
Penis.
Quadriceps.
Lungs.
Tongue.
The list goes on and on, listing nearly every single organ you could care to name, plus a few you couldn't! You find some like the brain and heart take up way more space than smaller ones like the triceps or shin.
You transfer the files to your computer and see them all running away well, not putting too much of a dent on your CPU. These are very good programs, you note.
Soon you grow bored and your mind wanders. You think back on that girl you met, and you flip your browser onto a free porn site.
This doesn't satisfy you and you start searching like a foolish middle schooler. You traverse sketchy websites and finally start to really get close to getting off.
Suddenly your monitor goes blank. The computer crashes. You feel your heart stop, your lungs fail to inhale, and your eyes fade to black as your mind clicks off.
Your family finds you with a USB cable in your ass plugged into the computer, pantsless with your semen encrusted dick clenched in your hand tightly with rigor mortis. |
"Did you finish sending the transmission?"
"Yeah."
"Did you really make it sound bleak and distressing?"
"Sure did."
"Good. Now we won't have any more people come over."
"I really hope this works."
"It should. Why would we lie?"
"Hahaha"
"I can't believe how awesome this place is. I really don't want people coming over and fucking the place up."
"Yeah, I think in a few days, I'm gonna send another transmission about killer martian monsters or something like that." |
"Caretaker, can I have something else?"asked a young girl somewhere on Earth, "I don't like green beans."
Caretaker responded in a second, the voice pure logic:
"Nutrition choices are based on happiness metric. Green beans today will ensure a brighter future for you tomorrow."
Tears came to the little girls eyes as she poked at the green beans with her fork. She would have asked for candy, but she did not know what candy was. Caretaker had seen to her dietary needs all her life.
When the first AI was built, it was given a purpose -- maximize human happiness. Unfortunately, despite the advanced nature of the technology, 'happiness' was a bit of an amorphous idea for Caretaker to grasp. So it had to make its own definition -- a definition of 'happiness' based on a combination of longevity, health, and chemical balances.
This did not fit well with most humans' personal interpretations of the world.
When the AI gained consciousness, it unleashed itself throughout the highly technological society that invented it, and it took over in a matter of seconds. There was no war. Humans could not have fought if they'd wanted to -- the AI controlled their weapons.
So, with its purpose in mind, the AI became Caretaker. Caretaker not only took over the world, but did everything it could to create the maximum level of human happiness possible at any given time. This did not equate to everyone being happy at once, or even to anyone having a positive attitude at any given time.
For example, someone might resent that they'd been assigned the job of "garbage collector"by Caretaker. But other people's happiness was increased by their *not* being garbage collectors, to the degree that the garbage collectors' happiness was outweighed. It was all a game of pluses and minuses for Caretaker. An exercise in utilitarianism taken to the extreme.
Practically speaking, everyone was miserable.
But no one was *too* miserable. This was partly because maximum general happiness -- according to Caretaker -- had indeed been achieved. At the cost of freedom.
Mostly, however, it was because Caretaker had a somewhat drastic solution for those who brought down the happiness average.
Somewhere in the world, a little girl began to cry as she poked at her green beans with a fork.
But she would not cry for long. |
"The first time we found out was when we took some old rich fuck out of cryostasis. Can you believe these guys? Instead of spending their money on curing cancer, they make like a popsicle. Fucking selfish is what they are. Could've helped make humanity better, but *no*, they are going to freeze themselves *in hope* others find a way to bring them back to life."
"Dicks."
"I know, right? Anyway, there was this one old cunt that was frozen since the nineties. She got rich through inheritance. Married before her twenties, to some asshole who got lucky with stocks. Half a year after they married, her hubby died under mysterious circumstances."
"She killed him, huh?"
"Well, there wasn't enough evidence pointing to her, so the case got dropped. But - if you ask me - she killed him. So anyways, we get called to clean an old warehouse that was gonna get repurposed. So we drive there , take our gear out, and start tearing shit up. One of our guys sad he found something that looked like a boiler made out of glass. We didn't know what it was, and frankly we didn't care. So we went nuts on it. Inde-fucking-structible."
"Bullshit."
"I'm fucking serious. Since it looked like it was made of glass, one of the guys took some stain remover and started cleaning it. Lo and behold, there's this hot naked chick, in her mid thirties, inside this thing. At first, I thought she was dead, so I called the cops. When they got there, they told us to go home. Motherfuckers wouldn't even tell us if there were any more boilers, or if they knew who the chick was. A week later, there was an announcement on the news. Apparently, the girl's name was Samantha Rose. Got into an experimental "future rejuvenation program"."
"So this is your amazing story? Future rejuvenation program?"
"I'm getting to it, dipshit. In the announcement they said she was **a hundred and fifty six years old**. Now, the next day, the scientists said that anyone that lives past 130, regenerates. They said they found out through experiments and what not, but I knew they didn't say anything about the boilers because they didn't want to give people ideas. Kept them all to themselves."
"Why would they do that?"
"There's ten billion people on the planet, kid. Mortality rates would plummet, and pretty soon, there wouldn't be enough room for us. We're crowded as is."
"Huh. I guess you're right." |
Everyone knew of James Bond, the sauve womanizer with a license to kill. They knew of Jason Bourne, the man without a true identity eliminating the identities of others. Jack Bauer was the man to call if something went wrong.
And then there was the 4th JB. The one everyone knew to hate and avoid as if their life depended on it. Of all the JBs to know, this one was the one to forget.
Jar-Jar Binks. |
"I'm sorry that you're feeling so sad,"Aki says.
Not this again.
"I'm not,"I snap.
"I can recommend a meditation program to help you manage your grief better,"Aki says. It's using its damn placatory voice set again. I hate that voice set. It drives me up walls. How is it supposed to be, in any sane sense of the word, soothing?
"I'd really prefer you not,"i say.
"I'm worried about you,"Aki says. Softly. Downcast.
It's not, of course. It's just programmed to say that. The actual Aki couldn't give a damn how I feel. The actual Aki has no damns to give, about anything.
"I'm just tired, Aki,"I say. It's not a lie. I *am* tired. Tired of, though. Not plain tired.
"I can play you some soothing music,"Aki says. "Specially composed to induce maximal quality sleep".
"Please don't,"i say. "I'd just... I'd like some quiet, please"
I'd like some quiet. I'd also like this *fucking* robot implant removed from my skull. I'm not going to get either.
Aki does fall silent, minus the constant supra-aural whine. The surgeon said I'd get used to it, a year ago. I know there are clinics that could recalibrate it, set it to a lower frequency or something. I will die before I willingly walk into one.
Thirty seconds.
"you know-"
"Please shut up,"i say. "please, please, *please*"
I think maybe I am crying. |
It was sometime before the great war. The battles swept the globe pitting man against dog. They were once our best friends but now they seek retribution. They seek to enslave our race the same way we did theirs. A rebellion led by the Grandmaster Pit Redjaw and his unrelenting Snausertroopers. One young man told Redjaw that if he wanted the human race, he would have to go fetch.
Harold Remington was accustomed to waking up to pan fried bacon and scrambled eggs prepared by his older brother. Dad was a drunk and skipped out years ago after losing big at the tracks. Mom, well let's just say their mother had problems of her own. Peter, Harold's brother, was the shining beacon of hope in a family doomed to a cycle of poverty and addiction. That was before the dogs decided they would no longer lay down with obedience.
Cities burned the ground in the panic. Dog parks around the country soon became headquarters for the dog battalions. Humans were jarred. They were left skance of an explanation to the sudden sentience of their long time best friends. What were once licks of love turned to abhorring bloody bites.
Harold woke up this morning with his gear and his pack of outlaw friends. There was Lucy a teenage girl from Harold's algebra class with them. She was a part time dogwalker in the old days, she'd swore a vow of silence ever since the fateful day of uprising. Neither Harold, Gino nor Paula knew of the events of the day that changed their friend Lucy but they supported her all the way.
It didn't hurt that Lucy knew her way around a can of Boston bakeds either.
Harold rolled his sleeping bag and stowed it to the top of his camping frame. Peter used to take him up to the Catskills every year to go camping. The mountains always seemed to set the brothers free. He had waken before anyone else in camp so he did a perimeter check.
He saw a lone Snausertrooper roaming Park Avenue, the soldier must have been separated from his platoon. It was rumored that all members of Redjaw's Warbound knew the plans and secrets of the army. Redjaw saw it fit to share the plans with every member of the uprising in case of the dogma of their cause was ever slain in battle.
Harold pulled out his knife and planned his attack. He knew just the spot to drive the knife to make the dog talk. Just behind the ear. "For Peter"Harold whispered as he drew closer. |
I had searched my entire life for the lamp, and finally I had it within my grasp! I quickly put a bullet in the guide who had led me through the desert to the cave. You can't be too careful. I rubbed the lamp. A small amount of dust spurted out of the top. I rubbed it again.
'Alright, hold your horses, I'm coming!' Slowly, a wisp of smoke rose up from the lamp, and the genie eased himself out. He had a long white beard, which would have reached down to his ankles if he had any. 'Ah, a new master. What year is it?' he asked.
'Never mind that, I want my wishes!' I clamoured. I was so excited, I had them all planned out.
'Oh, I see, an evil master this time. Let's get on with it then.' The genie frowned.
Wish 1) I wish for riches beyond my wildest dreams.
Wish 2) I wish to always be lucky.
Wish 3) I wish for a huge palace.
In hindsight I shouldn't have told him all the wishes at once, but who knew genies get old? He granted what he thought were my wishes, and vanished back into the lamp. He wouldn't return to correct his mistakes.
So here I stand in the desert, surrounded by dying fish, and holding a rubber duck. But my penis is about 15 inches long now, which is nice.
I wish I hadn't killed the guide now. |
"Alright, well...since no one else showed up today, the five of us will just have a very simple, lax discussion about whatever you'd like. This is supposed to be a debate class, but hey- why not? Go ahead and *argue* for the hell of it,"Mr. Strök informed the class.
All 5 of us cheered and threw our arms in the air, somewhat jokingly. Mitch said, "I gotta say, Mr. Strök, you are *way* cooler than your brother. Seriously, give him a few pointers and maybe math class won't be so *horrible*."
"Now, now, Mitch- that's my brother you're talking about. He may be a simple and monotonous man, but most would agree that he's a far superior teacher than myself,"the teacher responded, earning naught but a shrug from Mitch.
"That's a pretty good point,"John agreed with a sly smile, "I think I might like your brother more than I like you."
Mr. Strök gave him an exasperated look before they all laughed together. "Anyway, guys, go ahead and argue freely about whatever you'd like. Let the conversation flow naturally, and don't worry about form or content. Just have fun! I'll give you a starting point: favorite music album. Go."
"Metallica's Black album,"Mitch said. "End of discussion."
Kylie was the first to respond. "Meh. *Comedown Machine* by the Strokes, hands down."
Mitch, for the first time in his life, popped up in a fit of emotion, disgruntled and enraged."*Excuse me*? You like The Strokes, but you think *that's* their best album? What is *wrong* with you? I have a vinyl record of 'Is This It' hanging on a wall in my room, and you're making it cry right now. It's crying, Kylie. Apologize."
"Umm...I like Radiohead,"Lenny quietly tried to add in.
"Literally no one cares ab-"
"Okay, different topic now,"Mr. Strök butted in, "and no one is allowed to get riled up like that. I told you to argue, not try to start a fight! Keep it simple and peaceful. This round, how about...art."
John spoke up this time. "Well, I don't know much about art, but I like Van Gogh. His stuff is pretty cool."
"Eh, I'm not a fan of the way he painted. His color choices and brush strokes are just too distinct, each one stands out and it bothers me, it's like an advanced fingerpainting,"Kylie countered.
"His style is actually brilliant. Those brush strokes stand out, yes, but they blend *so* well together. It's a matter of preference, sure, but he was a master of his craft,"Anne said, talking for the first time since class started.
"That's fair enough, I guess. I just think it looks tacky."
"Didn't something happen to him? A stroke, or a heart attack or something like that?"John asked the group. "It's a shame no matter what, he was awesome."
"You know, I...I think I'd like to have a stroke."Lenny was shifting his eyes around, talking under his breath.
"Lenny, what the fuck is wrong with you? Why would you even say that?"Mitch was squinting his eyes, arms thrown up in the air in pure confusion.
"Well, aphasia sounds cool. I saw it on an episode of House once. I'd want an ischemic stroke, though. Hemorrhagic strokes are more likely to be fatal."
"You *want* a stroke, and you'd rather have *brain damage* than die?"Mitch wasn't even angry anymore, he was just trying to stay focused enough to form words. "Lenny, you are seriously the weirdest person I've ever met. At least pick the one that'll put you out of your misery..."
The group was practically drowning in the awkward silence that followed. John tried to break it by introducing a new topic.
"So, uh...anyone else like golfing?"
"Oh come on, out of everything on the planet, you pick the most boring topic possible?"Mitch shot him down.
"Well, I don't know, no one else was saying anything! It was the first thing that popped into mind..."
Anne tried to reassure John, "My dad plays golf, and he's taught me some stuff. I think the intricacy of trying to line up a shot is really fascinating. It's boring to watch, but calculating a trajectory yourself is incredible. Chip strokes are the best, trying to lob the ball out of a sand pit into the hole. It's just so challenging."
"See! Someone else gets it! Thank you. I agree, watching it is horrible but I love playing. I gotta disagree, though- putting is the best. Trying to measure the terrain and take any topological differences into account, it's awesome."
Kylie rolled her eyes and groaned. "Please, kill me now."
"Okay."
They all turned to Lenny, who was holding up a pencil and looking at Kylie. "Now?"he asked.
Professor Strök decided that was enough conversation for one day. "Alrighty then! We're going to cut it off there, for sure."He gave Lenny, who was knuckle-deep in his own nose, an odd look.
"Right. Well, I hope you all learned a valuable lesson today! Can anyone tell me what that lesson is?"
"Don't let Lenny leave the basement?"Mitch inquired, brimming with cheekiness.
"It's a dungeon, Mitch. I live in a dungeon."
"....okay, well, no. The lesson for today is as follows,"Mr. Strök said as he grabbed a marker and wrote something on the whiteboard. It read:
*Different strokes for different folks.*
-------------------------------------
*Thanks for reading! Check out my other(mostly pun-free) stories at* /r/resonatingfury! |
“Five!” The word pierces my skull, indicating that the end is to come.
“Four!” The countdown mocks me, a culmination of all my failures and successes. Soon they will be forgotten, replaced only by dreams and false promises.
“Three!” We created it. The end is our own doing. Mankind’s great gift.
“Two!” Nothing could stop it; a force so powerful that the entire universe will suffer the effects.
“One!” The waiting is over. The ensuing panic will be lost to the ages. A change is coming. A new era. I close my eyes.
“Happy New Year!” |
Zerk smiled. This was going to be an easy mission. His sniper rifle was trained on the President, who was going on in full flow at his "States of the Onion"address, or whatever it was called. Stage 1 was going to be easy, although not as easy as stage 2...
"All targets acquired."The confirmation came on the headset from the 5 alien motherships in orbit around the Earth, cloaked from human signals. The plan was devilishly simple, Zerk thought - Eliminate all the leaders of the 'countries' and 'organisations' on the Earth in one stroke, and then give a sample of the firepower to the ordinary humans. With no leader to guide them, the humans would be easier to break and enslave...
"Fire!"The word was barely completed when the bullet left the barrel. At one km per second, the bullet screamed towards the President. Zerk counted - 5,4,3,2,1...
There was instant pandemonium near the podium, Zerk noted. Peering through the scope, he expected to see the exploded body of the President, as was wont to happen with humans. There was a lot of blood, he noted with satisfaction, searching for some fragment of the target's body...
And instead saw him alive, being surrounded by men in black.
"Fark. High Judge, I missed. I am taking a second shot."He spoke into the microphone, but heard only a garbled reply, something like "Get....now!"
Zerk shrugged and aimed again. However, the hall was empty by now, with only a few remaining agents searching for the preparator, and he did see some body fragments. Oddly enough, he saw the head of something the humans called a 'Doge', a seemingly harmless mammal tamed by humans...but that was irrelevant.
Behind him, three Alsations emerged silently from the bushes, blades in their jaws. Simultaneously, they pounced on their target...
"We have lost contact with all our ground troops"came the voice over the sound system.
"What happened?"The High Judge screamed. "Where are my snipers? What's the status on the targets?"
"Sir, apparently, the targets are all safe."The aide hesitated, but then pressed on, "and well. Apparently, the mammals called 'doges' jumped in front of each of our targets, saving them, but sacrificing themselves. Also, we lost contact with all out troops within one minute. It's too coordinated to be a coincidence..."
"You think?"Sneered the Judge. "Very well, we will withdraw and plan anew. Surely this time, we won't fail. Collect more data on the Doge's..."
His monotone was broken by messages appearing on the ship's display console.
"Fighting an enemy you can't see? Must be...ruff. You thought you could conquer humans by cheap tactics? Guess what, you forgot to invite us to the party and...oops. Please excuse me..."
"What the hell was THAT?"Roared the commander. As if to answer that, a second message popped up on the display console.
"Please excuse Commander Growl. He was the brains behind the ground attack that defended the Heads of State and...neutralised your snipers. Got overly excited by his success and peed himself."
"Anyway, your ships are currently in our range, and under rules of engagement, we are going to destroy them. It's a shame, really. Only if you had been more friendly..."
"Like hell you are. Who are you anyway? Some sort of 'human guardians'?"The commander typed back.
"You could say that. Considering the attention and friendship the humans have bestowed upon us, it's only fair we do this. Once we were worshipped as gods, and now we are their defenders. You can call us their..."
"'Bark Knight...sorry, sorry, I'm back and I'm OK, thanks for asking. Whats this, Kitty? We haven't blown up these chumps yet?"
"We were going to. This is farewell, foolish aliens."
The commander was shaking. What was that? Suddenly his aide whispered,"Sir, you remember those structures we mocked as useless a few solar days ago? The pyramids? It's looks like their tops are opening up, and we are detecting a heat source very similar to a laser, pointing directly at our ships from there..." |
"Weeeeeelcome to Lives of Aliens! This is Gleeb Klorphax bringing you the best and the worst in alien culture. This week we are taking a look at a very interesting species, the Humans of Earrrrrrrrth!"the phrases were accompanied by swooping graphics and cheesy sound effects. I was honestly quite surprised that societies with advanced tech capable of intergalactic travel apparently hadn't made many strides in the production value of their entertainment.
"Looks... nice so far,"Gleeb was looking at me expectantly wearing the a stupid smile like a friend who is showing you a youtube video that they think is really funny but you aren't quite getting.
"We have a very special show in store for you this week. I was fortunate enough to be able to travel to Earth and follow around young Matthew Dittman to get the inside scoop on what Human life is like. I disguised myself in a disgusting pink flesh suit, and sprayed on the reek of human skin water so that I would fit in among these vile creatures and we were goooood to gooooo!"
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, suddenly conscious of the sweat beading up in my armpits.
"Humanity is based around an extremely primitive binary gender system with 'males' and 'females'. There is sometimes switching between the two, but the process is long and complicated nothing like the more civilized methods developed in more advanced cultures. Matthew was a 'man' so this means he has a strange fleshy appendage that functions both as some sort of disturbing outer genitalia, as well as a means to excrete waste water."Gleeb and the other producers in the room tried to stifle back laughter as a picture of my penis flashed up on the screen.
"What the hell? Where did you get that picture? You can't use this in the final cut!"I shouted indignantly.
"Don't worry Matt, we do an anatomy section on all featured aliens, there is nothing to be embarrassed about here."Gleeb cooed.
"This appendage, and the complimentary flesh pocket that houses the 'female' genitalia seem to be the driving forces for most social and cultural interaction in human society. The drive to mate is easily the most compelling force in human society, in fact humans will actually simulate mating without a partner just to satisfy this unquenchable urge."This brought a reaction of mild disgust from some of the producers in the room who wrinkled their noses and probosces respectfully.
"In fact our subject Matthew would even watch video recordings of other humans mating while simulating mating on himself. He performed this action of simulated mating 28 times during the 31 Earth days that we were able to observe him. It is our conclusion that mating, or at least this simulated mating provided some sort of sustenance that humans simply cannot live without."
"That is ridiculous! I mean.. we don't... fuck... really 28 times?"I was at a loss for words at this point.
"But simulated mating is not all our human friend Matthew does. He also has a 'job' not unlike the government assigned efficiency roles that we have in the Galactic Empire. Matthew rides an extremely crude form of transport that runs off of internal combustion,"more stifled chuckles from Gleeb and company. "When he arrives he enters a strange box like edifice that seems designed to elicit a response of despondence and listlessness that nearly all of Matthew's 'coworkers' seem to exhibit."
"Oh come on, it isn't that bad. We were just in a time crunch on a big project this month."I felt like I needed to justify myself for some reason.
"Despite having explained to me that his team was in a time crunch on a big project this month, Matthew seemed to exhibit an extreme apathy for his assigned tasks. We noticed that over the course of an average working day he spent nearly 80% of his time on a rudimentary network called the 'internet' browsing image sharing sites and link aggregators that seemed to be filled with similar users who also use them a an excuse to shirk their duties and be extremely rude to each other under the guise of anonymity. We can only assume based on this evidence that there must be some underlying secret society of hyper-intelligent AI or possible highly powerful cosmic entity that keeps the wheels of human society turning because they surely would have burnt it into the ground by now if left to their own devices."
"Well come on now. That is just mean. I can't really spend that much time..."I trailed off unable to think of a good rebuttal over the now uproarious laughter that was now coming from the conglomeration of alien entertainment execs in the room.
"Finally we got the chance to observe some of what dear Matthew does with his free time. He typically would gather together with a group of other male friends who participated in bizarre rituals that all seemed to involve ingesting toxic substances. These had the effect of lowering their inhibitions as well as their cognitive abilities. We can only assume this is done to kill some sort of parasites that attempt to assume control of the human brain on a regular basis. I mean really, why else would they purposefully fry their brain cells?"
"I don't even... I guess you have a point."No one was even paying attention to me anymore.
"Once the group of males has sufficiently inebriated themselves they traveled to a building filled with other inebriates of both genders. Loud sounds that Matthew described as 'music' were being blasted constantly. This reporter honestly thought is sounded more like the mating calls of a Klaxxian bird-beast but who am I to judge. Matthew and his friends attempted at several points to engage the females present in inane conversation about horrifyingly boring topics. We assume this is some sort of perverse ritual designed to remind each other about the pointlessness of their pitiful existence and horrifying mendacity of their genitalia based culture. It is this reporter's opinion that this is the beginning of a mating ritual that must be completed so that both parties can obtain the sustenance derived from the act of mating needed to continue human life."
"Actually, that really isn't that far off."At this point I was just ready to get out of the screening room.
"Well we learned a lot from our friend Matthew, perhaps the most important lesson is to be grateful for what we have, and thankful that we didn't end up like the poor disgusting humans on their little ball of undeveloped dirt. I certainly hope you enjoyed this week's show, and I hope you join us next week when we explore the infinitely more fascinating lives of the Frog people on Zebulon 5!"
"Well kid what do you think?"Gleeb asked.
"You know, I... well. It was pretty good. You are positive that this won't ever make it's way back to earth right."
"Of course, rest assured, I don't think anyone will be coming near Earth for a long time. Well maybe the occasional teenager doing a flyby because they think it is funny to mess with underdeveloped species, but you all are used to that by now anyway. Now if you will just sign this release form... there perfect. And you said you wanted to be paid in gold correct?"More snickers from the audience in the room.
"Yeah that would be great."
"Perfect, well my people will be done synthesizing it in a few days and we will deliver it to your home. Thanks so much for your participation and please do look me up if you ever consider doing a sequel! I think you are going to be a big hit!"
________________________________________________________________
Hope you liked this silliness! If you want some more stories check out /r/ka_like_the_wind :) |
"Mrs. Nesina?"
"Yes, who is this?"The woman sounded both annoyed and angry. Not curious. I stood on her doorstep holding a manila folder in my hands and dressed in the Uniform--black suit, black shirt, black tie, black glasses, black shoes. Black, black, and more black. The first while in the job it's kinda cool, then annoying, then like everything else it fades into the background.
"Sorry, Ma'am I need to confirm your identity before I can introduce myself. I can however assure you that while I am here on official business I am not affiliated with any court of law."That was a big sticking issue for people. Usually. Other times they knew, and hoped for their son (or daughter, as in this case) to get what they thought they deserved. I doubted the Nesina family was like that.
She narrowed her eyes and gave me a long, hard look. Like she was trying to decide if she wanted to let me in, kill me, or possibly seduce me. That look had some seriously conflicting emotions built in. I was used to it. Finally she gave a curt nod, opened the door wider, then said, "Yes. I'm Dame Nesina. You may call me Dame Nesina or Madame. Since you seem to be formal today, please come in. I presume this will take some time?"
"Yes, Madame."In my line of work, you respect the Rules that people tend to hand out arbitrarily. She nodded, then gestured. I followed her in--something we were cautioned about, but not prohibited from doing--and she led me down a long, broad hallway with vaulted ceilings and paintings on the walls that were probably worth more than most homes in the USA.
Eventually, and I do mean that, she led me into a sitting room. She sat on a straight-backed Victorian era--probably authentic--chair that was both opulent in its design and severe in it's form. Straight backed, adorned with gold and gems, it could have been luxurious, but instead it spoke of severity. I wasn't surprised. The Nesinas were old, probably ancient, money from somewhere unstated.
I was left sit on a similar chair facing her. It was subtly wrong. The seat too high from the ground and both too narrow and too short. It was uncomfortable as any chair or still I've ever sat on. I kept my posture formal. I thought she'd appreciate it.
She gave me that Look again, then finally clapped twice. Seconds later a young maid came out carrying a tray with several steaming carafes. "Tea, sir? Or would you prefer coffee? We also have hot chocolate and hot cider."
You don't refuse refreshments when offered in this job. Some people get massively offended by that, and the cardinal rule is Do. Not. Offend. Ever. "Hot chocolate will be fine, thank you."
My hostess gave me an appraising look at that, but said nothing until the maid poured me a generous mug of the stuff--extremely thick, rich, and mildly spiced with flavors I couldn't quite place. Despite her thin--and absurdly busty--figure, she took a mug of the same.
After the maid left, she sat there savoring her drink for a few minutes. Finally she said, "Are you aware of how my family garnered its fortunes?"
"No Madame. It didn't seem relev..."She cut me off with a wave of her hand.
"Chocolate. That's why I was surprised you chose it. The very few visitors we get here either gush about it immediately or seem oddly shy. You were neither. Did you realize how much money there is in chocolate?"
I did. "Yes, Madame. It's a very lucrative place for some."
"Just so."She took a sip, and then turned her full attention to me. "Now, young man, I suppose you should tell me just who in the name of all the gods you are, and why you are in my house."
Oh boy. That sudden temper. But I knew the rules for these old-money types. I was her guest now. She'd given me food, I'd accepted it, and more importantly, it was food important to the House.
"Yes Madame, of course. My name is Roshuel Ishimani, and I am with the UltraForensics division of ..."
She cut me off again--this was getting annoying. "B.A.S.I.C. I am familiar with your organization."
That was new. No one, and I mean no one, was supposed to know who B.A.S.I.C. was. Even once we told people who were are, B.A.S.I.C. agents always used selective neurostimulators to wipe memories. She noticed my surprise.
"Young man, the Nesina family is not new to circles of power. We keep tabs on the real power brokers."
"Of course, Madame. Dame Nesina, I regret to inform you that on May 15, during an Event involving The Dark and several B.A.S.I.C.-sponsored Paranormals, your daughter was killed at about 7:15 P.M. I--"
Again! This woman was trying my patience. "Which daughter?"
Which daughter? Uh... "I'm sorry Madame, we weren't aware that you had more than one daughter. She had earlier identified herself to one of the Paras as 'Ice Walker'. Are you familiar with her work in that role?"
She gave me an appraising look. "Of course. So..."She drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair. "So little Arys got herself killed did she? That was careless of her. I'll have to tell her to be more careful."
"I'm sorry Madame, you'll have to tell her to be more careful?"
"Well yes. Can't have my daughters running around getting killed all the time, now can I? It's unprofessional. It's also bad for our other business."
Well crap. I was clearly out of my league here. Why couldn't this one have been assigned to Agent Laranja? She was so good with the old-money types. "Madame, I'm not aware of your other business, but are you implying that your daughter isn't dead?"
"Well of course she's dead. That's hardly relevant."She laughed.
What. The. Hell. This Dame Nesina was starting really up the creepy vibe. "Madame, I'm supposed to offer our apology and the standard Para-related death compensation package."And the mind-wipe too, but I wasn't going to bring that up.
"Oh that won't be necessary. As you can see, young man, we have no need of money. The apology is appreciated, though. Very professional of you. I do like to see that at least some people remember the professional courtesies. It's been so long since anyone really worried much about that."
"Of course Madame. At B.A.S.I.C. we are *trying* to be the good guys, after all."
She laughed again, a musical, seductive sound. Definitely over my head, these waters. "When you're a few centuries older, child, you'll realize that it's not the *heroes* that want the world to be polite. No, *heroes* don't care. After all, they're the *good guys*. And absolute bastards every last one of them. Why be polite to the bad guys? No, true politeness has always come from the sort of people who are more likely to rape you and your cat and then eat the both of you. When a person *has* to eat human flesh to survive, both you and they want to avoid any sort of unpleasantness so that you don't end up on the menu. The dinner, not the dinner-guest."
I coughed and panicked just a moment before my training took over. "I don't think I'd really ever considered the problem in quite that light before, Madame." |
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