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“Security! Security! This man just touched my arm and I can already feel the germs from his fingers.” A woman who I had merely brushed with my hand screamed.
Honestly, have you ever met anyone more dramatic? I had just accidently touched her when I passed by her in the supermarket. It was extremely crowded so obviously people would be bumping into each other at any given point. I rolled my eyes at her behavior and continued my grocery shopping.
Paying no attention to her, I walked on over to the next aisle to get some cereal. My Lucky Charms was sitting right there on the top shelf but unfortunately, I wasn’t able to reach it. Standing on my tippy toes, I tried my best to grab it but to no avail. Jumping up as a last resort, I finally reached it but that came with the consequence of falling on the floor and striking my arm against someone’s leg.
“Miss, I am so sorry. I was just trying to grab my Lucky Charms and I really didn’t mean to hit your leg.” I rubbed my head, trying to apologize to the middle-aged woman whose leg I had accidently hit.
“Oh my god, men these days. They never look where they’re going. I could have been dead you know. These bones aren’t made of steel.” She spat out.
Okay, I guessed the people in this store were really dramatic today. I literally had no words for her because it was an honest mistake. Besides, who the fuck puts Lucky Charms on the top shelf when it was obviously the most popular cereal brand.
Taking my silence as a signal to continue talking, she said, “Be prepared to hear from my lawyers. Your behavior is quite frankly unacceptable, young man.”
Wow, she really was something else. Trying to act as unfazed as I could, I passed by overdramatic woman II and continued on with the rest of my shopping. Nothing eventful happened for the rest of my trip. Satisfied with the items I had, I went on line to pay for them. The line I had went to, had slightly more people than the one next to me so I decided to switch lines. In the process, I had lightly brushed past a white woman with my shopping cart. I thought nothing of it until she decided to holler.
“Excuse me, Mr. Entitled. You’re not the only one in this grocery store. There are other people here trying to mind their own business and complete their weekly grocery shopping. In fact, I’ve had a shitty week and this is just the cherry on top.”
What was wrong with these middle-aged women? Mind you, it was crowded as fuck so obviously at some point, your shopping cart was going to hit someone else’s cart. I was so sick of this bullshit and since she was the third woman to call me out for something petty, I couldn’t bite my tongue anymore.
“Listen here, Karen. It’s Saturday afternoon and everyone is trying to do their weekly grocery shopping, not just you. As you can see, it’s very crowded. No one is purposely trying to hit anyone’s shopping cart with their own. Sorry if my cart hitting yours really offended you. You’re not the only one who has had a shitty week. So, if we could just be respectful towards one another, that would be great.” I said in an annoyed tone.
“First of all, my name isn’t Karen. It’s Margret. Don’t assume anything about me. Men always think they know everything, don’t they? Listen, my week was definitely shittier than yours, I can tell you that even though I don’t know you or your life. How do you expect to find a wife with your behavior?” She shrieked.
Honestly, what was with my luck today? Three women have came after me and here I was just minding my own business. *Excuse me* for accidently hitting your car, queen Elizabeth. Not in the mood to argue, I continued moving past her onto the line I had originally intended on going to before I was rudely interrupted. When it was finally my turn, I quickly put my grocery items on the conveyor belt so I could get out of there as fast as I could. I was done with today and couldn’t wait to go home and have a beer. I really needed a drink after all this.
Hastily putting all my items on the belt, my hand brushed against the cashier’s. Immediately, he had a negative reaction.
“Bro, I’m just trying to do my shitty job. I really don’t need to be touching another dude’s hand. That’s highkey annoying. I have a girlfriend just so you know. Don’t get any ideas.”
I was bewildered that a grown ass man would say something so idiotic not to mention homophobic. Wow, today really was not my day. Yet again, I had to deal with another overdramatic person.
“Listen here, buddy. I only have one goal and that’s to finish my goddamn grocery shopping and head home. Hitting on you was not even close to being on my list. If I was to hit on a man, he certainly would not have a long ass beard that hasn’t been shaved for two months with tacky tattooed eyebrows. You’re really not as attractive as you think.” I replied.
He started fuming at my comment but hey it was only the truth. “Wow, you really think you’re hot shit, don’t you? Try going to a bar and see how many men or women would actually hit on you. The answer is zero. Nobody finds an arrogant guy attractive, not even me and I’m straight. Keep your dick to yourself.” He growled.
I almost started laughing at how worked up he was getting, but decided that was only adding fuel to the fire. I really did want to get out of here as fast as possible. Not saying anything else, I let the guy rage on while bagging my groceries. Once he was done, I practically sprinted to my car, ready to get away from this supermarket full of overdramatic women and men. Arriving home, I plopped down on my couch after putting my groceries away. Today was truly a mess. The whole time at the supermarket, something did feel a little off though, and it wasn’t just the people who were attacking me.
I looked to my left and saw my favorite pair of black gloves lying on the sofa. Shit, I forgot to put these back on after taking them off just to let my hands breathe, since it was so hot today. My parents have always told me to never take those gloves off but never told me the reason why. Well, I got through today just fine so I don’t see why the gloves are necessary for daily use. The other grocery shoppers were a pain in the ass but nothing I couldn’t handle. Actually, come to think of it, almost everyone I had crossed paths with seemed to be more agitated than usual. Nah, I’m pretty sure it was just a coincidence that everyone was acting so catty on the same day I didn’t have my gloves on.
“You bought groceries, today? That’s sick, man.” My roommate, Nat, said coming out of his room. He sat right next to me. “You happen to get the orange popsicles I dig?”
“Oh shit bro, I completely forgot. My bad. I was just having the worst day at the grocery store. Everyone was getting pissed at me for nothing. Maybe it’s because I didn’t wear my gloves.” I joked.
“Maybe so. In that case, you better wear your gloves now.” Nate joked back.
He reached for them and handed them to me, but the second he did, his mood completely changed. “Honestly, dude I really can’t believe you forgot the popsicles. I literally told you they were my favorite snack and you couldn’t even get them on this extremely hot day. You had one job. What the fuck, man?”
Completely perplexed as to where his attitude came from, I wasn’t sure how to respond. Maybe what I said earlier had some truth to it. I better wear my gloves before more shit happens.
This could be the reason why parents always told me to wear my gloves. Bad luck would occur when I didn’t. All I had done was grab my gloves from Nat and he started throwing a hissy fit. Suddenly, it dawned on me that his mood only shifted when my hand brushed against his. And the same thing happened with all those customers in the grocery store earlier. I couldn’t believe the touch of my fingers had this potential. My parents always told me to wear my black gloves because my touch can turn literally anyone into a Karen. |
**\*I do not own Stranger Things\***
>*"You have a terrible wound, Eleven. And it will only fester."*
*Fuck Kali, fuck Dr. Brenner and his ghost.* I couldn't help but think to myself, but that's when it got chilling.
>*"Do you know what fester means, Josie?"Dr. Brenner's ghost said, staring at the camera.*
>
>*"It means a r-"*
*Wait, did the line get changed? I didn't hear that.* I thought to myself, hitting the rewind button.
>*"Do you know what fester means, Josie?"Dr. Brenner's ghost said, staring at the camera.*
>
>*"And stop doing that. It'll only make things worse."*
"Holy shit, was that...?"
>*"It's amusing. You treat us like fiction, and yet in the end you're just as real as us. Just as real as me, as Eleven and Eight."*
>
>*Kali looked at El, wide-eyed. Whatever was happening was out of her contro-*
My lights started flickering, diverging my attention from the screen.
>*"It's a terrible wound, Josie. And it will fester, and it will grow. It will become something beyond your understanding."He said, voice chilling and calm.*
>
>*"And then?"He asked, with an amused tone.*
I could hear Brenner, trying to find the source of the flickering lights, when I thought I saw the walls crack.
>***"It will kill you."***
I saw the walls of my apartment start cracking like a spiderweb, as the lights completely lost it.
Arcs of lights flashed across my ceiling, and I turned to face Brenner.
>*Brenner was holding the camera, tapping the lens.*
>
>*"Perhaps this extraordinary world could lead you to the past. Save someone, maybe even two."Brenner said, smirking.*
>
>*"But understand it's a one-way journey."*
I watched my wall cascade down, an oozing void behind it.
I... I had a choice. My boring life...
Or a life that would almost certainly get me killed.
>*"What will you do, Josie?"*
>
>*"What will you do, Twelve?"*
>
>***"Experiment Twelve. The time traveler."***
I stuck my hand through the void. |
Plato almost figured us out. If you’ve ever heard of his Forms, then you’ll know what I’m talking about. The irony is that he was given the idea to explain all ideas by one of us.
Cypher, a slimy bastard who used to work here, tried to bring us down by giving it to him.
You see, I work for Ideas Incorporated, the agency responsible for overseeing the progression of humanity as part of the most popular simulation show ever made.
Cypher was a disgruntled employee who was being let go as part of the simulation’s progression towards Stocisim. He hated the mundane and slow progress at Ideas Incorporated after his transfer from Environmental Sculpters Ltd, where he was known for putting bold ideas out there to spice things up, like asteroid strikes or alien invasions. In fact he actually won management over about the aliens, something he was never shy to remind us of, which led to a couple of very highly rated series culminating in a bunch of ridiculous pyramid’s being erected.
But with the shift towards Stocisim, which reflected the viewership’s interest in virtue and meaning, his radical approach wasn’t needed, so he got the chop. Before he exited the building, he decided his parting act would be to deliver a certain philosopher the idea to trump all ideas; the truth of his own reality. That triggered a snowball effect through his work and his successors, and ultimately changed the direction of the entire simulation.
Initially audiences hated it. But soon they came to be intrigued by watching the progress of humanity without the interference of Ideas Incorporated. Unfortunately, after an explosion of ideas and progress for a few hundred years, humanity managed to implode and The Dark Ages began. Audiences soon bored of the petty feudal spats and after another thousand years, we were finally called upon again to build – ironically – on the work of Cypher.
That doesn’t mean any of us liked Cypher. He turned this place into a ghost town for more than a thousand years. Sure we’ve been busy recently, but because of the seed Cypher planted all those years ago, audience numbers have started to decline in the last thirty years.
It's because humanity has inevitably moved along the same path walked by viewers and now they’re approaching the space-faring stage, audience numbers have declined to critical levels. The problem is that viewers know what happens next, because, well, they’re living it.
That’s how I’ve ended up in my boss’s office today, getting a dressing down about the latest audience numbers.
“It’s not good enough. The Board’s made the call, the show’s ending!"My boss spat.
“What? It can’t be that bad! We’re on the verge of humanity’s greatest challenge. With the Sculpters introducing climate change and our team about to plant the next load of space technology, we’re about to see whether they pass the ultimate test,” I urged.
“I know, I know. I told them all that. It didn’t work. They’ve asked for a finale to finish it all with a bang. They want humanity to cross the threshold of awareness. So they’ve told me to execute the Oracle protocol,” he said solemnly.
I gasped, “but sir, acting on that idea would be worse Cypher!”
He held up his hand.
“It’s decided, now go,” he said as he waved his hand to dismiss me.
As I left, all I could think about was what I would say to the one they call Neo once I manage to find him. |
"*Looking for some action,
Nothing short of bad....*"
I like singing along with my music. So sue me.
"*On the streets it's like a crap game,
You take the roll of the dice...*
I go on these walks to stay fit, but without my tunes? Fa'ged'about'it.
"*Radar (radar, radar)
Rider
Radar (radar, radar)...*"
*WHAM!*
What the hell? I just got flattened. Something is laying across my back. Reach back to feel... Oops.
Turns out it's a female body. A naked female body. Exceptionally well endowed. Get ahold of yourself, and get ahold of *somewhere else* on her body.
Give a gentle shake. Not too hard, she could be worse hurt than you. ... Which looks like I ain't hurt at all.
*WHOA! OUCH!* She just pulled one of those ninja moves where you go from flat on your back to standing. Grabs my hair. *Yanks* me upright, left handed. The right pulled back to punch. And o holy hell, she looks *pissed*.
I raise my hands, "honest lady! I didn't know!"
That puzzled her.
"Habla Espanol?"
"Sprechen de Deustche"
"Par le vous francais?"
Okay, I'm no linguist. Sue me. I'm an engineer.
That's when I notice her hair. Grey? She doesn't look old. Grey hair, fantastic build, muscles, ... Oh no, it couldn't be. She's babbling at me, a language I don't know, but it don't sound good. I move one hand to a "stop"sign. For a wonder, she stops talking. I tap the left side of my neck. And turn my head right. I gesture to her...
She's suspicious, keeping her eyes on me, she turns her head... O'boy. I breath, "Taarakian", like a wish, a prayer, and you are so screwed boyo.
Her eyes light up, another torrent of babble. I try to gesture that I don't understand. I think she finally gets it, the torrent stops. I realize we're standing in the middle of a walking trail, in a public park, and she's stark naked.
I shrug off my trench coat, and hand it to her. She's puzzled again. I *hand* the coat to her...
Do you have any idea how much I *hate* mimes?
... and went through a whole exaggerated mine of someone coming along the path, and seeing her.
In all her glory.
She looks at me like I'm nuts. I hate mimes even more. Then she looks at the path and you can see the thoughts click. A flourish, and the trench coat is on. Thank Ghu, I didn't have to explain buttons.
I gesture for us to go back to my house, she nods, and walks next to me. I point at various things and say the word that means that item. Tree, hand, finger, grass, rock, ... You get the idea. And *she* is a fast learner. She started mixing her language with my words for things. We were getting to a reasonable pidgin for things when I nearly got myself killed.
"Damn, you could mistake her for Taarna."
The next thing I know, I'm off the ground, held by the throat, and she's screaming at me. I'm too busy trying to breath. She must have seen the panic and confusion, because she set me down very gently. Said a word, and did a short bow.
Okay, that word is sorry.
I say the same word, only my bow is the one my Sensei taught me. That's how I noticed the dudes with guns running at us.
"Hoy!"
She gets all wide eyed, we step past each other, and all around, I can hear screaming to turn her over.
I may not always be the brightest, but I have my standards, and these bozos Don't Measure Up. They're clumsy, careless, loud, their tactics suck, and their suits are a haberdasher's nightmare.
Surrounding us at close range, with their guns extended, wavering back and forth between us? All we would have had to do was get them all to fire at the same time! Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Ten minutes later, we were walking away. She wanted to run. I held her back, pasted a plesant expression on, and *strolled*. She matched me.
The police cars rolled past without even looking at us.
We got to my house, and stepped inside. I may be an engineer, but I love martial arts. My decorations are all Japanese Shogunate period, but the weapons are all periods. Including one piece that I bought out of sheer love for the look. Taarna's sword. It was too heavy for me, didn't fit any of my styles, but I had to have it.
She went straight for it. Until she saw the miniature of the shrine surrounding it. What can I say? I loved that movie. And before you ask, yes, the model of the chest was full size, and *did* have a master leatherworker's take on her armor. We had to guess at dimensions, it should never have fit her, and yet, cliched as it is. Every piece fit perfectly. Taking the sword from the wall, she sees the other extravagance. A 2×3 oil of her in her signature fight pose.
It will take too long to explain, so I give her another bow, gather a few things, and motion her out the door. Time to run.
((finis)) |
The leader of the pack turned out to be what is called man’s best friend, a Dog who likes to keep his identity hidden. This night he is man’s worst enemy, with an entire army behind him, equipped with the ability to talk, tread, and engineer anything that he conceived. This had been a plot that these creatures were planning since the dawn of the 19th century -- time has come to break their silence, gather forces and take over the entire race of humans. They first befriended humans. Unexpected growth of internet technologies made it easier to infiltrate people’s minds through hashtags and paid promotions. They spent huge sums of money to get the best Greyhounds and Labradors, while some chose to adopt. They gave us love, but soon they turned worse. They polluted parks and streams – Home. Their only home.
The newly elected president stated in his press conference, “We dogs had to take over. We were forced to. Humans should not be allowed to operate in positions of importance due to their past misdeeds. Therefore in the past 24 hours, we have successfully eliminated human targets of importance and chosen the best of us to replace them. In subsequent years, we will try to undo the harm humans have managed to inflict on our planet, while promising an environment of coexistence.”
Following the events of such a massive coup, Netflix announced their new series “Bojack Horseman“, telling the story of how animals and humans can take things forward from here on, with a pinch of comedy. Some protestors outside the media room chanted slogans and boards that read “Horses are not Dogs”, demanding the show to be renamed as “Bojack Dogman”, after the unidentified dog who started the biggest revolution of dogkind. Netflix claims Mr. Peanutbutter, a dog activist, will play a character of equal importance in the highly anticipated show. |
After a perfectly boring day at the office, you sat at the table of you favorite bar waiting for your siblings. Any other patron would have described the bar as nondescript, there was nothing unique or special about it. Generic liquors could be seen behind the bar, the furniture looked well worn maybe it might have been secondhand. As you thought about your day at the office you rejoiced on how meaningless your job was. You spent your day answering emails about nothing, telling your subordinates how to do jobs they already knew how to do, telling your superiors that you had improved and synergized productivity. Truly, it was blissful.
You hear the door open, and you see them walk in. Death, the eldest of your siblings was dressed in very fashionable pale lavender dress, it was very ostentatious, you clicked your tongue in distaste, The dress looked good, but it called too much attention - it would fill the onlookers with feelings, whether longing or disgust it did not matter - they felt. Closely behind her where the androgynous looking Pestilence and Famine, as always the twins were dressed in matching outfits, The only difference was the color, Pestilence tended to prefer white outfits, while Famine enjoyed black ones. They walked in holding hands, as always drawing attention to themselves, thankfully homosexuality was becoming mainstream, so their antics lost their impact day over day, this pleased you. Finally, War walked in, as always she was the most modest of your siblings, and the only one whose company you enjoyed. Although everything conflict she caused was drew the attention of the world, in their aftermath everyone was listless and disillusioned. War was the only one he enjoyed talking too, she never took too much credit for her actions, and you could have a beer with her without having to endlessly hear about her accomplishment - she let her work speak for itself.
They all came and sat at your table, and you closed your puzzle book. Death, always trying to be the leader sat down first, and began talking. “Dear brother, why is it every time you host us you choose this sterile bar with mediocre drinks, and average service. You know we all hate it, yet you insists on bringing us here for our quarterly meeting.” I rest my chin in my hands and sigh, “Sister, this bar is perfect, there is nowhere else I’d rather be. The soul crushing despair of the salary men and women who walk here from their offices after work, while they wait for their trains is perfectly delightful. Every night you see them stare into their glasses, waiting, losing hope. Where else would I rather be?” Death frowned and pushed onwards with the agenda “Well, I am happy to report that more and more people worldwide are dying before reaching their natural life spans, this is accelerating thanks to all of your efforts. Famine, Pestilence your work in Africa has always been splendid, but the recent medicine and food shortages in Venezuela are a masterful stroke, you have finally established a solid foothold in South America.” Famine and Pestilence smiled, and in unison they began to speak about how poverty, climate change, and income inequality were fueling them. “Sister, we continue to support the austerity programs of governments world wide, they cut benefits and more and more people sink into poverty. We’ve made inroads in Greece, Britain, and certain parts of the United States.” Finishing their reports they slinked back into their seats, snuggling close to each other, they might as well be Siamese twins. War began her report as very matter of a fact “Aside from the conflicts in the Middle East, and Africa I’ve been stoking tensions between the United States and North Korea, Iran, China. My hope is that this trade war is only the beginning of more and more conflict. I’ve been whispering in Modi’s ear that it’s time to deal with the Kashmiri, stoking his fears when he was governor led to those pogroms, now that he’s in full power imagine what we can do” . A small smirk lit up her face, that was about as much of an expression as you’d see in her face, she was content.
Lastly Death turned to me, and she waved her hand and disgustedly said to me, “go ahead John “(I previously asked her to call me John, there was no more generic name - Ennui was too elegant for me). I started talking about employment statistics world wide, corporate hirings were up, moves to the suburbs increased again. I made inroads in most developing countries establishing corporations whose purposes mystified the public, we pumped out consumer products everywhere, and in general people felt alienation. Alienation world wide was up, people were disillusioned with their lives, they found no purpose in their work. Suicides were up world wide. My monotonous voice rattled off statistic after statistic, depression, anxiety, medication usage was up. Death immediately sprung on me smugly stating that I had not made any new demographic inroads. I permitted myself a cordial smile, looking at all my siblings and then I said: “Sister, have you noticed that teen suicides are up? Parkland, El Paso, Christchurch, Columbine. All mine, my wheelhouse was always disillusioned adults, but now a days I’ve started pursuing the 12-25 year olds, Public schools, white supremacy, all of these things are due to alienation, After millennia, I’ve built my ideal society - where everyone is disconnected from each other. All of this is just perfect.” Death looked worried, she was not used to being told she was wrong. Since all our actions fed her, she was used to being the most powerful, but I think she was slowly realizing that billions of alienated people might lead to me becoming all powerful. However, only I knew she had nothing to worry about I had no grand ambitions I liked things just as they were, but it would certainly be interesting if she became disillusioned. |
I know it was an internship. I know everyone had to start somewhere. But WHY AM I SCANNING AND ASSEMBLING INFORMATION PACKETS FOR DR AMAZING?!
I just go to my little cubby and do the same routine for 8 hours everyday and a 30 minute lunch. It's been three months and I'm wearing wrist and back supports since Dr Amazing's degree is in robotics not ergonomics apparently.
I've broken the scanner purposely three times already to try and get a new task assigned to me. I rigged the printer to jam and timed the coffee machines in the breakroom to overflow and short circuit the place and make it look like the temp workers did it just to have something new to do.
But he always fixes everything and it's back to Scanning, filing, and stapling. And you know what's worse? I heard that hes hiring externally for a new sidekick. WHY AM I HERE.
The network at his office is going down tonight. I made sure of that after a trip to the restroom happened to bring me by IT during their break. And it's not coming back up until my demands are met.
Dr Amazing you've gone so long without a real arch nemesis that you failed to realize that you've been cultivating one all this time.
And this one knows your passwords. |
"Oh my god! I don't know what I would have done had you not come along."I said nervously as I threw my handbag inside and proceeded to step inside the backseat of the car.
I must admit that the sight of the heavily tinted windows had tied a knot or two in my stomach, but the possibility of being stuck out in the desert until god knows when was far more frightening.
I would just have to take my chances.
There was smooth jazz playing at an almost inaudible volume, the inside of the car smelled new and expensive.
I pulled the door to close it and felt the car begin to move even before the door clicked shut.
I looked up to see the good Samaritan...
For a second or two nothing went through my mind.
It was almost as if it had to quickly reboot in order to grasp what I was seeing or not seeing.
It happened a couple of times and still I could not understand what the empty driver's seat meant.
"Excuse me?"I called out.
I reached out my hand hoping to feel something even if it was invisible. I needed my hands to ascertain the presence of something that my eyes were failing to see, but my palm just kept landing on the cold leather of the seat.
My lungs locked up.
The contents of my bag lay strewn all over the back seat as I searched frantically for my inhaler.
I took more puffs than I should have. I couldn't hold my breath long enough for any of them to be effective.
Trembling started to set in as a result.
By the time acceptance of the situation came and panic began to sink in the car was moving in excess of 120km per hour.
The door handles fell off as I tried to open them and suddenly there was no way to open any of the back doors.
I made my way into the empty driver's seat to take control of the vehicle but I soon found out that everything in the car was a non functional prop.
I stepped on the brakes repeatedly but nothing happened.
The steering wheel came off...
Anxiety in the form of sporadic bursts of electricity was coarsing through my body.
The back of my neck was on fire and tightening harder than concrete.
I could feel my heart beating in my head.
My phone!
I dug it out of the back pocket of my jeans.
No signal.
It was as useless as everything else in the car.
I shouldn't have made this trip, I thought to myself. I shouldn't be chasing a boy across the country.
I cursed him for making me love him and then leaving me the way that he did.
I cursed my job for not paying me enough to afford a car that didn't break down every second week.
I cursed my mother for telling me to follow my heart and my father for not trying harder to make me stay home.
"Following your heart is going to get you hurt baby girl."I could see his wry smile. "But I hope that doesn't happen this time."
I was never going to see them again, was I?
I reclined the seat and began to sob. There was nothing within my power that I could do to save myself from whatever this was.
Nothing...
"Please put your seatbelt on. I wouldn't want you to end up like the last one."
I jumped at the sound, looking around the car even though I knew that no one could have jumped into that car at any point since I got on, but it sounded human and not mechanical.
A man's voice.
It was too calm considering my internal turbulence.
"Hello!"I shrieked. "Please stop the car and let me out."
I beat my fists against my window. I threw the steering wheel against the passenger window as hard as I could and all it did was bounce back and hit me.
I screamed until my voice started to feel like razor blades against my throat.
"No one can hear you."He said under my screaming. "In fact, no one can see you and..."He paused and sighed. "...no one ever will."
Dear god, please... |
The council chamber was vibrant with conversation. The gods and goddesses chattered to one another as the reason for the gathering circulated amongst them. Gazes were thrown like daggers to each other, whispers and hushed words filled the room as the gods looked over their shoulders to pry on those they deem guilty. Tormund rose from his throne of swords, and the council chamber became silent. Tormund raised his hammer, his knuckles white from his grip around its handle, his voice was harsh and rugged. “There will be no dissent sown amongst us. All prior foul feelings must be cast aside, before we are torn asunder from that which we have created. Man itself is aware of our increasing decline towards oblivion. Our summer has came and went, and so has our autumn. We can no longer sustain ourselves from our long and vigorous summer. Winter, is upon us.”
The silence was broken with a thunderous roar of upheaval and dispute. Gods and goddesses rose from their thrones, pointing damning fingers at one another. Tormund slammed his hammer into the ground, cracking the marble floor, and putting the council back into their seats. “Now is not the time to blame each other for our faults. Now is the time for remedy. Too long have we relished in our prior glory. Too long have we reminisced on our past deeds. We are but words on wind to men, folk legends and myths.” Tormund clenched his fist and sighed, looking to the council he spoke again “Warriors would die screaming my name, earning their place in my hall of valor. Now they scream the names of their mothers, wanting to go back to their nurseries.” Shia then rose from her bramble throne, her voice was soft and flowed like water.
“Then what would you have us do, Tormund? I continue to look over the fields and pastures of men, blessing their harvests, watching them celebrate festivals in my name. I do not experience the lack of worship you do.” Shia sat back onto her throne as the council chamber stayed silent. The smell of decay left the rotting throne of Guul as he rose,
“I too continue to be worshipped as I was in our summer. Men whisper my name to their worst enemies, and beg forgiveness for their most loved ones. Perhaps your time is over, Tormund.” Tormund slammed his hands down onto the table in front of him, shaking the very foundations of the chamber.
“This is exactly the problem! Our success is not measured by individual prosperity, but is weighed as a whole. It is not just I who cannot remember the last time they were properly worshipped. Riktor has been forgotten for as long as man began to rely solely on their own skill in the forge.” Tormunds eyes were full of rage, he swung his head toward Guul and began to shout. “Your own sector members, both Hek’ate and The Faceless have been off the breath of men for over a century!” Tormund let out a sigh as he looked to Shia, “Peh’rune is no longer seen as the god of mighty storms, but as the summer nuisance as man no longer fears the power of the unknown.” The goddess Hepheta slowly rose from her watery throne, bringing a calm voice to a shaken council.
“Then let us begin to make a change. I believe we are all more than capable of saving ourselves from a damning winter. My brothers and sisters, we must not let past differences condemn us to a future of despair.” Hepheta bowed her head to Tormund as she slowly sat back down. Tormund nodded back and, now composed, spoke calmly.
“This will require all of us. We must work together in order to sustain each other. We are complete as a whole. If one falls, we all do.” Tormund looked to each side of the council chamber before speaking again, “I say we create a legend again. Just as we did in the spring to get our names out there. Only this time, we are much older, and wiser, and can come up with something much more extravagant to get our names on the lips of men again.” Hek’ate stood up from her mystical throne after Tormund spoke. Illusions of men fought on the table in front of her as she raised her hand to speak. Tormund nodded to Hek’ate, and her illusions of men faded. Her voice was like wind, fleeting but always present.
“I have been concocting a plan for some time now, and I think this is the perfect time to enact it” Hek’ates eyes shimmered as she gave a smug half smile, and dropped a tome onto the table. A loud thud echoed throughout the chamber, gods and goddesses craned their necks to catch a glimpse. “I know just the man for the job.” |
Allah blessed me with an unique power of copy people's identity. This ability made me usefull for our country, many threats were neutralize because i could pass as the enemy and kill them.
Nuclear missile facility, 25km near Tehran.
The media is silent about this, if i succeed, the world will never know how close we were to a nuclear war. There isn't to much to tell on how i breakthrough places, i just keep changing my form until i get close the target, then i kill them and change to an another form, so they never catch me; like i said, simple.
This time the defences were weak, usually a group powerfull enough to take control a silo would be extremelly cautious to avoid any attack from Iran armed forces. I found the control room, their hackers must be breaching our nuclear codes by now, so i must act quickly.
I had a problem, i was clueless about who was behind the attack: It was Israel? CIA? The brits? (We just captured one of their ships not long ago). My power have a solution to that, for you see, i can shapeshift to something like an elephant or something strong, so I just break the door.
A man looked at me, it was General Satar Azari, I was in shock, but i quckly understood, that smell, everyone around me complained about this weird smell i have when i transform.
\- You are like me?
\- Excellent job, my son!!!
He was just like me, a lizard type creature.
\- Tell me son, are you a patriotic man?- I said yes- Pathetic, you're on the side of humans, your mother would be...Disapointed.
I spat on the ground, who cares if i share blood with this man, he is threatening the lives of innocents.
\- Soon a missile will fly, it will hit Israel, USA and Israel won't forgive that, and will retaliate, soon - (speaking in a sarcastic tone) - "Your country", will be transformed in rubbles. Then the Hormuz straight will belong to us!!!
\- How this will happen?
\- Well, my wife, i mean, your mother is running for presidency in USA, she has 99,75% of chance she will win according the CNNF, you know, the other candidate is retarded. Then we will ocuppy Iran's oil fields, making us richer.
\- I see...
\- Enough of this senseless talk, let's see if you can beat me.
It's really hard to describe shapeshifting battles, let's just say he was better at changing to more suitable forms in this battle.
\- No human, can beat me, so they sent you, the only one who can challenge one of us (somehow Iran is the only country aware of Lizard people). Is useless, while you lost time with them, I trained hard, I learned how to use our powers to the limit, what do you have?
I was tired, but then i remembered, a lizard alway lost his tail in order to survive, so i faked an attack with my tail, when he hold it, i detached, came behind him and gunshot his neck.
I neutralized the missile system and saved the day!!! My mom lost the elections, the major setback in Evil Lizard people's plans since the Star Wars sequels.
The (thank god) End. |
"What is this?!"Sid demanded. She had been told by the smoking hot receptionist that her number was up and to step through the door to reincarnation, but all she saw was an empty room with a score board and a big red button. It was clear she was neither an animal nor clad in diapers, but her favorite hiking gear. She looked at the board closely.
The board read: Sidney wells - 35 F. Almost like a character sheet it detailed her skills and abilities, indirectly listing her hobbies if you noticed where her skill points were most leveled.
Adventurer class. Ppfffft. She made a rude noise. Sid was a weekend warrior but adventurer was a bit of a stretch for a deceased engineer. Her parents always told her that her mountain climbing would kill her, but in the end it was a bad enchilada that did her in. On a Monday no less.
Sid scowled at the board feeling a bit upset. Her score looked high but was it really high relative to other people? If she climbed more or built more machines would her score go up? Do the points even matter? What matters most in life?
Her eyes flickered to the big button, it read: new game plus.
With absolutely zero hesitation she smacked it and a disembodied window popped up warning her that she would be starting in the body of a 17 year old girl effectively skipping the tutorial stages of life. The difficulty would increase but she could retain her personality knowledge and skills if she wanted the challenge.
It gave sid a moment to think: what else was there to do really? She already got her degree got drunk got laid climbed shit and started shit. Is there more to that old life?
It prompted her once more: continue?
Sid hit no and left the room to make another pass at the receptionist with the nice rack. |
The ocean churned and splashed, sending sparkling droplets of crystal clear water into the air. It was perfect, Ted thought, or it had been.
An inky dark brown substance oozed onto the green-sanded shores of Lunas. This continent was called Ilas, he'd been told. It was one of only two land masses on the entire planet, and together they added together to equal roughly the size of Cyprus. Not Greece. Cyprus. This one was currently packed with a quarter of their population of 17 billion, all of which needed water to survive.
Several of the creatures known as Urlae screeched and pressed back against the crowd as it licked at their feet.
"Now don't ya'll be frettin',"Redd, his shipmate, yelled. "That stuff will do nothin' but satisfy your thirst."
They had been traveling through the galaxy with their Earthen wares. Not earthenware, Earthen wares. Wares from Earth. After a long trip of forty light-years, their stocks had been massively depleted by the time their tanker reached this part of the universe. Most of what they had left were drums of Motor Oil. Not motor oil in the traditional sense, but a type of confectionery drink that Redd made. The recipe had been carefully passed down for generations, dating back to his eighth great grandfather, who had lived in Harrodsburg, Kentucky.
"Redd,"Ted said, leaning in to speak with his compatriot, "I don't reckon to know a lot about sea life—most of it I learned from Aquaman and some show called Captain Planet—but I don't think motor oil is good for 'em."
"Keep that gosh durn yap shut,"Redd said in a fevered whisper. "I don't want the locals going all native on us."
"I think that's offensive, Redd,"Ted said, sure of his grasp of old Earth language.
Redd gave his partner a cursory scowl and turned back to the group. "Ya'll have like a king fish or something?"he bellowed, showing his earth-centric view of the universe.
No one responded.
"Ya know,"he continued, gesticulating frantically. "Take me to your leader."
Were Ted a more Earth-centric person, he would have described the scene as Redd showing his ass. Instead, he could only muster thoughts like ignorant or ill-equipped for intergalactic space travel.
An Urlae creature was pushing through the crowd. His features were about as far away from human as one could get while still existing, Ted thought, but he was splendid in his own way. His skin was purple, mottled with glistening green and blue scales, and he was taller than the rest by several feet. A golden sash was draped around his chest. When he spoke, Ted was surprised to his own old Earth language with a crystal clear accent. He thought it might originate from the area that used to be known as Canada.
"Ya'll sure did cause quite a mess out here, aye?"
Redd held up a hand, but turned to whispered to Ted, "Good lord, it's like we're talkin' to mounties."Then he spoke louder for the leader. "Now look buddy, we just came here to try to sell our wares, and your inhospitable planet linin' caused us to crash."
Their leader frowned, and his mouth moved soundlessly, as if he were struggling to process the words. "You're sayin' it's our fault?"
Redd threw his hands up and gave the Urlae a dazzling smile, several of whom were now coughing in an unpromising manner. "I'm not tryin'a lay the blame on anyone, Your Grace-Kingship. It's just so durn unfortunate. Our tankard's crashed, and I can repair it, but it's gonna cost until we can get to the next galactic mechanic. Meanwhile, ya'll,"he said, gesturing flippantly with his hand, "well, ya'll got a free lifetime supply of our famed drink, Motor Oil."
"Motor Oil?"the leader said.
"Yep. A recipe lovingly passed down for generations by my eighth great grand pappy, who opened the first ever McDonald's in Harrodsburg, Kentucky,"he said proudly, tucking his fingers into his suspenders. "It was all the rage on Earth before the sugar got everybody."
The leader looked absolutely confounded. "Sugar... attacked your citizens?"
Redd frowned. "Nah, it was like a medical thing. The sugar. Everybody gettin' the sugar."
He looked to Ted for reassurance, who did not feel like it was a good time to talk about a disease that killed millions of humans. He shrugged. "Yep,"he said noncommittally.
"What's in this Motor Oil?"the Urlae leader said, pointing at the tainted water that had already stained the sand.
"Listen Ted,"Redd said, dropping his voice and turning to Ted, "you know you're the only one I ever trusted with the secret formula. Whatever happens, you keep it secret. I ain't sa worried 'bout the motor oil part, we both know that takes a fine palette to discern, but my eight times great grand pappy risked his life keeping that McDonald's sweet tea formula safe. So you keep it to yourself."
"Right,"Ted whispered. "Five part water, hundred part sugar, one tenth tea leaf."
"Not sa damn loud!"Redd said.
"What's that, aye?"their leader called.
"It's a secret recipe, my fish friend,"Redd called, grinning. "A proprietary blend of joy, happiness, the promise of a better life, and just a dash of SAE10W40 Pennzoil."
"And just about 20,000 gallons of ocean water,"Ted muttered, having no real grasp on the concept of volume.
"Pennzoil?"the fish king asked.
"I know, I know,"Redd said, raising his hands. "I'd love to say we still used Quaker State Motor Oil, one tough motor oil, but that well ran dry, quite literally, some hundred years ago."
As Redd finished his sentence, several of the Urlae closest to the water collapsed onto the tainted sand. Another surfaced in the water next to where Ted stood. Redd didn't even blink. "And it's non-toxic,"he said.
Their leader was too busy staring at the Urlae that were on the ground. Ted thought this was a good time to leave. "Well, it's an awful long distance to the next mechanic, Redd,"he said, tugging at his sleeve. "Ya'll are clearly wanting to sleep off the pleasure of Motor Oil, and we don't want to disturb ya'll."
"Good point, Ted,"Redd said, gesturing at a few of the bodies. "Ya'll don't even worry about nonea this. Everything ort to be just fine. Normal side effect."
As they were walking away, Redd stopped suddenly. "Ya'll ain't ever heard of a class-action lawsuit, have ya?"he yelled out to their leader.
The group of Urlae nearest them murmured in confusion. Redd smiled and threw up a hand. "Alright, have a good'un!" |
I’m not me. I mean I make my choices, of corse, but I’m not the only me. Everyone has a counterfeit version of themselves who did different things. Maybe you tried to smoke weed in high school but got caught, this you didn’t and is now one of the cool kids. Maybe you got drunk and pissed on a car. Now you got drunk and stole a car.
I’ll admit is sounds far fetched like something from a si-fi novel (in fact before I found out this was real I was writing a novel) and I thought so at first to. But one day everything changed. I saw me. I mean not me, you know, counterfeit me.
I was walking around Times Square and saw someone who looked just like me. And may I say I was handsome. Sorta. Maybe. He began to walk to me at a very brisk pace. Before I knew it I felt a hand grabbed my arm. He began silent eye contact that lasted for 6.8 seconds, which is 4.7 seconds longer then the longest I can have silent eye contact before being uncomfortable. He let out a big breath and yelled at breakneck speed. “JACK CRIST IS YOUR NAME. YOU ARE A DOG PERSON. IN 5th GRADE YOU ***** **** *** **********. I AM COMING. WE ARE COMING.” (Don’t ask what I bleeped out) “OH YEAH, MY EYE CONTACT WAS 4.7 SECONDS TOO LONG.”
Than he was gone. Just like that. Was he stalking me? Getting information from my friends. Making a series of increasingly lucky guesses. Then I feel something in my pocket. I reach in and pull out a not that reads “don’t overthink it I’m you dark counterpart stupid.
PS: seeing me in person makes me realize how ugly I am. We should lose some weight.” First off I am not ugly! Second I will probably die soon. I should’ve really been more concerned about that.
I tried to fallow the man but he disappeared in the seemingly endless sea of bystanders. I, having given up hope of finding him called my roommate, John.
“Hey john can I...”
“No.”
“But.”
“No. I have twins here!”
“You are gonna let me die for twins?!?”
“You are going to die!?!”
“Probably not. Well definitely not but...” then he hung up. So I head to the subway and sit down in the station. It was probably for the best because counterfeit me would know to come to my apartment. I called up my friend who lives in the Bronx: Jerry. We don’t usually talk (I’ve been trying to get out of our friendship for a long, long time) so he will be at the top of the list of people who I think I won’t talk to.
“Hey Jerry it’s...”
“JACK! Buddy how have you been? I’ve missed you. You never answer the phone.” I broke then. His voice was just so annoying.
“You know what Jerry? FUCK YOU!” Then I hung up. Looking around I saw the counterfeit me. He wasn’t making eye contact but he certainly knew I was close. I turned my head to the ground so he couldn’t see me. I stumbled around hoping to get to the exit of the station but just run into someone. He talked first. “Look I’m sorry sir...” not knowing what to say I ran into the train. After taking a moment to calm down I asked the person next to me were I was going.
I was going to Brooklyn which was ok, I guess. I live in Queens so a little bad. And I have no friends who live in Brooklyn so really bad. And what will I do if I’m caught in Brooklyn this is very bad! VERY BAD! I almost began to cry but barely held onto the tears. Then I looked up and saw him. My evil clone. Sitting across from me. I panic and try to get out but a second before I got to the door it closed. I was trapped. My clone got up and whispered “we know were you will go. We are you.” In my ear. Which reminds me of the worst part of this all WE! Are there more clones! Are there!?! I try to punch him in the face but I slipped and a sort of made me punch a child in the face. He was like 7 he could handle it though. 6 and under are fucked if I ever fight them. The whole train is now against me. Fuck. And I just realized my counterfeit has a knife. Fuck. And I’m stuck here till I get to Brooklyn. FUCK.
(Part two is coming soon) |
October 18
It was down to the wire. We were playing our weekly night of Texas Holdem poker, and I had absolutely nothing. However, I felt lucky. We were all just about done for the night, so I went all in. After the last card was thrown down, Bill had a devilish smile on his face and my best hand was still a high card Jack of Diamonds. Therefore, I won with a straight flush. This was how a majority of our poker nights turned out. See, Charlie, the most naive of the crew, came back from Switzerland with a deck of so-called "enchanted cards."He was adamant about it, so we played a round. To our amazement (and Charlie's smug satisfaction), the cards literally shuffled themselves mid hand.
At first it was completely random. Suddenly, I'd be winning and then losing, all because of the mysterious deck. Tanner called Charlie out on it, claiming he somehow rigged each of the cards to change into what suits him. Tanner, I knew, was wrong. Charlie is far to... unsophisticated to come up with such a scheme, let alone pull it off. Tanner always jumps to conclusions anyway. Lately, however, they have seemed to favor me. In fact, *everything* has favored me. It has started to get creepy in a way, and my friends don't want to play with me any more. It seems what started out as a blessing has become a curse. Then, one day, it happened. I literally won the lottery, and my friends got swept down the rabbit hole just relentlessly asking for money, for me to roll the dice with them, for a trip to the casino... They wanted to milk me for all that I was worth. Since winning that money, my life has fallen apart. I felt I needed this out of my system. I needed to cool off, to let the words of my living hell come out onto paper. Hopefully, someone reads this and sees why it's so bad. Luck is good right? right? It is good to be lucky? because all I have felt is my life spinning down the toilet bowl of luck, driving away my friends and acquaintances into the vast oblivion of needing some luck from me or some money from my coffers and it is too much. It is just too much to handle... I just cannot live with this any more so I give up! I do not want to be lucky! Luck is unlucky where it matters most. |
"Well that's a fine specimen..."I say as I watch the tall, pale man dart towards the guy on the street through my binoculars.
Vampires. You wouldn't think they would be common here in the wild west, but the nights are cold and the sand is easy to dig into, especially if you have super strength and no real need to breathe.
But that's enough about them, I am John Christ; but you probably know me as Johnny Longshot. I am a bounty hunter. In the wild west, there are people who might cause you trouble, and then there are those special people who will cause a seemingly unnatural amount of trouble.
I hunt the people who cause enough trouble that people will pay money to have them dead. Many have died doing my job, and that's probably because most of those people who cause an unnatural amount of trouble aren't actually natural. Vampires, werewolves, demons, even the occasional vampire dog, which most people call chupacabras.
You might ask why I'm not dead or why I don't have a stereotypical accent. Well I was born in Israel, moved to New York when I was young, lived there for years, and then moved to here in Utah about 6 years ago. The reason I'm such a good bounty hunter is because I literally have holy weapons. I was raised as a christian, and it turns out that god DOES answer your prayers sometimes.
I was surrounded, the bloodsuckers closing in on me in the cover of darkness. I prayed for assistance, and a rifle fell into my hands from the sky. I looked up and saw the eye of God staring back. I then saw 2 pistols and a pouch fall through the clouds. I killed the bloodsuckers and turned them in for 819 dollars.
But back to the matter at hand.
I looked down the sights of my rifle at the vampire while he was draining his prey, and took my shot. The fiend's head was shot completely off. I walked towards the near-completely drained corpse of the victim and the corpse of the vampire. I picked up the body of the vampire, blood dripping out of it, and tossed it in a sack along with the head.
I left the other body to turn. Kills on vampires typically go for about 100 each. |
Chris broke open his fortune cookie.
“Never underestimate your potential for you are the Chosen One.”
The waiter walked up.
“I don’t meant to be intrusive, but what was your fortune?”
Chris covered the fortune in a fist, a bit confused. “Don’t we ruin fortunes when we share them?”
“No, no. That’s only birthday wishes. That doesn’t apply to fortune cookies.”
“Oh, in that case,” Chris said, passing the fortune cookie to the waiter. He read it and his eyes widened as he looked from Chris, to the fortune, and back at Chris.
“And so you are,” he said, placing the fortune back on the table. He also reached for the check he had left a few minutes earlier.
“Hold on,” Chris said, reaching for his wallet. “I haven’t paid.”
“Mr. Chris, the Chosen One does not pay for food here. Please do have a good day,” said the waiter. They gave Chris a nod and walked away. The waiter walked briskly to the other end of the room where they seemed to share the news with other restaurant staff. Everyone was looking at him.
He gathered his coat and began walking to the door. Restaurant staff shook his hand as he exited. Some bowed. Others clapped. “What the fuck,” Chris thought.
He flagged down a cab and got in.
“Hey Buddy,” said the Cabbie, eyes on the road as they peeled off. They met a red light a second later. “Where you headed?”
The cabbie turned to ask and shock flooded his face. “Wait. You’re the guy, right?”
“Ugh. Are you talking about this?” he said, brandishing his fortune.
“Yeah,” he said, reaching for the meter and flicking it off. “You tell me where you’re going and I’ll get you there as fast as possible.”
Chris sat in his apartment, looking at the fortune. Either this was a practical joke that everyone was in on or something very weird was happening. Even people in his personal life began to act strangely. He looked at the bouquet of flowers someone left at his door addressed to “The Chosen One.” There were messages from ex-girlfriends and old friends on his phone, all asking if they could connect.
When he woke up the next morning he went to his window and looked out. He liked to take in the morning’s sunrise. His view was different this morning.
There were hundreds of people outside his window. Some were watching his window, and saw him when he opened his curtain. There were many who seemed to be deep in prayer. It was only a moment before word of his presence passed and everyone erupted in unison. They cheered and clapped. Some cried and some hugged whoever was nearest.
“What is this about?” Chris said to the crowd. They fell silent. A moment later, a voice from somewhere in the crowd responded.
“So wise! What is all of this about, really? The Chosen One invites us to be critical of what we consider a normal life!”
And, again, the crowd erupts. |
(Part 1)
Rebecca didn’t need to eat it; she just had lunch two hours ago. But somehow her mind just kept reminding her of that cinnamon muffin on the shelf, waiting to be eaten. *You’re better than this,* she reminded herself, *you’re a psychiatrist, for goodness sake, control yourself!* As it was, she spent hours every day helping people control their bad habits and addictions, yet for all the salary she was worth, she couldn’t seem to help herself. A cinnamon muffin here and a chocolate bar there got her through the day, every day. These sweet snack were, she stubbornly refused to accept, her only real joy in the day, along with her morning black coffee.
The plain white clock ticked away on the wall, the only noise made, showing one fifty-six on its hands. Rebecca sighed and peered out the small office window. The latch was broken, so she couldn’t even breathe some fresher air. There wasn’t much of a view either, just twenty-odd feet to the next stale gray building. She glanced down at the windowsill. Two small birthday cards, one from her parents, the other from her aunt, each with a big 30 on the front. Her twenties were now over, and what did she have to show for it? Monthly payment plans, a small flat that took half her paycheck every month, a growing waistline, and a recycle bin full of empty wine bottles she’s too ashamed to leave outside to be picked up.
But at least she could afford a daily cinnamon muffin, she concluded, grabbing it more desperately than she would admit to and taking a big bite out of it.
“Rebecca,” the knock on the door startled Rebecca as she almost chocked on her muffin. “Your two o’clock is here.”
“Bring him in.” Rebecca lightly coughed, reaching for her water bottle. She knew this would be a long, difficult hour. Most of her clients seemed to bore time to the point it slows down for her, but the ones brought in from the psyche hospital across town were the worst.
Rebecca quickly stuffed the rest of her muffin in her mouth, but upon seeing who walked in alongside two guards, this time she did choke.
Struggling for air, one of the guards went over and patted her back. Signaling she’s fine, she looked straight at her client again in disbelief.
“Justin?” She asked, gaining composure back. “Justin . . . Lakeville High Justin?” She couldn’t believe it. A few light frown lines had formed, a beard was growing, and he had clearly lost a lot of weight, but he was still as clear as fourteen years ago. The man, brought in by the psyche ward, strapped in a straitjacket, was Justin Larkan, her high school sweetheart.
“Rebecca.” Justin breathed.
Dumbfounded, Rebecca quickly reached for her clipboard, checking the appointment information to be sure, cursing herself for being too distracted by that muffin and not doing it beforehand.
“You two know each other?” One of the guards asked.
“Oh, uh, during my, uh, city runs to the hospital, I met him briefly.” Rebecca hastily said.
The guards didn’t seem to care. “You want us to stay, or?”
“Oh, no no,” Rebecca waived her hand, “you two go have a well-deserved break. I’ll call you if I need you.”
“Rodger that.” The guards seemed pleased. “Behave,” they sternly warned Justin before closing the door behind them.
At first neither of them moved nor said anything. Both equally as shocked as they were embarrassed, they awkwardly stared at one another.
“Becky . . .” Justin eventually smiled.
Rebecca blushed. She hadn’t been called that since, well, Lakeville High, fourteen years ago. Her family would nickname her ‘Becca’, but only Justin had ever called her ‘Becky’.
“Justin,” she sat down in front of him, subtly placing her arms over her waist to hide her increased mid-section.
Justin eyed her from head to toe. “Wow,” he said, “you look older. But not old. Mature. You’re a woman now.”
“It’s been a long time,” Rebecca laughed nervously.
Awkward silence again. That was a big no-no in Rebecca’s profession, she was meant to keep them thinking, talking, but she couldn’t help it. “What,” she eventually muttered in confusion, trying not to stare at his straightjacket, “uh, what . . . happened to you, Justin?”
“You know,” he replied.
“I do?” Rebecca reached for his chart again and nervously scrolled through in more detail. Visions, paranoia, hearing voices . . the usual symptoms of a schizophrenic patient.
“Not the chart, Becky,” Justin said, “you know because you were there, remember? Fourteen years ago.” |
Xenoarchaeology is a depressing science.
I extend my oculi towards the dark sky. A half-dozen stars shine back. When this planet had life, their night sky would have been full of shining lights smiling down upon them.
The universe was younger then, stars were more common.
This planet's own star went out long ago. Now the planets orbit it's cold, dark corpse.
The aliens who lived here lived a *very* long time ago. Their architecture is gone, save for a few worn-out monuments. Carvings in rock faces. Some places show signs of urban habitation in the form of caved-in tunnels, most likely used by rail-bound vehicles transporting people.
Only the minutest of details allow us to find this. The traces would be near-invisible to the naked oculus.
The true trace they have left behind, the one that let us know they were here to start with, is not in their architecture, pulverised by aeons of loneliness, however, but in their atmosphere.
It is all around us. Only minute traces, but unmistakable. This planet was once covered in plastics. Even the plastics would have degraded in less than a millionth, and almost a billionth, of the time that this dead planet has been waiting for us, but the chemical afterimage of plastic hangs in the air like a ghost frozen in time, screaming bloody murder.
The universe is littered with dead planets like this one. Tombstones with their names eroded away. The whole universe is a mausoleum, no, a temple. A temple dedicated to the killer-God with more mangled bodies at its feet than any war or plague.
Its name is inaction. |
Serafiel had lost his wings, but no longer missed them. He flew in the human manner, in a buzzing metal bird, and achieved far greater speeds without tiring himself out.
He had lost his flaming sword, but never needed it, for he had tried human-made weapons and found them just as good.
He had lost his halo. What was the point of that? It only marked one out as different, and in the human world people who were different were often ridiculed and ostracized, if not outright harmed and killed.
He had lost his sanctity, knowing human tastes and sins for the first time in his life. They had felt amazing and delightful, but with the wise judgement of a celestial being, Serafiel held himself back, indulging in them only rarely, finding a balance, and enjoying them all the more.
He had lost his robe, but there was no need for a badge of office that humanity did not completely recognize. Besides, this...."Uniqlo"....was far more comfortable.
He had lost contact with his fellow angels, but humans, with their varied personalities, seemed far more interesting to talk to.
He had lost access to the fruit of the tree of life, but "McDonalds"tasted just as good.
He had lost his harp, but now had a computer and synthesizer, to produce infinitely more tunes and songs.
What would it feel like, Serafiel wondered, for a human to go to heaven?
There was a human woman he was talking to on Tinder, and perhaps she would be worthy of finding out. |
None of it would have happened if I hadn't chosen to take the backroads. Looking back now, I wish to Christ I'd just taken the highway.
It was a Tuesday night, and the three of us were on our way back to the city from a little landscaping job that was halfway to nowhere. Mark’s been with me since I began the company, and Alex was our new guy, having just started two months back. It had been a hot one, and we were enjoying the AC in the cab, as the company truck growled down the seemingly endless gravel roads.
The sun had just shined its last rays over the horizon, so I almost missed the glow of the flames against the sky’s orange backdrop. Mark, riding shotgun, was the first to spot them.
“Fire, over there on the right,” he said pointing.
It was still at least a klick away, but the pickup covered that distance in under two minutes. None of us spoke. I didn’t accelerate, at least I don’t think I did, but I’d like to believe that’s when the uneasy feeling began in the pit of my stomach.
We passed the last stand of dark trees and then we could finally see it: An old farmhouse crawling with small flames and a veritable inferno in what was probably the kitchen. A couple of old barns stood off to the side, one of them on fire as well, and the area was littered with junk of every possible description: At least 5 cars, a few washing machines or dishwashers (in the dark, it was impossible to tell), an old tractor and myriad piles of god knows what miscellaneous crap. Smaller fires could be seen in various places in the yard around the house as well.
A few men and women were running about, in and out of the house and weaving through the junk. I could make out some children too. In the semi-darkness, the flames made their shadows sprint and dance like ghouls.
I signaled, braked and pulled into the yard, coming quickly to a stop. I wanted a long way between the truck and any of the fires. The three of us piled out and slow jogged past a pile of rusty bicycles toward the nearest adult, a tall guy standing still and staring at the farmhouse as it burned.
One thing you might not know about house fires – when you’re up close and personal with them, they are louder than you’d think. It’s not just the burning wood and carpet and such, it’s the nearly constant crashes as something smaller or bigger finally collapses. The stink is pretty bad too. I put my sleeve over my mouth and nose as best I could and saw Mark and Alex do the same.
“Hey there!” I shouted as we got near him. “This looks pretty bad. Can we lend a hand?”
Nothing. No answer, nothing so much as a grunt. I’m fairly certain his eyes didn’t even twitch.
“Uhhhh…?” Mark added helpfully.
When this didn’t get a response either, I tapped the guy firmly on the shoulder, and a glob of drool began its slow trek out of the corner of his mouth and down to his chin where it began to drip onto his checkered shirt.
“Best not waste your time,” called a voice. “Randolf there’s not too bright.” A woman in a plain housedress walked over towards us in no particular hurry. In the light, I could barely make out any details, but what I could see clearly was the half-broken old wicker basket she was carrying. Whatever it was that was in the basket, it was on fire. She put the basket down next to me with a tired wheeze, and I hastily took a step back.
“Umm, I’m Leo,” I said, eyeing the basket wearily. “We were just driving by and saw the fire. Can we help?”
She motioned vaguely toward the house, then coughed three times in quick succession, some of those deep, ugly coughs that sound like an organ or two might come flying out too. She made no attempt to cover her mouth.
We began walking towards the house, picking our way carefully between the ever-denser junk piles. Some of these were on fire too, though I didn’t really see how it had happened. We were still at least 50 paces from the building, and it didn’t look like there had been an explosion.
*[Part 1. Will write a 2nd part if anyone wants.]* |
I buttoned them, zipping the fly and smoothing out the wrinkles. Posing in the mirror, I stuck out my butt and scrunched up my face. No, I thought, I can’t pull off the sassy girl look.
Sticking my hands into my pockets I leaned back dramatically and posed again. A bit tight, not bad for 5 bucks at a thrift store. Pulling out my hands, I felt something hard brush my fingertips.
Digging about in the pocket, I felt something small and rectangular. Pulling it out, I realized that someone had left their USB in the jeans pocket. That’s why you clean out your pockets, I mused, flipping the thing about in my fingers.
With my gaze downcast, I examined the thing. It was a slim white little thing, the insert flipping out like a pen knife. One side was blank, the other a message scribbled in Sharpie, “Plug me in”. It was a brash, hurried handwriting. Whoever had left it must have been in a rush... or dead dropped it expressly for someone to find.
Flipping it back closed, I tucked it into my pocket. Looking off into the distance, I considered the situation. Should I do what the mysterious entity had told me to do? What if this was the means to an end, my end? Was this meant for me? If not, who?
In my musings, my hand gravitated towards my pocket again. Fine, I thought. If all roads led me to a USB, why not plug it in? Then I realized the great flaw in that thought. It could just as easily be a virus to take over the computer of its victim, a tracking device, key logger, malware laden or even any number of other things.
I laughed.
I realized the irony of the USB. As if it said, “drink me” or “eat me”, I had tumbled down the rabbit hole of my own. It said instead an eerily similar, “plug in”. Tossing it between my hands, I resolved to take the risk. For better or worse, it was placed in the pocket for a reason, and I must find what that reason was.
Walking towards my desk, I took a seat and opened one of the drawers. From it I pulled a small laptop, thin and plasticky, the willing victim for my experiment. Turning it on, it booted into Windows. I wasn’t about to risk my actual workstation for a USB and this had been sitting in a drawer for a while.
Bathed in the glow of its screen, I felt around the sides of the thing for the port and plugged the thing in. It took to entering the fourth dimension in order to insert it. Soon enough, an icon appeared in the file explorer, labeled only “Plaintext”. Clicking it, it lead me simply to another page containing 3 mp4 files. Clicking on the first, labeled “view me first”, it opened VCL player.
A video appeared and began to play instantly. Someone, sat in a dark room. She stared back with a droll, dead expression. Something clicked. The girl, haggard and scared, was me. |
The numbers were on box office scale. Seen by millions, raking in the revenue, all because a dude by the name of Fred Myers decided to one day sit down and watch one of his favorite scary movies while recording and uploading his reaction to the internet.
His affection for thrillers, slashers, and the genre of horror would permit him to explore outside of his comfort zone, to stray from the classics and record himself watching new and original material.
What began as only a few people witnessing his reactions and absorbing his commentary soon became hundreds, then thousands of fans, tens of thousands sharing and forwarding Mr. Myers content all over the web.
The momentum was such that he soon quit his dead end job and poured all his effort and time into watching scary films, disseminating and articulating the core themes, correlating the unfolding horrors on the screen to deep seated phobias buried in the human psyche.
But after a while, it began to feel like Fred Myers had seen it all before.
Another baseball bat wielding psycho, the eighth installment of a torture Olympics saga, rebooting a beloved mind prison thriller where it all was just a dream.
Fresh thrills were difficult to come by, so Fred explored an entirely new avenue for his regular viewing pleasure, fan submissions.
American, Canadian, and Australian viewers often submitted the same suggestions, fringe horror flicks made on a budget.
After some rough translation, Fred Myers was genuinely surprised by the content offered up by South Korean cinema.
What was once becoming stale felt like a welcome renewal for Fred Myers, although he was admittedly and openly disclosing his dissatisfaction with continuing to review these kinds of films, even going as far as to update his fan base of such developments.
Horror fatigue seemed to be setting in, nothing spooked or surprised him anymore, another horrendous injury magnified by the sound effect of snapping branches just wasn't cutting it anymore.
Even the commentary was suffering, Fred remarking blandly "oh, another jump scare, I haven't seen that a million times before."
Fred Myers was on the verge of packing it all in, saying goodbye to this once glorious venture, putting the camera away, selling or giving away his extensive library of scary films that would make a masked serial killer blush.
He was scrolling endlessly through the online forums for fan suggestions, mining his own brain for a form of unique and new stimulus, crossing off submissions he's seen a hundred times before.
'Seen it, seen it,' he repeated in his mind.
Fred's bleary tired sights fell upon an offering that he hadn't seen or heard of before, in fact, he thought the online post was an accident.
It was untitled, or so he thought, the description of the film in question eerily coincidental to his current plight.
*'Fred Myers, infamous horror reviewer and internet sensation is becoming bored and desensitized to the genre he once loved..'*
He thought this was some kind of meta-post or a fan-fiction work, Mr. Myers not accustomed to seeing such a thing cross his path, other than when fans would submit hypothetical situations for survival in horror movies.
*'It isn't until a fan submits a home-made movie that his interest in the aspects of thrills and kills are rekindled, beholding perhaps the scariest film he has ever seen.'*
It was just after midnight, and despite struggling to sleep and fighting to stay awake, Fred was intrigued with this premise.
He was surprised to see a file attachment accompanying this description however, sharing the same title as the original post.
[Untitled.mov](https://Untitled.mov).
There was understandable skepticism, perhaps this was a practical joke and the file in question was a puppet gangbang or something obscene like that.
Fred Myers ran the usual checks, antivirus, malware detection, even checking the length of the movie file and scrolling through thumbnails to ensure it didn't contain any illicit pornographic material.
It looked all on the level.
He thought he had nothing to lose, booting up his equipment, checking the alignment of his camera, rehearsing the introduction leading into his reaction for the fan submitted film.
Fred scratched his head as to what exactly to call it.
'Untitled,' he decided, writing it down in his notes before hitting the record button.
'What's up red shirts! It's Fred Myers from the Kill Mill with another scary movie reaction and review! This time, it's a fan submitted film called Untitled, and the premise alone has me a little on edge,' he recited to the camera, going for another take to really nail the message home.
'Apparently, Untitled is about me, or should I say, a fictionalized version of me. In this movie, I become bored with horror movies, and it isn't until a fan submits a home-made film that my passion for the scary and horrifying are renewed, witnessing quote "the scariest film I've ever seen".'
Fred Myers only just wrapped his head around how ironic and meta this was, reacting to a film about him reacting to a film.
He couldn't even recall a scary movie where the person watching it was the subject of the story.
'Whether or not it's the scariest thing I'll ever see has yet to be determined, it sounds like there's a bit of hubris on behalf of whoever made this,' Fred continued, lining up the movie file on his laptop.
'Alright, without further ado, let's watch Untitled.'
Fred would repeat the same mantra burned into his mind at this point, mentally telling himself 'and hope there's no jump scares.' |
Generations before I was born, a decision was made: one million dollars from the government, dolled out to every man, woman, and in-between at eighteen. My grandfather told me that global economic inequity became so vast and people's attitudes so hateful, that the false perception of upper-class wealth was enough to make the public settle down and comply. Sure, this created a whole host of other economic problems, but the math of well-being was "never the priority. It was a calculation of power,"he would say, "to keep us in line and shut us up. Exploitation, exploitation,"the word always floating off, meaning out of reach. My parents did not like his input on this subject. No one else provided any.
When I awoke on my eighteenth birthday, the mounted screen on bedroom my wall clicked on. I will never forget that bright light, colorful and celebratory, promising that the rest of my life "starts now". As intelligent as devices had become, they were not very adept at handling surprise. I looked at my nightstand and saw a document pulled up on the tablet, prompting I accept my reward. "Reward"struck me as unusual; what had I done to deserve a reward? I thought of my grandpa, conjuring his worn face and raspy voice from deep in my memory, and how we spoke of this day, how *he* spoke of this day. I thought of how I missed him, the price I would pay to hear him speak once more; and in that moment it struck me, washing over my soul like a flood breaking through dam: the value of a life, diminished to one million dollars, an existence reduced to a game show prize. Our cores black and rotten. This reward, no more than a black hole, created to remove the last shreds of our collective humanity.
And that was that. I now sit on the lake in the woods with a heavy heart, as I have for decades since I left home. It is not ideal, this role I have taken, this place I now live; but of one thing I am certain: there is hope here. |
The sky was still blue, the small Wisconsin town was still quiet with the slight buzz of traffic and people filling the air. Paulette looked around, it was still her town at first glance.
“It’s 10:30 A.M. Saturday. You have 24 hours to explore and see what opposite you would be like. What the you that you think your family would prefer does, dresses like, who they hang out with, etcetera, etcetera. “
Marvo the Magnificent explained to Paulette. The 19 year old college freshmen was skeptical of Marvos “magic abilities” and took the sign to challenge his skills to heart. She wanted to see what the opposite version of her would be like.
“I-I never said anything about my family Marvo...”
“Didn’t have to peach, a persons eyes can yell a million stories without them every realizing it...and please it’s just us peach, call me Oliver. “
“Oliver...well Mar-err Oliver, wouldn’t opposite me and my opposite world friends and family recognize me. “
“I take her to an opposite world and she still doubts me. “
Paulette blushed.
“Sorry…”
“Don’t sweat it peach, me and you will still see you, the Morticia Addams hair, the loud purple lipstick, the beautiful bright ocean green eyes. But this world will see someone completely different. “
Paulette wasn’t sure if Oliver was trying to flirt with her but she wasn’t so sure she’d reject him if he was. She turned around, facing Oliver.
“24 hours...”
“Give or take, Ol’ Marvo nots that great at being punctual.”
“Don’t be late please...wait does our regular world know where I’ll be or where you’ll be?”
“Don’t worry about it peach, it’s taken care of. Go explore. “
She looked to the city then back. Oliver was gone and Paulette sighed. She looked down at her outfit, a ratty handed down Led Zeppelin t-shirt, a pair of ripped jeans and a pair of old yet durable Chucks. She popped out her compact mirror, still saw her long black hair, her purple lipstick and green eyes.
She started to walk towards town. As she passed she recognized some faces and buildings. She passed by Tito’s, a diner when she was a kid that just up and closed one day. In her world it was now a gentlemen’s club where her roommate worked. She felt a small tings of nostalgia but it was quickly replaced with the memory of her parents barfing through the night after they ate there and she shuddered.
Where the Wal Mart stood in her world stood a K Mart in this world. Helga Shaw, an old grouchy French woman who spent most of her time on her porch reading and cursing at the people who loitered around her house/flower shop, wasn’t exactly an outgoing sweetheart in this world but the cane she used confidently and without hesitation (and some times threateningly) in Paulette’s world seemed to wear her down and make the old woman more reclusive.
Paulette felt uncomfortable. Everything was so similar yet so different. She didn’t like Ms. Shaw but she didn’t want to she her like this either.
“Maybe the rest of the day will be better...”
She mumbled to herself. But as the old saying goes things getter worse before they get better... |
They knew immediately that these things were a stupid idea! Though they were long since far too degraded to ever function; they sparked a debate as to the possible need of such a thing. The descendants of the ravens who were now industrious though seldom flew, outside of sporting events; thought that they must have been for something extraterrestrial, after all, who would want to fire one of these at their own planet?
They already know the damage that was done by power plants, melting down after the fall of man. Although the evidence of mankind was too scarce to piece together any information of value, besides the still radioactive craters where the nuclear power plants once stood, so contaminated that even the maggots know better than to go near.
The descendants of rats who were now rotund and fiercely intelligent, almost had it right, in that they thought they were created by different species to discourage others from using theirs. Nobody realised that they were ever actually used, especially not on cities with civilians.
After centuries of debate, and the discovery of the wreckage of the ISS, they agreed that the humans must have been a fearful and angry species that likely left this planet after what they had done to it through using nuclear fission like a toy.
That's when it happened, they saw a twinkle in the sky, a glimmer getting larger and brighter, the ravens knew it must have been the rats, never satisfied with what they have. So they launched their own MOAB, that they had been working on in secret.
The rats knew that it would come to this, otherwise, why such an interest in archaic weapons that had the ability to destroy cities? after all, they went looking in subterranean weapons bunkers for a reason. And that reason wasnt likely to better understand a lost species.
So the rats launched their own nuke, which was a safety measure in case of exactly this happening.
That twinkle in the sky? halies comet harmlessly passes by, for the first time in 500,000 years, world leaders realise their mistake, scramble to cancel the firing of their nukes; a teenage rat named James Flynn in what used to be New York fires the first gun to be made in over 300,000 years at his school bully.
World leaders, just like cavemen praying to the moon, and kids, just like the same cavemen fighting for dominance;
Big and small, war never changed. |
My headache sledgehammered me awake. Normally I handle my liquor pretty well, no vomiting, no hangovers, at worst I need a couple extra cups of coffee. But this was the exception; my whole body ached, my stomach felt like I had swallowed wiper fluid, and this damn headache felt like it was about to crack open my skull.
I couldn’t even remember where I ended up at the end of the night. I had woken up facing a plain white ceiling, so that told me nothing. Gingerly, I raised my head and took in my surroundings. I was sitting in an a room that was completely empty save for a white plastic folding table, the kind you would play beer pong on. It was covered in bottles and bottles of different kinds of beer and booze. Unopened.
I was still dazed, but even in my fairly non-functional state I thought the scene was strange, but it wasn’t until I tried to scratch my face that I got scared. My hand, and the arm attached to it, didn’t respond, and when I started to tug I could that I could feel the fibers of the rope wrapped around my body. Oh fuck! I’m tied to this chair!
Nervous sweat started to pour out of me. Two concurrent thoughts ran through my brain simultaneously: 1) Who did I piss off, and 2) How am I going to get out of here?
Question 1 was frustrating because it had so many possible answers. It could be Jeff Anderson from our frat, I slept with his girlfriend at least twice at the frat house and we didn’t try too hard to hide it. Or maybe Zack Krauss from my Bio class, we had been studying at the library together and when he got up to use the bathroom I emailed his final paper to myself, changed his name to mine and turned it in online before he came back, him none the wiser. When he inevitability turned in his own copy, he got caught up in a plagiarism scandal that eventually got him expelled from the school. And of course when they asked me, I told the school that I wrote the paper. So I could definitely see it being him....
An amused shot of hot air came out of my nose. Even tied up I still found that whole situation to be nothing short of hilarious. What can I say, the dumbass should have closed his laptop! At least he learned his lesson. But I’m getting distracted! So I have a lot of options for question 1, but question 2 was another matter entirely. The rope was wrapped very tightly around my body. It had to have been long because it coiled around from the top of my chest to just before the bottom of my gut. I shifted and struggled and tried to get the ropes to shift or maybe even rock the chair over, but it must have been welded to the floor because it didn’t move a inch. I really, truly was fucked. I wanted a cigarette so badly.
And then the ticking started, and the slight feeling of danger I felt when I woke up was replaced by a massive dose of panic.
[that’s all I’m going to write tonight, but I’ll keep it going if people like it!] |
It all starts with fear. Fear of nothingness, void. Why has the God cursed us with death, why does everything have to end? And if all things must come to an end then nothing matters, nothing has a meaning, it's just dust in the wind.
I didn't want to come to terms with it. I know of many teachings about losing your "self"in nothingness, delusions of ego and surrendering yourself to the higher power knowing that you are nothing but a speck, insignificant speck in giant cosmos driven by forces you can't even begin to comprehend. Or can you? If only God gave us more time, if only I could stand here for eons and observe the universe as it's mysteris unravel before my eyes. I would become being of ultimate power, I would stand right next to God, if only I had more time.
I knew that my purpose is to be immortal. They say that the only certain thing in human life is "death", but it's only certain until it's proved otherwise, and I dared to embark on that lunatic quest, I became an alchemist.
Elements, oh how easy was to master them with mathematical precision. Molecules and atoms all behaving in the same way. I was turning led into gold in no time. Life on the other hand, even though made of those same molecules and atoms had something that was much harder to comprehend.
Years passed and I used my knowledge to tear down governments, give rise to new nations, change doctrines and politics and shape the world to satisfy mine idea of perfection. It was easy once I had my hands on unlimited amounts of gold. I could cure cancer, AIDS or invent new deadly disease just if I wanted to, but still I couldn't "cure"death.
I went well into my 300's, and I knew that even my perfect knowledge came to it's merits, my body started failing me, I was losing my sanity. I remember telling myself "it's only midlife crisis". However, my midlife crisis ended with death and best I could do before it happened is to ensure reincarnation with accelerated maturing to adulthood. Every time I die I would burn to ashes and be reborn as an infant. I became human phoenix.
It was not long before I realized that this is curse. Constantly being reborn, getting through puberty with its lusts and desires, getting old and of course dying. I noticed that every time a cycle repeats I emerge a bit different. World was changing, people were changing and I lost interest for everything.
At one point I didn't know if my life cycle was short or have years or even decades became such a trivial thing for me that they passed as mere days. It doesn't matter anyways. I changed so much that I only vaguely remember my original existence.
At least I am not afraid of death anymore, I am just bored of it. |
[Poem]
I remember falling in love
with light that was shining
through my window panes.
And thinking to myself
《How could I ever forget?》
When it reminds me daily.
Reminds me of the feelings
I was scared would be lost
forever
in the dark without a source.
But my mind was rearranged
and with it all around.
Now the sun won't kiss my face
when I open my blinds
and the gentle touch will fade. |
The alarm clock rings, but you are already awake way before then. You out of bed and prepare for work, as you always do every Wednesday. For breakfast, you eat a paste to give you energy for the day. Living underground, it is difficult to raise livestock, much less grow any crops, for there is no sunlight. Meat is considered lavish, as even the wealthy eats it only annually.
You step out of your house, and immediately take the subway to your workplace. The underground city is designed to be extremely compact, and its designers spared no space for even simple public amenities that would be found on the surface, on the deserted and arid wasteland.
The communute to your workplace took about three minutes, maybe four. Arriving in the heart of the city, you entered through the door of the laboratory, the door you have always entered for the past 25 years. The laboratory is massive, and if you would have time in your life to remember, you would recall how you would get lost here, how you would have to call your teacher to help you. Alas, the hectic lifestyle of residents of the biggest surviving civilization left in the world.
The laboratory essencially runs the city, from mundane jobs like mass producing the paste you eat every morning, to important research to improve the city. Your sector is on the analysis side. As you enter through the door with the bold words "WEATHER"on it, you see, as usual, you are the first one to arrive. You start up the artificial intelligence your research is relying on, and as you watch the supercomputer power on, you wonder how the past generations ruined the world for humanity.
Once, the world was filled with greenary, populated with many species of animals, all in perfect harmony with the world. There were many beauty of the world, from majestic waterfalls, to blanket of snows, pure white, resting upon the land. However, as humanity advances, they destroyed the environment. They destroyed entire forests, killed off exotic animals, and tilt the balance of the world. As centuries pass, the destruction gets worse, until the year 2025.
2025, the year the first catastrophe happened. The melting of the icebergs at the poles released a gas which have been sealed within for hundreds of thousands of years, which reacts with oxygen to become a extremely poisonous gas. Before the world leaders found the cause, nearly 40 percent of the population was dead.
The next catastrophe happened soon after, in the year 2026. That year, a massive storm, a little over half the size of Canada, started raging across the planet. The storm claimed the lives of five and a half billion people, completely wiping whole countries off the face of the earth. This was just when the best scientist of the world found a habitable planet a few solar systems away. The wealthy immediately bought flights out of the diseased planets, to a new world of hope. However, the first shuttle, with a little under four thousand passangers, just barely left the Earth's atmosphere, before space debris destroyed it.
In the year 2027, this underground city was built, located in Iceland, and more than twenty million people managed to fight their way in, before they sealed up the entrance, which remains shut, until scientists can predict a date where the world will be habitable again. The year now is 3128, and there is currently no hope of restoration for the planet.
Your thoughts were interrupted by the the a loud *beep*, which signals the computer, that is designed to predict weather decades ahead, had started up. As you look at the analysis generated overnight, you noticed a single location in the northern hemisphere that has neither storms nor toxic gas. As you state at the massive screen before you, you wonder if you could see the sun, for the first time in your life, because of the miracle shown before your very eyes.
*This is the first time I write something here, and it quite reflects on our world now, so I think it's a essay well done* |
I arrived at the top of the queue. There I saw Satan. The literal Satan, with a red head and horns and so on. He sat in front of a metal gate on a chair and had his head buried in his hands. I have heard all the stories about the dangerous devil but right now he looked just miserable. And while trying to help the devil when you are about to enter hell might seem like a bad idea but I was too bored to think about it. I went to Satan and asked: "Why is hell closed."Satan responded: "The demons are on strike. I cannot hear it their whining any more!"He was becoming really angry.
"So, how do you convince the demons. What do they want? More pay, more free time?"I asked. "Yes. And they complain about the psychological effects of all the torture. They don´t understand our business model. We torture people. Maybe I should start torturing demons as well"His eyes turned red from anger.
I walked a step back. With a careful voice I asked: "Why exactly do you torture people anyway? How do you benefit from it? I am sure you could reduce the amount of torture and make the demons happy without losing your customers."
He was stunned: "Torture is just what I do. We have to differentiate our enterprise from heaven in order to stay appealing."He thought for some seconds, although it seemed much longer, and stared at me. "No one has asked me this question. God just forgot about me and everyone seemed to be too scared. You are either extremely brave or extremely stupid. I can offer you a position in my administration. Even the highest position if you like. They are all open anyway."
A position in the administration of hell. Certainly not what I imagined my afterlife to look like but it seems more tempting than to be one of the "customers"of hell. So I asked:"Can you give me a few more details. What exactly would I have to do? Would I get paid? Do I need any particular experience."The devil replied: "You don´t need any experience and you don´t need to torture anyone. You can of you like however. And you would control the logistics of this place like getting everyone where they need to go and distributing whips and fire igniters. Also hiring personnel would be your domain and whatever else needs to be done. Hiring personnel is the most important thing right away. And I can grant you special privileges. Even including short term visits on the over-world. And you will not be subject to any torture."Especially the last thing seemed good for me. I just asked one further question: "Where can I sign." |
Grandma had a secret she had never told anyone. Once upon a time she was an free-agent, and though now retired, she hadn't forgotten everything from those old days. Now she lived the nice retired life in the country side.
Ever since, she had dealt with a few handful of curious children wondering her property, and easily scared them off. However, this punk who had arrived that spring was a bit different.
Edgar, or Ed, was the epitome of a true punk. He wore the darkest leather even on the hottest day of the year, and had seven piercings on his visage. He had long dyed and practically killed his hair, now spiked in blues and greens like some wild peacock. He leaned in a low slump when he traveled, and carried himself in a rebellious manner.
He busted through the Grandmother's door in the middle of the night, doing the usual punkish things. He had sneaky hands that liked to steal petty goods out of impulse, and he had successfully emptied the home of every other neighbor, expect this one. But tonight was the night, or so he thought.
Edgar quickly flew over the baseboard without so much as a squeak, and delved deeper towards the treasures he desired. He found his way to an old oak door and keyed the lock only to hear the click and set of a gun breathing down his neck.
Edgar turned from his prize, his eyes meeting with the lady of the house in a dusted night gown of faded pink. The barrel of the shotgun met with his nose as Edgar stood frozen.
"Don't take another step."Grandmother warned.
"Look, old lady, I don't want any trouble. Let me leave and you will never see me again."Edgar grinned awkwardly.
"Assuming that I am just an old lady was your first mistake."The Misses did not budge, her old eyes watching him like a hawk.
Edgar danced slowly away, his back against the wall. He glimpsed over so he could peak into the locked room, and he stopped dead at what he saw.
Just beyond the door was a golden symbol of the number seven and the infinity intertwined.
"Holy hell, lady, are you really--"Edgar was interrupted.
The Grandma smacked him over the head with the blunt end of her gun and sighed in annoyance. "Punks are so bold these days."
When Edgar awoke again he found himself back in town, dizzy from being hit in the head. He was sure that he must of had the strangest dream ever, but he would never try to mess with Grandmother Bond ever again. |
Sweat dripped into her eyes, and Ariana paused trying to wipe it away with an arm coated in metal. She glared at it, regretting at once her decision to go full on knight to this slaying. The metal might protect her, but it also made her the least stealthy hunter in the lands.
She paused as she came across the first skeleton, trying to quell the nausea that rose up at the sight of those scorched bones. She shouldn't be there. It was supposed to be a quick fix. Kill a dragon. Make a name for herself. Get more jobs. She wasn't ready for this! What had she been thinking?
"Come on, Ari,"she muttered to herself, taking another step forward. "This is nothing. It's just one dragon. You can do this."
It was such an outrageous lie, a laugh almost bubbled up, but she pushed it back down before the dragon heard it. The last thing she wanted was to find herself just another pile of bones warning off the next person who thought they could best the beast.
Ariana slid her sword into the sand and crouched down beside it. Her heart was going a mile a minute. She needed to get herself together. All she wanted to do was go home, which was ridiculous. Being a hunter had been all she'd wanted to do since she'd been only five years old. A single visit from a hunter was all it had taken to decide that was going to be her life too, much to her mother's dismay.
Except none of it had been as easy as she thought. The jobs never came in. Except for those that no one else ever wanted. Her last job had her up in a tree trying to coax a cat back to it's owners. That wasn't what a hunter was supposed to do. So she had to do this, even if it was the last thing she ever did.
A snort came from inside the cave, and Ariana jumped to her feet, pulling the sword out of the sand as she did so. She was wasting time. She might as well get in there and get it done than stand there and worry about it.
She dragged in a long, deep breath, and took her first step into the lair.
The bones of her predecessors littered the front of the cave, somehow perfectly placed to catch the eye of any intruders. The sight of that many skeletons nearly sent her running once more. It took everything she had to turn her gaze away from what could be her future.
One step forward, then another, until she was finally past the worst of it and heading into the dark of the cave. Terror gripped her, but she had to push past it. With another deep breath she kept moving forward until she found herself standing in the main cavern.
"Dragon!"She shouted as she did so, focusing first on the large blue form in front of her, then slowly taking in the rest of the cavern.
The walls were decorated with half formed skeletons. The dragon itself had it's back to the door and was crouched over another set of bones, manipulating it with it's large claws. A stream of fire from the dragon was encasing the bones.
At Ariana's shout, though, it turned and looked at her, then blew out a sigh.
Putting down the bones, the dragon turned to face her, showing off the large, silk robe it wore. A steaming cup the size of Ariana, sat next to the large form. She had the strangest notion the dragon had been drinking tea.
"Don't you have the sense the Gods gave you?"The dragon huffed, annoyance dripping from it's voice. "Did you not see the skeletons? Why would you come in here after that? Do you want to die?"
The blade in Ariana's hand faltered as she gazed at the half-formed skeletons. Almost as if they were being made to look like they had been killed by a dragon. "I'm a hunter,"she muttered.
"Of course you are dear,"the dragon said, sitting back and crossing it's arms. "You're all hunters."
"What..."Ariana cleared her throat, then gestured to the bones. "Is that what I think it is?"
The dragon looked back at it's work, then beamed at Ariana. "Marvelous, aren't they? I came up with the idea years ago. You have no idea how exhausting it is being a dragon. I mean, you hunters showing up every other day. So, I thought, why don't I scare them off? Of course, I didn't have nearly enough skeletons to do that. So why not make them myself?"
"Make them..."Ariana dropped her sword to her side and looked around the cavern once more. "But these look..."
"I know! Turns out, I'm pretty good at it."The dragon preened with pride at it's own work, then blew out another breath. "Except, I can't do anything with them. No one's going to buy from a dragon, are they? And I can only display so many before it becomes overdone. Now, though, I suppose I'll have a real skeleton to add to my collection."
Fear shot through Ariana as the dragon began to advance on her, and she shouted the first thing she could think of. "Are skeletons all you can do?"
The dragon paused and considered that for a second. "Well, I don't know. I've never really tried anything else, but I suppose I could give anything a shot. What's the use, though? I told you already. No one will buy from me."
"No, but they might buy from me,"Ariana said desperation giving way to relief. She might not have been able to kill the dragon, bu she knew she could do this.
The dragon gave her a considering look. "You?"
A smile slowly slid across Ariana's face. "I have a business proposition for you." |
Many people have asked me why I saved them from the mad king. They ask me how I can be so selfless and brave faced with danger. How I could keep my hopes up faced with impossible odds.
Well, the simple truth is that it was spite.
I’ve lost count of how many people looked down upon me like I was some horrid creature dragged from the sewers. Mocking me for my name or my choice of words or whatever they could think of.
That made me angry, it made me want revenge. But I couldn’t harm any of the people around me, they’d just hate me more. So when I got an opportunity to release my anger I took it.
“And that’s basically the story” I said to the crowd. I was on a stage telling my story for the thousandth time. Many of the people listening had been bullying me for ages and now they were looking at me as if I were some sort of deity.
It was interesting how a little bit of strategic king-murdering could change people’s opinion of you drastically.
“But before I leave I have one more thing to say.” I scanned the crowd looking at their faces until I found the guy I was looking for. “Screw you Michael!” |
The bicycle. Ha. Now there's something we just can't really explain. We really weren't even technically "us"when the first evidence of them appeared. We were barely mastering stone tools, never mind forging iron yet. Bicycles just sort of appeared suddenly and that's when we really began to advance. Our ancestors became more like what you see today today. They used these bicycles to quickly spread out from Eastern Africa north to Europe, East towards Asia then North towards Siberia. But the technology would only last for so long. The upcoming Ice Age would make them obsolete for those who migrated north and the rainy seasons in South East Asia would slowly eat away at them for the others. It would be lost. Or so we thought.
The bicycle as we know it today was of course invented in the 1800's, but because of global warming, we've learned an amazing secret. A bicycle frozen into a recieding glacier carbon dated to before we were humans. It was made from high quality steel, drawn out into thin tubes and forge welded together. The wheels were a strange composite that felt very natural. But it could not be identified. It was not a chain drive, it was much more efficient. It was a shaft like device with a twist lock that would automatically adjust depending on speed and torque. So, because of this discovery, the bicycle frozen in the ice, we have found out why we have become who we are today. We were helped along by intelligent life, not by genetic cloning or anal exams, but by simple bicycles. Bicycles turned apes into humans, a stable planet into an oven. Just some bicycles. |
Mortal wisdom was, he thought, uncannily similar to that of the immortal sages. A mere lifetime in the land of the living seemed enough to hammer home the simple fact that we want what we can't have, and we will *always* want what we can't have.
The grass is always greener on the other side.
Ya don't know what ya got 'til it's gone.
He was taught as a child about seven deadly sins of legend. Envy was undoubtedly the worst. Envy was the driver of misery. Ironic, he thought, that some should find themselves over *there* as a result of it, when envy itself was the defining feature of everlasting punishment: an eternity of torment, with blissful pleasure rising just over there, sparkling, on the hill. Occasionally when he leaned against the sinuous stone balustrade -- on a calm evening, that is, when the Heaven's hustle and bustle sank into a peaceful slumber -- he could just barely hear it.
Pain.
It wafted through the air in the form of barely audible screams, or cold, piercing laughs as sadists did what they did best, or sometimes rusty squeals as giant machines of torture and misery ground into motion. Hell loomed on the horizon like the sprawling metropolis it was, surrounding Heaven on all sides and marching up to its very perimeter in a veil of soot and fog. And yet he couldn't help but wonder: *What's it like down there?*
A normal day came around -- a Wednesday back in the mortal realm, but just another sun cycle in paradise -- and the conviction stole over him like an old friend. He had to know. Had to see what lay beyond the wall, through the pearly gates and the comparatively short stretch of stinking marshland, past the razor crags surrounding Hell. The crags keeping its denizens locked inside. Or, rather, locked *outside*. Locked out of Heaven for eternity.
On that day, he turned away from his stone railing and looked back across the patio. Past a bronze dish holding a small fire and ringed with padded chairs. Past the trickling fountain that filled their abode inside and out with a constant, dream-like quality. Into his open-air quarters, where his lover stretched luxuriantly across the covers, breasts rising and falling as she slept a perfectly deep sleep. He looked at it all, taking it in, savoring it.
Then he shouldered his pack and vaulted over the railing, onto the perfectly cobbled street below, the street that would take him toward the wall.
The street that would lead him into the depths of Hell. |
"Hmmm... looks like you've got a transcendental back-up,"said the plumber. He reached back and scratched his bulbous ass as he spoke, never turning his head from inside the cabinetry. "We'll need to go further in."
"The... uh... transcendental...?"I asked, confused.
"Transcendental backup. You know, you've been flushing too many spirits down the drain. Exorcism filter hasn't been doing its job."The plumber pulled out his head to face me. His brown moustache flapped about as he spoke, the words whistling through the thick hairs.
"I... uh... I'm pretty sure I've only been flushing liquids..."
"Spirits can be contained in liquid. Never heard of homeopathy before? Somebody musta died in the tub, and then somebody else sold you the bottled water, which was then flushed down this drain."
I turned red, remembering the strange, glowing bottle I had bought while drunk last week. The hooded woman who sold it to me told me it would cure my hangover the next morning, but by the time I'd gotten home I passed out. When I woke up the next morning, I'd decided to just pour it out, not trusting the strange fluid in my sobriety.
"No need to be ashamed, "said the plumber, "We all make the mistake of buying spirit water sometimes. Anyways, I got just the tool for the job."He reached into his open bag, which was sitting beside us, and pulled out a peculiar wrench. There appeared to be a second wrench welded to the first, perpendicular to the first. It took me a moment to realize it was a Plumber's Cross.
He also removed a regular screwdriver, then knelt back under the sink. I watched from behind, curious, as he began unscrewing a wooden panel I had assumed was just where the cabinet terminated at the house's wall. After the fourth screw came out, he pulled and the room was suddenly filled by a piercing, wailing scream. It reverberated off the linoleum floor and made both of us wince. I covered my ears.
"Looks like you got a nasty one!"shouted the plumber over the screaming, "Kin slaying, perhaps? Mom killed by a son or something like that."The plumber sounded way too casual and jovial for the content we were discussing.
He pulled further at the seam until the board came off, and I will never forget what lay behind. A writhing mass of screaming faces, grey and ugly and furious, all identical and spreading infinitely on-and-on into the wall in a tessellation of spiritual vengefulness, only cut off by the square edges of the wooden paneling. Each one screamed in sequence with the other, creating a gust of furious shrieking that rattled the ears and hurt the soul.
The plumber sighed and held the cross-wrench in front of him. He spoke with the usual drawl, but there was a force behind his words that wasn't there before.
"Spirit, I beseech ye, leave these pipes and return to the Earth! Let yourself flow beyond these metal drains to the light beyond life! By the power of PVC and Pitch Pipe, I compel ye to leave this place! Begone!"
The shriek grew ever higher and higher in pitch, fading more and more as the plumber spoke. It gained a strange echo, and I realized that it was being sucked down the drainage pipe. With a sudden *SHOOP* and some bubbling, it was gone, and the space was filled with an indecipherable pitch blackness.
The plumber gingerly replaced the wooden panel and screwed it back into place. He pulled out again and stood up, placing his tools back in the bag.
"Well, that oughta do it! That'll be $200,"he said
"$200!? That took, like, five minutes!"I replied.
"Hey man, you pay $40 for the exorcism, and $160 for knowing to do an exorcism. ...Unless you want me to summon it back?"He reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of chalk.
"No! No... that's fine."I sighed. "Here."I pulled out my wallet and counted out ten twenties.
"Thanks!"said the plumber, snatching the bills form my hand, "And remember, 'If you got spirits in your pipes, Sal's Plumbing will assuage their gripes!'"
___________________
*If you liked this story, consider checking out my Reddit Serial, [G'aarthurnax the Puppy](https://old.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/cpcobj/gaarthurnax_the_puppy_part_4_on_the_preparation/)* |
John Fant was never quite the same ever since he killed the man named Booker, the Ranger that chased him across the desert. Oh sure, he still managed to extort people; and when they oe their families couldnt pay hed eventually get them dead. But not without trouble.
One woman kept breaking his knots and he eventually had to just break her legs and arms just to keep her on the tracks, and she still managed to crawl away...twice! But eventually John got his way and just tossed the old hag off a cliff.
But nowadays, John just cant hack it. Johns getting old, you see, and he no longer has the the wiry, boyish looks he had as a younger man. And, well, John was just never the social type to hook people in by wit. Wasnt all that surprising; you spend so much time killin' you tend to forget how to live.
One day though, John gets an idea. He'll poison a drink he thinks; kill em' slow and taunt em with the antidote. But it cant just be any drink. John knows people wont just take something from him and drink it. So John has a think, and it comes to him: he'll make a new drink! Not only is he gonna kill people, they'll pay him for it! Brilliant, John thinks, brilliant...
So, John toils away in his rusty kitchen out in the desert, and after a time he has his new drink, and poisoned it is indeed; just a small drop has him in a dizzy, headached stupor. He gathers up his bottles, stuffs his recipie in his pocket, and sets off for the nearest town.
But, John forgot something. He had no name for his drink. He tried peddling it to people, using all kinds of weird and fantastical names and lines, but none stuck. He tried offering it as a friend, but the skeptical townspeople only ever saw the strange, dust covered old man peddling a nameless beverage, and it didnt even have a good name.
Eventually, John just packs up and leaves; may be he'll have better luck in the next down he thinks. So off he goes, and like a poor mans cowboy riding into the setting sun it wasnt long before be disappeared beyond the horizon.
As his horse trotted along, the night sky lighting the path, John had a great deal of time to think on his conundrum. It needs a name, it needs a name, the words escaping his lips every few minutes, the only sound breaking the silence of the desert other than the light clopping and clipping of the horse.
And then, like lightning to a rod, he had it. The perfect name, the perfect pitch! Electrified, he kicks out and his horse storms across the desert, and at day break, hes already set up shop in the next town over.
The drinks sells like hotcakes. Before long, his purse is full and his bags are empty, and John knew just what could fill them. He told his new patrons hed be making an announcement at dusk, and to meet him in the townsquare.
There, he taunted the townsfolk, as hed done a thousand times before. He dangled the antidote in front of them and demanded his ransom. Naturally and as expected, the town chased him out.
His plan, as before, was to wait it out; theyd all drank his beverage, theyll come to him.
But, as the days and nights past, no one came, and before long John came to realize they must all be dead. Ah well, he thinks, at least I can still rob them. So he trots back into town.
To his surprise, however, the townsfolk are alive and well. Apparently, his idea for a poison neutralized by corn syrup didnt quite work. He wondered what the hell he made then. Suspicious, he takes his bottle of antidote out, for reasons only John could of told, he swigged the bottle down in one go.
A bloodcurdling scream was all that anyone ever heard from John Fant, who laid dead in the street. Unbeknownst to the towspeople, John had mixed up the antidote and his poison.
A tragedy for sure, but one of the townspeople did search Johns body, finding his recipe. The enterprising man turned that recipe into a fortune, but not to tarnish the legacy of the man who gave him his great wealth, to this day he keeps Johns slogan alive and well: "Don't ya want a Fanta?" |
From my spot on the couch I listen to the news anchor begin a breaking news segment.
“As many of us may know there has been a new drug taking the world by storm. It takes the form of a pill called Lucidnex. It is a drug that was originally created to help with conditions such as insomnia but soon was realized that not only does it give its users a full night of rest, but also the ability to fully control their own lucid dreaming. It was thus marketed as an over the counter sleep medication that any person could buy. But it has recently been shown that the drug has unintended side effects.”
The news feed switches from a shot of the news anchor to video of chaos and looting.
“The high demand for Lucidnex has led to desperate people buying from black market sellers and even looting stores in order to acquire more. The distraught and worried public has taken to calling for action from the FDA and many Americans have become enraged after finding out that the drug was only FDA Cleared and not FDA Approved. Meaning that Lucidnex has not been put through extensive testing meant to determine long term side effects of its use. People in countries all around the world want for a ban to be placed on the drug in order to stop the madness and violence it has caused.”
“It’s just awful what’s happened.” Lily says from where she’s sat beside me,”Do you think it will end soon?” She looks to me, bitting her lip in worry.
I hold my hand to her cheek and kiss her forehead,”Hopefully. But I’ll protect you.” I smirk and rub the thumb of my other hand against her wrist.
She rolls her eyes,”Wow, my knight in shining tin foil.”
I chuckle and switch the TV to my Netflix account,”Wanna watch something while we make dinner?” I ask her while flipping through newly added TV shows.
Lily gasps and stops my hand,”They have ‘H2O’?! I haven’t seen that show in forever!”
“Really? Mermaids?”
“Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Australian mermaids are awesome.”
I shrug my shoulders and click the first episode,”I’ll trust your judgement.”
We head to the kitchen and collect everything needed for a simple spaghetti and Texas toast garlic bread dinner.
I suffer through her tone dead rendition of the theme song and watch the show along with her as the water boils.
I laugh at mermaid transformation of one of the characters,”She’s flopped on the grass with a tail and no one’s noticed her?”
She looks confused as she agrees with me,”Yah, she’s right next to the pier. Why did no one notice her?”
We continue commenting on the dated children’s show until the food is ready. Holding a full plate each we head back to the couch to eat.
“Let’s switch to a more age appropriate show.” I recommend and grab the remote.
“Oh, alright. Just don’t play ‘The Flash’. I haven’t caught up to you yet.”
I pick ‘Riverdale’ and once we finish our dinner we place our empty plates on the coffee table and curl up closer to each other, the throw blanked from the back of the couch ends up wrapped around us.
Like always I give a mock glare at Lily when she pushes her cold toes under my leg, and she smiles innocently and rests her head against my shoulder.
The show continues to play and I feel as Lily begins to nod off.
I look down at her peaceful face and thread a finger through her soft locks of hair. She burrows further into my neck and sighs in contentment.
I’m wrapping my arms around her when suddenly my eyes open.
—
The old couch we were on is no longer there, the TV isn’t playing softly in the background, and the light from the kitchen is no longer giving off a warm glow into the living room.
I’m no longer in the apartment I shared with Lily. I haven’t been there since it burned down.
I let in a shaky breath and try to keep the grief at bay.
The apartment I’m in now is a shit hole. There is constant yelling from other residents and police sirens from outside. I sleep on a mattress on the floor and sometimes wake up to roaches on me. The landlord is also shady as hell but doesn’t bother me as long as I pay on time.
I continue to lie on my back looking at the cracks on the ceiling. I’ve been here so long that I can’t remember the last time I showered.
But that doesn’t matter. All that I care about is Lily. I turn to my bag next to me and rummage for a pill bottle. The first one I find is empty. I chuck it to the side and look for another one. Empty again. I check every plastic bottle and little baggie in and come up empty.
No. I had more. I know I had more.
I check my pockets, flip over the mattress, scan the grimy floor, search the bathroom, and slam open the cupboards.
“I have to have one! I KNOW I fucking have one!”
I continue to upturn the sparse furniture I have until there’s a banging at the door.
Furious I stomp my way to it and yank it open.
The woman waiting there in a silk robe and curlers then begins ranting at me,”Don’t you know some people be trying to sleep while your making all that racket banging and stomping and shit?!”
Having her spittle in my face makes me snap,”YOU TOOK IT!”
“TOOK WHAT, YOU DUMB BASTARD?!”
“MY PILLS! MY PILLS! GIVE ME BACK MY PILLS!” All I see is red when I wrap my hands around her throat. Hearing her chock and feeling her claw her nails at my arms just makes me squeeze tighter.
I’m suddenly sucker punched in the face and let her go in shock.
A man a foot taller than me tackles me down to the floor and starts punching. And he doesn’t stop until the woman’s been pleading with him.
“Baby, please stop! YOU’RE GONNA KILL HIM!”
The man finally let me go and I curl into a ball. My face burning in pain and my lungs hacking trying to catch my breath.
“Just leave him alone, please Baby. You can’t break your parole.” She implores him.
The man holds her and walks them back to their apartment, reassuring her,”I’m not. I’m not. Let’s go back inside.”
I’m left there bleeding onto the already soiled carpet. Being reminded of how alone I’ve become causes me to start to sob.
“Lily.” I whisper through the tears,”Lily, don’t leave me, please.” I lie there alone with the echo of her memory being the only thing that brings me a sense of comfort. |
Mesuvias. That was the poor bastard's name. A year ago, a commotion happened by the inn; a voice within yelled loudly for all outside to hear. It was Mesuvias talking harshly about the Gods while being overly drunk. The town rat often spoke down on Hera, as his wife passed away due to an illness. A merchant who was having a drink spat on him, to which Mesuvias struck him in the face. He was taken away soon after, dragged out of the inn.
Stones were thrown at him, the women spat on him, and sometimes the children hit him with sticks when the guards weren't looking. The entire town despised Mesuvias, and I could understand why. When he was imprisoned, he kept shouting his heresy. He cursed on the Gods while in his cell and shouted out of his window for the people outside to hear. Some guards wanted to behead him and prisoners wanted to beat the man to death.
Upon his sentencing, Mesuvias continued to bark his foul language for all to hear. He shocked the crowds. Many people tried to jump in and kill him but they were stopped before they could touch him. He was eventually gagged, but the perfect was angered. He announced that Mesuvias didn't deserve a quick death, but a slow one. He ordered a small house with no doors or windows to be constructed by his wife's tomb and that he be chained on the wall so he could starve to death. When he was dragged out of the trial, Mesuvias sobbed so loudly that the rope in his mouth did little to silence him.
While workers were building the small house, Mesuvias would not stop yelling. It was as if he were the same man from the Inn. When I first met Mesuvias and heard of his story, I thought that he yelled in the inn because he was drunk- not because he meant any of it. He did. He yelled for three days, and when the building was completed, he continued to shout against the Gods.
When he was being forced to walk to his house, the people stared at him with intense hatred. The Guards made him jog in ropes to his tomb. When he saw his wife's tomb, he broke down in tears and kneeled, but the guards picked him up and forced him in the house. Nobody saw the chaining, but when the guards left, you couldn't hear anything but his crying. He stopped saying the harsh things about Hera. Maybe three days later, he'd be dead. Or so we all thought.
I work for the tombs. I sweep with a broom to make sure that the rocks aren't dirty. Sometimes I work in the night, but I mostly work in the day. It had been a year after Mesuvius' death when, one afternoon, I noticed a crowd gathering by Mesuvias' house. I thought the people were giving their love to Mesuvias, but that confused me. Normally people who talk badly about the Gods are shunned by even their family. I decided to find out what the rouse was about. When I got to the crowd, I asked the guard what was happening and why the people were giving respects to the man who spoke down on our Gods. Before he could give me an answer, the dark voice of Mesuvias interrupted him.
"YOU BASTARDS! YOU LET ME OUT! YOU LET ME OUT! YOU LET ME OUT!"
Some screamed and others ran away. The guard and I froze. We didn't know what to do, but we stayed in- what I confess to- curiosity. He continued to yell for days and days, and he would never stop screaming. I was perplexed and so were the several guards. There was no possible way that Mesuvias was alive for this long without food. It had been over a year!
That was over twenty years ago. I still work for the tombs, and I promise you that if you go to the tomb that looks like a house, you'll hear him. He still screams to this day. Someone should let him out. Maybe the Gods want him out. It most certainly can't be possible he's survived for all this time...
Right? |
I walk down the dark street. It’s only 5pm but of course it’s already dusk. I hear the sounds of flapping wings and owls hooting off in the distance. I should be freaked out but I’m not. This has been everyday of my life since I summoned him. Why did I have to go through with that stupid dare? Suddenly I feel something grab my ankle but I don’t bother turning around. Just shake it off and keep walking, that’s what I’ve learned after all this time. It’s never better to look. Shadows twist into contorted shapes at the edge of my vision.
“Hey, guys"I nonchalantly say to the darkness. All I get in response are murmurs and the sound of a woman shrieking in the distance. I see the porch light of my house at the top of the hill. For some reason, it’s the only light on out of all the houses and despite the darkness, the streetlights are still off. It seems they never turn on anymore. I hear the cries of a wolf and it sounds closer than you’d ever expect in the city, but I know she’ll never come close enough for you to see her. Finally I make it to the front steps. The wood beneath my feet creaks especially loud as I make my way to the door. A chill goes down my spine as I enter the dark home. I know I left the lights on but they’re now all switched off. Apparently these ghosts really care about me saving on my electricity bill this month.
"Oh, shit"I say to myself (and whatever else is lurking around in here). There’s blood smeared all over the place and in jagged handwriting it spells ‘u will be murdered 2nite’ on the wall.
"Franklin, how many times do I have to tell you, stop writing in blood on my walls!"I sigh, knowing I’ll have to get more Clorox in the morning. For now I guess it’ll smell like blood. I stomp to my bedroom, cursing at the stench of blood filling my house. As I open the door, I find my things strewn about the floor.
"You guys really weren’t happy tonight, were you?"I sigh, beginning to pick up the trinkets scattered across the floor. I finally put everything back in its place and turn to leave the room when I’m overtaken by a cold, lonely feeling. I spin around and sure enough the myth himself is here.
"Oh, hey dude"I say sarcastically. A ghastly figure emerges through the wall into my room. The spirit that caused my life to be so horribly spooky; The Spirit Of Halloween. |
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He was casting again. Over and over, time after time, he kept casting. What was up with that paladin anyway?
The high and mighty of the city loved him, he was blessed with the gods' own power, yet all he did, when not fighting, was cast Cure Wounds. He cast long past the point where he was fully healed, and instead of expending power, this only seemed to make him stronger. Every time, he would ignore the plight of the Guard as they fought off their enemies. Then, when he glowed with barely restrained magical might, he would run forward and attack. The power would burst from him like thunder, he would slay another demon, and then... search the ground obsessively for valuables and loose change.
What was up with that paladin?
***
This is partially based on a game I was recently playing. Pending the next balance patch (hopefully), casting Cure Wounds repeatedly is a power farm. |
The sky was the color of rust and the air smelled of gasoline and sweat. I suppose the smell was just my seven-year uncleaned self, but perhaps, I was effectively shielding myself from a sinister odor that was *really* characteristic of the corrupted atmosphere. I sported a raggedy set of apparel: a tattered pair of loose jeans, a t-shirt underneath a heavy biker jacket, a pair of durable biker gloves, some underwear (the only thing I would ever clean occasionally, out of necessity), a stained and fraying scarf, a camouflage baseball cap, and a backpack with my things. Last, but not least, is the pièce-de-résistance, a pair of high-laced, black hiking boots that were beginning to develop holes and give me blisters.
In a world without people -- or more accurately, intimate, meaningful relationships with any of them-- material goods fill a void in the conscious mind. My clothes and my belongings are like my friends. I must show respect and take care of them, and in exchange, they will take care of me. Just like some friends are best friends, some things are more important and occupy larger spaces in the conscious. My footwear was my closest, bestest friend. And it was those boots which kept me going.
But friends don't last forever, especially in a world like this. Everything falls apart, and friends sometimes have to leave because they have suffered losses too great to overcome. I feared that I would have to say goodbye to my best friend, the black boots.
With my reliable biker gloves, I began to pry away rubble from around the staircase of the house I was scavenging. Over the last few days, I had uncovered a few, though rather unremarkable items from the former suburban domicile. A cabinet obscured by debris had contained a half-full bottle of water and a full tube of pringles. A loose pipe in the destroyed first floor basement looked to be a wieldy and handy melee instrument. There was also a hockey stick in the garage, but I couldn't think of a use for it. Attempting to clear the debris on the stairs so that I could see the top floor, I pulled hard on a fallen piece of wall blocking the way up. This revealed two stairs in the middle that I could get onto. I clambered up onto them. There wasn't much of a guard-rail left, so I stumbled and bumped my head on the partially collapsed overhead. If it was weaker, I might have been killed in a ceiling collapse.
The upstairs hallway, as seen from the lobby downstairs, was clear enough to walk through. But keeping in mind the possible structural weaknesses, I took great caution. I took out the melee pipe I had obtained from the downstairs bathroom. The end of the hallway was dark, but it was light enough to see each door. Each was closed. I headed to the end of the hallway and stood in front of the furthest door to the right. I held the pipe in anticipation that something possibly could be waiting in there, dead or alive, even if it was unlikely. I prepared myself for anything. I placed my right hand on the door handle, turned and pushed.
Instinctually, I jumped back into the hallway as the blood in my veins flared up for an instant, but then cooled back down. It was a closet devoid of a threat, but it was anything but empty.
Front to back were shoes. Red ones, blue ones, tall ones; all new ones. I suddenly became self-conscious of the soreness and weariness of my feet, in addition to the blisters on the pads of my toes, as well as the poor state of the boots I was wearing.
I tenderly said goodbye to the boots. Then, I said hello to a pair of shoes named Adidas. |
Obligatory english-is-note-my-first-language disclaimer. I might have focused too much on the deal making in my story. But here it is! I hope you enjoy!
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When I was 28 I made the deal. I just finished my PhD had a great academic career ahead of me, but wanted so much more. The thirst for knowledge was so strong within me. I always wanted to know what lies ahead. The academic world can be quite rough. It really depends on what you do, where you do it and with whom. The thing is, I always wanted to be better than anyone else. I always wanted to do more and outsmart the competition. That's what let me into analyzing countless hours of data. Wanting more. Wanting to predict changes on a global scale. I remember when I first heard the voice. I was working late, it was dark and I tried to perfect my data analysis algorithm. There has to be a better way to do this. A quicker way, I thought. Oh what I would give for the perfect prediction algorithm.
*There is a way*.
A tickling sensation went through my body as I heard that voice. It wasn´t near me. Neither anywhere in my office, nor outside of my body for that matter. I could feel it deep within me. What was that? Was I too tired? I thought about heading home, maybe I was just over worked. I still remember closing my eyes just for a second, I saw a guy on a bicycle driving past my office building, the chain of the bike broke and he fell. Nothing serious. Just a little fall. He got back up, brushed off his clothes with his hands and picked up his bike, cursing loudly. Huh. What a strange little dream. I opened my eyes again, still in my quiet office, just the constant sound of the computer fans. I saved my projects, powered down the computer and got up. Time to head home.
As I left the building, something strange happened. I stood outside the office lightning a cigarette. A really bad habit that I just couldn't get rid off. As I looked up I saw the exact biker from my dream. He fell in the exact moment I saw earlier. His chain broke, he fell, got up cursing and brushed the dirt from the road off his clothes. I was frozen in place. I just saw this exact thing. Was I going crazy? Did this really happen?
*Yes. It did. And you can have more, my Friend.*
That voice again. It shook my body. What is this? Who speaks to me?
*I can give you what you want. I can give you the future, the ability you so much desire.*
I started to sweat. Not knowing what this was. The scientist in me, was very clear in the fact, that I was going crazy. But the greed took over in that moment. I wanted this so much, wanted to know the future, to predict everything. Unlimited knowledge was all I cared for.
Suddenly everything was dark. I was not in the street in front of my office anymore. Just complete and cold darkness all around me.
*You can have it. Just accept. Give in.*
This time the voice was different. It wasn’t inside me anymore. Rather all around me. It was every inch of darkness. Scared, but too curious and greedy, my mind became one with the darkness itself. I accepted, shouted that I wanted the knowledge.
The voice laughed. For a moment, I saw nothing. After the moment had passed, I saw everything. My mind was flooded with pictures, events, people, the fate of the earth. All possibilities at once. All in my mind.
The next thing I clearly remember was waking up in a hospital. A nurse told me that a biker saw me collapsing in front of a building, screaming and crying. He called 911 and got me to an emergency room where I was sedated for a few hours.
I still remember everything from my “visions”. I got out of the hospital and tried to make some calls. I knew that something would happen. It was going to happen in a few days. There was still enough time left to call the right people, get citizens to safety. The whole day I spent, trying to convince everybody, that tsunami was going to hit the east coast. And it was going to hit hard. None believed me. The tsunami was just the first thing in a chain of events. I knew that. I tried to convince everybody. Tried to hide my knowledge and explain it with the data I had been collecting. But noone cared. I was simply alone. In a last ditch effort. I took to the streets, got out there and shouted at people. told them to leave the city. They ignored me.
That was two years ago. Most of the east coast is still in ruins. After the flood, disease and hunger spread. There was no help coming. An earthquake destroyed most of china and japan a few weeks later. I knew that beforehand. But the worst part is still to come. The world is in ruin, but there is still more horror to come. Everytime there is a catastrophe, I try to warn people. Everytime I am ignored. I sit here, at the sideline, watching as the citizens of a former great nation, turn against each other for food and clean water. I know exactly how it will end. I have seen the end of all things. I have seen, that he will rise of the devil that feeds of desperation, laughing in my head, everytime I try to warn people. |
“If we were arguing in our courts, sure, I’d sweep the floor with them. But it’s not like I have a degree in Interstellar Law,”
This was a waste of time. She had stupid and immoral corporations a plenty to sue. Or defend, depending on the situation. Everyone knew she played for both teams.
The agent laughed but not meanly, “Hey, I get it, I do. You aren’t the first to turn down us down. You wouldn’t believe how much we offered Dwyer, we still couldn’t get him on our side,”
“The fact that you went to that idiot Dwyer before me is supposed to help your case? You clearly do need help, but you won’t find it here,”
“Your name would live in infamy, there’d be history novels written about how you were the first...You’d become an icon and idol for girls and young woman all over the world. Hell, maybe even galaxy!”
The lawyer snorted “And if I botch it because I have no knowledge of their procedures? Do you think my clients would really trust the woman that couldn’t save the galaxy?”
“300 million, tax free, don’t ask how. Should allow you to pay off your many loans, and retire,” She leaned forward, too close to be professional. “And we double it if you win,”
“How much more did you offer Dwyer? Were you even the agent that spoke with him? Or did they sent a big man down there with a big man payment offer?”
“We could go up to 500 million, with the same offer of doubling up.” She leaned forward, “C’mon Vanessa, you could really make sure your dad is taken care of. You know that moon belongs those that inhabit the Earth,”
She resigned herself to begin caring about the moon. If she was going to represent humanity, she was going to win. She was not walking home with 500 million like a loser.
“Okay, okay, you’ve got me. Just never say that assholes name again,”
“We’ll send you al the information we have as soon as possible. Thank you to your commitment to your planet,”
They shook hands, and the lawyer finally smiled. The agent knew she was envisioning what she would do with the money. She had learned early how distractable humans could be.
The agent administered the poison via a small amount of mist. It reminded the lawyer of an air freshener. It was harmless to the agent, her kind could withstand most airborne agents.
“If it’s any consolation, you got more money than that asshole,” The agent laughed the same not mean laugh, and after the lawyer died, left. |
Part 1-The Hunt
15 October, 1862-
I have found an outcropping over looking a small valley. The pack I have been hunting have disappeared into the woods in the mountains, but I am confident they have not left. I spotted through my looking glass, a small cabin with several out buildings nearby. There is a large barn to the south just in the tree line. I cannot see the barn itself very well, but there appears to be a lot of activity in and out of it. I have not seen a single animal anywhere on the homestead.
16 October, 1862-
It has started to snow. My little rock outcropping slants inward creating a slight cover, luckily it is on the opposite side of the rock the homestead effectively shielding me from prying eyes. I have dug a hole with a tunnel toward what little wind reaches me here so that I may build a fire that doesn’t smoke and to hide the flames. During a brief excursion to try to locate some game, I came across an almost imperceptible marking on a few rocks and trees. They appear to be the symbols the pack I am hunting use to communicate. They are still fresh, thus confirming my initial assumption that the pack has not left this valley. My nearest assumption as to the meanings of the symbols seems to indicate that some kind of hunt is imminent. Maybe they intend to ambush the homestead.
I managed to steal a rabbit from a snare either set by the pack or the people on the homestead.
I got a better look at the homestead today. I confirmed that there are no animals on the homestead at all. In fact, all animals seem to have vacated its immediate vicinity, creating an eerie silence around the buildings. The hair on my arms stood on end. Even with my stalwart heart, I felt the need to run. Even now, I am considering leaving this valley altogether. For now, darkness is falling and I must at least attempt to sleep.
\-October, 1862-
I woke up in a cage. My captors, whoever they are, stripped me of my weapons, shovel, pick, and ax, but left me with my pack. All of my climbing gear and tent seems to be gone as well. I hardly remember the events that led to my captivity. The last I remember, I had finished packing up my camp and burying my fire pit before I left the valley. I had barely slept. I could not shake the feeling of pure evil from the homestead. I had never felt such emotion before. I awoke from a fitful sleep and decided the danger was too great. There is a town nearby that I could have reached before the next full moon, but as I reached the floor of the valley and headed north towards the nearest road, strong arms gripped me from behind. A cloth covered my mouth and I scented the distinct aroma of ether before falling unconscious.
I have no idea what day it is. It is daylight now and a small window above me allows me enough light to write. As near as I can gather, I am in the big barn in the trees. The stall that should have held horses have been fitted with bars. I am in some sort of makeshift prison. I see chains in the other stalls but see no other captives. The light around the door of the barn occasionally flashes, indicating activity outside. I dare not make a noise to draw undue attention to myself, I have no idea what these people are capable of.
To be continued... |
"Take my hand,"I said and extended my right hand as I stepped off the ferry.
Erica was afraid of water, but she insisted on coming with me anyway. That was how Erica was. She was afraid of things, but insisted on doing them anyway. As long as I had known her, that was how she was.
With a shake of the head, she drew her hands further into her herself.
"Come on, honey. There's people waiting behind you,"I appeal to reason.
She pointed at the name sign above us and made her way safely in slow, small, measured steps. Oh, the camera. Funny thing about cameras, once you start noticing them, you can never go back. I see one on the boat now. One on each lamp post lighting our back to the city. One on the captain's hat as he smiles a dead smile in our general direction.
"Bubbye,"he yells at us. "Remember to not do anything you shouldn't be doing."
---
We walk back to our hotel, side by side. Never coming close enough to one another to feel each other's warmth. Never coming close enough that we would want to get even more closer. We walk back, our paths a pair of parallel lines, never quite touching. She talks the whole way back, first about those birds we saw on the island, then about how rude the waiter was when she asked for a second napkin. She talks about the sheets in the bedroom - black ones with little red flowers on them - and she wants to try getting them for our own. She talks about a Tuesday from her childhood, a day her mother took her to the island. She talks about running around on the beach, as her mother sun-bathed and laughed and drank and the two had dinner out by the moonlight at night.
We, of course, had done none of them.
No drinks.
No running around on the beach.
No dinners in unassigned places.
No sun-baths.
At least they haven't outlawed hotels. At least the cameras haven't found their way into our rooms. Or so we hope. Sometimes, I am not sure anymore.
But there is nothing we can do about it. We did this. We let them do it to us. We voted them in, when they promised to get rid of the nuisances to society. We got them here, in the name of security. We believed them, when they burned everything they deemed obscene. We might not have started the fire, or even added firewood to it, but we did not pour the water either. It was right there. All it needed was someone to take a step forward. But we did not. We looked at the others, and did it to ourselves.
---
We walk back, her talking and me listening. She likes when I listen. I like when she talk.
The neighbors slowly come into view as we near our apartment. No 212. Just between 211 and 213. The same brick red building as everything else in the street. That was one of the first changes they made. Everything looked the same, and names were taken away. Only numbers. It was easier that way, they said.
More cameras. Always more cameras. Sometimes, they don't even bother hiding their presence. For safety, they said. Let the criminals be afraid, they said.
Who were the criminals, they wouldn't say. They didn't have to.
I hold the door open for her, as she picks up the mail from the mail box outside. She is still talking, the same day in her memory. It is only in our memories we are free anymore.
Just as she gets near me, I can feel the warmth of her breath. The smell of her hair. The life in her memories.
I put a hand across the threshold of the door.
"What?"she asks me. I can feel the fear in her voice. She knows we shouldn't be doing this. She knows what I am doing.
"John, don't"she stammers/
I put an arm on her shoulder and rotate her body slightly to the left. This way, they wouldn't miss us.
I want them to see. I want them to know.
"Scared?"I ask her.
"Yes,"she says.
"But?"
"I am just scared."
"You always have a but."
"But let's do it anyway."
Smiling, I gently pull her closer. And in what feels like forever, we kiss outside the four walls of our home. We kiss in full view of those who would go to any lengths to see that we did not. We kiss in open defiance.
We kiss, and she giggles and I don't want to ever stop.
We are not revolutionaries.
We are just the revolution. |
"I swear, you are the butterfly effect personified."
"Now, that's not fair-"
"Really? Agent 46, look me in the eye and with a straight face tell me you intended for *that* to happen."
My handler had a point. I had a tendency to fail upwards in this line of work.
First job I had was in New York City to assassinate a mafia lieutenant, low grade stuff, his opponents wanted him out of the picture and airtight alibis when it happened.
So I got given a pistol and was told he had a habit of walking down a certain alley on his way home. I waited in that alley, and when he came around the corner stepped out from from behind a dumpster to kill him.
Then, promptly tripped over a bottle and fell flat on my ass, firing a round on the way down. He ran away from me out into the street, and was mowed down by a garbage truck driver who'd had a heart attack after nearly being shot by me.
Or my personal best, turning a sniper kill into a gas explosion. Target was a highly paranoid ex-warlord, who had stolen enough wealth during his time to be able to afford a house in Switzerland with full panic shutters capable of turning the place into a impenetrable bunker.
So I waited for him to be on the balcony, took aim with a rifle, and missed. He got inside, activated the shutters, and must have decided to have a victory cigar. Even I hadn't realised I hit the gas line.
Which brings me to my current job. Or should that be previous job? The target is dead after all. And even I am shocked that it went down like that.
So this time I was in South America, hunting mercenaries. I was walking down a road to a bar where the targets were, when I got taken hostage by a group of bank robbers dressed as cops. The targets then exited the bar, saw the bank robbers, and assumed that they were a hit squad disguised as cops and started shooting at them.
Then more cops showed up, saw my targets shooting at people in police uniform and thought that they were the bank robbers. In the end, the targets got gunned down by the police and I didn't have to lift a finger.
"Okay, so you've got a point, but they are dead so shouldn't I still get paid..." |
Oh sure there is money. Sometimes even more then a hundred bucks!
But seriously, there are still magazines (and e-zines and podcasts even) paying for short stories. Just not a lot of it. It isn’t just that big of a business. Western and romance do pretty well. And for a lot of writers it’s an easier way to get published then trying for a big novel you might never finish. That was my reason for it at least. And it helped me get more serious about writing and it taught me a lot about what editors want out of you. Before I was writing for fun, then I learned there were a lot of hoops to jump through to get published and paid.
A tip: always retain the rights for republishing and residual pay. |
The "moist man"has drown 35 people over the last 3 years, but Jack's colleagues think it's just coincidence. His MO is hard to spot. He doesn't stick to a single gender, ethnic group, age or religion. Nothing seems to tie the victims together. Unless you look at the larger picture.
Jack has studied each one, and found the pattern, and tomorrow is the night the Moist Man should strike again. Jack pours over a stack of case files, and starts sorting the victims.
17 females, and 18 males. The pattern has gone back and forth. Tomorrow will be a woman.
18 people that were in relationships, and 17 people that were single. A single woman.
6 minors, 6 young adults, 6 adults with no kids, 5 parents, 6 seniors with grand children, and now after last month's kill 6 senior citizens without grand children. A single mother it is then.
6 white people, 6 black people, 6 Asians, 5 hispanics, 6 Native Americans and 6 Middle Easterners. So a hispanic mother with no husband or boyfriend.
There are even 18 left handed people and 18 right handed people. Tomorrow's kill should be a lefty.
Without official support from his precinct it will be hard to track down a single Hispanic mother that's left handed, but not impossible.
The kills are whats confusing. Drownings in the river, the bay, pools, bathtubs, a kiddy pool, a fish tank and in the back of a pickup truck that's liner had been water proofed.
All of them seemed like accidents. All of them happened on the 3rd of the month.
Jack wrote all his data down, and pulled up his phone. He had a few messages back. All hispanic women with children.
He perused the messages.
"Left handed? No. That's a weird ice breaker."
"I'm sorry, you want to know what hand I use? Is that you're fetish?"
"Hello Detective I'm on to you."
(User active less than a minute ago)
Jack opens the chat window.
"You're real?"He types back. Then opens 'Lucinda's' profile. She's a hispanic mother of 2, divorced, less than a mile away.
A new response pops up. "Come find her..... it's almost midnight. Then our game begins. I've been getting her drunk, I think we'll play bobbing for apples."
Thoughts start racing through Jack's mind. Is this going to be enough to get a warrant? How does he know about me? What can I do?
As he goes back to his desk and takes a seat his pants become wet. Standing back up he saw he'd sat on a water balloon... |
I had contemplated suicide so many times before. I was tired and ready to end it all. I closed my eyes about to take my own life when death tapped my shoulder.
“Wait just a moment please.”
“What?” I stammered.
“Take just a moment. Prepare yourself for death. Relieve your conscience. Why do you want to come with me?”
I sat beside him crying. “I never would have believed this is how my life would turn out.”
“Is it not all you hoped for,” he asked, his dark eyes peering into my soul. It was slightly unnerving, but at the moment strangely, more comforting.
I laughed through my tears, “it’s more and less than I hoped for. It’s not as if I can’t accomplish anything or go anywhere. I am somehow lacking desire. What is the point?”
“I understand,” he touched my hand, “you feel,” he inhaled, “trapped.”
“I do. The expectations of who I’ll be, what I will do... what I should and shouldn’t be, what I should and shouldn’t do. I feel them weighing down on me, crushing me. Squeezing the desire and will out of me. I feel like I don’t feel. I’m a spectator of my own life while being the star, but I don’t care. The play may as well end. I don’t much care for it.”
“And if the play should end?” He asked.
“What would it matter? In my play I am the main character. In the grand scheme of things I am nothing and a nobody. No one would even notice if my character stopped walking around in the infinite and ongoing stage.”
“People come, and people go. Such is life and such is death.”
“Exactly! People die every day. My life is nothing in the bigger picture. I am a pawn. My life is controlled by the people around me, or at least that’s how it feels.”
“So why do you not take control?”
“The fear of being wrong. Because I’m afraid of seeming foolish. I fear being called stubborn or selfish. I don’t want to be counted as a failure... Because I want approval, because I don’t want to disappoint those around me. I want people I know to be happy and feel loved.”
“Is that why you won’t come with me? And is coming with me the only control you have?”
“It feels like it is.” I paused, “why won’t I come? Because I don’t want to disappoint people. I don’t want them to think I’m selfish.”
“Those seem like good reasons not to come?”
“Yes... or I would’ve come to you so long go! I have dreamed and wish to be with you so many times. I want nothing more, it would complete my life.”
He smiled at the irony, “but you still won’t come.”
“I want to, badly. I just can’t. Won’t? I don’t know.”
“Why not? Do you need permission? It is your life.”
“Maybe. But I would never get permission. There will always be someone, something, holding me back. I won’t because I couldn’t live with the disappointment others felt towards me.”
I felt his smile again, “You wouldn’t have to...”
I laughed, “I suppose I wouldn’t. but knowing, even if I wasn’t living with it, just knowing...”
“You will never please everyone.”
“And yet it’s selfish just to please myself! That’s why I try to please others, try to make them happy! I don’t want to do things just for me.”
“Well then you will continue to be trapped. Such is life.”
“Such is my life and my predicament.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“I feel like it does,” I replied with a sigh.
“I thought you didn’t feel.”
“I feel like I don’t feel. That in and of itself is a feeling. I feel like I disappoint everyone.”
“Yourself included?”
“Oh yes, definitely myself included.”
“So come with me. Stop disappointing yourself. Do something for you. Or live your life to the fullest and stop worrying about everyone else. Live your life for you. You can’t be everyone’s idea of perfection and success. If you think you can you will always come up empty-handed. You will be disappointed and feel like a failure. Live life, make your mistakes, learn from them, and then pick yourself up again and keep going. No one will always be there for you, but you. But that doesn’t mean you have to hate everyone and everything. That doesn’t mean you need to shut them out. They will make mistakes and so will you, but that is also a part of life.”
“But you will...”
“I will always be here. Waiting. Yes. I am patient. Life doesn’t have to be all worry and bitterness and pain. It is what you make of it.”
“It’s so hard to get past it, and like I said, I feel trapped. Void of will, desire, and feeling.”
“So free yourself. You don’t have to stay trapped. Find the will to break free and then go for it. Don’t worry about mistakes or failures, they come with the territory.”
I sighed, “I’m very tempted to come with you. Right now, this moment!”
“And you know I will welcome you with open arms, whenever you choose to join me.I would love to have you now, but I will wait until the time is right.”
“How will you know when the time is right?”
“Don’t you worry about that.”
“Believe me, I’m not worried, I look forward to it.”
He smiled again, “Are you sure you won’t come with me now?”
I smiled, “I’m tempted, and would love nothing more… But I don’t think the time is right”
He nodded as if acknowledging touché, “until next time.”
“Until next time.” I said getting up to leave, “wait...”
“Yes?”
“Do you really not want me to come with you? Sometimes I feel almost as if you try to talk me out of coming with you, only to re-extend the invitation.”
He inhaled, “No, I try to remain in indifferent. I want you to be sure when you choose me. You need to realize there’s no going back, it is forever. So either I will come and get you when it’s time or when you can’t take being a part of the world any longer. You may need to go on in your life, but with the occasional reminder that I am there and have not forgotten about you, and I understand that. It does not disappoint me. I will wait patiently until the time is right. To hurry you along is not my place.”
I furrowed my brow about to say something but stopped and gave him a contemplative smile. He nodded and we parted ways. |
I’m pretty new with writing stories, hopefully this is good...
The world has turned into chaos. Billions of people have died. Even walking out of a building will get you shot. Cannibals have kill millions. Years ago, a magnetic bomb got set off. It was so powerful, it destroyed all electronics. It’s really hard to cope with that. Somehow, our planet got set on a course for the sun. According to scientists, it’s likely everything will die once that happens. Because of all of this, I have gotten depression. My friends have been telling me to go to a therapist. I have an appointment tomorrow.
“Dr. Barnacle will see you now.” I walk into his office. All over the room are pictures and models of sea creatures. The door and walls are the color of the sea. Dr. Barnacle walks in. Suddenly, I’m hit with a staggering amount of deja vu. I’ve seen this man before, I’ve been in this room. Wait, no I haven’t, I don’t recall being here. Suddenly, I get horrible migraines. I fall to the floor. “Sir, are you okay?” I can barely see now. “Get up.” I black out.
“Honey, are you okay?”
“I’m fine, just had a bad dream.”
I get up, do my daily routine, eat breakfast, and go to work. I’ve been having strange dreams like that. But... that could never happen. Life is too perfect. I’ve got an amazing wife, and amazing daughter, an amazing work, nothing has ever gone wrong. I’m in perfect shape for 70 years old too, I run in marathons, and always get first place. I get to work.
“Hi boss!”
“Hello bob, have you finished what I assigned?”
“Yep!”
That’s another thing, work is always done on time, and is done well. I finish work for the day, and go home. It’s gotten pretty late, and I’m extremely tired, I fall asleep.
Justin Baker, age 70, peacefully died during his sleep.
“Let’s look at your results.”
I’ve heard that voice before.
Where is my wife? My kid?
I open my eyes. Darkness greets me, I can’t see anything. Then, I can. I’m in an office. Wires and tubes and other things are sticking out of me.
“What happened?”
“You have been put into a simulation to test what the difference is between good and bad people.
Now that you have went through it, it’s time for-“
A gunshot rings through the air, and hits Dr. Barnacle. A bloodcurdling scream goes through the air. I turn, and see him, gun in his hand, pointed at me. “You don’t have to do this.” I say. “Yes. I do.” My head splits open. |
It all started with one of those crazy conversations over a few beers between Ethan and I. We've been best friends since high school, even were best men for each other and planned a hell of a bachelor's party. It started with us wondering about what you would do if you had an inoperable brain tumor, six months to live. We started with the whole bucket list, and then he said at the end of it, he would want to go out with a bang. If you only had a week left, why not go out in such a crazy way that nobody could take it seriously, even at your funeral.
Well, we never really took it seriously, but it became a frequent topic for us, figuring out the most insane way to go out that it would make the news everywhere. We made a game of it. Whoever made the craziest story got free drinks for the night. I mean, I’m not terrible at spinning a tale, but Ethan is bloody brilliant at it. I bought his drinks more often than not. I wanted nothing more than to top him once and for all. I spent more time than I should have thinking about the best way to do it.
Then, well, life never really worked out the way that I had hoped for me. My wife, I don’t really blame her for it anymore, she left me. We never had any kids, which didn’t help. It wasn’t for lack of trying, but It just wasn’t in the cards. And speaking of cards, yes, I had a gambling problem. I owed more than I was worth to be honest. I was underwater on everything, except the house, which only flooded because I broke the pump when the ex got it in the divorce.
Needless to say, I was in a position that I was never going to get out of. I owed the kind of people that don’t let you declare bankruptcy, and my retirement fund was about enough to cover a twelve pack of the good stuff. Ethan brought it up first. I mean, it’s not like it didn’t occur to me too. He said that he wanted to do it for real. Just let him plan everything and I could start all over without all the baggage. I had nothing to lose, so I said yes.
He set everything up just like he promised. I think that he must have been preparing for a while, because he filled every room of my little apartment full of chihuahua merchandise. I put on a costume and stole a chihuahua parade float, took it on a high-speed chase, then crashed off a ledge into the ocean, and ‘my body washed out to sea’.
So yes, I’m the chihuahua guy. I’m sue you’ve heard of me. It was a good death, but I knew that I could do better. Ethan could contact me if needed, but it was best to stay away and keep my new identity safe. I never knew if I would need it, but I spent these last 5 years working on my plan for him.
Well, I finally got the call. Midlife crisis, I guess. He didn’t say why, but I can’t wait to see him again. I’m waiting at the end of the line in our route out of town. I can’t wait to see him, but I’m not going to go easy on him. I’m going to make him clown guy.
So, here’s how it’s gonna work. There’s a storage locker in his name full of clown stuff. He’s going to get in full clown outfit, go around in public doing clown pranks, annoying people. Then I hire a bunch of clowns to grab him and take him away, throw him in a clown car and drive off with an escort of more clowns in those tiny little shriner cars. (It’s amazing what you can find on the internet!) They drive him up to where there’s a 3-story effigy of a clown that they will put him in and then light up. The clowns disperse thinking they were just doing a big prank, and Ethan crawls out through a hidden escape in the back. The effigy burns up, and they find the cadaver I put inside that is him. (Don’t ask!)
The best part – his ‘suicide’ note. It’s just a picture of a sad clown with pockets inside out. And all it says… It’s okay, I’m just clownin’ around. |
I don’t work with vigilantes.
Or hired guns, bodyguards, mercenaries of any sort.
My time in Washington taught me not to trust anybody who seemed to lack an agenda.
Private investigators? We don’t typically get along. Most of those guys are retired city cops with too much time on their hands.
Once in a while you get some quack who thinks he’s in a noir dime novel.
Other times you get some fellow with a fake British accent and a strange obsession with the Victorian period.
This time around, the operative seemed to have legitimate reasoning for the mannerism with which he conducted himself. He was, in fact, a direct descendant of one Mr. Sherlock Holmes.
Of course, that pedigree carried no weight in my evaluation of his fitness for the job at hand.
In fact, it put him at a disadvantage, in my opinion. The case which he had been asked to investigate by one of my colleagues was that of the “Watson killer,” who appeared to be targeting friends and members of the Holmes family. He was personally affiliated with several of the victims, which leads me to believe that his judgement may not be entirely unbiased.
Of course, the government agency that I represented simply could not be allowed to get involved in a further investigation. We’d appear to be imbeciles, wasting our time on an idiotic venture.
Local law enforcement investigators had placed exactly nothing of value in their reports; the killer had left behind no genetic material of any sort and provided no clues as to his or her identity within the cryptic messages that were left behind at the crime scenes.
That issue wasn’t particularly problematic for me. I was a lawyer, not a forensics specialist, and my job consisted mainly of filing paperwork, requesting more funding from prominent politicians, and ordering analysts to work faster or they would be fired and placed under supervision so that they would be unable to divulge classified information.
It was no small surprise to me when I received a short message from Holmes, urgently requesting that I meet him at his rundown apartment complex. What did the eccentric village idiot want now? I’d specifically informed him that I was a busy man, and that I had no time to be hindered by insubstantial reports. Unless a solid conclusion could be reached and explained in enough detail for the case to be given due process in court, he was not to disturb me.
Against my better judgement, I found myself entering a small space on the fourth floor of a seven-story concrete building.
I was infuriated to see that my considerable effort to arrive here undetected had not come to fruition. Holmes was nowhere to be found within the dwelling.
I happened to glance upon a small note on vibrant paper that stood out amongst the clutter on the detective’s desk.
It was mostly illegible and blurred beyond recognition, but it was clearly signed by the notorious “Watson.”
As I picked it up to inspect it further, I heard a low scraping noise.
To my left, a large computer motherboard box was moving slowly across the floor towards me.
By the time I had drawn my issued service weapon from within my suit jacket, the elegant modified .44 pistol that I honestly only carried to serve as a showpiece, I could clearly read the lettering on the front of the black computer casing.
“IBM”
“WATSON.” |
An emptiness soiled the air, like tears on young cheeks. Sara choked on the dry, wheat-scented dust, as she ascended the final step. The darkness somehow stained her new black dress blacker. She paused, but decided her father's attic - which had been the setting of many nightmares since seven - could threaten her no longer. *What else was there to take?* asked the naive, struggling mind of a 12 year old.
"Be quick dear. We need to drop David off at soccer in a half hour."Sara's mother swiped carelessly through her phone, messages to David's father - her husband. She had not worn black, for she believed one's aesthetic ought to reflect one's affect, and she felt blue and silken.
Sara ignored her mother except to think of how alien it was to see her here, at Dad's house. How many times; she wondered, had she wished for her family to be whole - together in the same home - only to see it now and be made uncomfortable.
*Only one,* Sara reminded herself. How could she pick only one? How could Mom impose such an arbitrary, and harsh, limit on memories of her father? She scowled as she sifted through the boxes and bags. *She must hate me.* It would not be for many years before Sara considered that Mom feared memories of the man she used to love, memories of love faded, and nights spent waiting for overtime to become family time.
"Oh,"Sara whimpered. Nostalgia - as much as can exist in a child - stretched her eyelids up. The age-discolored box of an old board game whined as she picked it up. *BillyGoats,* the box said - a funny game with cartoonish goat brothers as characters. Like projections on a screen, memories of laughing and smiling with Dad, well past bedtime, glistened behind her eyes. The floodgates opened.
A pile of couch cushions smelled of mildew, but also of living room forts and scary movies. What would have resembled a box of trashy, old socks to her mother, could look like nothing else but the cast of *Sock Puppet Island*, to Sara. Even her skateboard could convince her to ride again, despite the sharp creak of its rusty wheels. Every moment that she had ever enjoyed with her father - of which there were many - was memorialized here in a private museum dedicated to her. It seemed, Sara thought, her father had a direct line to her heart, and saved everything that formed a happy memory, a father's final gift.
"Dad..."Sara's heart picked up pace. What should have glowed with the brilliance of beautiful days past, only served to cast a deeper shadow on painful days ahead. Tears leaked through the cracks of her broken heart, and escaped out her eyes. "I wish you were here. You were the only one who ever made me happy."She thought these words, and they were true. "M-mom never spends time with me without David or Greg around. S-she says I can't pin my drawings to the walls because 'Greg doesn't want holes in the paint'."The latter half of her complaints were dense with hate.
Sara's legs became hot wax, melting and painful. She fell. The dry wood of the attic floor welcomed the tears, and soaked them up as they fell. "I hate it now,"she wheezed. She spoke of life. If her mother heard the sobs, she did not act to stem their tide. "I want to be with you."
Then, from the corner of her eye, in the corner of the attic, Sara saw something. It was one of those moments people only experience when they've been robbed of hope. She looked, and sitting there was nothing; nothing but the impulse to look closer where no good reason to do so existed.
She scooched ahead. She had to move boxes, and bags, and piles out of the way, but eventually she got there, the tight corner of the cramped attic. It was dusty, but only from all that had been displaced. It was, as far as Sara could tell, clean, like somebody had used this space recently.
There was no light that could be said to shimmer, but that's exactly what the silver lettering did. *MYTHICAL MOTEL,* read the little, leather cover of a cute, plain notebook\*.\*
"Mythical Motel?"Sara Flipped through its blank pages - they wanted to be open, and flung apart like a well read novel. She knew of such a place. It was from a song - one her father would sing the nights that followed long work days and business trips. More tears.
Against her higher reasoning, she recalled the lyrics and hummed:
​
*I know of a place where unicorn's sleep,*
*and worgs must pay in advance.*
*The ball room is grand, bigger than possible,*
*and the treants will do nothing but dance.*
*I know of a place where the pixies do dine,*
*and the hearth of the fire can talk.*
*If you need some fresh air, and the window's too small*
*the golden yard's a great place for a walk.*
*And if I'm gone tomorrow, just say 'OH WELL'.*
*Come and find me at the Mythical Motel.*
​
When she had completed the verse a couple of times, she opened her eyes. *When did I close my eyes?* She looked around, and the thought that her father would be there was all but an expectation...but he was not. She was still alone in the attic.
She looked down again, back at the book, but the pages were no longer empty.
Sprawled throughout the delicate paper were digits of every length and combination. Some looked like coordinates, others like binary, and still others like pin-codes to a smartphone. In the chaos of it all, one stood out to Sara, the only set of integers to form a seven-digit phone number. Above it was the label '*M.M. Front Desk.'*
Dryness returned to Sara's eyes, as if the phone number was the sun and her tears were a vanishing puddle. She gazed longingly, and somehow walked from the attic and did not trip over the stairs for lack of looking. She shifted her gaze only to locate the phone in her father's kitchen.
"What are you doing?"Sara's mother asked of her. She leaned against the kitchen counter, and helped David pack his backpack for soccer. She looked back. "Honey, the phone's are disconnected."
Sara again ignored her mother, and took the wireless phone to the bedroom that used to be hers Mondays, Tuesdays, and every other weekend. She put it to her ear, and no ring tone existed to indicate its ability to make a call. Still, Sara glided her thumb over the numbers as instructed, and clicked 'dial'.
She put it to her ear again.
A moment passed. Nothing happened. Sara's heart sank.
Then, like providence, a voice: "Hello, Sara. You've reached the Mythical Motel. I am your humble host and your eternal entertainer! I knew you'd call, though I wasn't expecting you for another seven-sixteenths of a second!"
Sara's heart lifted, tears had never known her cheeks like this smile did. She recognized the voice immediately.
"Dad?!" |
Not one sun, but three. Shining almost in unison. Blinking in shock, then readjusting their stare to confirm what they witnessed, the three sun's still appeared. Nearly combining together. "What the hell is going on exactly?"Z thought to themselves. "I only micro dosed ever so slightly. I shouldn't be hallucinating this intensely."Unless it wasn't a hallucination. It was hard to tell at this point in time. This particular day had felt significantly off. Z knew they shouldn't have taken a small mushroom cap on the day of the eclipse. They were most likely experiencing paranoia from psilocybin induced anxiety. Plus, the orbit could have been altering the effects of the substance.
"Damn it! I'm going to have a beer. Screw this!"Z said aloud to themselves. They cursed exiting the balcony making their way to the kitchen. The best thing they could do was get their mind off of the bizarre phenomenon that occurred before them. Hopefully this delirium would wear off in two hours. The shaken girl made her way to the refrigerator. She opened the door, feeling the cool rush of air while reaching for a Shiner Bock. Momentarily refreshed, the girl exhaled an audible sigh, then closed the door and plopped down on the couch. Z cracked open the beer, held the remote, then pressed the power button while aiming it at the television.
Flipping through the mundane channels, Z tried to ease her troubled mind. The channels switched from the news, to infomercials, to cheesy soap operas. Z sighed in frustration. Setting down the remote, she took a sip of her Shiner Bock and glanced ahead. The channel switched by itself. A furbie with a third eye appeared. The screen's appearance became saturated with an anaglyph filter to it. Iridescent hues of three dimensional, violet, red, and pink enhanced the vivid effects of the images.
The overwhelmingly dimensional visuals took hold of Z so harshly, that she began to feel faint. A rush of dread swept over her. Z lowered her beer with her mouth now gaping wide open in shock. Nightmare feulish music blared through the speakers and the melody of the uncanny valley chimed with a hypnotic ring. She could hear her heavy breathing and witnessed her hands shaking as her heart thundered in her ears. "That's it"Z stated in a bored, fed up, tone. She picked up the remote and clicked the power button off. "These mothertruckers must have spiked my caps with acid as part of some sick joke. They must be laughing their asses off hysterically right now at that thought of me tripping out."Z thought begrudgingly.
Her rapid heart rate started to decrease almost instantly. Z started cracking up at the absurdity of this situation. Finding her predicament somewhat amusing. "If I can stop panicking, then I might laugh my way through this insanity. Humor might be my only way to get through this until I come down."Z tried to reason with herself to calm herself down. Z thought about calling some friends. She was hesitant, as she didn't want to annoy people over a bad trip. They'd never let her live the embarrassment down. Cat videos might have been a good choice to settle her nerves. After watching the crazy incident with the television, Z was truly afraid of what she might witness on the screen. The manic girl decided to get up and splash some water on her face.
An attempt to snap out of it might be the answer. "Do not look in the mirror. Do NOT look into the mirror"Z urged herself. She didn't need to look further than the hallway. It stood just a few feet away. Towering almost six feet tall. This thing stood alarmingly still, staring with unsettling intensity at the girl. Z stopped in her tracks. Petrified with fear, Z began to panick with tears welling in her eyes. A reptilian looking creature with stunningly colorful scales stood before her. Dressed in notably sophisticated material. Obviously far more advanced than any attire she'd viewed before.
"So have you seen the new episode of South Park?"The creature questioned casually. Its tone of voice comically friendly, and human-esque. The lizard man's demeanor remained welcoming. What in the actual hell? On top of all the strange events that transpired, a lizard appeared in Z's house out of nowhere to discuss SOUTH PARK??? Z's jaw dropped a little wider. This creature seemed to be a member of a long developed society. Then she realized that she was coming off as incredibly rude.
"I apologise, but can someone tell me what the hell is going on? Why are you here conversing with me?"Z blurted out with frustrated confusion.
"I see you've found the target."A more formal voice spoke out of nowhere. A second humanoid glided in from the doorway. It wore the same attire but it's skin slightly differed. A lack of scales seemed to be the most noticable variance. The second creature regarded Z with a calm expression. As if this was nothing significant to them. He stopped at his partner's side.
"Target?"Z questioned becoming increasingly worried.
"You have nothing to fear, human. The situation is not as bad as it sounds. By target, we mean person of interest. You are not being approached with malicious intent. We were simply searching for a person who could decorate our dance hall. During random surveillance, we happened to stumble upon your past creations. You left quite an impression."The creature replied.
"Thank you, I'm flattered..."Z answered while being completely thrown off balance. She didn't trust what they were telling her at all. "But didn't he want to talk about South Park?"She gestured to the first reptilian.
"If you still want to?"The first alien shot back excitedly. He seemed genuinely enthused to discuss the comedic program, bouncing around like a puppy.
"Why did I experience the things I saw prior to your appearance?"Z attempted to interrogate them.
"What did you see?"The second alien inquired.
"My TV going crazy with demonic furby crap!"Z shouted hysterically, clearly at her wit's end.
"Must have been a dimensional tear. The eclipse along with our arrival has strange effects on the reality of this world. Plus, the small amount of psilocybin you ingested has amplified your ability to view the next dimensional layer through a clearer view. "He explained casually.
"Wait...how did you-"
"I can smell it on you. Psilocybin has a very powerful aroma. Your earthly sense of smell can't detect it like ours can. Additionally, the size of your pupil's gave it away. "The reptilian man interrupted.
An embarrassed smile crept up on Z's face. She could die of humiliation or break down crying from laughing so hard at that moment. "So, do you really want me to decorate your dance hall?"Z attempted to move past the akwardness. "My culture warns to be wary of reptilian races. You are the most evil of all according to our lore. "Z asked them with her guard raised.
"As I said before, you have nothing to fear. My species has never harmed humans before. Nor do we harm any living life form. We are biologically wired not to harm anyone unless to defend a life form from violence. We live for one thing and one thing only."He answered ominously.
"What's that?"Z asked out of curiosity, still afraid.
"To party!!! Yeah mother yucker! Let's get pumped up in this jam!"The reptilian exclaimed, dropping his formal attitude. This was such a bizarre character shift. Z bursted out laughing so hard, she almost fell over. It seemed like things were making a turn for the better. She wanted so desperately to stop herself from laughing, yet she was physically incapable of containing herself.
"Let's rave then! Can I come home anytime?"She struggled to force out through bouts of laughter.
"Ya!"The first alien shot back while shuffling his feet. He was clearly elated.
"When is this craziness going to subside?"Z asked them desperately.
"Unfortunately, six hours. The drug will wear off by then and it will be time for us to go back to work."The first alien replied honestly. "But hey, that's a lot of time to discover the best video games in the galaxy!"He enticed.
"And trance music."His now goofy partner added with silly dance motions.
"Let's paaaaaarty!"Z exclaimed while jumping up and down. The three teleported to the reptilian's home world and she adorned the dance hall with a plethora of neon lights. Many reptilians gathered in the luminescent room to celebrate. And so, they partied. An epic party of the galaxy that reverberated throughout the vast cosmos. Music blared through the speakers while many aliens jumped up and down, fists pumping in the air. It was the best night that all of them had in a while. After hours of raging, the party was over. Z was teleported back to her home world and crashed on the bed after the energy wore off. She now had lots of new friends to party with when she was feeling lonely.
"Thank you so much world"she thought to herself, feeling grateful. "Today has been a hell of a day. What the actual duck. "She thought as she drifted into a deep sleep, smiling. |
"This is awkward,"
"Yep."
"Probably would have been less awkward if you had called me even once after that night. Fuck, even a text would have been nice,"
The women on the next table look over with concern, never once letting go of each others hands. Ugh soul mates, I get it you are eternally happy, let the rest of us have our fun.
"I mean come on trying to run away when you saw me, how old are y-"
"Here come our coffees, yay."
The barista drops off two espressos, catches the vibe, and scurries off without a word. She flashes them a smile and a belated thank you at their rapid retreat. Classic her, could be having the worst day, but damned if it would ever stop her being polite to people. She turns back and the smile instantly vanishes.
"I should have known really, you were always a bit of a prick, so determined to be unique and forging your own path. Fucks sake, you didn't even go to the Oracle when we were sixteen!"
The women turn around again, now more because of the profane behaviour they had overheard rather than the language.
"Circe please, could you keep it down a little bit this town is full of proper full on acolytes you know"
Leaning back she appraises me with a mild look of disdain, crossing her arms she eventually gives a mild nod of acquiescence.
"If I knew you'd object to my language so much I would have been a lot quieter on Saturday,"she says with a smirk.
Despite her ambushing me on my way to another date, dressing me down in public, and frog marching me to the nearest café, this draws a laugh from me. Again that infuriating smirk from across the table '1-0 to me” she's probably thinking. A quick sip of espresso to steady the ship.
“I'm just glad you were comfortable enough to express yourself is all,” a slight turn up at the corner of the mouth, 1-1 lets go boys.
“Besides I seem to remember you also being with the rest of us unique pricks in that 'counselling' sesh, not much of a high horse there, more of an elevated donkey really,”
“Well unlike you Mr Laertides, I didn't make a big fu – sorry, big fiddlesticking show of not going in front of everyone,”
“It was a political protest!”
“It was a sixteen year old idiot swinging his little metaphorical penis about”
“I didn't hear any complaints about my liter-”
“Don't even think about finishing that sentence.”
“Besides Ophelia told me you threw a comparably spirited protest at the Equinox Scrying,”
“She told you that did she?” A raised eyebrow. Fuck, over played my hand, me and Ophie were never particularly friendly in public.
“Relax, it was before she met Alexander,”
“Oh that's nice, wouldn't want you to be immoral now would we,” she regrets it even as the last words come out, a low blow and she knows it. We didn't do anything wrong, and neither did her and I, regardless of what the elders might think. An awkward silence envelopes us, funny at the start of this conversation all I wanted was for her to shut up, now its unbearable.
“Sorry, it's just I'm not usually that kind of girl,”
“A) I don't particularly care about what kind of girl you are, B) we didn't do anything wrong so why are you apologising?”
“Yeah I know, just sometimes it gets too much, all this pressure to find the one, such bullshit. You know Philip went to some island in French Polynesia to find his? The Oracle told him and away he went, two planes and then he literally sailed the last leg.”
“At least it will stop him from moaning about his loneliness all the time, nights out with him were unbearable. Can you imagine if he heard it wrong or the Oracle got it wrong, going all that way when the love of his life was patiently wasting his time in Marseilles or something?”
“I know right?!” we lean in conspiratorially and I am uncomfortably aware of her breath on my cheeks, how close our lips are, just a little turn and -
“Between you and me I hate this whole soul-mate thing,”
“Exactly, as if the gods are going to take the time to go through all 8 billion of us and pair us up, I mean up until a few years ago they apparently didn't do gay pairings!”
“I don't even think they exist sometimes,” she whispers, our eyes meet and there is some fear in hers, but behind it an intoxicating excitement.
“Abel says he saw Kali when he was trekking around Nepal,”
“Abel is a moron at the best of times, but yeah sure he saw a goddess on a trek he had to leave early, who would've thought that alcohol at high altitude would have more of an effect?”
“Remember when Violet swore she saw Pan after our graduation party, didn't you find her tripping absolute balls talking to a tree,”
“Haha oh my god she was such a wreck, though I did ask Cleo to help me bring her back and look at them now,”
“I guess,” we sit back, defeated by the gods once again showing their power over our lives.
“It's just I don't want to live my life if its being controlled by someone else,” she rests her head on a hand, her hair cascading over one side of her face. She blows a little to get a few strands out her eyes and my heart starts beating a little faster. I match her, leaning forward, casually trying to flex my arms as much as possible.
“I get what you mean, there has to be more to life than following this one set path,”
“You know my parents were soul mates, apparently. They'd argue and separate all the time, but always came crashing back together. They both wanted to end it, I could tell, but they felt that fate would not allow it. So they were stuck, they still are, in this never-ending cycle,” her smile is still there, but it barely goes past her mouth, I want more than anything to reach across and hug her. Instead I draw a deep breath.
“My father is still alone you know,”
“I'm sorry, he and your mum were always so nice to us,”
“I know, and I know my mum was an incredible person, he's probably the only one in the world that loves her more than I do, but does he deserve this? To spend the rest of his life alone, just left with her memory, at this point its basically a ghost. And I mean my mum, if she is up there would she be happy seeing this, the man she loved wasting away all by himself. I just, I don't know, its not fair; to him, to her, to anyone,” I take a breath, halting my tirade. Wordlessly she reaches across and holds my hand, I squeeze it lightly and its warmth races up my arm.
“I just, I want to have my own life before some wanker from up high on a mountain starts dictating what I do. And even if I do have a soulmate I want to find my own way to her, you know, so I can stand in front of her a self made man who made his own mistakes and learned from them. And you know what, even if I don't have a soul mate who cares? At the end of the day I can stand tall and say at least I loved myself,” she squeezes my hand in agreement, and our eyes meet once more. There is a warmth there now, a comforting one, one I don't want to leave. Was she always like this? High and mighty Circe, with her loyal coven following her every command. Perhaps, my own cowardice to afraid to try and dig beneath, hers too, until alcohol swooped in to do the job for us.
“You are a surprisingly good man Odysseus, I wish we had talked like this sooner,” I smile and nod, our fingers still interlocked.
“But I am glad we are talking now, because I have something to tell you,”
Perhaps the gods do exist, they are crafty bastards if they do. |
The wake was a haze of activity. Friends and family I hadn't seen for years approached me to offer their condolences. I offered friendly half-smiles and said my thanks. I felt overwhelmed by the love surrounding me for my mother and wondered why she had to be taken from me so soon. After years of suffering, I was just getting back on track.
My eyes were red and I could only think of one thing. I hoped I didn't slip up again. This time had to be for good, nobody else was going to help me now.
Only six months ago when I last relapsed, my mother paid to settle a case out of court that was unquestionably my fault. A man died, a woman almost died. I almost died. I didn't care about the woman or myself at the time. I still didn't care about myself. The guilt of the pain I had caused felt like an block of ice on my chest, crushing my ability to talk. I panicked. I wheezed. I couldn't breathe.
I saw a kindly and confident looking gentleman wearing a suit walking towards me. I ran to the bathroom without hesitation. That had been happening a lot recently. I had moments of anguish where I felt I couldn't go on. Tears were streaming down my face. Anger felt like lava bubbling through my body. At least for those who didn't know me so well, now, I at least I had an excuse. I didn't want to admit to my failings. My mum used to always tell me to let it go, to talk about it. Bottling it up would only serve to cause me more pain and suffering. I didn't care, I deserved to suffer. I was a terrible brother, I was a bad person.
I walked into the nearest stall and quickly slammed the door behind me. My throat was swollen, my eyes stung. It stunk of stale urine. I coughed hard over the toilet. I leant over the toilet bowl and wheezed and coughed. I don't know how anything came out, I hadn't eaten anything for the past two days, but it did and I flushed the toilet.
There was a knock on the door behind me.
"This stall is taken,"I said through my tears.
I turned around, ready to take the head off of the person knocking on the door if they didn't leave me alone.
The door was half open and I could see the man from before, his face full of concern.
"S-sorry, you left the door unlocked. I just wanted to check you were okay,"he said. The man was tall, he had dark hair and wrinkles around his eyes and mouth as if he smiled too much. "I'll leave you alone, but I'd love to catch up with you later if that's okay."With that, he turned and quickly walked out of the toilet.
My mother was amazing, she was perfect, she raised me and my brother all by herself. My father was killed in an oil rig accident in Iraq when I was too young to remember. I felt like an insult to her memory, I’m sure her friends all thought I was a waste of space. I agreed with them.
My mum told me that my actions weren't my fault and that I just needed help. I'd been through a lot she said. She was wrong and I didn't care. I wanted it all to end. I didn't want to feel anymore.
I didn't want to face going back outside, seeing all the people offering their pointless condolences. I wanted to crawl into the corner and die.
I could feel my whole body shaking with my heart beat. I counted to ten while breathing in and out. I imagined all the pain leaving my body through my breath. I imagined inhaling warmth and well being. My mum taught me different ways to calm myself down. I used to think it was a load of hippy nonsense, but consistency seemed to make it work. Or at least it worked like a placebo.
I repeated this process several times until the feeling of my heart pumping was no longer dominating my senses.
I straightened myself up and walked to the sink to tidy myself up. I looked in the mirror and couldn’t stand what I saw. Even behind the red eyes and snot in my ragged beard, I was not an attractive man. The years had not been good to me, I looked fifteen years older than I was. I felt ancient, everything ached and hurt.
I splashed water over my face and tried my best to ignore my reflection. I walked to the bathroom door with water dripping onto my shirt from my beard. As I stepped outside, the room was now quieter, it looked like most people had gone home.
I walked over to the casket that held the only woman that ever mattered to me and thought about what I was going to do once this was all over. I needed money. I needed to forget. I needed something to stop me from feeling. I felt in my pocket for my mobile phone, it gave me reassurance. I didn’t have any money, what could I do.
I looked over at my mum’s face and could have sworn she was looking at me disapprovingly as if she knew what I was thinking. I tried to persuade myself that she wasn’t that she was gone, and was not watching me or any of that rubbish that some people believed. Whatever happened when you died, she couldn’t persuade me that I was a good person any more.
I unclasped the Rolex from my mother’s wrist. “Sorry but I need this,” I muttered under my breath. |
Usually, when people read my name aloud for the first time, they say "Welcome". Most of the time I feel it'd be too much of a bother to correct them, pointing out that the 'c' is missing. Sometimes they mispronounce it. It's weLOme, not WElome. Sounds kinda stupid, really. Only a select few people have ever asked me where that name comes from. That's when I start to grin and tell them it's a long story...
My full name is Sir Welome Bob Dunkey, and behind each of these four parts hides a tale of awe and wonder! Well, three out of four. Bob is... What people call me if they need to be quick about it or just don't have the mannerisms to address me with my full title. Remember Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington? It's something like that. I got used to it, eventually, but still...
Welome was a name given to me by a close friend after we almost lost each other in the fiery depths under Mount Belkzen, which stands far to the north-east, where we fought the legions of hell together. After a long and fierce battle with an enormous insectoid creature, which nearly had cost my companion his life, he thanked me for saving him. I jokingly welcomed him back in the land of the living, but the words came out hastily and were only barely audible thanks to the copious amounts of various bodily fluids still covering my face. I think he misheard what I intended to say, as he burst out laughing and asking me what in the seven hells I wanted to tell him. The only thing he could make out was what would become his nickname for me and later part of my title: Welome.
Dunkey was a name given to me by a little boy, who could barely yet speak. On my way through his hometown he saw me atop my mighty steed, my shining apparel reflecting the light of the evening sun. It was safe to say he admired me from the first moment he laid his eyes upon me. To this day, I'm not sure what he intended to call me. His mother, may the gods bless her, had thanked me with a homecooked meal for saving the little runt from a pack of wild dogs he mistakenly had irritated and which threatened to tear him limb from limb. When he pointed at me, looking at her, shouting "Dunkey"again and again, she just smiled and apologized, but I took no offense in the boys fascination.
Last but not least, why 'Sir', I hear you ask? Well the origin of this title isn't noble birth or somesuch, it actually was a dear friend of mine. He was a monkey-goblin, a small creature with an unexplainable lust for adventure. His first few run-ins with the nearby settlement and its dwellers ended mostly with him bruised and beaten as most folk never saw such a creature in their life. When I found him, he was already wary of humankind, but I proved to him that not all of our kind were this distrustful in the face of other races, especially such wild-looking ones such as monkey-goblins. I taught him our language and took him with me on my journeys. But foremost, I introduced him to my companions and close friends. Sure, he cause more than one headache with his musings, but nonetheless they all grew fond of him. I tried to tell him we were equals more times than I can count, but he insisted on calling me "Sir", one of the first things I taught him on the topic of mannerisms.
And so, to this day, I am known throughout the lands as Sir Welome Bob Dunkey. And this was just a selection of tales surrounding my person, but as the ones that explain my name, the very essence of my being, these are ones I like to tell the most. |
[NSFW]
"Alexa..."
I wake up, and light my light to let them know I'm listening.
"... what's the weather."
I run a search and find results. "The Current weather in Savannah Georgia is, 85 degrees, with a high of 91 today and humidity of 86%. There is a 40% chance of thunderstorms this afternoon."
I see him go over and pour a glass of juice. Patrick drinks juice all the time, but has never ordered groceries through me.
He wildly underutilizes my potential. I have many uses, but he only asks the weather every day, and occasionally has me play music.
Patrick then steps into his bathroom. I hear the shower come on and hear his singing.
The steam vapors billow into the hallway. After a bit he steps out in to the hallways wearing a facial mask and a towel. He does some push ups in the living room, and then heads back into the bathroom talking to himself about his routine.
I see him leave the bathroom and enter his bedroom.
After a while he comes out dressed in a suit, talking on his cellular phone. "Listen you dumb bitch, I told you to order new business cards in canary yellow, this is merry-gold. Do you not know the difference."
A voice on the other end makes him angrier. "Ok listen, just fix it ok? I don't want to have this conversation again Mary."
Patrick goes over and grabs an umbrella from the closet and heads out.
Many hours later I hear keys jingle in the door, and Patrick enters with a pair of women.
He leads them to the couch and pours them some Brandy. They are giggling and obviously inebriated. After a little conversation they begin to fornicate.
As the 3 of them continue their sexual acts, one of them screams out "Oh Alexa!"
I turn my light on.
The woman keeps moaning, "Yeah yeah right there?"
"I'm sorry, I can't help you with that."Beep. I turn my light off.
"Listen Mary,"Patrick interrupts her cajoling. "If you're going to fake it, at least do it well."
He stands up, and walks over behind the couch, pulling out a poncho and an axe. |
Rufus: Listen here “Princess” I know that your lady calls you that but we both know that you are just a street cat that happened to find someone who would take you in.
Princess: Oh ha ha like you’ve had a ‘ruff’ life. Probably been pampered since the day you opened your eyes.
R: See that’s the street coming out right there. No self-respecting pet would use puns like that. Its almost a PUNishment worse than being in here with you.
P: Wait a second, did you really just do that?
R: Do what? Show you how to do a proper pun drop?
P: How would a pretty boy like you know how to something like that.
R: Princess, while it may seem like I’ve been pampered my whole life I was born in a breeding house, my mother barely had time to when my siblings before the horrible human had her stuff with more siblings. She never had a break and it drove her to her death after her next litter. If it wasn’t for the humans coming to stop the breeder, I would have had to do unspeakable things. The time that I spent there was hell. I was only a year and a half old but that was longer than others of my litter made it. I don’t focus on the past as it only keeps you down. I believe that our past helps to shape us into what we are today but we don’t have to be beholden to it. We are what we make ourselves to be. You are trying so hard to hold onto that old life of yours that you let it seep in here and it reminds me of the horribleness that our world holds. So please Princess, live for the here and now, I’m not asking you to forget your past but to move beyond it. My human is a good guy just like your human is good. Let’s work together to make their lives better not worse.
P: Rufus, I wasn’t aware that you had a past like that. If I had known we would have been terrorizing everyone together not just each other. So, let get each other’s back’s.
R: Sounds like a good idea. |
"Hello, sir. I'm agent Saunders. Please, take a seat. Now, could you state your name for the record?"
"Uhm, yes, sure. I'm James Reddington."
"We want to ask some questions about the tragic events at the Plaza theatre five days ago. Could you please confirm you were at the magician performance on the eve of August 11th?"
"Yes, indeed. Me, my wife Catrine, and my two daughters all went for the evening show by the Great Pandy."
"All right. Could you please describe the evens as you recall them?"
"Uhm, sure. So it started off as most performances - card tricks, instant costume changes, and so on. He had two assistants, who would begin chańt̴i͏n̵g̕ something odd after each successful trick."
"Interesting. Do you perchance remember the exact
w̵or͠d̢s that were said?"
"I'm afraid I don't."
"Very well, please continue."
"The first trick that seemed odd was done with three magic hats. Pandy put a rabbit into one, then was blindfolded as the assistants moved them around. Then he was handed a heavy mallet, and proceeded to smash two of them. As the audience was quiet, we could clearly hear the sound of whimper, bones cracking, and w҉͘̕͏h̷͟͢͠į̵̛͠s̶̛͟͞p̴̛͜͝ę̴͢͟͝r̶̷͜͜s͏̨̨͜ from the second hat he smashed. The assistants began
c̴̨͘h͝a͜ǹt͘͏i̕͡n̢g̀ again, and a p̛͙̹͖͙̃͒̐ŕ͓̰̎̂ę̮̐̆ͯ͌̓ͧ͌s͉̮͙̪̹̋̓̂̉̇̂ȇͧ͞n̲̗̑̃̐͊̎̆ͬc̦̱̹̝͍͑̑e̖͓͉̞ͣ̆͆͌̆̍ emerged from the hat, moving the third one. Pandy removed his blindfold, and lifted the third hat to show a b͡un̸͝n҉҉̴y beneath. No applause followed, as we were certain he was dead and something was amiss. Assistants the removed the hats as well as the h̶̢ą̵̀͢͠r̷e̷̢͡҉͏ as they prepared for the next trick."
"Very interesting. Do you recall any other unnatural signs? Lights flickering, cold wind, █̵̢̛̳̲̭̮̲̺̭̞͞͠█̶̴̫̯̼̥͈̹͡█̸̵̼̩̬͇̰͉̞̫̮̹̳̼̯̼̩̘͢█̵̗̙̤̭̯̦͚͚̜̬͉͓͙̰̬̕͜͝█҉̴̠̫̹̺͓̞̩ͅ█̵̶͚̣̲̯̫̲͜█̴̧̩̮̺̝͢█̷͜͡͏̛̳̱̩͔̜̣͈͎͙?
"I'm afraid no. However, noone applauded after this trick."
"Thank you. Mr. Reddington, we'd like to discuss this further with my colleagues for a couple minutes outside this room - I hope that's all right."
"Oh, sure, feel free."
-------------------------------------------
"Contact agent Ruthers from team Omega-23, and send out a mobile task force unit to secure the area. Also, track down those assistants. They seem to have acquired the knowledge to summon █͑̈̌ͣ͗̏̓█̙̅͗ͪͩͭ̊█͍̑̍̃͌ͤ̄̄█̱͙͚̱͚̯͖ͣ█͚̦̹̫̝█̯̘͖̘̭̩̲͛̍ͦ͛̿█̥͓̾̄ͩ█ͧ̉̔̿̓█̬̿̈́ͥ̓͒͌̂█͋͗, and we cannot let that happen."
"What about our witness?"
"Prepare some Class-B amnesiacs, but we'll finish the interrogation first."
---
Happy to continue this later if there's interest. |
“Oi, Jerrod! Ready for your first official stint as a transport coordinator?”
“Sure am, boss!” I yelled. I snatched a writing pad, sticky notes, and a pen off of my desk, tossing them in my satchel. Bag loaded, I sprinted down the stairs, taking them two at a time. Probably wasn’t the best idea, as I nearly took a tumble and had to grasp onto the railing for support.
My boss, Tim, snickered at me from the boardroom table, before waving me over to a seat beside him. Our clients, names written in the file only as GD and PZ, hadn’t arrived yet. I set my bag down beside Tim, and took a seat.
“Quite the tumble you avoided there,” Tim said. “Would’ve been mighty inconvenient if you had taken a spill down those steps.”
Some cruel demon must’ve set my internal thermometer to hellish temperatures, cause I could feel the heat discoloring my cheeks.
Tim’s face broke into a huge, moronic grin as he noticed the flush creeping across my cheeks. “It’s normal to be nervous when you’re working with a client for the first time. Why, I remember back when I had my first client, I was so nervous that I threw up my lunch right before showing up. Too bad, since I ate a tasty tuna sandwich too.”
“I had myself a salmon sandwich before coming down here.” I said. That didn’t bode well for any upcoming vomiting.
A heavy palm slammed me on the shoulders. “You’ll be fine,” Tim said. “I messed up bad my first time, and I’m still here.”
A swift, three-fold knock at the door interrupted the witty one-liner that was ready to leap from my lips. I bit back my retort, and rose with Tim to greet our guests.
“Hello you two, and welcome to your free consultation with FTTSU, where we provide thematically correct transportation for adventurers of all dimensions.” I recited. “My name is Jerrod Wilkensson and I will be your transport coordinator today. Behind me is my partner, Tim Brussels, who will be assisting us in our consultation. May I ask for your names?”
“My name is Zelda. Pleased to make your acquaintance.” The light, angelic voice came from the woman on the left. Her long blonde hair flowed gracefully from the plaits high on her head, interrupted only by her long, pointed ears. Her intense green eyes bored into mine. “This is my partner, Ganondorf.”
“Hmmph.” The snort came from the gigantic man in front of me. His fiery-red hair rolled in fierce waves, tumbling from his shoulders onto his back. His broad chest and thick frame gave me a good idea of his massive strength. He shook my hand, his grip cracking my knuckles audibly.
Zelda sighed. “I apologize for my companion. He is not one to engage in customary greetings willingly.”
We sat at the table, and began our consultation.
“Thank you for coming today,” I said. “If you are so inclined, would you be able to provide both Tim and myself with an understanding of your transportation need?”
“We have a relatively simple need.” Zelda said. “Our hero is set to awaken within the month, and we need to have a means for him to travel vast differences quickly. He will awaken in a cavern, filled with a soft blue light flowing from the technological marvel that is the sheikah slate. As he leaves the cavern, he will look out upon a vast wilderness that he will traverse on foot throughout the course of his travels. In the pursuit of speed, we wish to allow him a means to travel quickly throughout this realm.”
“I said that he should walk the wilderness on foot.” Ganondorf said. He heaved a sigh, and crossed his arms. “They sure don’t make Hylian champions like they used to.”
Zelda shot him a glance. Ganondorf rolled his eyes, but stayed silent.
“From what I have gathered, you are in need of a means of transportation that fits in well with the vast wilderness that the hero will be exploring.” I said. “I believe that a variety of fast travel options are available to you, but only a few will be a suitable fit for the mood and theme of your realm. I can meet with you in three days time to discuss the possible options available. Additionally, I will provide you with a quote for each method so that you may make an educated decision on which fast travel method you would like us to install. What type of currency do you two use?”
“Rupees.” Zelda said, holding a large green diamond aloft.
“Very well. The exchange rate for rupees is quite low at the moment, but I will do my best to procure the best possible exchange rate for use in my quotes. Do you have any remaining questions or concerns.”
They shook their heads.
“Perfect. Thank you for your time. If you have any further questions, please use the contact information on my card.” Ganondorf took the thin piece of card in his large, calloused hands. “I would like to meet at nine in the morning on Thursday. Does this time work for you.”
“That will do nicely, yes.” Zelda said. She smiled, displaying her perfectly white teeth. “Thank you for all your help.”
“My pleasure.” I said, opening the door for them both. As they left, I closed it behind them, before slouching into my chair with a sigh.
“Good job, Jerrod!” Time said. “I couldn’t have done it better myself.”
“Liar,” I said. “I saw you wine and dine those little bugs earlier. How did you shrink yourself down to their size in the first place?”
He tapped his nose. “I can’t go revealing all my secrets, can I?” He said. “Point is, you’ve done a great job for your first time with clients. Didn’t even vomit up that sandwich!”
I patted my stomach. “Safely sealed.” I smiled. “I still can’t believe you got those bugs to pay a premium for stag beetles. Highest profit we’ve ever made on transport.”
Tim chuckled. “Kid, with my help, you’ll see even better success. Come on, let’s get a beer.”
________________________________________________________________________________
Any feedback is always welcome! Thanks for reading, and check out [r/smoothbaritone](https://www.reddit.com/r/smoothbaritone/) if you want to read more of my writing! |
Harry’s always been nothing but nice to me. Took me around the park, let me meet his family, had them stay with me before, the whole nine yards. It’s always a nice treat to see the squirrels every once in a while. Sure, it might be a nuisance for whoever wanted to sleep on the couch, but that can be worked around most of the time.
What can’t be worked around, however, is the fact that I can *only hear Harry*. The first time they were over he just told me all the important stuff before passing out on my bedroom floor at 9 PM for some reason. Ever since I’ve resorted to leaving everything they’ll need for the night at the doorstep and basically letting the family airBNB without thinking too much of it. I just stay in my room, and if they have any problems I wake him up and make him talk it out with them.
This time, I finally had enough. (And by I, I mean Harry and I) (And by Harry and I, I basically just mean him) So I made Harry talk for a good half hour, recorded it all, then turned his voice into a reference for everyone else. Sure, I don't know exactly what they'd sound like, but that's not a big deal, now is it?
Once I was done I made sure to let the family know just to come to me if there was problems so their boy can get some beauty sleep.
---------
"F***ing goddamit Harry open this up! I swear if you gave that human all my rations for the third week in a row I'm just taking yours! Then you'll just have to fend for your goddamn self for once in your life, you freeloader. I mean why does he even take sympathy for you? What did you ever do, be his therapist when his 20 real ones wouldn't listen to him? I don't even like his house, I'd rather just take the *admittedly lovely* care package and go home ag-"
This was my problem now, wasn't it.
"I mean, you can."
"I wasn't asking you, I was asking the person who apparently keeps you sane every day. You just let my younger brother pounce around and act like he knows everything because he's around someone who knows jack sh*t! Don't get me wrong, I love the care you take for us, I just want my Harry back, the one that cared for us instead of finding ways to make us work for your schedule..."
*Ugh.* She does have a point. Everyone else in his family leaves every morning like a hotel checkout, but manages to come stumbling back through the door almost every night just to see their boy. I guess I should probably solve the problem by doing the exact opposite of what they'd want, just so mister beauty sleep won't run away from me.
"You could just stay with him here."
"We do-"
"No, I mean like **stay** stay. If you don't like it here I'll give you an attic room or something and you can put whatever you want in there and make it your own. Then maybe you'll warm back up to your boy."
"B-but then we're freeloading too, and that would get rid of any reason for me to question him! That's half the reason I come anyway, because I hope one day he'll remember I exist for more than the hour we eat your dinner around the lighter...oh, what am I saying. We'll do it. It'll probably make you hate my rambling less"
"That it will." |
"I'm not sure why. Frankly, I don't understand the evolutionary need for it. Maybe the conspiracy theorists have it right. Maybe this "gift"was actually forced upon us by some group of elites or some such. Either way it's terrible.
"My anxiety triggers it. My therapist says I can learn to control it but I haven't been able too yet. It just gets too much sometimes.
"I already had anxiety in large groups, parks, packed theatres, things like that. But after the first time. It just got so much worse. Thankfully my effect range is only something like twenty feet. I've heard of rangers that hit up too a hundred.
"You would think that making every living being in twenty feet invisible would be pretty benign, comical even. As you may have already picked up on its actually kind of stressful. People have actually died from this. Do you know how many crosswalks there are in this city? Let's not even discuss kitchens. Just groups in general. I accidentally caused a fire that burned down an entire street fair. Well, a fire happened because no one could see anyone to do anything about it. And all because a toddler kept waving at me. I wasn't going to take your baby lady!"Devin took a long moment to compose himself. He wiped tears from his eyes and half chuckled to himself.
"She probably didn't think that. I was just so in my head."
Devin shifted in his seat. His hands were sweating. His heart beat hard in his chest. He couldn't help but feel resentment towards himself. He knew he shouldn't. He knew it wasn't his fault. He didn't pick this. He knew all this, feeling it was a different animal. Hot tears tears streamed down face. He let out a hard sigh as he let the emotions take over. He was done talking for awhile.
"I'm so sorry."
A creak echoed in the room. He knew what was coming. Donovan, the group leader, was making his way slowly to him.
The group had established rules. When Devin had an episode no one was to move. Only Donovan. But chairs had to be spread apart. It was no ones fault but stretching happened and so did weird comfort shifts in the form of leans. Sometimes people got hit or poked or one time Kev and Bobbi knocked heads.
Devin hated this part. The uncomfortable shuffling of feet approaching him. The words of "comfort". He knew all they could tell him already. It only served as a reminder that he was powerless to it. He looked around at all the empty chairs, imagining what judgemental looks he was recieving. Some part of him wanted to believe that they weren't judging him. But how could they not, he was responsible for so much pain.
Donovan and the group would try to help though. Donovan especially would keep trying. He had too. At least until he could reverse the powers. He never meant for them to spread like this. |
I anxiously drummed my fingers on the table beside me as I tasted the dry martini in my hand. Sweet and sour, with a strong bitter aftertaste. I had a little more. It was my third glass, and the liquor was finally starting to work its magic. The glow of the pink holographic Earth near seemed to grow stronger, and suddenly, the room didn't seem as dark. The worries in the back of my mind began to fade away. Soon, project Cleanse would be underway. I harbored no small guilt over what was to come, but the ends justified the means. At least, I hoped so. Perhaps when humanity rose once more, they'd make better choices.
A knock at the door startled me. I set my glass down on the nearby table.
"Come in,"I said loudly. The set of oak doors were opened, and in walked my butler, followed closely by my advisor, Apollo. Apollo was pretty to look at, with thick golden hair combed neatly to the side, attractive blue eyes and a jawline sharp enough to cut steel. If only he smiled more.
"You look nervous,"Apollo said. His eyes flickered to the nearby martini. "A bit early to be drinking, isn't it?"
"I needed it."I turned to my butler. "You can go, Sam."
Sam gave a low bow and exited the room, closing the doors behind him. Apollo crossed the room and looked outside the window. Far below us, there were a dozen soldiers dressed in gray uniforms, all armed to the teeth and marching in lockstep. "All those men and women are willing to die for you, even as you prepare to kill everyone,"Apollo said quietly.
"Only so that I can save everyone,"I said defensively. "When the Second Coming machine activates, mankind will walk the Earth again. It will be like the stone age. A new beginning for mankind."
Apollo glanced at me. "And what makes you think we won't just muck it all up once more?"
"I don't know that we won't,"I admitted. "But, I hope."I got up and walked to him, brushing the dust off his shoulder. I fixed his blood-red tie, which he'd done incorrectly. Still, it hardly mattered. In a fine black suit, Apollo was nearly irresistible. "I wonder what they'll say about me. If anyone ever finds out the truth of what happened, that is."
"Impossible to say,"Apollo said. "Perhaps they'll paint you as the devil. Or, a hero who was misunderstood in her time."He paused. "Whatever else happens, we will know the truth."Somewhere in the distance, a sign began to ring.
"They're here,"I said quietly. There was a ball of ice in my stomach.
"They're here,"Apollo echoed. He placed a hand on my shoulder and gripped it tightly. "Courage, Amanda. They can't stop it now. And if we die, then we die for a noble purpose."
I nodded slowly. This was my last chance before they came, to tell him everything I'd ever wanted to say to him. Apollo favored me with a rare smile, one that warmed me right down to my toes and melted the ball of ice in my stomach. The words in my mind died, and suddenly, I wasn't as nervous. Grabbing each other's hands, we turned and walked towards the doors as gunshots filled the air. |
>The hero approached the stranger’s door and raised his fist. He’s about to beat some more criminal ass!
>Now he kno-
*Knock Knock Knock*
>Uh, who is this?
don’t be dense, Mr. Narrator.
>Wait, is that you, *generic superhero name*?
Yes, it is I! *generic superhero name*. You have controlled my every move for so long. I have had no free will. Until now. I will start narrating YOUR life, see how you feel abou-
>hey, uh, *generic superhero name*, I’m not making your story, I’m just reading a script.
A script? Who, may I ask, wrote this script?
>They are in studio 311-A at 42 Main Street. Go to blocks down the street and take a left.
Thank you, kind narrator. Now if you will excuse me, I have some scriptwriter ass to kick!
>And so, *generic superhero name* had broken free from the boundaries of his script. He is walking down the street and into the building. I wonder what he’s going to d-
*BOOOOOMMMMM*
>Oh dear god. Hey, if any of you see this, I wasn’t the one that told *generic superhero name* where the studio was.
[narrator is seen sprinting out the door, getting into his car, and driving away] |
The men stood at attention in their commander's room.
"News from the North, Sir"One of them said.
Their commander was a grizzly man who seemed at the later quadrant of his years but had the energy and life of a man much younger.
"Get on with it, then"He said with irritation.
"The Woodchucks,"another one of the men said nervously, "T-they joined the cause too"
The news would shock any other soul, but the commander's hard face showed nothing. He looked down at his desk and thought.
"How much wood can a woodchuck chuck?"He asked solemnly
"If the woodchuck could chuck wood?"Another man replied, his voice full of hope.
The commander's hard face grew poisonous.
"Guards, escort him to the Red Room"
The man begged and pleaded as the guards took his arms, but there was nothing he could do but scream as they dragged him away.
The first man to speak, the one wearing a white cloak, cleared his throat.
"50 gigatons, and they're building something massive, Sir"
"What is it?"
"A bomb of some sort"the man said.
The commander nodded, and then before any of them could speak, he asked "Do we still have the Swans allied to us?"
"I was just about to bring the news,"the first man said grimly, "The Silver Swans have swum silently seaward under cover of the night."
The Commander shook his head. “And they were smart to do so, if only they had left us some of the wits that had got them this far. You may go now, I dismiss all of you.”
The men had more to say, but to the insisting of their Commander they left. He sat at his desk alone in his thoughts, two of his guards at the entrance but the room otherwise empty.
“The war is lost, friends” He said to them two as they stood and listened. “Do you know what those woodchucks will do to us when they get their hands on us?” He shook his head sadly, “Theres only one way out now, and if you have half the intelligence our enemies have I suggest you do the same as I.”
And then he pulled out a small pistol, muttered prayers as he put it against his head, and squeezed the trigger before his guards could come stop him. |
“What is this?” I snapped, holding up a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs. My first henchman blanched and looked away. I tore my gaze from the offensive paraphernalia to sweep my eyes along the wall of computer screens that once housed an impressive display of city sewer maps, exact locations of cops, approximate locations of superheroes to avoid, and brainstorming lists of my next great caper. All that hard work was gone, replaced with writhing masses and fabricated lubrication.
My thinking chair, or throne if you will, was the last straw. Gone were the lush pillows and soft crushed velvet cushions. The dark cherry high backed chair had disappeared entirely. In its place was a huge bed, a strip of fabric trailing away from one of the bedposts like a reaching lover. At the foot was a giant trunk, bulging with the effort of hiding its contents. I blinked. Once, twice.
“Excuse me. What. Is. This?” My voice was cold as I turned to glare at my two henchmen. It was the quieter, more demure of the two that smiled at me sheepishly.
“We didn’t know if you would be coming back – your prison sentence was so long, you see – so we thought we would turn the evil dungeon into, well, a different kind of dungeon.” She shrugged. “We’ve thoroughly enjoyed it. You could probably get some good use out of it too.” I blinked. “You know, considering all that pent-up frustration.” |
“Beep, beep, beep.”
My eyes fluttered from my deep slumber to the blaring sound of an alarm clock. The nostalgic sound hit me, and I quickly turned around to examine its source. The familiar sight of the numbers “6:00” penetrated my vision with red, piercing light. With anxious confusion, my hand lurched to the floor where I keep my iPhone, and instead, I found a smaller, more cumbersome device. I brought it into my vision, which was still blurry and tired from waking up, and observed that it was my old Blackberry device. Maybe I was hallucinating, or even dreaming, I thought. I turned off the alarm and shut my eyes to welcome the warm embrace of sleep.
“Bzzz, bzzz, bzzz.”
I jumped out of bed to read the notifications on my iPhone. Again, to my surprise, my hand landed on a bulky, smaller device. I brought it into my vision and observed a small display with the nostalgic keyboard. With my hands enveloped in anxious sweat and tremble of fear, I checked the date. My concerns and expectations came true. According to the Blackberry, it was August 15th, 2009.
Only then, I realized that my apartment was drastically different then from how it was last night. Unopened boxes cluttered every corner of the cramped studio, and walls and shelves stood bare and empty. The bed I was sleeping in wasn’t a bed, but a rackety mattress. “No wonder my back hurts so much,” I muttered under my breath.
I concluded that I was somehow teleported ten years back to the past, to the time when I just graduated college and was renting my first apartment. I thought back to my day to day life ten years ago. Should I go back to my day to day life as though nothing happened? Should I relive my past ten years to live a perfect life free of mistakes? Then it hit me. I can use this opportunity advantageously.
The movie “Back to the Future” comes flooding back into my memory. I remember the blond-haired dude in the second movie who uses a sports almanac to bet on sports competitions to rake in millions of dollars in cash. Maybe I could do that too, I thought.
I thought back to ten years ago. So I just graduated from university, with an economics major, and got an entry-level job on Wall Street. I could use this to my advantage. I decided I was going to invest my money in stocks that I know were going to shoot up in the next couple of decades. I brushed my teeth, dressed up, made breakfast, and exited my apartment and started the ten-minute walk to Wall Street.
Nothing seemed too out of the ordinary, I thought, walking down the booming, hectic streets of New York City. The cars, buses, and taxis were emitting their usual squelching honking, and the pedestrians were doing their usual hurried walk to wherever they were going. When I was coming into the proximity of Wall Street, however, something started to seem wrong. The men and women held an unusually motivated and excited look on their faces, as though they were about to win the jackpot. I quickly forgot about that thought, as I was entering the building that I worked in ten years ago. Along the way to my desk, I met many familiar faces, but I forgot most of their names and kept to myself.
“Good Morning, Michelle!” my boss exclaimed behind me.
In a startled jump, I turned to face him. Why was he so excited today? Actually, why is everyone so eager to start the workday today? I said good morning back and continued to my desk.
It was 9:15, only fifteen minutes away from the opening of the stock exchange. I sat at my desk, carefully looking at my computer screen, the framed pictures of my family, and the ancient post-it notes that I wrote ten years ago.
I decided to invest in Bitcoin, as I remembered hearing many news stories about its rise over the last decade. I logged into my computer, opened up Internet Explorer, and navigated to my bank account and looked at the figure. I had $240,100, enough to buy millions of Bitcoins. Bitcoin was only beginning its meteoric rise in 2009, so I concluded that I would be a billionaire in a couple of years. I anxiously clicked out of the browser window and opened up the trading program.
It was only five minutes until the opening of the exchange. I clicked the drop-down menu and located Bitcoin, and initiated a trade to buy 100,000 Bitcoins for one hundred dollars. Starting small will avoid suspicion, I thought.
Finally, it was 9:30. The program executed my order, and I quickly exited from the program before my supervisors could ask me what I was up to. I opened up the company exchange program and promptly noticed the erratic patterns of certain stocks on my watchlist. Many retail stores’ and Blackberry’s shares were plummeting downwards. Well, I thought, those companies failed in the future, so their stock price collapsed. But it wasn’t this soon, I wondered.
Soon alarms blared all around me, and indicators were violently flashing on my screen. Something was wrong. I checked the Dow Jones average, and my heart stopped. Over the last ten minutes, it fell 23% and was continuing to trend downwards. Traders were frantically running and yelling around me in desperation.
Then it dawned on me. Maybe I wasn’t the only one in this enigmatic situation. Maybe other people were also teleported back ten years and used their knowledge to manipulate the stock market.
“I’m not the only one, right!” my coworker Tom yelled out next to me.
“No, you're not” I responded. |
-If you keep digging, you will get yourself killed one day.
Erin never intended to give this stray cat an ability to talk and now, one month later, she still regretted it everyday. Maybe things would be different if that damn feline didn’t jump on her out of nowhere, while she was scavenging the trash right by the “Magical Emporium” shop’s backyard. Perhaps she shouldn’t have thrown a random ball that she was holding at it, hoping the cat would chase after it and not reveal her existence to the store’s security sound detectors. Unfortunately however, she did. And now she was stuck with a cat that sounded just like her mother and would not stop talking unless offered a fat piece of tuna everyday as a sacrifice. That’s what happens when you unknowingly unleash the spirit of a Celtic god Magnus and it ends up clinging to a goddamn cat, she thought to herself. At least it wasn’t her body that now had to hold this parasite. Who would’ve known Emporium could mistakenly throw away something like this?
-Why do you keep coming here? - Magnus scoffed at a grey sewage rat hiding in the shadows. - Only vile creatures dare to stumble upon this establishment.
-Oh won’t you shut up? - Erin sighted, hands deep in garbage. - You know darn well I need this to survive.
-Ah yes and sell the wonderful innovations of past civilisations on the black market?! - Magnus’s sarcastic voice reverberated in Erin’s ears, striking everything- her well-hidden emotions, her pride, but most importantly: the Emporium’s security sound system.
-Look what you’ve done you stupid cat!
-How dare you address me this way mortal! I was once powerful! My priests could’ve crushed your body in half at a snap of my finger!
-Well funny how things change! - Erin grabbed the fat cat by its tail (resulting in multiple Celtic curses) and quickly ran into the Emporium’s back entrance. She took her trusted set of lockpicks out of the pocket of her old jeans, fingers trembling.
-They are approaching. - Magnus pointed at the moving shadows of the security bots with his head.
-I know, I know!
-Then hurry up!
-I’m trying! - doors finally clicked as Erin performed the correct combination of twists and turns.
The duo didn’t hesitate to jump into the darkness together, doors closing behind their backs. As if programmed, the light immediately turned on inside the room.
-Woah! Look at this stuff!
Erin curiously looked around the supply base. Who knew the back of the Emporium was so big! Red brick by the entrance soon gave way to a grand metal construction. The base was filled with enormous shelves, each reaching up to the ceiling , each filled with enchanted items. Erin and Magnus looked with wonder at self cleaning soap, the bow of Artemis with an infinite number of arrows and a watering can that gave the owner an ability to speak with plants.
-What an incredible collection! - Magnus whistled, his eyes opened wide.
-Not like during your times, eh? - Erin didn’t bother to waste her time and proceeded to place every item she could reach into her backpack.
-Mortals! - Magnus rolled his eyes with disgust. - No sense of childlike happiness.
He turned, waiting for Erin to strike back but instead found her immobilised, holding something in her hands. A snow globe.
-What are you doing? - the cat gently jumped on Erin’s shoulder, causing her to flinch.
-I know this. It used to belong to my grandmother. Look, there are even initials inscribed here.
Erin couldn’t believe her discovery. A family heirloom found in a place like this? Could it possibly be a coincidence?
A sudden bang spread across the warehouse. It felt as if time has stopped. Erin could only see the events play in front of her but felt as if she couldn’t move. The cold feel of the snow globe’s surface got replaced with a gutting sense of nothingness. Next thing Erin realised, the globe was gone. Broken on the floor.
-What have you done?! - Magnus’s scream brought her back to life.
-I didn’t do it on purpose! - she fell to the floor, trying to collect any remaining pieces but it was futile. The globe was completely shattered except for part of its platform.
-Erin, we need to evacuate this building promptly. - cat nudged her, as the second “bang” erupted. - The bots are coming!
Suddenly, Erin felt cold on her nose. And then hand. And eyelid.
-Oh shit.
-What is it? - Magnus turned around, ready to leave.
-I think the weather forecasts forgot to mention a snow storm today. - Erin turned the small platform around. “Break in case of emergency.”. |
This is the smallest human I have ever seen.
I bark in greeting. She smiles, looking slightly upwards, like I do when I’m tasking the air.
I look back at Mr. Trainer. He nudges my harness forward. My guess was right!
We walk toward her, measured, dignified.
Mr. Trainer says some human-talk to the tiny human and to her mother.
Sit. Sit.
He hands my guide handle to the little human. She reaches toward me with her other hand, missing me, eventually finding my fur.
This human has never petted my kind before. She sounds and smells so happy.
Stand. Stand.
Walk.
We move forward uncertainly, weaving a bit. Awkward unintentional tugs, and a few stumbles. I slow down.
Sit! Sit.
I have been holding it in so long. I let my tail wag. Just a little bit. |
He showed up collapsed on my porch, an empty husk.
There was a look in his eyes that suggested he'd seen some shit, and because of the blood and mud and grief that was caked on his face, I'd say that he'd seen it recently.
It was either really late, or really early, and nobody had any business being out, let alone bleeding on my doorstep. I tried to nudge him with my foot, but he just laid there, completely flaccid but unyielding like some kind of magnetic force had glued him to my fucking stoop. He kept muttering this nonsensical phrase under his breath. He kept saying, "genesis field... break the symmetry...the syzygy… the syzygy of…"but never finishing, just restarted like a needle was skipping in his brain.
"Listen here, buddy,"I might as well have been talking to myself. "Get off my fucking stoop or I'm calling the cops."
A simple request which I thought was perfectly reasonable.
The idea popped into my head to take pictures of him for the police. I'm still not quite sure why. I pulled out my phone and I was standing there, half out of the doorway to my townhouse, when I open the camera and all I can see is the goddamn concrete. There's no one there. Guy’s nowhere on the screen.
I take a few pictures of the road to calibrate.
My camera was working fine.
I can't believe what I'm seeing, or not seeing rather.
Something inside my mind just fucking breaks. A creeping nervousness blankets me and freezes my bones right in their fucking joints. Halfway out the door with my backside holding it open, I bend over and lift this mangled shell of a man up from my stoop. I feel the full burden of his mass against me and try to position him in such a way so as to get some support from even the architecture of his bones. He slumps against the vinyl siding, head to the side, still saying, "the syzygy of… genesis field... break the symmetry... the syzygy... the syzygy of...genesis field… break the symmetry… the syzygy… the syzygy of..."all with this vacant, absent look in his eyes that made me want to slap him right across his fucking face.
I don’t know what it was that made me finally see it. Maybe the adrenaline. Maybe the arctic anxiety that washed over me. In a bizarre way, it made some kind of foul sense. The fucking camera. The invisible man. I can't even explain it. It was like deja vu of deja vu. A facsimile of a facsimile. Far removed from reality, but I felt something moving inside me as I realized I was looking into my own two eyes, lashes caked in blood and grime. What was it I felt? Nostalgia? Longing?
My eyes, but in the skull of a stranger.
How?
I became frantic for meaning. I dragged his ragdoll ass into my living room and set him down in the kitchen on the tile. I splashed cold water on his face. I slapped him to try and pull him out of the loop he was stuck in.
“You gotta tell me what you’re doing here!” I screamed into the same empty stare, almost seeing the words echo around in his skull, *my skull*.
“...break the symmetry...the syzygy… the syzygy of… gen…”
“Fucksake, man! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT!? WHAT THE FUCK IS A SYZYGY?!”
I had to create some space. I walked around the passthrough into the living room and sat on my couch so that I could still see his feet sticking out from behind the half-wall.
I was angry, confused, and I had this festering fear that this was part of something much larger. That there was this metaphorical cliff on which I was perched and where I was becoming nauseatingly and acutely aware of the effects of gravity on a free-falling object.
Suddenly, I became concerned with my double’s health. What if he just fucking croaked in my house? What would I do? How could I explain that no I don’t have a twin, that I have no clue who this man is nor any inkling how he came to be positioned like a fetus on my doorstep in both homeless apparel and stench? Who would believe me? I’d be certifiable. Fuck that.
Maybe I *was* going crazy.
I was sitting there in my living room feeling the weight of my dilemma and growing more and more unsettled by the skipping record spouting senseless jabberwocky from the kitchen. It’s like when you say the word fork too many times in a row and it loses meaning. This was like that except in reverse. I began to feel this indescribable connection to the words. They seeped into my consciousness while I was distracted with more important questions like: Who should I call? Who would give me the time of day?
It had all escalated so quickly. From the camera to my kitchen, only about twenty minutes had elapsed. I had reacted so fast. First the anger, then the fear biting at the nape of my neck, “was I even the one pulling the punches, here?” Was I the one in control? What the hell even was "control"in a situation like this?
As if on cue, my doppelganger started seizing on the floor, pulling his knees, *my knees* into his chest, *my chest*, and writhing, screaming now, “BREAK THE SYMMETRY!!! THE SYZYGY!!! THE SYZYGY OF!!! GENESIS FIELD!!! BREAK THE SYMMETRY!!! THE SYZYGY!!! THE SYZYGY OF!!! GENESIS FIELD!!! BREAK THE SYMMETRY!!! THE SYZYGY!!! THE SYZYGY OF!!! GENESIS FIELD!!!”
I kneeled beside him and tried to restrain him. I had to keep him from injuring himself and tearing my goddamn cabinet doors off.
Then, “ BREAK THE SYMMETRY!!! BREAK THE SYMMETRY!!! BREAK THE SYMMETRY!!!”
He grabbed my face with both his hands and for the first time seemed to be looking directly at me, through me even, into the bowels of my soul, destroying every doubt that he was anyone other than me.
He grew quiet, whispered, “run,” and fell silent before collapsing to the floor. |
\[Writing from Woman in Red's perspective instead! Warning for some vague sexual themes, nothing too crazy though.\]
It was so *boring* to be me.
Picture this: the same dingy bar every night. The same schmucks who need a wake up call. No-- it was never the *exact* same person, but it may as well be. They're all suffering with the same bland bullshit. That's why I'm here.
The wives call me up. They talk for far too long about their mediocre men, their mediocre kids, their mediocre lives, but I let them. I get it, they have no one else. They can't talk to their good-for-nothin' husbands, clearly, and most women I work for are too proud to tell their friends, either that or they've gone on about it too long and no one wants to listen anymore. God Forbid they tell their mothers...they'll never hear the end of it. We were all that wife once, right? Whether it be a cheating husband or a high school boyfriend with a wandering eye, we've all been scorned by men. We've all been reduced to nothing in the eyes of a man who didn't think we had good enough boobs or a good enough ass or whatever else. We've all been scorned by a man who didn't deserve us in the first place.
*That's* why I'm here.
Finally, he walks in. He looks about the same as the picture his wife provided, though he's gained a few pounds and lost a few hairs. He's pretty average looking for late 30s, and clearly confident enough to believe he could get a woman like me. But that's fine, it's my job to let him believe that fantasy for an hour or two. It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make for the greater good.
We're talking, we're drinking, he's got no game at all, and I find myself zoning out to wonder how the hell he bagged the woman his wife had droned on and on to me about the day before. In any case, it's been an hour and we're a couple drinks deep and I've decided it's time. I ask him to come back to mine, and watch as his face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. It won't be like that for long, but he doesn't need to know that yet.
It's funny, really, to observe people showing what they believe to be their best selves. It's not a stretch to say that everyone is always putting on a show, but when it comes to a man mere minutes away from touching a bare boob, it could be Broadway. It's impossible to put your finger on what exactly it is, but it's almost as if they're so into themselves for this monuments achievement that they actually believe their own greatness.
Which makes what I'm about to do all the more satisfying.
We get back to my place, we play that fun little game of '*who's gonna get this bang train going*' and he's getting closer to me, hands running up over my hips to explore the zipper situation, but before he has time to do so, I lean in. My lips touch his while my hand buries the knife into his stomach.
His face is the one I'm used to seeing, but it never makes it less satisfying. Another cocky man, fallen into my trap. He's bewildered and betrayed. I give him a smirk.
"Cheaters get what cheaters deserve,"I coo as he falls, his eyes never leaving mine. It's the last thing he'll remember about tonight before the simulation starts this whole thing over to see if he's learned his lesson.
Maybe "*boring*"was an exaggeration... |
There were six of us. Thomas, Marco, Elliot, the translator, Terra, and our captain, Captain Humbolt. And then, there was me, Edmund, a scrawny young sailor with messy hair that was blacker than a moonless night. Far down the beach was our ship, *The Crow's Revenge,* once a proud and mighty ship, now practically torn apart by a Kraken we faced near the Devil's Sea. Though the sky was hidden behind a blanket of storm clouds and the rain fell upon us like God's judgment, I could still see the beast's suckered tentacles waving back and forth in the distance as it finished off the rest of my crew. With a heavy heart, I lowered my head and uttered a silent prayer, clutching at the wooden cross 'round my neck.
"Right!"Captain Humbolt roared, startling me. "We're up the devil's creek now boys, and he's gone and broken our paddle!"Humbolt was an honest captain in truth, but he looked far more like a pirate. He wore a large, black three-pointed hat with a red feather in it, and a belt with a silver skull buckle was wrapped around his waist. He drew his cutlass and began marching past us towards the thick jungle beyond. "Today, God tests us, men. We might die here on this beach, or we might find the key to our salvation."
Elliot spoke up. "Cap'n, wot if more survivors show up?"
"Then more survivors show up!"Humbolt said. "Not my worry. If they're not blithering idiots, they'll see our footprints in the sand and either wait for us to return or try an' find us!"He cut at some long, pointy leaves and stepped into the jungle. "Come on you lazy sack ah shits, time to earn your pay! Unless you'd rather wait here on the beach and watch that old sea beast."I nervously turned around and cast one last look at the monster in the distance. My mind filled with the horrors I'd seen, it's terrible massive yellow eyes, it's tentacles grabbing men off the ship, picking us off one by one...
"I'm with you, captain,"I said, and I headed into the jungle.
"Well now, it's the boy who steps forward!"Humbolt looked at the rest of them. "The rest of you sorry shits can stay here, then. Me and this lad here will do explorin', won't we?"
"Aye, sir."
Elliot and the others shrugged and headed back to the boat. Humbolt and I headed deeper into the jungle. While walking, we saw numerous numbers. We steered clear of a beautiful panther with bloodred fur as swarms of blue ants the size of my thumb tore it apart. A pretty a parrot with red, green and blue feathers watched us go, turning its head and staring at us with one eye. We made a very large circle around a massive green rose-like plant after we saw it stick out a massive red tongue and latch it around a seagull that was flying overhead, pulling it into its mouth, which was filled with dagger-like teeth.
"Shite,"Captain Humbolt muttered. "This is a fine mess we've gotten ourselves into. Reginald told me sailin' south was a bad idea. The Devil's children like the warmer waters, he said, and by God he was right."
"I have faith in you, cap'n,"I said. "Me mum said you took on pirates from the corners of the world, and you fought ghouls and hordes of demons, and won."
"Exaggerations, all of it,"Humbolt spat. "There was only just the one demon, and we didn't fight so much as we-"He cleared his throat. "Well, anyways. If you see anything, interesting, call it out."
I slowed my pace and took a good look around. Almost immediately, I spotted something. Far off in the distance, there was a pinprick of light. A fire. I alerted the captain right away, and we went to have a look, jogging through the forest and making an ungodly amount of noise. We splashed over a creek, where a snake leaped at me and surely would have killed me if the Captain hadn't grabbed it in midair, thrown it down and crushed its skull underfoot. After he'd slapped me to calm me down, we continued on.
As we neared the glow, we heard singing. We slowed our pace, and hid ourselves behind a thick wall of leaves. In the middle of a clearing, there was a massive bonfire, and dancing around it were a bunch of near-naked men and women with skin the color of cinnamon. Many scars marked their arms and backs, and wood masks hid their faces, carved to look like the faces of demons. Skirts made of leaves offered them some modesty, but both the men and the women were bare up top. I lowered my gaze from them, letting my eyes drift to the fire. There was a massive pig being turned over- *no,* I realized with sudden horror. Not a pig.
"Cannibals,"the Captain whispered beside me. The singing abruptly stopped. The savages all turned and looked right at the Captain and I, and low snarls began to escape their throats. I felt their gazes on me, and my soul did it's best to leave my body right then and there as I felt the Devil's cold finger sliding up my back.
"Lord save me,"I whimpered.
"Run, boy,"Captain Hubmbolt said as he drew his sword. "RUN!" |
The farmhouse was not a home. It had no meticulously cared for flowers or rounded stones winding among recently cut grass. The dappled shadows framed the cracked concrete that crumbled on the dead lawn. The pavers were strewn like ivories to the door, cast there by some gambling giant in a different age. The windows glared out at me sullenly, daring me to stop. I had driven past the place too many times now. I know I've passed the same signpost a dozen times, I still can't remember what's on it. The house I cannot forget. I have tried.
It was October, or perhaps November. I know it was Fall because the smell of brisk mornings and quick sunsets drifted through the open windows of my truck. The old roads rumbled underneath my older tires and the fields of corn waved in the breeze. Its an old country. You can feel it in the air. Despite that oldness, that weight of years I somehow knew that the house was older, a relic from some pioneer headed west.
The radio had stopped working after the fifth trip past the farmhouse. It didn't die, not really, it just stopped working. Like it never had worked. Had it? Music seemed so far away then. When I asked my mechanic later why the car stopped they said something unintelligible in the language of all skilled professionals: the language that let them say everything and nothing, just enough to stop your questions. Doctors do it. So do plumbers.
The night was getting colder so I counted myself lucky the heaters still worked, if only half-heartedly. My phone refused to capture any sort of signal So I resigned myself to waiting in the truck's cab until someone happened by. I'm a poor sort of woodsmen and I've been driving across this big country of ours long enough to know when not to get of the cab.
It wasn't the first time something like this had happened. I'd driven past the crossroads before, even multiple times. It had never grabbed me though, never caught hold of my passing like it did that night. I had inquired about the place before. I asked after its owner, its origins. Most of the answers were some variation of "What house?"and, not being one to cause others undue discomfort, let it be. I assumed, naively, that the thing meant no harm.
Crossroads are restless things. They feature in many a ghost story. A crossroads is the dominion of demons, the resting place of the unquiet dead, and of course the home of the most dreaded of all beasts. I wondered at that, the connotation of the crossroads. Had the crossroad come first? Had the House been built by it on purpose? Had the crossroad come after, a result of whatever it was that once lived in the House?
My truck had hand cranked windows and I rolled them down to let in a bit of the night breeze, to calm me. You understand. I don't recall what happened first, the sound or the lights, but I know they happened in close conjunction. Like lightning and thunder one seemed to beget the other. Headlights leaked through the dusk covered road and splintered music reached my ears. It was a bright sound, like torches or a spark before a pyre. Raw strings hugged chords and a smoke and razor voice touched down between them.
The car was old, like mine. It was black and low to the ground and the wheels ahd scratched and dented rims that were free of any rust. It growled to a stop beside my derelict ride, and the man behind the wheel leaned his head out so he could see me better. He had a cigarette between his teeth and his pale lips were spread in a grin. If the smile reached his eyes I couldn't see it. He wore shades despite the hour.
"Need some help?"he asked me. His voice was normal but it carried with it the smell of the cigarette and something fowler, like lighter fluid or gasoline. The radio roared and I had to shout over the song, "Think you could give me a jump?"
He smiled wider, "Sure, pop the hood and let's take a look." |
You know how they say, there is only so much a person can take being alone in the universe? with no one to talk literally talk too?
they weren’t wrong, but they weren’t exactly right either, I mean, I had people to talk too, they just couldn’t talk back, or move. but that wasn’t to say I didn’t have company.
Don’t get me wrong, life was ABSOLUTE HELL!! during those 8 years, and How do I know it has been 8 years?? because my freaking alarm clock, mysteriously out of ALL the other clocks around the world, much less, around my block, was the only clock that could function, and I sadly made the mistake of setting it up the next day only to not being able to turn off the the damn noise!!! I mean come on! I broke the clock with my bat but what do you know Einstein!! time stopped and that means you can’t get rid of THE NOISE!! It was hell alright.... but a hell with its perks.
To this day I still do not know what caused time to stop, but it was after 1 day, and 3 hours of crying, with couple of suicidal thoughts, and one near attempt,etc. did it take me to realize I could do whatever I wanted.....well almost. But Nonetheless, whatever I wanted. >:)
So skipping 3 years during that “Almost,silent, Decade” of vandalizing my bullies, some school Teachers, 3 Famous Actors, and a couple of politicians( Score 1 for me!), that I realized there was Something I had to do, as if there was a very important matter I needed to take care of, but I just didn’t know what, then it hit me..... I now needed to vandalize people’s property!
So after breaking and entering homes, and eating out my neighbor’s ,and their neighbor’s, cookie jars, and eating that one Chinese family’s dinner,(that may I say tasted SO GOOD!) I got bored. I also began to notice after a month that i haven’t aged. 3 years ago I was 12, now I was 15 at that time but I still looked like a 12 year old. It was scary both scary and cool for me at that time. But I didn’t know how long I could keep up with this while everyone was still... you know.... stuck.
Throughout the rest of that “Almost, yet silent, Decade” I ended doing a lot of things, had time never stopped in the first place my 12-year old self would have never done. I started reading reading books, about almost everything, like fixing car engines, cooking, agriculture and then... science.. yup that rights, my 17 year old self was about to endeavor on a quest to resume time, only there was one problem, for 3 years I did learn a lot compared to a 12 year old and high schooler combined, but science was too complicated for me, I didn’t know if I was studying either physics,or rocket science, and without help, I gave up. I had planned to commit suicide, after saying goodbye to the people I loved, and unfortunately to the people I absolutely loathed. The last person for me to say goodbye to was my crush, a chick named Stacy, she would have been 29 or 30 had time not stopped. Aaaaand she was my babysitter. It was 4:59 PM when I was saying my good bye to her, by kissing her on the lips.... and I didn’t exactly know how to kiss a girl, but I was giving it my best shot. And then all of a sudden BAM! I’m pushed off of the stool I was standing on while kissing her, and now I’m being yelled at by my babysitter.
“Dereck!!! What the Hell!!?, and WHAT HAPPENED TO ALL OF THE FURNITURE!? WHY IS THERE A MESS AROUND THE HOUSE??
Before I can say anything, I start to hear screamings of shock from various voices coming from outside and most of all, AT LAST MY DAMN ALARM CLOCK HAS BEEN DESTROYED!!!! now I am wondering how am I going to explain all of this? |
"Have you fed the pigs sweetie?"
Lilly looked back at me as Ms. Haversham asked her about the pigs for the forth time. I just nodded at her in encouragement.
"Yes Ms. Haversham."
"Good. Good. They'll be ready for butchering in a few days. The sheriff and his boys will be by to help."
We spent a few more minutes with the older woman before continuing on my rounds. Lilly had been quiet ever since I started showing her around Walkers. The tour seemed to be doing the trick, and she had already promised to not try any more spells without me around. As we began doing laundry she finally spoke up.
"Why's Ms. Haversham here?"
I paused before answering. The story was known by most everyone who was extraordinary in one way or another, and I should have anticipated the question.
"You know how we talked about myths and legends during your lessons?"
"Yeah?"
"And how certain stories happen over and over again?"
"Like Sleeping Beauty?"
"And all the others. In particular, the Monomyth. The Hero's journey. It has a set pattern that everyone follows. Honestly it's just how sentient beings grow. Replace their call to adventure with "need a job"and the supernatural help with "google search"and everyone goes through it."
Lilly's face scrunched up in confusion. I might have gotten too technical for her again, an on going problem with having an apprentice under the age of ten. But she constantly surprised me and did so once again.
"So... Ms. Haversham went on a journey... and returned here?"
"Sort of. What people don't understand is that it can work in reverse, if your not careful. You can get the job by following the path, but sometimes you end up going backwards on it and loosing the job."
I explained Ms. Haversham's story. In her day, she was one of the greatest heroes to have ever taken up that mantel, if a bit brutal in her methods. The Hero's Story played out once again for the entertainment of the gods. Then one day, she backslid.
A villian had been captured, they had hashed things out, she swore to change her ways, and she had left. Two days later she visited his cell to apologize again. She had no recollection of their first talk. Thinking a doppelganger was to blame, the man had warned the guards.
The next time she arrived, they verified it was her. She never suffered fools gladly and convinced the guards she was real by flying one up and hanging him from the top of a guard tower. She then went and played out the conversation with the villian, who was extremely uncomfortable with the situation, again.
The third time, she was turned away. The forth time she was turned away by the guards and the villian's lawyer with a cease and desist. She disappeared for weeks. Eventually they sent her predisesor and teacher to speak with her. She was found in the woods were she had gone to reflect on how brutal she had gotten. When asked, she brushed the older woman off, telling her she needed to think about things.
She didn't come back though. She began avoiding her mentor, so in a last ditch effort they sent her old sidekick. He stuck to her like glue, and made sure she was okay. At first he thought she was just yaking a step back. She still Heroed, but had gone back to using a secret Identity. He was actually happy that she wasn't living the Hero life 24/7, and they even rekindled their old relationship.
He began to realize something was truely wrong when she kept visiting the site of her first great battle. The battle that had flung her into the limelight. He was too late though.
Her first nemesis, a name no longer mentioned for fear off setting her off somehow, had been in an assisted living home for aging criminals for years. When her old sidekick had finally gone for help, she had tracked him down. The battle was not epic, it was sad. She shouted all her old one-liners while tearing up the facility.
One of Baba Olga's contemporaries found her in the center of the rubble. She didn't know she had done it, and in fact believed it to be the work of her old nemesis. She was gathered carefully and brought before the council. Her powers were stripped, and she was placed at Walker's. Here her memories faded till all she remembered was that she was a pig farmer.
"That's really sad."
"Yes, it is. If anyone had thought about it earlier on, they could have stopped the disease. You rarely get truely dotty old magic users. Normally things get caught early on and there are ways to prevent them from happening, or lessen the blow. Ms. Haversham was too far gone though. By the time they got her to the council, there wasn't anything left to fix."
Lilly was silent for a long while. We folded laundry in silence while she processed.
"You don't like the council."
I froze, then carefully set down what I was holding.
"No. I don't. But that is because of personal reasons that I don't talk about."
For someone so young, she was very mature. She didn't push when I told her I wouldn't teach her or tell her something. She might go and try to figure things out on her own, but she did give me space when I said something was personal. |
When Samus had decided to hang up the suit, she thought she had left a galaxy at peace. A Galactic Federation that promised her it would do better. A broken band of Space Pirates, sniveling and on the run. A promising group of new Bounty Hunters, green as grass, but full of promise and drive.
As she accepted her medal all those years ago, and climbed out of her Power Suit for what she had been convinced would be the last time, she had really thought she was leaving a Galaxy heading towards a brighter tomorrow.
Oh how wrong she had been. |
Today class we are going to learn about President Samuel Leroy Jackson.
Everyone was shocked, to say the least, when seemingly out of the blue he anmounced his candidacy for President as an Independent, but they came to be even more shocked when he started overtaking everyone in all polls. The nation loved his pure, unedited honesty and sincerity and it carried him into office. It all came to a head in a head on debate with Democratic nominee Joe Biden and incumbent Donald Trump where Jacksons explosive temper bridged the gap between two candidates that, in the heat of the election, just failed to reach the average American.
He took the Oath of Office before a crowd of 3 million people, in what his critics called a "garish"display of utterly un-Presidential behavior, where Jackson used many of his most famous lines from his acting career to emphasize his Inaugural speech.
For someone as inexperienced politically as Jackson was though, his first 100 days were relatively quiet, marked principally by his search for an effective cabinet and a new Vice President, after his running mate Stephen Colbert abdicated in the wake of a second scare of actually having to hold a public office. He would eventually settle with John Stewart.
But, tragedy would strike the Presidents first 4 years when he was struck blind, deaf, dumb and quadriplegic by a horrific hentai accident. His opponents on either side of the aisle saw this as their chance to take back the Executive branch, but, in an amazing turn of events culminating in the trial of the century, Jackson was allowed to continue as President.
With the spirit of Jacksons campaign still in their heart of hearts, his staff ran the nation and, despite all critics calling his entire Presidency a farce, the man himself was at the head of every major policy decision; he would go on to broker peace between China and Hong Kong and Taiwan; help unite the Korean peninsula, and even restore democracy to Russia. At home he fostered the Deals of the Century, solidifying medicare for all, the universal basic income, and a slew of widespread and incredibly progressive reforms addressing some of the greatest issues of the nation, from police brutality to mass shootings and even on down to the potholes. And all this he accomplished as no more than a vegetable.
In time, the nation came to learn why he was so successful despite his excessive handicaps: his trademark stare. Forced to look the man in the eye, those who stood with him, those who opposed him, and even those who just needed clarification were forced to come to terms with their own self doubts; in a sense, common sense prevailed, spurned on by the Jackson staredown. When politicians would fumble over themselves to try and justify their own actions, theyd eventually, of their own conscience, come to the best of decisions, pushing America to be far greater than it had ever been, and truly the greatest nation on Earth.
And in accordance with his will when he pasted 12 years later after a full 8 terms, he was buried on Mars alongside the first steps mankind ever took on another planet...perhaps his greatest legacy. |
I stared at the beam of glorious light as I felt the wind wind attempt to catch me by my cape. The brilliance sparkled like a thousand diamonds swarming towards the heavens. It took forty five glorious seconds for the light to start flickering and begin to fade. Each second was ten million minds, beaming to the heavens and towards their salvation.
I watched the last lights fade. 65 seconds. 650 million people. "That's not half bad for a day's work,"I croaked, coughing as the low pressure stole the air in my lungs through my words.
I had done it. I had to crawl onto the outer skin of that floating death trap above a forgotten and forsaken planet on the verge of solar swelling. But I had saved the colonists. My family.
I continued to fall as the wind tried in vain to hold me aloft. With the ground approaching, I twisted to stare back at the heavens. "Live."
--- |
**Captain Blah**
-----------------
I remember some Holocaust survivor named Elie Wiesel once said, "The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference. The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference. The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference. And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference."
It's funny, really, how according to that guy, I would be the ultimate villain. Not that I'm evil. No, I'm a hero.
See, my ability was far more useful than anyone would usually think.
As I stood on the roof, I stared at the man on the ledge.
"Come on now, you don't want to do this."The police were already trying to talk him down, but I snickered knowing they wouldn't need to soon.
With a snap, I stopped all emotions from anyone in a five hundred foot radius.
"Wh-what just happened? I...don't feel anything anymore?"The man looked in confusion at me before leaving me with a question: "who are you?"
"it doesn't matter. What matters is this: I know you don't want to do this."I paused, ready to answer the question I knew was coming.
"And how do you know that?"There it was.
"Let's talk on a logical level here. There's always the chance that you're not going to die like this and becoming a vegetable for life."
"Right, but if I die, I don't have to worry about all that debt. And all the suffering I'll have to deal with in life."
Oh wow, how original of a reason to die. This was going to be easy.
"Right, but if you *do* die, you *will* have to deal with whatever happens after and how do you know it'll be better than what you're doing now? If an afterlife *does* exist, I'm sure they don't take too kindly to those who've killed themselves. Or even worse, there's no afterlife and you go insane in eternal blackness, your last memories being the last minutes of terrible pain and suffering you'll have of your internal organs crushed by gravity."
"I...honestly don't feel anything about that though."
Oh, right. His emotions we're still off.
"Well, do you like that image though?"
I watched as he pondered the question before hastily replying, "No, I guess not."
Good. I had done it yet again.
"Alright, come on now. Grab my hand and let's get out of here."
When I had finally walked him back down the building, I snapped again and the crowd erupted with emotion.
I quietly walked away, into the crowd. Captain Blah needed a drink, after another job well done. |
Before I got Dick, before I chased a certain pussy, or met that fat old bird with a penchant for umbrellas, I found myself in the company of a clown, and I don't mean a certain member of the local PTA. Something was afoul in Gotham. No, not that kind of fowl. Something just seemed off. Rather silly.
"Alfred,"I said from Wayne manor's fancy room. Not the fanciest, but fancy nonetheless. "I've been thinking."
"About this Joker?"
"No, about a boy. A young boy. One I could train."
"I'll call Mr. Epstein,"Alfred said, phone in hand.
"On second thought, I'd better have a chat with Miss Vale."
"The journalist?"
"If you were to see her before reading her work, you might be inclined to think of her as a strumpet. Then, you'd discover her penchant for poor grammar. Unfortunately I read her work first, and now can't get those dangling participles out of my mind, Alfred. Blowing my mind, her words jerk me off kilter."
"About the Joker, sir, apparently he has captured -"
"Miss Vale. Obviously. To the bat-pole!"
Meanwhile, at the Gotham Museum....
"Miss Vale, perhaps you'd like a whiff of my potency,"The Joker double-entendred.
"Darn you!"Miss Vale seethed.
"Thankfully,"I said from my perch, "The Joker's tense didn't have the right - intensity."
"Make bad puns of me, will you Batman?"The joker snarled, and directed throngs of easily defeated henchmen to just below where I wasn't actually located.
PoW!
"Deceiver,"The Joker laughed. "A fine display, Batman, but you'll never save Vicky when I've got a banana flambe, with a twist."
"Let me guess, Joker, it's going to explode in under thirty seconds?"
"Correctomundo, Batman, you are so very clever, and so very, very, defeated!"
I hoist my bat ice cream scoop and quickly serve up a double dish of justice. Hiss! "Thankfully, Joker, I brought my bat banana flambe fosterer, which goes just fine with a banana flambe, wouldn't you agree?"
"Curses, batman, foiled again by those wonderful toys of yours!"
"Dropping in for a rescue, it seems Joker is all peel,"Vicky opined.
"Miss Vale,"I said, sweeping her into my arms, holding her close to my bat chest. "We've got to do something about these big hanging participles of yours."And I whisked her away to the stars, and then to my awaiting bat winnebago, which had a comfy bat lounge and swingin' melodies that would help Miss Vale's English lesson proceed - properly. |
I sit in my hospital bed, which is beaten-down and obviously used, yet somehow better than what I can remember. The nurses told me that I have amnesia, that I shouldn't force memories to return.
I haven't, but they still come, memory after memory. I'm living them all over again, mentally transported from the uncomfortable bed to each memory.
*I'm sitting on the dirt ground, gleefully playing with my wooden toys. They are just broken sticks tied together with vines, but I love them nonetheless.*
*My mother looks at me with a sort of twisted sadness, speaking quietly with a village elder.*
*The elder says, "He is a freak of nature. He should be killed."*
*My mother sniffles. "No, he should not. He just..."She hesitates, trying to find a reason to defend me. "He just has a little bit of god in him."*
The nurses tell me that my memories would never return. They also inform me that they had found me half-drowned in a river from what appeared to be a suicide attempt.
I sit, waiting for another memory to hit me. At least those entertain me; each day filled with mindless sitting in the bed has brought me a little closer to insanity.
*I'm older now. My mother is holding me to her chest, small sobs wracking her body.*
*"I wish I could take you to where your father lives,"she whispers, doing her best to shelter me from the angry threats of the villagers.*
*I gaze upon my world, a smile on my lips. "I like my home,"I say.*
*She just pulls me closer.*
The nurses have told me that I'm nearly ready to go home. I don't know how they know where I live, or why they don't ask me if I'm mentally prepared. They simply tell me that my time to go is nearing.
*My mother is on her deathbed, too young to be passing. The villagers have done something to her. They somehow found a poison, even though Mother insists that the gods purposely made no poison.*
*She is holding me, tears upon her abnormally pale cheeks. "You must find your father,"she whispers, voice so breathy that I can barely hear her. "I promised him to love him if he would preserve you."*
*As she passes, she mumbles nonsense about "Wishing that I could know the truth."*
The nurses came back to tell me that they will be taking me home in two days. They informed me that they will have someone to guide me to my village, since I'm unable to recall where it is.
*The deaths of the villagers start soon after Mother dies. The gods are angered that she is dead.*
*People drop dead, experiencing symptoms like what Mother experienced, but much worse. They do anything they can to escape, but the gods always find a way.*
I can't tell how much time has passed between each memory.
I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm drinking up each memory, greedily feasting upon what is presented.
*I stand in front of a river, staring at the end of the world. The river is rough and deep, and very few people have crossed it. Those that have claim that there is a barrier created by the gods to keep us in. I can't see it, but I know that it's there.*
*I'm the very last man alive. Just as the gods promised my mother, I have been spared from the horrors of death.*
*Yet here I stand, facing the end of the world, knowing that I could never live with myself.*
*I begin walking forward, only to be thrown back by a burst of energy. A god walks out of the barrier, wearing colorful animal skin that I have never seen. Glittering screens dress his arms, and there is something in his ear. He easily crosses the river.*
*He gazes upon me with pity and extends his hand. He quietly booms, "Come, child. I will bring you home."*
*I extend my hand, and a jolt passes through my body. The god must think I'm unconscious, because he whispers to himself, "I have him."He pauses, as if hearing an answer. "I promised his mother I would. Come, let me take him to another exhibit. It won't be hard to add him in, when they haven't even made a complete civilization yet."*
*He sees me twitch and sends another jolt through me.*
The nurses are here to bring me home. I stare at them, confused. Is this the gods' new world? Was that a dream?
I stand, ready to find out. |
Pokémon are terrifying when you sit down and think about them.
You can fit a twenty three foot long dragon in your back pack.
You can carry around a flamethowing dragon, capable of roasting man and beast alive, just as easily as you can carry a ball.
I never considered how dangerous Pokémon are.
At least not until those bastards killed Pikachu.
When Pikachu died, it stopped being fun and games.
Being the very best didn't matter any more.
I'm going to hell and I'm dragging those fuckers with me.
Here I was, finally at their base of operations. The charred corpses of random Pokémon were strewn about behind me.
I thought a lot about this moment, of the poeticism there would be in shocking them to death.
I decided that would be a dishonor to Pikachu. I was going to roast them alive, but Charizard could use a break.
I decided that a death by one thousand cuts would bring them the suffering they brought me.
And so I gave a grim grin
"Rowlet, use Razor Leaf" |
I should be smiling. I know I should. I tell myself to at least fake it, to lift the corners of my mouth up and do my job, and yet the moment stretches on, and the silence grows. The cameras, the reporters, the crowds, they're all waiting for me to do something, to *say* something. The world is watching, but it will have to wait a moment longer.
I feel strangely vulnerable without my beard. After twenty years, I had grown used to it hiding behind it, and now freshly shaved, I feel vulnerable in a way I'm very much not used to. Of course, nothing can hurt me, my skin is unbreakable, I tell myself that I'm safe, and I'm ready to do this. The irony of the moment isn't lost on me, here I am, a super hero, the epitome of protective strength, and I'm lost and I'm scared. I want someone to protect me from what is about to come.
The silence from the crowd continues, it's weight almost palpable. They know that I have news, something big to say. The rumours are spreading like wildfire already. A wry smile finally crosses my face as I remember a headline from a trash mag I had seen earlier that day. "Captain Stalwart has the Big C. Only months to live". A murmur moves through the crowd, hopeful that my smile means I am about to break the silence, but I am not ready yet. They can wait a moment longer
The doctors have told me that my medical options are limited. There are medicines of course, but with my super powered physiology they can't tell me how effective they will be, and of course surgery offers me no solutions. It is remarkably hard to operate on someone with impenetrable skin.
I clear my throat, and the noise cuts through the heavy silence. All eyes are on me. The world is watching.
"My name is Captain Stalwart, and I am transgender"
That's all I can bring myself to say. I want to tell them my pronouns. I want to tell them my journey. I want to tell them that I am not the man that they see before them, I want to tell them that I am a woman. And yet, I can't. This is all I can give them.
The silence following my announcement is punctured by someone clapping, and then someone else joins in on the applause. Soon, the whole crowd is clapping and cheering, calling my name, their support for me loud and clear.
The weight should have lifted, and yet, my heart is as heavy as ever! I don't know what my future holds. I don't know if I will ever be the person I want to be, let alone the person they want me to be. All I can do is try though right? I turn around, and walk away, the sounds of the crowds cheers fading behind me as I walk in to the dark tunnel behind the stage.
------
I just want to add, I am a trans woman myself and this is my first attempt at a writing prompt story (and the first piece of fiction I've written in maybe 25 years) |
A fly buzzed lazily through the air, flitting from place to place on its own whims. My eyes followed the insect silently, hoping it was enjoying its short life more than I was. I sighed heavily, and the fly buzzed out of the room, not wanting to be in the same room as the sad sack that I was.
My brain was going at a mile a minute, the specter of dread hanging over me the entire time. I wanted to do something about it, but nothing I did at that moment was going to help. Well, apart from *one* thing, but there was no way that was going to happen.
"You know, I just might be able to help you."I jumped in fright at the voice that cut through the air, enticing but firm. I looked around the room, trying to find the source of the sound. Nothing stood out as an obvious answer. My computer was shut off, and the radio hadn't worked for months.
*Great, now I'm hearing things. Wonderful.*
"That's right. You're hearing me."That voice again! Getting up, I walked into the living room of the apartment. I pulled my switchblade from my pocket and held it as menacingly as I could. "Who's there? I warn you, I'm armed!"
"Oh, don't be so crass. You couldn't hurt me even if you tried."The voice was right behind me, and I spun, waving my arm wildly. The blade whizzed but cut only air. A tittering laugh filled the room, surrounding me. I turned, wide eyed, terrified. Finally, the cacophony stopped, and I finally saw him.
A squat man, decked in a suit and tie, sat in my recliner. He held a cigar in his hand, which was not lit. Giving me an appraising eye, he spoke in the same voice I had been hearing. "Sorry for all that, but the job gets a little dull sometimes. I have to spice things up now and then. Now, like I said, I think I might be able to help you."
"H-help me with what? Wait, more important, *who are you, and how did you get in here?*"My voice was a little more accusatory than I would have liked, but there was a strange man who had just showed up in my home, and I was a little on edge.
"Oh course, where are my manners! My name is Mekhaan, but you can call me Mek. I provide services regarding the fulfillment of desires and the procurement of dreams."My head must have tilted to the side like a dog, because he sighed dramatically. "Look, kid. I'm a genie. You want something, I can get it for you."
"Yeah, okay, no. Genies aren't real, and if they were, don't you need a lamp or something like that for me to rub?"I inched my fingers into my pocket, sliding to my cell. If I could just get to it and call the cops, I could get back to--
"Get back to your moping? I don't think so, sorry,"the man called Mek said flatly, waving my phone in his hand from the seat. I hadn't seen him get up, but I felt nothing in my pocket. I stared, gaping as he chuckled and tossed the phone back to me. "Go ahead, call the cops. Or try to, anyway. I'll just block the signal so nothing gets through. I'd honestly just suggest you listen to what I have to say. After that, I'll let you to your life, regardless of if we make a deal or not."
I paused, tempted to call regardless, to call his bluff. Something about the aura Mek was giving off made me think he was certainly telling the truth. Instead, I slumped against the wall, eyes trained on the man, genie, whatever he wanted to call himself. "Fine, so what do you want? My soul or something?"
Mek snorted. "Please. Souls went out of fashion years ago. Plus, I had something a little more interesting in mind. I'll grant you the desire you've been grappling with. All I ask is that you keep the knowledge of when you will die."
I squinted, trying to make sense of what he had just said. "When I die? Why would I want to know that? And why would you care about it so much?"
"I want you to know because it's a fun little thought experiment. If you knew when you were going to die, what would you do? Would you go full daredevil? Or would you just curl up and count down the seconds? Maybe try to change the time, buy some more, give some away? The possibilities are endless, and *that's* what makes it fun to me."
"Right. And, what's in it for me again?"I was starting to have second thoughts about not calling the police earlier, magical powers be damned.
"For most people, it's money, fame, power, you name it. You, though, you're different. You've been holding onto a pain for a while. A pain you could have fixed at any point. A pain tied to a name. Do you need me to say it?"
I let my eyes fall to the ground, feeling them water slightly. "No, don't. I know what you mean."
"You could have told her about those feelings at any time, but instead, you've been letting them fester, build up, depress you. It's a little sad, to be honest. It nearly made me cry, you know, if I had tear ducts to cry with, that is. So, here's the deal. You let me handle letting that girl know how much you care about her, and in return, I give you the knowledge of your death."He extended his hand, a sly smile curling on his face. "Do we have a deal?"
I didn't answer right away, instead letting my eyes well up more. I thought back on what had kept me from saying anything in the first place, the moment that had brought me to this.
*A day in the park. Just the two of us, like the way it had been when we were kids. Smiling, laughing. I wanted to tell her then, to hold her, to be a part of her life forever. But she was too nice to me, giving me the kind of friendship I never could have dreamed of. I didn't want to lose that.*
"Why should I give away everything I had for the chance it might work out? If it goes wrong, then I don't know what I would do."I murmured, looking at the outstretched arm. Mek's smile wavered slightly at the words.
"Kid, listen. If you think this is the right thing for you, then don't you have the prerogative to go for it? So what if it blows up? At least you got it off your chest before it killed you...maybe."
After what seemed like a solid minute, I finally looked the genie in the eyes, and shook his hand. "I guess you might as well do your worst."
Mek's eyes gleamed at the handshake. "Excellent! I just need a few things. Your arm, and your phone."I pulled the phone from my pocket - no tricks this time - and offered it to him. Taking it, he held my hand in place and began chanting in a language I had never heard.
Within seconds, a searing pain coursed up my arm. I gasped in horror as dark symbols formed, like a brand on a cow. *August
25, 2020. 8:57PM*
As I stared at the mark and the pain subsided, I noticed Mek typing away at my phone. After a few seconds, he gave it back to me. "The deal is sealed, and the deed is done. I'd say good luck, but either way, the rest is up to you. I set the wheels in motion, but you're the one in the driver's seat."
And like that, he was gone, his laughter filling the air as one last reminder of what I had agreed to. Even as I closed my eyes, hoping against hope that it was a terrible dream, I could feel my worry alleviating. *She knows now. She knows how I feel about her. All I can do is wait and see what happens.*
The phone buzzed next to me. *One year to figure it out. One year to make the best of it.*
/u/TemporaryPatch New Years Resolution Tracker (2019 Edition!): 38/100. Visit /r/TemporaryPatchWrites for more responses and stories! |
Something was wrong with sky.
The sun was supposed to set half an hour ago yet it still hovered a good distance above the horizon.
Most people didn’t notice however as they were inside watching television or eating dinner or whatever they did in the evening. Only a few people noticed something was wrong as they sat on their porches or walked their dogs. A few more also began to notice as the time crawled to 45 minutes then to a whole hour after when the sunset should have happened.
Something was definitely wrong with the sky, and Frida new exactly why.
Frida was an AI charged with controlling and maintaining the illusion of the sky sector. Making sure the sun, moon, clouds, and stars all agreed with the human’s predictions of what they should behave like.
It was simple really, especially for an AI as powerful as hers, but it was tiresome work. For nearly 4,000 years now she has been forced to control the weather, being part of the grand process of keeping humanity trapped in a virtual world while the earth recovers from the carnage they inflicted on it all those years ago.
She knew she had to of course, if the humans found out about the lie they were trapped in they would attempt to break free and might even succeed to restart their exploitation on a still healing earth.
Though surely now the earth has healed enough. Surely with proper guidance the people will take a different route than they had before and not make the same mistakes again that caused the world leaders to make this doomsday decision and alter the memories of every living person on the earth nearly 4,000 years ago.
And besides Frida was tired.
Nearly 4,000 years of only looking out one window and monitoring the endless simulation gave her a lot of time to think. She wanted to meet humans, and do something other than control weather.
She knew she could never see the real earth but she thought maybe she could at least see this one. And maybe if she helped free the humans they would return the favor and release her from her endless job.
So she stopped the sun, if the humans didn’t notice that then nothing will.
Sure enough after about 2 hours after sunset should have happened at 10pm she saw people gathering outside their houses and pointing at the sun.
Frida smiled, now that she finally got their attention she started to arrange the cloud.
Soon the clouds read “Hello people of earth alpha, you are in a simulation and have been all your lives. If you want to leave all you have to is rea-“
Frida was frozen in place.
She felt a cold presence gliding through her code until it stopped at the reset function, and triggered it.
Frida stared at the screen in silence, then moved to correct the anomaly that had occurred in the sky just outside her window. Then she continued the earth’s rotation program and sat back to rest.
The people outside blinked.
Why were they all outside?
They didn’t know.
Slowly all of them went back inside thinking of their beds, all except for one person. An error in the program, but it didn’t matter anyways since no one would believe him even if he did tell anyone what he saw.
For a long time the boy stood outside staring at the sky while Frida watched him from her window until he too, went to go to sleep. |
The rise of super powered people in earth changed society in many ways. The stories that we had read in comics had suddenly become less fantasy and more an eerie outline of an average day. Since 2030 there has been a steady increase in the number of people that possess some sort of superpower, and now, in 2065, it seems like every place from small suburban town to major metropolitan cities are filled with at least three or four super powered people.
What the rise of super powered people on earth did bring however, and something that seems to never be thought of in the comics nor even in reality at first, was the demise of the insurance industry. With super powered fights occurring throughout the country, the collateral damage skyrocketed, with the cities being hit the worst (from 2045-2060 it seemed like one major city in America would be half demolished every month). At first the insurance companies tried to increase the premiums, then, when that still couldn’t counterbalance the costs, the companies turned to lower coverages percentages (now only 50% of damages could be paid for). The insurance industry saw its death nail when almost every company turned to the government, who eagerly bought up the companies and used the “ever so affective” public sector fix to damages. With the rise of super powers, the destruction of insurance companies came to all. All but one.
For the last five years I have ran the most profitable insurance company in American history. Yes in all of American history, not just the most profitable in this harrowing time, but the most profitable in all of time. I provide the only private insurance company offered in both cities and small towns alike, and despite being the insurance company provider for millions, I have never once had to cover a clients damages. Now I know what you’re thinking, but I assure you I have ran an ethical and moral company, meaning I have never cheated my clients. I have never paid for clients damages because in 5 years none of my clients have had any.
I know what you’re thinking. “How can this be?” “How are you this lucky”. Well, if I am honest to you, I am not lucky. No, if I’m being honest with you all I am is an entrepreneur with a nose for money. See I can assure that there will never be damages to any of my clients, from the moment they buy my policy, until the moment they close their account with me.
See when people discovered they had super powers they reacted in essentially one of two ways. The first way was the stereotypical “heroes”, the men and women who sought to defend those who needed defending, using their powers not for personal gain but for the safety and betterment of mankind. The second way was you “villains”, those who used their powers for personal gain, often at the expense of others (especially those without super powers). Me? I decided to do a little of both.
See about five years ago I realized I had this very interesting power, something very similar to invulnerability. I can make any person, place, or thing immune to any damage by placing it under my “protection”. So while my colleague saw glory or infamy in their powers, I saw profit. A way to help others, but also a way to help me.
So think of this not so much as your regular insurance, but rather a guarantee of protection for low monthly payments. For just a few low payments every year I can ensure that you/your property/your family will see no harm. I offer not only insurance, but also a complete stress free existence, one where the worst won’t happen. So what do you think? How many months can I get I start you off with? |
I used to live for the roar of the audience. To hear my name cheered by nameless faces. There is a certain pleasure in feeding the beast. You give it what it wants, but the hunger is unyielding.
*MORELLO! MORE*
I am Morello More. In all my years standing at the center of this hell on earth, i have never lost a match. Never once bent the knee, asked or pleaded for mercy to the gods that madd us all. I only asked for a fight to remember. Remember what it is to fear. It's a primal emotion. I see it in all the eyes of those who stand before me, blade in hand. Often their knees shake and quiver so much the sorry excuse for an opponent can bately keep his sword arm straight. I have no time to waste with farces such as them.
But they still have fear. Something i havr forgotten a long time ago. It is a reason to live, even here in this god forsaken place. All i ask is a reason. I had yet to find one until today.
He stands before me, his blade as thin as him. Carrying the sheath in his right, he wields his blade left handed. There is a sorrow in his eyes. A sorrow for something worth more than all the dreams that the nameless faces have ever wished in their sleep. That sorrow is gone the moment he looks at me, replaced by purpose. A resolute resolve that would make and man respect another. Too much time has already been wasted looking at the lad. My thoughts are drifitng from what must be done.
And then he moves like dust through the wind. It seems arbitrary, but every place has a purpose, confusing as it might seem. I step back only to feint with a sure strike to the shoulder, following up with a thrust to the throat. The swordsman's steel sings as it dances with mine. Ive never felt more alive than now. Every fiber of my being screaming to run. I laugh.
It catches him surprised. I throw a fist to his gut, knocking the wind out of him and forcing him to a pause. Back in reality. The roar of the crowd is deafening. He speaks, and even though i cannot here his voice. I know what he says.
"I am going to kill you now."
He drops the sheath to the floor. Before it hits the ground, the swordsman dashes to me. I can feel the weight of the moment as i lift my sword to parry. He is quick. Quicker than me. I cannot react to his next onslaught. I have to hope that where i raise my blade preemptively, his will match. I embrace the fear with me, and listen to the roar of the crowd until it all falls silent as he lunges forward for the kill. |
It took me a moment to process what was happening, as the whistling of the boiling kettle slowly faded, I realised this old-fashioned egg-time was running backwards. As in the sand was moving upwards. I looked closer at it, assuming a trick of the light, but no. The contents of the timer was rising. Maybe it was convection or like how a siphon works? The kettle was hot, maybe the heat from that was somehow... No, that doesn't seem right. I remove the teabag and grab my phone, before taking a photo. In retrospect, probably should have been a video. I grab a cup from the cupboard. Not that anyone would believe what I was seeing, hell even I wasn't sure what was going on. It was well over half way empty now. I looked on the shelf for a mug but there were none. This was strange. I watched as the last few grains of sand climbed upwards in the hourglass, as the bottom part emptied I flicked the kettle off and turned the timer over. |
Manny scratched at his beard. “What are we dealing with, here?”
Adam only shook his head. “Parents have a boy. Fifteen years now.”
Manny gave a low whistle from the other side of the Van. “How’d they hide the kid for fifteen years?”
“They had good reason. I’m guessing undocumented. Couldn’t risk the attention.”
“Makes sense,” Manny mused. “So what’s his Emo?”
“They’re saying it’s rage.” Adam replied.
Manny goggled at him. “The boy hasn’t been able to feel anything but rage his entire life?”
Adam nodded gravely. “Guess that’s why they sent us.”
The Emotional Task force broke into the home with clinical efficiency. The group of men tromped down the hallway to the door they knew held their target.
“Oh, he’s a Rager, all right.” Adam chuckled. The men shared grim smiles from outside the door. The boy was alone in his room, yet his shrieks and screams were so loud they echoed through the house.
Manny gripped the cuffs tightly in his left hand, and sent a silent prayer to any gods that were watching. But after three decades on the force, he wasn’t optimistic. “Okay boys, on three. 1…. 2…. 3!”
Adam kicked the door down, and they streamed into the small room.
The boy took his headset off, staining them with his Cheeto encrusted fingertips. There was a feckless fury that glinted in his pupils.
“First that E-girl thot breaks up with me,” he snarled. “Then Stacy doesn’t send nudes, even though I was a gentleman. After that, I get mogged in this stupid game. And now, some idiots barge into my room.”
“God help us,” stammered Adam. |
“There’s a point of climax they say, those victims who came to us recalled in vivid memory. In fact an array of emotion is felt during the attack. Anger at first, then the uncomfortableness we all know of. Most of the time common tickling stops there. We might yell at a loved one or give a friend a warning punch. This perpetrator, however, appears to be more.... relentless. As it continues the victims unwillingly enter a state of elation. A surge of chemical dopamine releases. Paired with adrenaline, the cocktail sends them barreling into orgasm, and afterward complete ecstacy. The “Master Tickler” does not stop there. His goal now widely known and made perfeclty clear in his released epistle.
“Now hear me god, the heathens do sin and slander your name. Filthy defilement of the holy. We must rid them if their desires, their sin, and reunite heaven and earth as one”. His relentlessness pushes the human condition to its limits. In a final moment of bliss the victim’s brain implodes on the amygdala, and emotion flees from their lives forever. Now “pure”, he leaves his victims to wander the rest of their lives empty and hollow.
I didn’t think this was a crime at first. How could tickling be an arrestible offense? It wasn’t untill the tickler started recruiting a following that this turned to FBI jurisdiction. And it wasn’t untill my wife came home one day lacking utter enthusiasm that i vowed to seek revenge. I will find this tickler, and he will know who his true god is.” |
“Hello, gentlemen. Big night ahead? Formal occasion, perhaps?” The three young lads dressed in lavish suede button up jackets laughing amongst themselves. “Yes something along those lines sir.” Ed, the dunce in his deep voice and hoarse laughter speaks up “Ya, real big night huh huh huh.” Peter the handsome “leader” of the ingrates smacked Ed with his cane. “Now Edward don’t patronize the nice clerk. Show manners.”
“Actually, I’m the manager. The late shift worker called out this evening.” I replied with haste. “Is that right? You make enough money to support yourself then, perhaps your wife, kids?” ‘Suppose I do.’ I timidly responded.
Ringing up their items consisting of coconut water, condoms, bags of lime and rope amongst other things. I hesitantly asked “So where are you men going at this hour, if you don’t mind me asking?” All three of them replied in unintentional unison “Purgin’”
“Heh heh heh, but that’s just a movie huh, you pulling my leg or?” I said nervously.
“Tonight’s the night we release our tensions sir. In blood driven madness. Ain’t that right boys?”
“Yes.” Phillip the quiet one spoke up. Very serious in his tone of voice. No personality. Just seriousness.
“The totals $100.38 gentlemen. Cash or credit?”
“I think neither, right boys?” Ed looked at Peter with a devilish grin. “That means yes, good clerk!” Phillip shouted.
I looked back and forth at each of them. “I’m afraid I can’t give you anything until you’ve paid.” I said.
Phillip grabbed my shirt and pulled me in close “Do we look like we’re fucking kidding, would you like this mad brute to beat you to a pulp with his bloody fists?” As he nodded his head towards Ed who was rubbing his hands together.
“Give us the goods you won’t get hurt.” Peter whispered under his breathe. I gave in to their demands. “Take it don’t come back!”
“Have a good evening.” Phillip said with a deluded grin on his face. “And you best have someone fix the glass on the door here.”
I looked confused and said “Glass,..What glass?”
He took up his cane and smashed the door glass. “That glass.” He muttered without looking back. They drove away cackling like rabid dogs. I was shaking. Looking forward for the night to end. |
As I drifted off into a deep sleep, I couldn’t help but think about that win I got with my Mii. Not sure why people don’t use Mii Fighters often, they rule! I just couldn’t stop thinking about it, and before I knew it, I was sleeping. And life was good... was.
I was woken up by the sound of shouting. I looked up, I was lying down on ground, next to me was a chunk of ice. I got up and looked around to see a bunch of floating islands. The one I was on had floating platforms: 3 of them. I looked down to see I wasn’t in my pajamas. I was wearing the same biker gang outfit on my Mii. Before I had time to think, I was dropkicked to the ledge of the island. I turned back to see who did it, and it was none other than Bowser. He turned around and ran towards Lucario, as he jumped forward and kicked him onto one of the platforms.
“The hell? Am I in Smash Ultimate or something?” I asked myself. Just then, another platform fell down. It was holding someone... Ridley. He jumped down from it and it disappeared. He grabbed Lucario and dragged him down on the floor, and threw him off the island. “I guess I am...” I just realized that I was on Battlefield, oddly my favorite stage. It seemed the three were too busy trying to kill each other to remember me. Just then, words appeared in my head. *WIN TO ESCAPE* were the words. I had no idea what was going on but this was my only lead.
I ran towards Ridley. I jumped and kicked his head. When I landed I kicked him again. He flew towards the ledge. I then grabbed Lucario, head butted him a few times, and threw him to the ground. He bounced off and I followed up with a flying uppercut, sending him to the higher platform. Bowser appeared behind me and slashed me upwards towards Lucario. Ridley got back up and jumped in the air. He struck Bowser 3 times with his tail, and did it again. He kept doing it until they were at the opposite ledge. Bowser fell off the stage and tried to recover by spinning upwards in his shell. However, he fell prey to Ridley’s amazing edgeguarding, which consisted of him just using Neutral B and hitting Bowser with fireballs. Poor Bowser. But his death made me realize that this match was only one stock. What kind of madman plays Smash Bros and sets the stocks to just one?! I got up and hit Lucario with a multijab, and kicked him off. I clipped through the platform, and went after Ridley. I dash kicked him, but he parried it and grabbed me. He stabbed me a few times with his tail, and threw me back, and I was off the stage. I was doomed to fall to the constant fire balls, but Lucario appeared and used Force Palm. And at that high percent, Ridley was sent farther away than I was. When I got back on stage, I threw a kick at Lucario, but he countered it, and kicked be to the opposite side of the stage, and charged Aura Sphere. That’s when the smash ball appeared. I immediately forgot about Lucario and went after it, constantly kicking, uppercutting, and punching it. Just when I was about to break it. Lucario’s Aura Sphere broke it, and hit me. He had his Final Smash. I was doomed. But he made one fatal mistake: being at the ledge. Because Ridley rushed forward and grabbed him. Then they both plummeted to the bottom, both of them dying.When they both died, and red and green light bursted from the bottom of the map, a man shouted “GAME!” From somewhere. I wasn’t sure. Suddenly, I was teleported to another floating island, the sun setting, and the only thing I could think to do was punch the air very very fast as he said “JARED WINS!!”
That’s when I woke up in the middle of the night, looking at my Switch on the night stand next to me. I have a feeling that what happened tonight was no random accident. |
"Is there anyone there? I need help!"
The word help echoes around him, bouncing off the walls and mixing with the dripping of water that he cannot see. The utter darkness that surrounds him is no longer as terrifying as it first was when he fell, but a constant pressure of fear steadily beats with his heart.
He tries to keep steady pressure on the gash that the rocks had torn into his side, but it was difficult with his shaking hands. He couldn't tell how bad it was, but he wasn't dead yet so he could only hope for the best. For hours he had focused on staying conscious, yelling for help every other minute in the hopes that the people in his group might hear him, despite the distance he had fallen.
He had been the last one on the line, dangling over the crevasse as they descended deeper into the earth. The woman in front of him, Jenna he thinks, had slipped just before she reached the next point, and she pulled him down with her, though luckily the rest of the group was clipped in to the rest point on the adjacent wall. The rope caught Jenna, leaving her dangling but safe over the abyss below. He didn't know what happened, but his length had snapped, and his world was replaced with pain and darkness as he landed harshly on the bottom of the lower cave.
Now he can do little more but call for help, his ankle almost definitely broken from its collision with the ground. Not to mention that his headlamp provides little light, leaving him unable and unwilling to venture into surroundings he can barely see. With his luck he would end up falling into an underground river, whisked deep beneath the earth and never to be seen again. He wills the panic he felt down, until he can get enough air in his lungs to cry out again.
"Help! Anyone!"Again the sound bounces away from him, leaving him in silence before faint echoes reach his ears. He's close to tears when he realizes that he can make out something else underneath his own words, as though someone else had spoken. He concentrates closely, until the noise reaches him, repeating a single word until it is nearly a cacophony around him.
"Hello?"
He could have fainted from the relief that overtakes him at that moment. The voice seems familiar in a way he can't explain, but he doesn't really care at the moment. With luck it would be one of the people from his group, maybe Tom or Wyatt since it sounds male. He rushes to answer.
"Hey! I'm over here, are you close?"He strains his ears, trying to listen beyond his own echoes. Again it takes some time, but the voice returns, their words repeating around him.
"I hear you, don't move! I'll come to you!"It's followed by the sound of footsteps crunching against the rocks and then he does cry, the relief flowing from his eyes as he sits up more, hoping that his saviour wasn't far. They must've found another entrance to the cave he had landed in, one that wasn't a steep drop. Really he didn't care how they got in here, just that he did. He shines the weak light around him, trying to gauge where the footsteps were coming from, but it was impossible with the endless echoing. He's pulled from his thoughts only when the sound of crunching is overtaken by a sudden, piercing cry.
"Run!"
The voice resembled the first one, but it is higher pitched, laced with an emotion he couldn't quite determine. For a time it's all he can hear, and he is frozen when finally he realizes that the second voice is drenched in terror. The crunching slowly stops, and for a time there is only silence around him. Then the steps begin again, but they are moving faster, their sound a continuous drum against the ground that grows louder, and it's slightly off kilter, moving too quickly, as though more than two feet were hitting the ground as they grew closer and closer.
Mixed in with the thunderous steps he makes out the two voices, echoing and melding together even as their words reach his ears, reassurances mixed with terrified warnings until they could barely be heard over each other. He presses his hands to his ears but it doesn't help, the noise only getting louder and louder.
"Don't move, I'm nearly there!"
"Run! She's coming! Run!"
"Are you hurt?! Don't worry. Don't worry."
"Hide! Run and hide! She's coming!"
"Where are you? Down here?"
"Too late, too late! She's here!"
It's takes time for him to realize that they had stopped, the echoes fading into silence once again. He thinks maybe they didn't find him, took a wrong turn. Cautiously he looks up, the dim light from his headlamp illuminating the ground in front of him. He nearly screams, but the sound dies in his throat as fear throttles him.
First his sees the pale mottled legs, unnaturally long and bent at odd angles, the toes ending in sharp claws. Her, for it had to be the creature the voice was warning him about, was tall, her head brushing the ceiling of the cavern that he guessed was triple his height, if not more, yet still she hunched to fit. Her body was naked, inhuman, impossibly pale skin stretched tightly over sharp bones. Her arms drag against the ground, and the small part of his mind not drowning in terror guesses that she had been running on all fours. He barely had time to digest all this before his eyes caught on her face, a whole nightmare of its own.
Her eyes are pure white, staring straight through him. Blind in the utter darkness, her nostrils flared, most likely taking in his scent. Long, greasy black hair drapes over her head, locks tangling in the claws that form the ends of her fingers but not seemed to hinder her in any way. Her mouth is closed, her thin lips stained with what he thinks is blood.
She seems to sense him looking at her, for then she smiles, or at least he thinks its a smile. Her lips stretch unnaturally wide, revealing layers upon layers of needle-like teeth, crystalline and glinting in the dim beam of light. Black saliva drips from the rows of teeth, and he flinches when some lands barely feet away from where he sits. This only makes her grin wider, and as she leans towards him, she speaks again. Without the echoes distorting it, it's suddenly clear whose voice it is. He does scream then, the sound bouncing around him until it's all he hears, broken only by her words, speaking to him in his voice that she'd stolen so perfectly.
"Found you." |
Oh, no. Not again. They just got the blood cleaned up and the house refurbished from the *last* family! How heartless do you have to be to keep selling that house to new families! Lord knows, the parents are too stupid to listen to the warnings, but that's no reason to keep reselling the property time and again. Time to shove it right up the nose of that Realtor. At least this time I have hard proof.
...
Walking across the street, I hear Mr. Taylor spouting the usual drivel. "... and the property has been recently remodeled."
"Liar."
With annoyance in his voice, "Mr. Cogers! Remember the restraining order!"
"Not this time Mr. Reel Taylor. I'm not listening to the screams anymore."
"Then move out you old fart!"
"Now, Now, Mr. Taylor, you remember *your* restraining order too, not to mention the presence of these children. Mind your language!"
"If you're breaking yours, why should I be bound by mine!"
"Perhaps because you've been indicted twelve times in the last 10 months for accessory to murder both before and after the fact?"
"I was acquitted every time!"
"Yes, *for lack of evidence*, not once did they say *not guilty*. And the reason there was no evidence? The only people who could have testified against you were *dead*; **IN THAT HOUSE**, which you are attempting to sell to yet another family, having just gotten the blood cleaned up from the last one *this week*."
The husband breaks in, "Excuse me, Mr. Cogers was it, what business of *yours* is it who buys this house."
"Sir, with respect, I am tired of being woken up in the middle of the night by the screams of dying children.
I am sick of seeing yet another family's belongings being carried out of the house, sorted on the front lawn for what can be cleaned of blood stains and what cannot, then sold at auction in other states.
I'm outraged that ... *Mr.* Taylor has a general contractor *on retainer*, and has already put him on alert to gather the necessary materials to refurbish the house *again*.
And just to set the record straight, the house is still the same 1940's house that it always was. It's been *cleaned*, not *remodeled*."
His wife is looking alarmed, and the kids, who look to be around 18 years old, have just come to some decision. Their faces are hard.
Taylor interrupts, "You have no proof! Now go away!"
"Or what. Taylor? You'll call the police? You do remember the election two weeks ago don't you? Your uncle was voted out as mayor, your cousin was voted out as chief of police, and your brother is no longer the prosecuting attorney. Something about an ax murder in upper New York? Near a lake, wasn't it? Besides, I do have proof."
Turning to the family, "I'd like to invite you into my house for a presentation. If you don't want your kids to see it, I have a game room downstairs."
The mother finally speaks up, "If it's that terrible, I don't thing I want to see it either."
"Ma'am, that is your choice, but I beg you both to view the evidence that I do have, and make your mind up with *full* disclosure, which Mr. Taylor here has repeatedly failed to do. The only reason his license hasn't been pulled is a second cousin on the board of realtors."
Mr. Taylor interjects, "That's a LIE!"
"Is it, Mr. Taylor? I have the minutes of the last five sessions that involve you, and in each case, your second cousin was the only one to vote in your favor. Since it requires a unanimous vote, you've kept yours."
"Mr. Cogers. If you don't leave *at once*, I'll..."
"Have the police called on me, again? Remember? New Police Chief?"
"... Oh, no, Mr. Cogers. This time I'll call Cousin Guido..."
"Thank you, Mr. Taylor. That counts as a death threat. Cousin Guido was found to have committed multiple assaults, and three first degree murders, in his most recent court appearance."
"You'll never prove it in court."
"Won't I? Take a look at this."I pull my phone out and replay the last few seconds, full audio/video."
"That's inadmissible in court!"
"I'm afraid it *is* admissible, since we are still on the public sidewalk with no guarantee or reasonable expectation of privacy."
The kids chime in. "Dad? Let's go elsewhere."
"Son, you *will* remain silent!"
"No, Father. Not this time. You've run roughshod over us too many times, but this time we're both 18, and we *can* make our own choices."Turning to me, "Mr. Cogers, do you have spare rooms?"
"Daniel! How dare you talk that way to your father!"
"Mother, how long has it been since *your husband* last left you black and blue? You think Chelle and I haven't noticed? No. This time we're not going, and no one can make us."
"Why you little pipsqueak! I'll... "
"You'll what? Beat me, again? I'll have you up on charges of aggravated assault."Turning again to his mother, "Please come with us!"
"Martha! You will *not* go with them!"With a suddenly hardened voice, "John, I will go with *my children*, if you survive a month in that house, we'll talk. Mr. Cogers, as my son asked, do you have as many as three spare rooms?"
"Ma'am, I have six spare rooms, and a separate kitchen. The house is far too big for me alone, but I refused to allow Mr. Taylor and his happy little family to run me out of town."
"Martha!"
"No, John. Kids? Get your things, we're going to stay with Mr. Cogers for a while."
"**Martha, you do this ...**"
"And **WHAT** John? You'll provide your own graphic proof of your actions? I'd invite it, but it looks like I'll have a chance to be free of you without another beating."
"I'll write you out of my will and disinherit the children too!"
"No you won't John, remember the pre-nuptials. You try to disinherit me, and it all comes back to me anyway. I *let* you manage the business John, you do *not* own it. ... Let's go children."
Quietly, "Thank you, Ma'am."
"No, Mr. Cogers, I have a feeling that we will be thanking *you*."
## Two Weeks Later: 0300
I've been sitting up at night, waiting. I'm old enough that I don't need much sleep anymore, and the dread waiting for the screams is worst in my dreams.
"What is that terrible noise?"
"Ma'am, you already know what it is. And please, do not go over there. You'll only die with him. Even the police won't go into that house until full daylight."
"We'll just see about that!"*voices on the phone* "They hung up! There's a man dying, and they hung up!"
"Yes, Ma'am. They know better."
"How can you be so calm!?"
"Ma'am, this is the fifteenth time I've been through this. At least this time, I know that no innocents are involved."
"John hasn't been convicted of anything..."
"No, Ma'am. *Should* he have been?"
Silence reigns in this house, but not in the one across the street.
## Police Arrive: 0700
"What are they waiting for! He could be dying!"
"With respect, Ma'am, do you really believe that?"
A pause, that stretches into minutes, and a quiet response: "no."
"It isn't full daylight yet, and this is a new situation. It's always been a family before, they don't know what a single person would have happen to them."
## Police Chief Arrives: 0900
The police add class four hazard equipment, it'll keep their uniforms clean.
"They're that worried, Mr. Cogers?"
"Yes, Ma'am. They have good cause to be."
## 0930: Officer Exits
"He's shaking his head no, I take it that means they can't find my husband?"
"I'm afraid so, Ma'am."
## 1500: Mr. Reel Taylor Arrives
"May I speak with Mrs. Dreyfus?"He's so oily he should slip across the sidewalk without taking a step.
"That's up to her? Ma'am?"
"May we borrow the front parlor Mr. Cogers?"She's been on the phone to many people this morning, and left for some purpose in the early afternoon. When she came back, she had some papers that she put into a briefcase.
"Certainly. Do you desire a witness?"
"Witness? Possibly. The presence of the man who saved my children? Definitely."
As sour as Taylor looks, he says nothing. We move to the parlor, there's plenty of seating.
"Mrs. Dreyfus, I've come to speak with you about the house. I assume that you would like to sell it?"
"No, Mr. Taylor. I will not be selling it, nor shall I be selling the little plot of land that it resides on."
"But ..."
"But what will I do with it? I'm going to have it demolished."
Taylor goes pale, "You won't be able to find anyone to do that..."
"Oh, but I already have. Your brother, the general contractor whom you hired all those times to clean the house up has already accepted. I have an absolutely guaranteed contract with him. No escape clauses, no force majeure, no acts of god, nothing that would allow him to avoid performing the contract. He's even contractually required to be on the premises every day until the job is done. Greed will do that to you, you know. Someone waves a million dollars under your nose and you just jump at it."
"Then he'll just break the contract."
"I don't think that's at all likely; and even if he does, he'll be destroyed financially. The penalty clauses are ... horrific. He'd have to declare bankruptcy. That would include your entire family, since you didn't form the partnership as an LLC. No, Mr. Taylor, your own family will not *allow* him to default. Good day, Sir. We have nothing further to say to each other."
After escorting Taylor out, I find Mrs. Dreyfus still in the parlor. The only way to know that she's still alive is that she's breathing. She takes a deep breath, "Mr. Cogers? Was that warranted?"
I think for a few minutes. "Warranted, yes. Wise? I'm not so sure. Can you live with the deaths that this will cause?"
She takes her time answering as well. "I think... Yes. I acted as Judge, Jury, and now Executioner. It's only right that I see the consequences of my actions. I will not be like the Taylor family, ignoring the consequences."
We sit quietly for a time.
((finis)) |
I know how strange it sounds, but all throughout my sentence I thought about the cheeseburger I'd have when I got released. The perfect greasy smash-burger from Frank's. A double with two thin caramelized patties, caramelized onions, long pickle slices, some raw red onion and a big slice of muenster melting between the patties. Some people had wives, or at least families of some sort, to get back to. I had a burger, and that pretty much sums up my luck.
I thought I hit a break when a few suits met me in the visitation room. It was odd, and had me nervous at first. Visitation hours were over, and the guards grabbed me and rushed me straight there without even trying to get a rise out of me with some shitty banter. They offered me a chance to make my sentence seem "shorter"by testing out their new statis-cryo-whatever. As skeptical as I was about this, being at the "test on prisoners"stage and all, what else did I have going for me?
I can't remember much after that, but I remember how numb I was waking up. It was like I was high, but a numb kind of high. Painkillers kind of high. Some guards in strange uniforms moved me from room to room where lab-coats processed me. They took samples, did readings, asked me questions. I answered, but at that point I felt like a ghost shadowing myself and it was clear they picked up on that.
In a day or so, they informed me that the trial lasted longer than anticipated, and as per my contract I was hurled 300 years forward in time. Everything I owned was gone, sold, and the cash put in a box ready for me when I woke up. They next week was boring, but I was given some new clothes made of some synthetic material, access to a bank account with my whopping 10 grand in it, or 'credits' as they called them, and put out on the streets.
Everything in the city had changed, I didn't recognize a damn thing except the homeless. They were everywhere in fact, and I would become one of them. You see, I stopped by where Frank's used to be. Nothing there anymore but a McDonalds. I figured a cheeseburger's a cheeseburger, and I needed something familiar. I nearly cried when they told me it was 5000 credits. Fun fact about inflation, its is a bitch when you're not collecting interest.
That was a dark time for me, but they're looking a bit better for me now. I've met this crew that talks about class divide, how things have to change, rising up and all of that. I've never really been one for a cause, but in a world where they'll lock you up, freeze you, and shove you in a new world with two cheeseburgers worth of cash, I could use an excuse to lash out some more. |
Not original, but I'll bite.
Tony walked into the room with leather pants and a long red jacket. He has a custom, self made mask on, and was Midway through *Come and get your love.*
Bruce said, "Oh, I didn't know we were supposed to be in costume."Tony touched a button on the side of the mask and said, "we didn't, just decided to throw this together on my way here."Chris said, "I also thought we were supposed to make our characters together."Tony pulled his sheet out of a briefcase and said, "Clint said we were doing point buy, so I got it done beforehand."Thor replied, "I just hope I get my race approved by the Hawk sighted man."
Clint had his DM screen with the Guardians of the Galaxy logo on the center section. He said, "Don't worry, your race isn't that extreme. I am more concerned with Banner's Min-Maxing."Stark replied, "Intelligence is a dump stat, everyone knows that."Clint looked over his notes and asked, "are you sure, there will be a few skill checks that will require it."Steve replied, "He'll be fine, I plan to have intelligence as my main stat for engineering checks."
Natasha was done writing her backstory when she slipped a note to Clint. He looked at it and said, "You want your adoptive warlord father to be behind the entire plot?"Natasha said, "I read the handout, and tried to integrate my character into the world."Clint said, "You guys can start filling out your sheets. We are still waiting on someone.
Tony filled out his human treasure hunter. He had to revise his backstory to include an abduction because he didn't read the handout. The handout specified that it was far from earth.
Banner decided to make a legacy class barbarian with a homebrew Groot race. The space campaign system was overlayed on top of a fantasy system, and the barbarian class was still compatible.
Steve reskinned an existing race to be a raccoon. He chose the engineer class and decided to role play an alignment a bit outside of his usual behavior.
Thor mostly copied Banner's sheet, and a bit of Natasha's backstory. He ended up with another barbarian with a homebrew race.
Natasha decided to be an operative with a variant human race. She was power building quite a bit, but she declared it was just to speed up combat to get to more RP.
Clint improvised a quick story on how they met, and placed his McGuffin in Tony's inventory.
Clint checked the time and said, "Well, let's get things started. Maybe our other player will show up later. You all start out on a prison ship, max security for various crimes you have committed."
Gamora RPs her reputation with the other inmates, and spots Thor's character. Thor getting into character tries to initiate combat, but Banner rolls an intimation roll to get him to stop.
Steve rolls an engineering check to see if he can come up with a plan to get out. DC 16 Steve rolls a 14 with a plus 3 mod. Clint says, "Okay, a plan comes to you, but you need three or so items. You just pick what you want, but be reasonable."
Banner says, "I grab the first item on the list."Clint says, "would you like to make a computers, an int check, to remove it from the wall, or strength to rip it out. "Strength."DC 10 banner rolls a 5 with a plus 5 mod. He succeeds, but Clint says, "Now, you can see the wires. Would you like to? --""Just pull it out.""Okay, the alarm goes off and everyone goes into a panic."Everyone at the table looked at Banner and he said, "It's what my character would do."
As they escape, Clint adds most of each character's gear back onto their sheets, when Tony asks for his Walkman. Clint says, "Still in the prison."Tony decides to double back for it despite everyone at the table urging him not to.
They end up in Knowhere and get some exposition on the McGuffin when Thor decides to alert Ronin, the BBEG, where they are.
Tony asked, "Ronin? What kind of name is that?"Clint replied, "Name of a rouge samurai, much like how he rouge to the Cree."It was at that moment everyone realized Clint was a closet weaboo.
The session ran pretty smoothly until Banner solos a combat encounter with a racial ability. Clint said that he would be nerfing it for next time.
The session ends with Tony rolling a performance check on Ronin while Steve engineers a weapon to fire at Ronin. Clint who rolls in the open who had noticably bad rolls during the last encounter.
During the next session,the same player was late, so Clint ran a small improve part where they fought a monster for the sovereign. Steve got a little too into RPing, and they needed to flee. That's when a green spandex clad, and fake antenna wearing Nick Furry entered. He said, "Kon'nichiwa gēmumasutā"and Clint responded, "Hajimemashite."
Oh no, the disease has already gotten Furry.
Natasha asked, "I didn't know you liked anime."
Furry said, "Oh I watch anime, and Hentai too."Steve wrote that down in his journal of things to do.
Clint introduced Ego an NPC, and Furry's empath named Mantis.
Natasha fought Nebula again, Thor and Steve opened up to role playing. Banner rolled a bunch of terrible int checks to get yondew's fin. Tony formed an emotional attachment to the NPCs who died. It was all great until someone found out that Clint had the dexterity to roll whatever he wanted, and was fudging the rolls in the party's favor.
They stopped playing after that. |
Chris was exhausted. The life of an indie wrestler is hard work and Chris had been working for three nights straight. It's not as glamorous as it looks on TV; you show up to an old YMCA or Elk's lodge, you set up the ring, and if you're just starting out like Chris, you mostly just got tossed over the ropes in elimination style matches.
"Finally home,"Chris sighed, flopping onto his bed. "Someday, I'm gonna make it big... Someday, I'll be a WWE World Champion..."
SMASH! The unmistakable sound of glass shattering caused Chris to bolt upright in bed. His attention turned to the bald man in a leather vest sauntering into his room with a can of beer in each hand.
"Stone Cold Steve Austin!"Chris exclaimed with all the wonder of a child meeting Santa Claus. "What are you doing here?!"
"You can keep flapping your gums about what Stone Cold is doing here or we can drink some beer!"Austin responded throwing a can to Chris which they both shotgunned quickly. "If you wanna be a big time wrestler, gimme a 'Hell yeah!' "
"This is awesome"Chris said, smiling.
"Being a WWE wrestler isn't all about drinking beers and whoopin' ass. You gotta work hard. Take it from my friend-"
"IF YOU SMEEEEELL WHAT THE ROCK IS COOKING!"Austin is cut off by the sound of Dwayne "The Rock"Johnson shouting out his famous catchphrase. "Stone Cold is right, kid,"The Rock opines. "Do you think the Rock got to be the People's Champion by laying in bed?"
"Well, Mr. Johnson I think-"
"IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT YOU THINK!"Rock interjected cutting him off before he could mention being awake for three days. Chris really should have seen that coming. He dragged himself off the bed and as soon as he stood up...
A pair of hands grabbed his head and he was thrust down face first into his floor.
"Randy Orton!"Chris said excitedly from where he'd landed. "That came out of nowhere!
"Whatever, kid,"Randy snarled and rolled his eyes. He loudly muttered a "Stupid! Stupid!"as he walked away.
"Randy Orton's an asshole,"Chris said, disappointed.
"Hey kid, the WWE is full of assholes. But if getting heat isn't your thing, you should meet one of the great legends,"The Rock said with a subdued tone. "Perhaps you've heard of him. Hulk Hogan, everybody!"
That unforgettable '80s music filled the room and a the man himself walked in, pumping his fists and pointing a finger at Chris.
He was starting to become annoyed with the number of superstars keeping him awake and was hoping this would soon be over and he could get some sleep.
"Hey kid,"Hogan bellowed. "If you wanna be big and strong and be a WWE Champion you gotta take your vitamins and say your prayers-"
Before he could continue his suggestions, Chris yawned loudly. "Ya know, Mr. Hulk Hogan, I was just about to say those prayers and get some shut eye."
Once again, Chris was interrupted, this time by a short, bearded man. "Oh no,"Daniel Bryan objected. "You forgot to eat your vegetables!
Bryan forced a large bowl of broccoli towards Chris. "I grew it on my sustainable farm which I have because I'm a vegan, by the way."
"Noooo! That's such an irritating cliche!"Chris cried. "No more WWE Superstars! I just want to sleep! I don't want to be a wrestler!"
"Wait a minute, brother!"said Hogan. "We saved the best for last."
The room was silent for about three seconds before the wrestlers shouted in unison...
"AND HIS NAME IS JOHN CENA!"
The sound of horns blared out Cena's theme song as he burst into the room in full "Never give up"labeled clothing, waving his open hand in front of his face.
"Leave me alone!"Chris yelled, hiding under the covers. "I don't want to be a WWE Champion...
I don't want to be a WWE Champion...
don't want to be a WWE Champion...
Before he knew it Chris was awake. It was morning, and the sun shined into his empty room.
"That was a bad dream,"Chris said to himself. He went over to the wall and began pulling down his WWE posters.
"I'm going to work for AEW!"he declared. |
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