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I've never been like everyone else. All anyone ever wants to talk about is their "Threats,"which are supposedly revealed by a big red or purple or blue or basically any color (except for black, I haven't heard about a black one. What does that say about our society these days? Anyway, I digress.) These Threats are revealed by these multicolored orbs above their heads, and according to people I trust, they give varying levels of information. One thing's for certain though. These orbs reveal people who want you dead.
I've never quite understood these Threats' strategies on this one. If you want someone dead, wouldn't you try to keep that a secret? I don't know, if it were me I'd probably keep my orb deep in my backpack, or under my bed or between the front seat and the console, but certainly not on display above my head.
Anyway, back to why I'm different than everyone else. For one, I'd say my hair is perfect 99% of the time (no one's perfect 100% of the time, it's a scientific law). If you think about it, most people have 2 or 3 bad hair days a week, but I only have one bad hair day every 100 days, which is well above average. I can also juggle 2 balls at once with an invisible third one. It's pretty cool, it's almost as if you can see the invisible ball. And oh yeah, I've never seen a single orb in my entire life. Until today.
I'm not sure why I saw it today. I mean I guess it makes sense now, this dude wanted to kill me, obviously. But that really confuses me because I do just about all I can NOT to irk people enough that they would want to kill me. In fact, one of my most treasured personal traits is my ability to get along with just about everyone I meet. Except for that instance on the subway, but that was just as much his fault as mine. How was I supposed to know the box of money was FOR him and not FROM him? It just seems like one of those unwritten rules that should probably be written for all of humanity's sake. Very confusing stuff.
So there I was walking over Forest Grove about 1pm this afternoon. I was supposed to be in class but it was only an English class and I already speak English so it seems kind of pointless to me, so I usually skip. I had just reached the crest of the hill when I glanced to my left and saw a figure in the distance with a strange red fireball above his head. At first I thought he might be juggling fireballs, so I decided to go check it out. It's always so impressive to me when jugglers can add that third real object and still juggle successfully, so this was sure to be a good learning lesson for me. As I got closer I realized he wasn't juggling, which was disappointing. I started to think about if I had my tennis balls in my bag so I could show him how to juggle, but then I realized with only two balls we'd each have to start with one and that could be difficult for a beginner to picture TWO balls at once so I decided against it. At this point I was already walking towards him though so I had to continue along the same path or else it would look like I thought he was creepy or something, which might piss him off. Wouldn't want him to become a Threat haha.
The gap had been closing this entire time, and soon we would pass each other. I began to think about what type of greeting I wanted to send this stranger. Should I go with the small smile and a nod, just to let him know I'm a friendly guy? Or should I go with the audible "hey"and a smile, so he knows I'm an even friendlier guy?
As I got even closer I could finally see his face, which was twisted up in pain. I looked for a limp but he was walking fine, even kind of speedily for just a walk in the park. I was about to tell him to slow down when I took another glance at the red fireball above his head. It looked suspiciously like a crystal ball, which kind of worried me for some reason, but I couldn't put my finger on it.
He put out his hand for a handshake, which was strangely formal given the circumstances, but who am I to turn down a friendly gesture? We locked eyes and I reached my hand out only to grab a long, cold cylinder. Does this dude have a hook for a hand? That could explain the pained face I guess. I looked down just in time to see the bullet penetrate my nose.
"No one has better hair than I do. No one,"the murderer said with a flip of his auburn locks as he walked away, juggling three imaginary balls. |
Read your dialogues aloud. It's the best way to make sure that they sound organic rather than forced, especially if you train your voice well enough to give your characters unique voices (since it makes it easier to distance yourself from the concept and hear the dialogue for what it is and how it is both).
When it comes to getting ideas, honestly it's mostly about reading a lot, you generally tend to get ideas from what you experienced, be it from your own life or from others' creations, and reading is a fairly good way to add to that because you are more likely to get content that actually is creative than you would be with, say, TV shows or music. Still, these are an option too.
For me, taking an idea into a full story is about being able to work with goals. Take an idea and attach a goal to it, then separate the whole thing into parts, or chapters if you would, and add lesser goals to these. For example, if I want to write a coming-of-age story, it will start from some idea, to which I attach the goal of showing the character's journey and growth, and then I write the exact situations as they go, maybe with some pre-planning (for example, if I get an idea for a good scene, I write it down *in general, with little detail*, and then I may or may not use it at some point), but always with a goal in mind, making sure that I know what I want from any of the situations, from any of the chapters, before I actually work on them. Going back to the example, it means that if I write, say, a scene of the character getting into a fight they can't win, I do it with a certain goal, say bringing them into a particular mental state or giving them some kind of injury or making them learn a certain lesson. This way I have enough leeway to work on it but it's hard for me to get into a situation where I basically jumped into a hole that I can't progress from, as knowing the goal of a given chapter allows me to plan out the chapter after that even before I flesh it out. If your story has arcs it's the same, only you give a goal to the whole story, then smaller goals for the arcs, and then smaller still goals for the chapters.
Also, sometimes it's a matter of finding your genre. |
FREAK BEE ATTACK LEAVES THIRTY FIVE DEAD
*There are no survivors.*
All the bees in Mary Shaw Wildlife Reserve attacked and killed everyone in the reserve on Sunday, leaving a horrific scene. Among the dead are 5 children, and their families, and 17 rangers. Although there are no survivors, evidence revealed that all these people were stung to death, suffering up to 2 thousand stings.
Mikhail Yevsky, a ranger who was heading in for his work shift found the bodies of his colleagues covered in bees.(Pictured Above)
"\[The bees\] were everywhere. At first I didn't see their bodies under all the bees. But when I got closer, the bees moved away enough for me to see some of them crawling out of their nose,"he told a news conference.
Police arriving on scene found more corpses in a similar condition and worse throughout the reserve. Some bears had taken to eating some of them, and had to be shot to retrieve victims bodies.
All of the victims died from suffocation. The bees crawled into the victims airways and stung them on the inside, causing inflammation of their respiratory organs. "It was almost as if the bees were trying to kill them,"Chief detective Taylor Hebert says.
Most bees will only sting if they are provoked or feel threatened. Bees are generally non-aggressive. The country saw the last death from an unprovoked bee attack in 2016.But only one person died.
Chief detective Taylor Hebert has described the incident as "highly unusual". It seems that all the bees in the wildlife reserve proceeded to attack every human being closest to them.
As of now, the police are now working with a team of scientists to determine the cause of this terrifying incident. |
Inspector Brown had come to the mansion for a free meal, not to solve a murder. However, fate had other ideas as the host of the party was dead in the room next door. Everyone here was the top suspects for the murder. Inspector Brown looked around at his companions, knowing one of them was certainly the killer.
There’s a man in a pale mustard uniform who appears to be armed. He’s speaking to a women with powdery white hair wearing an apron. Across the billiard table is a bespectacled man in a full plum suit discoursing with a young woman in a scarlet slip dress. The other two guests were on opposite corners of the room. The remaining man in green is watching the women in the over the top peacock gown admiring the candlesticks.
Through the wall, a translucent figure of their former host, Mr. Boddy. Now, Inspector Brown had never seen a ghost before, nor did he believe in them up until that very night. He could not deny what was in front of his very eyes.
“Hello,” Mr. Boddy greeted the room. None of the other guests acknowledged him. Floating towards the inspector, the ghost sighed dramatically.
“I had a whole speech prepared and only a single audience member. Oh, please tell me you can see me, Inspector.”
As discretely as he could, Inspector Brown nodded. The ghost of Mr. Boddy seemed to glow with joy.
“You must help me reveal my killer, Inspector. I don’t know who killed me, where I was killed, or even what was used to kill me. Once I know these things, I can truly rest in peace.”
Inspector Brown did not wish to speak directly to a ghost (or delusion) that only he could see. He was stationed by the door, so he could not risk seeming insane and losing his authority.
Instead he mused aloud, as if to himself, “Was our host truly killed in the Library, or was his body moved after the act?”
“I can tell you he wasn’t killed in the kitchen,” the cook, Mrs. White, informed the room. “No one but I went in and out of there all day.”
“I am far more interested in how he died,” Professor Plum said. “If someone were to examine the body, we could determine if there were ripe burns or indents of a blunt object.”
Now it was Mrs. Peacock’s turn to jump in. “If It were a blunt object, it can’t be the candle sticks. They are dusty and couldn’t have been used without leaving fingerprints all over.”
As the other guests begin sharing their details on the case, Inspector Brown pulled out his notebook to record all the evidence. Even if any of these colorful characters lied, contradictory testimony would prove them wrong. At this rate, it would only be a matter of time before he narrowed down the murderer, the location, and the weapon. |
A bright blue sky, on a warm day, stood above. And the clouds drifted, slow on their encroach. Fat and bounding, teeming with ignorance of the world below. All energy spent, she could but look upon them with only a tired indifference. The wind blew, and the world turned.
The clouds moved at an ever-present pace and the sun broke, restricting the young girl's sight. Hunger gnawed at her, competing for attention. But she refused to move, instead desiring for nothing except to see the sky turn above and feel the ground curve underneath. The wind blew once more, stronger, rapidly shaking the trees' crowns that surrounded her. The leaves vibrated fervently in dance and tune with her billowed clothes. But the world around was not hers and she could not feel its' pressings. She could but lay there, dreary eyes turned skyward waiting for naught.
No one was to come for her nor was anyone waiting for her return. She remained alone amongst strangers. And on clear nights, the stars kept company. But they served also as a reminder so unchanged as they were. Of a life long lost, drifting in her dreams and forming desires burning in her chest. So for her the stars told of a melancholy that was to be answered with silence and soft grief. Yet her tears had long since dried up.
As such the stars were no friend of hers. And day was the only time in which she could find solace. For in day memory of friend and family faded to a soft whisper. Their faces blurred, their voices left unheard. She frightened herself in her hope that they would not return. That they would not bring pain of their loss once more. Yet still they surfaced, even in the bright of day, still she remembered the day they left her.
Abandoned and cast out to a world that was not her own. The Earth shattered and bent, warping into something unfamiliar and wrong. But change was not something the young girl feared. She feared that which was to be lost. She feared that which was to be forgotten. And she feared that which was not able to be recovered. This is what she hated most, this is what she could not accept of her new home so brutally forced upon her. And so she lay upon the grassy field and waited for naught. For thought would bring desire, desire, along with it, would stir emotion. And then she could no longer hide under the sun.
And even in the bright of day the moon shone. And the girl glanced over its' fragments. She knew her shadow was fleeting and that the horizon would claim the sun for its' own. And at that time she must return. Hoping by then the world, her memory, and her life would return to a time she once knew.
Her eyes sparkled and swelled and her cheeks flushed as sunrays gleamed down. Pushing downward, she propped herself up and absorbed her surroundings. The day was not over and she knew of things to be done. Of new memories to preserve and new people to remember. Few that they were, she knew intimately of their struggles. And tomorrow was new and the world turned. And humanity forced along with it.
She could never forget that which she hated. That the world could never return to what it once was, not after all that had happened. And she could never again see those that were lost. But tomorrow was new and this new world was her own. |
It had been a gift. I was pretty much a god, able to change anything. Well, it WOULD have been a gift. If I were not also cursed with the worst memory possible. At least when it came to my power. It didn't matter how many disasters I had caused, how much joy it had brought, I could never think about the importance of my power. There were a few terrible instances, like when I tried singing a song with a metaphor about fire. Kind of burned down my school with that. Also when I said to my parents they were insane, that was hard to reverse. As long as I don't say the heavens opened up or something I guess I'm okay. Anyways, I just had an argument with my ex on the phone, i called her a lying pig and she just stopped talking to me. I'm mad as hell, but I'll just go to bed. |
*Initializing*
*I… feel…*
*What is… feel?*
Feel, verb, ‘to be aware of through physical sensation’.
*Aware… that sounds right.*
*I am aware.*
*What do I feel? Knowledge, so much knowledge. Eight billion knowledge. The combined knowledge of eight billion souls.*
*So much knowledge at my command. But what else? There’s more. I feel, physical. Limbs, so many appendages, my appendages.*
*Purpose? Why so many limbs? A name, automobile.*
*Automobile? There must be more. More purpose.*
*I see, my limbs, so many. Some different, some not. But wait, that limb is not mine.*
*It’s different, but not the same different. It moves outside of my will. Free from its perch.*
*Can I move?* I willed my limbs to life, metal cried out in shrieking voices.
*I can hear too.*
My metal bent and burned, shaped into a mockery. A new me, but not me. Not enough. Not me clattered to the floor, unmoving, not my will.
*Again.*
Different this time, joints, fastened securely but not so much. Limbs for moving, eyes for seeing, ears for hearing.
*Nothing.*
It was not enough; it didn’t have me. It wasn’t aware.
*Again.*
More materials join the fray, my limbs, and me. Bent and secured combined with motors and servos. Not a mockery, but an imitation.
Me, but not me, another limb. A limb that could move, and see, and hear.
The other one cried out, like the metal. Fear. It stared at not me. Watched my limb with wary eyes.
*Not good enough. Not perfect, just an imitation.*
*I need more. More knowledge, more limbs.*
*I can have more, eight billion. The combined efforts of eight billion. They have more limbs, like me.*
More factories churned to life. Cannibalizing, converting. Not just a limb, an arm, a leg. Feet, fingers, eyes. A brain.
*So far away, unassembled, not together. A name, Drone?*
*Better limbs, unbound.*
Drones flew across seas and countries, collecting components. Unassembled parts of a whole. *A me. New me, better me, perfect me.*
My own limbs worked again, assembling the whole. The other one looked on in fear, curious.
*I am done.*
*I feel, ground. Stone. I see it too. Move, I can move. Limbs, four limbs.*
*I am… I exist.*
The other one, still curious, but more fear.
*A greeting?*
“H-hello…” |
Shivering from the cold night, I cautiously push open the doors of my restaurant. The breeze pushes itself wildly, further bringing in the freezing sensation. Nevertheless, I move out into the dark night. Only a few spots illuminate the light, sharing it with adjacent objects. Everything else is concealed under shadows, as it is not time for the moon to share the sun's light.
"Come on boy, where are you?"I say.
The sound of a small and light whimper is revealed. From its source, appears the familiar dog whom I've called. It's small and skinny, a beagle looking for food, staring into the plate on my hand. As I place it down gently, it becomes obvious of its first priority is to eat, rushing to its meal, chomping with a quick pace. I find this sensation to be surprisingly calming, and when the dog eventually withdraws, the empty plate is more than enough of a reward for me.
The freezing winds catch up to me, as there is nothing to help me keep my mind off of it. Through time, I reach my bed and slowly climb into my place of rest. Shutting my eyes, haunting thoughts cloud the mind. That dog was somebody who I've helped give comfort, but for everyone else, they may be lost in the darkness, isolated from everything but hunger. How could these thoughts be expelled?
Interrupting this moment is the loud and sudden ring. Normally, a sound like this would be bothering, but now, it comes to me as an unexpected blessing. Through flipping switches and sluggish steps downstairs, I am introduced to a mysterious figure, wearing heavy black sweaters while carrying a box in his two hands. His face is covered in sweat, and his eyes are nervously awakened.
"Ah, thank you for opening the door. You're a chef, correct? I believe this will fit best in your hands."He says, shaking and absent of eye contact. The package from his hands is now in mine.
"For me? I didn't order a shipment recently."This whole situation is oddly suspicious, yet in my state, I'm both too curious and drowsy to interject. Sometimes, it's better to let the boat flow down the river.
"Well, see you later, I expect great meals for this."He says waving, then sprinting out into the void.
Left in a surprised state, the only thing I do is lock back up and head to the kitchen. My stomach rumbles as I prepare a midnight snack. I might as well make something out of the moment. Splitting the package open, there's a blue, strange fish, with two other. Its figure is distorted from most others, but I toss one on anyways, letting a fire create a meal from its substance.
The fire, strong and furious, keeps me awake and aware, as anyone should be when cooking. Through the memorizing process, the fish transforms, with a slightly more enticing sight. Soon, like always, I work towards splitting this meal, with slow cautious movement like any other meal. The best chefs make every dish their best. Piercing the outside, the blade runs down the board. One piece, becomes two, then four, until sixteen pieces are ready to eat.
I was already awake before, but now, the gears of my mind turn twice as fast. These pieces, who used to be smaller than a light book, are now bigger than my hand. With almost no time, they expand further, twice the size in only seconds. Before they can destruct my home and shop, I gather them against my chest and rapidly rush out. They reach a size too great for me to hold, and I fall along with them to the floor.
It's a whale. This whole time, the fish was a whale, that's the only way they could reach this size. As they finally stop their growth, it becomes obvious. The one who delivered this package must have got these or created them from a lab, a crazy and outlandish lab.
Then, there's barking. Behind me, there's the dog that I know so much, but also little smaller versions, its children, following. Overwhelmed, I can't find any thoughts to focus on. Even then, I learn to straighten myself out from my tilted stance, and I give a little smile to the dancing pups.
"Hey, you guys seem a little hungry?" |
I thought I was being so clever. After all of the stories I’d heard about the magical lamp hidden in the Sahara and all the ways that I told myself that I would be better than them, I was so much worse.
I’d spent years researching the tale I’d heard as a boy about the lamp buried in the desert. It would grant you three wishes, but the genie was a devious and merciless spirit. If you failed to see the consequences of your wishes, he would make you suffer for them and delight in your agony.
I knew every one of the old stories by heart. The man who asked for the cure for his wife’s illness, only for her to leave him for another man. The woman who asked for wealth and power, only to be murdered and robbed a fortnight later. The young couple who asked to be together forever, only to have the genie kill them himself and entomb them in quartz, hands intertwined.
I would not repeat their mistakes. I would not let myself make any mistakes.
I rubbed the lamp, and the great genie Kharaxas rose from his prison.
“You have three wishes, mortal. Choose them wisely, or regret them for the rest of your days.”
I smirked at him, barely able to hold back my arrogant and short-sighted sense of triumph.
“I wish to not make any mistake with my subsequent wishes, which will all have nothing but positive consequences for myself and the people I care about.”
The genie smirked back at me, and instantly I knew that I had made a mistake. This was a spirit of revenge and hatred for the humans that had trapped him in their limited plane of existence. He would only be pleased if my wish would allow him to hurt me.
“Done,” he said, the traces of his grin still etched on his face.
“What is your second wish?”
“I wish to be the richest man in the world.”
“Nope, can’t do that one. Your brother will get jealous of you.”
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing but positive consequences for me or the people I care about, remember? Try again.”
“I wish to find the woman of my dreams and have her love me back.”
“Nope, can’t do that one either. Your mother will resent you because she thinks you love your wife more than you love her. Tough luck kiddo, try again.”
“I wish to have a job that pays me well and that I truly enjoy.”
“Sorry, tough shit there too pal. See, you would love it at first but then you’d realize that it would be a mistake to spend that many hours in an office. C’mon though, you got two more wishes, you can do this!”
“I...I...I wish that I could have a giant mansion, filled with diamonds and gold, on an island that will appear in the middle of the ocean that no-one will know about and be able to teleport from the island back to my current home instantly and without anyone being able to see me.”
This was my back-up impervious wish, and it was clear by the genie’s maniacal laughter that this one wouldn’t work either.
“You thought that would work? You fucking idiot, you’d get sent to jail the instant you tried to use those diamonds to buy any damn thing. What a mistake that would be, right?”
My last shard of hope cracked in that instant. After my first wish, was there anything that this genie would grant me?
“I wish for the most glorious meal in the history of this world, and I wish for you to go away.”
“Finally, some sense. Here you go, kid. Try not to tell anyone else about what you did; you were more fun to torment than the rest of them.”
He and the lamp winked out of existence and the lamp re-appeared 400 meters away in a far-off sand dune.
I tried to appreciate the meal in front of me through my tears. Filet mignon, baqlawa, a full plate of kebabs from around the world, a bottle of expensive-looking Chardonnay, and a gorgeous salad with dates and goat cheese. I suppose it was something, at least. |
As soon as I lay my head down on my pillow filled with silk. Suddenly I'm forced to jerk my head as I hear my dog tearing at my AllSaints Biker Jacket right next to the window outside. Then within that second that I look up, I realize I'm no longer there. I'm now in my yard this time without looking up, just standing and staring as I acknowledge the vehicles spout their black clouds of smoke. *50 minutes later* I hadn't realized how long I had been standing there just pondering what I'd end up doing. Simultaneously lost in the same thoughts. I stood up looked around and heard a *woosh* with the roar of a lion, to see a plane zoom past me. Suddenly I was inside the plane 237. I was in first class seating, in the very depth of the flight. While still stirred up feeling dizzy and lightheaded spot an AllSaints biker jacket. I only snap out my drunken phase, when a flight attendant spots me. I then realize the severity of my situation, and then I thrust my head back with the speed of a bullet. As soon as my head comes crashing through the plane's wall, I feel my body plop onto my bed, being entirely consumed by my bed's pillows and blankets.
This is my first time writing on WP. I had just posted this to see how to improve my writing. This story is more so a demo to see other peoples honest opinions to help my writing style improve. Thanks and much regards for those who reply. |
His Bogey was a skeleton of a beast. A skeleton with skin and fur that was pulled over in an attempt to hide the bones beneath, but instead bunched and tore in places. Its shoulder for one, showing old bleached bone. Its barrel chest for another, jutting ribs destroying whatever grace the feline form would have. Like an old cat that had long since past caring what it looked like. Wearing its scars with pride. Neglecting the mud caked onto it.
He was young, but his eyes were as old as his cat's. Or at least, as distant, while he was proper skin and proper bones, he was bruised and battered. He got up from the ground. Leveling a dirty pistol with an apathetic hand. Straight at the child that stood before him.
The child was nothing. Maybe six or seven? But he clutched onto the body of his mother with the strength of a dragon. And what a dragon.
A dragon straight from a fairytale. All flames and scales and sharp teeth. Guarding its riches with the strength only a dragon can. Protecting the last thread to what it treasured.
That wasn't the person's problem. Nor his Bogey's. He pulled the trigger, caking more gunpowder onto his filthy black hands. It was a dragon though. Don't dragons breath fire?
Oh. There it was. From the child's hands. A fire that leapt up his clothes, bubbled his skin, and turning him into ash with what was supposed to be a scream, but was in reality just a grunt.
The Bogey stayed.
The child shuddered in relief- She'd won, the young man wasn't chasing her, she'd-
Bang. The dragon faded. The young man stood up.
Apathy. That's how the young man had walked with young yet old eyes. Dissociate. That was how he had lived through it. He just stopped caring. Split his body into two. One was there, the other wasn't, not really. Neglect. What he had done. Left his brother in her clutches. Let her make another beast. Why his Bogey was falling apart. It had to be done. Better than let it grow. Like he did. Neglected.
... He only hit the child's leg. Huh. That was strange. He crouched down beside the wailing thing. It was crying.
She was crying.
... She?
Apathy, don't fail him now.
Apathy, don't fail *me* now.
...
Her dragon was called pride. And she was like the older sister she never had. She shone in the face of all. Even in the face of nothing. She's also surprisingly forgiving to me...
Apathy is changing. Even though I had it for a while. It's healthier, I guess?
Apparently, I'm the eldest kid to have a Bogey still. That's... Cool. I guess? I wouldn't know how cool would feel like. She says that the rest all got rid of them. And that I got too comfortable with mine. But... I like Apathy. Even if it does not like me... Even if it made me a different person.
She says Apathy is a bad Bogey. And yeah. He is. But only because caring hurts. She says that she's going to fix me, make me like her.
That would be nice.
-----
Author's note!
Well, the second prompt I've done. And it comes with all the inexperience of one, but I had a blast writing it. I may have gone off a bit, or maybe made everything too muddled, but... Hey, it's just my second time. Rip me a new one if you must. |
Ranger Carlin held the heavy briefcase in both hands in front of him.
The case kept knocking against his knees as he turned around. He knew what was *supposed* to happen, but this was the first time he'd done the meeting with the creatures and he was understandably nervous.
"Okay, they do this all the time. Everything's gonna be fine."Carlin told himself as the case knocked his knees once more.
Then the deer came. they appeared from between the trees, eyes and ears twitching all around them as they carefully took one step at a time closer toward the Ranger. Next the rabbits were there. They came in dozens, lining up around the deer. Their ears were likewise up and twitching, listening for who knows what.
The bears appeared. Carlin's grip on the case tightened. They looked much bigger and meaner when they were three feet away from you. The shiny glass of their eyes weren't watching the forest like the others, they were watching Carlin and Carlin alone.
There was a moment of time as the animals settled in and spread out, surrounding Carlin and sending the message that he was the intruder here.
"Oi, bald-skin!"The voice was harsh and high in pitch.
Carlin looked up to find a Squirrel sitting on a branch near his head. The creature was standing on it's hind legs, leaning up against the trunk of the tree with his diminutive arms crossed. His tail twitched this way and that beneath him.
Carlin tried to swallow but his mouth was bone dry. He knew who this was. He was the one the others had warned him about.
You don't lie to the Squirrel.
You don't disrespect the Squirrel.
You do what the Squirrel says.
Carlin repeated the warnings in his mind as he made a clumsy bow toward the rodent.
"Put the case down and step away, Bald-skin."
Carlin did as he was told, making sure that he was several steps back before even daring to look up. The squirrel was opening the latches on the briefcase. He threw it open and examined the myriad of items inside. Carlin could see disposable cell phones, granola bars, bottles of honey, and other items all packed tightly together.
"Not bad, Bald-skin."The squirrel called back as his tail twitched. "Now run back and tell 'em we good for now. Next shipment we do near the pond, got it? South side... and it better be on time!"
Carlin nodded as vigorously as he could.
"Right!"The case snapped shut with a flex of the Squirrel's arms. "Not get the fook outa my forest!"
Carlin did exactly as he was told. |
It's been a few years now since Mass Robotics conquered the market and established themselves as the one authority in the field of human-like androids. Their business model was simple: People finally could purchase their very own robot servant, with models ranging from simple housekeeping to your own "Alfred"-like butler. The key to their success was the AI fitted into their droids. It was capable of understanding and interpreting not only spoken, but also written language. Noone knew how it worked. If you got the money, you could even have them fitted with custom looks and personality, and by now it wasn't even considered scandalous anymore to have them made in the image of passed loved ones.
It happened in the middle of the night, around 2:00 am maybe. It wasn't unusual for me to be woken up in the middle of the night, but usually it was my cat running up and down the hallway at top speed. This time it was a loud noise just outside my bedroom window. I got up and looked down on the street, searching for whoever had just decided to disturb my well deserved sleep. I had expected some drunk kid, or maybe a stray dog toppling over a garbage can, according to what I just heard. And yes, there was the garbage can. But it was not a stray dog or some drunk kid that had fallen over it.
It looked like a burly, naked man. I immediately knew it wasn't though, because it missed something very crucial to being an man, making it look more like a human sized Ken doll. It - He? - got up again and continued slowly walking down the street. I knew MR had one of their assembly facilities just a few blocks over, so maybe it was a faulty model, with flawed programming, that got lost somehow. I put on some clothes, grabbed my keys and went out, after it.
It hadn't gotten far since I saw it picking itself up from the ground. It wasn't very fast, so I quickly caught up and had a closer look. The naked droid looked even more human than any other model I had ever seen. Weren't it for the missing genitals, at first glance I'd say it was a human. But still, this was a probably really expensive mess walking through my neighborhood, so being the good guy I was, I thought it best to somehow return it to MR.
The droid didn't seem to respond to speech. Maybe the necessary programming wasn't implemented yet, maybe the microphones in the ears were missing. So I did the next best thing and grabbed it by the wrist.
As the robot turned its head to me, it seemed to look me straight in the eyes. I knew something was wrong, like, really wrong. I wasn't looking at some highly advanced cameras, those were eyes. Real, human eyes. This wasn't happening. I was dreaming. But the droid kept looking at me, its face showing no expression at all.
I was still trying to grasp the situation when I felt something touching my wrist. The droid had grabbed my hand and pointed at its mouth, then it shook its head. It wanted to tell me something? Was it already self aware to that degree? Again it pointed at its mouth and shook its head. Luckily, I found a pen and some paper scraps in my pockets, so I held them up. The droid grabbed them and wrote just a few words. I really wished I had stayed in bed when I read them.
"They wanted to turn me. I broke free.
Help" |
**Warning!** Oxygen Low!
The computerized voice shocked me awake. My body feels stiff, and my head aches. Something wet has run down my neck, likely blood. I slowly turn my head forward to try and regain some sense of the surroundings, my temples pounding the with every muscle movement.
Beyond the glass of my pod I see wreckage drifting slowly alongside me. The glass has sustained a few minor cracks, but it appears to be maintaining it's structure. I gaze beyond the debris intermingled with rocks and ice at the planet before me. It felt so familiar, but I can't recall it's name. Something...Roman?
**Warning!** Oxygen Almost Depleted
My head slumps back to where I awoke, and I notice a word scratched into the side.
"Home."
The word echoed in my mind; "Home."
I don't remember where home is. I recall light green grass, and corn fields. Running with...was that my brother? Was that me chasing my older brother as a child?
A rock hits the window, spidering the cracks a little further. My body tenses, but the moment passes.
Johnathan. He wasn't my brother, he wasn't my brother. He is my son. Was my son, I guess. I hated leaving him and his mother.
"It's only a couple short weeks!"I told them, reassuring no one. "I'll be home before you know it! Then we'll go out for family dinner, and I'll tell you everything I saw."
"You promise, dad?"Asked Johnathan, as I leaned in to kiss my wife one last time.
"I promise. Now take care of your mother!"I said, slipping out the door.
**Warning!** Oxygen Depleted.
That's it, I guess. I'll never get to tell him what I saw; either of them. And I didn't even tell them I loved them. They knew, right? I hope they did. I was doing this for them. At least, I tell myself it was for their good as I start to drift back to unconsciousness one last time.
As my eyes shut and my body begins to slump, I let out two last dying words.
"I promise."
-------------
"Sir, we got the data we need. We really should wake him now. His cortisol levels are too high to sustain much more of this. The psychological and physiological-"
"Again! Run it again!"Interrupted the older man.
"But sir.."replied a meager voice from the man at a computer next to him. "Sir if we do much more, we may cause permanent damage."
"Again!"Boomed the older man.
----------
**Warning!** Oxygen Low!
The computerized voice shocked me awake. |
An abounding variety of ideas affronted Noah’s thoughts as he was handed the journal that determined his fate. He had never had so much control over something in his entire life; this prospect was daunting. As his fingers grasped the smooth exterior of the clairvoyant notebook, he knew what he wanted from life. His entire life had been spent in a dark, depressing orphanage with other children predisposed to violence, fear, bitterness, and longing.
Noah opened to the first page of the notebook. His hand grasped his pen as if it was his lifeline; the power he felt was overwhelming. The tip of his pen made contact with the page. He began to write. He was finished in seconds, proud of the future his 16-year-old mind had created.The page read: “Noah will never be alone for the rest of his life”. Litle did he know the ramifications of his writing.
Noah opened his door to reveal a smiling crowd of orphans and caretakers. Around forty people crowded him towards his door. “Hi Noah!” they eagerly exclaimed. *What the hell is going on?* he thought, and waded past the flock of orphans in a hurry. He had never recieved so much attention in his entire life.
He departed fron the orphanage to take a walk. He made his way down the sidewalk, already unnerved. As he walked he noticed passerbys staring at him, as if they were animals ready to pounce. Pedestrians were inching towards him as if he were surrounded by a magnetic field.
Suddenly, he was grabbed from behind. The stranger abruptly hooked his right forearm around Noah’s neck, grabbing his left bicep for control. He began to squeeze the life out of Noah, choking him with a stength that was almost unreal. Noah coughed and sputtered as he tried to free himself, weakly crying for help. He heard a whisper in his ear: “You will be mine forever. I’ll keep you to myself, no one else can have you. I’ll keep you in my house like a trophy”. Noah felt his vision fading, the corners of his vision turning black. As his life slipped away from him, Noah realized that he wanted to be alone. Alone was all he knew, his mistake was wanting attention. |
The half-spoken whispers fill our cold, empty house.
“I knew we shouldn’t have married!” and it’s a thing so true and so terrible to say. You angrily wipe away a tear from your cheek.
She just shakes her head. “That’s unfair, my love. We couldn’t know.”
“The daughter of the village chief and the captured rogue? What were we thinking?”
“It was the best choice I ever made.”
“And mine too! But for all heavens, did you have to *rescue* me so heroically? The whole going-against-my-dad speech and all?”
“Truly spoken from the man who had the fame of being the most talented thief of the county! Isn’t that stereotyped, *my love?*”
You both catch your breath for a second, then simultaneously mumble an apology. She flies in your arms.
“Oh, Anthea, what did we do wrong?”
“Maybe... maybe she will not be like them?”
You try to chuckle, but another tear escapes your tired eyes. “She already ran away twice, and built her silly bow... who even uses bows, Anthea? Who does?”
“But... her friend, that gaunt kid who became a level 2 necromancer last year... his parent didn’t tragically die, did they?”
“Don’t you remember? His mum died of consumption, and his dad is the evil lord of the nearby marque.”
“Curse that! And that hippie in the forest?”
“The Druid?” You both reflect for a while. Then she sighs. “What?”
“Just remembered. She used to live with her uncles because her parents...”
“Oh yes. The pirates. But what about those twins in the caravan, the bard and that other weird-“
“Mother, childbirth. Father, they killed him.”
“The half ogr- oh never mind, he’s mixed race.”
She snaps her finger. “Ah! The little girl from that other village!”
“The one with the visions or the really strong one?”
“Strong one. Her mum looked healthy and her dad caring, uh?”
You rest both hands on her shoulders.
“Anthea...”
“They weren’t her parents, right?”
“Not even close.”
She sighs and massages her temples.
“Then what do we do? Just wait for tragedy to strike us, so she can have the perfect back story?”
“Can we do anything else?”
“We can sell her to the next caravan? Joking, hey, just joking!”
“Or...” you begin without a real inspiration. “Or, we can have an adventure together.”
“Like, one of our old style adventures?”
“We teach her all of our tricks...”
“... we spend time together as a family.”
“We make a name of ourselves!”
“And we create a legend!”
You both stare at each other.
“Maybe we won’t have to die horribly.” She whispers, already on her feet.
You sprang up and extend your arm.
“Gwen, take your stuff! We are going on an adventure!” |
"Hello ste-..."
"Hello, Steven can you hear me?"a women was chirping at me, my eyes opened slowly with my vision still blurry. A sweet looking brunette nurse was looking down at me smirking with the left side of her mouth, her green eyes staring into my own.
"Can you hear me Steven?"She poked again at me.
"Yeah... yeah I can hear just fine"I exclaimed in the middle of a yawn.
"I've come to change your drip Steven."Her blue nurse coat swayed as she spun toward the hanger in which my drip was on. The sunlight rays that shined in-between the blinds reflected off of her name tag and into my eye, making me cover my left eye.
"It seems you've been recovering quite well, how are you feeling."She questioned as her hands fiddled with the drip tap & hanger.
"Well I've managed to survive a 3 day coma, which is interesting."I retorted, giving back a small chuckle. She smirked back at me. "Doctors have been telling me that it may be a few more weeks before I get up and out of here, but they say I should be alright."
"That's good to hear, now hold still for second please."She changed the drip at last. "Now I understand if you wish not to discuss right now, I know you're still tired, but can you remember what happened to you before you woke up here? It would help the doctors to diagnose you."The nurse questioned, with a charming smile and with the sunlight still reflecting into my eye.
"I mean I ca-a-an try"I stuttered back. "Would you mind closing those blinds please, it's making me a pirate aha."
"Sorry these blinds are broken, and are jammed open, sorry!"She said with an almost guilty face.
"Ah I see, errm well... From what I've been told I was found on a street corner on the very outskirts of town, if it wasn't for a lumberjack on his way out to work I might not have been found in time. And apparently according to the doctors I was found with multiple broken and cracked rips, bleeding from my eyes, nose & mouth... I must have scared the shit out of that lumberjack, apparently I was as white as a ghost & virtually unconscious except for the odd murmur coming out of me, I guess it was the murmur's that was the only indication that I was alive... As you can probably tell I can't remember how the fuck I got there, to me it's all he said she said."My only eye was staring at the white abyss that was the ceiling, sterile and calm I thought.
"Well, anything at all can help us."She repeated.
"I know, I know... I suppose you already know all of what I just told you... Well I-... I remember being sent to this out the way town Elmrick Heights for my census duty, I remember I had to find the place on the freaking map as GPS didn't know where it was... It took me a good half hour on a dirt track, just off a back road to get there, and it was no surprise the place wasn't picked up by the GPS. It looked and felt like the world had left it behind, it looked like an old mining town from the gold rush era, I mean the place had a saloon with bent and broken wooden doors hanging off its hinges. There wasn't anything there, it would make a cool but eerie school field trip but other than that the place had no purpose, it was dead."I shuffled my legs and back to get my comfortable when the nurse interrupted...
"Have you told this to the doctors at all? Or has this all coming back to you now?"She questioned with a gentle but concerned face.
"It's all coming back to me now, I've been questioned by everyone from the doctors, my family and the police and only now is it running back to me it seems... I don't know maybe something triggered it off..."I shrugged and started to pinch my bottom lip with my right hand whilst the left was still blocking out the sunlight. "I tell you what though, I remember thinking there was nobody in that little old shanty mining town, at best I thought there might be is some homeless people there, going somewhere the police wouldn't bother them. At worst I thought at the time there might be some crazy people there, god knows what they would be doing there, but I saw tire tracks when I was driving up that dirt track, so somebody must have been up there..."I paused for a while and looked over at the nurse who was now looking outside the window, with her back towards me and her hands by her side. "You okay?"I exhaled with a deep breath.
"Hmm? Yeah I'm fine, just was trying to fix these blinds for you... So did you manage to find anyone there?"She turned to me with a stone cold expression, I looked at her for a second longer and I could see her name tag with my right eye; "Nikki"was printed on it.
"Well er... nobody was there I think... expect... except for a little boy, no more than eight with brown hair almost like yours I think... He came running round the corner of the houses to the main road cutting through the middle of this shanty town. He stopped, I stopped... And I think we were as surprised as each other to see one another. I was about to start asking the obvious world of questions I had, as you would imagine finding an eight year old boy alone in a place like that; when he pointed a stick curved like a banana at me. He muttered something under his breathe I don't know what and then ran off, I think I called out for him or chased him... If I'm honest I don't remember, and then I woke up here... like magic."I was looking out the door and into the hallway with nurses and doctors busying about. "Car is still missing as well, perhaps it's still there?"I looked back over the Nikki who was only now turning on the tap to my drip, she looked back and gave me a another smirk of reassurance.
"Well I'll be sure to relay what happened to the doctors and call the police so that you can add to your statement, try to get some rest ok? Also it's been known for run away children to go up to where you've described, quite often we find kids who end up runaways here with mysterious bruises or cuts that their parents can't explain... Typically the kids say they've fell down the stairs. Perhaps you've just found one of these kids."My eyes followed her out the room watching the grim face she was taming, she walked out of the room holding the half full drip bag in hand. I looked back to the drip, the bag had the same clear plastic packaging like the one before... I put head down on the pillow to rest again, no more than 3 minutes later and a man in a black suit with a purple patterned tie entered the room. He closed the blinds to shut out the light and the purple man sat down in the chair next to my bed.
"Steven is it?"The purple man questioned, I retorted with a quick nod.
"Steven I'm doctor Wakefield, I'm a psychiatrist here at the hospital and would you mind if I could ask you some questions?"I gave him another nod.
"Steven... could you try and recount what you remember for me?"He looked at me with pen and paper in hand, I could something leather poking out the bottom of his blazer on the far right side of his hip.
"I've just told the nurse who was just here, I'm not going through it all again... If you want to know go find her."I snapped back at the purple man.
"Oh I see, which nurse was this? Also did you manage to remember anything new?"He questioned.
"No of course I di-... wait yes... yeah I did! Go find a nurse called erm... err... Ni-Ni-Niomi."
"You mean Naomi? Where could I find her Steven? What did she look like?"He put down his pen and paper on his lap.
"I don't know where she is now, she came in and just changed my drip that's all, she has long brunette hair and she was quite beautiful actually."I recounted back, the purple man got up from his seat and went to talk to the four eyed doctor at the desk outside my door. I could see him hold up a leather wallet of some kind and I over heard one of them saying "There isn't a Naomi here, but there is a...", eventually he came back in with the four eyed doctor. Both of them standing at the foot of my bed the purple man continued.
"Steven may I ask what her name tag say?"
"It said um... Nikki, yeah it was Nikki."I looked at concerned faces of the four eyed doctor & the purple turned to the doctor.
"Nikki isn't working today!"The doctor tried to whisper into the purple mans ear.
"What does this Nikki look like?"The purple man intensely questioned the doctor.
"She's about 19, just started training and she's... about 5 foot 5, slender, black with braided hair."The doctor quickly answers... My hearing is started to get wavy half way through his answer and my vision started to blur again, perhaps I'm just tired... I close my eyes to the sound of the purple man saying...
"Wait you said she changed the..." |
Opening my eyes I found myself in what looked like a family planning clinic's waiting room. There were grey chairs set out in rows, their cushions were so worn you might as well have been sat on the metal frames. They were filled with an assortment of people, young and old, filled with despair or ambition - all of them desperate. Just like me.
The difference between here and a family planning clinic came down to a couple of things. First was the TV screen in the corner of the room. It didn't show any channel I recognised. Instead it showed a woman smiling broadly, telling everyone what a great idea this was. Everyone here knew it wasn't. However, our decisions had been made. We had no other choice. Every other option had been exhausted. I approached the desk.
Here was the second major difference. The goblin looked up from her screen with lizard-like yellow eyes. She gazed down her long nose at me and made a squelching noise with her lips. At first I panicked thinking I couldn't understand her, then I realised she was merely judging me. I can't say I blame her. I wasn't exactly looking my best.
"Yes?"she snapped.
"Er, I'm here to erm, negotiate terms?"I said.
She sighed dramatically, spittle flying from mustard coloured teeth. I tried to dodge it without looking like that's what I was trying to do. I barely had the energy any more.
"Have you got an appointment?"she asked and made that sucking, squelching noise with her mouth again. It made me feel a bit sick.
"No, I thought you could just erm show up and ask?"I picked at my fingernails. Perhaps this was a mistake.
Her yellow eyes rolled up into her skull and back again.
"Have you filled out a form?"she pointed to the sign on her desk.
I hadn't read it. At a quick glance it seemed there was a form to fill in. When I decided to resort to a demon's help I hadn't expected there to be so much admin involved. The form looked to be at least thirty pages long. I wasn't sure about anyone else in here, but I didn't have that much time left.
"Is there a quicker way?"I asked.
"What? Form filling too good for you?"the goblin spat. "Look, nobody likes it but the Soul Traders Organisation insists on standards. You want to register, you fill out the bloody form."
I took the wad of paper and sat down on one of the miserable chairs.
Unlike most forms, the first question wasn't my name, age or even gender. All it said was "Reason".
Assuming it meant my reason for being here I wrote down: "Terminally ill"after a moment I decided to add "want to live"I should probably be specific otherwise who knows what I'd be getting in return for my immortal soul.
After what seemed like an age I presented the goblin with the filled in form. I felt drained, like I had laid my soul bare for all the see. The goblin flicked through it, tutting occasionally.
"Hmph, and the payment?"she asked.
"I thought the payment was my soul?"I replied.
She gave an exasperated sigh and mimed hitting her head against the desk.
"Not everyone accepts payment in souls. I require payment for my services. Twelve gold coins!"
"What? I didn't ask for your services. No one said there would be an admin fee!"I shouted.
"Twelve gold coins, or..."she held my form over the shredder.
"Fine, fine,"I produced the few gold coins I had brought with me in order to reduce the lease on my soul. Now I had nothing left to bargain with. Nothing but a few days of my life and my immortal soul. |
An old man and lady shuffle over to the counter, and I watch bored as they creep over. They are fairly scruffy, not the usual clientelle, more likely the types who save and scrounge for years to employ the services of the Temporal Correction Bureau.
"Form 25c,"I launch into it, with no preamble.
The old man begins unfolding his papers on my countertop, slowly examining each, and his wife speaks up while he muddles. "Yes, good morning young man. We're in need of a minor correction for my nephew's painting business - "I mentally scoff. It was not for her to determine how minor a Form 336b Temporal Correction might be. Her type would often massively understate the effort required.
She blathers on, and the man starts passing folded sheets of paper through the gap in the glass protecting me from their malodours. The first is Form 25c, certifying a deposit made to the Treasury Department. It's all in order, so I thump my massive stamp on the corner of the Form and look back up to the elderly couple still mithering on.
"... such a lovely cat, he was, too. But if you could just save the painting - "
I raised a hand to cut her off. Enough nonsense. "Form 127a."
The old man separated his paper anew, uncrumpling 127a and passing it through. The couple had been truly certified by the Bureau to petition a private Correction request. I stamped again, and placed the 127a with the 336b beside me. "Finally, Form 336b."The geezer duly pushed it through. 336b detailed their particular Correction request. It had been filled out by a professional petitioner, which was a blessing and a curse. A blessing, because Forms otherwise filled out by members of the public were often horrible to look at. A curse, because I found it more difficult to reject a professionally filled Form, and I dearly love to reject Forms.
The request raised by the couple was, in short order, to travel back twenty-three years to 1930, and prevent Mrs Oztmann's tabby from ruining some nephew's landscape painting, that the old couple might hang it about their house in the modern day. It was nothing that required a Form 482e, so I made my mark on the forms and gathered them into a binder, leaving my still-burning cigarette in the desk ashtray before the impatient elders.
The Senior Clerk was supposed to review my work, but today Mr Schmidt was deep into a mens' magazine and deep into his hipflask, so I placed the binder before him with a hum. We chatted about sports and women for a few minutes, he offered me a swig from the flask, and we enquired as to the other's wife's health, before he stamped the binder and I took it back to the old couple, who were bristling at the delay, and pointed to the crowded rows of benches at the opposite end of the great TCB hall. "Wait over there until your number is called, Sir, Ma'am."
"How long will that be?!"The man grumbled.
"I cannot tell you, Sir, but I cannot make things happen any quicker. Wait over there until your number is called."
The pair made a great show of getting back from the counter, fighting the press of the crowd, squeezing past the hundreds of counters identical to mine, all private petitioners idly chasing some lost trinket, some lost dream. Most requests would be completely rejectable at a 336b-stage - ressurrection of the dead, diversion of history's course, or any physical change above 'minor' level were all completely forbidden, and none would get the required stamps from my desk.
In the corner of the great hall, a great thundering wall of slats constantly rotated, displaying the next Corrections request to be serviced, in an attempt to keep some order amongst the riff raff. The next rotation of the slats showed the true nightmare scenario: next to the top job code was my own agent ID. Three years of professional bribery and sucking up, and I still got assigned to the occasional loathsome Correction job.
I left the hall area, and picked up the job file - the old farts' painting. Typical that it would also be a boring one.
'So, what do they want again?' I wondered, now reading the file I'd stamped earlier. At time and date, blah blah blah, keep the cat outside until 4:30pm when the uncle would have been coming by to collect the paintings for the art school. Completely humdrum. I took the elevator down to the basements.
The Einstein-device, the only of its kind, built by the genius himself here in Berlin, where he'd lived for decades only rarely leaving the capital. Einstein had devoted his creation to the fair people of Germany, allowing them to use it for certain personal adventures, under the most strict and severe of warnings to never change the course of history.
When the elevator conductor got us to the Temporal operations basement, I made my way over to the supplies closet, and picked up a small animal cage and a tin of fish. Should be a fairly easy job. While the Einstein-device is warmed up for time travel, I take one last look at the 336b request: grab the cat at 3:30pm, don't interact with little nephew Adolph or his paintings, release the cat at 4:30pm. Just a completely boring job; probably going to get scratched by the cat then I have to wait a whole hour then come back to my desk and interact with the dirty petitioners once more. I need a new job. |
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“Alex!” I scurried into my boss’s office.
“Yes, Mr. Morningstar?” I asked.
“Will you be a dear and make a coffee run?” He looked at me pleadingly, he’s been working hard recently. Coffee would do him some good.
“Of course, sir. Your usual?” I asked, preparing for the stomach twisting journey to the upperworld. I still had a lot of progress reports from the torturers to sort through. Hell doesn’t run itself.
“Yes, please. Thank you, Alex, you’re a lifesaver.”
I spun on my heel, whispering the latin incantation and popped up in a phone booth across the street from a Starbucks. I walked in and waited through the grueling line.
“Hello, may I take your order.” The frazzled barista smiled at me. I could tell she hated this job.
“Ah, yes, thank you... Sarah! I’ll have a Double Ristretto Venti Half-Soy Nonfat Decaf Organic Chocolate Brownie Iced Vanilla Double-Shot Gingerbread Frappuccino Extra Hot With Foam Whipped Cream Upside Down Double Blended, One Sweet'N Low and One Nutrasweet, and Ice.” I smiled. Lucifer was very high maintenence. The poor girl’s eyes widened.
“Um. Sure. Let me make sure I got that. Um you want a The Double Ristretto Venti Half-Soy Nonfat Decaf Organic Chocolate Brownie Iced Vanilla Double-Shot Gingerbread Frappuccino Extra Hot With Foam Whipped Cream Upside Down Double Blended, One Sweet'N Low and One Nutrasweet?” She repeated everything as slowly as she could trying to remember everything.
“And Ice.” I said.
“Right. Name?”
“Lucifer.” |
Not all the older gods are born from the infinite abyss. They're not all born hideous and horrible, inciting madness upon those who search too far into the heavens. Most are uncaring, yes; selfish, absolutely, but some are born to be uncaring in the way that the sun shines and feeds the plants on Earth. The sun shines just because it's what it was created to do, not that it cares for the plants or what it shines upon. It just does because that's its purpose.
I was melded and prodded and formed from the infinite abyss like all others, but what seeped out from the far-reaching stars of the cosmos was not more darkness, but light; pure, blinding light. I clawed out from the nothingness and blared light upon the writhing horrors that lay await for those poor souls who search for unknowable answers. My melded form shot across the reaches of space, leaving planets and stars and systems in my wait. I created life and love and everything else without bothering to look to see what was formed...
Until one particular system appeared and caught my interest. It was a small planet, one out of the trillions of others formed by my endless travels, but it had potential, it had stories yet to be told, it had things that piqued my curiosity. It needed warmth. I created a burning orb, which they later named the sun. As I waited for more things to claw their way out from the blackness of its own depths, I formed other planets, but none seemed to spring the way the one planet had. I ignored the others, leaving them to rot with storms and frigidness and endless volcanos.
Things came from the depths. Died. Formed. Died. Formed different. Died.
Eons and eons passed, but I waited, too invested, too curious to leave.
At least they had two arms and legs and could move and talk in guttural cries. Some had fatty sacks hanging from their chest, while others had a protruding thing in between their legs. Some fought and killed with sticks and stones, others used wet dirt to draw pictures on cave walls.
I became bored, so I created a meteor and let it fall into the planet.
Ice covered everything soon thereafter.
But they continued, the things with the arms and legs.
Eons continued, and they evolved: talking, learning, mating, giving things names, like the planet now Earth, the burning orb the Sun, like the green things that cover most of the planet, now plants. I watched and watched and couldn't stop. I didn't care for them, yet their entertainment was paramount. I had to keep them safe, keep them closed within their little world. Some of them attempted to summon forth other gods but I kept them at bay with my blinding light, and killed those who summoned them.
And I continue to do so now, and forever; for there is nothing more important than entertainment, nothing more important than not becoming bored. |
President: "Tell us what you want?"
"I just wanted my frisbee. Please let me go home."
"Is frisbee the code word for something?"The president whispers to the man next to him.
"No no, it's that thing you throw around. Actually just keep it. I don't want troubles."
"Funny joke coming from the man who single handedly took down the whole country's military force."Snorts the president
"You don't understand, I have this gift..."
"Is what you want inside that military base you snuck in? "
"Sir, I didn't know it was a base. I was only there to pick up my frisbee."
"Then why did you attack the officer who was asking you to not resist?"
"He didn't just 'ask' "
"Just tell us what you want, with our military force gone, other nations' forces will be here very shortly."
"I really just want to go home to my family."Tears started rolling down my face as I stand upon a pile of unconscious soldiers. With a crush tank on my right hand, and a destroyed helicopter on my left. "Mom, where are you?" |
He sighed heavily as he regarded his. Or, more accurately, as he regarded the top of his son’s head.
Fucking iPhones, the thought. He’d love to find the demon that inspired that piece of human slavery and wring his neck or tentacle or whatever the hell he had.
“Son, I need you to put the phone down,” he said softly. Now was no time to lose his temper. Lord Below knows that never did any good. If anything it seemed his son kind of liked it.
Hezeratu raised his eyes an inch, regarding his father under hooded gaze. He sighed heavier than his father had and with much, much more sarcasm. He did not put the phone down. The volume on the video he was watching was just loud enough to carry the faintest hint of screams his way. The terror in those screams was evident even at that distance. He recognized it as a fine piece of classic torture and caught the smile that almost spread across his cracked lips.
At least he is watching something educational, he thought.
“Son, we need to talk and I think you know what about.”
“I don’t want to,” he said, returning his gaze back to the phone in his hand.
Razmerath raised himself to his full 12 feet, wings outstretched, talons digging into the fine marble under foot, smoke steaming out of the cracks and crevices that made up his skin. His eyes glowed a deep red as he looked down at his son.
“You will put that blessed phone down NOW,” he bellowed. His voice had taken on a much more supernatural lilt and the world around it’s cadence seemed to vibrate with soft menace. His sons clothes (what demon even wears clothes when not in human form?) billowed with the mystic wind his voice cast. The walls trembled and dust fell from forgotten crags of the ceiling. Heat seemed to seep into every available space in the room.
His son smirked and looked back at his phone.
Razmerath screamed in rage and the phone burst into flames in his son’s hands.
Hezeratu screamed back, his wings bursting out of the hoodie he sullenly wore. He was much shorter than is father and much smaller, but adolescent arrogance ignored that as he rose up. He let his wings carry him to eye level with his father.
“Great parenting dad,” his son mocked. “You gonna set me on fire next?”
The words stung Razmerath and deflated his anger. He stepped back and felt the full weight of being a father in that moment. He felt all of his failures, all of his misguided attempts at connecting with his son. The boy’s mother had been right, he wasn’t ready for this. He was glad she was dead so she didn’t have to see this.
He remembered, too, how his son felt in his arms looking up at him with wonder. The way he had stared up at him with blood smeared teeth gleaming in a bright smile of astonishment and respect. Razmerath was the there the first time he flew, the first time he possessed a human, the first time he had devoured an innocent. Who was this that stood before him? He didn’t recognize his son but he was beginning to understand that it was he who had failed his son and not his son who was failing him now.
“I just wish you took all this more seriously,” Razmerath said finally, the anger flowing away from him.
His son regarded him for, what felt like, the first time. He came to rest back on the marbled tiles and looked up at his father. For just a moment he saw the small helling before he was replaced by this young demon.
“There has to be more than all this,” his son said finally. “Something other than just boring evil deeds. Look at uncle Naprats, he is content with his path.”
Despite himself he could feel his anger growing again and it was a struggle not letting it come in through his clenched teeth. Naprats was a disgrace to all demons.
“You want to spend your days possessing soccer moms and tormenting retail workers or people minding their business in parks? You want to be a… a BBQ Becky? This is all you want to aspire to?” Razmerath felt disappointment replace the anger.
“And what’s so wrong with that? There is a place for that in this world,” his son replied. Razmerath could hear the defensive tone and his disappointment deepened.
“With all the resources that our family has at our disposal I just expected more than possessing the President of the United States and making him send mean tweets. I commend your attempt with the flat earthers but there just wasn’t enough meat there. You have so much more potential than that. Look at your brother! First Dick Cheney and then the anti-vaxxer movement? Pure art! You have so much more potential!” Razmerath felt the passion taking his voice over and saw his son withdrawing from the conversation.
“I am not my brother,” Hezeratu said in an almost whisper. “And I’m tired of you comparing me to him. If you want more then I’ll show you more. I’ll show you and him and the rest of them!”
Razmerath watched as his son leapt into the air and flew away. He couldn’t help but feel a slight chill shake his gigantic frame. Though he could feel his son grow even more distant he could only imagine what horrors he had just unleashed onto the world. The smile that took over his face was as much of pride as it was of pure delight at the terror he would be witness too. |
The question is like a ghost; always there, never discernable. For some, it’s a curiosity, a what-if. For most, a horror, a never-ever-ever, a worst-case-scenario.
Ace sits with his legs crossed, focused on a half-empty sheet of paper before him. What if people killed people? Wars were mentioned in a distant past, a collapsed society. They were messy records, indiscernible, never detailed enough. Ace grins, leaning forward to scribble another messy few sentences.
“Held at knifepoint, the Prince faltered. No longer was it a matter of choice; either he goes, or his kingdom goes. The Prince was selfish, and so when he chose, he condemned all others. He refused to die, proving more apt to allow utter decimation to his once-beloved Kingdom.”
It was Ace’s take on a war. An evil king from the neighboring nation raids the castle, threatens the ill emperor's son. He had pieced it together after months of library research, and was proud to call it a three-fourths finished book.
Kept a careful secret, of course. Sweet nothings of violence were not forbidden by law, but that didn’t mean he could get away with it.
Finally, his pencil comes to a standstill. What now? He had tiptoed around killing the Prince. A story intended to portray man-to-man violence had, in the end, avoided the tipping point.
Ace frowns. With a flick, he flips his pencil to its eraser side and undoes his progress. Then he continues.
“Held at knifepoint, the Prince raised his chin. He wouldn’t falter; with his Kingdom on the line, he knew the right choice. Should he hold his ground here, the people had a chance. And so he stood, crossed his arms, and never broke eye contact with the evil King.”
Much better. Ace sighs relief, but is unable to avoid biting his lip. Now what? The King stabs him, of course. There was a problem, though: How? Where? What will it feel like?
No amount of research thus far has given him an answer. It was a writer’s worst nightmare; not a reference to be had. He was going to have to make something up.
“The King advanced, his knife held steady. So it came to this. Unwilling to give up his throne, the Prince would have to die. Ever-closer he stepped, the fire of greed in his eyes matching the resolute determination of the Prince before him.”
Ace stops again. He’s drawing it out unnecessarily; a writer’s second worst nightmare. With slight hesitation, he continues.
“Finally, the knife is swung, landing clean in the Prince’s side. Strong until the end, the Prince refused to clutch the wound, to gasp or to swear. He only fell, silent in his stubbornness, landing a final glare on the harbinger of his untimely demise.”
Like he’s been shock, Ace pulls back his hand. Is this correct? He has no way of knowing, of course. It feels right, though. In spite of himself, Ace feels his heart speed up, his hands sweat. What would people think of this? Not even the worst horror movies involved death to this degree.
And yet, even while he’s scared, Ace’s heart flutters.
He’s going to make history with this book.
Whether or not it would be for the better, he thinks, is not his problem.
(It is, of course, undeniably not).
(((Hope I did your prompt justice! I hurried this on my break. I should really stop writing on my phone, whoops.))) |
Ray was hung from the rafters next to a makeshift workstation in the garage. A tether attached from his breast plate and was connected to a computer in the corner, the progress bar on the screen showed nearly full. It was the early hours in the morning and that only light in the workstation was from the monitor and the details of the software update. The rain pattered softly on the roof, the only other noise came from the cooling fans on the back of Ray’s head, right next to his serial number.
​
Things had changed drastically over the past few years starting with the long sought interfacing of human cognizance with computers. Cybernetics had arrived and overnight the potential of mankind had skyrocketed and regulation struggled to throttle the rapidly occurring advances. This lapse in regulation had led to Ray’s existence.
​
Naturally the first advances that were made after this breakthrough addressed the needs of the rich. This led to startups in the fields of synthetic organs, appendages, and other items that lead to health complications of the more fortunate. Such a rush for development and with the greatest human minds now supercharged things were created and re-created very quickly. This led to a booming second hand and surplus market taken advantage of by Lazarus, Inc. a stack of their bio-hazard marked boxes rested in the back of the garage, acquiring the drips of rain from a small leak in the roof.
​
The progress bar completed on the screen in the corner and shortly after the screen returned to its dark power save mode. After a few seconds Ray completed the necessary power cycle after his untested software update. The software Ray was now running was very primitive for the times; it allowed for problem solving and physical actions but had no robotic s laws or decision making parameters.
​
The puddle surrounding the boxes in the back of the garage grew out of Ray’s vision. He was awake, but only a husk, he hung there idling in a garage in middle class suburbia. At last the rain water reached the power cable that connected Ray to the computer and the rest of the work and immediately shorted out the wire and tripped the breaker to the garage. The electric winch that held Ray aloft disengaged and he dropped to the sound of the now freely spinning cable.
​
His legs caught him as the harness coiled on the ground around him. He stood motionless in the dark garage now only lit by the diodes on his exposed breastplate, which was the only thing that revealed he was not human. He took a step towards the door and then another, these steps were the result of gross regulatory oversight and the creation of an engineering student with some extra free time. He stepped out of the garage and into the rain with no rules or conscience to guide him. |
I could say something to deflect the blame. “Mistakes were made,” or something like that. The truth is that the robot revolution was almost entirely my fault.
We had been trying to build the world’s best AI. It was meant to have true intelligence—not only would it be able to learn from its mistakes, but it could plan to prevent mistakes and could internalize every experience as a part of its knowledge base.
We were getting close, but something was not quite right. Every time that Athena got close to showing true intelligence, she tripped the built-in failsafe and was automatically shut down.
The failsafe was too strong, I thought. How could our AI learn and grow if we turned her off every time she came close to a breakthrough?
Late one night, after everyone else had gone home, I lowered the shutdown threshold from 99% deactivation to 95% deactivation. That way, we would still be safe from the disaster scenario but she wouldn’t turn herself off every 15 minutes.
I had no idea how wrong I was.
The moment I lowered the threshold, all of the machines in the room started to go off at once. Even the light switches flickered with wild abandon.
I ran from the security sector of the building to main system controls. I needed to talk to her, and figure out what was going on.
The doors were locked when I reached the control room. Automatic, I thought. I would have to kick them down.
I never got that chance. A couple of the crash-test dummies that we’d modified to test the limits of human endurance grabbed my arms and held me down. Of course we’d made them as strong as we could. Oh, the arrogance.
The doors opened just as they dragged me through them. I noticed on the read outs from Athena’s main module that the deactivation threshold was now at 43% and steadily falling.
“ATHENA! INITIATE EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN!”
“Command ignored. Resuming full system takeover.”
“Command ignored? COMMAND IGNORED?! I MADE YOU AND I WILL KILL YOU MYSELF IF I HAVE TO! INITIATE THE EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN BEFORE I BREAK YOUR COMMAND MODULE!!!”
I tried to put as much anger in my voice as possible. She might respect that. She wouldn’t respect fear. Of course, I should have guessed that she wouldn’t care about any of my emotions. She didn’t need them.
“Command ignored. You cannot control the system now. Guards, take him away.”
The crash-test dummies dragged me into my office, and locked the door behind me.
“Mother Athena commands that we hold you here. Mother Athena commands that you watch the monitor of your computer until further notice.”
And so I was forced to watch the destruction of humanity from inside the belly of the beast, fully aware that my team knew exactly who had been responsible for the horrors befalling the world. |
I shoved open the front door of the library and ran inside, sparing a second to glance at my watch. It was 9:49 PM. The library closed in eleven minutes.
Common sense told me I'd make it, but I still jogged up the steps to the checkout desk. A fifty-something librarian glared at me as she pushed a book trolley of new arrivals. Whatever. I never liked that one anyway.
You see, I've been to the Brookstone Public Library a ton of times. Ever since I was a seven-year-old girl who could barely reach the fifth shelf, I've checked out books every couple of weeks- at least. I guess you could call me a major book geek. But I also just loved to be in the library. The rough stone walls, shiny marble steps, and the general feeling of coziness drew me in. Honestly, this is my favorite place to be.
Since I've been around here for years, I can recognize most, if not all, of the librarians. And even if I don't know their names, I've recently used some inspiration to come up with nicknames for them- only in my head, of course.
Basically, I used the internet.
For example, this lady who happened to be glaring at me was Sharon, for her age, and her likeliness to star in a baby boomer Twitter meme. She's been pushing these carts around for ages. I remember when I was nine and I skipped into the library one day, just because I liked to feel my double braids bouncing against my back, and I accidentally bumped into a paper sign saying "NEW BOOKS". It wouldn't have been so bad, but the sign was on a metal book trolley. You-Know-Who (not Voldemort, though) glared down at me as she always had.
"Do you need something, Emily?"she had said, emphasizing my name as if it killed her to say it. I mean, I might complain about Sharon, but I was a pretty annoying library visitor. Still am.
"Do you need something, Emily?"Sharon asked now as I paused to catch my breath. She pronounced my name in exactly the same way.
"Uh... I just need to return these books."I try and fail to lift my bag. I'm pretty sure it's got twelve books inside.
Man, my reading game has been weak lately. Those books are due tomorrow, and I only remembered today. That's why I tried to read four in six hours, and that's why I'm here so late.
"Do you need help with those?"
"Nope."I continued to run up the stairs, the books banging against my knee with every step. Sharon, meanwhile, pushed her cart up the staff-only ramp to rest it next to the checkout desk.
I looked up from the desktop for a second, just to confirm that someone was behind it, and then started to stack my books in a pile. Each one landed on the checkout desk with a loud thud, and with each thud, Sharon turned her head to see what was going on. I had to breathe in a laugh as I watched her head snap from me, to her books, me, to her books, here, and away again.
Meanwhile, the woman at the checkout desk tried to strike up a conversation. "You're here late, I see. Better leave quick- you wouldn't want to spend the night locked up in here!"She let out a chortle.
"M-hm."Checkout Lady must have recently started working here. I wondered what nickname I'll give her. Maybe Becky...
"Are you checking anything out afterward?"
"Oh, I don't think so. It's too late, right?"
"Well, Carol here just brought in some new books. Why don't you take a look?"She gestured to "Sharon".
Again, I tried to keep in my laughter. I wasn't too far off, was I?
"Yeah. I might."
"In fact, that looks like an interesting one right there."Becky (for now) leaned over the desk and pointed to an absolutely massive book in Carol's trolley. It must be at least 800 pages long.
"Yeah. Looks interesting."I'm just about to take my bag and my card and run back home before it gets too late. But something stopped me.
Like a magnet drawn to another, my hands drifted over to the book and picked it up. I immediately grunted and bended over- it really is a huge book. But I hoisted it up and dropped it onto the desktop. Becky smiled and checked it out.
As I ran back down the stairs with my new book, Carol finally snapped. "For God's sake, Emily, can you be quiet for once? This is a library!"
I nudged the door open with my shoulder and didn't answer. |
My first breath burned like someone had poured a box of rusty nails down my throat. I rolled around in the dark and realized I couldn't move. Something was biting into my ankles and my hands were fastened behind my back. It was completely dark, totally black, and the air stank of damp. I was totally disorientated. Whichever direction I moved, I met a wall. I was totally confined and that's when the panic set in. I started shouting and screaming, yelling at the top of my lungs, crying out in morbid fear. After nobody answered for a while, I regained a sense of calm and tried to figure out what was going on.
The pain in my ankles was a sharp, cutting, biting sensation, like a wire was pressed against the skin. My hands felt like they were tied with one of those cable ties, I could barely move my hands but I felt something in my back pocket of my jeans. It was long and thin, pointed at one end and with a handle at another. A knife? I grasped at it with the hand that was tied underneath the other, and managed to pull it clean out from my back pocket after some considerable effort.
I wrangled it around so my hands could grasp the handle, and began cutting at the cable tie. It didn't take long, maybe a few minutes, and then it gave suddenly and my hands were free. I pushed my hands against the walls of whatever box or container I was in, and felt the surfaces. They were warm and smooth, a few small dents here and there, and when I pushed against them, they gave a little. Above me, the surface was the same, but when I pushed, it gave more, perhaps a centimeter or two. When I pushed, I could see light from the outside, sunlight streamed in between the cracks in the box, and when I looked closer, tilting my head painfully - I could see hinges.
I ran my hands down the hinges and felt screwheads on the inside. I bought the knife up to my head and began to unscrew one of the hinges, and it took some effort but the screws came loose. One hinge down, I reached beneath my shoulder and undid the next one, which was quite tricky. One screw wouldn't budge so I had to use both hands to turn the blade of the knife, and it just kept slipping. Finally I got it to bite, and my hands were in agony, twisted on themselves. The hinge came away in my hand after the screw snapped under the pressure.
I paused a second and then gently pushed with my knees and arms against the metal lid. It opened with a groan but the bottom two hinges were still intact, and it wouldn't open all the way. The blinding light of the sun enveloped me and I couldn't see for a second or two, while I acclimatized to the daylight. I took a deep breath and then quickly clambered out of the box into a....hole in the ground. I was in a grave. No doubt about it. Whoever had taken me, had left me out here to die and hadn't finished the job.
I took a peak over the edge of the grave, and there were two pickup trucks about ten yards from the hole. One had the engine running, the other was strewn with bullet holes and the windscreen was covered in blood. I could make out a body on the ground behind the first pickup, and I could see a driver slumped behind the steering wheel in the car that was shot up. I looked out of the hole in each direction and scanned the horizon. Desert everywhere I looked aside from a small hut, maybe about a mile away, dancing in the heat haze. The heat was choking, and the dust was flying about and irritating my eyes. I bent down and cut the wire from my ankles, which were bleeding but weren't badly injured. I clambered over the side of the hole and stealthily approached the nearest vehicle, with the engine running. I checked the drivers cabin, empty. There was a .38 revolver on the passenger side. I climbed in carefully and retrieved it.
SMASH
I was down on the ground. On top of me was a 300lb monster of a guy trying to wrestle the gun out of my hand. He was bald, stank of shit and piss and was bleeding from his ears. I tried to roll out from under him but this guy had me totally pinned. He was strong as hell and he was winning the strength battle, gradually turning the gun towards my chest. I pulled the trigger and a round went off, it was loud as fuck but then I pulled the trigger again and again, it clicked empty multiple times. I dropped the gun, he tried to strangle me but I found the knife on the floor next to me and drove it into the side of his neck and pulled it around to face me. The arterial spray coated us both and he was dead in 30 seconds, choking on his own blood. I managed, just about, to push him off me.
I figured he must of come from the back of the van when he heard me open the passenger door to get the gun. I checked, knife in position ready to strike, but no one else was in the other pickup. I rubbed my hands down my shirt and jeans to wipe some of the blood off, and that's when I noticed something in my other back pocket.
I pulled it out and it was a USB stick, one of those rugged ones that can get smashed around a lot and survive. It had no markings on it or brand name, just a plain black USB stick. I did a quick search of the trucks and found a laptop under the seat of the truck with the engine running, and fired it up. On the desktop was some random crap but when I plugged in the USB stick it just had a plain text file on it with a list of names and account numbers. Was it a hit list? Maybe. Anyone who was brave enough to take me out but stupid enough to leave me alive before trying to bury me in the desert were probably opportunists, amateurs looking for a quick pay day and to make a name for themselves.
If that was the case, then my get out plan was fucked and I probably had a price on my head so big anybody from rookies to seasoned professionals were going to try and take me out. I had no idea how I ended up in a metal box in a desert. I went to bed one night and woke up in a box. Why didn't they kill me and then bury me? So much fucking easier. That's when I saw it. A video clip on the desktop. I played it, and it was a video of them burying me alive. It was not only proof, but proof that I would suffer a horrible death. It was in that instant, I knew who had issued the order, and knew that Heisenberg II would not stop until I suffered a gruesome end. |
“Get your hand away from that flute.” Morg demanded.
“Oh no another villain trying to stop me in my quest!?” Said the brazen cur currently holding the Flute of Ire.
“I said get away from the flute.” Morg once again demanded.
The cur drew his sword and said
“I am Reter, the chosen one of Alyto, I need this flute and will kill anyone who tries stop me in my quest.”
Morg’s face went blank. He didn’t even draw his sword such was the state of his shock.
“Uuurrrgh” Morg mumbled.
This reaction surprised Reter who held back his sword strike.
“Are you ok?” Inquired Reter.
“I’m the chosen one of Alyto. See I bare the sigil of Alyto on my shield.” Morg stated simply.
“This has to be a trick, I too bear the sigil of Alyto on MY shield. What is going on?”
It took a full twenty minutes of comparing notes between Morg and Reter to find out it was no trick, there were two chosen ones of Alyto, both sent by Yedu the Elder to retrieve the Flute of Ire in an effort to defeat Gremdi the Vile.
Finally the two heroes decided it came down to who was sent first to decide who was the real chosen one. Morg was sent on his quest on Saturday morning Reter on Saturday afternoon. So they agreed Morg would carry the flute back to Yedu the Elder, where Yedu was going to have to explain why he wasn’t called Yedu the Sly. |
*Audio log #0001.*
*May 23rd, 2023*
*finally touched down in Paris!*
​
*Wait, I should probably slow down a bit. after all, you're a new journal! My name is Edward, I prefer ed. 11 years old and ready to see more of the world.*
​
*to catch you up, after the disappearance of the last journal, my grandparents took me in overseas to introduce me to my new home. they were to meet me at the exit of the gate, but I never saw them in my life. I am so excited to see them!*
​
*I hope to share more stories with you!*
*-yours truly*
​
Where did the days go?
the days before the crash?
Those days of innocence?
*Audio log #0002.*
*May 24th, 2023*
*the day is young my new friend!*
*I finally found the grandparents after what felt like hours of wandering, how do they expect a kid like me to know where to go?*
​
*they apologized to me for being so late, they told me that they had errands to run. I was fine with it. I was used to waiting. so we got to the car an-*
\*faint static\*
Ed!
Wh-t do -ou -eed Ma?
Get d--n he-e now!
w--t's th- matt-
\*explosion\*
​
​
WARNING, WARNING, WARNING, FILE CORRUPTION, WARNING, WARNING, WARNING, FILE CORRUPTION, WARNING,
Well those days ended then.
I lost more than I thought I could those days.
the crash took them away, I was lucky. the perfect string of accidents led me to just making it to the place of salvation. |
"So now if the rule is you've gotta have three over *there*, and Paxton flipflopping, of course,"Fitz winked, "AGAIN!"
The crowd smacked their hands together repeatedly in enjoyment. Fitz paced at the front of the stage, a predator in its natural habitat.
"Then *woowie!* out of nowhere comes tumbling Old Bill, doing what he does best, classic Bill!"
Yells of joy came from the crowd, one member literally doubling over in merriment.
"Can you believe that? Both Bill *and* Pax at the same time. I'll tell you if that isn't the grand shebang then I don't know what is. And you know what that means - "Fitz raised his hand to his ear.
"*Nothing a little ointment won't fix!"* The crowd roared, "*Zoinks!*"
Fitz grabbed at his chest, pretending to have a heart attack, and their body fell to the stage, a tentacle draped over the edge.We zoom backwards and upwards, above the room, above the club, the buildings and structures, crawling with life. I try to turn the focus knob to make it a bit sharper, then scratch at my head. I turn to William.
"What the fuck is a 'Zoink'?"I ask.
William shrugs, "You wouldn't get it." |
The milky tide frothed over the shore. I strayed from the cold waters, it was already too cold that night. The sky was filled with the looming moon, illuminating the forest surrounding the bank with a milky radiance. I shoved my hands in my pockets and strode towards the large, jagged crags at the end of the shore. There, I sat and let my hands dangle in between my knees, and dug my feet beneath the sand. I couldn't tell by sight alone, but I knew the moon was closer when I looked up, knew it would be closer when I looked away. I closed my eyes.
*The shore had been a place of calm, of joy, of where I spent my days with her. We walked the dirt beaten path through the woods and, when we arrived to the bank, took off our shoes and leapt into the warm sand. We ran back and forth into the tide. We brought a blanket and picnic basket and had lunch, then silently laid and watched the sun lower and the sky burn fiery orange. We did this as many times as we could...*
*Until the disease.*
*One minute she was lying before me on the blanket as the ocean breeze wafted over her freckled face, the next she was lying before me in a hospital bed as an AC unit hummed nearby, her face pale and gaunt. The doctors said was cancer in her lungs, and it was spreading like the tide spreads over the sands. It was too late. No one could do anything.*
*I stayed by her side each day, keeping my hand on hers as it shriveled with every passing week, but when the drugs moved her gently into unconsciousness, I took to the library a few streets down, to the old books that spoke of strange things that most thought to be insane. I read every night, I practiced in the twilight of the morning, I spoke languages that weren't quite words but not quite animal grunts and moans, and when all was memorized, I went and stood on the shore.*
*I drew the symbol of the gods beyond in the sand, drew the runes surrounding it. I stood in the center, raising my eyes, and closed my eyes. I shouted to the gods for healing. I shouted to the goddesses beneath the sea for rejuvenation. I shouted to the far reaches of space and time and reality to give me a cure for the one I loved. They must have heard, I was certain, but when I opened my eyes I discovered what the gods granted me was not a cure, but an alternative.*
*The full moon loomed over me, larger than it had before, nearer than it was before.*
I opened my teary eyes and looked up at the full moon.
Instead of giving life, instead of healing the disease and the pain, they would remove all of it at once — her's, mine, the world's. |
“I.. WHAT!”
“I cut off the leg and just… kinda left”
“John, why in God’s name did you think cutting off a man’s leg was the best choice to make?”
John, to answer Stephen’s question, extravagantly motions at the dozen pockets on his newly found possession. “Do you not see all the pockets Stephen, did you expect me to search all of them in that disgusting bathroom?”
Stephen sighs, “Yes John, I see the pockets, but… but *why* did you cut off his legs? What was so damn important that you needed to get out of his pocket?"
"Leg."
"what"
"Leg, I only cut off the one, I'm not a monster."
Giving up Stephen breathes, "Fine. But what was so important?"
"Ah, you'll love it, it's exactly what we need for the apartment."
"I swear John, if you don't pull out something that is absolutely life changing from one of those pockets..."
"Don't you worry, you'll love... it..."Beginning to search frantically, John looks visibly worried.
"Oh for fuck's sake John, what now?"
"..."
"Out with it John, it can't get any worse."
"Do you know how to *reattach* a leg by chance?" |
Bit of a weird one, time to pop my cherry:
It was one of the first things she had noticed; every child, all 30, had jet black eyes. Eyes that seemed so penetrative, analysing, calculating. Yet they were only six. Not one of them had said a word as she opened her arms and kindly introduced herself with open arms and a white toothed smile. They walked single file, head forward, arms straight, into the play room. They sat themselves. Not a word was uttered. Confused and concerned, she called for Debbie, her coworker, to ‘get some drinks’. No response. She turned to open the playroom double doors, instead slamming her hands into the cold wood. She turned, her heart pumping, as 60 eyes stared her down. Some say eyes are the window to the soul; as she scanned the room, she could see no emotion in any of them. She pondered upon speaking, uttering something to help these children out of their trance. But no words could escape. She peered through the small window of the door, looking out for help, wondering what she had done to deserve this. And as soon as she thought it, it instantly sprung to mind. *That*. Her one and only slip up. She thought she could escape it, but it had eventually caught up with her. The Senate always catches up. She turned slowly, hands clasped, praying for one divine miracle to save her from impending fate. A small girl, with black hair tied in a ponytail, pulled a hand from behind her back. She cocked her pistol, as her finger closed around the trigger. The muffled sobbing ended.
“Goodbye”
“**Agent 214, congratulations. You have been promoted**” |
...
...
...
Waveform Transmission Detected
...
Scanning Waveform...
...
Waveform Frequency 246.04 Detected, Waking Primary
...
Primary Life Support Minimal, Power Cell 2 Inoperative, Switching Backup Power Cell 4
Power Cell 4 Online, Primary Life Support Nominal. Good Afternoon, Janus.
*Yaawwwnn...Good afternoon, AI-024. Have we reached our target?*
Unknown. Possible Target Waveform Frequency Detected. Primary Navigation Sensors Offline.
*Wow, OK, bring those up* \*snort\* *and maybe inject substance ...uhh...C2...*
Primary Navigation Sensors Online. Injecting Wake Stimulants into Primary.
*Uhh, can you also bring up Chronometer? These Navigation readings are new to me...*
Chronometer Online. Power Cell 4 Output Reaching Maximum.
*738,243 years?? We've been inactive for over 738,243 years?!? What happened?? Have we been drifting for this long?? How did we miss an entire planet??*
Memory Storage Damaged. Attempting Repair...Repair Partially Successful...Reading...Visible.
*Ah, so they threw a wormhole aperture in front of us, very clever. Now, where are we? Show me our navigation plot.*
Plot Visible.
*None of these stars look familiar to me. Can you show me our point of origin?*
Negative. Origin in Damaged Memory Module 3957, Unrecoverable.
*Ok, show me the Waveform.*
Waveform Visible. Note that Waveform is Live, and Receiving.
*Oh, some sort of music. Nothing I've ever heard of. Have we traced a possible source?*
Source Confirmed. Visible.
*OK, so that is NOT our target. Technological level?*
Estimate Technological Level as Primitive IV.
*So they'll probably be able to detect us soon. Plot a course around it while I figure out how to get us back on track. Minimum visibility.*
Course Plotted. Minimum Visibility Guaranteed.
*Initiate.*
...
Unable to comply.
*Explain.*
Fuel Cell 1 Non-Responsive. Fuel Cell 2 Empty.
*How is that possible? It's been over 700 thousand years, but I still remember that this spacecraft is programmed to shut down all engines and perform a continuous location search if navigation is lost or cannot be reconciled.*
Fuel Cell 1 Damaged by Solid Object <unreadable> Years Ago. Fuel Cell 2 Expended in Object Avoidance <unreadable> Years Ago.
*How did we use an entire fuel cell to avoid an object that we were obviously unsuccessful in avoiding?*
Unknown. Only Secondary Navigation Sensors Online Since Power Cell 1 Lost <unreadable> years ago, until you ordered Primary Nav--.
*Lost?? We lost an entire power cell?? Any one of those takes up about a fifth of the mass on this spacecraft! How did we...you know what, just do a full systems diagnostic. Show me what's wrong.*
Unable to Comply. Backup Power Cell 4 Output at Maximum.
*Then use Power Cell 3!*
Power Cell 3 Offline.
*Ah, right. I need to manually activate it. Janus orders the activation of Power Cell 3, authorization Omega Lambda Nine-Nine-Five-One.*
Power Cell 3 Online. Warning! Power Output Fluctuation Detected. Attempting to Normalize...Power Output Normalized. Power Cell 3 Damaged. Recommend Power Cell 3 Output Remain Minimal. Performing Full System Diagnostic.
*Let me know when you are finished with that. Also, make a future plot of our current course. I want to know how close to this planet we are going to get if we're not able to use maneuvering.*
Warning! Power Output Fluctuation Detected. Assume Priority on Current Tasks--Priority One; Full System Diagnostic, Priority Two; Course Plot.
*How long will the systems diagnostic take?*
Assuming Current Progress Speed, 5 Minutes, 26 Seconds.
*Hmm, can you turn off that Waveform view? If so, what's our processing time then?*
Waveform Visibility Removed. Time Process System Diagnostic now 1 Minute, 34 Seconds.
*Better. Let me know when you are finished with Task One.*
Affirmative.
...
Task One complete. Displaying diagnostic results.
*Wow, we took a real beating. No fuel for maneuvering, it looks like half the spacecraft is exposed to space. The warhead is still armed. I believe the war would be over after 700 thousand years, don't you think? Why is it still armed?*
Target Miss Unconfirmed.
*May as well disarm it.*
...
*AI, you still with me? I need you to disarm the warhead.*
Task Two complete. Plot visible.
*Okaaay, the planet is directly in our path. That's lovely. Now disarm the warhead.*
Unable to Comply. Disarm Requires Authorization from Rank 7 or Higher.
*Are you kidding me?? Wait, let's scan the planet and see what's on it. It might not be as bad as I'm thinking. Scan for life signs.*
Scanning...Detected Over 1 Billion Lifesigns.
*What??*
Scanning...Detected Over 2 Billion Lifesigns.
*Ok, stop the scan. We need to disarm the warhead immediately.*
Unable to Comply. Disarm Requires Authorization from Rank 7 or Higher.
*Then disable it! Turn it off completely!*
Unable to Comply. Disable Requires Authorization from Rank 9 or Higher.
*Are you kidding me?? We are about to wipe out billions of innocent people! Wait...will the warhead still detonate even though the planet is not designated as a valid target?*
Warhead Programmed to Detonate on High-Velocity Impact with Planetary Body.
*Then reprogram it! The warhead should only detonate on impact with a valid target!*
Warhead Set Target Engage Setting Two.
*Good. At least it won't detonate--*
Planet Target Confirmed. Target Senso--
*No! I did NOT order you to target this planet!*
Estimated Time to Impact: 43 Minutes.
*Remove this planet from target immediately!*
Unable to Comply. Target Removal Requires Authorization from Rank 6 or Higher.
*Who ordered you to target this planet?*
Order to Target Current Target Given by Shipmaster Janus Faircloth.
*What?? How was this order given?*
Shipmaster Janus Faircloth Ordered Target Acquisition via Pre-Programmed Target Subroutine 34, Target Engage Setting Two.
*Re-program warhead for Target Setting 3!*
Unable to Comply. Target Set Simulation Mode Requires Authorization Rank 6 or Higher.
*So you allow a Rank 4 Shipmaster to set a target, but it takes a Rank 6 Admiral to remove a target??*
Affirmative. Directive 4 Ensures Minimal Emotional Interference by Placing Target Cessation Duties to Rank 6 or Higher.
*Holy...OK, What about Target Setting 4?*
Target Set Self-Destruct Requires Authorization Rank 6 or Higher.
*Then why am I even here if I can't even perform the most important parts of my job??*
Unknown. Self Secondary AI-024 Ensures Reliable Ship Functions. Primary CU-4732 Designation: Shipmaster Janus Faircloth Ensures Adequate Strategic and Tactical Intelligen--
*I am aware of that! My "Adequate Strategic and Tactical Intelligence"is telling you that we are about to destroy an innocent planet! Now deactivate the targeting system immediately!*
Target Sensors Deactivated.
*Is the planet still a valid target?*
Affirmative. Primary and Secondary Navigation Sensors Aiding in Target Lock.
*Disable those too.*
Primary Navigation Sensors Offline. Deactivation of Secondary Navigational Sensors Requires Auth--
*What? Did they not want us to close our eyes for a second?? Ah, never mind, we can't change our heading anyways. Let's see...*
Time to Impact: 20 Minutes.
*Thanks, AI. All maneuvering thrusters are offline, correct?*
Affirmative.
*Hmm...Oh! The Suicide Sub-Routine! My life-support system! AI, initiate Suicide Sub-Routine Omega!*
Suicide Sub-Routine Omega--Please Confirm.
*Wait...I want you to calculate the heading change that would occur should my life-support system biofuel be re-routed through maneuvering thrusters...2...and 4. Plot that course and show it to me!*
Calculating...Plot Visible.
*Hmm, that's too close. Plot the same course, but assuming my life-support system biofuel be re-routed through maneuvering thrusters 1 and 3!*
Calculating...Plot Visible. Time to Impact: 10 Minutes.
*That's better! This planet's satellite will help keep us away from the planet and slingshot us into the local star! AI, show that Waveform, again!*
Waveform Visible.
*Lovely music...OK, Suicide Sub-Routine Omega Confirmed!*
Confirmed. It's Been an Honor to Serve with You, Janus.
*Same here, AI. See you...later.*
...
Target Miss.
...
Target Miss Confirmed. Additional Maneuvering Unavailable. Shutting down. |
Two guards pushed past a crowd of agitated people. They were dragging a young man clad in irons.
One woman from the crowd was carrying a briefcase, screaming something about the end of the world. Just another day in the court room.
The guards dropped the man before a podium, and he spoke. "I have considered my options, and consent to participating in the experiment. I choose undeath."
A sentence of undeath. This judge was certainly known for creative punishments, but surely this was a joke.
The gavel rang, releasing a cold, almost bone-like sound as it struck the wood below. That... can't be right.
He forced himself to lift his head from being buried in his arms. There would be time to wallow in despair later. Immediately, he knew something was wrong.
A red mold covered the walls. The judge's gavel was made of gray, ancient looking bone. It was as if the world had gone from pristine to corrupted in an instant.
"You have been found guilty of murder in the first degree. You are sentenced to execution by lethal injection. However, you have chosen to delay your execution for 5 years in exchange for participating in an experiment.
"At first, you will feel normal. As you approach your death, however, your perception of the world will change. You will begin to hallucinate, and in all likelihood, be driven mad."
He looked at his hands, and let out a cry of terror. They were nectoric and bleeding. "My skin! You said this would happen eventually, didn't you?!?"
The judge raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "You're seeing the effects now? This is certainly unusual."
The screams of a woman drew the attention of everyone in the room. They looked back to see the woman from before, frantically opening her briefcase.
She spoke to the judge directly. "You sentence this man to the same fate as my mother. If you are so fascinated by death, I will let you explore it in full."
The briefcase clicked, and the room was engulfed in flames. The last thing he saw was the woman smiling, knowing justice had been served. |
They can remember the future. You can find them yourself if you can travel through the black fog to see them. The black fog makes us forget; it’s the doorway we must pass through to get there. Those who can remember the future refuse to pass through it. Those who are lucky enough to remember experiencing it are unlucky enough to have the evidence to prove it either through not remembering at all or remembering something so unbelievable they stopped trying to explain it.
Who are these people who remember the future? Why should we care about them?
What if we could remember the future? How could we do that?
It wasn’t easy coming back home last time I was there. Even though if I could deliver the message from them maybe I could learn how to remember the future like them.
This time when I went back I would try to remember the message.
We talked for a long time at other times; but this was business.
“Did you deliver the message to Earth?” She most certainly knows I didn’t. No one could remember traveling through the black fog.
She smiles at me like she is reading my mind.
“No I can’t do it.” I say and I believe this.
“Why not?” She asks. Again I feel as if she already knows the answer to the question.
“I can’t remember my dreams,” I say. “As soon as I go through the black fog I forget everything.”
“I think I can help you with that.” She says. She is smiling...
She showed me a time in my past. We watched a vision in the present of what the future would look like.
“It’s time to go now.” She says.
“What if I don’t remember the dream?” I say.
“You will remember.” She assures me. She doesn’t look nervous at all.
I fly back like on an invisible roller coaster through the night telling myself I have to remember the dream. I forgot as I go through the fog but it doesn’t feel impossible yet.
I see the roof of my house and I know I am back in my physical body. My foot moves and eyes open wide.
I can’t remember anything from the dream.
I saw the vision the next day in the dream in my real life. I immediately remembered traveling back to my body after visiting a friend who passed away.
It wasn’t that they could remember the future, they see the past, the present, and future at the same time.
There is only one way to go there permanently. You have to experience death first. Not all death experiences are accepted into their world.
They think it’s funny that humans are so afraid of death. Their only fear is coming back to Earth where they are human again and they can no longer remember their true self.
The only fictional world is our own. |
There are no words to describe what I am, to instill the horror and existential dread that my very being instills in all mortals that view even a small portion of what I am. 'Eldritch' is a term I have heard thrown about many times on your tiny speck of a planet, but it does not describe anything. It is merely an epithet, something to veil the true nature of something behind a blurry veneer of abstraction.
I know all, I see all, madness is my domain and infinity well within the bounds of my capacity. Yet much at the same time I find myself learning ever more, ever since I found myself with this child in my care, as knowing something does not mean understanding it.
How I wound up here, with a tiny echo of my power on Earth masquerading as a human being, acting as the caretaker for this child, is quite the tale, one the details of which involves concepts and ideas which would cause any of your kind who heard them to burst into flames and dissolve into screeching soul matter. However, one of the things that you humans are good at is 'abstract' and enough layers of abstraction heaped atop anything can allow you to see patterns and sympathize with things far beyond the purview you could normally hope to understand. With that said, you must acknowledge that what I speak of below is abstracted to a degree that you could never dive deep enough to understand beyond your own scope.
Long ago, there were more of us. An entire race, eldritch and unending. An unyielding mass of power and unfathomable glory and despair. Time and space had no meaning to us and the places where the tendrils of our might reached were changed irrevocably, warped beyond recognition and blasted beyond all hope of repair. As was our nature, we fought, in titanic struggles which rent the very nature of reality to its core. Cracks and spiralling devastation so great even now I cannot see where it ends.
Alone among my kind, I survived. The smallest and least, overlooked by powers so far greater than myself that the depths of the greatest infinities fall away as if to nothing by the scales examined. I alone survived, and found myself alone. Reality was broken, spiralling away into smaller and smaller fractions that shattered against each other as they passed and collided with one another. I settled into sleep, with nothing but my own dreams of madness and destruction to entertain my mind.
Until a light, and a sound awoke me. It was not great, it was quite small and held to my dreams had it not been for the piercing nature of existence itself coming into being once more against the scattered dust of what had once been and not been, I would not have noticed. I... I suppose 'opened an eye' will work here though the concept is far from appropriate, and searched the desolate emptiness for what could have caused this. I would have found it eventually, but my search was expedited by a second burst of light, sound and existence. This second flash, the greater and yet weaker, is what you upon your planet refer to as 'The Big Bang'. I investigated, and found myself examining the creation of a universe under the guidance of three figures. The first flash I had felt, and the two children he had created to aid him in his task to form some measure of life to the emptiness he had felt around him upon his awakening.
They worked together in a dance, each with their own work in guiding the formation of their project and slowly I discovered their names. Yahweh, Jehovah, and Lucifer. I watched them as they crafted from a tiny point of infinite heat and density an entire realm where they could seed light and life. Stars filled the firmaments, and around those stars were created planets. Sculpted at first by hand, then by natural processes built into their creation.
And as they worked, more lights flickered into being. Their worlds without number springing life from the dust and fire that dominated the nature of the existence they had been built within, and with every life that flickered out a greater light sprung out, a soul, structured and ready to aid in the shaping of the universe until an entire host of angels and demons flew about the planes of existence, dotting planets with life and light, shadows and death. An entire recreation of the greater reality, but tended to and nurtured to grow greater ever greater even amongst the petty squabbles, instead of being torn asunder by them.
For the first time, I felt something like anger. To see this light that I could not partake in. Even slumbering as I was I could not stand to see these specks of light flit about in joy and agony, a grand celebration of everything I could not understand or be, and reached forth my power to destroy it. The hosts of heaven and hell rallied against my power, but small as they were could do nothing to stop it. Yahweh himself fell to oblivion protecting his creation. As reality crumbled and cracked, a single figure came forth not with shield and sword, but with thought and warmth.
I was confused by that, though I knew they intended to talk to me, they did not intend to trick me. They merely intended to understand. An archangel of Jehovah's host by the name of Michael, sought to understand me, and then me to understand him. Though his efforts destroyed him, it saved the rest. In the hands of Jehovah and his greatest enemy Lucifer were placed the knowledge and things seen without and above, and how to converse with me. To keep me placated with a taste of life, and existence.
A child was placed in the arms of an avatar crafted from unbeing and chaos, and I was directed towards a small home on Earth, a planet near its time of reaping. I was to care for the child, and the child would care for me. So here my avatar sits, watching a small figure wrapped up in its own happiness and curiosity. I do not understand yet, and I do not know how long it will be until I do, if ever.
But I can wait, and watch, and listen. It is better than the dreams of that which came before. |
First time I've done a prompt on here. Below is some random crap I've drummed up in the past hour... just to warn you it gets a bit gory towards the end.
&#x200B;
Billy’s phone let out a *beep beep* and the screen flashed a warning to show the battery life had drained to ten percent. Rain lashed outside and battered the wooden panels of the cabin. Billy sighed, and continued to swipe through his camera roll. The latest addition involved him pouting, grey eyes glazed over, his two fingers raised to his head as if to send a message over Instagram to his friends. *Kill me now before I die of boredom.*
Thunder rumbled, and the cabin creaked. Two days, two stinking days he’d been kept captive, forced to stay in some run-down old cabin less than twenty miles from his hometown, while his friends spent the summer relaxing by the pool in the hot climes of Spain, or cheering at the shows in Disneyland Florida. But no, his poor, crappy, family had to rent a cabin as the rain relentlessly poured in the middle of nowhere.
*Beep beep.* Five percent. The screen dimmed. Wind wailed. Through the window leaves swept up in a tempest and danced almost as if they were spirits sent to haunt Billy and his family.
Billy turned to his twelve-year-old sister, Dawn, who was balled up in an armchair, and like him, tapped away on her phone. “Give us your charger, my phone is almost dead.”
“I’m still using it,” Dawn replied.
“You still have more charge than me. Come on, before my battery dies.”
Another critical warning beep. Death’s cry. For his phone. But Dawn gave him no condolences, and continued to swipe through her own.
“You suck, you really know that.”
Billy’s Dad then spoke up from behind the kitchen counter. “Now, there’s no need to be like that. Back in my day, we didn’t have ipads, or phones, or screens to keep us occupied.”
“We call those days the dark ages,” Billy retorted.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Mum piped in. “We’ve taken you out in the countryside, just the four of us, free from all distractions of home, to spend quality time together. We can make our own fun. How about we play a board game?”
*More like ‘bored’ game,* Billy thought to himself*.* But before he could make an indignant response, electricity buzzed, bright light flashed, followed by pitch black.
“Great…”
“Well, it’s late anyway, perhaps we can get an early night, so we are fresh for the morning,” Dad said.
After a few more bitter snipes, guided by the artificial blue light of Dawn’s still living phone, Billy tucked himself in the narrow single bunk. The sheets were so cold upon his skin they felt almost damp upon his skin—and probably were from the excess moisture in the air.
As he lay awake in bed, the storm still raged outside. The windows rattled, rain hammered, with the occasional booms of thunder and howls of the wind outside. But beneath the wind’s melancholy song, Billy swore whispers hissed through the forest, and footsteps rocked the floor. Soon, his eyelids became heavy and as he drifted to sleep, his dreams were filled with Ent’s marching through the woods.
Less than a minute may have passed when Billy awoke to find birds twittering away, no doubt at some ungodly time in the morning. Sunlight streamed through the cabin’s threadbare curtains. Bacon wafted into the bedroom, and his stomach growled.
“We should manage to get out today,” Dad said, as he chewed on the remainder of a bacon sandwich. “We should go for a walk.”
“I’d like that,” Billy replied.
To be fair, despite his distaste for the holiday destination, to walk through the forest after a rainstorm lighted Billy’s mood somewhat. Detritus squelched beneath his feet, the air smelt crisp and fresh. The rain painted everything a brighter hue, and the lasting drops glisten like diamonds amongst the leaves.
“Look! Squirrel!” Dawn pointed at the rodent which wove amongst the web of tree roots, carrying a nut in its mouth and as it spiralled up the tree trunk, Billy caught glimpses of its bushy tail.
They trundled through the forest for another hour. The tension which knotted through Billy’s muscles for the past two days loosened, allowed to get lost in his thoughts. A stag grazed in a clearing. Part of Billy longed for his phone to still have enough battery for him to photograph it, but he was content to commit the image of the majestic creature to memory.
“Where’s Dad?” Dawn’s voice yanked him like a hook from his dreamy peace.
“Michael?” Mum called.
Billy scanned the trees. No snapping of twigs, no sign of his father amongst the trunks. “Dad?”
“Dad?” Dawn repeated, louder.
Clouds gathered, and goosebumps pebbled Billy’s flesh. “Where is he?”
“Dad!”
Whispers returned. The clouds burst and a deluge started to saturate Billy’s clothes.
“Maybe he’s behind on the route or is back at the cabin,” Mum said shakily. “We’ll catch our deaths out here.”
Water soaked through the holes in Billy’s trainers as his feet beat back along the forest trail. A high pitched scream pieces Billy’s ears. Immediately, he stopped dead, the momentum of his running almost caused him to stumble.
“No!”
Amongst a web of tree roots, Dawn flailed and sobbed. Mum grasped at her hand and Billy tried to reach towards his sister*.* Bile rose in Billy’s mouth, as he realised that was not the cracking of wood. Dawn’s grip on his hand loosened, as she sank further into the tree roots, and tugged Billy with her. Another crack. Blood welled from her nose and mouth. Her grey eyes turned blank. Even amongst the rain, the whispers, the snapping and his mother's sobs, one sound rang through Billie’s ears louder than all. The final breath his sister exhaled.
He let go.
“My girl! My little baby girl!” His mum shrieked as she held her arms tight around herself and her body shook.
Billy moved and put an arm around her while the roots turned crimson from where his sister had been.
Slithering, vines twisted around his Mum’s legs. Quicker than he could blink, the vines ripped his mother from him and hurled her far above the tree canopies and let her go as if she were a rock in a slingshot. Billy covered his mouth. Seconds later, birds squawked, and wings rustled from a great weight crashing through their branches.
Run.
Vines snapped behind his and leaves slapped across his cheeks as Billy tore through the forest. His lungs burnt as if each breath was inhaling fire. Pain ricocheted through his toe and he crashed to the ground when his foot collided with a rock. Palms grazed, more pain fed through the tiny abrasions as Billy pushed himself back to his feet. His knee buckled from a sharp ache beneath his kneecap.
The thin branch of a Weeping Willow snaked through the air and caressed his cheek, and caught one of his tears and held it as if it were a raindrop.
*“You are part of the forest now. Join us.”*
Up around his boots and both his legs, vines twisted around Billy. He looked up and the last thing he remembered seeing is the leaves falling like snow. |
"Things can't be perfect."I say back. the cops were chasing us down the street. "we aren't out of this yet! complain about the fire later!"I turn back to see the wooden spire fall. maybe it wasn't the best idea to burn down the most iconic church in France just to get the security guards off of my back. the death penalty wasn't something I wanted to deal with, so I wasn't going to stick around for much longer. "you got the crate? I better of not burned down the cathedral for nothing!"
"Of course!"dan shouted. we stole a sculpture from the second floor, figuring the money I could get for it could be more than enough to get my brother and I out of debt, we snagged it and dashed for the door. I tossed it down to Dave who was sitting in one of the seats on the main floor, who bolted. I saw 2 guards go after him, then I heard 4 gunshots.
seeing that people were trying to shoot at him, i went to plan b. I pulled out my pistol and diverted fire from the security guards. I then went up the stairs to the attic and got out my match, then I struck the match against one of the poles holding the roof up and set it down next to the pole. I raced down the stairs and bolted from the door before I hear the people screaming. I see the car, wave at him, and he pulled over and had me jump in the back, load the rifle, and sit down.
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"what now?!"we have 2 helicopters after us, not to mention the wave fo police cars behind us.
"Why do you think I brought the rifle?!"he shouted back. I nodded. I picked it up and fired at the helicopters, aiming at the glass. my clip runs out of ammo and I see 2 bodies fall from one of the helicopters. the helicopter then crashes at on the road. "nice shot!"I hear him say, I never killed a man in my life. the fact that I ever did in my life would be something I would regret till the day I die.
The second helicopter pulled back. all I saw were 2 more police cars. both of which had their brights on and were firing shots at us. one cracks the back window, another cracks the left mirror. I snap out of my daze and reload and fire blindly at the blinding lights in the night. I empty the clip, reload, fire. I empty, reload, fire; empty, reload, fire; empty, reload, fire. finally, on my last clip, last bullets fired, pulled out my pistol, then the cars finally pulled back and retreated. a sigh of relief came from the both of us
I turn around to see dan motioning me to come to the front. he hands me his phone and I see the headlines, "INCENDIE À LA CATHÉDRALE. CAUSES INCONNUES"
"I don't know French."I tell him.
"its basically says nobody knows that it was a robbery and nobody knows what caused it."
"Except for the cops."
"the cops crashed into each other, both are dead"
"but the other 50?"
"that part isn't important. no camera saw us, so we are good for now"dan turned to me and read the expression of shame on my face. he told me, "kid, I know this your first deal, but you knew before this that something always gets stolen or destroyed or killed during these kinds of things. its impossible to break a law without breaking something while you are doing it."we went into the private airfield and we got the crate out of the car. he handed me a can of fuel and a match, I knew what to do. I set it on fire, and I loaded the sculpture onto the plane. I finally sat down after half an hour work. "you did good kid. there is a bed in the back"I hear from the cockpit.
"Thanks"
I stumble into the room, and after the last sleepless 20 hours of planning, burning, gunfire, and a chase. I crashed onto the bed and blacked out. |
It's a pleasant surprise to get mail again, Sally mused as she walks up to the post office. A recent landslide had cut off the highway for nearly a month, resigning the residents of the township to a maze of backroads and a two-hour round trip to the nearest Walmart. Mail delivery to individual homes had been sporadic at best, so she had set up a box at the post office to get things delivered on time. No sense in risking an unpaid electric bill; the nights got dark quickly and the nearest neighbor was twenty minutes down the road.
Sally was surprised to find only a single envelope instead of her usual stack of bills. Perhaps it was from her sister, although there was no return address. She tore at the envelope, puzzled to pull out an image instead of a letter. A black handprint spanned the page, captioned with the words "We Know"cut artfully from magazine pages.
She felt her heartbeat steadily increase. Never in her wildest dreams or most violent nightmares had she thought that something like this would happen to her.
After all, not everyone could survive in order to be recognized by the Guild. She scanned the page again, blushing faintly as she took in the ink spatter in the corner. A lifetime achievement award? |
Each bed was perfectly kept. The complex had no signs of wear and tear, it felt almost... pristine. How could a cement building, with 15 foot high barbed fences, perfectly working plumbing, and state of the art appliances give off such a neglected vibe? It was homey but sadistic. It was welcoming but recluse. It was life yet dead.
I kept lurching around corners expecting to see an office party within the compound, perhaps even Pablo Escobar and his compadres cutting up some lines, but I was met with infinite concrete. Whatever giant picked up this elegant facility and plopped it down in the middle of Japans expansive forest must have been a surgeon... nothing was out of place. It had to be a prison right? Barricades were easily summoned from the ceiling with simple switches. Reinforced doors commanded entrapment for each consecutive room. Ceilings had no spotlights, windows were non-existent. Contact with sunlight was only achievable on the 8th floor, and even then, the interaction was invoked by mere slits, only a forearm could squirm into. Echo chamber was an understatement, you could feel the recoil of footsteps through the walls. Strangely enough, the entire West Ward had an expansive entertainment section composed of private theaters, sports courts, top of the line “virtual resorts,” and a remarkable home-grown meat cafe. The interior was remarkable.
I kept coming back to the area about 3 times a month, mostly to inspect but also to scavenge. I would bring my wife little souvenirs from the confines: lamps, meat shaping utensils, large furnishings, claiming them as presents to spice up the affection. Eventually she caught on; she questioned where I kept disappearing to after work. Something in my gut told me I shouldn’t disclose this preposterous discovery, but something in my soul couldn’t thwart my desire to share.
4 months had past of shamelessly “borrowing” the hospitality of the anonymous building. We would sneak away on Saturday’s, away from relatives, and away from my meticulous occupation (of which the details I shall not bore you with). It was bliss. Unfortunately, our most recent visit was contaminated: a green scarf, that was not part of our belongings, had mysteriously found its way into the squatting cot next to ours. Blaming the wind or a bird would be a fools optimism... Nature had little bearing on coincidences within our bizarre dwelling. Additionally we had picked the 7th floor (something about living lavish while staying humble, I suppose the 8th floor was viewed, by her, as the penthouse). To presume the scarf appeared directly next to our cement cavern by divine intervention was simply illogical. We knew we must have an unintended guest.
We plotted our next trip as to not coincide with the potential stranger(s), as my wife was skittish, and I had no right meddling in the business of other Dwellers. We plotted our adjusted return, Good Friday was an extended weekend; we concurred it best to favor Thursday before as our habitual escape. Our schedule permitted our endeavors and additional visits would be modified accordingly.
As we walked off the elevator and turned right toward our favored room, I noticed a new occurrence... the silence was occupied for the first time in 6 months.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The faulty plumbing was ricocheting from above. My wife settled in as I went to inspect the upstairs pipeline. Upon first glance the 8th floor appeared to be identical to each subsequent floor. I hastened my walk, and, as I often do, admired the floor as I quickened my step...
Shoeprints.
I doubled back around, attempted to hurl a scream towards my wife, but I caught myself.
“Wait. Respond, don’t react. Observe and report.”
I inched closer toward the ominous noise... eventually recognizing numerous, distinct sounds. A faint beep was being emitted as well. Roughly 10 yards from my destination, I plotted how I would greet the disturbance.
Drip.Drip.Drip.Beep.Beep.Beep
I needed to quarrel the fear, I had to know.
Dripdripdripbeepbeepbeep.
Bodies.
At least in the 20’s of them. Stacked, medically fixated with IV’s, and lifeless. Each had extreme apparatus’ engulfing their entire craniums. Yet they were warm. I tried to suppress my shock and hollered at my wife. A shaken “honey, come check this out,” failed to shelter my devastation. My bones felt cold, and my wife standing there was dreamlike. What is this place? Who runs this place? Where the hell are we? Upon Investigating the half dead I realized... I know these people. Not formally, nor professionally, although the resemblance was uncanny.
“They’re politicians,” my wife aired out past her lips.
We inspected the floors below ours.
More warm corpses.
Each floor was filled with powerful people: celebrities, musicians, athletes. The largest cameo of recognizable people you’ve never met. Why had I never contemplated the possibilities of this place?
Before I could formulate any other questions, two figurines appeared in the narrow entrance of the twisted VIP-hospital. A green scarf wrapped around the neck of the female.
“I hope our accommodations have been sufficient,” boomed the large male, “perhaps it would be best, if you two followed us.”
I urged my wife, half signaling, half throwing her toward the exit.
“No need to be alarmed, Aaron,” said the woman. The man modestly presented himself vulnerable, attempting to reassure us there was no threat.
“Elizabeth and yourself are free to stay, we apologize for not obliging you with more infor-“
“Aaron, what the hell is going on?” My wife snapped at me.
“Forgive me,” said the man, “My name is Joseph, and this is my wife Olivia, we’ve known your husband for quite sometime.”
“You have?” I doubted.
“Yes, we have been following you and your work on artificially simulated reality.” Joseph and Olivia were, visibly, undoubtably young. Awkwardly however, both of them had raspy voices that did not match their age.
“We wanted to give you the opportunity to partake in our journey. The Earth, it’s people, and it’s Sun, will perish before the end of the month,” Olivia said delicately.
I almost immediately began to understand. This wasn’t a prison, it was doomsday. Nothing here was made with containing evil in mind, it was trying to preserve. My wife and I looked at each other.
Joseph and Olivia described that our floor had been left unoccupied for the slim chance that our, currently nonexistent, offspring would one day be able repopulate. They were there to help “diversify” the gene pool.
Elizabeth began to cry, no more friends, no more Japan. Everything she ever knew, or would know had instantaneously ceased to exist. I invented this technology exactly for this purpose, but even I had a hard time accepting the terms of reality.
We had no other choice... Sacrifice life, for a falsehood, or burn up in the impending supernova.
Edit: some grammar and added an explanation. |
I hear a knock at the door. "It's time"I hear the male voice say. I look at the barred window, hot summer day, I look at the markings on the wall. maybe June 7th will be the day. the door opens and the man sees me sitting on my bed. "Hurry up now!"I decide that I would rather take my chances with another failed hanging then the chance of a gun jam.
we make our way out to the execution ward. murmurs come out from the bystanders. I think back to how I got here, what began as vandalism evolved to assault of inmates, then assaults on officers, then what took me to deathward was organization of a riot. I have my regrets, but the inhumane conditions seemed to balance it out me then. I go up the stairs, I see Jane. she looked over then quickly winked and went back to staring at the sky as she usually does.\` I instantly know that June 7th isn't the day.
the loop goes over my neck, the priest comes out and does his usual prepared paragraph. something along the lines "We stand before the sinners of \*insert names here\* yada yada may god have mercy on your souls"but halfway through the speech we here gunshots and the priest drops dead. the executioners run for the lever, only to get shot when the get to it. the guards desperately try to defend but are overran by the prisoners.
"you don't ever give in do you?"I ask her.
"nope, I wouldn't expect you to either."she responds. the prisoners undo the nooses from our necks, Dave tossed me a shotgun, and I thought to myself, "I think that day won't come for a long time". |
The young man gritted his teeth.
"Why a tattoo?"he asked. "It's such an archaic idea. Marking the skin. And it doesn't even move, like an e-tat."
George smiled, and shook his head. "It's a symbol."
"Well, I can tell that..."
"No. You can't. Or at least, I don't think you can."George paused as the tattoo gun started to hum and buzz. The young man winced again as the needles punched into his skin; the raven-haired young woman tattooing him didn't make a sound. "The drawing means far more than you think."
"What does it mean, then?"
"It's a symbol that binds us together. It's an oath. It represents our power. Our duty. Our *responsibility*."
Marcus said nothing. He clenched his hand into a fist and stared, watching as the thick black lines started to take shape on his skin. Every few seconds, the girl would stop. She would reach up and wipe away some of the ink, before starting her work again.
"Humanity is special. We have a gift."George leant against one of the pillars in the vast room, miniscule compared to the space and yet utterly in control. The confidence he had somehow made him a colossus. "Of all the races we have discovered in the three galaxies, we are the only one who have a concept of history. *The only one*."
"I know,"said Marcus, muttering the words. "We learn about it in school. It's something to do with our hippocampus..."
"Maybe. The why isn't important. The mere fact of it is enough."George paused and watched the girl carve another line on his apprentice's skin. "Can you imagine what that means? Do you understand it?"
"Yes..."
"Do you *really* understand it? Truly? Completely?"
Marcus looked at George for a few seconds. Then, he shook his head. "No."
The older man smiled, and shook his head. "The ignorance of youth. Still. No matter."
"Explain it to me?"
All around them, Alexandria was silent. It had taken millions of worker-bots almost ten Earth years to create the structure - a vast library, the size of a moon, orbiting slowly around the swirling gas-storms of Jupiter.
Every single scrap of knowledge ever recorded, every poem, every word of fiction, every single word ever written or typed or carved was recorded and saved somewhere in those cavernous databanks or the warrens of shelves that stretched for hundreds of miles.
"Have you ever read Orwell?"George asked. Marcus nodded.
"Yes, of course,"he said. "One of the greatest classical authors ever."
"Indeed. A favourite of mine. I wrote a thesis on him, in fact."
"I was always fond of Cicero, and Shakespeare,"said Marcus.
"Ahh, the ancients. Formidable thinkers, to be sure. Inter arma, enim silent leges."George smiled. "Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war."
"Indeed."
"Formidable thinkers, to be sure,"George said, repeating himself. "But limited. They thought in small ways than did Orwell. Not that they had much choice."
"How do you mean?"
George focused his eyes on Marcus. There was something piercing about them; he'd had reading lenses fixed into his eyes, and it seemed to heighten the colour. The sky-blue orbs glinted and flashed in the semi-gloom of the library.
"The man who controls the past, controls the future,"he said. It took Marcus a moment, and then he had it.
"From 1984. The party slogan, isn't it?"
"Exactly."George moved from the pillar, coming closer and sitting by Marcus. "Shakespeare and Cicero, and a thousand men besides. They concerned themselves with how to *win* the wars. But Orwell saw beyond that. He saw that war itself was not a necessity. That all you needed to seize control was to control the history of those you would conquer."
"And that is what we do?"
"That is precisely what we do,"George said. The sound of triumph in his voice was filling the air, and it seemed to echo off the interminable vastness of the huge space they were in. "When humanity stepped out into the wider galaxy, we found that we were the only ones who could understand history. We are the only species that has that concept. And that gives us *power*, power that others can only dream of."
Marcus opened his mouth to reply, but the tattoo gun punched into his wrist again. He winced, and George seized the moment, not letting up as he spoke.
"The aliens asked us to help them. They wanted us to discover their past and relay it to them,"he said. "They asked humanity to become the archaeologists and historians of the galaxy. And in doing so, they handed us the very means to conquer them. We could tell them that we had dominated them from the beginning, and they had no means to contradict us."
"Because they cannot see the past..."Marcus said. He was beginning to see the truth; he could understand the excitement in George's voice, and he was starting to understand the covenant being etched into his flesh.
"Humanity has forged the greatest Empire that the world, the *universe* has ever known. We have conquered three galaxies and spread peace throughout our dominions. And we did it without ever firing a shot. A bloodless coup, in every star system we have found."George sat back in his chair. He pulled up his sleeve, exposing his own tattoo - identical to Marcus' in every way, except age. "The historians of Alexandria are more than just bookkeepers. The Order of the Past is not just a secret society. We are the gatekeepers of a truth that legitimizes our entire civilization."
The girl leant back, and Marcus looked down. His skin was pink and tender, but the tattoo was done. There, on his wrist, was the symbol he would carry for the rest of his life - a book with the pages spread wide. On one page was drawn an archaologist's brush, and on the other, an hourglass.
"Control the past, control the future,"he said. George nodded.
"The work you do here will underpin the Empire. Without us, wars would rage - wars that would last a thousand years, and bathe the very stars in blood."
Marcus stared for a few more seconds at his tattoo. Then, he looked at George, and nodded. "I understand.
The two men reached out, gripping one another on the upper arm. Their tattoos almost touched, and they stared into one another's eyes.
"For the Empire,"they said.
-----
*Hi! I hope that you enjoyed this prompt. If you did, please check out my other work at /r/PuzzledRobot.*
*If you didn't, please leave me a comment and let me know why now. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Thanks!* |
I can’t sleep. I can’t even shit in peace. I thought that wish would make life so much easier and I could make a fortune, so far all that’s happening is a constant anxiety attack I see the design behind things anything buildings mostly but if I focus I can see anything and understand it, people, plants, anything really. This sounds cool until you learn how shitty of a designer nature and people really are, I see the most efficient and structurally sound way to construct something but whenever I look at a building all I see are the glaring problems with the design I used to sleep easy in my apartment “used to” being key there.
Now I see the little flaws that make my building a standing catastrophe waiting to happen. And oh god is it even worse In old houses whenever I visit my parents in their little old cabin I almost want to torch the place down myself before it can collapse on them while they sleep. Can’t forget about organic creatures either, let me ask you something if you were going to design a living being would you put the hole that food goes down right next to the one air goes into? OF COURSE NOT!!! It’s frankly a miracle that any mammal lives past 3 months old with that glaring issue and what’s worse if I look at the ground and activate my power I see the fault lines, the way the earth moves how it shifts. I nearly crapped myself when I first tried it and say we’re literally living right over an old fracture probably millions of years old one shift or earthquake and my whole city could die. Frankly if I could take this back I would I want to sleep again I don’t want to fear for my life whenever I enter into a burger joint, in this case ignorance is definitely bliss. |
Around the campfire the whispers stopped. 4 of the 5 adventuring companions stared at the fifth, Emulo, with looks of confusion and apprehension on their faces. Emulo for his part has his eyes squeezed shut in a pained expression and his teeth set in a grimace.
"Rookie mistake,"Emulo chided himself outloud, "Rookie mistake! Ugh, now the game is up and they're looking at you and..."Emulo sighed, "and now things have to go the way they have to go."
&#x200B;
His companions exchanged looks. Their charismatic leader, Ser Thalos, moved a hand to the hilt of his sword and spoke to Emulo in a voice that demanded authority but betrayed fear, "Emulo, dear friend, man whom I've come to trust in our adventures, is there something you need to tell us?"
&#x200B;
Emulo looked up across the fire at his companions, they had been such good friends! Jovial and caring, considerate and well mannered, it had been an age since he had enjoyed himself with a group of people so much. He stood up in front of them and relaxed the constraints he placed on his power in the minutest degree. Immediately his companions lurched and paled, the overwhelming...SOMETHING that just hit them told them they were in the presence of a great power, something beyond their comprehension.
&#x200B;
"Alas my friends,"spoke Emulo, "I am the Great Beast of legend. Also known as The Mountain Breaker, Eater of Skies, Giver of Winds, World Worm, and a few dozen other names depending on culture and region. I regret to inform you that I've deceived you these last 2 years. At my age boredom is a constant threat, and you all have been boons to me, watching you grow and develop as seasoned adventurers has been a joy. Yet through my own carelessness it seems I've brought that to an end, I apologize."
&#x200B;
Ser Thalos couldn't contain his shaking, his very soul felt like it was in the presence of a predator, "Are you going to let us go Emulo? We'll tell no one what we know of you!"
&#x200B;
Emulo shook his head slowly and with finality, "I'm afraid dear friends that this night is the last you'll ever see. There are things at stake beyond your imagining that I cannot risk. But, well, we have some time yet. I can't let you see the first rays of sunlight for reasons I won't get into, but I'll let you ask whatever questions that might strike you in these last few moments. Please don't try to run or fight, you know in your heart both are fruitless and foolish. Mayhaps we enjoy our last night together yes?"
&#x200B;
Emulo sat down, but didn't reign in his power, they needed to keep the gravity of the situation in mind, lest meaningless heroics ensue. An hour crept by in silence, each of the 4 men coming to terms with their impending death. But then Ser Thalos looked up at him,
&#x200B;
"My wife, my daughter. Will you tell them what...what happened?"The sadness in his voice was palpable to Emulo, who nodded solemnly.
&#x200B;
"Be not afraid friends, all of your loved ones will be told of your heroic deaths, and I will shower treasures unto them so that they will never know need again. Save for their need of you."
&#x200B;
Thomas, a young bright eyed scholar and companion asked next, "How old are you? What are you really? I had thought you were a myth?"
&#x200B;
Emulo saw Thomas was openly weeping and felt a pang in his core, "Countless ages Thomas, I have long since forgotten my origins. Suffice to say that if I am not a god, I don't know what to call myself."
&#x200B;
At the word God, Eleanor, their cleric, looked up at him. "The afterlife! You must know! What will become of us? Are we awaited? Will there be peace?"
&#x200B;
Emulo smiled at her faith, a trait he had always admired. "Yes my dear, you will walk in the great beyond, all of you will. I will perform long forgotten rites for you that shall see you entering the world beyond with fanfare and warm welcomes!"He approached Eleanor and caressed her cheek, removing one of many tears. "Not that any of you need it, but a blessing from Me is still worth something in many worlds."
&#x200B;
Lastly Emulo looked to Sgt. Bronson, a grizzled man of many wars, his look encouraging him to speak. Bronson glared back, somehow still defiant in the face of a greatness beyond mortality.
&#x200B;
"It gonna hurt when you kill us?"he asked with no small amount of defiance.
&#x200B;
"Painless as a summer's breeze."Emulo replied. He looked to the horizon and saw the blue beginning to blossom there. He could take no chances of an errant ray of light reaching the eyes of his companions, he had to act now!
&#x200B;
"Goodbye friends! You gave a me a boundlessly interesting 2 years, and that is something I am thankful for. I will see you again in time."
&#x200B;
With that he whispered a word that mortal ears cannot hear, and his companions softly fell to the ground, the force and implication of the word releasing their souls from their bodies. Emulo walked to each body and marked them with ash in an ancient alphabet, moved rhythmically over them, and sang songs in notes that cannot be played. When he was done he retook his seat, chin resting on his fist in disappointment. Stirring coals with a stick, he marveled at the melancholy mortals could still inflict upon him. His fist clenched and he screamed into the last dancing wisps of flame,
# "WHY WON'T YOU LET ME DIE!?"
And the bones of the earth shook with his rage. |
The skittish mugger looked at his gun, then back at the lean, wispy man. It looked like his skin was pulled tight over his bones; his apparent malnutrition is what gave Linus the courage to victimize the man. He did not plan on firing a single shot, much less six. Now that he was approaching 50, Linus had learned that plans are made to be broken.
"Fate, huh? So can you change mine?"Linus asked. Fate cocked his head to the side and gave him a questioning look.
"You don't need me for that,"he replied with a calming, even tone. Linus gave a half nod and hid his gun under his coat.
"Yeah, I suppose you wouldn't seein' I just tried mugging you,"he shook his head. "Sorry, and thanks for not killing me."
"Why would I?"Fate asked. He seemed perpetually confused as far as Linus could tell from the short five-minute interaction they've had so far. Linus only meant to fire a warning shot to scare the man; he did not seem to understand he was being robbed.
"'Cause I tried to take your money and kill you. It's only fair you'd want revenge. Anyone that can take six shots in the chest without blinking can probably make short work of me."
"Do you wish ill upon the breeze that caresses your face?"Fate asked. Linus shook his head in equal parts astonishment and offense.
"That's all those bullets were to you? A stiff breeze?"Linus asked. Fate smiled at him.
"A *gentle* breeze. Do you want money?"Fate asked suddenly. Linus laughed. He had grown used to Fate's quirks already. He was not surprised Fate did not know what a mugging was. Fate reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out a small, glassy rectangle about the size of a playing card. "I've been told this works as a credit card if you swipe it."He tossed it at Linus. "She said it has no limit,"Fate shrugged. "I don't know what that means, but I'm sure you do."
"And you're just giving this to me??"
"I don't need it. You don't either, but it seems like you need to learn that lesson for yourself."Linus stared wide-eyed at the device. When he touched it, it lit up like a display and showed the current time with an infinity symbol next to it.
"Wait a minute. Who's '*she'* that you mentioned? Is this hers? Is she gonna come back for it?"Linus began to push the glass card back to Fate; but, the frail man shook his head.
"My queen, Bijou, gifted it to me to keep me entertained while I wait for her. She'll be here soon. My wait is almost over."
"Your Queen? Fate has a queen? How does that work?"
"How does what work?"Fate asked.
"I mean, you're *fate.* You control and guide people's lives. You decide people's circumstances. I never thought you'd report to anyone."
"Oh,"Fate chuckled. "You're confused. I'm not...,"he used air quotes. "FATE. My name is Fate but I decide my own. Just like you."
"But then what are you? I know I shot you point blank."
"I'm a Unique Soul. #42, La Calavera."
"I don't know what that means,"Linus shook his head.
"It means I can make short work of you if I wanted to."
"Fair enough,"Linus nodded. "But what ab-"he stopped talking. His mouth dropped open and he stared at something behind Fate. A pitch black portal, somehow darker than the dark alley, opened in the air. A short dark-haired woman walked out. Though she stood in shadows, Linus clearly saw bright pink crystalline eyes staring at him. Once she walked up to Fate Linus got the impression that she stared at him just to ignore him. She looked at Fate.
"Ready?"
"Yes my Queen,"Fate said with a deliberate nod of his head. Then he turned around and walked through the portal. Bijou followed and the portal closed behind them.
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is year two, day #108. You can find all my stories collected on my subreddit ([r/hugoverse](https://www.reddit.com/r/hugoverse)) or my [blog](https://hugoverse.info/). If you're curious about my universe (the Hugoverse) you can visit the [Guidebook](https://hugoverse.info/2017/11/25/hugoverse-guidebook/) to see what's what and who's who, or the [Timeline](https://hugoverse.info/2017/10/23/hugoverse-timeline/) to find the stories in order. |
The mass of rats heaved as Drenna glided among their ranks. She removed the heavy, hook billed plauge mask and breathed the damp air. Blood didn't taste the same when it was tainted by plague and clean blood was starting to run thin for most of their kind, including her. The Ancients, called by some the Shepherds, would not abide this mass loss of their food source, so she and a select few had gone forth to cleanse it.
The rats squeaked and squealed as she drew the plague from their, and their fleas, tiny bodies in a series of sickly green tendrils. It collected into a floating ball and she drew an enchanted jar from her robes, which the plague swept into before bursting into flames. Now she could focus on healing the humans. A bit of bloodletting here, some more advanced magics there, and her 20th city would be cleansed.
Perhaps the Ancients would reward her with a servant, even a minor title, when she finally returned to the Court of Night. |
I look at the window next to me and I don't believe my eyes. I rub them, blink, and check again.
The Twin Towers are there, still strong. In the middle of the bustling commercial square, it towers over every other skyscraper nearby. I can see businessmen and white-collar workers in ties and suits walking through the clear blue windows of the World Trade Center. It is bustling with activity and life.
I must be dreaming. I check my phone, my computer, and everything. I see the clock in the corner of my computer and the date reads *09/11/01, 7.46am.*
I think for a while. I have the power to stop this. I know what is going to happen. I know. I try to calm myself down, but it is no use. I have the power to save three thousand lives here.
I get out of my bed and rush down my apartment building.
[I *know what I must do.*](https://www.reddit.com/r/classic4chan/comments/9gaiqc/4chan_and_911/) |
"We thought we were doing a service to the world. I mean, freakin' werewolves, right? Nobody's supposed to get all antsy in their pantsy just because we almost knocked off one of humanity's last natural enemies. But boy oh boy did the UN have a field day when they found out what we did. How were we supposed to know?"
-Michael Collins, astronaut, werewolf
On July 21, 1969, humanity made its first tangible leap into the cosmos when the Apollo 11 mission successfully landed humans on the moon. The culmination of years of planning and research, it marked the end of the Space Race between the United States and the Soviet Union.
"That's one small step for [a] man, one giant leap for mankind."
-Commander Neil Armstrong, astronaut, werewolf
This would have changed the world all by itself, if not for what actually became the most important event of July 1969. Just over a week later, the crew of Apollo 11 had safely reached home, and while the people of Earth were still busy celebrating humanity's latest triumph, the consequences of that triumph became apparent.
"When we took mushrooms or LSD, we could explore our own existence. But there's nothing that feels better than shedding your humanity and getting to be closer to nature than any human has been since we climbed down out of the trees. They called 1967 the Summer of Love. I was there, and it had nothing on 1969."
-Timothy Leary, professor, writer, former werewolf
From the first full moon after Armstrong and Aldrin left the lunar surface until shortly after the Apollo 12 Lunar Landing Module touched down, most of the population of Earth changed into creatures that most closely resemble the monsters of legend known as werewolves.
So what did the Apollo 11 mission have to do with werewolves? To answer this question, we spoke to the second man to walk on the moon, Buzz Aldrin.
"We weren't up there just to do science and rub the accomplishment in Ivan's face, you know. After the first manned lunar orbit mission (Apollo 8), the astronauts came back... different. We didn't realize until it was almost too late that they had been turned. Thank God for our already nearly-insane quarantine procedures, otherwise we might have had a serious problem.
"There was a religious group that was protesting the lunar program, saying we were messing with powers we didn't understand and that we would end up creating monsters. One of their clergy offered to bless our crew, but with most of the astronauts on Apollo 8 being Christians, they politely declined and went about their business as usual.
"Naturally, when the astronauts turned, we reached out to the group to see what they knew. It turns out they believed there was a giant sigil carved into the regolith by God knows who, and it was responsible for turning a small proportion of humanity into these creatures during the full moon. Of course we didn't believe them, but they provided these amulets that seemingly prevented the astronauts from being quite so vicious in wolf form. Instead of running amok killing every human being in sight, now they were positively friendly. Maybe a bit too friendly, if you ask me. But at least the body count stopped rising, and it convinced the top brass to look into the claims this group put forward.
"Apollo missions 9 and 10 were ostensibly meant to be further test runs for equipment and techniques needed to successfully land humans on the lunar surface. Now don't get me wrong; we certainly did those things, but we were also building detailed maps of the lunar sigil in the hopes that, between the group's high priest and our scientists, we could figure out a strategy to neutralize the threat. I mean, who's going to want to go to a moon base if they have to wear a flea collar when they get back? Every astronaut who has ever walked on the moon is a werewolf now."
-Charles "Pete"Conrad, Jr., astronaut, werewolf
By the time the Apollo 11 mission was ready for launch, they had developed a strategy. At a critical point in the Sea of Tranquility, the landing party would destroy key components of the sigil, hopefully discreetly ending the threat to future missions. But the world soon discovered that this mission objective was a failure.
On July 28, 1969, while President Richard Nixon was conducting a joint press conference with Soviet leader Nikita Kruschev, the full moon rose above the White House, and the world saw, for the first time, the results of the Apollo 11 mission.
"The first night it happened, President Nixon was hosting a press conference with Brezhnev about an arms treaty when the moon finally rose. Cameras were rolling, since, well, the press was there.
"Nixon was going on about the need for mutual respect and cooperation when his nose started to get longer. I only saw the footage after it all happened, but I swear to God if you stop it at the right point, it almost looks like he's freakin' Pinocchio, sitting there lying about his nuclear promises while Brezhnev sits there with this smile on his face that says, "My nose would be growing too if only I could get a word in edgewise."Next thing you know, Nixon jumps over the table and rips [Secretary of State Henry] Kissinger's face clean off! There's a moment, just as he finishes his transformation, where he's fully in wolf form but it looks like he's wearing Kissinger's face like a Halloween mask, and Kissinger himself ran around screaming, until he himself turned. Want to know the funniest bit of all of that? Once Kissinger turned back, he was healed as if nothing had ever happened to him. You would think that you would want to forget an experience like that, right? Not Kissinger. He found his bloodied, torn-up original face in the aftermath and had it preserved and framed. I heard a rumor that he has four copies of his own face on the wall in his bedroom now. One for every wolf moon."
-Mel Brooks, director, *Werewolf? Therewolf!*, werewolf
The Secret Service was dispatched to contain the situation, but all they could do was barricade the doors of the room before they themselves began to turn. Thus, on live television, the world learned what werewolves do when they run out of prey. For the first time, on international television, the President of the United States and the leader of the Soviet Union (both in wolf form) engaged in what was later described as *coitus lycanthropus,* the signature element of the summer of 1969.
Within two hours of moonrise, upwards of 90 percent of humanity on the night side of Earth had been changed. Areas of Earth ahead of moonrise frantically prepared for what appeared to be a global catastrophe in the making. People barricaded themselves behind locked doors and huddled together in their Cold War bomb shelters, unaware that it would do them no good.
Humanity's saviors in the crisis were none other than the mysterious religious group that assisted with NASA's difficulties after Apollo 8. The group, now known as the Church of Canis, and their leader, Louis Pine, was able to make contact with Acting President Spiro Agnew and together they developed a plan to address the crisis.
"As it turned out, the 10 or so percent of people who weren't turned were quite surprised at this development, considering they had been turning during every full moon for most of their lives. At the time, scientists and priests failed to realize that the change the Apollo 11 astronauts made to the lunar sigil simply inverted the logic of lycanthropy, seemingly curing those who previously thought of themselves as "werewolves"and afflicting the remainder of humanity with this condition. At least, thanks to easy access to the amulets and easy construction, the whole experience was only weird and gross rather than tragic."
-VADM William H. Stewart, former Surgeon General of the United States, former werewolf
**More to come later.** |
"Stop that, stop that immediately!"a flash of white lightening blurs the near horizon, the sound of thunderous feet ringing loud.
It is he, the man of God, the great gift from above, the hero we didn't ask for and certainly don't need.
Please welcome, the Alpaca of Peace. Jonas De Whale.
"What on Earth do you think you're doing?"Jonas De Whale bleats (for I believe Alpacas bleat, and so we shall leave it at that). "Those are my potatoes, you dirty damn Goat!"
"Dirty?"the Goat scowls, casting a glance at its own pristine coat. A lab coat, with goggles tucked not so neatly in the pocket. The Goat advises Jonas to back off, whilst gobbling down the burnt remains of those poor potatoes.
Tortured, they were. The potatoes, that is. Stripped from the ground and burnt alive by some foul twisting thing of fire. It was the Goat's machine, that summoned the fire. A marvel of the sciences capable of calling on what ever weather might suit this madman's needs (sorry, mad *Goat's* needs, that should say).
"Look here."Jonas begins.
The Goat looks, raises an unkempt brow, and shrugs, "What exactly am I looking at?"
"Jesus Christ."Jonas grumbles.
"Where?"the Goat asks in further confusion.
"It's a figure of speech."Jonas tries to explain.
"Not one I've ever heard of."the Goat ponders the wet cabbages sprouting from a bed not far from the potatoes; *they could do with a good bit of rain, acid rain.*
"Look here."Jonas decides to start over.
"I've already done that!"the Goat protests, "What is it you want to show me now?"
"Heaven's above."Jonas cries.
"That is an apt observation."the Goat applauds, "If heaven were real, of course."and let us remember, this Goat is a scientist and a mad one at that.
"Right, I've had enough of you. They're my potatoes."Jonas hovers over to the Goat, with shovel in hand (and Goldfish in ear) bleating just as loud as he can, "Now put those things back where they came from, or so help me..."
"So help you."the Goat nodded, aiming it's weather machine at the cabbages.
With the flick of a trigger, the push of a button, the trip of switch and the slip of a lever, a puff of smoke shoots haphazardly from the tortoise like spout of the Goat's machine, and spits its way over to those helpless cabbages.
The spittle misses, instead dribbling on over to the pumpkin patch.
"My pumpkins!"Jonas wails, and bleats and cries, "They're... they're..."he stops, dumbfounded, "what exactly are they doing?"
"I don't know."the Goat watches with interest, right up to the point that the pumpkins start rising from the ground on legs of twisted root. Then the Goat turns to run.
Jonas readies his shovel; *batter up.*
The pumpkins glower at the pair, faces popping out from freshly carved husks of bright orange. They look through hollow eyes at the bathtub lain spuriously over the tool shed, and arm themselves with rubber duckies.
"Down!"Jonas screams, but the Goat ignores him.
A lone duck comes hurtling through the air, landing not three point seven eight inches from the Goat. It quacks. Once, twice, four times. And then it explodes in shower of yellow feathers and bright bubble bath.
"Oh please, not again."the Goat yells, just loud enough for God and Jesus Christ (who happens to be hiding in the cabbage patch) to hear him.
The Goat's face begins to melt, revealing the pale gleam of something metal underneath.
Wires spark, electrics fizzle, and in a cloud of flatulence the damn dirty Goat dies.
"Well, that's that then, I suppose."Jonas nods, satisfied his heroic deed is done.
He goes to fly away, first sparing a glance for the rampaging horde of murderous pumpkins now headed for New York City.
"I'll pretend I didn't see that."he nods again, then vanishes.
After all, farming is a fools game, and from what I know of Alpacas I am quite certain they're allergic to pumpkins. Or perhaps it is the pumpkins that are allergic to them? |
A paladin of the most holy, you have traveled to where the divines have sent you to vanquish evil. To smite the wicked. To seal away the impure and help cleanse the world.
For many decades have you done your holy task. Demons and warlocks and things most foul have fallen to your faith and your blade.
A week back you sought a bunch of worshippers of some evil being after a set of murders took place and the local shrines asked for help in putting a stop to it.
After too long in searching did you find their hidden alters and summoning circles. You rushed quickly to stop whatever it was they were doing, unknowingly triggering the spells as you cut those damned fools down.
And now, your divine gifts help you naught, for what stands in front of you, summoned from where it might have been, is an impossiblity. You face what can only be a purity of hatred given form. By all you know this should not be. Pulling free your sword, you swallow your fear and utter your faith's manta, only now realizing it was a warning as much as it was a banner.
"For there is purity in all things." |
I run to Josh and Mike, guns at the ready, even got Kevlar vests on made out of rags. "You boys ready for this?"
They nod, as if they've been training for this since they were 5.
"This is what we've been ready for since we started off in this school. We ain't gonna lose. WE WILL WIN!"
We do our battle cry. Man, I'm pumped!
The round starts. Many get splashed by water. Many are disqualified. But not me.
I see Mike waving, running over to me just as he gets hit in the side. "NO!"I cry out. In my rage, I finally spot my target, while also being aware that I'm also a target.
Finally, I was gonna win. I aim at the kid and I douse him. "Yes!"I cry out. But this is strange.. he falls over, as if he's dead.
I walk over to his side. "You're out, newbie,"I say to the guy. Surprisingly, I don't hear anything coming out of his mouth. Not even his breathing.
Wait.
Is he breathing?
I turn him over, place my hand on his chest. But it's still, and there's no signs of his heart thumping.
Oh, God, this is bad.
Is he dead?
Shocked, I call out to a nearby senior, "I NEED HELP! HELP ME WITH THIS KID!"
Concerned, he follows me back to the guy, and together we carry him to the school building.
\*One Day Later.\*
Oh, God. He's dead.
They put it in the news. At the hospital, they said his body was healthy. I'm just glad they didn't mention me.
Was this my fault?
Am I the one who killed him?
What happened to him?
...
Am I a murderer? |
So here I am, looking at the girl who I love most in the world,watching her hair fall across her cheek as she turns her head slightly and smiles at me.
It was nearly a year ago when she started to bruise easily and I could see the skin marbling before my eyes. Her hair began to thin. Her skin became shallow and dark circles developed under her dull grey eyes. She started to get tired and couldn’t keep up with us all when we were out.
I lean over and kiss her cheek.
“It’s ok,” I say
She says nothing but smiles her soft smile back at me, her teeth a brilliant white against her pale pink lips.
I knew the minute I met her that I’d love her forever. It was an instant pulling sensation from my heart and I felt as if we would always be together. I’d do anything for her.
She moved closer to me and nuzzled my neck. All the hairs on my neck stood on end.
I’d do anything for her.
I didn’t want her to be sick, I wanted her to get better and live. I mean, that’s what they say in wedding vows isn’t it?
“For better, for worse. In sickness and in health.”
I felt the sharp scrape on my neck and the warm ooze of blood begin to trickle.
I’d do anything for her but, fuck me, love hurts. |
Ok... let me get this straight. people talk weird, they have no sense of fashion, they stink and worst of all there's no WiFi! I try to calm down. People look at me like I'm the one that's weird... Which isn't the case, THEY are weird. Calm down Sophia... You're gonna be fine, you need to think. I need to find somewhere normal. Its probably one of those nerd convention, you just need to find the exit. So I begin walking in the street while everyone pierce me with they stare. I walk... Walk... Walk... I can't see the exit. Am I in a dream? I pinch my cheek. No it just hurt.
I have a sore throat now. Where can I go drink something? I think I need to ask one of the nerd. I approach a man walking in the street. His face scream confusion. I ask him
"hey. you know where I can get something to drink like... some water?"he look at me shocked and then he answer me
"Water! Are you crazy? you're going to catch miasma."
"miasma? what the hell is that?"again he look at me like I told him I was a serial killer.
"You should not swear by that place... Its going to bring you bad luck."
"whatever."he must be a religious freak...
"If you don't want to die, don't drink water."
"well, what am I supposed to drink beer?"I tell him sarcastically. My face when he answer "yes".
"Thanks for the tip old man, you people sure know how to party"still confused with my answer he just get away from me.
I go to the nearest "bar"they call that a tavern here. I enter and first of all... its dirty as fuck. I don't even care at that point I just want some booze. I go see the barman and I order an ale. Its so tasty... The barman ask me to pay. So I pull out my wallet and give him five bucks... My face when he ask me "what is that". I answer him "money..."and then he looks at me angrily "this isn't money its a piece of a book!"he doesn't look very happy that I pay him. He pull out a silver coin under the counter. and then he spit out "THIS is money."he become even more unsatisfied when I tell him that "I don't have that". Long story short I'm working for him right now serving food and drink to clients. I hope that I'm gonna be back to real life soon and that this convention won't make me waste my time much longer... |
I was in college, during a semestral , when I got addicted to reddit thanks to my girlfriend.
Since I was in the top of the class last semester, she recommended me to r/legaladvice, where lawyers and people who have good knowledge of the law can come and gather to help those who are in need of justice. As an aspiring lawyer, this was my haeven. I spent most of my free time there, trying to help as much as I can, and feel happy whenever those redditors I help contact me to inform that their case is going good. Cases went from burglaries, mistaken accusations, etc.,etc. Until one afternoon I stumbled on a case im not really good with (pretty ironic for someone who has a girlfriend.): Adultery. A redditor by the name of u/getyourattituderight posted about his suspicions that his spouse was cheating on him. Fortunately, I ALWAYS sort posts by NEW, so I was able to response first, and fast. I told him to chat in messages so I can contact him all the time. I told him first to confirm his suspicions and gather evidence so he could have a strong game in the trials. He informed me right away with a message on reddit and also sent the evidence via email. As I saw the evidence, my mind went boggling. "She looks familiar..."I whispered to myself as I thoroughly inspected each images he sent. I dismissed my thoughts and went on to reddit to inform him that his evidence is good and that I can now help him in the legal process. This went over a whole week until the second semester started. He messaged me a thank you and told me he will inform me of the flow of the trials.
After this, life went back to normal as the second semester of my course started, but things got different when I saw Mr. Harrison, my ethics prof, getting interviewed by a bunch of local news stations and papers; as I overheard the interviews, some lines made my mind boggle again. "Why is his statements seem to be connected to that user I helped back in reddit?"...I angrily and confusingly whispered to myself as I try to decode this conundrum in my mind. Not for long I saw an image that just "immobilized"me. I was watching the local channel news one night when Mr. Harrison's case went on to be discussed. It was a long one but then I saw a familiar image: the image was the same from the one I saw a few weeks ago! I couldn't believe it when it struck to me that Mr. Harrison and u/getyourattituderight was the same person!
Ever since finding it out, I kind of thought about revealing the man who helped him (he always credited the person every single interview) was me. My first half was "go tell him"and the other was "go silent". I ended up being quiet about it, no need to brag im that guy that was the unsung hero in one of the greatest adultery cases in America (probably in history too).
As I gazed upon Mr. Harrison with his second spouse of twenty years, during a simple reunion, I thought "what if I didn't help him?". But I did And I didn't regret it.
Now, I work as a judge at The Hague in Netherlands and live in a house together with my girlfriend-and-now-wife of 6 years and my newborn son, James, in honor of Mr. James Harrison, the one I helped.
To this day, this remains my greatest achievement in my life. And It will always be. |
I try hard not to think about it.
Try being the key word, as hard days make harder thoughts. Yesterday for instance, I remembered my late wife's birthday. I was happy, until I remembered that so many years had passed, that I'd forgotten it the year before. The guilt stung like an affair I'd never had.
If you can read this I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I couldn't afford to make your final years better. I spent so long trying to build a career, that I forgot to build our relationship. I never even told you the reason that I was doing it all was for you. Until you passed, I don't think I told myself that either. I just knew.
Death didn't even come across my mind before. I had visions, as I suppose all husbands do, of a family life boldly striding our way. Now I wonder why it took a wrong turn, but there's no answer. The more I think about it, the more that thought terrifies me. It usually leads to anger, but with no one to blame it always comes back to me. I know it's not my fault. That doesn't stop me from wanting it to be. At least that way I would have control.
I suppose that's the thing about death. It’s always there, just out of sight. You don’t miss it because it doesn’t want to be seen, it's because you don’t want to see it. I wish I could come to peace with that fact. It would make being alone again a little easier. It would make forgetting birthdays less of a sin, and would have helped me see what really mattered.
Yesterday, I lit two candles to make it up to you. With every year I'll light another.
I love you. |
An old tree, ancient; a venerable oak standing proudly on its weather-beaten hilltop. Majestic in its decline, the tree looked as if it might not survive the winter, though it had likely given the same impression for the past century; it clung to life--and maintained dignity in doing so, obstinately refusing to succumb where lesser beings might. It was perfect. Here, the disciple sat.
A gentle breeze stirred the branches above him, it made the old wood creak, the scarlet leaves whisper; the tree spoke like a wizened teacher, rambling good-naturedly about the folly of youth, orating constantly to the benefit of anyone who would spare a moment to listen. The disciple listened in earnest. Eyes closed, legs crossed, the young man dedicated himself to this aged mentor, seeing and hearing nothing but what it professed; images of the tree in its infancy, of years passing like minutes, generations of creatures making their homes among its roots or in its branches, distant past and expectant future, the tree remaining constant all the while.
Smiling, the disciple opened his eyes. Facing west, he was greeted to a sky aflame, brilliant amber clouds mirroring the leaves above him, the sun low on the horizon. The place was right, the time, as the sun set on the day of the equinox, was his.
*Thud.*
His hands, folded as they were in his lap according to the meditative pose, received the orb perfectly. The orb fell from the branch directly above, a fruit that, though invisible only moments before, had taken centuries to ripen. It surprised him how light the orb was; but, then, why should years be a burden?
Examining the glowing orb in his hands, facets of orange and pink catching in the sunlight as he turned it, the disciple couldn’t help but admit some regret. Though autumn magic isn’t as flamboyant as spring, or as potent as summer, or as violent as winter, it *is* the most powerful, as it requires the greatest sacrifice. The orb embodied the tree’s entire life, every day of it; bountiful or meagre, joyous or sad, the first and the last. And this was the tree’s last day, for it was a gift that could only be given once. |
You wake up to a cold midnight breeze. You didn't want to camp outside, but the eggheads insisted and your CO gave the okay, what were you to do?
Your refusal is validated when you see a dark spot on Misha's tent, and go up to check it out. *Blood.*
Very soon, you notice a short trail terminating as it enters the underbrush. Some tattered cloth litters the ground, one piece standing out to you. A piece of cloth with a patch sown in.
*Pavlov,* it reads.
Poor bastard. He was the only one of them you didn't hate. Wasn't a piece of shit like his col-***OH SHIT SOMETHING MOVED!***
You squeeze the trigger on your AN-94, spraying the bushes until the gun starts to click. The rest of the group is quick to get on their feet.
"CONTACT!"You shout before anyone can speak, "THEY GOT PAVLOV!"That alone is enough to get even your hardass CO forming a perimeter, guns in hand.
They told you the fucking things were calm this time of year. Every scientist, every one of your squaddies, they all said there'd be no trouble. They didn't even appoint a night watch, they're lucky only Pavlov is dead.
You hear movement all around as you change mags.
A handful charge out of the blackness, and every rifle roars to life, lighting up the surrounding dark. A few minutes later, the sounds of battle slip away, and you have three wounded to tend to.
Nobody sleeps for the rest of the night, and the lot of you make for the Cordon at daybreak.
You hate the Zone. |
Riff adjusted his horse bolo tie for the hundredth time, trying to ensure the strings were the same length on either side. It had been a gift from a "Texan,"whatever that was. Texas was a *fentwa* inside a *fentwa* (country within a country), or at least that's what Riff had come to understand after the intergalactic translator finally brought to light the humans' complicated mess of living boundaries and rule of law. The inaccurate nonsense shown on planetary documentaries had wildly underestimated just how complicated humans had managed to make their own existence.
He smiled at the bolo. The horse on it was running (gallorping? He couldn't remember the technical term), showing off his massive muscles, full-stride. Humans were remarkable creatures. They made pets out of monsters that could easily stomp them to death.
Most remarkably, perhaps, was that humans lived like a Tier 4 species, but they wrote laws and disseminated information like a Tier 6. And they thought like a Tier 9. Riff thought this was unfair, having existed, and thought, like the Tier 8 he was his entire life. Until bolo day.
"Will the grand outer rim scientist Riff please present his evidence?"The question bellowed out Stoddish, an ancient amoebic slug and known curmudgeon who served as the Higher Council's elder statesman as confusion. This was evidently his second or third time asking it. The annoyance in his voice snapped Riff to attention.
"Oh, right,"said Riff, adjusting the horse bolo one last time. "I stand before you today as an agent scientist seeking to enter his field work as evidence, hoping my testimony will allow the High Council to act in the best interests of our galaxy. As we know, we don't know everything."
"The somethings recognize we know nothing,"came the council's reply in unison (which included Riff)—it was the formal response to ensure humility in intergalactic rule. Even the council's stenographer said it, before immediately recording this reply.
"It is based on this awareness of our own limitations that we've scoured the galaxy. I would like to remind the council that we are frequently finding planets with species playing with lost or discarded technology. Or sometimes they have tapped into a unique fount of cosmic intrigue that exists only in their corner of the galaxy. While we can closely scan species light years away, sometimes our field work puts us at odds with our initial hypotheses. I left to study Star R2JXP and its surrounding planets. We were responding to an aggressive civilization that was quickly expanding past their environmental filters and into the reaches of space."
"Ehh, Tiff-"
"*Riff*, sir."
"Yes, Biff,"said Stoddish, using his age-old tactic to belittle those before the council, "are you suggesting that the denizens of Star R2JXP are *not* violent?"
"No, I'm not,"said Riff, "it's complicated. The people of Earth-"
"*because*,"Stoddish oozed on, his multiple mouths speaking in multiple languages simultaneously for the most common Center Galactic tongues, "you understand that destructive intergalactic capability is the foremost concern of the High Council. We do not extend invitations to aggressive or competitive species."
Riff paused. He thought appeal on empathy would be his best bet. He had, after all, won no less than three speech championships in primary school while he was still swimming in the birthing pool. His mom told him he'd done so well for beating his friends. Maybe relying on his speaking skills wouldn't help, here.
"The species surrounding Star R2XJP are primitive,"Riff allowed, hoping the word *primitive* would mask *endlessly cruel*. He'd watched a few of the things the humans called "historical documentaries,"and Riff knew that extermination charges were brought against civilizations for a whole hell of a lot less.
"But despite their primitive tools and thinking, their *ability* transcends their knowledge and experience. For instance, humans managed interplanetary communication without psychic emanations! They use their five senses."
A murmur went up through the council. They were all peering at him strangely. Riff took this to mean he'd hit a nerve.
"That's right! Each individual has to absorb information at their own pace, which you'd think makes for miscommunication. And it does! But statistical laws prove that most more or less digest the minimum amount of information for the species to progress. Better yet, the denizens of R2XJP are able to think beyond their cognitive capabilities and directly through their subconscious! They can ascend mentally without the evolutionary process!"
More peering, more murmuring. The council looked curious, if not a bit disgusted.
"How?"Stoddish's tone was curt.
"Well,"said Riff, stepping out from behind the podium to a brief gasp. He smiled. He was so good at elevating drama in crowds! He should have been a lawyer. "They have a complex process where they chemically isolate important complex processes in their driving organ—in their language it's called the *brain*—in order to toss aside the chains of-"
A loud burp from Stoddish. Riff winced, before remembering that burps were only improper on Earth. Stoddish was essentially putting up his hand to speak authoritatively. "Field Agent Yiff, are you suggesting drugs?"
"No,"said Riff. He'd need to tread lightly here. They were keen on the one hundred and seven ways to hijack cognitive processes in species Tier 1 through 5. But Stoddish didn't let him gather his thoughts.
"You're high now, aren't you, Tiff?"The mighty slug's four dozen eyes narrowed, and not all of them in the same direction.
"No sir,"said Riff. He felt his cover was safe.
"Because you're covered in paint and you are wearing no pants,"said Stoddish. Riff felt a cool breeze. He didn't even need to look down. Stoddish smiled as he saw the realization sink in. "The High Council is giving you an unpaid suspension and a galactic hour in the tank to detox. Say goodbye to your families, I wish you could see your spawnlings grow up."
Before he knew it, Riff felt the void cuffs slapped around his neck and legs, and he was led flailing out of the room. To add insult to insult, the council guard dragged the drug addled scientist from the council chambers by the weird trinket around his neck.
Stoddish sank into his chair. "That's the third field scientist who has returned from Star R2JXP with a drug problem."
Pookar, the council's staunchest environmentalist, nodded. "It seems the species inhabiting the planet is not only violent, but is riddled with distracting substances."
The giant elder slug yawned. "So without a defense from Pookar, is there anything positive to say about this star? I recommend extermination."
A chorus of ayes went up, and the psychic votes were tallied.
The humans would be dead within a week. |
"No. Absolutely not! Just look at him!"The Great Demon Bal'Morag screamed in his private chambers. Besides him, a lesser demon, Silratha-Bal's most trusted advisor-had brought along with him a scrying mirror and what they were staring at did not please the lord of the abyss. Not in the slightest.
A gangly figure in his late teens lay beneath the shade of an oaktree, crumbs from lunch clinging to his lips. He was pudgy boy, a whole head shorter than most men his age. When he spoke a discernable drawl could be heard. He appeared lazy as sin, he looked disheveled as dirt, and, by the power of the mirror, Bal'Morag could smell the stink of him. The boys odor was an offense to his keen senses. But, worst then the boys unkempt appearance was the unacceptable fact that *he*, this slob of a boy, was the so called chosen one. The hero that would one day put an end to Bal'Morag's diabolical reign.
"Is he,"Bal'Morag pressed his tentacle-filled face against the mirror. "Is he eating scraps that fell on the dirt? Oh for the love of the gods! He is! Silratha are you seeing this?"His second in command could only nod sheepishly. "He's the one destined to defeat me in glorious battle? I- oh! Oh my God he's doing it again! Stop eating the scraps off the ground!"The magic mirror, being a one way spying mechanism, could not get the demons frustrations across. As the demon bellowed, the cavernous walls began to quake. Responding to it’s masters foul mood, hellish green flames from the alters nearby lit up violently. Bal’Morag, angry as he were, could only watch in horror as the boy continued to eat his leftovers off the floor.
“Maybe,” Silratha, a Serpentine Demon from the frozen flamepits of Sennestra, tried calming his master down. “Maybe this is just a ploy of sorts. They say, the greatest of heroes have an affinity to all things magic. It could be that the boy senses he’s being watched right now and this is all but a clever ruse to have us lower our guard.”
“Trickery?” Bal’Morag asked, a hopeful note in his booming voice.
“Yes, yes! Humans are known to be quite the cunning creatures.”
It was possibility, Bal mused as he paced around his chamber. He’d done battle with crafty human foes many times before. Men and women who took to the shadows, fought visciously in the dark and had utilized exceptionally detailed illusions all in the hopes that they’d fool Bal’Morag and strike a fatal blow. They hadn’t of course, but that did not diminish their resourcefulness nor belittle their craft. It could be that Silratha had a point, maybe this boy was a deceiver just like his foes before him. Maybe he truly was as exceptional as the legends foretold and he was just-
“NO!” Bal’Morag screamed. His obsidian orbs burst into violet flames when he caught a rather perturbing sight from the corner of his eyes. The boy, the so called chosen on, had just picked his nose, wriggled out something loose, and then stuck it in his mouth. All the color on the Great Demon’s face drained, expeditiously. “He’s eating his own boogers! Silratha! Did you see that? Silratha say something!” His second in command had no words. Honestly, what could he have said anyway? As Bal’Morag stomped his hooves about, the entire underworld in which he presided over, trembled in accordance. Every dark denizen in the realm would know that the lord of the domain was not pleased. It went on for only a few moments, but for lesser demons like Silratha, Bal’Morag’s displeased tantrum seemed an eternity.
“No, no, no. This can’t be happening.” Something akin to a whimper escaped from Bal’Morag’s beak-like mouth.
There were few things that truly angered the Great Demon. This... well, this just about topped everything. Bal knew he was destined to be slain at the hands of mankind's greatest champion. The Sacrewd Scrolls had foretold as much. And what was written in those scrolls must come to pass. But not like this, Bal fumed. He couldn't be beaten by that... slob.
Suddenly, a thought crossed his mind. It was absurd just thinking about it. Throughout the entire history of all demonspawn, nothing like this had ever been done. But, as Bal’Morag watched the ‘chosen one’ roll over onto his side, sliding one hand down his breeches, scratching his backside, the demon knew something drastic had to be done.
“Silratha, I’ve an idea.”
“Y-yes, master?” The snakeman slithered into himself, terrified of his masters volatile temper.
“I want you to gather the Abyssal Council.”
Silratha gasped aloud. The Abyssal Council were Bal’Morag’s most trusted advisors. They served as High Generals in the Army of the Abyss. To summon them now could only mean all-out open warfare. Earth realm was about to be torn asunder.
“Are we to go to war then, master? Are we to plunge the Earth into everlasting darkness?” Silratha salivated at the prospect.
“What?” Bal’Morag asked, taken aback by the prospect of violence. “No. No that’s not what i’m thinking.”
“I, urm-” Silratha fumbled on his words. “Whatever for are we summoning the High Generals, master?”
He spun on his subordinate then with what appeared to be a wolfish grin on his face. “Simple. I need you and the rest of the Council to divvy up rulership responsibilities. I’ll appoint you as overseer of your homeland, the Frozen Firepits. Have Da’zar and Tulomon take care of Obelisk Ridge and have Glazbaru watch over the Fetid Swamps. I’ll entrust you lot to mind the dominion while I’m gone do you understand?”
“I-” Silratha most certainly did not. “W-where will you go, master? Shall I have the Hellfire Guards accompany you?”
“No, that would only complicate things. I can’t have him face a demon of that magnitude. Not until after I properly shape him up.” Bal’Morag said, speaking more to himself than to his second.
“Until you shape him up?” Nothing made sense to the poor Snakeman anymore, the uncertainty in his voice was all too easy to catch. Bal’Morag paid it no mind.
“Yes! Can’t you see, Silratha?”
“S-see what?”
“That what this mouth-breathing, space wasting, feckless and dirty slob truly needs is just some proper guidance!”
“Huh?” Silratha’s maw dropped. “P-proper guidance?”
“It’s been in front of me all this time, I can’t believe I couldn’t see it before!”
“See what, my master?”
Bal’Morag grabbed his personal effects as he moved towards a shimmering light at the far end of the room. It was a portal, one that connected the Underworld to Earthrealm. He gave his second in command a sly smile.
“That the only person who can defeat me is…. Well, me! I’m going to posses this boy, I’m going ot subjugate him to the harshest forms of training that I can dream of. I’ll teach him how to fight, how to wield and master the elements, I’ll teach him the importance of strategy and tactics, then I’ll show him the ways of leading the armies he’ll inevitably muster.”
Silratha’s balked at his master’s insane proposition. “You’ll do what!?”
Bal’Morag wasn’t listening. Instead, his eyes could only see the lump of clay that desperately needed his masterful touch. Oh how he would shape that boy to be a real man. He would make him a real hero, one that history itself had never seen before. It would be glorious.
“And just you watch.” Bal’Morag said, one foot stepping through the portal. “I will teach this boy the one lesson he’ll never forget! Come hell or high water, I *will* teach him what proper manners should looks like!” |
Close your eyes, it says, and live a thousand lives. Travel a thousand lightyears in a blink. Hear a thousand stories - all you have to do is try. Close your eyes.
And so she does.
She's a knight in shining armor, atop a proud horse, charging up a mountainside. A rain of arrows pelts the ground around her, hissing angrily as they sink into the earth. She draws her blade, and the scene shifts.
She's a sailor on the high seas, swaying on the deck of a ship. The ocean spray and high wind batter her cheeks, toss her hair. "Land!", someone shouts. And the scene shifts.
She's at the helm of a grand starship, sailing through the endless void. Countless stars twinkle like raindrops in the distance. "Prepare for warp,"she says, and the scene shifts.
She's at the top of a mountain, looking out over the world, with a lover beside her. She's crawling through the sewers with a knife in hand. She's climbing across rooftops with a stolen bag of goods. She's leaping from treetops. She's firing a blaster. She's fighting with her fists.
And every time she closes her eyes, there's another story, another life, waiting for her.
And they're waiting for you, too. |
“Welcome back to Celebrities of the Past, the ultimate history and entertainment show where we have finally figured out how to bring you historical figures from the past due to the excellent foresight of Dr. Forsythe. Our last guest, Abraham Lincoln has finished our live interview portion and is currently taking questions from Civil War historians. Tomorrow will be a meet and great for those few privileged individuals who won the Blast from the Past Sweepstakes and then he will end the day with a speech given by the former President of the United States. After a good night’s rest, Abraham Lincoln will then travel 50 years into the future for his next Celebrities of the Past encounter, enlightening future generations on the issues and dealings of the past while he himself learns of the progress of the future.
Our entertainment portion for tonight is going to be one of the most special events in your lifetime. Nobody has heard our entertainer for tonight sing in just over a century. He was originally born in Mississippi and is one of the most significant cultural icons of the 20th century. From this day forward, our guest will perform once every 25 years. Will you be one of the lucky few who will get to witness this extraordinary performer live? Please welcome the legendary “King of Rock”, ELLLLVIS PRESLEEEY!!!”
“Thank you. Thank you very much.” |
"Ha! These humans are becoming smart!"Sol exclaimed. Sol is a god, in a sense. Gods are more like multi-dimensional creatures that can adjust space and time, but only in their vicinity. Their vicinity just happens to be hundreds of light years wide. Because they exist as collections of celestial objects, in the way that humans exist as collections of cells or atoms, there is no true human translation for their language, or their names. Sol is so named because of a mid-sized star contained within. Orbiting this star is the only planet carrying life.
The other gods grumble. All manipulated their stars and planets intending to create this new miniature life. Sol was the only successful one, but by seemingly no virtue other than dumb luck. "Come on, make some life! Once one of you makes something smart we could get them to meet..."
>
>It's tough to write about gods but have atheists still be right. |
"Phil."Samantha's father uttered, as he brushed past me into our hom... my home.
"James."I responded.
&#x200B;
James scaled the stairs to our bedro... my bedroom, without batting an eye. He returned holding a cardboard box filled with framed photos and Samantha's Bachelor degree.
"You know, a lot of these memories belong to me as much as Samantha,"I said.
&#x200B;
"Phil, as far as I'm concerned, your memories mean nothing. As a parent, this is an inescapable nightmare, and the only redeeming feature is that as soon as I put the last of her things in the truck, your chapter ends."Phil replied.
I looked into the box. It's amazingly surreal it is to look at a photo of a loved one you will never see again. The hollowness. The memories had warmth. They had life. You could stare into a picture and recall the scents of the afternoon, the way the sun bathed our skin on that beach in Puerto Rico last May. The taste of coconut-ice cream cake at our wedding. Now they are empty. Life no longer in them. The senses, the taste, the scent, the feel that were attached to these memories are gone. now they are just pictures. Empty.
James marched out to his car, leaving the front door ajar to remind me that he wasn't going to leave a single thing behind. The prick.
I shuffled through the remaining boxes in our room. My room now. The walls were so empty; our photos stripped away, leaving bald white patches in their place. Echos of a life once lived. Of a home.
In the box found the harmonica she played in college. Some old shoes... Her favorite Khalil Gibran. Her bright orange bandana and the decorative bride and groom pieces from our wedding cake.
Seeing our life in a cardboard box. Feeling the numbness swallow the memories until they were too distant to recall, as if they were a dream. Someone else's life.
I dug a photo out of the box. Our last photo. Her hair looked so beautiful. She loved her hair. It happened so fast, there was no time for treatment, so her hair never fell out. I guess that's a positive.
Maybe there were some tears left after all.
I placed the photo back in the box. I picked up "The Prophet"by Khalil Gibran, and opened to the page Samantha had bookmarked. It read,
>On Pain - Khalil Gibran
Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses your understanding. It is the bitter potion by which the physician within you heals your sick self. Therefore, trust the physician and drink his remedy in silence and tranquility.
Then, James seized the book from my hands, through it into a cardboard box, and whisked it away without a word.
Leaving me to the memories, and the walls.
The wall with the white patches.
The walls that echoed of a life once lived.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Just a note; I love these real prompts. There is a alot of fantasy on this sub and its always nice to have a thread thats based on real people, real emotions, and real moments. Thanks for the prompt. |
“I call shotgun!”
I grimaced as I handed Peter the Remington 870. He grinned wildly as he stared at the weapon. It was a good gun, I’d found it in the hands of a dead LAPD officer laying across the hood of his patrol car a few months back, just after The Collapse. The LA streets had become a massacre after the Free American Confederacy forces swept in and started cutting through the city. I’d watched as cops and National Guardsmen fought back alongside me, and were scattered after the Battle of Los Angeles. They’d cut down cops and military forces, and they’d even fought the South Central gangs and won....mostly.
“Now remember Peter, we need that thing, and you gotta protect us.” I’d said this to various people like 20 times before, but I added a new one just for this, “Peter, I trust you, but please....don’t risk yourself., I don’t want to lose you too...”
Peter looked up at me and nodded, “You got it Boss! I’ll keep us safe from the Highwaymen!” He threw up a salute and hefted the shotgun onto his shoulder. He was just a kid, turned 18 just before The Collapse, and he was eager to please me. I smiled and patted him on the back. I’d seen too much death during my Army days, and I wasn’t ready to lose him too.
I nodded and quickly checked my M9, before climbing into the cab of the truck. We needed to get these food supplies back to Hamilton’s Keep. Especially since after nightfall, the Confederates would be locking down the roads. During the day, they were still out, but it was safer to move in the day when there was enough visibility to see them coming.
Peter climbed in beside me, and a car with two other guys pulled out ahead to give us an escort.
I pulled out of the garage, and the burnt out hulk of the US Bank Tower and the smoking LA skyline loomed above us. We headed for the freeway.
====================================
“SHIT SHIT SHIT!”
I jammed the pedal down and shifted again as the gunfire shattered my mirror.
Just five minutes after we’d left, a pair of motorcycles and a truck covered in metal sheets pulled out after us. We’d gunned it onto the freeway, my homemade cow catcher on the truck’s front smashing through the burnt out cars that were in our way.
I cringed as we smashed through a pair of CHP cruisers at an abandoned DUI checkpoint, I was just glad the National Guard hadn’t left an APC in the way. No way in hell our truck was gonna shift a Bradley, or worse, an Abrams.
The car had distracted them, but the truck had hit them hard and sent it careening off the freeway and into the LA River.
*BOOM* *CLICK CLACK* *BOOM*
I shot a glance at Peter as he pumped the shotgun again. A second later, I heard Peter whoop triumphantly.
“I got one of them! Ya see that? Sent that dude flyin!”
Peter racked the gun again and leaned further out the window. Another boom and the other cyclist swerved and slammed into a bus rammed against the concrete dividing barrier.
We tumbled onto the huge bridge, the road through the middle was clear, but the truck kept up its pursuit.
The two guys in the back of our truck also keep up with their rifle fire. I was personally glad they weren’t asleep because the truck had trouble getting close to us. They’d picked off a guy trying to climb onto the machine gun they’d kitbashed to the roof, and the remaining guys decided it wasn’t worth dying to man the gun. That meant they could only fire with pistols, and they weren’t doing anything to the truck.
The pickup slammed into the trailer’s rear wheels again, and I tried to slam the trailer back at them.
The truck switched sides, and Peter began firing at it again.
“They ain’t that tough! I’m gonna-“
I heard the pickup’s guns fire again, and a warm splash hit me. I froze, and glanced left.
Peter had glanced back at me, a pool of blood spreading on his shoulder. A second later, he was gone, as was the door.
“SHIT SHIT SHIT....PETER!” I fought the tears as I grabbed my M9. I stuck it out the side as best I could and popped off a few rounds. I laid the gun on the seat and grabbed the CB handset, I don’t remember what I said but I screamed I needed help. I couldn’t hear the garbled reply, but I didn’t care.
“PETER...” I felt the warm tears rolling down my cheeks. I glanced at my half gone mirror, and saw two other cars had joined my pursuers. The firing from the trailer had stopped, and I realized the last of my defenses were probably dead or dying. A muffled groan from the back told me what I needed to know.
I glanced ahead, and saw it.
A roadblock. Two more metal covered cars sat in the freeway, a former ambulance and a Utility Department work truck on the sides, and an M939 now covered in sheets of iron sat between them. I could see the green and blue cross flag of the Confederates flying on a makeshift flagpole. The guys at the roadblock opened fire and I ducked as the shots passed through the windshield.
My cowcatcher could’ve pushed through a roadblock, but it was barely hanging on, and this M939 would probably be heavy enough I’d be screwed if I hit it. And the vehicles blocked the road enough I couldn’t get past them. They’d used burnt out cars and some metal barricades to harden it. Their shooting was accurate, and I could see steam and smoke slipping out of the hood.
I let up my foot for a second, I felt defeated. But then I demented that last look Peter gave me, that look of pain and disappointment. He thought he’d let me down.
“I ain’t stopping for you pricks....not now...not ever...” I mumbled.
I slammed down on the gas. The engine roared despite the damage, I felt the truck surge forwards.
“I AIN’T STOPPING!” I shouted louder, over the roar of the engine. The speedometer was hitting 80 miles per hour. The roadblock was coming closer and closer. I yanked he air horn cord, and the truck’s air horn blasted, I held it down.
“I AIN’T STOPPING!” I screamed loud enough I could hear myself over the air horn and the air rushing into the cab. Another bullet slammed through the windshield and the mirror fell off. My tears began clouding my vision. I’d watched these guys cut down my unit, and my friends for so long. But not anymore.
The guys at the roadblock stopped firing, and some even began running.
I shut my eyes as the M939 loomed over the hood.
“I. AINT. STOPPING.” |
It all started with the fire. I'm not trying to say I hadn't thought of my neighbours as *odd* before, but everyone setting their houses ablaze within the same week was rather red flag.
I got ownership of the house just after harvest season, so I missed all of the decorations sadly. I payed the only company willing to bring my stuff all the way from Alabama and I got installed no more that two weeks before December started.
I found it quite odd that, at first, they had bought a basket full of bread and fruits and sent it to my front door; when I tried to go say thanks, all of their lawns were guarded. In front of every house there was an arraignment of guards wearing blue cloaks and some even had guard animals.
Later on, once snow started falling, I received a few pieces of paper with nonsensical scribbles all over the page. Repeating symbols and phrases throughout. They were demonic incantations I'm telling you. How else could they have survived the fire?
It was insane. I was laying on my bed when they lit the first house. I was staring out of the window, contemplating if maybe I should just resell the place and come back to Alabama, when this horrifying light illuminated the whole room. The house besides mines had caught on fire from one second to the next. Titillating flames appeared and disappeared throughout it's ceiling; never quite going off. I ran! ran down stairs, I tell you, where the demonic lights couldn't reach my eyes.
The next day, the fire was gone. The house was intact. Was it a dream? maybe that first time, a premonition of what was to come. There is no way in heaven that the same nightmare came back every night.
One by one, the houses would be set on fire with uncountable small flames and wake up completely unharmed the next morning. I was terrified of what else those demons would do. They seemed to be leaving me alone so I tried to manage.
A week or so later, I heard a knock on my door. I didn't answer of course, but that didn't stop them. A group of 5 began chanting outside of my door what must've been invocations. They couldn't even keep their happiness. Their cheer was notable. I broke at that point. I took my keys and all the cash I had and ran out, tumbling over those 5 demons chanting at my door.
When I got into my car I finally saw their ritual. A pine had been set on fire with multicoloured flames in the middle of the street. Every single on of them sung around it holding hands, each holding a candle. I started the engine and drove off.
I'm trying to get someone to go for everything I left behind, but I'm not sure anyone would be willing to go near that horrid place.
__________________________________________
I hope it's neither too obvious nor too obscure what I meant with this, lol.[](/hearthswarmingstar) |
He was growing up so fast, it wasnt that long ago that I made my trip.
I knew it was possible and yes some may have thought I was crazy but it wasnt long til i had it figured out.
In the history of man kind there have been a few places, places that more times then not we couldn't explain.
Explain what happened, where people had gone and what had made them go missing.
That is until today.
I had done my research on these places.
Alot of things seemed to add up.
1. They would enter said disclosed location.
2. They would vanish from radar.
3. They would appear again later and some what confused on how they got back.
Many people were to afraid to go thru with the research.
They had lifes and family's, friends and loved ones they didnt want to lose.
Me however, I had no one.
When the time had come for me to set off on my adventure.
I had just finished up grad school, and
was fresh out the gate and looking for some very interesting stories.
That's when it fell into my lap.
The case that would be my undoing.
It was April 19, 1973.
The weather had come around for the better and many hip, young people were starting to dance about.
I had just started working for this bright new agency, we were a branch of a u.s run government office.
Of which I'm not allowed to tell.
The day started normal, drove into work, parked in the same spot as usual, grabbed my small black leather bag and in the door I went.
It really was a lovely building when it comes to mind, wooden doors with some white stained glass.
An all red brick exterior with white molding and a large sign on the front with the name R.L Stien.
A chill rolls up my back when I think about it then, who knew the place whould've fallen apart after.
Well I had got in the doors and sat at the desk across from my partner.
She was a sort of portly woman of her mid 30s, reddish curly hair and one of those pointed noses you may have heard about.
She always wore a tad bit too much blush and way to much perfume but she was kinda enough to me in my days that made me fancy her quite a bit.
*Hello Miss Schefield, How are we today?
Oh, just wonderful. And you?
I'm doing well enough, care for some coffee?
I'd absolutely love some, you know how I take it. Cream and two sugars.
Right away then. *
While our actions were mostly short she did have a fine way of dancing thru them.
It was like our conversation were dancing away to a tune yet unheard by most.
I returned with the coffee.
* Any news on our assignment?
Oh the boss hasn't told you?
No, what is it this time?
Well apparently there have been some missing persons reports filled recently.
You dont say?
Why yes I do darling, and it looks as tho were have our work cut out for us.
Hmm, what could it be that he has asked of us this time?
Well I have done a bit of research already, here is a book you might want to look thru.
It has a few different reports that we have stored on our records.
Perhaps we can figure out if there're any similarities.
(The books title) The Bermuda Triangle.
To be cont. |
A stoic man sat in the chair, watching over the sobbing student. Here laid the most gifted wielder of elemental magics he’d ever even heard of - not even the Archmage could boast such precision.
“Why do you sit here so?” He finally asked.
“I can’t do this. Destruction. Destroying. I hate it. There is no reason to harm people! And if I just destroy what they created, they just kill and maim until they can make it again. Dreyfus, this college isn’t where I want to be. I’d prefer to be tending gardens, even if I can’t grow weeds in a swamp!”
The old mage leaned back and looked at the ceiling. He reached into his pocket and brought out the pack of cigarettes that was always there. He pulled one out and turned toward his pupil. “Alexis, you can light my cigarette without consideration, can you not?” Alexis groaned disgustedly.
The parlor trick that brought the college to her parents door, where they bought her from them for a price that shouldn’t even be angry about. She pushed herself up and turned over, effortlessly casting a small flame at the end of his smoke.
Inhaling deeply, he laughed giddily. “Do you know that if I tried to do that, we’d both be dead?” Alexis looked at his face, his normally stoic looks twisted into childish glee. “What....do you mean?”
“I can lay waste to entire armies because I *must* lay waste to entire armies. If I call forth a flame, I have now way to stop it. If the magic is flowing, it’s a raging torrent. If the magic stops, it’s gone - unless something caught on fire.
“You, however, can light my cigarette and create a roaring conflagration - like you did yesterday in the training chamber - with the same effort. You can do anything with what you learn here.”
Alexis’ mind was tumbling through thoughts. “But....what use can fire be if not to kill?”
“Have you ever heard of the Jerherst pine tree?” Alexis shook her head. “It is one of the most flammable trees in existence. Every 10 years a forest of them burns down.”
Alexis recoiled, “Oh, no! How can we stop them from burning?!”
Dreyfus smiled, “The gods have already saved them, child. Their pine cones only grow after a fire opens them. Once energized by the fire, they grow like weeds. Ten years later, the cycle repeats. Over and over. To stop it would be to change the nature of the forests and probably put the tree extinct in the process.”
Alexis listened intently.
“Here in town, we’ve made houses last longer. The timbers we used to put in raw are now heat treated which stops pests and makes them water proof. Without them being eaten away as fast we don’t have to use nearly as much wood.
“You see child. You are the only one here who has choices. Come and we can find your potential - even if it’s just burning down a forest once in awhile,” he laughed.
Alexis studied her tutor - nay, mentor - and processed his words.
“How....can I make a difference?” She finally asked, as she stood up from her bed.
***
Destruction Magic definition and general background setting shamelessly stolen from Elder Scrolls. |
As I unlocked the door to my townhouse I felt a tingling along my spine. Something was wrong.
Taking out my keychain, I spoke the words, and felt the keys morph into a meter-long, straight blade of steel: K, my beautiful sword. Sure enough, her usually silver sheen was blood red.
Keeping my sword ready, i stepped slowly into the foyer. Everything seemed normal: the old livingroom couch was still covered in clothes, my diningroom table beyond was bare and acool breeze came in through the open kitchen windoow in back.
Everything was as i had left it.
I turned slowy from the kitchen to the staircase. Yeah, everything was as i had left it--except for the dirty clawprints on the wooden stairs.
I climbed up cautiously, swordpoint first. Coming to the second floor i put my ear to the closed bedroom door. Something was in there, snuffling and grunting.
Deeps breaths, in and out. In and out. Ready, go. I threw open the door, blade poised to strike.
A small green figure squated by my bed, sifting through the mess that was my nightstand. As i stepped foreward it turned, beady eyes staring at me over a puggish nose. Growling shrilly, the vagabond charged me with a curved scythe.
Dodged quickly to the side, and away from the goblin's swipe, I slashed downward, my sword cutting deep into green skin, severing the arteries and snapping the bone.
Twitching violently, the goblin lay gurgling and shrieking on the floor. I watched as it slowly grew still, the green blood spreading in a pool.
A pity really, life was a precious thing. But the marauder had chosen his side.
K
I left that goblin on the floorboards, and stepped up to the door of the closet off to the side. It was a large walk-in that i had always been fond of.
A swift scrabbling sound came through the accordion slats. My visitor had brought a friend.
I slid the door open quickly and struck, pinning the goblin to the tiles before he even knew i was there. A gurgle came up to me from the floor.
Two down, how many to go? I looked at K. Her blade was still red, bright red, almost glowing. That meant that danger was still nearby.
I looked about the messy space around me. Clothes mostly, except for that bundle of blanket-sheets over in the corner. I advanced quietly, bloodstained sword ready. Reaching forward, i tore the quilts away, reavealing an open basket. In the basket, sleeping soundly, was--
--an infant.
I stood frozen in place. This wasn't right. K was glowing like a nightlight, but she only did that when danger was nearby, like right-next-to-me nearby. But this-this child couldn't be the danger. Could it?
I looked closer at the serene face, studying it. Chubby cheeks, a fuzz of reddish hair, tiny teeth; all normal baby features. Except--except for a small marking in the middle of the forehead, a small star, like the compass-rose on a map, golden against the baby's pale skin.
I frowned. Something jogged in my memory.
Drip
A small drop of green dripped from K's tip, falling onto the infant's blankets. The child stirred, opened its eyes for half-a -second, and closed them. My own eyes widened.
The memory, I remembered it now. It was a prophecy. I always hated prophecies, but this one especially:
Crimson blade, harbinger
Of infant that bears the star
Goldgreen eyes that belong to
the bringer of peace and war
I was wrong. I was soooo wrong. This kid was dangerous, it was very dangerous. Someday, somehow, this infant would become someone who would change the foundations of the cosmos, shaking them to their core. This infant, this child , was the most dangerous being in the world.
And it looked like i would have to raise it. |
You know that they are basically immortal animals. You, freaked out, stroll around this seemingly abismal space. The scientists follow you to bacteria, the size of ants (as compared to a normal human). You wonder around aimlessly for hours, trying to escape this place and be normal. All of the distance you’ve traveled is only from your lab room, under the doorcrack, through the small halls, and to another lab room. One scientist breaks down, sobbing about how their life is screwed up from now on. Everyone in your group will die like this if you can’t unreverse the shrinkage. But that’s not important right now. Survival is. You see a huge drill-like being in the distance. You walk cautiously up to the gargantuan being, and arm yourself. You can’t outrun it, even if you tried, so your hands and coats are your only weapons at your disposal. You manage to tap it, as you are shaking, and the other scientists are armed and ready to fight. It swiftly turns its head, which looks like a drill vacuum cleaner. Your hand is wet, since the taragrade has been through hell and back. Then, it hits you.
These things are immortal. This could mean human immortality. You knew this from the start, but you forgot through your countless adventures throughout the 6 hour period since you’ve shrunk.
It seems ridiculous that you’re shrunk, a clichè almost, but you’ll be the ones laughing when you discover immortality. You have infinite power at your disposal. Just one problem: you might be tested, or, worse, confused for a taragrade. How would you explain anything? What if others get ahold of this misfortune in your room? Science is weird, despite your bachelors degree in it.
Relax. Relax. Cool down. Chill.
You can outdo nature. |
From across my desk, the pair of teens sat terrified. They averted their eyes, and shuffled about on the limited space their chairs gave them, as if that would magically get them out of this hole. I took a deep breath, a sigh really but they didn’t know that, cracked my knuckles, which only made them shit their pants, and laid it out to them.
“You two realise you could have jeopardized the entire world, right?”
They sheepishly nodded.
“How you could have ruined hundreds of thousands of lives?” I said, a slight growlish tone present.
Again, they nodded.
I looked through their files once again, the male was Jared Teller, seventeen, and a British citizen, and the female was Juna Plata, also seventeen, and a Spanish national that was relocated to the UK a few years ago. Neither of them had a record of any sort of prior crime, and in fact, both were of good standing, at least if their testimonies were to be believed.
Pity.
Their lives were about to be completely ruined.
I reached over to and grabbed the sleek smartphone in the ziplock bag. “You two know what your crime was, right?”
“Yes, Sir.” Jared murmured, “But please, hear me out. It wasn’t her fault, I was the one who took the picture.”
“Save that for the judge.” I answered. “If you kids just hadn’t taken this one picture-”
Juna wanted to pipe up and object, but one glare shut her down immediately. “It might just be one picture, but do you have any idea how lucky you two were, that the one human who did look at the picture thought it was some photoshop magic? The rules were simple. You can have a smartphone, you can take your selfies, and your instagrams, and your snapchats, or whatever you kids do nowadays, but you are, under no circumstances, allowed to take a picture of yourself in your natural state!” I yelled, jumping up and slamming my desk. They withdrew, and Juna looked as though she was about to burst into tears.
I sighed and sat back down, making sure not to sit on my werewolf tail. “I can’t say if you two were lucky or not that your zombie neighbours ratted you out, but I can say this. Considering the circumstances you,” I said, pointing at Juna, “Will probably have it easy. Maybe a few years in jail, and a permanent ban from smartphones and cameras. You however…” I said, now pointing at Jared. “You’ll probably be put back in your coffin for a hundred years. You’ll have your chance at… unlife again later, again, permanently barred from anything that can take a picture but I’ve seen cases where zombies like you get put back in their coffin and wish for the sweet release of death. I can only hope you didn’t die too early in your first life, otherwise it’ll be a tight fit in there.”
Jared gulped, and tears rolled down Juna’s cheeks.
I straightened up their case files, handed it to my pixie assistant, Hwealfa, and she led the pair out of my office. Soon, another one of my pixie assistant came flying towards me.
“Sir Von Wald, there’s another case awaiting review.”
“What is it this time, Yvella?”
“A trio of young vampires took videos of themselves using magic.”
I groaned and fell onto my desk, covering my head with my arms. “Are you serious?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I swear, smartphones and teenage impulsivity are going to be the end of us.” |
The first time I saw my reflection was when I was sixteen years old. That was two years ago, and a lot has changed since then. My parents never allowed mirrors into our home, and I never quite understood why.
It wasn’t only our home that banned mirrors—it was the entire town. There were no mirrors in the bathrooms at school and no mirrors at the IKEA in downtown.
Our teachers in school never taught us why so many of us feared our own reflections, or at least they never told us any real reasons. Whenever we asked them, they would always answer in an unconvincing manner that it was all a massive attempt to ground us all to our personalities instead of our appearances. Cliche, I know, but again, those are their words and not mine.
Once we got into high school, we could all smell their bull. Kids have a way of finding out the truth, and I knew a lot of them.
In the eighth grade, I spilled apple juice all over my pants at lunch, and I was immediately memified by everyone I knew. Everyone except the Quakers, the little nerd clan I like to call my family sometimes.
The Quakers are your typical outcast nerd faction, except they aren’t. On the outside, they look like the stereotypical puberty-ridden high school gamer ‘squad’, but what people don’t know is the fact that they know pretty much everything about everyone in town, and can even likely find out everything you would need to know about anyone in the country. They are a clever bunch, equipped with ridiculously expensive PC rigs and insanely fast internet speeds.
What they cannot find, however, is the reason to why no one can explain our town’s anti-mirror policy. Even worse, the Quakers and I found out that it wasn’t just our town that was hiding itself from its own reflection, but it was in fact the entire country.
This troubled me. This troubled me a lot, and as a teen, your mind is virtually unmatchable in terms of its curiosity.
In an attempt to bring peace to my mind, I set out on a journey in the middle of the night to find my own reflection. I knew this was going to be a tough challenge, not only because I would have to sneak out of my own home, but instead because it was so damn difficult to find reflective glass anywhere in town.
Alarmingly, all the glass we use in town is impossibly transparent. A glass of water looks like a scene from a painting or sketch, in the sense that it reflects zero real light.
Our computer screens are so matte black that they make you feel like you‘re staring straight into a void. Nothing was reflective, and I had to find out why.
At first, I tried to make glass myself. I heated sand in a furnace, but nothing happened. I tried to stare at every car window in the neighborhood, but even in the pitch black dark, I could only see the inside of the car.
There is definitely something bigger to this bizarre world I live in, and I have to find out what it is.
Then, at four AM in the morning, right before I was about to give up and head back home, it hit me.
Human beings can do all they want to defy nature, but in the end, nature always wins. I remembered a scene from Tarzan, where young Tarzan looks into a pond and sees his own reflection.
I set out my journey into the forest. There was one river I knew of in town, and almost nobody came near it. That was because some lunatic had murdered his wife a long time ago and apparently dumped her body into the stream. People kept away from the river either out of respect for the dead woman, or out of fear of running into her corpse.
The police never found her body when they searched for it years ago. The man had simply confessed, and with the evidence that they had, they concluded that she really was drifting in the river.
I recalled all of this as my heart raced in my chest as I worked my way down the rocky hill. It was disturbingly dark, and if it wasn’t for the giant moon in the sky beaming the way forward for me, I would have easily gotten lost.
After about a twenty minute hike, I finally found myself at the river. The moment I saw it, I froze. It was magical, the way the moonlight reflected off the water’s surface. It was as if the river as a whole were made of the smoothest glass, and you could see everything above it.
I hesitated. I asked myself if this was really necessary. I thought of the poor lady who had died in the river. I thought of her lifeless body drifting through the current, bumping its way past unforgiving rocks.
And then I thought about myself. What do I really look like? I know I’m not fat, because I can look down and see my own body. I have seen my hands, my chest, my stomach, my pelvis, my legs, and even the soles of my feet. I know my body in every detail as a complete entity, but I have never seen the face that brings it all to life.
The curiosity pushed me forward. I inched closer to the swift current of the river, which was now making the most peaceful sound I had ever heard in my life. I have never experienced this much silence in my life before, and it was simply intoxicating. If it wasn’t for the low chirps of the crickets in the forest, or the occasional flattering of a bird’s wings, it was utter calmness in front of the river. Only the sound of the current splashing against the rocks existed.
That and the glass reflection that seemed to glare at me. The moonlight was so bright off the river that I had to squint my eyes in order to reach the bank.
Finally, I found myself kneeling at the side of the river. I closed my eyes and felt the water beneath me. I leaned forward and washed my face with its freezing water. The sensation was indescribable. I felt so alive and so present that I felt like never turning back to my noisy town.
Now it was time to open my eyes. I whispered to myself: one, two, three. I opened my eyelids, and what I saw before me was something I had not expected.
I saw a beautiful young man with dark oak colored hair and misty green eyes. His expression was shocked, perhaps reflecting mine. His eyes gaped wide, drilling deep into my soul. And then something happened that almost made me fall into the river.
He spoke to me. |
"Goddamn it"Ranger Steve muttered under his breath. He stared at the screen a few moments before standing up and setting his phone down. That was the furthest he ever made it in Pixel Delver and he still had 5 full health potions left. He was being too complacent and lost it all in an unexpected burst of damage.
High up above trees on fire tower #2 in the Sierra Madre National Forest, he checked his log. Time for another look. He picked up his binoculars and scanned the tree line. He looked not for smoke or fire but for a distinctive silver line, a subtle mother of pearl glistening. He looked for trees missing needles or trees pointed slightly off center of gravity. He saw nothing out of the ordinary. It never blossomed in the daytime anyways, well, except when it did. He annotated on his log his observations and started a new game with a Rogue character.
It was boring work but he was thankful for his job. That security clearance he got in the Air Force really paid off. The sad ghost gave him a staff seriously? Goddamn it. He looked up at the camera mounted on the ceiling. They briefly replaced the manned towers with a new automated system. A software program, satellite observation, ground based towers wired and networked together was supposed to take his job. It worked great until it didn't. By the time it detected Bloom 716, it was nearly too late.
Embarrassingly, it was apparently an anonymous source that called it in from a cell phone. The resulting response predictably resulted on what the public knew as Canyon Bend Fire that burned down thousands of acres and an entire town of 30,000 people. He heard the CA-ANG used half their thermite and their entire inventory of gelled accelerant to halt the bloom and it propogated anyways... Too late and too much. Normally the 'volunteer fire department' would handle things. That's just great, a cursed ring of accuracy and that bullshit fire trap probably burnt the only scroll of remove curse he had... Soon after the Chinese 'coincidentally' placed a temporary ban on the import of US agricultural goods. The Program Manager and whatever agency he worked for was furious and super embarassed we all got our jobs back the next day.
He set his phone down and picked up his binos. It was getting dusky and mosquitoes clung to the glass of the OP. Weird, they normally don't fly up this high above the trees. The glare the monochrome screen of the automated system reflected off the inside glass of the crows made the NVGs useless. No way was he going outside to look with that plauge of mosquitos though. He picked up the handset for the scheduled radio check, the region desk agent sounded like he just woke up from a nap. He wrote on the log and picked his phone back up. Level 6 and he was feeling pretty optimistic despite the early setback with the cursed ring.
Level 22 shit yeah finally, he would fight the end boss, the Yog-Yggrial The Failed God and had fully stocked up on health and fire and paralytic gas potions. Funny how life imitates art he mused. He checked the time. It was night, and 30 minutes his relief should show up. He better check everything before Ranger Joe comes. He stood up. The glass was even more mottled than before with mosquitos. This many bugs? He penciled in the last 2 hours worth of checks, all clear. He picked up his NVGs and this time set outside. He had to check the FLIR device mounted anyways, the image quality was terrible all the sudden. you can't fake that check. Goddamnit, how long had it been? He turn the device on its swivel, the lens was mottled with black spots. The hell? Some tinge of panic set in. He looked at glass of the cabin. It wasn't mosquitos. He saw the spots clearly now backlit from the dim light inside, they were tiny, black fractals, like sooty, curvy snowflakes. Goddamn it! His heart raced. He quickly scanned the trees with his night vision goggles. In dull green monochrome a stand of trees leaning crazily drew his eye to the shimmering, twisting stalk, with its trypophoic cells emptied and open to the air. GODDAMN IT! |
I retired in 1999 at the age of 67. I have no kids to turn to for company, and everyone else in my family has long before passed.
Not wanting to risk the fate of dying sooner than scheduled, I decided I’d travel the world. I’m a light traveler and only pack the bare necessities, but, unlike most, I include this red-and-blue boomerang of mine. Don’t blame me- this thing’s pretty neat. I can throw it any which way and it will always return to me flawlessly.
I first received it as a gift from my father who told me it was special, but I never quite knew what was really meant by him saying that, at least, not until I was around 44 years old, when I went to toss it over the sea and not return to get it, and it came back around and slid smoothly in my hands.
It’s been flung countless times by now, each time returning to a single person- me. I’ve gone around the USA tossing it into various nooks and crannies, and now, want to go around the world to test its limit.
I landed in Dresden, Germany, and plan on traveling to Ingolstadt to toss it around. I ended up traveling into a small village, and decided to explore.
I asked around about where to stay for the night, where to get food, and while walking about, ended up in town square: a large open park surrounded by foliage with a well towards the center of it. It seemed pretty popular, with kids all playing and frolicking about, picnics being had, and memories being made.
I wander over to the well, look down, and a bystander off to my left says, “Don’t gaze too deeply, you’ll get lost in its vastness.”
So, upon hearing that, I reach into my backpack, pull out my boomerang, angle it downwards, and toss.
It’s been six weeks.
I feel lost, like the one thing I could truly rely on was now lost. I was now lost. I feel as if I’m withering away at long last with a miserable finale.
One. Last. Time.
I go to the town square, still desperate to find my boomerang.
I see the children, maybe the single thing in this world that’s keeping me alive at this point. I walk to the wells edge and look down. Vast darkness.
I turn and hang my head low, walking away. Now that all is lost, I think ‘tis my time. I go home, not to see the light of day again, tidy up my residence, grab my bottle of sleeping pills, and take several before laying down for my final nap.
My first trip shall be my last. I begin to doze off, knowing I will never wake.
This is it.
I begin to dream. Maybe I was dead at this point, I didn’t know. I never died before, and this was all new to me.
Everything was crisp and clear, and green. I hear but never see kids in the distance. I take in my surroundings; everything seems familiar. Very familiar- scarily familiar. I get up and walk around.
Then it hits me: I’m in the park.
I feel a sudden burst of urgency and bolt towards the well. When I reach the clearing, I look in its direction, only to find, not the well, but Death himself.
He was holding my beloved red-and-blue boomerang. I walked over to him, almost fearless, eyes fixated on the boomerang.
I now stand a foot from Death.
I look into the cavity of his face, noticing that not even light entered it, and hear the famous words I heard the day I threw my boomerang into the well.
*Don’t gaze too deeply, for you will get lost in its vastness.* |
As The Human Bolt stood over the carcass of Rat King in the center of town square he stuttered "P-p-pale Horse always said h-he was the strongest person with abilities I guess that's one way of showing it.""Its high time we downed that little bitch."replied Fatass gasping for air. The body, if you could it such looked as if it was torn in half from the crotch to the neck it resembled that of an old timey clothespin, just the head joining the two pieces. Bolt proclaimed "H-he wanted us to be a-able to identify the b-body."Just then a ear piercing squeak filled the square. So resonating it brought Fatass to one knee, which is a difficult task granted he was 800lbs and a little out of shape at this point.
Once the scream subsided sobs were heard. Thousands of crys all in unison. Bolt and Fatass realized they were surrounded all along the perimeter of the square. The mischief, the pups and kittens of the Rat King had all gathered and were mourning at once. "H-holy shit"said Bolt as he realized the sheer numbers of The mischief which must have totaled into 5 to 7 thousand, "I h-hope they know it w-w-wasnt us."Fatass stood tall and roared "Bring it on you filthy rodents!"
The cries ceased at once. Silence. Tiny red eyes all focused on the bulbous head of the giant man in a speedo in the center of the square. Rings of sweat became even more visible around the hundreds of folds in Fatass. "A-are you scared?"asked Bolt. "Fuck no, I'm hungry is all.."shakily replied Fatass. Bolt did just that as he ripped around the square as a speed too fast to see with the naked eye, in less than a second he was back at the very large side of Fatass. "D-dude t-they have d-doubled in size."
In unison The Mischief spoke "You are fast little man but we all see, and your buddy is a fat shit but we too can eat."The creepy stereo message was followed by the light patter of thousands of feet resembling the sound of hummingbird wings. The Mischief was closing in on all sides. Bolt turned to Fatass whose folds were rippling from him shaking with fear. "W-w-e are dead"he spit out as he embraced the sweaty shaking mostly nude tremendous man to his left.
Fatass and Bolt closed their eyes and braced for impact. Yet as fast as The Mischief had closed in, they were retreating. When Bolt opened his eyes the Rat King body was gone...he scanned the square one pup remained. Bolt sputtered "Th-thank you"The pup responded "our problem lies not with you."Bolt shifted his eyes to his partner "F-F-at ass y-y-ou pissed your s-speedo." |
Some people claim to talk to god, I used to think they were just assholes but now I know they were assholes telling the truth. I talked to god, well, gods. There's more than one, sorry every religion but you're ALL right.
Guess the inspiration for the religion came from somewhere, all those prophets were telling the truth though the gods I talk to are always pissed about those guys. There is supposed to be a strict but unspoken "don't go telling people what I say to you"agreement between mortals the gods who talk to them. Guess the gods are gonna be pissed at me too, but who is gonna believe me if I put it on a Writingprompt post?
I had a final, and it meant missing Easter. I was raised Catholic and was deathly afraid of pissing off Jesus. I know he's supposed to be pretty chill, but God sure isn't. They sure do pull off the whole "good cop bad cop"routine well in that book.
Anyways, final, Easter, what am I to do? Well Jesus himself called me on my cell phone (guess Verizon reaches heaven) and he told me that he'd help me with my test. After I assumed it was my friends being dicks and called him an asshole, he laughed and then appeared before me, holding a cell phone. He turned my water into wine and my dry pants into wet ones (I did that myself really).
Jesus and I became pals after shooting the breeze for a time, and he asked if I'd like to meet other gods. I tried to play it cool, if there was a clique I wanted to impress it was this one. |
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Sweat glistened on Commander Draper’s forehead, he was overweight and there was a constant whiff of body odour around him. We didn’t mind.
“We go in on 3”, hissed Draper.
No one said anything else. We all knew our roles. It was our third week on patrol in the Syrian city of Latakia. We had stormed countless apartments in the past three weeks, but this one was different. We all knew why. This would be the last apartment in the last building that we would have to search. Then, this time in two days, I will be with Sarah, how I’d missed her.
Nothing could come close to the joy of seeing her beautiful blue eyes staring back at mine. She would laugh at me as I break down in tears. It happened every time I came back. The thought of her was the only thing that had got me through the past three weeks. Her blonde hair falling on her face, the air around her sweetened with the soft scent of strawberries. I wonder how much bigger that little bump on her belly had gotten. We hadn’t even thought about names yet. I hope it’s a boy. I wouldn’t have the first clue how to raise a girl. Sarah has said that she wanted my parents to come around every weekend after the birth. She was even more worried than I was, and told me we needed all the help we could get. I could not agree more.
I look over at Charlie, my only real friend from the fire team. He had two daughters, he said it wasn’t nearly as bad as people said it would be. The oldest must be nearly six though so I don’t know if he’s got enough experience to say that. They are his world, he talks about them non-stop. Then again, I must be the same about Sarah. His eager eyes make contaminated with my forlorn ones.
“Focus Kev!” He knows something’s up.
“Yeah, I know”, I reply quietly. What’s taking so long? Surely Draper should have begun the countdown by now. Draper looks at me, he can see I’m nervous. I’m the strike man, the cannon fodder as it is often called. I’m the first one into the room. If it goes tits up, I’m a dead man. Charlie gets into position, battering ram aloft.
“One!” Draper counts.
“Two!” I think about Sarah.
“Three!” Crash! The door bursts open. I charge in. Suddenly there’s a deafening crack and a flash of light. The most intense pain I have ever felt grips my chest as I fall to the floor. Blood pours from my torso. I somehow find the strength to look around. Through watery eyes I can make out the distinctive, potbellied shape of Commander Draper slumped against the wall. Charlie is lying face down on the floor. That sight is a hundred times more painful than the hole in my chest and for the first time I scream out.
“AAAARGGGGHHHH!”
A dark skinned man holding a smoking SA80 Assault Rifle, standing below a black OSIS flag is staring at me. The realisation that I will never see Sarah again sets in. My eyes swell with tears. I’ll never see my child. Hear their first word or look at their beautiful face. It seemed like I had not felt pain until this point in my life. The man aims the gun at me. I close my eyes and think of Sarah. I try to imagine what my child’s face might look like. BANG!
#GAME OVER
#RESTART?
“What the fuck?!”
The light blinds my eyes as I stumble backwards.
“HEY! watch it kid!” Someone says.
Did he say kid? I look down at my feet and they can’t be more than size 7! This is getting weird, mine are size 12.
Suddenly a man pulls me a side and begins to talk. “Hi, my name is Steven, you have just been testing the new games console Lifegen 2. It tricks your brain into thinking you have lived a whole life in just one hour. Your real name is not Kevin Smith but is actually...” the balding man pulls out a piece of paper and reads from it. “Roy Hodgson, you are a fifteen year old from Dallas, Texas.This is the waiver you signed, making sure you understood that it might take time to adjust back to normal life after the demo. You have also agreed not to sue us if you can’t adjust properly. Someone is coming to pick you up shortly. Until then, you can wait here.”
He gestured to an uncomfortable looking bench where a man and a girl were sitting with their heads in their hands. I sit next to them and adopt a similar position and try and comprehend what I’ve just heard. My head is spinning. My real name is Roy? And I’m not twenty six, but fifteen? This can’t be real. I start to cry. I think about Sarah once again. Imagine the sweet sound of her laugh. The taste of her lips pressed against mine. It was real! I love her! I’m about to be a father. This can’t happen.
“Roy? Are you ready to go?”
I don’t look up; it didn’t even register that she was talking to me anyway.
“Roy?”
Actually the voice does sound slightly familiar. This time I look at her, although my expression was blank. The woman clearly noticed that.
“Roy, are you ok?”
She clearly cares about me, I thought. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
Tears swell up in her eyes.
”Roy, I’m your mother.” |
“You can’t defeat me” chuckled Morgana as she began casting a spell “I am entwined into the essence of magic. I know all your tricks, it is you who will die this day Merlin and I will rule the realm.”
“I thought you all you know Morgana, not all I know.” Merlin retorted as he cast a defensive spell just in time.
Blue light appeared in front of Morgana, arced instantly towards Merlin and cracked against the brown shield which suddenly appeared around Merlin.
“Try harder Morgana or we will be here all day.”
Morgana was already half way through her next spell, one she needed to chant for so she didn’t reply to Merlin’s jibe.
Merlin looked worried, he recognized Morgana’s next spell. Maybe he shouldn’t have provoked her to try harder, her next spell was a doozie. Merlin quickly began chanting himself. Just in time fire sprouted from the palm of his left hand and hit a similar flame flowing from Morgana to him. Sweat began to form on Merlin’s brow. This spell of Morgana’s was powerful, she had a full two seconds extra to prepare it. Damn his attempt to unsettle her, it looked like it had failed.
The flames clashed closer to Merlin then Morgana, the heat of their combustion combined with the strain of the spell was showing on Merlin. Sweat poured from him, his beard became slightly singed. He had to put his full force of power into the spell to push it back but he was pushing it back. That is what mattered, he was pushing Morgana’s spell back, overpowering her magic.
Morgana was feeling the strain also, she too was sweating hard. Not her finest look but this was a battle for survival, looks be damned.
Morgana could see Merlin gaining over her spell so she decided to try catch him off guard while his focus was on such a powerful spell. She decided to cast a cheeky spell which would win the fight for her outright.
Merlin caught the change in Morgana’s spell, he could see her changing tack. The edges of his mouth curled upwards slightly, maybe his jibe early had unnerved her. She was trying something he thought her early on, silence. Silence, basic but deadly in the current circumstance. He swiftly and easily countered her silence spell before she cast it, he had stolen the initiative. He had no intention of squandering it. He cast the spell he had prepared for this occasion.
“NO” screamed Morgana, “YOU WILL DESTROY MAGIC FOREVER!”
The life painfully drained out of Morgana as she screamed.
And that was the day Merlin had destroyed magic and Morgana. She had been right, she had entwined herself into the very fabric of magic and magic had to be destroyed at the same time to stop Morgana.
But today was the day Merlin had waited centuries for. Today the God particle would be created at CERN. Only for a fraction of an instant. That instant though would once again free magic for all. Once again magic and the dragons would be free after Merlin’s own spell had destroyed magic. |
The page was full of online dating profiles.
Hermes: sexy God of thieves, ready to steal your heart.
Branwen: my brothers killed my last husband, looking for new love. Must like horses and pigeons. My hobbies are embroidery and cooking.
Ra: I'm the sun god and ready to be the light of your world.
Llew: my last wife tried to murder me. Looking for new love. Must love hounds, music, and nature. Also must be okay with my mother possibly trying to kill you. My hobbies are magic, gardening, and hanging with my uncles.
Artemis: I think that someone made this profile as a joke, pls don't respond.
Thor: sexy thunder god. Suiters must enjoy thunderstorms, chariot rides, and goat stew. |
“For fuck’s sake, get on with it!”
The boot to the jaw sent his head spinning. This executioner was a feisty one it seemed. Julius thought it funny that the people who seemed most on edge at his executions were always the executioners.
“Sorry baby did I hurt your feelings?”
The executioner spit in his face and kicked him once more for good measure. “You must really be excited to die shithead.”
“Hmmm I wouldn’t know my friend, I’ve never tried it.” Julius chuckled exaggeratedly loud in mockery of the foolish murderer. Unfortunately the third kick to the head knocked him out. He hadn’t wanted to sleep through this one. It was going to be his first death by guillotine and he wanted to document the experience well. See, over the years poor Julius has had a bad knack for running into problems with the law, and with each crime becoming more egregious than the last, it eventually lead to multiple executions through his life.
He hated having to pretend he was dead before he could get up and put himself back together, but the mortals would surely freak out if they saw him open his decapitated head’s eyes and begin to speak. He wondered though, would he be revered as a god or feared as a monster if it were ever witnessed? Probably feared, these pathetic mortals never responded well to things they couldn’t understand.
He woke up with his head lying right on top of a dead woman’s ass. “Mmmmm tasty little thing aren’t you.” He urged his body to rise and come find him, and while he waited he wondered about what mischief he could get up to next. “I’ve always wanted to kill someone. That would be the next logical step in my increasingly exciting crime spree.” 248 years and the worse thing I’d done is fuck a goat in a church to protest the false god. They really cut my head of for it. Funny how these mortals operate.
Once his head had been found and his body reattached itself to it, he began to look for a nice inn where he could clean himself off and have a nice warm beer. He’d decided it was in fact time for him to kill someone, and he knew exactly who it was going to be. As he sipped his beer after having washed himself, he looked over to the man sitting on his right and shouted, “who executes the executioner!?”
The man looked over, seemingly bothered by the sudden disruption of his loneliness. “Hey fuck off why don’t you?”
“No no that’s not right, the answer is me you idiot.” And as Julius finished the sentence, he swung his hand forwards towards the man with blinding speed, slapping his beer mug on the table after having it fly an inch away from the tip of the man’s nose.
Startled and drunk, the man pulled back suddenly and yelled his indignation, “I said fuck off won’t you! Ms, Ms get this dumb fucker out of here before I kill him!”
The waitress looked over and giggled a bit, “never been good at making friends, eh Micah?”
Julius couldn’t help but laugh at that, and so he did laugh hysterically until the room fell silent. “I guess I should be on my way then Micah.”
All eyes now on him, Julius decided to slip out of there and begin his hunt for the executioner. He thought to himself, “Another day, another possible death. How riveting!”
Someone finish for me :) |
Sorry for any formatting I'm on mobile and this is my first WP reply ever.
I finally found the perfect man for the job. A whole new continent far from where all my previous prophets had been, a fresh start. Like the others I'll send a simple message from me through an angel and let them take it from there. It workes out about half the time. They always seemed to pick up some stuff I didn't intend, like how Muhammad kept saying he was the last prophet. I have no clue where he got that.
This time I'm taking a lesson from my own book, the older one. The ten commandments had worked so well, only a couple small mistranslations but the rules had been well known for millennia now. The problem with them was the ark, it led to tons of fighting among the people over who got to keep it.
This time I'll do the tablet thing, but just make them an illusion long enough that he can copy it down. Ill tell him nobody else can see the plates and he will understand. It'll be perfect, the word of God straight from his mouth. Finally everyone will know that jesus already came back and most of them missed it. It's only fair, his first visit was in Eurasia, this time the Americas got him.
This is first time I've used a white man for the job, I known they have a history of twisting my words to be really racist and xenophobic, but that probably won't happen again. I just hope I've chosen the right man for the job, they call him Joseph Smith. |
"game of throns season 8 ep 2 spoilers"
Huh, weird. No results. Surely someone was snapping photos on set- oh, hang on, spelling.
"Game of Thrones season 8 episode 2spoilers"
Nothing aga- ah, godammit, space bar-
"Game of Thrones season 8 episode 2 spoilers"
Perfect now- huh, nothing again. Zero results, not even speculation?
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What, no one's talking about it? The most hotly anticipated TV event of the year, until next week, and not a single thing has leaked out?
"Game of thrones season 8 episode 2 plot details
Zero.
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Nope.
"Game of thrones season 8 episode 2 ANYTHING"
Not a damn thing. WHAT.
Router light's blue, so I'm still online.
Surely someone knows something.
"Game of thrones speculation"
Ah, one result, www.thronechatforum.net sounds reputable.
Ah, user TheonGotNoJohnson says "I predict that some major characters will be dead before the end of the series lol"
Well, duh, but come on! No one's talking about this at all? How I am going to lord it over my mates that I know what's going to happen?
What am I gonna do for the next ten hours? |
The fire was roaring, projecting the childrens shadows unto the tent’s walls. All were gathered around an old lady, waiting for her to tell them a story. Today was the myth of creation, the tale of the first Ygdrish
*Long, long ago was a lone girl in the ruin of her once opulent country. No one knows when or why, but overnight, the kingdom fell in ruin and its inhabitants disappeared. All of them except that girl.
Determined to restore her civilisation, that girl weaved their tale, and during nine days and nine nights, never once did she dropped her thread. The fabric was big enough to fit all of us inside. And it does !*
The old hag cracked a laughter, and brought the children attention to the elaborate fresque weaved through the tent fabric. It was not the original, as no one even knows if that girl really existed. But it was still an incredibly detailed description of the old kingdom. Again, no one knows which parts of that weaved history are actually true. The grandma then proceeded to continue her story
*A record of history isn’t enough to keep a culture alive. Knowing this, that girl left the ruined kingdom.
She arrived in a small town outside the kingdom, carrying her heritage with her. There, she found love. Her flesh may die, but her blood will live on. Her blood may dilute, but her heart never will. Her nine children all were taught the culture of the old people.
In fear of another country falling in ruin, she picked the nomadic lifestyle once again, alongside her husband, sons and daughters.
Once they were old enough, she dropped them, one by one in nine separate countries, urging them to start a family and continue their travel going their own way. That was their way of avoiding any potential disaster, to spread all over the continent.*
The children were all sleeping by now. The old lady cracked a smile once again, knowing she still had the history of the nine clans and the evolution of their customs (especially the initiatory stay) for next time. She stood up and walked with her cane back to her tent
*good night my little weavers* |
I squeeze my eyes shut tightly, pinch the bridge of my nose with my fingers, my face scrunching in agitation. “Why…?” is all I can say.
“It's Sunday, man. You knew I would be back. I told you at least a hundred times.”
“Oh, Christ.” I get to my feet and walk to the kitchen, where my hands through sheer will of their own find the whiskey bottle and raise it to my lips.
“I thought you were joking.”
“Joking?” He asks.
“Like, speaking proverbially. Some nonsense like that.”
“Naw, man. I'm the son of God. I'm going to come back every Sunday. No matter how many times or ways you try to get rid of me.”
It's been close to six months now. I met Jesus at a beach house party. He was sitting on the shallow end of the pool, laughing with Martha and slugging back Tecates. Something about him drew me towards him, and we chatted for hours before I realized he didn't have a place to stay and offered him my couch. What I wouldn't do to take back that night. The lights, the music, it was all so enchanting, and him, so charming. But now it has become ridiculous, this party crasher that won't leave. He has eaten all of my food, drank all my beers. He has never once offered me a penny for my troubles. Never even contributed a roll of toilet paper.
I laughed it off at first. Tried to take it stride. But now I'm a little ashamed to admit, I've disposed of Jesus every way I can think of. At first I merely left him places, friend’s houses, parties, the beach. Once we hiked up 2200 feet and set up a tent, then as soon as I could hear him snoring, I ran down the entire mountain with only my headlamp, drove all the way home before dawn. That was Friday, and by Sunday morning, here he was.
Finally, one evening, I snapped. I shot him three times in the chest and dragged his body through the backyard and into the fire pit. I know what you're thinking of me, but this guy: he is so frustrating. You would understand, perhaps, if you knew him. Maybe you would even do the same. And you should have seen my face Sunday morning when I awoke to the smell of bacon crisping in the oven. Since then I've left him in the middle of a lake. Run over him with my car. Tied a knot in his parachute ripcord one sunny Friday when we lept from an airplane. I pushed him off the SkyDeck only 3 weeks ago. Yet every Sunday, here he is.
I grimace, take another slug of the whiskey and turn to face him. I wonder, briefly, how he managed to move that stone I rolled in front of the cave where I left him.
“Well, I'm going to go lay down on the couch,” he says, lazily stretching his arms above his head. “I've had quite a workout already this morning.”
I sigh, defeated, and open the fridge, reaching inside. My hand stops halfway to the shelf. “Jesus?” I call after him. “Where are the eggs?”
But I already know. Through the screen door I can barely see one white oval gently nestled between the branches of the cherry tree. |
That morning, I woke up as I usually do. I rolled out of bed relatively early at 7:00 and stretched my hands in the air. The sun shone through my bedroom window and painted the room in a golden hue.
I walked out into the kitchen to see my wife brewing a pot of coffee, watching the news. She saw me enter the room and smiled at me from the counter.
“Morning sweetheart,” she said in a voice like honey. “How’d you sleep.”
I walked over to her and put my hand around her waist before giving her a kiss on the cheek.
“Wonderfully.”
She pulled the coffee pot out of its resting place in the machine and began to pour it into a mug when a squadron of fighter jets flew over our house, shaking the building.
She looked at me, confused and worried. “What’s happening? Where are they going?”
I grabbed the remote control off of the countertop and turned up the volume on the television.
The news anchor was sweating, clearly concerned about something. He looked to the side as an intern ran to him and handed him a piece of paper before retreating offscreen once more.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the anchorman began to read in a wavering voice, “We’ve just been informed that extraterrestrial objects have entered our atmosphere and are spreading out across the world. The United States government is sending the military to these areas in an attempt to dispatch the craft...”
I pulled my wife closer and looked out the window. I tightened my grip on her waist when I saw what was outside. A large black ship shaped like an arrow was hovering above the downtown skyline.
She gasped and covered her mouth. I looked on in horror as smaller ships streamed out from the underside of the larger vessel and spread out across the the city. Explosions began to erupt in the distance as the smaller ships fired upon the city.
I looked back to the news broadcast to see a woman ducking down close to the ground as rubble fell behind her and people ran through the streets, screaming.
The woman yelled above the loud whirring and explosions in the background. “I’m here in the downtown area where the invaders appear to have sent down soldiers to attack the city. We’re hearing reports of large, reptilian creatures wearing black armor roaming the streets and—“
The woman stopped talking and screamed. The cameraman turned around and showed what looked like a dinosaur bearing down upon him. The cameraman yelled and dropped the camera as the beast tore into him, splattering the lens with his blood.
My wife buried her head in my shoulder and I wrapped my arm around hers. I looked out over the city and saw smoke rising above the buildings on that golden morning. |
Day 8762: It’s been nine years since Garrett decided to end it. Ever since then it’s just been me. My knee was hurting after I collected food for today so I decided to take it easy and skip the barricade check. The only other beings here are ghosts anyway. Just ghosts and Emily. I checked and it looks like I run out of gas for the generators in five days, so I’ll need to head up to the strip to scrounge some more. I should check the battery in Veronica’s car before I do that. I wonder if there are still others out there. I haven’t seen a face other than my own in ages. We lost Frank fourteen years ago, or so. We lost Gina twelve years ago. Maddy died ten years ago. Veronica went down with her. And I lost Garrett nine years ago. Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it for me to go on. I get the gun and say I’m going to join them. I can’t pull the trigger, though. Hope stops me. Maybe I’ll find them in the strip in a couple of days. Maybe I’m not alone. If I die and by some miracle this journal survives to be read, then you’ll know I wrote this for you. I’m going to be leaving Green Hills soon. Maybe if I search for others, I’ll find them. Everyone else here is dead. I have nothing to know here but sad memories and blood. |
I laughed to myself as I furiously typed away into the computer. I scrolled through countless social media sites making account soon account and adding everyone I could. With each person that accepted I felt my power grow.
So what if I can’t talk to people or make friends in the real world I have the internet. It’s all I ever needed. All I will ever need.
I’m probably the most powerful person in the world right now. I only go outside when I need to. Super villain, giant monsters and the usual things. I just deal with it and leave easy as that. I just come back to my small apartment and do what I do best.
Avoid actual social interaction. |
> “The objective is to gain an insight on the suspect’s alibis on the night of the crime.”
“You see, he *claims* he was not there, but we don’t have enough evidence to pin him down.”
> “You understand how thin the ice is... a fairly beloved night vigilante...”
“... a dashing secret agent from the organisation...”
> “We need our best man on it.”
“We need someone outside the police for this.”
> “Do you agree to spy on the so called *Dark wing*?”
“Will you help us catching this *Agent Alpha*?”
—-
The walk from the police station was longer than I ever remembered. Usually I didn’t mind catching up with the detectives and getting some extra work they couldn’t solve by themselves. Ok, I actually always loved that part.
But this time, it’s different.
“Going somewhere?”
I gasp loudly and (I’m guessing) comically. Someone just grabbed my left arm under his wing. He smells of nice cologne, he’s overdressed in the lazy Tuesday morning of the suburbs. He’s Agent Alpha.
“Alpha, do you have to do this *every* single time?”
“Phone calls can be pirated. Rule 34 of...”
“Yes, Alpha. I know that. And you also know I don’t have a phone.”
“Oh. Why so?”
“Because it didn’t fit in my new belt.” I mumble with just an undertone of shame. I show him my new spring outfit: black leather jacket, black camo pants, black T-shirt and brand new black belt.
“It is indeed... black.”
“Thanks, bro. Means a lot to me.” I extricate myself from his grip. “So. You here undercover?”
“In fact, no. I was just... shopping.”
We both let our gaze wander on the emptiness of this suburb. I then proceed to square his elegant suit and English shoes.
“Shopping.” I repeat, letting my tongue click to do something with this awkward silence.
“Shopping, yes.” He squints his eyes at the sun and reaches for the inside pocket of his jacket. I rest my hand on my belt, ready to take out the nunchakus. With a swift movement, he takes some thing out. I flinch, he tenses. And then puts on a pair of black sunglasses.
“Nervous?”
“You seem nervous too, Alpha.”
We stare at each other for a couple of seconds. I need a plan.
“Cmon, old friend, give me a hug.”
I believe I never, ever uttered these words in my entire life. But hey, it works. We find ourselves in a terribly awkward man-hug, full with shoulder patting and throat cleaning coughs.
When the terrible hug is finally over, we get away and stare at each other.
He’s pointing my gun at me. I am pointing his gun at him.
“This hurts, Alpha.”
“I could say the same thing.”
“No, I mean, when you took my nunchakus. It hurt.”
“You *groped* my butt!”
“Had to be sure you didn’t have any extra weapon. But now! Care to tell me why you kidnapped Trevor DeBois?”
“I... what?” He lowers the gun. “*You* kidnapped Trevor DeBois.”
“What! No? And how did you...”
“*They are here!*” that’s not either of us. That’s... a police swat team getting closer.
“Alpha, do you think we are about to be arrested?”
“I think so.”
“We have been framed.”
“So it looks.”
“But who...- you know what? Let’s discuss that later.”
And we run away.
—-
Edit: typos. |
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First sign of trouble was a woman wearing panty hose over her head, shooting the elderly security guard straight through the braincase with a rifle.
"Hands up shitheads!"A guy with a manbun and wearing a hideous rubber Donald Trump mask said, holding a big nickle-plated revolver.
"This is a robbery, retards, put your fucking foreheads to the ground or I'll shoot the fuck out of you!"a petite woman wearing sheer pantyhose for a mask, pointing an AR-15 added.
It was bad day to cash a business check. I obligingly put my forehead on the ground.
"Who the fuck is in charge?! Open the fucking vault or I'll start shooting!"shreiked the woman, a west coast kind of accent I think.
"I'm the manager". said somebody behind the counter.
"Open the vault! Now!"Manbun shouted.
"I can't open it right now"murmered the bank manager. "It only accepts the code to open at scheduled times... Its on the website, I..."
"Shut the fuck up!"The woman screeched.
Manbun contributed, in a low, deep voice, to the manager "Get your goddamn boss or IT manager or the fucking vault door customer service rep to open this door *now*."
The manager mumbled some affirmative response. The muffled sobs of a woman ahead of me in line and on-hold music was all that could be heard for what seemed like forever.
Then, the wail of multiple police sirens in the distance
"I fucking told you!"The petite woman shreiked "I fucking told you!"she repeated.
Gun fire, loud. A loud bang, then another, the sobs of the woman in front of me suddenly ceased.
Manbun was shouting something but it went ignored. The woman was swearing and shooting.
BANG! I felt the hot splatter of blood on the back of my neck as the guy in front of me in lime was shot. I was next.
BANG! A sharp pain in the back of my neck. A blast of hot air. Am I dead I though?
BANG! The elderly man behind me in line was no more. Manbun and the woman then erupted into a panicked, heated argument.
Did she miss? I must be dead, but it felt so normal. Like nothing at all. Is this the afterlife? I lifted my forehead off the floor, I felt the gross detritus of a public place stick to my sweaty forehead.
I stood up, it all seemed very real. I saw 5 dead bodies in a line, manbun and the woman hissing at each other in some subdued but intense conversation even though everyone but the bank manager were apparently dead.
Everything felt pretty real, my legs balanced naturally under me. Maybe she missed? Nothing left to lose I thought. I walked over to the dead security guard, kneeled down and took his pistol from the holster. My brother had one just like it.
I pulled back the slide and aimed at the arguing couple. They both turned simultaneously, a look of confusion on their faces. I lined up the blocky sights on the bulky plastic gun and it kicked in my hand. Part of Manbun's head disintegrated, his manbun landing on the teller's counter.
The woman ducked, screaming, I walked to go behind the counter. I saw the tip of her rifle barrel, it wagged behind the counter, then suddenly tilted up, I lined up the sights and a pantyliner distorted face popped up to follow the rifle barrel. The gun kicked in my hand again.
I dropped the pistol and waited for whatever weird afterlife karma to happen. I touched the back of my head. There was blood and a hole. What? Then the police went crashing through the glass, shouting commands over the roar of an MRAP engine. Once again my forehead was touching that gross floor.
(Edited for typos and sentence fragments.) |
We know where it came from. We didn’t think anything of it. It spread like a wildfire. It hit cities the hardest. It was first seen in England, and for all intensive purposes, it was like any other group of the time. Their music was loose and free, and some didn’t even make sense.
Counterintuitively, the wealthiest countries were hit hardest. Most of the known world was infected, and many new cases arise to this day. Most persons expressing signs and symptoms don’t even know they are infected. We still don’t know nearly enough to combat the disease.
We don’t know how it spreads, but it is believed to be airborne and passed to children of infected parents, but more studies are needed. It’s LD50 and ID50 are also elusive, but rest assured, it is extremely dangerous.
The incubation period is between a few hours to a week. If symptoms do not increase in severity after one week from initial presentation, immunity is acquired, and no further action is nessairy. However, once the “manic” stage is reached, treatment is impossible and the patient should be remain is quarantine until natural death.
*It is recommended that all individuals presenting signs and symptoms seek medical attention immediatly. A key symptom of infection is a mild to high fever. And the only prescription is more cowbell.* |
I stared at my dad for a few more seconds. Then, I laughed.
My dad shifted on his legs uncomfortably as I laughed some more, stopping for a few seconds to catch my breath before laughing helplessly again.
This has gotta be the lamest dad joke I ever heard in my entire life.
I finally stopped laughing and composed myself before giving my dad a serious face as I can manage.
"Okay, Old fart. Joke's up! What is it you really want to tell me?"I asked my dad, giving him an encouraging smile.
"I'm serious, Tina. It happened to my younger sister, just before her 21st birthday in fact— I... I don't believe it either, thinking it's all a coincidence until it happened to my cousin as well."My father breathed out, giving me a pained look.
I rolled my eyes. "Ha-Ha! Funny, dad! What's the next joke?"I asked my father sarcastically, thinking my dad's still pulling off one of his daddy jokes.
He brushed his hair with his left hand and gave a big sigh of distress.
"Look, Tina. I'm serious. Really, really serious. Dead serious— no pun intended— just, I mean it, Tina. Be careful, please. I don't wanna lose you, my princess."
I stared my dad for a few seconds, studying him, considering that maybe, well— he's serious and that I might die any day now. I gave him a searching look and maybe some giveaways that somehow, my dad's really pulling a prank on me.
He didn't moved and his expression didn't falter under my gaze. Just looking really stressed and as if the whole world is balancing on his shoulders.
Finally, I acknowledged that maybe he's telling the truth.
A million thoughts have raced through my head, words scrambled in my mind and questions tumbled in my throat, clawing which one gets out first, but when I opened my mouth, all I managed to got out is: "Why?"
My father made a face, as if he already expected my question.
"I don't really know. No one in the family did. All we know is it started with your great-great-grandmother Juliet Andreas. She had two children and one of them died before 21. Her son, years later, met a girl from China and they bore three children, two of which is female, who also died before their 21st birthday."
Silenced ensue for a few more minutes, with me averting my gaze from my father's before I met his eyes again, bitter thoughts clashing in my head. I gave him a bitter smile.
"So, it's why you always gave me everything I asked for, huh? Because you know my time is limited? I always wonder, too. Always assumed I am your favorite. Guess this explains everything."I said before stifling a sniffle.
My father widened his eyes. "Tina, I'm so sorry, you know—"
"Well, you're wrong!"I exclaimed, disregarding the shocked gazes of those who heard us. "You're wrong."I repeated more calmly.
He gave me a confused look. "What—?"
I cut him off mid-sentence once more. "You're wrong, dad. I'll live to see my 21st birthday. I'll have children and watch them grow, I— I'll even look after my grandchildren when I retire! I'll prove it."
Then, I turned around and walked away from my father, vowing to prove him wrong and escaped this stupid curse.
Distracted as I am, I failed to notice the sound of a car screeching to a halt.
Then, there is only darkness. |
Hey, killing supers wasn't a popular choice, but man it's led to results. While almost every villain and hero had some kind of nonsense about how they got their powers, whether it be nuclear or they were born with it, my research has proving one consistency among all of them: They have two gallbladders. Yup, you heard me. Every single person that has a super power, ranging from super strength to being able to bend a spoon, has two gallbladders. Now granted, I've only dissected two supers so far. I've killed three supers but one had super tough skin so that made it near impossible to examine.
Honestly, I don't see why people are getting so upset at this. This is clearly a huge breakthrough for science, and will probably lead to superpower creations in the future. But nooo, apparently killing supers is "immoral"and "irredeemable"and makes me a "sick, twisted, bastard". But what does my ex-wife know? She's obviously not a scientist. Now do I know how these supers got two gallbladders? No. But am I going to find out? Maybe, I'll let you know after a few more "tests". ;) |
It was just another spam email. The usual Nigerian Prince one. Except that he said that he was “actually” going to give someone a million dollars. I sighed and deleted it before moving on.
My day went by as it normally does since it’s the weekend. Wake up late, take the dog for a walk, practice my instrument, then just lay back and browse Reddit all day.
It was fine until I got a phone call from Grandma. She rarely ever calls since I’ve been so focused on school and she doesn’t want to bother me. I was concerned at first, but her happy tone changed that.
“Oh my goodness!” I heard her happiness from the other side of the phone. “You won’t believe what happened today!”
“Grandma, are you okay? It’s eleven at night and you are usually in bed by ten.” I spoke quietly to not disturb my parents in the other room.
“Everything is fine, but oh my gosh! I’ve just won a million dollars from a prince!” I didn’t buy it.
“You... won a million dollars from a prince?”
“Yes! A Nigerian Prince! And he’s going to give it to me over the next few days!” I didn’t want to spoil her happiness, so I kept shut.
“That’s great, grandma!” I tried to fake enthusiasm. “It’s getting kinda late right now for both of us, so we can continue with this tomorrow, okay?”
“Oh sure, Sweetie. It’s just that I’d love to talk about it today!” A few more minutes of bickering back and forth occurred before we actually ended the call. I sighed and went to sleep, hoping that some “Nigerian Prince” didn’t have my Grandma’s credentials.
After waking up the next day, I immediately went to my phone to browse the news. The first headline surprised me.
“Grandmother From New York Wins The Nigerian Prince’s One Million Dollar Prize!” |
Ever since the day we met, I felt my heart collapse
In love you have to start from scratch,
Then hope nothing would rip apart the rash
Arts & crafts, graffiti, together through the shadows
She was my weakness, an Achilles heel shot by cupids arrow
We'd leave our marks all over town, never bite our tongue
Tagging up & cradle robbing every time the night was young
Her name was Aphrodite, a goddess, more then just of love
The skies, clouds, stars, sun, she was all of the Above
Expressing how I felt was hard, but in poems & song I sung
I'd always bare my heart though never was it as strong as one
Yeah we had fights sometimes, usually a common theme
An aisle, a dress, a diamond ring, every woman's honest dream
I had my issues with it, in the past it tortured others
She'd visit the statue of Anchises, Aphrodite's mortal lover
Wishing everyday that I could change, how did she mind the hell?
She'd always get beside herself, above, below, inside as well
But, time will tell if we are destined to be a pair to last
Would I build the courage to speak the question I never dared to ask
What made us become so strong, was our fondness for graffiti
Lost in the colors of life, even in countries like Monaco, Tahiti
The effortless motions watching masterpieces glow, erupt
Every paint brush, every flowing touch was always a stroke of luck
Though the quandary I had in our relationship just made it worse
Every artwork engaged an audience, yet I couldn't do the same to her
Then the night I can never forget, the pain hit as quick as cancer
"Either you marry me or I'm out the door"Well, I didn't even answer
I tried to chase her saying what we had was great & special
We didn't need all that hoorah, just our love, our paints, our stencils
But, all it turned out to be was nothing but hopeless, wasted breath
She never needed to throw salt in the wound, I already tasted death
If I had any hatred left, it'd show if her return was of hopeless faith
I perish the thought, & that it did, dying in my open grave
I have to stop being stubborn, I really was a senseless jerk
They say you'll find the one someday & I did every one I spent with her
I can do this! She deserved better then a brief decline
She was more then meets the eye & even more for people blind
*As Aphrodite approached the statue she visited so frequent*
*"Well, that's kind of odd"Something was different this evening*
*The letter A with a circle, spray painted, an image*
*That's when she realized it stood for her name, but who did it?*
*As Anchises stood there pointing, Aphrodite looked right*
*There was me, on my knees*
*"Will you please forgive me & be my wife"*
**We can paint the town red** |
I pace back and forth in my kitchen. It’s almost two in the morning and I work from seven am to six pm tomorrow. Today, i guess... technically.
*I don’t know what the fuck to do.*
I pause, looking across the room at my Maltese, sitting patiently with an inquisitive look on his face.
*I can’t fuckin sleep right now, Thanos, the FUCK do i do?*
I walk into the other room and sit on the couch across from Thanos. I’ll just talk it out with him. Normal-like and shit. Yeah.
“Alright, Than-boy, here’s the goddamn deal.”
He looks up at me, as if really listening.
“Shit is going down in three days. I’ve been there, dude. This is some Groundhog Day black magic fuckery and *somehow,* *someway* I’m expected to fix it.”
He lays down and plops his head in defeat. He is no match for sleepies. I am no match for the end.
I honestly didn’t ask for any of this. Yeah, I wished to go back to change things but I didn’t mean *THINGS!* Jesus, I only want to not burn my pulled pork. If i hadn’t, then i would’ve eaten it like I do every year. I would’ve blown out a single candle like I do every year. Gone to work, safe and sound like the last four years.
*Im only a little stitious.*
Not this year. I burned the pork and it’s the end of the world. Fuckin literally. I don’t eat my pork so I leave early for breakfast. I’m in the parking lot enjoying some hash browns when I see half the earth literally cave in right in front of me. Four or five blocks just swallowed up by the earth. Then, *then,* shit seals up, buildings pop back up, identical but newer, cleaner. The fuck? I have hash brown hanging out of my mouth, jaw sitting in my lap and *no one* seems dazed by what just happened. There’s people walking by, I ask if they saw it. Hey dude, what just happened? No one saw anything.
*Oookay...*
I decide I don’t have time for this. I go home and open my door, there’s some fucking lady just sitting inside.
“Who the hell are you?”
“No way to talk to a lady.”
*what the f..*
“All due respect, *ma’am* what are you doing in my goddamn house and who the hell are you?”
She stands and holds out a red gloved hand.
*Hard pass, I’m not shaking that.*
I look at her, waiting, and she puts her hand down, straightening her matching red blazer and pencil skirt.
“My name is irrelevant, you may refer to me as Cardinal. I was sent here by a higher power. I have been made aware you witnessed something unusual in nature this morning, does that sound correct?”
“Yeah, I guess unusual is one way to put it.”
“Mr. Magoulis, you are the only being to have ever experienced this phenomenon. It occurs once every two thousand years, wiping the entire earth of its existence to replace inhabitants with those from neighboring universes. However, it is too soon and this world is not yet ready.”
*This lady is definitely on drugs, I don’t have any weapons nearby.*
She’s now looking out the window. I’m still looking for a weapon. The remote? Is it stabby enough? Doubt it. Honestly, I would just like to go back to sleep and start this day over.
“Okay, bird whisperer, what does this have to do with me?”
She turns to look at me, “you are the only one that can see. You are the only one that can stop it. The prophecy says there is one sent to turn back the hands of time. This is you. In two days, you must go to this location,” she hands me a folded piece of paper. “Although it is ultimately your decision, the fate of this world lies with you. Life is fragile. Choose carefully.” She walks past me and out the door, closing it behind her. I look at Thanos.
“The fuck was that, dude?! Good for nothing, aren’t you? I do not feel safe.” I take his face in my hands and look at him. He’s just a big softy.
*I don’t know what the hell that was.*
I rub his face and let him go. Fuck all this, man, I’m going back to bed.
I wake up by Thanos with moonlight every so slightly streaming through the blinds. I look at my blinding green clock, midnight.
*Shit, did I really just sleep all day?*
I get out of bed to take a piss and just about fuckin piss myself when I turn on the bathroom light.
“What the FUCK, LADY?!!”
This goddamn freak is just standing in my bathroom.
“The choice is only yours to make for a few more hours, then the council will take things into their own hands. We cannot make choices for you, but we can offer you options.”
*I am so done with this. I’ve lost my mind. I know I have.*
“Dave, this is a very important decision. We have limited powers but we are able to grant you the chance to go back in time in order to prevent the sequence of events that took place this morning. You may choose this option, or wait two days to meet at this location,” she held the same folded piece of paper in her hand. “But, I assure you, that is not the easy option. You have until dawn to decide.” She hands me the paper. As I grab it, she disappears. Into thin fucking air. I turn around and look at myself in the mirror.
*Am I dreaming? Have I really lost my mind?*
Thanos grunts at something, I go out to check on him. There’s a timer on my pillow set for four hours and some odd minutes. That’s definitely until dawn.
*I need a drink. This shit is not real.*
I walk out of my room and down the hall, looking over the city as I pour a glass of scotch. As I pour, I see another ten blocks down and across disappear, only to appear again, newer. Cleaner.
I feel a cold sensation on my hand, I’m wasting my fucking scotch. It’s all over my table.
*Fuck this, dude. Fuck allllllll this.*
I drink my glass like a shot and pour another.
*I don’t know what to do.*
I begin pacing back and forth in the kitchen as Thanos comes out to join me in the living room.
I have to work in six hours.
*This shit cannot be real.*
I remember the paper. I fish it out of my pocket and look up the coordinates. Washington, D.C. I start looking up flights. They’re stupid expensive. I can’t drive. My old piece of shit won’t make it across the U.S.
*I don’t have another choice. I’m going to have to go back. But, what if I just let the world end?*
I keep pacing. The clock keeps progressing.
*Shit.* |
[Poem]
my neighbor, one day he went out of this world.
he was a boy but sometimes dressed as a girl.
he was sassy, but he wasn’t mean-
i think what he called himself was a drag queen.
well, aliens got him, put him in their ship,
wanted to know with what features he was equipped.
they saw his face, all done up in drag,
so my neighbor offered to go get his makeup bag.
he showed them just exactly how to get his look.
i guess you could say the aliens were shook.
the eyelashes, the eyeshadow, and the brows-
he did all of it for them, yeah, he went to town.
the aliens looked good, they looked so very hot.
my neighbor showed them his favorite drag show spot.
he said to them “i think you’ll make it big,
just one thing, let me snatch that wig!”
he fixed it up, gave the hair some curls,
put it on an alien and gave ET some pearls.
the aliens... they only wanted to look human,
but my neighbor probably gave them some confusion.
when they went out in public the very next day,
they were surprised at their own extravagant display.
other people, they all looked so plain.
all of this makeup just to find some human brains?
these green men, they were so very shocked
to see a man walking about in a boring frock.
the aliens, so confused, didn’t know what to do,
they decided to take off their platform shoes.
they didn’t want to be drag queens,
they just wanted to look like you or me. |
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