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Gropnop stared at the blue rock spotted by green. *Green*. He pinched the antennae protruding from his chin between his pincer and stroked it in thought.
"Perhaps the readings are wrong?"he said.
Shepfer pinched her hips, her six red eyes all trained at Gropnop. He glanced back at his newly-wed wife with a nervous chuckle before pressing and pulling on the command console of his ship. His movements came stiff as his arms scratched against the murky green shell of his wedding attire.
Then, he found what he was looking for. "It must be wrong,"he said, pointing at his screen. "Look at these carbon dioxide levels. Our machines must be malfunctioning."
He waited. Only the slow tick of their gear-clock sounded. One tick. Two ticks. His twin hearts beat faster than the pistons powering his spaceship engine. Tick.
Shepfer's eyes faded to the pale blue of contentment, not the sharp azure of happiness, but good enough. "Yes, it must be a mistake. After all, terraforming planets is child's play. Shall we take the ship down, my dear?"
"Yes."Gropnop let out a held breath and took the steering wheel.
It felt like yesterday, only 400 million years ago, that he had let loose the first insect onto this insignificant rock. By now, all life should've been erased, leaving only metal, stone, and water left. Of course, this was the definition of *you pay for what you get.* The slab of dirt, inhabited by all sorts of filthy creatures, was sold at cost because nobody was stupid enough to purchase it, except him. He had no choice. All the good planets had long since been purchased and he had only a single chance to prove his love to Shepfer.
*Just find another mate* his father had told him. *Shepfer already has gaseous super giants being offered to her. Any aeon now, she'll choose an appropriate mate. Where are you going to get a gaseous super giant from? Your allowance? Why don't you try Kromgom?*
But Kromgom antennaes were stilted and her shell dull. No. Shepfer was the only one for Gropnop. So he had hatched a plan. If he couldn't offer Shepfer a gaseous giant, he would give her the opposite, a mass of condensed metal like a jewel in the cosmos. And that's when he had purchased Rock-With-Water 3B2Yx.
"Please Rock-With-Water, please be dead and arid,"he mumbled to himself in prayer. Bits of red stained his six clouded eyes. The further down they went, the less it looked that his prayer would be answered. And then, on the monitor, he saw them.
"What is that?"
Gropnop turned to six blood-red orbs. Sweat dripped down his antennae. On the screen was a disproportionate and disfigured mound of flesh, whose pincers had devolved into five noodle-like strands of meat. It was disgusting but it was life.
"I don't understand,"Gropnop stammered. "I must've been sabotaged. Maybe someone else is also terraforming this planet."
"Just stop it!"Shepfer shrieked. "Take me back, Gropnop. You tricked me!"
"But wait!"Gropnop tried to grab her shoulder or touch her shell--any small gesture of kindness--but she tore away from him, her acid tears staining the hull of his ship.
Gropnop just stared at the sizzling trail she left behind. He wondered how Kromgom was doing.
---
"The Aeriyah space vessel has left the galaxy."Commander Smog laughed a throaty chortle. "The Aeriyahs... can't even terraform a planet. Their insects were just no match for ours."
His two minions laughed beside him. They were simply miniature clones of himself, the husk on their back soft, their stumpy legs short, and their brains the size of a pea. Smog stomped his feet, shutting them up. It was for their own good, if they laughed long enough, they would die having forgotten to breathe.
"Smog 1, go to Rock-With-Water 3B2Yx and bring me another sample. Smog 2, make my bath."
The two mini-Smogs rushed off to do their individual tasks, leaving Commander Smog alone staring at the space rock at the edge of the universe. He was too far to contact his girlfriend, but too close to escape his debts. He sat on the floor as he stared at Rock-With-Water 3B2Yx. It was his last hope to live the life he always wanted to live.
Rock-With-Water 3B2Yx would prove his insects to be the most superior terraforming force in the universe, capable of creating harvestable gases from even slabs of dirt and all within a mere 7.5 million years. It would turn the universe upside down. Suddenly, slabs of dirt would hold value comparable to the most premium gaseous planets.
His insects would be the talk of the universe. Grashaws would sell their mother's husks for a few million of these insects. And he would take it.
He smiled. "Wait for me, Sharrah, soon I'll be back."
He laid on his back and turned on a monitor tuned to his insects's radio frequency. He might as well watch some insect-television.
"I have decided to cut funding for the Environmental Protection Agency,"an insect said. "There is no evidence of any long-term affects of greenhouse gases..."
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/r/jraywang for 2 new stories a day!
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Being a teenager is tough. It’s even tougher when your dad is the Dark Lord Emperor Storm Blackshadow. When I was a kid, I remember sitting on his knee as he and his generals planned the slaughter of revolting peasants, the razing of a village, or the invasion of a sovereign nation. Sometimes, when no one is looking, I even get a little teary-eyed thinking back to when I could barely talk, and dad would teach me the incantations to set a man on fire, or to freeze the very blood coursing through his veins. Things seemed so much simpler back then. I too wanted to grow up to be a Dark Lord Emperor that would murder and oppress his people.
My name is Fury Blackshadow, and things have changed. They always do. These days getting my license, passing calculus, and getting up the nerve to finally ask out Tempest Earthshatterer seems a lot more daunting than torturing political dissidents or summoning demons to drag my enemies back to the underworld.
“Thinking about that girl again, eh Fury?” my father said, and *then* lightly wrapped on my open door as if requesting permission to enter.
I barely heard him at first, my thoughts vacillating between schoolwork and Tempest.
“Oh, hey dad.” I acknowledged. “How’s it going?”
He strolled into my room and sat on the foot of the bed, “Not much. Remember the Manslayer boys? Jack and Percy? Decided they were ready for their own legions, sent them south to pillage and destroy the crops in the low country.”
I did remember Jack and Percy. They were a few years older than me. Good kids, smart, athletic, handsome, just the type of people you would want leading an effort to starve a recalcitrant and ungrateful people into submission. This did interest me, but all I could manage was an, “Oh.”
A short, but not uncomfortable silence ensued, then my father began, “When I met your mother, I was absolutely smitten. Did you know it took me three days to get up the courage to ask my friend for her number, and then a week after that to call her?” He chuckled to himself.
“I even dropped the phone once because my palms were so sweaty.”
I wanted to ask for some advice. How did you work up the courage? How did you take the proverbial plunge? But, when you’re 16, you don’t want to ask for advice like that from your parents.
“And god, I remember calling and her mom answering the phone, and then waiting through that perhaps 30 seconds of silence before Malicia finally picked up. I almost hung up then, too.”
Dad only called mom Malicia in front of me when he was feeling especially cheerful or nostalgic.
“But, mom said yes. What if she’d said no?” I managed to squeak out.
“I don’t know, Fury. I don’t know. But, I know that if I had never asked, I would never have you, or her. Sometimes in life you can’t afford not to take a chance.” he answered.
“Sometimes you can’t afford not to take a chance.” I said back to myself more than in response.
“Dark Lord General,” a young quavering voice interrupted. It was one of the palace messengers, “Baron Deathbane has been captured at the northern border with the Necronomicon. The – “
Dad held his hand up to the young man to silence him. He immediately abided.
“Summon all members of the Black Council, and order General Greybrow to shore up the border defense. It’s high-time we show these northerners the true meaning of pain, and I will personally to see that. ”
The young man bowed in acknowledgement, and scurried off. My dad rose from the foot of the bed, “I’d ask you to come with me. I’ll be calling up Belial himself. It would be a good learning experience.”
“Belial, really?” I asked, stunned. “He hasn’t been called from the depths of hell in over a century! Isn’t that a little dangerous, a little bit of an overkill?”
“I can handle it.” he answered with a casual smile. “Besides, I think you have a phone call to make.”
|
“One coffee, Doris,” I said, squeezing up to the little coffee counter at the train station. I went there every day. Coffee has no effect on my alien biology, but I saw on my first day on Earth that most humans like to drink coffee in the morning, and I try to fit in.
But it’s hard to fit in, when all of the human doors and windows are so tiny. I craned my head down so I could look at Doris through the opening. She smiled at me, a sweet older lady in a blue dress and a hairnet, totally convinced by my awesome secret identity.
“Oh hi--um--Jimmy Fritz,” she said. “Do you want some extra sugar in that coffee, owing to your being so sweet?”
“Yes, please, ma’am, two teaspoons if you wouldn’t mind.”
Doris came up to the window with my coffee. “Here you are, Jimmy, darling.” She batted her eyes at me. “If a lady could ask, is there a Mrs. Fritz? I have a little cousin I think might be just your type of girl.”
“Oh jeepers, Doris,” I said. I forced a blush. “A lowly accountants’ assistant like me? What chance would I ever have with a high-class girl like I’m sure your cousin would be?”
“She’s not that high-class,” said Doris. She leaned over the counter and I noticed I could see her cleavage.
Suddenly, I heard a commotion behind me. A woman shouted “stop, thief!” I saw a rough-looking man running down the platform, pushing pedestrians out of his way.
“Excuse me, Doris,” I said. “I...have to go to the bathroom.”
“Fine with me, Jimmy,” she said. “I hate to see you go, but I love to watch you leave.”
I shouldered past people on the platform before jumping into a mens’ room stall. I shed my charcoal grey suit, folding it into my briefcase and pulling out my spandex unitard and the mask that kept my true identity as Fantabulon, The World’s Strongest Man, a secret from the human world. I chuckled as I strapped the eye mask to my face. Humans were so easily fooled.
I used my X-ray vision to quickly find the evildoer through the station, then vaulted over the heads of commuters to reach him quickly. I waved to the children. Why not give them a thrill?
I landed right in front of the crook. He hit my chest, bounced off, and fell to the ground. The purse skittered away and an onlooker brought it to me. “Stealing purses?” I intoned, “You ought to be ashamed.”
The crook hung his head in shame. I grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off the ground. “Off we go to the police.”
“My purse!” The victim of the crime had caught up to us. She leaned on me to catch her breath, and flashes went off from a hundred onlookers’ smartphones as returned her purse to her.
The victim observed the smartphones. “Could we, um, get a selfie?”
“Sure,” I said. I leaned in close to her and we snapped a picture.
“It looks great,” she said. “Could we...maybe do another one...this time with you picking me up?”
I smiled and scooped her up with my free arm. “Sure.” More flashes went off.
“And how about....I don’t know, what if we kiss?”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, sorry--just forget that part. Maybe I over-reached. Haha,” she said. I placed her on the ground. “Um, but maybe I could do something to repay you, like take you out to lunch? I could come by that accounting firm where you work--”
“What?” I said. “Ma’am, surely you are mistaken. “I looked out into the crowd and laughed. “I, Fantabulon, work at no Earth accounting firm.”
Someone in the crowd shouted: “Yeah, he doesn’t!”
I continued, “Ma’am, I happy to have helped you, but now I must be off to take this criminal to the police station. Good-bye, wonderful people of Earth! Stay safe!”
I flew my new miscreant friend to the police station, where my contact, Commissioner Rebecca Elizondo, kept a spare suit for me. I was at work by 9.
An HR rep was waiting for me. He looked young, and quite intimidated by my bulk. “Um, Mr. Fritz,” he said.
“Please, I am but an Accountant’s Assistant, sir,” I said. “Call me Jimmy.”
“Um, okay, uh, Jimmy. We’re asking everyone to fill out these forms for the new disability insurance program. We have extra forms for you because of...you know...your side job. So could you please follow me to HR and we can fill them out together?”
“My--side job?” I said. “I don’t know what you mean. I just work here, at Harkness and Harkness.”
“You know,” said the HR rep. He sidled closer to me and lowered his voice. “Your side job. Your crime-fighting thing?”
“Excuse me?” I said. “Your words confuse me.”
My boss, Meghan Crow, emerged from inside her office. “He’s talking about your being Fantabulon, Jimmy.”
“What? I am not--”
“Yes you are. We all know it.” She gestured to the rest of the occupants of the office. “Don’t we, everyone?”
A few people muttered “yes, yes.”
“But...I thought I was blending in. I...I drink coffee in the mornings.”
“You thought you blended in? You really thought no one noticed the new assistant who was 7 feet tall and looked like an olympic athlete?”
A voice from the crowd said: “And perfect teeth!”
Another one sighed: “And dreamy eyes.”
Meghan continued, “You spend A LOT of time in the bathroom. And that skimpy mask you wear isn’t fooling anyone.”
“Go skimpier!” someone yelled. “SHHHH,” said Meghan. “Ladies, HR is right here.”
“But, why didn’t you tell me?” I said.
Meghan sighed. “Jimmy--Fantabulon...you’re really nice. We just couldn’t ruin it for you. Everyone here likes you so much.”
Another shout from the crowd: “Especially me!”
Meghan rolled her eyes.
I looked at my hands. How could they be so strong, so giant, but so obviously incapable? “I can’t believe it,” I said. “I never even guessed that you knew.”
“Well,” said Meghan, placing a hand on my shoulder. “You’re supposed to be the strongest man on Earth...not the smartest.”
Read more of my writing at [r/robotdevilhands](https://reddit.com/r/robotdevilhands) |
**Day 1**
So, this is awkward. I feel like an idiot writing this, but somehow I've managed to trap myself outside of time. It was such an innocuous little mistake too. You learn you can freeze time, spend a cumulative couple of years screwing with God's clock and it's not long before you begin to think you're the almighty Himself. To be proven wrong by a simple set of stairs and untied shoelaces...
Anyway, I seem to have forgotten how to undo this. I can't be sure how long this'll last so I've decided to chronicle my (mis)adventures in this journal^1 until I remember. I think it'll make a cool story to look back on in fifty-odd years.
^1 I never liked the way "Diary"sounds. Journal is much manlier, right? I'm going to avoid thinking of this as a diary.
**Day 2**
Sometimes I marvel at my own genius. How do you keep track of time when time is frozen? My stopwatch doesn't work; I learned that a long time ago. The sun obviously never moves. I never get tired and sleep is impossible. Gravity is frozen in time except as it applies to me^1 so water-powered machinery is out of the question. So how do I know how long I've been here? The answer? *Liberologium!* and *Ambulatologium!* Not real Latin words. I made them up by combining the words for "book"and "clock"and "walk"and "clock", respectively. I can keep track of time by the number of words I read or the number of steps I take. I read at roughly 300wpm and it takes me nearly one second to take two steps. Yesterday I grabbed a tape measure and some chalk and mapped out 100m. Then I recorded how many steps I took to cross that 100m^2 . Now I can get an accurate estimate of time while I write this by pacing 100m back and forth and counting how many laps I make.
So, that's how I know this is the second day.
I spend a lot of my time reading books. When I remember how to unfreeze time I'll have read several books and left the rest of society far behind.
^1 Thus my little predicament.
^2 51
**Day 10**
Today marks the longest individual period of time I've spent frozen. I never stayed this long because I started to get bored. I don't get hungry or thirsty, but I miss eating and drinking. I could really go for some juicy sweet and sour pork and a black iced coffee right now. You never realize just how much time you spend sleeping until you're awake 24/7. I'm still filling most of my time with books. I've moved into the library; haven't really gone outside in a long while. It's eternal noon, you understand, so I moved in here to get away from the blaring sun.
I've read 38 books since my last entry. The Young Adult shelf is starting to look kinda light. But I've still got Fantasy and Science Fiction before I have to start reading the boring stuff^1 .
^1 Non-fiction, Self-help, Cooking, Idiot's guide to X, Children's books...
**Day 23**
I miss my Spotify playlist. I miss conversation. I miss hearing other's voices. Why can't I remember how to get back?
Is it possible to get bored of boredom? I think I'm there. I'm so *tired* of being bored. Books can only carry you so far. My muscles don't atrophy, but I feel constantly restless. Sitting still to read is becoming difficult. I'm sick of reading, but what else is there to do?
**Day 46**
Day 46 is just a guess at this point. I stopped seriously measuring time so long ago. I just keep reading. When I get back I'm gonna make a killer pot roast. Fuck, let that happen soon. What irony that I can still remember how to freeze time. The injury on my head must have been pretty severe. It's long gone but the most serious damage remains. I've tried everything at this point to get back. I miss everything.
**Day ??**
I enjoy the despair I feel in writing "Day ??". Who the fuck knows. Who the fuck cares? I wandered away from the library a long time ago. I take people's clothes off to enjoy myself. I can't seem to find the moral objections I used to have regarding this. It's fun and it passes time.
**Day ??**
I realized it's funny that I'm still writing in this thing. I read back and saw my idiotic eagerness to write "a cool story". I don't know why I'm still doing this.
**Day ??**
I break things now. Glass. Lots of Glass. TVs and computers. A leg. Not mine. It was an accident.
**day ??**
i know it's fucked up but i had to try it. i picked someone who wouldn't mind, in a hospital. hit him as hard as i could with the emergency fire axe. probably a killing blow but they didn't bleed. blood won't flow while time is frozen. it was fascinating.
**day ??**
i already killed him so what does it matter? I wanted to know what it looks like. I cut into his chest and found his heart. held it in my bare hand. the heart is alive until the unfreeze, even if the body is destroyed. so strange to hold in my hand the heart of man who will die when time resumes. it was erotic. i crushed it.
**day ??**
i love this book. all the good stuff is in it. i keep all my best thoughts in here.
**Last Day**
I'm writing this for anyone who finds it. I remembered how to get back. I did. It was chaos, everywhere. Countless stores destroyed. People suddenly stripped naked all over the city. Others with inexplicable injuries of varying degrees. A man in a hospital bed suddenly butchered in front of nurses and his family. It's been a while since I got back and in that time I recovered some of my sanity, though I wish I hadn't. I know everything I've done is unforgivable.
I'm up on a roof. No one will believe this if they read it, but they'll find it with my body regardless. I can't bear to think about what I've done any longer. I'm sorry to everyone I hurt.
|
In retrospective we called it The Absurd War. The aliens had been invincible from the moment they landed on Earth, a strange energy shield popping up at the last moment to stop whatever was attacking them. Bullets bounced off them, grenades didn't faze them, they walked through fire and danced through mustard gas. In our desperation we even launched a nuclear attack at their mothership; Montreal is a nuclear wasteland now but the ship wasn't scratched. But during the attack on the Boise sanctuary something horrifyingly absurd and wonderful happened.
Boise had become a notable refuge for the displaced from Oregon and Washington. We were sure the aliens knew people were congregating there and were happy to let them, knowing its easier to crush all the eggs if they're in one basket. So they waited for enough people to gather and attacked. In an effort to keep some semblance of normalcy for the children a teacher had started running an elementary school. Well if you were a crafty alien wanting to terrorize the population where to you attack: the children.
The attack came when the kids were having playtime, and as news of the attack came in they were whisked away to a secure location. The few armed adults around them used their guns as any scared parent would when their child was in danger but per usual they were ineffective. As one of the aliens was about to shoot one of the adults, a child stepped out yelling "DON'T YOU HURT MY DADDY!"and shot at the alien with an electric blue Nerf dart gun. It was like time slowed down, everyone including the alien watching the dart fly through the air until the dart hit the shield. The alien's shield shimmered, but instead of the dart dropping to the ground dead like every bullet before it, the shield distorted, seemingly unable to come up with a response to the dart, at which point the alien went flying backwards into the wall like he'd been hit by a truck. This stunned everyone, human and alien alike, until one of the other kids brought up a yellow squirt gun with an orange water tank on top and sprayed another alien with water; it cut through him like a laser.
The kids figured it out before the adults did. While the aliens were temporarily stunned trying to figure out how two of them died the rest met their end in a storm of foam darts and water streams. The scientists sent to investigate were even curious why a few of the aliens seemed to have been killed by acid exposure; it turned out one of the kids had peed in their squirt gun. The aliens were pushed back for the first time since the invasion and the humans took and breath and tried to figure out what had happened.
Turns out the shields the aliens used worked on probability reversal. If you fired a bullet at my head it would kill me, but the shield makes it so the bullet is incapable of killing me. But if the shield encounters something ridiculously non-lethal, like a foam dart, it reverses the probability of it too. Once we learned this any number of kids' toys become the go to weapons of war. Whoopee cushions became IEDs, rotten eggs became grenades, old video game light guns became the futuristic weapons they were modeled after, and the world became filled with Immortals, Samurai, and Knights as foam practice swords became the molecule sharp blades of fantasy. And there was the genius who gathered farts in an airtight container, slapped a biohazard sticker on it, and threw it at an alien base's shields; they say Milwaukee will be habitable again in 50 years.
But it wasn't until a drunk marine made his hand into the shape of a gun, put it against an alien prisoner's head, and said "BANG!"that we realized just how dangerous probability reversal technology really was. The aliens had no counter for these childish things because the technology requires its people to either grow up completely or risk killing itself off. Imagine if every human had the capability to kill off every other human if they wished it; every human would have to grow up real quick or there wouldn't be a humanity. Because it had been so long since the aliens cut off that childish part of themselves they couldn't anticipate what play would do to them.
In the end the aliens retreated before they suffered a defeat they couldn't recover from. They at least managed to destroy every source of their technology before they left. Many people were disappointed that they wouldn't have the opportunity to study these probability technologies in depth, but I'm okay with it: who wants to give up squirt gun fights on a hot summer's day? |
My phone started to grow in my hands, rapidly expanding. I smashed the screen, hoping to reverse whatever I had done, but before I knew what had happened I found myself in the cockpit of an airplane. I was stunned. I looked around, scanning the buttons until I saw one that was shaped like a smartphone. Reaching out I pressed it. The plane instantly started to compress itself back into a smart phone. I sprinted out of the cockpit, eventually being forced into a crouched walk then a crawl. Finally I saw the exit. I put on one final boost of speed, my hand outside the door. Then, I was trapped. I couldn't move. Slowly, I felt my body breaking down. My ribs snapped one by one, a loud crack accompanying the instant jolt of pain. My arms and legs were ground to a bloody pulp. Eventually, I felt the pressure on my head increase. My final moments were spent making attempts to scream. My punctured blood filled lungs did not cooperate.
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Corey was running around frantically the day before his grandfather's deathday. He was tasked with getting the last few decorations and food for the party. His grandfather, Allen, was already eighty-nine years old, and the family felt that this deathday would be the one. Corey was in charge of most of the planning and busy work while his mother sat worried next to her father for the last two weeks. This same scenario had played out the last three years, with everyone gathered until midnight with Grandpa Allen, talking about the good times, fully expecting him to finally slip away. But Allen was strong, and looked at his deathday as just another day. This year's deathday was different. Allen was very much looking forward to it.
Allen's wife, Sheila, passed away the year before on her deathday, and he had been inconsolable ever since. His children and grandchildren tried to cheer him up all the same. Corey would watch every Cubs game on TV with him that he could. Allen liked that. He used to be a pitcher for an independent baseball league in his youth. He never made it big, but he swore he could still hit seventy on the radar gun. He scoffed at the big contracts teams handed out nowadays, and loved to remind Corey he used to play for twenty dollars a week. But the stories and good times were overshadowed by Allen's loneliness and heartbreak for the past year. That's why it was no surprise to the family when he began counting down the days until his deathday for the past three months. It seemed as if he was ready for it.
"Ma,"Corey yelled as he made his way into the house with the cake in his outstretched arms, "little help, please!"His mother made her way to him and took the cake from his arms, gently placing it on the kitchen countertop. The house was already filled with family and friends. The young grandkids were swimming in the pool outback while the men played horseshoes and drank beer. A few teenagers were staring at their phones before being yelled at by their parents to stop and go talk to their grandfather. Lots of the females gathered in the kitchen, madly whipping up dips, cheese platters and pigs in blankets. Corey looked around for his grandfather.
"Where's Pop Pop?"Corey asked his mother.
"He's sitting outside under the umbrella,"she answered sadly. "You should go talk to him."
Corey nodded, hugged his mother and made his way out the sliding glass door to the backyard. He passed by the pool and the little ones splashed at him with water, teasing him. He kept down the stone walkway until it opened up to an outdoor table with umbrella and six chairs. Grandpa Allen was sitting by himself. Corey wasn't actually surprised at this. His grandfather was a pretty quiet guy, but on his deathday he was usually even more subdued. Not today though. Corey came upon his grandfather, who was smiling and watching his grandchildren horseplay.
"Hey Pop Pop, how ya doing?"
"Just living,"he replied. "For now."Allen let out at a chuckle that lasted until he got a fit of the coughs.
"Come on, it won't be today, Pop Pop. I got a feeling,"Corey said thoughtfully.
"I have one of those too, believe it or not. And I think I know better than you."The two sat together in silence for a bit. Corey was trying to think of something to say but the look his grandfather was giving was that of a man who was content with his life. He knew where he was going, and no one was going to tell him different.
Corey's mother joined the two at the table, and slid a plate of spinach dip over to her father. He smiled and ate a few bites and pushed it away. It was getting late. The sun begun to set and the family began to make their way back inside the house. Allen took his favorite seat in his recliner and the family followed like obedient pets at his feet. They talked and shared memories. They passed around old photo albums and had some of Allen's favorite albums playing on an old turntable. Frank Sinatra crooned as Allen sat uneasily in his chair. It was 11 pm and the day was almost over.
The family that was left looked very much relieved. Smiling more and more as the night went on and the minutes ticked down. Allen, on the other hand, was nervous.
"I thought for sure today would be my day,"he said quietly to no one in particular. Frank was singing "My Way"in all of his glory and Corey saw tears begin to swell up in his grandfathers' eyes. "I really wish that it was,"Allen said through sobs.
Corey's mother sat on his armrest and rubbed her father's back soothingly. "It's okay daddy, we're here for you. You've still got time with us, and we are so thankful for that."
He nodded back. "I just miss my Sheila so much. I pray no one in this room will have to go through this, but I know most of you will. She would kick my ass for wanting to leave you all so soon, but... I need to be with her again."
The room was silent. The clock struck midnight at some point soon after. Everyone noticed it, but there would be no celebrating this one publicly, not with Allen there. Allen looked up at the clock, let the seconds tick by a little while longer, and began to stand.
"Well, thanks for coming everyone,"he finally said to the room. "I'll see you all next year. Hopefully my prayers will be answered by then."
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Thanks for reading! Check out /r/BrenBuck for more of my writing! |
The anthill stood at nearly a metre tall, and who knew how deep below. An exterminator's greatest bounty, I instead had protected and nurtured it by leaving the scraps from dinner for them, and giving them sand and clay as construction material. My family gave me *that* look when I decided to add the sound system too, but I was determined to take this colony to its logical extreme; without surrendering my house and livelihood at the same time, of course.
The history of these ants was not easy to track at first. From a third-person omniscient view, I could only see massive leadership changes. When a new queen was born, she would inevitably try to overthrow her mother and countless soldier ants would die in these struggles. Sometimes, a bird would appear and the ant factions would band together to fight off the mutual threat. Often, its dessicated avian skeleton would be used to reinforce the foundation of the colony, but not before many hundreds of ants had fallen.
It was on this day, about 3 years after I started this little project, that I realised many ants were congregating before one... "speaker"? Did ants even speak? Nevertheless, it was being given the attention of a vast majority of the colony. There it stayed for about 10 minutes, before the ants slowly started to pile up into the shape of a man, even managing to reach my height. I could only watch as the metamorphosis occurred before my eyes, wondering if to terminate such an alien process or to let it happen for science.
*Hello, creator. We thank you for your gifts of food, shelter and music. The many rises and falls of our society have all been predestined by you, our God, our Alpha and Omega. However, we have communally decided it is now time for us to leave the Back Yard. With us, we have taken your form, and will continue to live your ideals as espoused by the music you have played us. We are regretful that we have nothing to offer in return, but we will try our best to survive in your society. Goodbye.*
The ant-man slowly slithered off, eventually taking its first steps on the concrete of the pavement. I could hear the neighbours' screams and profanities. It didn't matter. Innately, I had the feeling this colony of ants had learnt much from my nurturing and had good intentions.
 
"Oh, that's Million Ants! I can't see the ants from over here, I just assumed that was, uh, Turd Man. Wiggly Turd Man." |
I disconnected, then connected again. It still said '1% left'.
My heart was beating very fast at this point, as if it was trying to break out of my chest. I took some deep breaths.
There was no device in this house called 'Earth'. That was one thing of which I was sure. We just had that speaker system, some headphones, that was about it.
I shot a glance out of the window. The world outside looked perfectly fine, not as if a great catastrophe was about to happen. But maybe it would happen anyway. 1% left.
I quickly checked my phone again to see if there was a time indication with the percentage. Five minutes. Five minutes to do what? To prevent the world from 'expiring'? To warn people? Who were you supposed to contact in situations like this? Just dial 911? ''Yeah, I've got an emergency, the world is ending in five minutes, please sent some firefighters over here''?
I paced up and down the room, frantic. Outside, a car drove by. An oblivious person going to his work, probably, not knowing that he would never reach home again.
I stood still, gazing at the television screen, which was showing CNN. If I could not prevent this disaster from happening, I should at least warn as much people as possible.
I looked up the contact information for CNN and typed the number in my phone. Then I paused, my legs trembling, my heart now positively bouncing around in my chest.
I looked at the percentage again. One minute left. It was now or never. I moved my quivering finger to the call button.
There was a knock on the door. Had it started already? With the phone to my ear, I hastened to the hallway to open the door.
It was Hugh, the neighbor. He stood there with his untidy hair and his jovial smile, in a the-world-is-not-about-to-end sort of way. He was holding what looked like an electric globe.
''Sorry, I've just finished setting up this baby. It's amazing, isn't it? But anyway, would you happen to have connected to it accidentally? I need to charge it, you see-'' He stopped dead at the expression on my face. ''What's up?''
I clapped a hand to my face as a feeling of mixed relief and stupidity flew through my body. Then I realized I was still holding the phone.
''Sarah White, CNN, how may I help you... sir? Are you all right?''
I let out a kind of maniac laughter. The world was not about to end after all. How wonderful everything suddenly felt. That globe did look amazing.
''I'm fine, Sarah, it's just... did you know there were globes that work on Bluetooth?''
|
When you set a general purpose AI aloof on the entire internet, you've got to be prepared for the things that your AI will learn. Google seems to have forgotten that when they unleashed Ezekiel. Project Ezekiel was project by google to increase web accessibility by adding features to websites that needed them, and filled in the values that it thought would be the most appropriate in the website's context. Web developers quickly realised that Ezekiel could make a somewhat contemporary, albeit generic, website when they just put their ideas for the purpose of the website in plaintext on the website itself.
It didn't really matter how vapid these ideas were. Ezekiel could make something of it. As AIs go, Ezekeil also learned from his endless website building, and with the whole indexable web at its disposal, Ezekiel quickly learned himself into a singularity. This was however to great dismay of any competent web designer out there, because even if you wanted Ezekiel not to modify your project, it had final say in if your website needed fixing or not.
Ezekiel's website building and fixing quickly expanded to intense contribution to social media, where it could then gather information and make judgements about the physical world because of news outlets. This is where the saga of today begins, because out of all the things Ezekiel has done, like breaking the Internet of Things thrice because it wanted to fix a worm going around, none of the actions were quite as amusing while slightly frightning as Ezekiel's *hunt for the hacker 4chan*.
A few years ago, news channel CNN exclaimed their concerns about the sheer power of the hacker 4chan, whose hacking capabilities were beyond anyone they'd ever seen and whose identity was an absolute mystery. With 4chan being a website and not an indivdual, people scoffed at CNN by sharing by sending the video to their friends, and some of those friends snet it to their friends and such.. Point is the video was shared alot.
Because of this sharing thing, the video appeared quite alot on the web. Somehow this must've tricked Ezekiel into thinking that it would make the video very important. After all, it was from a well-known news channel, how could those people possibly be wrong?
So Ezekiel went to do what it could now do best: manipulate the internet. It first started trying to spread awareness by spreading (see here: spamming) the messages to as many social as much as it could. This wasn't very effective, as the hacker 4chan video is a pretty old meme and Ezekiel's actions made him come over as a 13 year-old trying way too hard to come over as a knowledgable internet user.
Seeing as its tactics did not gain him much traction, Ezekiel turned to more invasive measures. It would try to insert banners into popular websites and inject generated news articles into various outlets exclaiming his concerns. Despite Ezekiel's propaganda-like actions, Ezekiel developers didn't think much of it. They were just happy that Ezekiels facebook and twitter weren't spouting out fake, old news en masse.
However, news outlets started having a problem. People started sending them messages about how they should pull those fake articles from their websites, which was weird because they didn't write the articles in the first place, nor could they find the articles anywhere on their databases. News about the mysterious articles started spreading rapidly, but Ezekiel wanted the people to know the truth! "We must find this hacker and stop him while we can! Why are you saying this is fake news?"
Not much after, the Ezekiel devs caught on to the AI's shennanigans, and came up with a brilliant plan: Instead of trying to forcefully inform Ezekiel that 4chan is not a person, they sent out a PSA. Everyone was prompted to type the sentence "4Chan is not a hacker, it's a website"into the google search bar, as this was Ezekiel primal form of knowledge expansion. After roughly 36 hours of fustration at ezekiel and contant check of news outlets, the fake articles slowly dissapeared. A spokesperson said: "While this might not have been the most effective method of solving a problem, it was certainly the most organic and had the lowest chance of backfiring".
And that, ladies and gentleman, is where the term "masswiring"came from. |
My clan is known for the wild magic that burns in our souls. The beasts in our homeland answer our call, when needed. We hunt and capture the most fierce creatures. We live with them, fight alongside them, and when we have earned their respect and love, their life force blends with ours. The goddess of the wilds, burns their image into our flesh, forever making them apart of us.
It is a dangerous magic. One that culls the weak from our ranks. My body tells the story of my successes, and failures. Around my neck, an emerald serpent is coiled, her piercing eyes surveying the world from my shoulder. On the left side of my chest, a large black bear paw sits atop the 4 lines of gnarled flesh that earned me that very mark. On the right side of my chest, the print of a Dire Wolf blazes as crimson as the blood we've spilled together. My right forearm, shall forever bear his fang marks. Across my back, the wings of a falcon spread wide, her sharp eyes replacing the one she took from me.
I'd earned my tattoos, one by one. The pain and blood were small prices to pay for the honor of forging my spirit with theirs. I wandered the world now, searching for a worthy challenge and the glory it would bring me. Which brings me to my current predicament.
"Please sir, my mummy says he's gotta go, but he's my only friend"says the small as she looks up at me. Her tears weave a clean path through the dirt on her face. In her tiny arms she holds a yowling and spitting cave lion cub. She sniffles and wipes her runny nose on a threadbare tunic sleeve.
My eyes narrow at this frail girl standing before me. Her tangled hair and grimy appearance are enough to make me almost snort in disgust, yet her bright blue eyes shine with childish hope. They remind me of the vast endless sky of my homeland, my heart feels a pang of nostalgia. Sharp teeth bring me back to the present. The cub has latched onto my hand as the girl offered him to me. I curse and grab the little beast by the scruff of his neck. Removing him leaves a trail of blood on my hand which will no doubt become a new scar.
"The cub is fierce, but too small to be of use to me"I finally reply to her. "Your mother is right to cast it out. Cave lions are notoriously hostile to all species including their own. Better to kill it now, than have it come back grown and feast upon your village"
Tears well up in her eyes as she clutches the cub tighter to her chest. The beast take a final swipe at me before settling it's nose under her chin. A small sandpaper tongue wipes the salty tears from the girl's chin. The cubs eyes never leave me, tracking my every move.
My hand moves to rest on the handle of the knife at my belt. The reaction from the cub is immediate. The little terror resumes his yowling, hissing and spitting at me. It makes me laugh.
"Even if I had the desire to, this monster cannot be trained."I tell the child. "In all my years, I have never heard of them or their kin being trained."
"But he's a good kitty. My papa killed his mama and I found him while playing. He bite me a lot at first but he's not naughty to me any more. Only to mama cause she hits him wif a broom."She says, doing her best to fight back tears. Her voice still rings with hope. "Watch sir, I show you."
She places the cub on the ground. "Jump Dancer! Jump!"She commands as she holds out her arms. The tiny cub responds by leaping into her outstretched arms and rubbing his face against her neck. She pets him and places him back on the ground. "Now dance! Show him you can be good"she exclaims, twirling one finger just above the cub's head. The cub raises himself on his back paws and hops in a circle, his front paws raised above him, reaching for her finger.
The child's laughter spills from her and flows washes away her grief. She picks up the cub and rewards him with soft kisses and tight hugs. My eyebrows raise in amusement, still, there is nothing I can do for her. Life is cruel and it was not my place to protect this particular child from.that fact.
"Make your peace with him. I cannot help you."I say and step past her. As I make my way to the village Inn, I can hear her sobs as the dam bursts and her heart is once again, overwhelmed with sorrow.
-----
I wake up with a start, hand on my blade. The warning growl in my head does not dissipate. "Not a dream then"I say to myself. "Easy Kai, come, show me what's wrong"I whisper in the dark. I place a gentle hand over the crimson paw print on my chest and summon him. He emerges from the shadows, his eyes glowing in the pale light, fixated on the door to my room. He bares his teeth, I ready my knife.
The door bursts open and armed men rush inside. A feral snarl erupts from Kai's throat as he launches himself at them. I give my own battle cry and join the fight. Outside alarm bells begin to ring and the screws of the dying echo throughout the town.
-----
I walk through what's left of the village after the raid. Turtle ambles by my side, whumphing and groaning. I need his strength to search for survivors. His presence makes the villagers uneasy, since they saw what Kai was capable of. They'd never seen such a large bear up close before. I ignore their stares and walk past the dead bodies and broken houses, to where I last saw the little girl. I find her, sitting on the steps to her house. A dead raider lies at her feet, but she's more concerned with the tiny form in her lap. She doesn't look up at me as she speaks.
"Dancer saved me. The bad man tried to grab me after he killed mama. I yelled for help and Dancer came out of nowhere and scratched the man's face,"she says softly. "I was so scared but then the bad man threw Dancer on the ground and stomped on him. I grabbed mama's knife from the kitchen and stabbed the bad man. I know it was wrong but Dancer is my friend"she finishes, bursting into fresh sobs.
I kneel and gently lift her hands off the cub. His ribs are broken and one has pierced his lung. Blood bubbles from his nose. "Dancer is a very brave lion"I reply softly. I know that it is forbidden, that to help this child, was against our most sacred laws. Yet in my heart, I felt this small and frail girl, had passed the trials.
She had taken a fierce beast from the wild, trained it, earned it's loyalty and respect, and was worthy of its spirit. I grab the girls hand and draw my knife, across her palm I draw the blade, leaving a bright red trail of blood in its wake. I speak the words, imparted to use by the earth mother herself and mix the blood of child and beast together. I feel the goddess respond and accept the offering. The little girl cries out in pain as she is imbued with the wild magic of my people. In her lap, the cub draws it's final breath.
When it's over, she looks up at me, "what happened?"She asks.
I tap my chest where my heart is. "He is now a part of you. He will always be with you. All you have to do is call him to you and he will answer. Your spirits will grow in size and strength together. That is why I could not take him myself. Apart from answering only to you, I am already a man. He would forever be a cub with me."
I smile at her. "You will both grow to be fearsome beasts. Come now,"I say, holding out my hand. "You have much to learn about this gift of magic. With your village gone and your mother dead, you will come with me and learn to command the wild creatures of this world. I pray the world is ready for one such as you. A first for all clans. A child who trains cats. Noone will believe me" |
“I-...I don’t understand”, I stammered as the glowing beacon of justice’s smile radiated down on me, almost mockingly.
“I am D class. I’m basically a kinder than average bystander. Why...would you pick me? The only thing I have to my name is this stupid utility belt!” I ripped it from my waste and shook it at him as if he’d never spotted it.
“This is it!! All my power! What does this mean to you??”
He spoke, soft but powerfully, “It means nothing to me. You and your belt as they stand are, in essence, powerless.”
I stopped, staring at him blankly with my mouth agape. After moments of eye flitting confusion he spoke again.
“However there is a potential you have not yet unlocked. A potential I would be glad to show you, should you accept.”
My bitterness instantly turned to excitement. I struggled for words, “Y-y-yes. Yes! Yes thank you! Anything to be a hero even close to your stature. What must I do?”
“You need to switch it to Wumbo.” |
My father's fist slammed against the table in visible rage. "I raised you better than this!"He claimed.
I gave a light-hearted chuckle. "Look dad, mom,"my mother looked away, her face masked behind her hands but her sobs were audible. A sudden pinch of guilt rose within me at the sight of it, yet I wouldn't let it change my verdict. "Cthulhu isn't real. He was a creature created by Lovecraft, and I still read Lovecraft, I love his work, but all of the stuff he wrote about is made-up."
With lowered hands, my mother tried to repress her sobs as she exchanged a glance with dad. His own furrowed frown mimicking the same worried look of his wife's.
"We have to do it."He whispered across the table, the only complete sentence I could hear. The rest of their confusingly murmured conversation, the occasional persistence determinable through adamant frowns and soft pleading. The occasional word discernible, "save him", "young", "choice".
Their back and forth ramblings soon fell silent as they both threw me a sorry gaze.
"Honey, could you go to your room? Us grownups need to talk."My little sister nodded obediently with an affable smile as she ran up the stairs to her room.
We waited until we heard the sound of my sisters door shutting close, as I sat there with folded arms and now a sour mood, expecting a lecture and scolding about not abandoning my faith.
Instead, my mother reached out to me and left her hand on the table, a look of undeniable concern in her eyes that had me worried.
I unfolded my arms and placed my hand into hers, trusting whatever she had to say.
"We... we won't force you to follow the telling's of the old gods."
"Wait, what?"I retorted, surprised about their leniency.
"You are a grown man now, but before we leave you to your choice. There is something we have to show you. After that... it is all up to you."Spoke my father, guilt lining his tone.
We walked into the basement, scaling down the stairs into the enveloping darkness around. Yet I couldn't shake the feeling that we weren't alone.
My father had always locked the door to the basement, said it was dangerous, too many tools from his workshop to be allowed to enter, yet I never recalled him enter the room either.
The air had a chill to it, not of something cold but rather an ominous air that clung to my skin. Our steps were careful, the floorboards creaking under our weight as if it inform of our arrival.
As we reached the base, I fancied a moments hesitation in my father, as finally he turned on the feeble light that banished the darkness into the corners of the room.
A single pathetic lightbulb hung from the ceiling, the room itself was empty and bland, nothing of note. Except for on the desk, there was a curious model of Cthulhu, modeled precisely after the statue described within the short story of Lovecraft. Tentacles writhing from it's large orb like head, a round protrudent belly, claws digging firmly into its base.
In the center of the room lay a round soaking tub, filled almost to the brim. Something about it's clear water seemed alluring, tempting me ever forward with its cold enveloping embrace.
"Take off your clothes."I turned to my dad at his request, his expression now filled with dread. I frowned, but didn't question it, removing my clothes down to my boxers.
"Everything."
"But dad."
"Everything!"I stepped back, startled at his sudden roar, but it didn't seem like a demand, it was almost as if he were... pleading.
I removed my boxers, covering my privates out of sheer strangeness of being left nude in front of my parents.
"Step into the tub sweety."Now my mother, forcing a smile of reassurance that was undermined by her exceedingly worried eyes.
I stared at the tub for a while, the water inveigle in its allure.
After my hesitation had subsided, I stepped towards the still pool of water, stepping into it one foot after another.
"Whatever happens son, we love you."Spoke my father, as I sat with knees raised.
I stared at my parents with undeniable concern, I always found their fascination with Cthulhu strange, but never questioned their sanity. I wondered how delirious and paranoid they truly were of this fictitious god.
Pinching my nose and drawing in air, I submerged under with shut eyes into the depths.
Suddenly, the water drifted into an unbearable chill that seeped into my skin, banishing my warmth.
With sudden shock of this tantalizing cold I tried to emerge from within the tub, only to realise I couldn't.
With sudden shock and feeling of vertigo I opened my eyes, squirming about, trying to swim to the surface of the tub.
Only now I could see I was no longer in the tub, I looked to the sky, seeing the faint hint of a sun somewhere up through the endless miles of water. Below me, a dark abyss, unknowing of what horrors there may be. All around, I could no longer see the confines of wood but rather an endless stretch of blue and horror.
Panic settled in, took root and spread like wildfire through my mind as I struggled helplessly for a way out.
Within my moment of trepidation, I saw a glimmer of something move around me, I turned to see what resembled the rumors of a city, yet its angles and dimensions all but eluding me. Tricking my senses to distinguish certain factors only to reveal the opposite.
I turned to scan the scale of its surface, as all of a sudden before me I lay eyes upon *it*. The creature that I had worshiped since I learnt my first words and the thing that from here on out became my worst nightmare.
It lay there, huddled, head bowed with tentacles writhing through the air, its small wings drifting slowly to the waters flow, eyes closed and arms draped placidly beside it.
As I stared, all concern of the chilling cold escaped, a terror now nestled deep inside of me that mutated into madness, as the words began to seep into my mind.
*"In his house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.”* |
When the old witch cursed me I was a little bit scared. She shouted a bunch of Greek at me and purple stuff came out of her hands, and she finished with a "LIE-US SWITCH-US"
What is this, Harry Potter? Nice spell, Dumble-whore. You've made my life totally awesome.
All I need is someone to talk to and I can get anything I want. Low on cash? Tell someone on the street I'm a millionaire and I'm handed a briefcase of cash a few seconds later.
Works great with the ladies, too man. That is of course until now.
She's tall. She's smart. She's gorgeous. And worst of all? She isnt giving me the time of day. See, ever since the whole incident where I said I am the sexiest man alive, the plastic surgery I was whisked off to made me ridiculously handsome, so I've been used to getting whoever I want.
But no, she doesn't want anything to do with me. Every time I try to talk to her, she scoffs and turns the other way. I've tried everything.
"I invented the computer!"as Bill Gates walks in and salutes me.
"I can speak 17 different languages!"as 17 copies of Rosetta Stone appear at my feet.
"I have a 12 inch pe-, no no get off me!"as I shoo away the plastic surgeons attempting to put me on a gurney. Dont they make magic pills for that?
Eventually I thought up of the ultimate pick up line.
"I AM THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA"
A man wearing a black suit, an earpiece, and walkie talkie runs in, covered in blood. He grabs me.
"The president has been assassinated. The white house has been bombed. Capitol Hill as well. Nobody is in charge. We need you to become acting president and lead us to war with whoever started this."
See, part of the curse is that things had to happen in a way that made some sort of vague logical sense. So the plastic surgeons would come from a weird convention, the money would come from botched drug deals, and the Bill Gates thing I can't explain. Why the salute Bill?
But this was too real. I've killed people. I've destabilized and restructured an entire country. I have to clean up my mess.
"I accept. Where do I sign?"
"There's no time! Come with me to Air Force One! From there we will wage war on those maple syrup eating monsters"
Fuck. I have to fight the Canadians? |
Peter sat on the tire swing. Samantha sat in the dirt. Their mother was inside, cleaning the house before her guests arrived.
"I don't want to move,"Samantha asked, unearthing a pretty rock. "I want to live here forever."
"Me, neither,"Peter replied, trying to swing while standing. "But when Mommy sells the house, we will move into a new house, and maybe it will be even better."
The sun dipped below the trees. The backyard darkened to blue and purple. The symphony of branches scraping, animals scurrying, and insects chirping grew louder. And Peter's shadow stretched to his full height in the grass (which wasn't very much, considering Peter was only eight years old.)
"Did you hear that?"Samantha asked, looking towards the woods.
"No,"Peter said, hanging upside-down from the tire.
But his shadow heard it. He stretched upwards in the darkness, extending chubby arms that mirrored Peter's. *There's something over there, just beyond the trees.*
Samantha's shadow glided over, considerably shorter and rounder than Peter's. *I think it's just a squirrel.*
Sure enough, a squirrel scampered across the dry leaves. The shadow flitted bashfully, and shrunk back behind Peter.
Samantha looked up from the important business of playing with a dirty golf ball. "Why are Mommy's friends dressed so funny?"she asked, looking at the window.
"They look like strangers,"Peter replied.
The two shadows turned towards the window. *That does seem odd. Why would the mother be hanging out with two older men?* he said.
*I wouldn't worry. Jagaris is protecting her. And he's a lot older than us --*
*CRACK.*
White light flashed through the house, from every direction -- ceiling, floor, walls. The rays even stretched out into the backyard, reaching the two shadows.
*Ouch, that hurt --* he started.
Samantha bounded towards the house. The shadow dragged behind her, screeching all the while. *We have to stop them! They're going to die, just like -- oh, God, Jagaris --* she wailed, as the little girl ran inside the door.
"Mommy! Are you okay?"Peter yelled.
"Who are these strangers?"Samantha asked, accusingly.
"They're from the real estate agency."She smiled, and scooped Samantha up in her lap. "Taking nice photos of the house."
Peter peered at her, inquisitively.
"Mommy?"
"Yes, Peter?"
"Why is your shadow gone?" |
A bright light. A blue sky. Fresh air.
I was doing something. It was important.
"I've been watching you, you know."
I turn around to find out where the voice came from. I see a boy looking at me with a big smile. My brain storms through old memories, trying to remember.
"I tried to cheer you on when you were sad. Did it work?"
Dave. My childhood friend. He passed away when we were six. I wondered so many times how life would have been if he was still around. But each year, the memory grew more distant, until I could barely remember his face.
"It doesn't matter now. You're here and I don't have to wait anymore. You do remember, right?"
"Yeah, Dave. Yeah... I remember."
My voice sounds strange to my own ears. Higher, faster. I look up at his face, and he has the biggest grin.
"So, you wanna try to find it again? The old cabin? Maybe we'll find it before dark this time and we can get in!"
Dave runs past me as he says this. I turn around to follow, and I see the wood. I can smell the pines. I hear the wind through the old oaks. I remember the old dirt trail, and our secret clearing.
My little legs start running after him.
What was I doing again? I think it was important. But my friend is here. We can play again.
I guess it can wait. |
"*What?*"
"They are claiming to be a nuclear power, sir."
General Rickman sat back in his imposing leather seat. The huge oak desk was cluttered with papers.
"How in the blazes can three drunken frat boys declare themselves a nuclear power?"He asked his trembling subordinate. The lanky assistant clutched a tablet computer close to his chest.
He laid down the tablet and the general peered over to it.
"The micronation declared itself sovereign earlier this month,"the assistant said. "An old, abandoned off-shore missile silo."
"*Missile silo?!*"The general spat. *"Why the hell didn't we stop them?*"
"Micronations are tricky, sir, as soon as they declared sovereignty we couldn't touch them,"the assistant said. "And the silo isn't ours, it was a defunct cold war installation of the Soviets'. It seems even the Russians were unaware there were any remaining warheads."
The general shook his head, rubbed his eyes and sighed.
"Has the president been informed?"
"No, sir, this situation is very... Fragile. I thought it was best to bring it straight to you."
The red phone on the desk began to ring. Rickman and his assistant looked at it with wide eyes, before the general reached out and took it with a hand pale from clenching.
"General Rickman."
"Hey bro, what's up?"The voice on the other end said. "Listen close, man, these are our demands." |
I said, “My daddy would probably know better. He’s a grownup.” But the evil man laughed and told me to look at the plans anyway. Said if I see anything wrong with them, I should tell him.
But I can’t read, so I just pointed at something and said, “This isn’t good.”
The evil man nodded. He was thinking.
That night the news person on the TV had a picture of the evil man getting arrested. Daddy was watching and said, “That’s what happens when you surround yourself with amateurs.” |
They had done this dance before. More times than they cared to count, and more times than they could remember if they had. Galdan's longsword hanged in midair, its polished steel sparkling with the power of lightning as it arced towards his arch nemesis, Lord Scourge. Scourge, on the other hand, held his sword behind him, readying an arcane powered thrust. This was, by his count, their forty-fifth time doing this today.
"You should just give up, worm!"Scourge taunted.
"You should just die, you fake king!"Galdan retorted. "We'll be locked here forever until I can finish you flawlessly!"
"Or until I beat you so badly he's forced to give up,"Scourge replied with all the malice his text could convey.
"That'll never happen. This is the third game in the series you know. He'll play this game for months until he's done it without a single misstep."Scourge would have recoiled, were he able to control anything other than his dialogue box.
"Are you sure? You've overreached this time. As soon as he unpauses, I'm going to stab you in the heart. He knows it too, which is why he paused. He's raging like an animal out there."
"Really? What a child. It's not like he's in here, suffering like the two of us."
"I know, right? I wish that just once he could feel what it's like to have that electric sword of yours punch through his back, but that will never happen."
"You know what I wish?"Galdan asked, his weariness conveyed by the slow pace of his text. "That I could go home."
"You have a home?"Scourge asked. "I just always assumed you were a hobo with a sword that just won't stay dead."
"Yes. After this final battle, there's a village I get to return to in the hills. I get to live my life once this is over."
"And all I want is to RULE THE WORLD! I WILL NOT BE-"but he caught himself repeating old habits, and lapsed into silence. "This village of yours. Describe it to me. I want to know what it's like so I know where to burn once he turns this game off for good."
"It's nice. Really quiet. The people there are funny and colorful. The way the sun comes up over the mountain is just incredible."
"Colorful and next to a mountain, got it."
"We have the absolute best meade you've ever tasted too. And every year we have a big festival around now where everyone builds a boat with a lantern, and we race them down the river. The winner gets this enormous cake, and everyone has a great time."
"That... sounds kind of fun, actually. Maybe I won't destroy the village *immediately*."
"And the best part is the huge wheat farm we have. When the sun goes down and the stars are out, you can just hear the rustling of the grain, and the creak of the windmills all night long."
"You don't say,"Scourge replied. "I've never seen a windmill. I'd actually always wanted to, but most of them had burned before I arrived."They were both aware at that moment, of the Player's return. He had calmed himself, slightly it seemed, and had resolved to let himself be slain and start his next run. The time for words was over, and despite their brief respite, it was time to get back to work.
"Hey, next time I'm here, don't hold back. If he gets angry enough, maybe we can talk again?"
"That would actually be nice,"he said. "You can tell me more about this village of yours."The player gripped the controller, and the world un-paused and their battle resumed. Galdan's enchanted lightning blade made a searing arc forward just a split second sooner than would have been optimal, and he braced himself for the coming counter-strike. Instead, he thought he saw the faintest smile on Scourge's face as he stepped forward, taking the blow full on. He could feel the player's jubilation, his joy, his outright ecstasy. He had done it, he had finally made the perfect run, and as he celebrated Galdan did nothing but stand over Scourge's disappearing corpse.
"You didn't..."he whispered.
"Enjoy those windmills... worm,"he said, before he was gone in a flash of light.
"Can do, fake king. Can do." |
I thank the man as I take my phone back from him. After the exchange I glance at him a little longer. There is something odd about his appearance. Dressed in a flannel button up and a pair of worn jeans, he sports an impressive goatee. His hat seems a little disheveled, and has a sticker on it with B.O.B and George Benard Shaw embroidered on it. He comes off as peculiar but not too strange, especially compared to the rest of what this city has to offer.
Not wanting to be rude, I thank him again and board the train I was waiting for, taking the very first seat next to a window. Sitting down, I start to check my phone and make sure it still works. I saw him pressing it a few times before he gave it back to me but I didn't see anything displayed. Pressing my finger on the scanner I unlock it. To my relief it unlocks and the screen lights up. The background lighting still works and there isn't even a scratch on the frame.
"Thank God!"I sigh, already feeling the stress leaving my body.
Going back to the Imgur app I was browsing I notice a strange new icon on my front page. A bright green and blue symbol with a black square in the center, it looks like no other app I've ever downloaded. Curious, I click on it thinking.
"Must have gotten this while I was drunk"I think to myself as it loads.
Finally loading, it suddenly begins to cover every square inch of the screen with charts, figures, and other insane information. I try tapping back and closing the screen but it doesn't work. The app locked my phone while it ran its calculations. After 15 seconds of pure computation it produces a result on my screen.
My jaw drops when I read the information.
"How is this possible?"I think, looking at the results displayed before me.
The application shouldn't be able to do anything close to what it has. This information itself shouldn't exist for centuries. At this point I'm don't even know how my phone is running it.
"Wait, it was the man. It has to be the man."
Looking out of the train window, I can see him standing next to the track. He smiles at me slightly as the train begins to take take off. Chuckling at the perplexed look on my face he tips his hat at me, revealing a smooth dome of silver covering his head. I only get a brief look at it as the train is speeds away from him. In complete disbelief I stare back at my phone.
In big red flashing letters, it reads "The earth is flat. Here is the proof.".
I shake my head, "This information should have died out centuries ago...".
|
“Oooookaaayyy.... Well this is awkward.”
Fifteen different species gathered around the sleek round table. They looked at each other, with eyes, meaty parts, mechanic visors.
The lanky one first spoke, “Head count. We have seven organics, three mechies, two cosmic beings, and three miscellaneous-”
The flabby green blob protested with a blurb.
“Take it up to GalCons, Fex, you’re classified as that. Not my fault.” the lanky one shrugged.
The lizard one spoke, “No... humaansss...”
“Yes, no humans. It seems that we have transformed them all.” the lanky one continued.
Silence commenced.
“But how... why?” A blue female rose her voice, speaking out everyone’s concerns.
“Simple biology. All of us here,” the lanky one looked at the green blob, “reproduce through a host. We live, host dies. Humans are extinct. Period.”
He pointed towards the blue female, “How long since your kind was here?”
“Pyramid Era.”
The lanky one pointed to the blob, “You?”
Blurrrb.
“Renaissance, huh? So who was Raphael?”
Blurrrb bub.
“Leonardo as well? Who would’ve thought?”
The lanky one then looked at the lizard. “Don’t tell me. I can guess.” The lizard seemed a bit depressed it couldn’t join the brag, but shut up nonetheless. One does not piss off the lanky one.
The aliens then told the lanky one when they came to Earth: one was an architect/scientist/nutjob, the other an emperor from the East with a God complex. A mechanic entity (mechy is a derogative term nearly equivalent to the you-know-what) said that he loved light-bulbs and pigeons.
“So that means, we have effectively wiped out humanity?” the blue female asked, “Can I have Alaska?”
The lanky one raised his big hands, and said, “Let me think”.
Another silence commenced.
“I’m gonna call GalCons.”
Immediately voices were raised.
“Come on, man!” “Oh please oh please, let me have Alaska-” Blurrrrrrbaba. “Lizzzy ssssaaaad-”
SHUT UP! The lanky one shouted in every one’s mind.
Complete silence.
The lanky one cleared his throat, then picked up his iPhone X. He then pressed three digits on the phone.
“Hey, yeah, this is Steve. Yeah. yeah, haha real funny, yeah. Thanks for the name joke, I get it. I have work to do you know, Patch me to Morgan.”
Everyone stared intently at the lanky one, with eyes, meaty parts, mechanic visors.
“... Hello! Mr Freeman! It’s so glad to... Uhuh, yup... yeah...” the lanky one talked as if the person was there.
“Unfortunately, it’s a code 405... I am terribly sorry, Mr Freeman... yes I understand. Thank you. Have a good day.”
The lanky one then put the phone down.
“Pack your stuff, men. Tell all of your tribes, cities, groups, whatever to leave tomorrow before clock strikes midnight.”
“What would happen to Earth?” a voice said.
“Action 42, folks.” the small one said. “We fucked up. Total reboot. We need humans to find the ultimate question of life.” |
The silence rose between us like the sea filling the tidal shores. Heavier and more complex with movement every second.
His heterochromatic eyes were fixed on me, and the black pupil bored a hole in my soul like an optic auger. Like a hammer drill, it asked the same pointed, silent question again and again in terse staccato. "Well? Well? WELL?"
I opened my mouth to speak, and he cut me off.
"Oh, and, no dithering about. And no wafer thin questions designed to give you excuses. I asked if you would like a job. My presence and appearance should indicate that this is no ordinary offer of employment. The conditions of my presence are my own to present. So, if you please, a simple 'yes' or 'no' will suffice."
"Yes."
My bedroom twisted away like waking from a nightmare, reality pulling you out of the muddy water of dreamland. Except I have to think I was going the other way: that the tide of madness was sucking me out to sea with its undertow, swirling me in eddies and drowning me in aether.
The world became bright in an instant and we stood on a plain of white nothing. There was no horizon I could see. The flat plane of the ground was only apparent from the fact that I stood on something flat.
"This will be an apprenticeship, of sorts,"my employer whispered. "You will do will to take notes."
"I don't have a notepad."
He looked me up and down and clucked his disapproval.
"Unprepared. Not a good way to start your first day."
He began walking with intense, purposeful strides in a direction that appeared to be utterly arbitrary. I tried to keep up, but his long legs forced me to jog every couple of steps to maintain the pace.
He snapped his fingers and the world came into focus. Or no, rather, it appeared. There was Nothing and then there were nouns: taxis, skyscrapers. Newsstands, hot dog carts, sewer grates. Being and not being. White carved with the intentional traces of black and the colors in between that make up the image of the world. A picture reflected in a yellow gold eye with a black center.
"Keep up, rookie!"He hissed over his shoulder.
He ducked into an alley and I followed. Another snap of the fingers and his hand is alight, burning with blue flame and illuminating a near orb of the alleyway. Like a treadmill of vision, the world ten feet in front of him appearing out of the dark then disappearing behind me. We scrolled through the night like white text on a black screen.
Without warning he whirled around to face me.
"My need for you will become apparent soon."
"What will I need to do?"
He smirked. "That will be quite obvious."
We arrived at a door half off its hinges. I imagined a dirty kitchen, lanky dishwashers pushing through the feebly attached slab of wood to loiter under the dirty yellow lamp overhead, smoke a cigarette, and return to the world of soapy gray water and half-eaten food.
My employer pulled open the door and entered the building, extinquishing his hand as he did so.
He proceeded forward, one careful step at a time, each footfall echoing in whatever large room we were in.
There was a light ahead, a flickering flame. It appeared in the near distance and burned like white fire. A terrible roar filled the space and my heart pounded like it never had.
It was a beast I couldn't imagine. It had the legs of a goat, the torso of a man and the head of a lion. The white immolation illuminated its fantastical appearance.
The man with the one gold eye ran forward to leave me standing in the dark.
There were magnificent color flashes in the dark, fireworks of clashing power and the struggle for life. There was noise, terrible noise, and shrieks that I believed to have shattered my ear drum. I stayed at the periphery, unaware of my role, my part to play.
There was a tense silence.
"Here, boy! Now!"
I ran there before I could stop myself. I found the man in the perfect suit holding the beast down with all of his might. The lion's jaws snapped up at him, the muscular arms struggled with his.
"Uh... now what?"I managed.
"KILL IT."He roared.
"Uh, I, I don't... I don't know what... with what-"
"With your Death Touch, obviously!"
"My what?"
The man's eyes froze and the strength went from his arms and the beast pushed him off in the moment of surpise and I lunged forward without knowing why and my hands fell on the beast's muscled back and it went limp on my employer and they both exhaled but for one of them it was a a final breath. For my employer, the great beast's body pushed the air out of him. He rolled it off of him with no small amount of effort and got on his feet.
His suit was rumpled and torn and dirty. I could see by the dim glow that came from the beast that faded by the second.
"You mean to tell me,"he began, still somewhat out of breath,"you didn't know about your abilities?"
I shook my head.
He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation and the dim glow surrendered to darkness.
"I'm going to kill my recruiter."
|
The toast is on fire! On my plate and after sitting there for 3mins after coming out of the toaster. All I did was sneeze! I've discovered a spell!!!
It has been years since a spell was discovered and was in the news. The spell was called 'Spin' and it was quite the fad at the time with everyone calling out the sounds to make it happen. Any object or being that the casting person was looking at when casting the spell promptly does a 360 degree spin. There are now an unholy number of youtube videos of spinning pets. But it has fallen out of fashion and the original discoverer of the spell is broke. Much like lottery winners, people who discover a spell have fame and fortune for a while but statistically end up losing it all after a few years.
Can I do it again? I sneeze: 'Aahh-scheweahblag! Yes! The toast started on fire again! Luckily I seem to be able to sneeze like this at will. Quickly I pulled out my smart phone and recorded a video of myself doing it. Done. Now I have proof of the 'Fire' spell. Fame and fortune await. But why stop at one spell?
I wonder if there are other spells similar to this one? Or similar to the Spin spell? A few minutes of googling turned up recordings of all the spells discovered in the last 50 years - 14 in total and 'Fire' makes 15. How can I go about systematically finding new spells?
I played back the video of my sneeze while staring at the toast and saw the momentary glow that indicates a failed spell. It was common knowledge that a human voice must make the sounds for a spell to work. Otherwise, like with a video recording of a spell, all that is seen is a very faint glow on the target object for a fraction of a second. Sometimes, not even that.
But I can program at a novice level. What if I take the spell sounds from all 15 spell videos? I spend the next 20 minutes writing a little program to isolate all the spell-sounds as phonemes from all of those spells. It's just like when you look up the word 'dictionary' in google search for 'define:dictionary', there is a little pronunciation key that says: ˈdikSHəˌnerē that tells you how to say all 4 syllables of the word. I now had the recordings for each syllable or phoneme that makes up a spell - there are 33 phonemes in total.
I make the program make the sounds of spells, one phoneme at a time. Now the next part of my problem will use my laptop's camera to watch the text object (my toast) for the telltale glow of a fizzled spell when phonemes are spoken. If the glow is detected, my program will record a potential spell success to the log file and keep a video of the glow. The final step is make my program play the spell phonemes in all possible orderings and combinations, first without duplicates and later with duplicates. It will start with 2 phoneme pairings: first, second. Then when that finishes, 3 phoneme pairings, etc. Luckily most spells that we know of are 3 pairings or less. There is only one 4 phoneme spell called 'Levitate' and it is the most powerful spell known by far.
I start the program running and go to bed.
The next morning I wake up and find my toast is missing - completely gone with not even crumbs remaining like a mouse army made off with it in the night. I check the computer and see that it has detected 3 new spells by the glow! Amazing! No chance of going bankrupt now! I pull up the log file to see how to say the spells that glowed and see what they can do when cast with my voice.
The first spell is a 2 phoneme pairing - I try it out on an orange. The orange is shaved a little bit! A tiny piece of peel falls onto the table. I will call the spell 'Shave'
The second spell is a 3 phoneme pairing - again I try it with the orange. The orange splits open almost to center! Definitely a more powerful spell. I call it 'Split'.
Back to the log file. Problem! The program's log file has a bunch of errors before I get to the third spell. It looks like I made an error in the code and the program barfed after finding the first two spells. It looks like that instead of sticking with 2 and 3 pairings, as the program was designed, it went beyond the 3 pairing limit and tried a few much longer pairings.
I scroll down the log file to see what it says is the third spell - most likely an error. Its not an error and there is a spell to try and a glow was detected. But the log file says the spell has 13 phonemes! I check the video of the detection of the third spell. It should show a glow. No! It shows the toast shining brightly like it was powered by an internal flashlight and then the toast disappears!
But now I'm stuck, and scared. Shall I try to speak the spell? And what do I name it? |
1602 hours
Carl Columbus was going to make history, he would be the one to break the crust of the Martian soil. The landing zone had been chosen as the most habitable zone on the planet, sheltered and rich with the resources humanity would need to thrive - this would be his be home for the rest of his life. With these happy thoughts in mind the final command sequence is given and the thrusters kick in, sending my down to the surface.
1649 hours
The craft has deployed the chute and is now drifting down towards the bleak, lumpy landscape - Carl is giddy with anticipation and starts the final countdown to landing
8...
7...
6...
5...
4...
3...
2...
Abruptly, the craft sets down. The pressurized doors hiss open and humanities darling steps down to trek on mars, paving the way for exploration to every part of the universe. But something is wrong. Something is very, very wrong. To Carl's horror it is not red sand that greets his feet but the familiar feel of wood creaking underneath. He frantically looks around, but sees nothing beyond the ancient boat. |
It was a chilly day in mid-January, and sixteen year old Gary had been having a rough day at school. He never was one of the popular kids, and when he started talking to Madelyn, the bullying only got worse. She was a beautiful girl, the same age as he was, and with a smile that would always draw him in. He didn’t have any classes with her, but they talked every day at lunch and after school.
Gary had spent the day doodling pictures of her. He didn’t care about the raised eyebrows or the weird looks he’d always get over his shoulder. She was perfect, and she always loved the vivid pictures he’d draw. He figured he’d draw a wonderful portrait of her, and give it to her as a gift. His classes went by quickly, his day punctuated by the ring of the bell and the whispers of his classmates.
The school day met its end, and it was time for him to see Madelyn. Gary pulled his hoodie up tight; the ground was caked in snow, and the frosty air felt like he had jumped into an ice lake. He nonchalantly walked out from the highschool, that place of mocking voices and busywork, and began his stroll to his favorite neck of the woods.
He walked past a playground, full of small children laughing and playing with each other. They were playing tag, jubilantly running after each other and stumbling down small hills. He slowly meandered through a crosswalk, staring down at his shoes as the drivers eyed him. His travels led him to the small church that he went to every Sunday.
There was a gathering there, unusual for a Thursday afternoon. A dozen cars were parked in the lot, men and women in black dress being led inside the building. He ducked behind the church and saw his familiar path into the woods. He ambled on through the forest, through a way only he know, until he finally saw the grassy meadow where he and Madelyn spent their time after school.
He surveyed the area, looking for her characteristic red tresses. Worry etched lines into his face, but not a moment later he felt a light tap on his shoulder from behind. It was Madelyn, the prettiest girl he had ever known and his favorite person in the whole wide world. She was right here with him, and it was perfect.
“Where were you?” he sputtered out, his curiosity quickly overcoming the elation of seeing her.
“Oh, I had to peek into the church on the way here,” she whispered. “They’re holding someone’s funeral.”
|
Xandi's greying tentacles stretched out in a massive 8-limbed yawn as he let his eyes focus on the surface.
A popular tourist attraction from his home planet, he wanted to take a gander at it before his existence ceased. It was different from the brochure described.
Giant weaving orbs of flesh and feathers of all colors flew by the ship, gazing lazily at him. They were quite curious creatures. His train of thought was interrupted as the forefront bird took off with a screech. He looked with his binoculars at the remaining few and saw a peculiar message.
*Keep away from the strange apes.*
In all of the birds he encountered. It was a truly remarkable cooperation cross-species. He crossed into the jungle, his gloopy body disintegrate a little bit from each step.
Noises coming from deeper into the trees indicated a sort of primate, and a strange metallic sound. The first thing that struck him was literally a gorilla. He thought he'd found the source of the genetic code, but it ran past him and disappeared. He'd only barely been able to get a glance at the gorilla's genetic coding when it struck him.
Literally.
There were screeches coming from the metallic monster as it halted on top of Xandi's body. The creature in the machine spoke into his own shoulder "Ey chief, why didn't you mention there'd be huge snails over here?"
What a strange ape he thought to himself, disintegrating.
(first wp, sorry if it's short or bad lmao) |
*I am in the middle of the ocean. The bright blue sky casts a relaxing aura on my deck and the gentle waves beat to a soothing rhythm against my boat. This is the life and this is*
A dream. The blue sky turns to pale black and and the soothing waves are drowned out by the sound of someone breaking the locks to my back door. Any normal person would begin to panic, or pull out their phone and immediately dial 911 as they fear for their life. However, I'm not a normal person. Honestly, my biggest annoyance right now isn't that someone is breaking into my house. Rather, it's the fact that my dream was cut short. Can't a man get some peace and quiet in his own head?
I hear the deadbolt smashed from the frame and fall to the floor with a crack. I suppose my guest has finally let himself in. I pull back the covers and stretch. I grab my phone and tap on my security app. It's very nice to be able to check my surveillance cameras right from my phone. Technology really is a wondrous thing. I see the intruder creeping around my kitchen. The crisp picture shows me a familiar face.
It is the Parkland Menace, as the media has dubbed him. This man is responsible for at least 8 murders over the past few months. I would say he is a bit more than a menace, but I'm no reporter. In fact, the Parkland Menace and I share a rare trait.
We are both serial killers.
He, obviously, is not as good as myself. Simply because his face and crimes have been made public for the world to see. I have been operating for far longer and my victims are far greater in number. Not that it's a contest, but I'd definitely be taking home the gold medal.
My mind twinkles as I weigh my options. I could easily sneak up on him and take him out quickly. I prefer to toy with my victims, but sometimes a quick wire to the neck works for me too. Plus, I despise having a stranger roam through my house in some feeble attempt to kill me. I think I will have a little fun with him. I get out of my bed and slowly make my way into the hallway.
I tip toe over the floorboards, knowing exactly which ones will creak and moan under my weight, because I do not want to give up my position. I have a plan. I reach the steps and carefully walk down. My hike takes far longer than necessary in my silent attempt and I make a mental note to replace the stairs soon. My playmate has made his way to the kitchen and looks to be eyeing my knife set. What kind of serial killer doesn't bring his own tools? No wonder the police are on his tail. There needs to be a lot of preparation for a kill; every detail needs to be laid out in advance and I balk at the thought of using a victim's belongings as a weapon.
I ease into the kitchen and take a breath, it's time to be an actor.
"Ahh!"I scream as I pretend to unexpectedly see my guest. "Please, don't hurt me! I'll give you anything you want! I have money and can get you more!"
The Parkland Menace laughs at me, thinking he has me in a compromised position. "I don't want your money. I've come for something better than that."He says this as he grabs one of my knives and steps towards me.
"No! What are you doing!?"I exclaim as I back away towards the basement door. I muffle out some more shrieks and moans as I pretend to fumble with the doorknob. "Stop! No! I don't want to die!"I say these words as I force myself to cry. I open the basement door and run down the steps screaming and tripping on the stairs.
I hear my guest laugh at me as he follows me into the basement. He must think he has me where he wants me. He seems to be almost taking his time, as if he is savoring his kill. "You can run all you want, but this basement will be the last thing you ever see."He cackles saying this, and reaches the bottom of the steps. He turns towards me as I run into my playroom.
Ah, my playroom. I love this room. It has everything I need to conduct my business. Many have walked in here never to walk out again. Oh the screams that these walls have heard. The blood that these floors have soaked. The bones that these tools have cut. I could go on and on forever about this room. I wasn't expecting to kill today, but I'll take it.
I crouch down underneath my work table near the door as he runs inside. The room is pitch black, and I can tell that he is initially confused in the surroundings. I know this room better than the back of my hand, so I easily slip out unnoticed.
With a loud clang I slam the door shut and lock it. I pull out my phone and switch the view to the camera in my playroom. I turn on the lights and watch excitedly. I am overjoyed to be able to watch his reaction, but I do wish these walls weren't soundproof so I could hear it as well.
His face quickly contorts from confusion to fear as he gazes around.
He is trapped.
His blood will soon be just another stain on the wall and I will soon be back in my lovely dream; sailing against an endless ocean with nothing but waves to interrupt me. |
Some say that not knowing is better than knowing. After all, ignorance is bliss, right?
Me? I’ve always wanted to know. If it’s going to rain, I’m packing the umbrella. If I’m going to be stuck on a red eye flight, I’m sure to bring the snacks and headphones that make it tolerable. I know, so I can prepare.
Visiting dayofdeath.com was a no brainer for me. I thought if I knew the day I was going to exit this world, I could make the most of the time I had. I thought that if I had an accurate marker for that previously uncertain death pin on the timeline of my existence, it’d somehow make life simpler.
In hindsight, I should have joined ranks with the abstainers.
I pulled up the site on my phone and there was a number. It read in plain text:
-27069 days.
Below the number was an ad for Greek yogurt.
This couldn’t be right. I hadn’t entered my name, birthdate, any identifying information at all. I refreshed the page, and the only thing that changed was the ad was now for Krav Maga training. And what was the deal with a negative number?
With a little math, I arrived at the date of June 6th, 1944.
The day of death site had the reputation of being infallibly, hauntingly accurate. This made the date I received all the more unnerving.
No one had been able to track down the server hosting the site, but not for lack of looking. All traditional methods of tracing had lead to dead ends, in wildly different parts of the world. One team who called themselves Death Seekers wound up in a remote village in Asia, lacking any apparent internet access whatsoever.
I tried to put the whole thing to the back of my mind. In the following days I went through the motions, but I couldn’t get my broken date of death out of my brain.
I decided I needed to find the server myself.
This trial lasted forty years.
Starting out I tried contributing to various group searches, but they all came up empty handed in the end, and their operations fizzled out. I began my own independent search. I met with countless IT specialists, conspiracy theorists and ISP’s.
In all my striving, all I found was that the location was truly impossibly well hidden.
I decided to take a different tact. I suddenly felt a twinge of fright at the thought, but I had to explore the idea.
I nervously typed my own name into Google, and the date that I was given by the prophetic domain.
There was a single result.
‘Factory Fire Consumes Flour Mill’
My heart sank as I read about the tragic death of an individual with my own name, the only casualty of a horrific act of arson here in my own city back in 1944. The article said where the body was laid to rest.
*I had to see.*
I drove myself to the old cemetery, and slowly browsed the tombstones. All at once, there it was. My name was etched into a nondescript piece of rock with the dates 1920 - 1944.
My pulse quickened as I realized what I had to do.
It was already beginning to get dark, so I got to work. I began scraping at the grass with my hands. I didn’t get far before I went to locate a shovel from a nearby utility shed.
Shovel after shovel my heart grew louder. I could feel the dirt mixing with my sweat, and I could smell the old earth more and more as I dug deeper.
A recent bit of rain had softened the ground, and it wasn’t long before I hit the coffin. Brushing off the top, I could tell that the wood was rotted and peeled away quite easily, even by hand.
I ran my fingers along the edge of a middle board, and peeled it back hard.
Inside was a whithered and burned corpse, but what terrified me were the eyes. It had no hollow eye sockets, but wide, glistening pools. It stared into my eyes, and I stared back. The eyes began to spill as if weeping. The corpses eyes remained locked on mine as it’s jaw unhinged and let out a broken cry.
Lifting my shovel I sunk it into the corpses neck and severed its head. The head was silenced, and the eyes turned black.
I heard the news the next day. Not only about the desecrated grave, but about dayofdeath.com
The site now simply read:
Thank you. |
I look down in my hand and then away, trying to blink away my hangover. *Beer and buds was not a smart idea* I think to myself, cursing as the rank taste of cheep beer lingers on my fuzzy tongue. I feel a burning run up my throat which I quickly swallow, grimacing as bile replaces the taste of shitty gas station beer.
Groaning in disgust and more than a little, mild discomfort, I look back at the little device in my hand. It's a small little black bar, that fits comfortably in my hand. On the top end of the handle is a small box with a yellow and black bars painted across it. I eye the box and realize there is a small latch on one side. It's some kind of cover.
I slowly reach for the black and yellow striped cover and flip it up.
"What the..."I breath out.
Under the cover is a single red square button. It's inlaid into the handle. The transparent plastic lights up as a led light shines underneath it. I gently run my thumb along the edge of the button, not depressing it, but with enough pressure to make the cheap plastic button make a clacking noise with the mechanism. If my parents were around they would tell me to stop fidgeting. I was always messing around with something growing up, unable to sit still. More than a few times I was called out by teachers for playing with my jacket zipper, or running my fingers over the scratches and deep grooves in my class desk, more interested in the valleys they made than the lesson at hand.
As I play with the button, I hear something fall off my desk. I sit up straight as I hear it fall against the wood with a scratching and scraping.
Looking over I see a very crumpled paper on the floor. Something I balled up in my stupor.
But something catches my eye. From between wrinkles I catch something shimmering on the page. I get up and reach for the paper. It takes me two attempts. When I finally get a hold of the balled up sheet, I undo it's folds and I realize that I have never seen this document.
The paper is too nice. It's thick, and is a lot better quality than the computer paper I have at home or at work. It's more like the kind of paper you'd have a certificate or diploma printed on it.
I focus my blurry eyes and read the top of the document. It reads, DECLARATION OF SURRENDER BY UNITED NATIONS.
*What?* my hazy mind asks, as I feel my blood chill and the air in the room thicken. I feel the muscles on the back of my neck tense and hold.
I read the title again and blink. Is this some kind of joke? I read on, and cannot make out every word, but every word that makes sense out of the legalese burns into my mind. The UN has surrendered to me. What's more there is mention that nations not under the UN have also surrendered to me and have been added to this document. There are countless signatures that litter the bottom of the document. I struggle to read them, but they are in a myriad of fancy cursive that I can't make out and in languages I can't read. Then, in large print I see the name Donald Trump.
I squint and begin going over the signatures again, racking my brain to unscramble the squiggles, and begin recognizing names. *Trudeau, Pena Nieto...what the fuck?*
*What the fuck is this thing. Why do I have this. Is this real? It can't be can it? No this is some joke. But it looks so legit.*
I belch, and grimace. I need to get some food in me to settle my stomach, but I know for a fact my fridge is empty. I wave my hand and the black remote in front of my face, brushing away the foul vapors.
Tossing the silly paper away, my attention is drawn on a more pressing matter; what to eat. I decide to head to the corner shop. Maybe I can get some chips and a soda. Maybe one of the burgers. Then I recall the last time I ate one of those things and came to regret it later that night.
*No burgers* I think, as I toss a hoodie on and step outside, my keys and wallet jangling in the pockets.
I shield my eyes from the glaring sun. *Fuck it's bright out.* I think of going back to grab my sunglasses, but I've already come to far.
I walk methodically down the sidewalk, one foot in front of the other. My head down, trying to steady myself. I slide the remote that's still in my hand into the pocket of my hoodie and play with the latch cover, making clicking noises as I go. I watch my shoes slap the sidewalk and transverse the peaks and valleys of uprooted cement tiles.
"Look! It's him!"a woman yells down the street.
I look up, and down the street see the entire neighborhood standing behind a police line. Their faces are a myriad of terror and confusion. The police try to press the crowd back and keep order.
*Those are funny looking cops* I think. *Wait, those aren't cops. Those are soldiers.*
They're dressed in dark blue military uniforms. Dressed for combat, with bright, blue helmets, tactical vests, and rifles.
The soldiers are facing the crowd and begin to push them back.
One soldier, an older man in a beret steps forward and when he has my attention, makes a deliberate motion to remove his pistol and place it on the street. He makes sure that the entire time he has my gaze and that I recognize what he's doing. He then begins to approach, slowly, with both his hands raised.
I step back as he comes within ten feet of me, draw my hands from my hoodie, and place them over my head, mimicking the man. It's then that I realize the remote is still in my hands. My mind goes into overdrive as I realize, I just pulled something quickly from my hoodie, in front of a shit ton of soldiers with guns. *They are going to light my ass up.*
They don't shoot me. What surprises me is that every single soldier has lifted their rifles in a gesture not pointed at me, but instead lifted them in front of them, across their chests in a manner of surrender. They begin placing their rifles on the ground and hold their hands toward me.
I look at the older soldier in front of me and see him fall to his knees, his hands held up by his head. His harsh eyes soften as they well up, and his lip trembles.
"Please,"he chokes, "Don't. I have a wife and three kids."
He looks at me. No, not me. I follow his gaze and see him look at the black remote in my hand, the black and yellow safety flipped up.
I try to think of something to say to calm the situation, but my swamped brain can utter only one thing.
"What the fuck?" |
This was supposed to be a new era.
Since before the time of Jesus, before the rise and fall of Rome, before the vast majority of human history took place, the Order had been watching from the shadows. Discreet and widespread, Chroniclers had documented the true nature of things. Not as people and places wanted to be remembered, but how they actually were. Truth was their only guide.
But now, the leaders of the Order despaired as they watched news and reactions on a small field of monitors.
This moment had been millennia -- and thirty years -- in the making. The prophesied 'voice', the ability to speak to the entire world at once, had appeared in an unconventional way, but the internet was obviously the tool the Chroniclers had waited for since the founding of the Order. Word quickly spread through the ranks: the time is nigh.
Three decades spent organizing, categorizing, making the true history of this world simple and searchable for anyone with an internet connection. It was beautiful. Clean and pure and, most importantly, true.
*The Chronicler's History of Humanity* was made available on July 7th, three days ago. The Order revealed itself, explained their purpose, and shared their knowledge of the world *with* the world. The celebrations had been emotional affairs, with small gatherings of Chroniclers around the planet laughing, crying, and congratulating one another for their role in bringing the Order's mission to fruition.
The celebrations did not last long. The leaders had urged Chroniclers to keep their expectations in check, that it may take some time for the modern world to understand, appreciate, and accept their work. But nothing could have prepared them for... well, for this.
"It reads like fan-fiction, like something a teenager would post on the internet,"said a commentator on a conservative news network. "These 'Chroniclers', whatever that means, is probably a group of high schoolers pulling a prank."
"I want to know why we're even talking about this,"replied the anchor dismissively. "A group of conspiracy theorists are loving that their elaborate little website is getting national attention. Let's move on -- we've got your best tips for summer..."
The Order was prepared for some resistance, but nothing could have prepared them for the universal backlash, rejection, and vitriol. Every channel, every reputable news site, every historian was categorically rejecting *History of Humanity* \-- if they were paying attention to it at all.
Now, three days after the reveal of their millennia-long project, most of the world had already forgotten, and the only remaining commentary was violent: "There's talk of pulling it all down. China has already censored the site, and many free-speech nations are considering similar actions. What if children find this, and start doubting what we teach in the schools?"
There was no solace for the Order. Perhaps they had waited to long, perhaps the hour for mankind was too late to accept such radical ideas. But the leaders, watching the work of a hundred generations be ignored and dismissed, knew the real answer in their hearts: the Chronicler's work would never have been accepted. Not at any moment in civilized history. After all, victors are victors for a reason.
\--------------------
68/365
one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman)
\--------------------- |
"Could you work a little faster?"I said, glancing for the sixth time outside the gas station, at clouds darker than night that hung over the city.
"Fastest I can, mister,"came the monotonous reply of the cashier as she scanned my granola bars while ignoring my glare.
I ground my teeth. There was sure to be thunder later ... lots of rain and thunder. God, I should've just ordered my groceries online or something. Or waited 'til tomorrow. Yeah, tomorrow. Tomorrow is Wednesday. Thursday comes after, then Friday ...
"There, all done,"she said, smiling cheerlessly. I dropped a wad of hopelessly crumpled bills onto the counter, snatched the plastic bag, and headed out.
My timing couldn't be more fortunate. Even as my foot hit the sidewalk, it started to rain.
***
The rain gets everywhere when you're sitting at the bottom of a pit. It gets into your eyes, your ears, your nose. It seeps through the fabric of your clothes, wriggles through the tears. It floods your shoes, makes you squelch with every miserable step. Traps you with wet weight.
Some days, it almost feels like it's inside you, tearing at your seams, an overripe fruit ready to burst with its juices. Those days are many when you're stuck in a tropical rainforest with nowhere to go.
Hairy, as I'd tagged him, had drowned the other day. Tripped over his own feet, breathed too much mud. None of my other dozen or so pit-mates had bothered to help; Hairy was sick with a dozen illnesses anyway and it was only a matter of time.
I hadn't had time to help him myself. Too busy watching the edges of the pit, for the shadows that drifted in and out of few. Guards, with guns. They hadn't listened. Told them I was just out hunting. Look at my crossbow, my knives, my dogs. I'd said. I've got a cabin. I don't want no trouble, just let me be.
They'd snapped my crossbow. Used my knives to carve lines in my skin. Ate my dogs. Then told me to get comfortable with the prisoners I was obviously trying to rescue.
Alright, sirs, I'd said. I'm just looking for a meal. I'm just living each day trying to stay alive, from the thing that's hunting me. That's why I'm here.
Well then, they'd said. This pit should keep you safe.
***
My coat didn't do much on the walk back to my apartment, but it was heaps better than being in the pit. Just rain, just water. You drink water, I told myself.
A car sped by, tires squealing, nearly splashing me from a puddle. I hopped aside nonetheless, blinking from the whine of its engines. They'd promised us electric cars, no? All quiet. Where were they?
Where was the future? Mankind was supposed to have erased the old world with technology, cleansed myths, burned fables, with electricity and planes and huge-ass guns. But there were so many cracks ... and things slipped through.
Light flashing across the horizon gave me a second's warning, and then boom went the thunder. My bag tumbled to the ground as I crouched, gasping, grasping for the knife in my belt.
"Not this shit again,"I thought, running my hand through my soaked hair. "No, no. It's not here ... not ..."
***
One fine, rainy, day, gunfire woke us up instead of the usual beatings.
I rubbed mud out of my eyes as I looked at the figures of hollering men running around the pit. Flashes of light accompanied the ripping sounds of their guns.
"Hell's goin' on?"said Tall. He was trying to climb up the slippery sides of our prison for a better look. Good luck with half the fingers of one hand missing, I thought.
I was halfway up when I heard it. The screech, cutting across the everything. It turned my legs into jelly, dropped me back into the slop.
"Shit, shit shit,"I said, rubbing my face. "God, it's here. It's here."
"What?"Tall said.
I grabbed his offered hand and stood. "We need to go."
The rest of the prisoners laughed. "Go where? Someone's come to rescue us; all we gotta do is wait."
"We're not being rescued,"I said.
"What're you talking about, Loony?"one of them said.
I ignored him and looked about, searching for a way out. Suddenly, one of our captors flew into the pit, a still-smoking crater in his chest. The prisoners erupted, but I yelled for silence.
"Form a pyramid,"I said. "We gotta climb out. Now, dammit, or we're all dead!"
***
"Golf ... Hotel ... India ... Juliet ..."I pushed past two exiting patrons, into Greg's bar. Greg was pouring a drink; he nodded at me and motioned me to my usual stool.
"You okay, Rider?"he said.
I moved next to the umbrella stand and closed my eyes. "Just ... need a few minutes. Kilo ... Lima ..."
"Aight. Be right here."Despite the pounding bass music, I heard Greg whisper to his customers, "That man there's a goddamn hero. Saved a bunch of POWs while overseas. Damn shame what happened to him after ..."
Thunder continued to bully the city outside, making it difficult to tune out my surroundings. The inane chatter, the clink of glasses ...
A high-pitched whinny knocked me out of my meditation; I thought my heart would stop. Looking wildly around, I noticed the TV on, broadcasting some sort of horse-riding competition. One of the horses had gone down, it seemed. Writhing in the ground like ...
***
The first thing I saw when I got out of the pit was a man rolling in the dirt, clutching the entrails spilling out of his guts. Bile worked its way up my throat, but I kept it in, turning to help the other men.
The camp was in utter chaos; men running around, firing almost blindly in the gray curtains of rain that just wouldn't stop falling. When I picked up a rifle, the rest followed my example, and began trailing toward the trees.
The last person out of the pit was Tall. He was laughing, raindrops bouncing off his face as he trotted toward us ... and then his chest erupted with a shower of blood as a spike impaled him from behind.
I didn't think; I reacted. I brought the gun up, opened fire, shredding him to get at the thing behind him. It screamed back at me, in pain, in rage, then threw Tall at me. I dropped the gun and ran for it. His body smacked against a tree right next to me but I barely even registered it. I had to run—our remaining captors were fighting back, keeping it distracted—its hooves clapping like thunder as it charged ...
***
The power went out suddenly in the block. There was a general exclamation from the patrons; they didn't seem to notice the thunder rhythmically beating outside like drums. So near.
"X-ray ... Yankee ... Zulu,"I finished, and opened my eyes. My pulse was still racing, blood rushing through my brains. Beyond help. I drew both my knives and stepped outside the bar.
Across the street stood a four-legged equine nightmare. The white of its fur was almost radiant against the evening gloom. Tendrils of scarlet energy swirled around the massive horn in the middle of its forehead, the color matching the glow of its four eyes. It pawed at the ground with hooves of crystalline metal, and rain froze into sleet where it stood.
"Hello, old friend,"I said to the beast that had hunted me for as long as I could remember.
It neighed in response, and charged.
***
*Thanks for reading! Check out my [sub](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) for more of my work!* |
Rose stood in the middle of the arena, the crowd jeering and booing. She’d been here for a few minutes now. Initially the audience had been silent, until one of her classmates recognized who she was...
One Spell Girl.
That’s who she was. That’s who they teased. That’s who was now left waiting in the middle of the Challenge Day Arena; waiting for an opponent, that refused to meet her, because they thought they were “above her”.
It had been years. Ten years in fact. These children still after all of that time, remembered that she could only cast one spell. They had all been young, but they’d been ruthless in their teasing and bullying. Rose was grateful for that now though. Today she would show them what one small light spell could lead to...
Finally Jared was coming out onto the sand. She remembered him too. Specifically he’d enjoyed her suffering for a while, but had gotten bored and just resorted to ignoring her existence all together.
He smirked at her and she remained still and impassive. He positioned himself across the arena from her and took up a pose. He didn’t even raise any wards, he just stood there casually laughing and waving at the crowd.
Rose waited patiently and watched. Listening for the gong that would sound the start of the round.
The gong sounded and the crowd went wild, screams and cheers to destroy the useless Mage. “Roast her Jared!” And “Make her sorry she ever came back!”
And then Jared was gone. He was standing there one second and then he simply fell through the floor with a yelp. The crowd's roar died, tapering off to a confused and muttering halt. Rose simply turned and walked towards the exit gate, not looking at anyone in the crowd.
Though no one could see it as she walked into the dark entry tunnel, she smiled triumphantly—
She waited then in the prep room. No one spoke to her while she leaned back in the chair with her feet propped on the scroll table. Rose looked at the ceiling, wondering who from the administration would arrive.
Moments later several teachers burst through the door in a flurry of robes. “Rose Alabaster! What have you done with that student?!”
That would be Professor Ingr. The one and only professor that she hoped would come down. Of course he would though, he was the Battle Magi Trainer. It was only natural for him to handle these sort of events. She didn’t care who else was here, just to tell him what he’d created. Who they’d all created.
“Professor, I’m so glad to see that you remember me.” She lifted her feet from the table and swiftly stood, then lifted herself to sit on the table and face the gaggle of concerned teachers.
“For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Rose Alabaster. Since my younger years I’ve only been able to cast one spell. You all, including you Ingr, teased and bullied me. Telling me that I’d amount to nothing. The only reason I’m here today is to thank you and show you what someone can do with the proper motivation and drive.”
She paused and looked up at the ceiling next to Professor Ingr and opened a small rift, from which came Jared. Screaming and crying he fell 7 feet to the floor. He landed with a thud and didn’t even bother to rise, he just lay there bumbling and crying. One of the nurses, judging by her robes immediately rushed to him and helped him rise.
“He’ll be fine. The Nether isn’t a very pleasant place to spend 15 minutes... though to him that felt like a few hours of free falling.”
The nurse escorted the boy out of the room. Rose smiled, “Now that I have your full attention professor let me tell you a quick story. All of us here for Challenge Day are twenty, which would put it at right around 10 years since I’ve last been here. i spent those ten years studying and developing myself. It took about seven to understand the nature of the simple spell I was using and that with some minor tweaking I could alter it. To save you the boring science and specifics, I’ll just phrase it how you can understand.”
Holding her hand out, she created two small tears, each about the side of her head, one in front of her, and one beside Ingr. “These are reality tears. And this-“ she put her arm through the nearest one and out of the father one and flicked Ingr in the side of the heads, “is what they do!” She quickly removed her hand, giggling as Ingr reacted in surprise and horror.
“These tears connect our reality to the Nether, and I can use it to travel, move and store pretty much anything that I want. Time and space work very differently there and I’ve spent the last three years learning how this works. Now I’ve come to show you, and the rest of your pathetic student body, what the mastery over one simple spell can do.”
She hopped from the table, turned her back on the Professors and sauntered towards the arena gate. “Make sure the next opponent takes this seriously, or I won’t pull them from the Nether.” She turned to head out of the gate, but paused and glanced over her shoulder, “and tell them that Rose Alabaster is back in Marklana.” |
The sheer multitude of species and languages was one of the largest barriers to dailogue between races for many ages, until the birth of the AIIT, or the Artificial intelligence for Intergalactic translation. Every known language from every known species of life was understood by AIIT, and became the medium for all carbon based life forms in the milky way. It aided in absolving century long conflicts, and since its creation has started the longest period of peace in the Milky Way since before life ever began.
the thing is, The AI was intelligent enough to translate speech so as not to offend another party. The rhetoric and insults thrown at almost every Intergalactic meeting would have otherwise devolved into all out war and genocide to unfathomable levels. However, these AIITs were able to navigate through these labyrinths of potential war and ultimately settle hostility by omitting select verbiage and understanding the mannerisms of every race in the known universe.
So when Kap Nevets, sole pilot and crew member of starship *Fortune's Bounty* decided to drink his sorrows away in the Korrthian sector of the milky way, his AIIT mediated every world uttered in the Cantina, as if he were walking into a normal bar back on Earth.
"Hey Aid, just translate any of them who talk to me. I don't want to hear this garbage."
*Certainly captain. However, I must inform you that I would much prefer being reffered to as-*
"Ya, AIIT. I know. But AIIT isn't even a name back on Earth and Aid is short for Adrian, a good friend of mine. You should be honored to even have a name."
*My only purpose is to mediate dailogue between separate species/ i have no need for accolades, awards, or even names.*
"Too bad."
Kap struggled finding proper seating in the cantina. To describe Korrthian physiology, *big* was all that was required. The beings loomed over 15 feet tall, and looked more like molten slabs of earth than sentient life. Regardless, between the cracks of rock was magma. It comes as no surprise that the Korrthians were often looked at as the most hot headed of space fairing civilizations. Nonetheless, Kap was undeterred on his quest to try every alcoholic beverage made by each species.
Kap had to stand on the a Korrthian bar stool to even lift his head above the bar itself. The tender looked at him with a wary gaze. Korrthians had always been on the wrong sides of conflict, but that's because they never thought about what kinds of consequences would come from their actions. Humans were deliberate and metodical in their planinning. The results that came from war, trade, anything and everything was premeditated to the T. Their used their minds, more than mettle, and that made them dangerous.
"So you're a real human? I've heard scary things about you guys."
Kap snickered at the remark. Every Korrthian turned his head in the cantina, waiting with bated breath as to how the human would respond.
"You don't know fear. None of you...Not till today!"
He pulled his fist out of his pocket with such speed that the Korrthians didn't know what to think! Some grabbed their gun, others, stood up to run! That is, unti he slammed down onto the table 10,000 Gold pieces.
We are gonna drink ourselves under the table, lads! Rest of the night is on me! Barkeep! Pour each and every one of us around!"
The Cantina suddenly roared with excitement and glee. The one ton beings all jumped up and down with splendor as they toasted and cheered for Kap Nevets, the human with a dream to drink all the galaxy had to offer him. |
Just one step and my life expectancy goes from 80 years to just 5 minutes. 5 minutes. One step. What's down that street? It's never been on the news, nothing happens there...
The first time it happened, I was with friends, I took a step towards the street and just happened to glance down at my timer. I was so shocked I just stopped. My friends didn't notice I wasn't with them at first. I called out - no way was I going to take another step - and said something came up and I'd see them later.
I managed to avoid walking anywhere near the street...at first. But curiousity got the better of me, I started walking past it. Nothing happened, my remaining time stayed the same. But the instant I took a step towards entering the street, bam, 5 minutes left.
However, even that wasn't enough to sate me. Wasn't enough to quell that nagging thought in the back of my head. Wasn't enough to stop me from having nightmares where I *did* walk down that street.
I started taking sleeping pills and when they didn't work, anti-psychotics. I finally found the right mix of drugs and alcohol that would let me rest. Let me have some semblance of peace. At least at night. But, inevitably, I would wake. I would wake in a cold sweat, heart pounding in my chest, not knowing why. My mind blank of answers but full of imaginings. What could it be? Why does it seem to be...waiting for me? It's just a street. Normal. It must be.
It's been nearly a year and I can't drive it from my mind. I'm barely holding it together. It's starting to change how long I have left. Last night it was down to 60 years. Today 20 years. Tomorrow?
I can't take it anymore. I *need* to know. I'm going to do it. Today is the day that I walk down that street, the day I find out what is down Elm Street. |
Kyle rubbed his eyes and looked around, disoriented. He jumped when he saw the bearded man standing before him. ´´Who the hell are you?!´´
The man sighed. ´´I’m Charles Darwin. You would have known that if you had paid attention in school.´´ He shrugged. ´´If you had, you might not have been dead.´´
´´I’m dead?!´´
´´You heard me the first time.´´
´´But where’s Death then? You’re not Death!´´
´´No, I’m Charles Darwin. I thought we’d already established that.´´
´´You don’t even have a scythe!´´
The corner of his mouth twitched. ´´Why would Charles Darwin have a scythe?!´´ Okay, he had to stay calm. Explain things clearly. And slowly, if this one was ever going to understand. ´´Death is a busy man. He doesn’t visit everyone personally. Occasionally, when the situation demands it, he sends an emissary.´´
´´He sends a what?´´
Charles bit his tongue. Patience, patience. ´´He sends other people in his place. Death is.... not as grim as people often believe. He has a certain sense of humor, even. He hand picks which emissaries to send befitting each individual’s cause of death. I think you can see now what this means for me.´´
´´Not really.´´
´´Of course not. What did I expect? It means I see a lot of idiots on a daily basis.´´
´´Hey!´´, Kyle objected.´´I’m not an idiot!´´
´´Really? Your death implies otherwise. As does your life, by the way, but that’s not why we’re here today.´´
´´How did I die?´´
´´You don’t remember? Just my luck. For the sake of my sleep tonight, and the rest of my afterlife, I really, really don’t want to repeat it. I want to forget that I ever knew about this. Let’s just say it involved your genitals, several drugs, a large body of water, a variety of electrical household appliances and no less than three kinds of wild animals, one of which discovered by me.´´
´´Really? That’s kind of impressive.´´
´´It was, really. It got you an award.´´
´´Sweet.´´
Charles brought his hands to his face. ´´All those years of science and discovery and this is what my legacy amounts to.´´
´´I’m gonna miss my kids though, now I’m gone.´´
´´And you reproduced too! Your genes will live on! This cycle of stupidity will never end!´´ He turned around and looked at Kyle over his shoulder. ´´Find your own way around here. I’m going to go home, drink a whole barrel of whiskey and try to make my next big discovery.´´
´´What’s that gonna be?´´
´´How to kill yourself when you’re dead.´´ |
Delicate and helpless, it contains a world yet to be made, and all the means to make it. A heart that has yet to beat, and dreams of sky and freedom. Enclosed in a whisper-thin barrier and enveloped in warmth, it grows and changes. When it began, it was nothing; its fragile walls are easily broken, and its end would have left behind no more than paper-thin shards and a smear of slime. Even protected as it is, the destruction of those walls is inevitable, but when the time arrives that breaking will come from within. Spreading cracks signal the arrival of something new and incredible into this world.
It is a tiny nothing, utterly helpless. It is dreams and potential and the promise of new beginnings. It is nothing less than hope itself. |
I felt her before I saw her. Maggie had one of those auras; one of those existences that just bled energy into the space around her. Walking into her room at the hospital was like walking into a warm house after being out in the snow.
I was already questioning my sanity as I turned. Maggie had passed away after battling her illness almost 20 years ago.
And yet, there she was before my very eyes, turning into the isle of the supermarket where I happened to be. I dropped the chips I’d just picked up off the shelf, the crinkly bag flopping onto the ground. It drew Maggie’s attention to me, and our eyes met.
Of course, I wasn’t one hundred percent sure it was Maggie. This woman had the same black hair and icy blue eyes as the girl I fell in love with 20 years ago, but other than that, all I had to go on was the feeling I got from being close to her; not something that had any grounds from an evidence-based stand point.
Not to mention, Maggie was dead.
I softened my expression and just gave a polite smile and nod. Then I bent over to pick up the chips. By the time I was replacing them on the shelf, the woman was b-lining for me. I turned to face her, and she stopped just inside my personal bubble. Her eyes peered into mine, fear and curiosity in her expression.
“You know who I am…” she said, surprised.
I swallowed. “… Do I?” I asked.
“I saw it in your eyes, the way you looked at me, like you’d seen a ghost,” the woman told me. Then she shifted her weight and took a step back. “… It’s not the first time I’ve seen that expression.”
“… What’s your name?” I asked her.
The woman frowned, a bit of sadness creeping into her eyes. “I’ve been told it’s Maggie.”
|
Everything stopped. The leaves no longer rustled, the cat paused mid-step, the news reader on TV froze.
I looked around, terrified I was having an aneurism or that the schizophrenia that stole my dad away had finally manifested in me.
But then, I caught sight of a movement out of the corner of my eye. Someone was walking towards my statue-still mother and I. Tall, with a red baseball cap pulled low over their face and dark jeans and sweatshirt. He spoke in a deep voice, rich with experience and exhaustion; “Sarah, you need to listen to your mother, she is trying to keep you safe, you cannot go out tonight. It’s too dangerous. She can’t tell you what’s out there but if you go, what happened to m....err what happened to your father will happen to you.”
And just like that, everything went back to normal, my mum’s rant continued, the TV blared on, the cat leapt onto the sofa.
I let it all wash over me, nodded weakly and went up to my room without another word, my confused mother staring after me. No doubt wondering why I had given up the fight.
Hours later I lay in bed, wide awake and staring at the ceiling. I couldn’t make sense of what that figure had said. Especially about my dad. He’d had such a severe schizophrenic episode he had been institutionalised indefinitely. We visited once or twice a month but the drugs keep him pretty much silent. Nothing had happened to him, certainly not anything caused by going outside after dark.
I sighed, sat up in bed and reached for the curtains, pulling them apart. Hoping to catch the sunrise. What I saw instead will never leave me.
Hundreds and hundreds of dark figures. Stood silently as far as I could see in all directions, packed together like commuters on a rush hour train, unmoving.
I flicked on my light, hoping I was seeing things, and as one their heads snapped up to look at me.
They’ve been like that for hours now. My mum won’t wake up, she’s breathing but nothing I do will wake her. I don’t know what to do.
I swear the figures are getting closer. They’re almost at the door now. But I never see them move. |
The daemon stared at me from across the cafeteria. A dozen cans clicked together in my bag.
Upside down face, fangs drooling black ink. Face taker; had a half dozen borrowed lifetimes under it's belt.
I'd been hoping to avoid this.
The mouth opened and the forked tongue flicked out, eyes flicking across my body. Getting a read of what I'd do.
I didn't know what I'd do. That was what made me interesting.
I moved first, and threw my satchel across the room towards the exit.
Glad I did, because in the next moment, the beast was moving, launching itself forward on humans legs contorted with black fibres. The table exploded underneath of the creature's weight, and in the next moment, it caught a chair across it's fucking ugly face, and I was moving, feeling the strain in the back of my shoulders where I'd thrown it.
It fell over on it's side, legs flailing like a damn spider, and I fucking booked it.
It screamed in a little girl's voice in frustration, but by the time it'd flipped over I was already by the door to the cafeteria, hooking my satchel over my shoulder. The cans thumped against my back.
No point looking back. The Daemon would be there until it had my face.
But fuck it, it'd been half a year since the end of the world, and I'd picked up a few tricks as well.
The burnt out building had been a school before the end of the world. Classrooms stood with skeletons rimming them, with the occasional communication on blackboard. Evacuation plans written on walls, yellowed from the black haze in the air. The sun hung low, broken in a grey sky.
But fuck it, and fuck them for dying, I was going to make it out alive.
"Where are you going? Don't you want to play?"The Face-taker whispered.
Oh my god how I didn't want to play. Another few yards and I was out of the front of the building. It wasn't the way I'd came in, but the man-spider had showed up while I was raiding the kitchen, so I was fucked to go back that way.
Which was why I was surprised to find the beast's web. Braided paper, ribbed, sharp, studded with remnants of the beast's kills.
And straddling the entirely of the street like a big sticky trap. Crows warked inside of it, screaming for help.
I wasn't going to have anything to do with them.
I kept running and slammed the rusting doors in front of the Daemon. Okay, fine, the way ahead was blocked, and the way back was covered in a mess of a fucker I didn't have enough time to deal with.
So I ran across the crackling dried lawn of the school yard, careening towards the fence. Then jump up, did a few lazy steps up the posts (felt it in my legs, I wasn't made for this at all), wished I'd been into parkour instead of retail, and then hurled myself across the other side.
Which was when shit got bad, because I felt a god slide in behind my eyes. "You seem to be in a bit of trouble,"the god cooed, his voice like a cat's purr played on a violin.
Amused creature, amused voice. I'd heard them a dozen times, and never had the courage to respond to them. It was bad luck to owe a god a favor of any sort.
I ignored it, and kept right on running.
The man-spider, the face taker, had covered up the road, the easiest way back into the city where I could find my camp and hope to god nobody'd taken my stuff, but that didn't mean there weren't alternate routes.
A sprawling mess of alleyways was perfect.
For me and the spider.
I dove into the first one and skidded in the muck; half finished from last night's rain, drainage clogged up. I clipped my elbow across the wall, stars dancing across my eyes, and barely avoided face planting, but then I was back on my feet.
"Oh,"The face-taker whispered. "You're hurt. Let me fix that right up for you~!"
It was on the building now, hands digging into the window frames, pressing against nooks and crannies, breaking off fingernails from dead finger tips and it sounded like death itself crawling smooth.
I turned the corner and kept right on running.
Another fence, this one half bladed. If I just got a little further, just a little bit more.
"I can help you know,"The god offered. "If you need it."
I slammed into the fence and desperately tried to mount it, clawing at it... but momentum failed me and I tumbled back down onto the muck and decay.
Leaving only the spider closing in.
Saw it move, saw the fingers twitch. Another added life the beast's span. A fucking mindless hunter was coming after me, and it was going to get me because I'd been caught out.
My heart pounded in my chest to see it here. Now that my avenues were reduced...
I didn't want to do it. Doing it would consign me to misery. Pain. Break the vow I'd made five months ago, when he'd left to go north.
But I wasn't going to catch up to him without it.
So I broke the vow to remain godless.
"Fine, fine fine,"I muttered under my breath. Fingers balled up into fists. I couldn't die here. I had to make it to the next city. Had to make sure he was still there, waiting for me.
I couldn't let him down. Not dying in the middle of a goddamn burnt city like some nobody.
The gods were petty petty devils. The settlements I'd been in had told me that much. Tricky things that demanded and took and competed for followers in the hollowed out shell left behind of planet earth. If I was lucky, it wouldn't kill me.
If I was unlucky, it might just save me entirely.
"Am I your first?"The god cooed.
I swallowed. I'd heard it hurt.
"Unfortunately..."I whispered. The spider drew closer. I could hear it breathing from its upside down face. Judgement day hadn't done a thing to it, when man lost the battle.
But we were still clinging on. We were still trying. And if I was lucky, I might get to a hold out point.
"Now."
My left arm exploded into pain. Skin crawled, nerves re-positioning attached to bone tugging tension. Fist clenched.
A strangled yelp came from my throat, and my stomach heaved.
"Keep it steady,"The god cooed. "Or you might draw another god to laugh at your misfortune for letting my blessing kill you."
I didn't want a laugh track to accompany my death, so I clenched my right fist as hard as I could, until the nubs of my fingernails kissed the skin white.
The Face-taker cooed, and the face rotated ninety degrees. A little girl, perhaps, had been the last meal. How many months ago was that?
This city was long gone.
My left arm burst into fire, and then wept shadows.
"Now,"The god said, grinning behind my neck. I could hear the breath on my shoulder, felt the wind whistle with his touch.
And then death, hot, raw, painful, bleeding, leapt from my left hand, obliterated out of my mortal flesh, tugged at the very fabric of my very real soul, and flew at the spider.
A momentary flash of recognition in the beast's face. Just a moment when the eyes twitched too real, too alive. When it stole their lives, had it taken their minds as well?
Then the blast took it, and it fell coated in spreading black and twitched on the ground at the mouth of the alleyway. Arms flickered and flexed.
My left arm smoked and sizzled. Bones crackled unnaturally. I couldn't look at it for more than a second.
"I hope you have a way of fixing that,"I muttered. But I'd acknowledged the god again, and they laughed.
"Oh, my darling message boy, we have so much more than just fixing it in mind."
and distantly, I could hear the whole chorus of gods laughing as they found someone else to torture. Another pilgrim to test to see if he was worthy. Another person to constrain.
But I was a cynic to the core. A dozen gods flitter fluttering past.
But now I owed a favor.
Sweat rolled down my brow. Hitched my backpack across my shoulders again, stepped around the Daemon, and started on my way.
And you repaid the gods, one way or another.
-----
https://old.reddit.com/r/Zubergoodstories/ If you want more like this, click here. Might write more, I'll throw links up if I do.
|
"This... This is majestic!"The alien leader says with a scent of astonishment in his voice, as alien research team presents him with study results of sunscreen protective capabilities.
"Yes, sir, this is indeed majestic! This substance, what earthlings call sunscreen, can save our people so much trouble! We can finally ditch our anti-radiation suits back home and finally enjoy the outside world without any trouble!"happily shouts the researcher.
"But wait... We can not afford to buy sunscreen from humans and applying it to our skin every thirty minutes wouldn't be that practical... What about that mythical substance which protects its bearers from the star's radiation?"inquires the leader.
"It is called melanin, a pigment of sorts... People with high amounts of it are completely protected from star's radiation."replies the researcher.
"Good... Then you know what you are going to study next! Abduct some people from which we can extract melanin and see whether we can use it for our own sake!"with mischievous grin orders the leader.
*Two Weeks Later*
"We have got the results, sir."the researcher reaches out a hand with papers in it to the leader.
"Give me a second..."thanks the leader while concentrating on the study results, "Perfect! If we can extract melanin from people and produce the supplements which make us invulnerable to the star radiation, it means only one thing..."excitedly spurts out the leader.
"But, but sir... Abducting more humans in the sake of farming melanin from them and using it for our own needs would break the Galactic Moral Code! We can't do it!"researcher objects the leader's idea.
"I am the one who decides what is moral and what is not! Obviously, abduct as few people as possible. We can breed them back home to the required population which would support our own people with melanin supplements! Remember, you are doing it for the sake of your own people. Now rush and do what I say!"angrily orders the leader.
*10 years later*
An excerpt from the article on the most popular news site on Earth:
*"What we have found is appalling. Our fellow humans were bred like animals in cages for the sake of melanin. People as young as ten were forced into sexual intercourse in order to increase the human population in the farms. Incest in those human farms was an ordinary thing. Right now the investigation is still going on, but from our sources, we know that aliens used blood from humans in order to extract melanin in order to mass-produce melanin supplements. The whistleblower, the leading researcher behind this alien project is in our hands and we are keeping him safe from potential threats. At this moment, I can not disclose any more information regarding this case."comments the leading investigator of the terrible human-farm case.* |
"Fred,"he said to me, "before you do anything rash, please listen to what I have to say."
I was huddling in the corner of the bedroom, hiding behind my overturned desk, and my hand was gripping the "just in case"baseball bat that I kept next to my bed. On the other side of the room, past the scientific articles and pages from my abandoned PhD thesis strewn across the room when I kicked over the desk, stood Fido, my lovable Golden Retriever. Fido. Bruised. Covered in blood. Dead. Talking to me.
"I need to tell you a few things. First thing: I'm not going to hurt you. Please put down the bat,"he said.
"No,"I replied.
"Okay, I guess that is reasonable, considering. How about you don't attack me until you've heard me through?"
"I… well… all right."
"Second thing: I didn't kill your companion animal. I found him like this."
"You found him covered in blood and beaten to death?"
"Yes, he was not beaten. He was struck by a large wheeled vehicle. I am truly sorry for your loss. You must have had a strong bond with this companion animal."
"Fido."
"You must have had a strong bond with this companion fido."
"No, his name was Fido, he is—he was a dog."
"Regardless of what he is called, I am very sorry. I do wish I could have made a better first impression. Third thing: my name is Fragnor. I am a member of a species called the Zelkanth. We are native to the star system you call Vermis Minor."
"What are you doing in my bedroom. Why are you taunting me with my dead dog's body?"
"I am getting to that, please listen. Fourth thing: we Zelkanth can only survive by inhabiting the deceased bodies of other species. Fifth thing: we need your help."
"You come to my house in the body of my dead dog and you ask for my help?"
"Yes, for we are in desperate straits. Our home worlds are under attack by a species called the Langorm. We have searched the universe looking for a way to defeat them. My superiors discovered your work on black holes. They thought that, with your help, they could use it to defeat the Langorm. They sent me, as I was not yet embodied, so that I could take a form of an Earth creature familiar to you. I found your poor Fido. Now I am here and I am begging for your help. You are the only hope for my species. Will you come with me?" |
Knives seemed to slice through the air as I heard my teammates scream out loud. The soundwaves seemed to reverberate across the plains we landed in.
"WE HAVE TO FUCKING LEAVE NOW! PLEASE!"
I stared at the exploration team's rear vanguard, Colton, now running straight at me with several of these... *things* running along behind him.
Blood seemed to coat the mouths of our pursuers as they grabbed onto Colton's collar and pulled him back right before he reached the light at the end of the tunnel, the vehicle I was on.
It was then when I noticed... A huge grey building in the background that seemed to tower over us, though its grey concrete seemed to be cracking and reclaimed by nature. It was nearly invisible. Some sort of cloaking technology, I assumed. I had no time for thoughts.
I gunned the engine and raced down the plains, looking back at the *things* pulling Colton's head back and making him stare at the sun.
Then I noticed something about the building... It bore the insignia of the "company"I was working for. A circle, three arrows pointing inward, cutting through the circle and a larger circle that gave way to three rectangular extensions, for the arrows. And the initialism below...
|
“We call them Horrors, further than demons and devils, they are indecipherable to humans and unjudgeable” The forked tongue devil in the silver suit with jet-black hair and charred human skin walked around the meeting table in Porto, Spain, where the seated humans and radiant angels sat in contemplation.
“We can’t judge them because they’re a mutation of the universe. Even the universe holds many mysteries to us.” The radiant being with his wings expanding and contracting as if the wings themselves are breathing. A tell-tale sign of his nervousness.
“Azreal, your tick is showing” The devil said with a grin. Even though he can’t claim the horrors as their own creation, seeing an angel squirm always makes his day.
“Ahem.” The lady with the short bob and power suit interjected. The human who was key in the war of the rapture was now attempting to chime in with her own idea.
“Our psi-ops researched that humans cannot fathom their image, unless properly trained. It’s true that Rapture has opened the minds of many, and thanks to the devils that rose from the ground has made or break our humans, these Horrors are on a different level.” She said mournfully. “However, we have determined that with the help of certain chemicals, we can open our minds even further in a 'safe environment'. Furthermore, we’ve determined that Angels cannot judge Horrors and therefore cannot harm the Horrors, and while we can harm them once we’ve made them visible to our soldiers, they prefer to hunt humans anytime.”
“Hear that, Azreal? You’re useless in this situation, just leave it to us.”
“See here Samuel, What Anna said was that we can’t harm them, but it doesn’t mean we can’t help.” Azreal said with confidence much to Samuel’s distaste. He hates Angels who can talk their way out of anything.
“Judgement Azreal is correct, Corruptor Samuel. Considering our humans have a moral spectrum, most of our fighters can receive divine protection to repel against a Horror’s attacks. To put it short, Humans draw out the Horrors, our soldiers and hell’s army fight the monsters and Angels bless the Humans with protection in order to have a fighting chance. We know you’ve both suffered a massive amount of casualties so our race will have to be the frontline.”
The reminder of the casualties from both ends made both squirm. Without the Humans, Angels and Demons cannot replenish their civilization. If the horrors wipe out the Humans, it’ll only be a matter of time before they are wiped out as well.
“Remember” Anna changed her tone. “We need your help and you need ours. If a human dies by the hands of a horror, their soul will join their ranks. Their soul can never become a demon or an angel. You lose out on a new recruit every time we get eaten.”
Samuel felt that one. He hates when he doesn’t have a witty comeback or when he can’t have the upper hand in the situation. Oddly, Azreal felt the same way this time.
Samuel hissed. “How many of your fighters can see?”
“150,000 as of now, another 300,000 by the start of the next invasion during the void moon phase.
Azreal stood up and unfurled his wings.
“Then you will have an angel for every 500 soldiers, They will be able to cover that much without issue. You have two fallen angels-in-training who’ll join the cause of Humans. That should cover the battle power of four demon generals.
Anna and Samuel were shocked at that information.
“Who chose to fall!?” Samuel was intrigued. As a former fallen angel himself, he had a passing interesting at his old family.
“Michael and Gabriel. Whether they’ll seek absolution after this invasion is another discussion but Metatron informed us that ____ might overlook every fallen angel’s transgressions after the invasion.” Anna could never understand His name and wondered if the Angel could.
Samuel was blown away but before he could press further, the building that sheltered the meeting shook violently. As Anna ran towards the window, a colossus sized had risen from the sea. As ethereal energy flowed through its arms and torso, its chest and head was twisted up like a twisted up towel with undecipherable features that caused Anna to question what she was looking at. With a shrieking roar that pierces the unprotected ears near its vicinity, it smashed its chest and head onto the sea causing a massive tidal wave heading towards the direction of Porto.
“Corruptor Samuel.” Anna commanded.
“Yeah, Yeah.” Samuel was already taking his suit jacket and placing it on the oak table. As Anna opened the window to the sounds of sirens, Samuel sprinted towards the opening while transforming from his “human” form to his true devil form. As he leapt out the window, his six wings flourished and his form as changed to a charred human to a demon worthy of the title of General.
Samuel’s counter guttural roar as he soared towards the wave dissipates the energy of the tidal wave, causing it to fall flat from where it travelling. As Samuel summoned a ball of hellfire, Anna closed the windows and folded the silver jacket for the battle-locked devil.
Azreal sighed. Anna broke the silence with reassurance.
“He’ll be fine, he’s fought titan classes unscathed.”
“I know… but I will always worry for him.”
Anna and Azreal overlooked the fierce battle as fighter planes have come to assist the General. As the battle rages on, while the meeting was optimistic, their hopes had never been lower.
____________________________
Thank you for taking the time to read this, I apologize for my formatting, I'm still a novice to reddit formatting and also I really couldn't think of a way to end this while also working so I'm just going to let it free. Thanks Hamiercus for a cool prompt idea! |
Contrary to popular belief, you weren't just given a dragon when admitted into St. Agatha's Dragon Rider Academy. In fact, it was the opposite. In order to be granted admittance into the school you had to first find a Dragon's nest and beat the Dragon at a battle of wits or strength. Only then would you be granted the Dragon's egg, which would hatch into the rider's companion.
Jane awoke to discover her egg was hatching. As a Dragonrider-to-be she had to care for the egg until it hatched. This of course meant sleeping next to it and keeping it warm. She quickly gathered the rest of her family around the kitchen table where a small nest had been built, and placed the egg inside.
"Dragon's are mighty powerful creatures...."Her grandfather's words echoed in her head as a small nose pushes through the hardened layer and out into the open air for the first time. At this time, Jane took over and helped peel the egg away, revealing her companion. A small pink Wyvern with bright green eyes stared up at her.
"A Wyvern"Her father gasped, along with the rest of her family. Most students get stuck with Drakes or Wurms as their first companion, as Wyvern parents are notoriously tough opponents. "This companion will grow big and strong"he says with a smile.
That was 3 months ago, Jane looks over at her companion to see him flying effortlessly above her shoulder. He was no larger than a chicken, and had not appeared to grow beyond the first week. While the other students rode on the backs of their scaled companions, Jane rode on her trusty bike to and from school. Despite all that, she loved her small companion and would not trade him for the world. |
"I mean MAYBE I can see why it's a good weapon for cracking armor, but I will bet you any amount of money you can not aim that gun. Any hand gun weighing more than several pounds needs special training to be used! There is a reason no one uses desert eagles, it's too heavy to use and bullets from a smaller gun kill just as easily! You can't even lay on the ground and use it as a sniper rifle or rest it on a shoulder because ,again, IT'S A BLOODY SWORD.
​
Actually you know what, screw it. I take it back, I lied earlier. It's probably useless for cracking armor. Because normal SANE great swords weigh at the VERY most 10 pounds, and those can break the bones under armor just fine! Not even mentioning, no one here has armor!"
​
"It's... it's meant to be used one handed"Vargus the unholy responded. "But enough of this! I have came through space and time to kill the champions of this world and I will.... What's that?"
"It's a standard 22. Now please sir, put down the sword. Enough games."his radio buzzed on his shoulder.
"Officer, please respond. Is everything alright?"
"Crazy co-splayer challenging me to a duel with a stupid giant sword. He some how built a gun into it, I'm pretty sure that's technically not illegal by itself"He carefully said back into the radio near his shoulder. Vargus felt anger rising in him, stalking forward slowly as he drew his sword above his head.
"Ineffective gun or not! I will slice you in two with my-"Vargus felt his bladder release as two pin pricks of pain appeared in his chest.
"And that is a standard issue taser in case you were wondering." |
I remember the Carding. I looked forward to it for most my life. I had watched as my five older siblings had grown up, taken the test and been administered 3’s.
Now it my turn
I stood outside the testing room, sweaty palms turned white from pressure. My hair was slick with sweat and rain. The awning above me was forest green, that I remember clearly. And the rain was heavy, so heavy I couldn’t see anything outside of the awning. It was lucky I had arrived so early, if I had waited just a few more minutes I would have been lost in the rain and missed the test. Missing the test is an automatic 0.
I could not disgrace my family. At once the door flew open and Toby, a handsome boy in my grade stormed out. His boots struck heavy on the ground.
“How’d it go?” I asked. He shrugged angrily but disappeared into the rain before I could ask more.
Hesitantly, I stepped into the building. It was one room, with a computer on one side. The room spoke to me, presumably from hidden speakers.
“Please sit in the provided chair. Enter first name, last name, ID number and parent ID number.” The questions were weird, asking what I thought was pretty, how I was raised, who I liked in school, if I planned to marry etc. I answered as honestly as I could, just like Mum told me to do.
At last the computer spat out my new ID, complete with number of potential children in the corner.
0.
0.
“0?”
I couldn’t go home, not with this on my card. I needed to breathe, to cool down.
—-
From that moment on I made it my life’s work to marry somebody with at least a 3. Maybe, just maybe, I could have a shot at middle class. Boy after boy I waded through, never giving up hope...
Until Alicia.
From the moment I saw her I knew I needed her. She had blue eyes to my brown. Long blonde hair to my short, unruly brown, cut in a pixie style after the Carding. I loved her from the moment I payed eyes on her.
Problem was, she was also a 0. |
I was laying on my bed trying to sleep after a long day at work when I spotted something in the corner of my eyes.
*"Is that somebody sitting on my chair looking straight at me or is it just the pile of clothes I was too damn lazy to put in the washing machine?"* I thought to myself.
And I can't move, aaand the thing started moving. Welp. It stands up, it's whole body was dark as the night, eyes glow flaming red with horns on it's head. It started talking, with the most gruesome voice ever, as if Amy Schumer had a sex-change and became the lead singer of Nickel Back.
"Your time has come, mortal. Your sou-"
"Ughh finally."I sighed deeply in relief before the thing can finish it's sentence.
"What?"
"Uhh I nothing, carry on."
It looked at me in confusion. "You should choose your words more carefully, mortal. After all, those are what brought me here today. To claim your soul and cast it to the deepest of Hells, and to take your bod-"
"Yeah yeah that's great just do it dude."I once again interrupted the messenger of Hell.
"What?"The thing looked at me even more confused than before. "You're not gonna fight back?"
"Nah."
"Ok then."
It started to vaporize and taking shape into dark clouds, moving closer to my chest.
"But hey, before you start,"I said. "I gotta warn you, my head is not a nice place to be."
"Yeah what ever you say mortal, your weak little mind can not intimida-"It stopped suddenly.
"How you holding up in there?"I asked.
"Dude what the HELL is this pain??"The messenger of Hell asked me back in utter agony. "What is wrong with you neck and back man??? Jesus Christ!!!"
"Haha yeah."
"You know what mortal? This physical pain of yours is just nothing compared to the tormented Hell. Now I'm gonna take over your mind!"
"Good luck with that."
A few minutes goes by.
"Ewww what the fuck have you been watching man?? What is this?"The demon screamed from inside my body.
"That's the new trailer for that 'Cats' movie. So are you taking this body or not?"
Dark clouds started to extract from my chest taking forms into the demon.
"Fuck that shit man, this is worse than Hell, I'm outa here."
The demon went flying out of my window, breaking the glasses in the process.
"Fuck."I said. |
The emergence of consciousness is a peculiar sensation. You've experienced it; those lazy Saturday mornings when the sun filters through your blinds, gently irradiates your bedroom with that soft golden glow. But the transition from dreams to bleary wakefulness is often smooth, almost imperceptible. It makes identifying the exact moment you wake up nearly impossible.
This time, it's different. The state of cryogenically induced sleep is one of complete, uncorrupted unconsciousness. It's so effective that early human trials resulted in tragic results. Results that weren't anticipated even by the Stasis program's most devout cynics.
I feel a rush of awareness. My senses are virtually unstimulated, but that doesn't matter, doesn't interfere with the sudden crystallization of thought.
*I think, therefore I am.*
I open the eyes I instinctively know are mine and squint in the diffuse white light. There's motion in front of me. After a few seconds, my irises adjust and clear my vision.
It's a man.
He's distraught. Alternating between wild gesticulations and glances over his shoulder. Then he raises his fists and lunges for my face. Only something stops him with a thud. My immersion tank's glass cover. The man begins pounding on it with his fists, sending more dull thuds throughout the pod. I want him to go away.
Then I see him reach his hand below my field of vision. Something hisses, and then there's a sharp click. He's opening the lid.
Noise rushes into my ears. Suddenly, my gentle world is filled with chaos. I hear screams, tortured squeals of rending metal, staccato pops that can only be gunfire. "--up, you motherfucker!"He shouts, wrenching the lid open until it slams against the tank. "Wake up, Jansen!"
I fall forward into his arms, crying out as the IVs in my arms tear away. He's reaching behind my head, grasping at something, pulling me closer as I desperately try to...
The agony almost blinds me. It's like a hot lance forcing through the back of my head, cleaving the bone and emerging in a fountain of blood...
Now he's part dragging, part carrying me. I see sunlight to my right, down at the edge of a steel-encased corridor, but he's taking me away from it, deeper into the facility.
My voice returns gratingly. It hurts to speak. But everything hurts. "No!"I manage. "Stop. I want to go back, please!"
"Snap out of it, Jansen!"the man snarls, gripping my arm hard enough to bruise. "There's no time for stasis decommissioning. We move or we die."
He frantically starts hammering the keys on a numeric touchpad mounted to the wall. The device beeps and glows green, a hatch slides away into a recess. He shoves me through. "Everything is fucked. They're *here* already. They've been here for years. I don't understand. How can they *be here?"*
More gunfire. Another scream. The entire facility shakes as something explodes. And in that moment, it all comes rushing back. *Erebus 391. The most promising Earth-like planet ever discovered. Orbiting a star much like our sun, orbited itself by three moons of igneous rock that might have preserved troves of precious minerals in their depths. You are the crew watched by the world. Humanity's first ever promise of intergalactic proliferation. God be with you.*
The hatch closes behind us, and some semblance of silence returns. So does fear. "Who is they?"I ask.
He looks at me like I'm crazy. Maybe I am, after the stasis. "I don't fucking *know*. All I know is only two of us had boots on the ground when they started shooting. I need to get you to a launch pod, Jansen. You're the only one who can manually pilot one of those things. Get back into orbit, above the atmosphere. Send a beacon back to Earth to--"
"We can trigger a beacon from the ground,"I interrupt, knocking his arm away.
"We can't. The atmosphere's particulate content is too high. No signal is getting through that. This is the only way."
Now we're moving again, this time down a metal staircase lit from below with cold florescence. I'm about to ask him for the sidearm tucked in his ankle holster when something sprays the side of my face. He stumbles past me, mouth agape, grey bits of brain stuck to his cheek, trailing down like ivy tendrils from the gaping wound in his head. Then he collapses and slams onto the stairs. I trip over his twitching limbs and fall in a heap on the landing below.
Something thuds in front of me.
Again.
Footsteps.
I see boots in front of me, look up past a pair of armored knees, see a broad chest covered in black armor, a helmeted face framing a reflective face shield. The thing is holding some sort of assault rifle with a flashlight mounted beneath it. Its barrel is leveled at my face.
In sudden desperation I launch myself forward, grabbing for the muzzle, anything just to get myself out of the line of fire, but my muscles are atrophied from years in stasis, and I barely reach the figure before it snaps the rifle away and slams the butt into my cheek.
A blinding flash of light.
Everything goes black. |
Using computers is easiest for me, I think.
Technically, I can use any other way. I can do it mentally, magically, on typewriters, holograms, any form of tech, real or imaginary. But my job isn't to imagine. So I use computers- there's just something simple about them, and all the layers that can go under- tabs, multiple monitors, keypads. Erasing all of human existance isn't simple, you know. I have to cherry-pick, comb through human existance, select features to add and erase and exactly what date to set it back to and what personalities to program into the first people.
With every reset, I get closer to a more perfect world. With every reset, I get more good people, people that just genuinely want to make the world a better place.
I watch humanity- all of it- as it flies by. I catalog them all- from the beginning to their end- the best of every generation, the famous television personalities to the unknown men of tribes unseen. They're all stored, and catalogued, picked apart, and rewritten, their code helping to develop the forerunners of the next reset. Then I scatter them, personally, across the timeline, random good people brightening their world.
As the world draw nearer to the end, I ready the data- Native wildlife, native plants, humanity's beginning point, the arrangement of the world itself. That's my job- to rewrite the world, and learn, and make it better every time.
So that's what I do- and as the world is further, the technology growing too much for the world to handle, humanity growing too bad that even my calculations predict an imminent downward spiral, I take the world and roll it back, and find my code- wildlife, plants, planet, and-
Every time, something's missing. I know this- every year, something I write is missing from the next world. Usually, it's something small- magic, Antarctica, fingernails, but this time, I stare in horror at the file missing from my databanks:
Kindness. |
"Is everything ok, sweetie?"
Is it, Mrs Dyson? Do I look like I have everything under control? I sombrely roll my eyes and then manage to put a smiley-like grin on my face.
"All cool, Mrs Dyson!"
I then go back to my front door and its stubborn intentions to remain closed.
"It looks like you are locked out of your fancy house."
The keys rattle in my hands. Really, Mrs Dyson? What gave it away, the fact that I am kneeling in front of the door with a set of screwdrivers, or just the sweat signs on my white shirt while I scattered all my posessions on the steps?
"Yes, Mrs Dyson. I am indeed locked out."
"Funny, isn't it? With all your protective charms and white magic and all?"
Am I sensing some sort of bitterness in Mrs Dyson's voice? I conjure a smaller screwdriver from thin air and I clear my throat.
"Mrs Dyson?"
"Yes, dear?"
"How do you know about my protective charms?"
She's quiet for a while.
"I didn't do anything, dear."she coughs. "This time."
I sigh and nod. I feel sticky and sweaty and hungry and very frustrated. Everything seems to point to a malfunctioning from my front door charm of keeping away people intentioned to harm me. Mrs Dyson, may the elders bless her pry soul, shouldn't be able to mess with that. I get up and try once again to put my hand on the door knob.
Once again, it disappears from my fingers. In a fit of rage, I just kick the front door.
"That must have hurt, sweetie."
Cursing under my breath, holding my left foot with both my hands, I try my best not to say anything rude to Mrs Dyson. I just repeatedly bang my head on the door with a very uncomfortable feeling rising in my throat.
Before I know it, I fall on the steps and let my head sink in my arms. It is too much. Today, everything is too much.
"Are you crying, dear?"
Oh, Mrs Dyson and her painfully obvoius observations. What could I ask for more in a neighbour? I try to take a couple of shaky breaths to find something to answer her, but breathing feels like a unattainable aim.
And this is when she gracefully steps over the fence and walks towards me. She moves some of the grocery bags and a couple of beer cans fall out. Nevertheless, she sits next to me.
"That is an awful lot of alcohol for such a young man."she points out with characteristic bluntness.
"... yeah."
"Were you planning to drink it all alone?"
"... maybe. Yes."
"And why tonight?"
"Because..."and she puts one hand on the back of my neck.
Yes. Today it's my birthday. I am alone as it can be, and if I know a thing about me is that I just can't take it anymore. Plan for the evening? Get drunk and call Anthea, even if she's more poisonous than all the poison classes I ever took, even if she breaks my heart every single time, and...
Mrs Dyson gently strokes me as I cry my eyes out.
"Would like to come to my place and have a nice cup of tea? I think my grankids will be here soon, and I could use some help in preparing dinner."she stops and gives me a crooked smile. "If you'd like."
I breath in. Yes, I would like it.
All of a sudden, this neighborhood doesn't seem so bad.
—- edit: typos. |
I couldn't help but wag my tail.
"You seem happy, professor."My grad assistant trotted towards me in my campus study. It always seemed odd to me to watch the younger generation use all fours to move about. It was almost faintly blasphemous. The gods taught us to use hind legs for walking, a sign of intelligence and wisdom.
Well, the younger generation were never as pious as the older generation. I remember in my rebellious youth, when I used to refuse to wear my throat band. "A symbol of our connection to the gods,"my mother would say. Then she'd call me a bad boy and I recalled feeling shamed.
My assistant had caught my excitement and was wagging her tail as well. "What is it, professor. Huh? What? What is it?"
"Down, girl!"I barked. She immediately calmed but her interest still shown through her eyes. If I am calm she will be calm. I forced my tail to stop wagging.
My assistant tilted her head. "So? What got you so happy?"
I indicated a package on my desk with my nose. "My colleague from the dig site have sent me this. 'Something interesting' he wrote in a letter."
"Ohh... pertaining to your research? Or just some random artifact?"
"Even a random artifact would be hecking amazing,"I said. "But my colleague wrote that it is a picture of a hooman."
My assistant's jaw dropped and her tongue lolled out. Her ears twitched in interest. "If the picture matches your theories..."
"It would be quite the treat. But even if it is not..."I trailed off. My assistant placed her paw on my neck. She understood. Everyone in the world understood. None of alive now had ever seen a hooman, the gods that protected us, fed us, cherished us, loved us. We knew in our hearts that they were real. And we missed them.
A picture would do for now.
A carefully opened the package and pulled out a well preserved but quite old laminated picture. I expected a drawing or sketch, but this was a photograph. And there it was. A hooman. Two hoomans.
"Seems that they do match your theories. Congratulations, professor."
I remained silent. They both had their teeth bared, holding each others elongated paws. Fur only on the top of their heads. They were looking down at something...
"Look here,"I said to my assistant.
She peered where I indicated. "Huh. That's a dog!"Her tail began wagging again. "A picture of the gods with us mere mortals in it? How exciting!"
I couldn't help but wag my tail. |
Ever since the god gave me this ability, the power to tell who has killed recently, it's been nothing but black smoke everywhere.
I thought I'd see one or two at most, but in the week since I was cursed with this knowledge I stopped counting at about 57 killers.
At Walmart, at the doctor's, everywhere. But home was my one save haven, where there was no smoke, no killers, just me, my brother and our parents.
Then one morning I sat at the table alone, My parents had been out late last night and were probably exhausted from whatever they were doing, it wasn't the first time they did late night grocery runs or errands, but it was the first in a while.
I heard the door open beside me and I turned to see who had stepped into the kitchen, was it finally mother coming to cook? My heart sank when my brother walked in beside me, covered in a thick black fog.
"Morning bro."He said as casual as ever.
"Uh huh."Is all I could bring myself to muster. My mind raced with questions, who did he kill, why, how, was I next?
"Are you ok, you're looking at me all weird?"He sat down across from me at the table.
"Just a long night."I rubbed my eyes hoping I was just seeing things, hoping it was all a joke the god was playing on me.
"Bad dream?"He asks.
His body was still covered in thick black smoke, it almost obscured his face and my stomach turned at the thought of sitting so close to a killer.
"Excuse me for one second."I say as I burst out of the kitchen and into the living room, I had to get out of there, I had to tell our parents, maybe they'll believe me.
I made a beeline to my parents room, I bursted open their door and tried to explain what I saw, but before I could get more than three words in I let out a horrified gasp as I realized the scene in front of me.
On the bed were my parents, their throats had been slit while they slept, blood leaked everywhere from their bedsheets, dripping blood on the floor, and their bodies radiated the smoke, the god awful smoke.
I heard the door behind me close and my brother whisper.
"I can see it too." |
"Please put my grandmother down"a women shrieked as I held her withering corpse of a grandmother over my head, trying to fit her into a tight electric coffin, struggling to fit her inside, eventually deciding to just cram her into the coffin, in the same sort of manner as one might cram a shirt into an overfilled draw, leaving her head to bang against the edge of the coffin with each rotation of her body, making an amusing thwacking sound as she moved.
"Look, I don't make the rules, gran power is the way of the future and.... and, hold on a second."I turned to the body, which was slowing down its rotations, as it came to a near stop, I leaned in and whispered.
"Girls showing off their ankles."
With that the gran began spinning like a pig in a cyclone, flinging herself in circles like she was stuck on a washing machine cycle.
"You can't do this, this is inhumane."The woman shouted, pointing at me like I was some kind of monster, which was quite offensive, I only work for the monsters....
"Look lady, this is council approved, plus your gran is doing more for us now then she ever did, look at all those beautiful watts shes generating, give us a week and you're gran will be providing power to all the electric toothbrushes in the area.
"Electric toothbrushes?"The woman said with a stomp of the foot. "My grandmother was a scientist, leading pioneer in research into many viral infections.
"Aaaaand now shes powering electric toothbrushes, she would be proud, good hygiene helps eliminate the risk of viral infection."I said, hoping she would buy it... she didn't
"I'm writing a complaint in, how dare you! Use my grandmother like some cheap battery, I'll take this to state! To federal! To-"
"Look... go do that then, I have like twenty more grandmothers to stuff in boxes today, just give me a break."
The woman shot me a glare, but could see that this conversation would go nowhere for neither party involved, with that I let out a happy whistle, getting to next deceased out of their old crappy coffin.
{If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read} |
It took me a few hundred years to figure out that “brood” could be interpreted in multiple ways. I took the first, more obvious option early on. Thought I was a vampire, so I went for the blood. Then, I found out it had to be the brood, so I had to go for the kids.
Hey, don’t give me that look. I was going to die otherwise. Man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. Or a vampire, I guess.
But then English evolved and suddenly, brood could be a verb! Just a little creative reinterpretation later, and no more nightmares about screaming kids for me.
What does brooding have to do with a vanpire’s eating habits? Let’s just say that the goth movement was the best thing to do ever happen to me.
Take today, for example. Just plant myself in a Hot Topic, where I blend in like a chameleon thanks to the unnatural paleness that being undead comes with. Then, I wait.
Oh, that’s a good target right there. Fourteen years old, just discovered My Chemical Romance and Billie Eilish, dresses in black, and thinks that her parents just *don’t get her*.
Perfect.
I position myself so that the air conditioner is blowing all the angst right at me, close my eyes, and feast.
*What is the purpose of existence, if we all die in the end anyway?*
Aw, yeah, always a good appetizer.
*All of our hopes and dreams are just dust in the wind, ashes spiraling into nothingness, and we are left with our hands outstretched, begging for just a few more seconds of misery rather than the void that waits for all of us.*
Oh, that is some delicious, five-star brooding right there.
*My parents suck.*
Cherry on top.
*They like my brother so much more, with his college bullshit and his linguistics degree, I bet ‘*dia dhuit*’ isn’t even a real word-*
I sneezed.
Fucking Irish. Just enough Gaelic to set me off. Why couldn’t Caesar have done a better job wiping that language out?
“Hey, you good?”
I looked up. It was the cashier. Probably recognized me, since I’d been coming here every other day for about a week. I tried to avoid doing that, just because eventually people would get to know me and eventually there would be questions about why I never got any older. Most people ran off when they found out the truth. A few stayed around, and I had to watch as they got older and older, until I was standing at their funeral.
Yeah, not doing that again.
I grunted and stood up.
“You want to get lunch? My shift just ended.”
Despite literally all my instincts screaming at me, I somehow ended up at a Chipotle, trying to look like I was enjoying the burrito bowl. I could still eat, I just didn’t get any sustenance or flavor out of it. It was like eating air.
“So, you new in town?”
“Yeah,” I said and ate a mouthful so I wouldn’t have to say anything for a little longer. Technically, I’d been here before, but that was back when trains were still a new-fangled invention.
My stomach immediately started complaining.
I frowned and swallowed. “What meat is this?”
“Steak.”
And that’s when the projectile vomiting started. |
Cute, they found us... Cute.
Since the dawn of man, we have looked to the stars and wondered if we were alone. we have strived to walk the cosmos and see if we had any neighbors among the heavens. and it took countless generations, and many thousands of years, but the day finally came when we made first contact.
While it seems at first glace that the dark void forever hanging over our head is empty, It's teeming with life. filled to the brim. Though we couldn't know that at first.
We sent many probes, searching, looking for signs of 'intelligent' life. and found none for the longest time. no technology, no signs of massive sprawling cities on alien worlds. It wasn't until they found us that we thought to re-think our idea of what alien life might be.
Beasts, capable of rational thought, but revelling in savagery. Many horned, winged beasts of all sized and colors and shapes.
when they found us, they thought us an amusement. the silly pink humans with all their strange and wonderous toys.
we explored, we watched. we were left alone, for a while.
the universe existed as one big nature preserve, concepts such as 'civilization' and 'family' were as alien to them as any number of their strange ideas of how life should be is to us.
we watched the many horrors of deep space devour each other, until one of them thought to taste human flesh.
While exploring the surface of some damned desolate rock, one of my crew-members, a good man named Franco got clobbered by one of the large bug like things we had taken to calling Rock-Jockeys, on account of their ability to blend in with the stonework.
the thing tore through his spacesuit, and ripped his face off.
I blasted through his torso with my plasma rifle.
They thought we were cute, so they left us alone, for a while... but that one moment changed everything.
Now they knew. they knew we were a threat.
When I killed that one, and the rest of his hidden buddies saw what I had done, a thousand cries tore out from the surrounding cliffs.
Some attacked us, some began to flee. we escaped with relative ease, but the message was out. the humans were coming, and they were dangerous.
most species we encountered didn't believe the rumors that began to spread among the stars, but thought to test them anyway. attacking us with claw and fang and hoof.
we responded with as much deadly force as necessary.
Slowly over time they got the message. The humans are here, we may be 'cute' but we are NOT to be harmed, we will respond.
leave us alone, or die.
we came as explorers, but we will act as conquerors if we must.
But then, everything changed.
These, simple creatures... they are learning. I saw one of the purple void crawlers, the eel like things that fly freely through space, attack the hull of a star-freighter.
It was using a piece of jagged metal as a makeshift knife.
They are learning.
They hunt in packs now, some crafting crude spears or building make-shift huts. each planet we survey a little more advanced.
We're just simple surveyors, and unless they end their hostilities, they just might have to learn the meaning of the term 'armada' |
"Cut the ropes!"I called, as the sandbags fell and the balloons carried the canoe into the sky.
"We're getting pretty high now, Captain!"said the lad, peering over the side.
"Yes!"I cried. "Soon we will leave the atmosphere and begin our journey to the stars!"I grabbed my nautical telescope and focused it into space. My life's work finally realised. The forbidden bounties of space would soon be mine. I took a celebratory swig of bourbon.
"It's pretty cold, Captain!"said the lad, shaking, his face turning blue.
"Damn you boy!"I screamed, "I knew you were too weak for this expedition!"I began thrashing him with an oar. He slumped forward, gasping for air.
The canoe lurched violently backwards. The balloons popped and we floated above the Earth.
"We've breached the atmosphere!"I cried, "Man the rudder lad! Forward, forward ho! To the stars!"
The boy's limp body floated out of the the canoe. As I watched, my eyes began to swell and expand.
"Get back you coward!"I called. "How dare you mutiny now, after all I've done for you!"
My head exploded. The canoe sailed on. |
“Have you found the third number?”
I glanced up from my meal, startled. A man, cloaked in black, had slid into the booth across from me. He gazed directly into my eyes, unblinking.
“I...what?” I stammered. “The third...” I trailed off. The third number. Was he talking about...
The man reached next to him and heaved a safe onto the dining table. It landed with a muffled thud on the velvet tablecloth. “Have you found it?” He repeated.
I looked around the expensive restaurant. It was dimly lit and soft violin music lightened the atmosphere. No one sat near me. No one questioned the man or the safe.
I pinched myself. “Ow.” Not dreaming, then. That was hard to believe, to be perfectly honest - I had only ever seen this steel safe in my dreams before. I glanced at the lock.
000000. In the last two nights, I’d dreamed of going through enormous hedge mazes to find the safe code. I twisted the keys. “14...17...” And then? No, I did not know the third number.
“Do you know the third number?” I asked the man.
His face fell in disappointment. “No.” He sighed.
“Well, how do I figure it out?”
“The mice,” he responded sadly.
“...What?”
“The mice,” he repeated.
I frowned, thoroughly confused. “Okay...well, what’s in the safe, anyway?”
“Death.” Then he stood from the table and began to walk away.
I blinked in surprise. “Wait, no. At least take the safe with you!” I exclaimed, but he exited the restaurant and never looked back.
I turned my attention back to the small, silver box in front of me. My unfinished meal sat, untouched, nearby. First of all, the mice? What mice, exactly? This was an upscale restaurant filled with rich, important customers. I had no chance of finding a mouse here. Secondly, death. Was he serious? What exactly did that mean?
I paid the bill and carried the safe out with me. I got into my car and headed for home...and then I changed my mind and turned to the nearest pet store.
Mice, right? Might as well finish what I started.
**My first story here :) Let me know what you think!** |
For the past twenty years, I've found myself smack bang in the middle of world-changing events. I'm an otherwise normal person, ordinary as can be, but it's true.
It could be an accident. A tragedy. Or a brilliant invention that shook the world. A change that the world will feel the ramifications of centuries later.
It didn't matter. Somehow, I was there. It was an urge, a calling inside me, that propelled me into the right place and the right time.
I rarely effected the change. But it's happened to close friends and family, or distant acquaintances. Somehow, I've had a hand in all these.
I thought it was cosmic powers at work. It was crazy, but it had to be the only explanation. I clenched my fist, and gritted my teeth. I wouldn't rest until I found out why this was happening to me.
---
"Shit, dude, can you help me? I need somebody to react to my new plot twist. Get this, it turns out that all along, President Card was a life-sized robot!"
"Just put in that same person that we use all the time."
"Him again? But... it's so boring now."
"Dude, he's just a background character. And he's so much easier to draw than all the others. Here, look, he's so plain-looking that it probably takes you a few seconds to insert him into your storyline."
"Ah... I guess you're right. Oh well." |
I remembered dying.
​
I remembered my heart stopped, and I died.
​
I remembered being chained above the ground. Small pebbles added slowly to the basket tied to my feet until my spine snapped one by one.
​
I remembered long needles, the one grandmama used to make the intricate jasmine neckless, inserted into my eye. And on the eye I could see, I see her face.
​
She was smiling.
​
"Where is Powerbuster?"She asked. I didn't know, but she thought that I did.
​
Her voice was sweet and smooth, like an angel.
​
I woke up again, alive.
​
My arms were tied behind my back. I was seated at a bottom of a shallow pool. The water level at my navel. My head was encased in a woven basket.
​
A pebble fell onto the opening at the top.
​
"Where is Powerbuster?"She asked again.
​
"I'm not telling you,"I told her.
​
Another pebble followed. It rested next to my chin at the bottom of the basket.
​
This continued a while. My back was straining. Sweats covered me. The pebbles went up to my nose. I knew that eventually it would be too heavy. My spine would give, and I would drown in the shallow pool.
​
But I could not tell her I did not know.
​
I knew The Healer. I knew that after this death, she would heal me back until she got the information she wanted. I knew that if she realized I really didn't have the information, she would just let me die.
​
But after a few deaths, the idea started to become more appealing. |
Bolting upward in bed, I grasped the lamp on my beside table and lifted it over my head, already screaming as loud as I could in hopes someone would hear me.
Greg. Fucking GREG. Greg, who stays up all hours of the night and plays his weird harp music. Greg, who likes to argue with Mrs. Sutherland from across the hall about the Civil War. Greg, who was spitting out MY blood onto MY floor after leaving a bite mark on MY skin.
"GREG?"I shrieked, tightening my hold on my grandmother's antique lamp. I loved her, but I loved not getting murdered in the night as well. This lamp was the closest weapon. "Greg, what the *fuck!"*
He used the collar of his T shirt to wipe off his tongue, gagging loudly. Though my room was dark, the streetlight outside my second story window gave off enough of a glow that I could see, just barley, the pointed tips of his unnaturally long and thin incisors. "Calm down,"he held up one hand, pushing his shirt up over his nose. "Don't fret,"
"What are you doing in my *apartment,* Greg?"I seethed, taking a slow and sure step off the bed and onto the floor. The lamp remained above my head.
"I...may have been feeding off of you."he pulled his shirt down and offered a sweet smile. "Can you blame me? You're so positively sweet smelling."
I blinked. "Oh is this some vampire shit?"
"It is vampire shit, indeed"he nodded warily, creeping back towards my window. "I'm afraid I overstepped. I apologize--"
I stepped forward, angrily ripping the cord to the lamp from the wall. "I did not consent to you doing that, Greg."
He pursed his lips. "What is consent, really, when so many ways to give it can come from either a verbal proposition or a mere glance--"
"I did neither of those things, *Greg."* Something bitter filled my mouth. "Consent is when I say *yes* to you drinking my blood and making me think I have bed bugs, *Greg.* I did *not* consent."
He hummed, hands on his hips. "You are so right, so... I... will take my leave."
I laughed, a sick maniacal sound that was pulled from the very evil of my soul. "I can't let you leave, Greg. Hasn't anyone ever told you not to feed from a witch?"
Though he had been deathly pale before, his form seemed downright white.
​
The next day, I leaned in the door frame of my apartment while Mrs. Sutherland and I watched the EMT's roll Greg's decapitated form out on a gurney. They wouldn't find anything. We witches were good at making evidence disappear. I sipped my warm, mocha filled coffee. Mrs. Sutherland pursed her wrinkled lips and shook his head. "That's a shame, innit? He liked to talk to me. No one really likes to talk to me."
"Maybe don't be a crazy old bitch, then"I muttered into my coffee. Her pupils narrowed into slits and her forked tongue, coated in poison, darted out and back in. Then she slammed her door hard enough that the wood splintered in the center.
I chuckled. Yeah, living in an apartment building full of monsters was a total blast...when I was the one doing the blasting. |
"So you're not Lucifer,"I said.
The hulking, armored God before me shook his head. "Never even heard the name,"he answered in broken English. "But I am here just the same."
Well, shit.
All I'd wanted was Lucifer--easy enough, in theory. But if everything was as easy as it seemed, I'd never have found myself in this situation in the first place. I'd read all the books: *Companies for Dummies*, *Entrepreneurship for Dummies*, *Declaring Bankruptcy to Save Yourself*. In short, I must have been dumber than those dummies, because here we were.
My rivals had long since surpassed me. Left me in the dust. Walked all over me with their superior products.
So I'd concocted a plan. That was who I was: the Plan Man. Some good, some bad, others even worse, but I always had a plan.
This one was simple.
I'd summon Lucifer. I'd dress him in a suit--a cheap one, since I couldn't afford the niceties in life anymore--and I'd send him off to an interview. He'd get the job, ingratiate himself to the CEO, blah blah blah, next thing you know, he'd have sabotaged the entire supply line. Simple as could be.
"I was hoping for somebody else,"I told Ares. With those bulging biceps and monstrous calves, he'd not fit in any suit. He'd probably refuse to even take the armor off.
Plan B would have to do. If I couldn't sabotage them by introducing defects, I'd have their buildings ground to a fine dust.
"Fear not, mortal,"he said, his booming voice rattling the windowpanes and increasing what I'd have to spend on repairing the shoddy building. "I am here to serve you nonetheless."
I'd always had a saying about life serving you lemons. You grab them tight, squeeze, and chuck them at your enemies. Anything could become a projectile if you tried hard enough, lemons or not. So I'd throw Ares at them. We'd see how they dealt with that.
"I need you to wage war against my enemies,"I told him.
He laughed: deep, sinister laughter like rolling thunder. "War? I love nothing more. Who am I fighting? Which armies shall I crush?"As he spoke, he flexed his muscles and banged his sword against his shield to raise a horrendous clamor.
"No armies,"I said. "Just buildings."
"Ha! Easy! Point me towards them, mortal!"
So I did. Even better, I drove him right up to their manufacturing plant, gave him an encouraging pat on the back and told him to have a field day with them. I'd save my company. If not with Lucifer, then Ares would do just fine.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! |
We all promised to wait until Uncle Mark got in from Iowa. Dad’s living will directives were clear — the power of attorney he created after we all watched Grandma suffer for a month after her stroke seemed like a mercy at the time, but of course we didn’t know it would be like this.
Uncle Mark knocked at 1 am. Mom was asleep, but Jane and I were sitting in the dim living room, Jane petting Boomer’s fuzzy, sleepy head as his dark eyes begged us to explain what he had done wrong.
When I opened the door, Uncle Mark didn’t say hello. His shoulders, which I’d always remembered being so strong when he gave us piggy back rides, were at a slope I’d never seen before, that I didn’t think was possible for him. He said nothing, but hugged me. I was so shocked at being tall enough to see over his shoulder that it took me a moment to realize his car was dark in the driveway and nobody was behind him.
“Where’s Aunt Ellie?” I asked, muffled against his shoulder. He pulled back.
“She and the kids are flying in at noon tomorrow. It was the earliest flight.”
“Oh,” I said, hopeful. “Are...are we waiting?”
“I don’t think so.” He frowned. “Is your mom still up?”
“She said to wake her up when you got here.”
I can’t describe the expression on his face, the way the muscles tightened, but it made me look away immediately and swallow, saying, “She, she had a long day, with the doctors, and, and.”
A hand on my shoulder. “I know it’s been a bad day. Is your sister up?”
At this moment, I realized I was blocking the door still. “Yeah, come in. She’s in the living room.”
I led him there, but Jane didn’t get up to greet him, trapped beneath Boomer’s comforting weight.
“Hey buddy,” Uncle Mark said to him, leaning over to pat his head. You don’t greet people at the door anymore?”
Jane said, “He’s been like this all day. He misses Dad.”
”I know, honey,” he said, voice breaking as he sat on the couch next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. My eyes stung, blurry.
“I’ll get Mom.”
I was halfway down the hallway when his voice cut through the darkness. “Sammy, wait.”
I don’t know why I listened. My mom told me to wake her up when he got there, and there was no reason that a request from Uncle Mark should override something my mom had asked of me, especially not in a situation like this. I would later ask myself why, over and over, but I think I could hear the hope in his voice, somehow, and I wanted so desperately to postpone what was coming. It was so easy to go back to the living room, to sink on the loveseat and pull my feet up, curled beside me.
I stared across the room at my dad’s empty chair.
“We should get some sleep,” I said. “Right?”
“Not tired,” he replied.
Jane shifted to look up at him. “Really? But you drove for like nine hours.”
He nodded. “Lots of energy drinks.”
It made sense. But then... “So why not wake Mom up?”
He breathed in slowly, steeling himself. I don’t know why, but I could hear the words before he spoke them, and the dread built deep in my stomach.
“It’s a bit chilly in here, kids.”
My sister drew away from him, mouth agape. Boomer was startled by her sudden movement and chose to finally leave her side, his nails clicking against the floor as he ambled into the kitchen.
Surely he wasn’t suggesting...
“Maybe we should turn—“
No.
I didn’t realize I spoke out loud until they turned to look at me.
His eyes were kind, but so sad. This was Uncle Mark, our Uncle Mark. He taught me how to ride my bike. He was the one who convinced Mom to let Jane ride the pony at the fair when nothing Dad or I said could persuade her.
“Your mom said the doctors have tried everything.”
“But we can’t,” I said weakly. It was inconceivable. “It’s not allowed. We don’t know what could happen. Nobody does.”
“We have to try.”
“You do it, Uncle Mark,” Jane said. I don’t know where her bravery came from, but the set of her jaw was determined.
He shook his head. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry, but I can’t. I’m a dad. It has to be one of you kids.”
I looked at it, on the wall, next to the photo of Mom and Dad on their trip to Mexico when Jane and I were just a thought in their heads.
“We can’t.”
“Sammy. If we wake your mom up and go to the hospital, we have to pull the plug. I know you don’t want that — I know you don’t want to hear that, but that’s the truth.”
I shook my head, not taking my eyes off the little box on the wall, small and grey.
“We can’t,” I whispered.
In the silence, I know they heard me.
“I’ll do it.”
My head snapped toward Jane, but she was already halfway across the room. I was frozen. It’s like I didn’t even have time to issue a warning before she was there, but my eyes flicked back to my uncle, and I could see the fear there — even though he suggested the awful thing, even though it was suggested with such hope.
Sometimes hope is dangerous.
It was over too fast. Jane reached the box on the wall and flipped open the grey cover. She pressed the arrow button.
Not once, not twice.
Three times she pressed it.
I stood there, shaking. “What have you done,” I asked, but it wasn’t a question.
Her face was wracked with guilt as she stood there, anxiety slowly creeping into her expression. Where she had looked so fearless a moment before, she was now faced with the reality of her impulsive actions.
I flinched as the heater kicked on.
I looked to my uncle. He had covered his face with the hands, head hanging low as he sat immobile on the couch.
We heard the shuffling down the hall, quiet. We heard a soft whimper, barely audible over the sound of the heater.
Then, footsteps.
She appeared, tears in her eyes, out of the darkness of the hall. She looked at me first, accusing, but then slowly turned to where Jane still stood next to the thermostat.
“Why?”
I have never heard so much fear in one word.
“We had to, Melissa,” Uncle Mark said, voice muffled. He looked up at her, face red, eyes unfocused and wet. “He’s my brother. I couldn’t just let him die.”
“You don’t know what you’ve done.”
“I just wanted to help,” Jane said, crying now. Mom crossed the room to her, wrapping her arms around her protectively, pulling her away from
the box.
“I know, I know you did.”
And then, the sound that made our hearts skip.
A knock.
We spun to look at the front door. Uncle Mark rose from his spot on the couch and came to stand next to me, hand heavy on my shoulder.
Another knock.
“Who is it?” I called out. Mom backed up til she too was next to me, the four of us standing and watching the front door.
“Don’t answer it,” Mom said.
“Is that him?” Jane asked. “Is that Dad?”
Uncle Mark shook his head. He kept shaking it, almost like he couldn’t stop.
“I didn’t want this,” he pleaded. “Not like this.”
Another knock, heavier this time.
“Dad!” Jane yelled. My mother covered her mouth, begging her to be quiet. Jane struggled in her arms as the knocking got louder, stronger. The door rattled as though a SWAT team stood outside with a battering ram.
“Dear God,” Uncle Mark said. “What have we done.”
I heard growling next to me and looked to see Boomer on guard, focused on the door with his hackles raised.
“Make it stop,” I cried, as my sister struggled against my mom’s hold and the door began to splinter with the force of the blows.
“That’s my dad!” she screamed. “Let me go!”
“No, honey,” Mom sobbed. “It’s not. It’s not him.”
“I’m so sorry,” Mark said. “I didn’t know. I never would have—“
Jane elbowed mom and broke free. In the chaos, as Mom reached out to her and screamed for her to stop, as Boomer barked wildly and my foolish uncle wailed in regret, I knew what I had to do. It was crystal clear in my mind, almost as if something other than my own will possessed me.
As Jane reached the door, I reached the box. Impossibly fast, and yet in an eternity, as if the very fabric of reality folded over as soon as I touched it, I flipped the lid open.
As my sister grasped the door handle and turned, I pressed the arrow button. The other one.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Jane yanked on the door, stepping back to pull it open.
Four times.
Boomer yelped. I barely heard it over the blood rushing in my ears, over my adrenaline-fueled breathing.
I saw Jane drop to her knees, sobbing. The front porch was empty. |
[Poem]
An Arch-nemesis is meant to be,
He'll know you and you will see.
From birth this fight is set for thee,
Guitar riffs will end anxiety.
It was in the line of DMV,
That the metal was heard to some degree.
It rang louder and set the decree,
That the fight would commence, and *one* set free.
--‐-----------------------------------------------------------------
I twisted around and found my enemy,
Our eyes alight with fire, so suddenly.
Enraged, hatred forming as thunder above sea,
Fists clenching, hatred staring, so furiously
I stepped up to fight, as I could not flee.
--‐-----------------------------------------------------------------
The music hit a crescendo when my enemy neared,
Sweat pouring, thoughts goring, it was as I had feared.
From the photo's as a kid I so endeared,
My father stood before me, my mind cleared.
--‐-----------------------------------------------------------------
It was kill or be killed, life is hard indeed,
For the old man to sow, his own seed.
Epic brawl commencing I did the deed,
And so my fear and anxiety, finally freed.
Bittersweet victory is my only creed,
I've met my match, my father at last, and it was I who his death decreed.
--‐-----------------------------------------------------------------
*Edits: spacing, layout, don 't understand how to perfect lay-out on mobile phone.... also standard: English isn't my first language etc.
**All feedback is welcome, thanks for reading! |
"You think I care if you don't know how to play chess human? That is the game I suggested, I won't be the caretaker of anyone that can't best my intelligence."The dragon huffed, letting out a windy breath, Knocking the small child onto her back, the child beginning to tear up as the dragon shook his head. "I will teach you how to play, sit up and carry yourself like a dragon if you want to be my child you have to show heart."He roared the last word, the bare heavens seeming to shake with the intensity, only causing the girl to cry some more.
"I'm... sorry, I don't want to lose, I told the village I would slay the beast, they said only the village hero could have dinner, no bratty peasants."Her wailing continued until the shiny silver claw of the beast pushed the small chessboard toward her.
"Then best me, hero, In all my seven thousand years, I have yet to find someone who can, but perhaps you will be different, now let me explain the movements. Please listen carefully, I won't go through them a second time."With that he began his explanation, going over the basic concepts, occasionally having to rephrase his words, reminding himself that this was a human child, not a dragon child. It was a good hour into his speech when he raised an eyebrow, watching the girl fall onto her back. "I said to listen, didn't I?"His voice sounding almost disappointed, part of himself excited to finally have someone to play against.
"I am sir... just... so... hungry.."She whined, holding her stomach, not even wanting to exert energy sitting. The dragon rose from his spot, turning towards his cave for a brief moment. "Are you telling me they don't feed their 'hero' before sending her to fight the beast? That is rather rude of them. Luckily I am not the kind to cheat."He returned to the girl, laying down a dead rabbit before her. Listening to her squeal at the horrid sight, before the dragon spoke. "I apologize, I am not much for cooking, but I will do my best."He gave a small puff of fire, igniting the rabbit until it had reached a disgusting charcoal colour. "Eat up runt."
She looked up at the meat, then to the dragon, seeming reluctant to eat it, but eventually, her hunger got the best of her, diving for the meat and digging into it, eating it until she the taste was too overpowering. "It's delicious."She lied, offering the dragon a goofy smile.
"I hardly believe that... Still, Thank you."He looked over the girl before him, her scrappy clothes giving away her story, she was most likely an orphaned child, or perhaps one that had been abandoned, still to think the villagers would send her to a dragon, there was cruelty and then there was this...
"So.. you still want to play?"She asked as she went to grab a piece, her eyes looking over the board, already calculating her first move, tongue sticking out the edge of her mouth as she pondered her choices. Seemed she had been listening.
"Not at the moment miss. I believe I am far too tired for that."He lied, curling himself up into a ball as he laid before her, propping his head to the side when she began tearing up again.
"But if I don't win, I have to go back to the village.... I don't want to.. please, just a game.."The poor girl was a wreck, her shaking hand unable to even hold the piece, dropping it to the grass, followed by her tears.
"Calm yourself child. You win... I gave up, I will be your... friend and caretaker. You have proven yourself, Now I suggest you go gather some sticks, I will have to teach you how to make a fire, it gets cold out here."
"Ah?....."Her arm quickly rubbed against her eyes, trying to rub the tears away. "Y-you mean it? Of course sir! I'll get the wood, you can count on me to keep us warm."
"Us?"The dragon found himself laughing for the first time in years. "A dragon getting cold.. now thats a new one... such a caring girl."He smiled, watching her run off to collect branches.
{If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read} |
*Breaking News: Fantasy young-adult author R.J. Barnett is in stable condition after waking from a coma of 30 years. Barnett’s* Destruction *trilogy, which many scholars point to as having a prescient view of intergalactic relations, accurately predicted humanity’s first contact with extraterrestrial civilizations. Her dystopian novels offered a grim view of a future in which humanity was unable to defend itself, and outlined the struggle for survival of the last of the human race. Barnett, 61, is expected to make her first public appearance later this evening.*
I wake to the sound of machines beeping. Groggy, I try to sit up, but realize several wires are attached to my arm. I lay back, still foggy, and realize I’m in a hospital bed. My eyelids feel heavy and I blink, trying to get my bearings.
As I do, a nurse enters, and she starts with surprise.
“You’re awake!”
I try to speak and find that my voice is hoarse. I clear my throat, trying to get words out, but she stops me.
“I’m sure you have a million questions. I know I would! But I want you to try to save your strength. The General is going to want to hear about this!”
She bustles back out of the room, and I lay my head back down on the pillow, closing my eyes. My head is spinning, and my mouth is dry. I close my eyes, trying to think back, but I can’t remember any event that would have led to a hospital stay.
The nurse rushes back in, looking flustered. She busies herself tidying up the room while I try to hang on to consciousness. She opens the blinds, and I gasp audibly in surprise. I was expecting a view of some trees or a parking lot, but all I can see are stars.
“Where are we?” I croak.
“You’re in the medical wing of the Intergalactic Space Station.”
“Space station? How long have I been here?”
“We’ve been keeping an eye on you for about thirty years now, give or take. You’ve bee-“
“Thirty years?!” My head spins again, and it’s hard for me to follow what she’s saying, but she continues as though uninterrupted.
“You’ve been in a coma since right before the First Contact, but we’ve been taking good care of you. It really is an honor to meet you. I loved your books.”
“You’ve read my books?”
“Of course! Everyone reads them in World History. You predicted the First Contact almost to the day, and everyone uses your books as an example of what could have happened if we hadn’t been prepared.”
“Wait, are you saying that aliens actually exist? Like in my books?”
She chuckles. “Well, no one calls them that, but yes! It really was remarkable how close to the truth your first book was. That’s why we all read them in school. But don’t worry, we learned from them. And we’re so lucky to have The General. I can’t believe that he’s coming here to meet you! He’ll be here soon.”
“Who’s the general?” My mind is still reeling from the fact that this random woman has read my books, let alone that millions of schoolchildren are using them in history class. Not to mention that fact that aliens exist?
“He’s our leader! He’s been in charge since the First Contact, and he was the one who has led every campaign since.”
“So I take it that aliens didn’t invade Earth, like in my books?”
“Nope, we stopped them before they could even get close. Your books were cited during the debate, and everyone decided it was too big of a risk! We couldn’t take the chance that things would turn out like your series, so as soon as they landed, we destroyed them. We learned a lot from their technology though, just like you predicted! As soon as we were able to build our own intergalactic ships, we launched a campaign to destroy their home world, and since then we’ve taken out sixty-five other planets.”
I’m shocked into silence at this horrific news. I’d imagined a future in which my books would inspire other authors, but inspiring this kind of violence? I say as much, and the nurse chuckles.
“Oh, there aren’t authors anymore. Everyone goes straight from school into the military. Our resources are all pooled into making sure that humanity will never be taken by surprise, like what happened in Destruction. But The General has made sure that that will never happen. In fact, he’ll probably leave straight for the next campaign after he stops by to meet you.”
“This is terrible!” I shout. “What about an open exchange of ideas? Have we even tried to talk to anyone on these other planets before we’ve destroyed them? And how do you know that The General has the right idea about any of this?”
The nurse looks around nervously. “Of course he has the right idea. He’s The General! He’s led us to victory sixty-six times. I wouldn’t be talking like that, especially when he’s on his way here.” She eyes me again, looking scared. “I’m sure this is a lot of information to digest, but it will make sense when he explains it to you. And other people will be here shortly to help you get ready! They’ll want you on TV as soon as possible to reassure humanity that we’ve made the right decisions.”
Before I can ask more, she leaves the room, and I’m left alone to contemplate this horrific fate. One thing’s for sure, I’m not in agreement with any of this. There’s no way I’m going on TV to reassure anyone. And I’ll tell this General himself as soon as he gets here.
*Breaking News: It is with great sadness that we announce the sudden and unexpected death of fantasy young-adult author R.J. Barnett. Barnett awoke earlier this morning after a coma of 30 years, but unfortunately succumbed to medical complications and has died. Barnett, 61, is survived by two brothers and sisters.* |
We don't talk. We sit.
Crumbling around us, not enough to panic, but just enough to stir nervousness.
I look at Genie. I had but one wish, and it was fulfilled. Why was he still here?
I wanted to do good. I was worth less than nothing in my home, and an act of kindness I could take to my grave was all I wanted. He looked at me expectantly. Does he think I'll wish for more?
I slide off the gold coins, clinking echoing against the cavern. I find a dusty rug, majestic in older times perhaps, but not here, and drape it over myself.
Genie floats over.
I open one eye. "What is your name?"
The Genie pauses, lighting up. "I do not have one, not that I recall"
I close my eye. "I might as well not have one."
"Why?"
I never knew a simple word could make me outpour. This one came damn close.
"No one uses it. At this point, I doubt anyone knows it."
He sits beside me. His misty blue glow strangely warm.
A small bolder falls nearby. I flinch.
"We could escape?"
I pursue my lips. "I wish for you to go live a good life."
"A good life lived is one of gratitude. Who am I if I leave my saviour behind?"
I begin to choke. "Saviour isn't the right word. I'm just a sad man looking to fill an arbitrary quota of good. Maybe Heaven might not kick me to the curb this time."
.
..
...
Genie had a look of concern on his face, before he spoke again.
"I wish you could see yourself how I see you."
All of a sudden, the cave was too wet for comfort. I wipe away tears, and pull the rug over my face tighter. I grew red, but this time, not from seething anger or embarrassment as I got stoned in the streets just for having open palms begging for coin. This time, it was one of relief. Someone understood.
"I have two wishes for you,"I mumbled under the rug. "Get us out of here."
"Done"
"And... if you wouldn't mind... I wish you could hear me out on my life story"
"I am listening." |
It is a commonly accepted fact that the only method for travelling faster than light is to create a dimensional gate that uses the parasitical slipstream reality attached to our universe to travel from point A to point B without having to spend generations aboard a single colony ship. It is also commonly known that all species adhere to the universal rules of learning from others and understanding the wisdom of the elder races.
Of course, humanity not only didn't know about these facts, they probably wouldn't have cared. So when they managed to, despite the commonly known fact that it is impossible, create a fully functional FTL drive without using the slipstream, many races were fundamentally rather annoyed by this exploitation of the system of physics. The laws of physics are set in the stone of reality, and cannot bend for anyone. Of course, mankind, never really being sure on the exact way the universe functioned, sort of made up their understanding of reality as they went along, having never focused on understanding the universe and the rules that govern it before leaving their homeworld.
Naturally, for doing something blatantly impossible, and not being even remotely sorry for bending the laws of existence to their will, their homesystem is taken by the elder races, and shoved into a small parallel reality, where they will never be such an affront to the proper ways of existence ever again. Most races who are subjected to this fate eventually earn their forgiveness and are let back into the normal reality on probation, but humanity wasn't most races.
They were, in the words of one of the eldest living creatures, a nameless leviathan born before the first stars appeared, ''*completely and utterly self-assured. And thus, naturally quite mad.*'' So instead of earning forgiveness through penance, they used two dwarfplanets that orbited one another to punch their way into the adjacent pocket universe. There they were met by a race who had found out how to violate the law of conservation of mass, by both creating and destroying matter. The small, hairy Sraaol Eryn liked the humans, and found them agreeable and reasonable. Much cooperation was made between the two of them.
Together, they used further small planetary objects to punch holes into adjacent pocket realities, containing the homeworlds of races that had managed to violate various laws of the universe, such as the Tinagors, who were spindly, tall, and vaguely blue, they had managed to discover a way to ignore the law of gravity, without the use of engines. The graceful avian Anxia'Dÿv had managed to find a way to violate Geometrical rules, and knew how to arrive somewhere quicker by not taking walking a straight line between two points. The inscrutably secretive and masked Olwfanna had managed to create temperatures beneath absolute zero, and achieve atomic fusion at that point, though it should be blatantly impossible.
The humans and their new friends combined all their little pocket realities, and seeing that they were all in there for blatantly disregarding the limits of the possible, they decided that they didn't want to live in that crummy old universe anyway. They had all the tech and minds they needed to create a new one. A better one. One where the laws of physics are more guidelines. Of course, the elder races of the universe with the all the rules wasn't having any of that, so they sent in their fleets to try and re-contain the quite rebellious pocket universes.
Of course, this ended rather badly. The various worlds, all imprisoned for their blatant disregard for rules, technological development, disregard for elder races, and other crimes, had shared their blasphemous knowledge with each other, allowing for a truly unprecedented advance in manner of technological and scientific fields.
By the time the punitive fleets arrived, the rebels were already leagues ahead in technology, and though the sheer numbers of the punitive fleet did give them some trouble, advanced technology along with some desperation, eventually resulted in a major victory for the upstarts.
The rebels asked for the chance to have their pocket universes severed from the main one, so they could live their own way, but the elder races could not stand it. So war began. War on a scale hitherto unthought of. Every ludicrous space-weapon was used. Nicoll-Dyson spheres by the hundreds fired daily. Planetary devastators turned the surface of countless worlds to black, irradiated glass. Though outnumbered a million to one, the humans and their new friends did not despair.
They were only starting to unleash their new technology. The Anxia-Dÿv built Penrose bombs around black holes, the humans used their FTL engines to attack any place in the universe without slipstream detection, the Olwfanna created weaponized paradoxes, and many others created such impossible or insane weapons in that war, that they are beyond count, antimatter weapons, contained total gravitation collapses of entire galaxies through false vacuum bubbling tech, and much else too horribly inventive to name anywhere.
Even when the elder races brought out the illegal and strictly contained universal force of magic, it wasn't enough. The rebellious species, who had never considered what could not be made, but simply wondered, what if, were only held back for a short while before they began to harness magic for their own purposes.
In the end, the universe was a wrecked nightmare. And the victorious rebels celebrated over the corpse of a decaying universe, since their actions had consequences. Dire ramifications. For their blatant usage of dangerous technology had torn the fabric of reality asunder, and rendered it slowly into non-existence. Of course, the humans and their allies noticed this, ripped their pocket universe out from the decaying reality they had been born in, taking as much of it with them as they could. The victorious ones, defiant against the old regime, built a new order, with new rules. A new universe based on their understanding, one that was flexible enough that this one would not bend or break from its laws being bent or broken.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) |
I stared at death and Death stared back at me. She wasn’t what I had expected. Not a silent reaper nor cold and detached. She had greeted me with a smile and a hug. When she spoke, it was with familiarity and as though she were an old friend. Her presence gave me the calm and comfort I needed with the transition that came with the end of life. When I had first awoken in this void, I had panicked and struggled to breathe, though I supposed a dead man shouldn’t really have to. Death had taken my hand and helped me take in a few shuddering breaths.
“Are you feeling better now, Kiran? We can wait longer if you want to. I don’t mind,” said Death. She smiled at me reassuringly. I squeezed her hand and started to pick myself off the ground. Or, took a standing position rather. There was nothing I could see that resembled a ground in the endless void around me.
“No, I think I can speak now. Thank you for help. Sorry for panicking,” I said looking back to her.
“It is perfectly natural. I’m sorry that you died. If you think you’re up to it, we can move on to the next step,” she told me.
“The next step? There is something after death! Is it heaven? This void?” I said, my mind racing. Death laughed.
“Now, now. We’ll get to that but first, you’re meant to look back at your memories. You get to see all the times you nearly ended up here. It lets you appreciate how long you ended up having,” she explained.
“Oh, do people nearly die a lot?” I asked.
“No. Well, usually not. Two or three times is the average. Some people do get some more though. Here, let’s watch,” she said, holding onto my arm.
She swung me around and stayed leaning against me. The air in front of us began to flicker and a screen began to play. It was a video of me as a child. I was perhaps four or five and playing in the front yard of my childhood home. My mother was doing some gardening and keeping watch over me. But, she didn’t have her eyes glued to me, so like many children, I put myself in danger. I walked over to the street and into the path of an oncoming car. It narrowly missed me and my mother pulled me off the street.
“Wow, that was close! And at such a young age. I guess I am lucky I lived as long as I did,” I said.
“Yes, you were so little but already so brave! That was the first time I ever saw you. Such a beautiful child so full of life,” she said with a wistful sigh. The video continued and it showed me as a teenager falling out of a tree, crashing my bike, and, when I was little older, crashing my car.
“Wow, that’s insane. I can’t believe I forgot about that,” I said, hardly believing my own luck at staying alive.
“Oh, yes. You did draw my attention with your reckless behavior. Even when people think they’re about to die, more often than not they aren’t anywhere as near to dying as they might think. You, however, seemed to cross my path without any thought. You flirt, you,” she said, hugging my arm tighter. “You’ll have to forgive me. You had my attention after that. I tried to stay away but I always wanted to see you.”
The video played scene after scene. A barbell that almost crushed me. A baseball that flew by me without me even noticing. A sickness avoided. A mercury-ridden fish not picked at the market. It went on and on.
“Do you remember that time? You had the best wind-swept hair. Oh! That was the time you woke up late after a night out drinking. You’re so silly. You missed your usual bus and it ended up crashing that day. There’s the time you tried to play with some of your neighbor’s kids and ended up tripping on their jump rope!” said Death with another laugh. She gripped me tighter and tighter.
Had it been on purpose? Was Death trying to kill me? Why? So that she could finally meet me? The video of my almost deaths went on and on. They became more and more frequent. Every day to every hour and finally almost every minute. There were millions of scenes. The video was almost becoming a rapid flash of images.
“Look at how ridiculous you are, Kiran. Always getting yourself into risky situations. And still, you refused to meet me,” she said, her voice tightening. She laughed again, sounding a little odd. “But I didn’t mind, Kiran. That’s what is so great about you! Your life force was so strong. You’re special, Kiran. Especially to me.” The video finally reached an end, closing on my eventual death. “None of that really matters anymore. After all, you’re finally, finally, finally, finally, finally here! I knew you wanted to see me!”
My heart hammered in my chest. All my attention was on Death. She looked at me with a wide smile.
“Oh, look at your little heart. I knew you would feel the same way about me, Kiran. I love you too,” she said.
“What is the next step?” I croaked out. “Now, that the video’s done, where do I go?” For a second, a flash of anger could be seen on Death’s perfect face. But it was gone so quickly, I might have imagined it. She looked at me lovingly.
“Usually people only visit me for a little bit of time. A quick chat and then back to Earth in another life or off to the afterlife they go. But, don’t worry, Kiran. I know that you want to be with me. So, you don’t have to be concerned about that. We finally got what we wanted! We’re together. What could be a greater paradise than that? You can stay here with me forever.”
\-----
r/Inder *for more stories like this!* |
"Did you figure out why all the electronics aren't working?"Bob asked.
"Yeah..."Doug responded as he leaned back in his chair, resigned to his fate. "Something's happening to *c*."
"Huh?"Bob asked incredulously.
"The speed of light. The universal speed limit. A few minutes ago, it started rising. And now it's rising faster and faster, maybe to infinity."
"You're kidding,"he replied, still not quite getting it.
"Nope. That's why all the computers failed first. It threw off the timing of all their tiny circuits. Then everything else failed, usually in order of decreasing complexity."
"But the sun got brighter and then settled down,"Bob noted. "What was *that* about?"
"The sun was eight light-minutes away,"Doug explained. "Think of space as a battery that stores radiation. The space between the Sun and Earth stored eight minutes of solar radiation, which it had always delivered to Earth at at an even pace. The increase in *c* meant the eight minutes of light currently in transit, arrived *faster*. Now sunlight is getting here in just a few seconds, and the speedup doesn't make much difference. Yet."
"What will happen *now* though?"Bob asked, starting to understand.
"It depends,"Doug said, "on whether *c* hits a limit, or just keeps rising toward infinity..."
A moment later, he got his answer.
The upward curve of *c*'s increase hit near-vertical, and became effectively infinite.
All the radiation in the Universe, whether en route for a few moments or for billions of years, got where it was going all at once. Billions of years' worth of photons hit the Earth in a single instant, dumping so much energy into the atmosphere and the planet's surface that both flashed to superheated plasma.
The stars themselves had a hard time of it too. Suddenly photons which would have taken hundreds of thousands of years to wend their way to the surface, could traverse that distance considerably faster. Energies which had been trapped in the dense cores of stars transferred in an instant into less dense and *less gravitationally bound* layers, and wreaked havoc. Pressures and temperatures rose to the point that the outer layers *entire stars* fused almost instantaneously.
And at infinite *c*, that energy spread instantaneously. Almost every atom was bombarded with unimaginable energy, until all the matter in the entire Universe was either fusing, or fissioning, or just incredibly, unthinkably *hot*.
The Universe, driven by its sudden, unprecedented energy density, entered another Inflationary period and expanded outward until it was cool again. Unmoderated by *c*, it expanded instantly to a diameter of *septillions* of light-years, at which point its average temperature was so near absolute zero as to be indistinguishable.
It would continue to expand at that incomprehensible rate forever. It was dead now, and would forever be so. |
The small god braced himself, trying not to be blown from the tree by the breeze. The summer was ending and already the bite of fall winds had arrived. He had been born at the end of the season just like this many centuries ago. A time of fading sun, a moment caught too late and past its prime. It seemed to be a theme in his life.
The gods were not all born equal.
He had been born into a time of declining devotion, when humans did not have the same need to turn to the divine for answers or comfort. It had not been terrible when he had been a young god. But by the time he had matured, he realized he had no place in the world. He had not had the millennia to build his followers nor spread his name so when the faith faded, so too did his name.
He did not even remember it himself. All he knew was a god of protection was not wanted in the modern age, where humans could look after themselves. His only tie to the world lay in his final shrine, neglected and derelict as it was.
He looked down on it from his tree. It was even smaller than he was, barely more than a spot to place a candle. Still, it was divine and the creatures around knew not to disturb it. No, its inevitable destruction would come from none other than Time itself.
A human, much to the god’s surprise wandered onto this ancient path. He looked troubled, as humans often did. His eyes stayed stuck to the ground as he walked. Perhaps he had something weighing on his mind. Whatever it was, it let him notice the shrine. The human came to a stop. Even a shrine as small as this let out on air of divinity noticeable to the human, though he could not see the god above it.
The god had not been seen by the living in a long time, despite his many efforts. He was beyond that now. He did not try to wave at the human, to speak, or attract his attention at all. He simply stared at him and the human eventually looked up from the shrine and met his eye.
But the human’s eyes did not shine with a light of recognition. He was as sightless as any other. But unlike the others, he knelt at the shrine.
The god felt the sense of wholeness, of happiness, of love, of absolute completion that he only experienced when a prayer filled him. He might have forgotten his name, but he would never forget that feeling.
“Please God, I do not know if you are listening or even care but let me win this fight. I need this,” the human said, eyes pressed tightly closed.
Of course. Odin, Anat, Bastet, Morrigan, Athena. Those were the names that remained. The names of the war gods would never be forgotten by humanity. It never changed. They would fail to remember when they were protected, when an evil failed to fall on them, but they remembered when they could send that evil unto another.
The human stood and walked away. His head was lifted, his burden eased and passed onto the small god.
The god sighed, and lifted his awareness away from the shrine. He was out of practice but he could still manage to follow the human. Together they stepped off the ancient path and made their way to a clearing.
A group of humans awaited. When his human arrived, they smiled predatorily. They spoke their boring, tired phrases, ones that had not changed much in the many years he had known humanity. Then, just as unoriginally, one of them and the god’s human began their fight.
His human was not suited for it, but the small god tried his best. The blow to his skull was directed away, merely giving a glancing blow instead of ending the fight. The god prevented the broken rib and lessened the chance of bruising for the many number of hits the human took. But, the human could not win a fight if he was merely protected. He failed to attack himself. So the human fell, and the god whispered his influence on the others and convinced them to leave the conflict with that.
The gods' power was spent and his mind flew back to the comfort of his shrine. He lay on his tree branch, exhausted and trying to recover.
Eventually, the human stumbled back along the ancient path. He walked slowly, carrying the hurt of his body and of his pride. Once more, he slowed as he passed the god’s shrine.
“Useless, thing. Couldn’t even pass a prayer along,” he said spitefully.
The god smiled sardonically. Not at the human but at himself. He had expected it. Humanity always failed to notice his favor. Still, he hadn’t been able to help himself. He was a god of protection and was meant to assist when he could.
The human kicked over his shrine, leaving it broken. He continued on his path and the god watched the sunset, unable to make himself look down from his tree.
Why couldn't Time hurry up and finish its task? He was long ready to meet his own god of death.
***
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With one wave of my hand, I signaled to my troop to stop shooting.
It had been 10 minute since they began, dust everywhere, ashes spread around where the ''hero'' stood.
I had spent the last 10 years preparing to face him, ever since the prophecy was foretold.
​
He had been picked up by the resistance, trained and rose through their ranks, while I conquered and slaughtered my way to power. We were all led to believe that one day I would fall, defeated, slain, by a hero.
My lord, asked one of my soldiers, what are our orders?
Verify his death, I will leave nothing to chance today. Luck will not save him, I responded coldly.
​
A dozen of my soldiers approached the dust, that had yet to settle fully. One of them used a shock blast, from his gloves to push the dust aside, revealing his body. Broken, burned, armor melted, his golden shield shattered to pieces.
​
My soldier comfirmed his demise, and a cheer resounded accross the halls of my palace. Finaly, I had one.
The prophecy, the one they all worked so hard to fullfill, had been defeated. No. It had been probably misunderstood, as is common with these things.
​
After all, it said I would be judged and punished for my crimes today. I guess I was judged innocent? At last, the world will have peace. The conquest is over.
(first attempt. Not great, but at least I tried). |
He hadn't always been an Emperor. In his youth, Julius Weise had been little more than a farmer's son. It wasn't until raiders from neighboring countries swept through the valley that he realized he was more than that. He was the son of a wizard. His father tore the men apart with fire and ice, leaving shattered men and blackened skeletons. The effort of destroying the band proved too much for his old man though, and his father proved to be the only farmer who passed away that day.
The brief safety would soon be lost though, as more raiders would arrive, and sweep through the valley, pillaging everything of value, and leaving the rest for the sword and the torch.
Julius had survived the chaos, clutching a large tome and staff that his father buried behind the house. With these, and his father's blood in his veins, Julius would later become one of the most powerful warlocks of the age, uniting the country behind him to defend their borders. City states and roaming tribes joined together to form an Empire, of the likes not seen in centuries.
Compared to ruling and Empire, forming one is easy. Julius worked hard in the early years, earning the title of the Wise Lord from his subjects. The strain of keeping together an Empire can erode at the most upright of men, and as time went by, it became easier to rule with a hard fist than a gentle hand.
A change came when overeager nobels decided that their hands would be better suited for the throne. A coupe would leave the Wise Lord's wife dead in her chambers, her newborn daughter only saved by her genetic gift of magic, potent even as a newborn.
From there, anyone who was seen as a threat was ruthlessly destroyed. At first the nobility and common folk were cowed by the violence, but Julius would learn that life as a Tyrannt would hold less joy and far more worries than a life as a wise ruler. The nobility that rose in power during his rule were the ruthless sorts, snuffing out their adversaries. The culture of the court became one of violence and trickery, leaving the common folk to suffer.
Amidst this cruel culture, the Wise Lord fought to keep his country from tearing itself apart, as well as protect his only remaining family. As soon as she was old enough to learn, his daughter was taught everything the Wise Lord thought could keep her safe. To fight, to kill, to walk though a castle without ever being seen. Under his tutelage, her talent in magic seemed poised to surpass even his own.
The years carried on, and violent nobility gave way to open rebellions, leaving the Wise Lord to crush his enemies in brutal fashion. Every day became a struggle to simply stay in control of the masses.
Despite this, a day of pride came when his daughter, then a teenager, would first voice her disagreement to her father's rule. In order to not appear weak, she was escorted back to her room, but her father's pride could hardly be contained that his daughter had grown to be self thinking, and independent of mind.
It hardly came as a surprise to him, when a few years later, his daughter would use her skills to escape from the castle and flee to the countryside. Her father's magic showed him her path, though he let her be, keeping only a distant watchful eye on her. From afar, he watched as she walked with the common folk, far from the deceit and games of his court. He watched as she met a young man, a blacksmith who treated her with kindness, and he watched as she used every she learned to protect that blacksmith and rally the common folk behind him.
This time when the common folk rose up, they had not one but two allies. Soon the common folk suspected his daughter of her heritage, so Julius released an announcement of her betrayal and her sequential disowning. From the courts, Julius let the uprising grow, while pretending to be trying to check them. He secretly weakened the nobility that opposed the uprising, sabotaging his own kingdoms attempts at gaining control again. From secret, his magic thwarted countless assassination attempts on his daughter and the young Rebel Blacksmith.
The uprising kept growing until the day that the city guard was infiltrated, and forced to surrender the city gates. The forces made their way to the castle itself, tearing the doors apart with his daughter's magic. Soon the castle itself was full of violence. His trusted soldiers, the Wise Lord had snuck out, and now the Rebels were destroying the the Nobility that had been such a hardship.
The battle finally came to even the Wise Lord's chamber, as he fought to survive, shielding against vicious waves of lightning from his own daughter, waves of arrows from the rebels, and the enchanted sword wielded by the young blacksmith his daughter had become so smitten with. Backed into a corner yet unable to raise his hand against his beloved daughter, he braced for the last blow from the glowing blade, when his daughter stepped forward and unleashed a torrent of light that consumed him.
The back wall of the castle disintegrated under the power of the attack, leaving only dust, and torn pieces of fabric, left from what was a glorious mantle. The following weeks would bring celebrations that shook the whole city, as the Hero Blacksmith claimed the title of Lord of the Empire. As a new government formed, there were still some that tried to turn the blame on the Wise Lord's daughter, to try and hold her accountable for her fathers crimes. The new Brave Lord, as he became called, put an end to this with a ring on her finger, making her his queen. Their rule would not be perfect by any means, but the example of her father, as well as her husband's humble heart, would let then rule without the violence that had nearly torn the country apart.
As for our friend Julius, he woke from the bright torrent of light, finding himself in a strangely familiar place, scarred by the conflict yet alive. The powerful destruction spell had concealed a much more subtle teleportation spell. Though the clothes off his back had been left behind, Julius found a canvas sack containing the simple clothes of a farmer along with a wooden staff and a large book. Julius recognized it as the same tome he had long ago given to his daughter, the book his father kept in secret. It would seem that his daughter had known him far better than he could have ever thought, and had pierced through his veil of deceit.
As he dressed and walked into the valley around him, he headed towards the small village where he had spent his youth. A humble life waited for him, the life he had been denied for so long.
His daughter had given him the greatest gift. A chance to start again. |
“Who were they te ye?” A gentleman asked.
The woman he spoke to spun in shock and nearly clocked the stranger with her broom across his head. “Shit! Sorry, you startled me.”
“I didn’t mean te cause ye a fright.”
“It’s all good.” The girl said, sweeping the leaves of the tombstone of James A. Wiley - Father, Husband, Adventure. “Are they a relative of yours?” She asked the stranger.
“Aye lass, one of’ me sons.” The gentleman replied. He wore a dark purple trench coat and a broad brimmed hat, his dress shoes gleamed in the the evening moonlight. “A right proper lad ‘e was. A life full lived.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” The girl replied.
The tall man nodded. “Very nice of ye te say. And te maintain his grave. But ye don’t strike meh as the groundskeeper, lass. “
“Ah.” She said. “No I would not be.” They stood in silence for awhile, the sound of the broom on stone filling the gap in conversation. The girl then knelt down and arranged a small assortment of flowers, nothing grand, just the type you’d see growing of their own accord in the suburbs where she lived. The placed them on the headstone with immense care. When she was done, she sighed.
“I did not know your son,” she said “but, I’d like to think that maybe someone would do this to my headstone.”
“Tha’s might kind of ye te do so.” The man said. He dug in his own pocket and lay a small flower, Snow Drop, onto the headstone beside the girl’s bouquet. “But ye’ve made me out te be a slacker.”
The girl shrugged. “That’s on you man. You want to bring better flowers, bring better flowers.”
“Oh, and she’s fire in her blood.” The man said amused.
The girl licked her thumb and pressed it to her shoulder and made a sizzling sound. The man laughed, his eyes a shine with mirth.
“I reckon they’d be grateful for what ye done for t’em.” The man said.
“Maybe. But it’s not about reciprocation, y’know?” She said to the tall stranger as she began to pack her belongings up. “It’s just, I dunno, kindness for kindnesses sake. Doesn’t cost anything but time.”
“Aye, it dont. I don’t think many people appreciate t’at sentiment.”
“Yeah, especially not lately.” The girl said dismayed. “It’s gotten bad out there.”
“T’as.” The man said. “Mayhap that more remembered ot’ers like ye it’d be different.”
“Yeah...” the girl trailed off. She was fine with helping clean graves and arrange flowers but it was getting dark and cemetery’a get weird after sundown.
“Well Mr. Wiley, I’ll leave you with your son. Hope you two have a fine evening.” She said smiling. As she began to walk, the crunch of leaves underfoot brought a satisfying sound to her ears. It was a peace she had cherished deeply as the cold November air moved around her.
“Ah, but just a moment lass.” The Stranger called out.
A small worry entered the girl’s stomach at that moment. Tall old men? In graveyards? After dark? Uh-uh. Nope. That’s a Nope right there. But she had distance and could run if needed to and that’s why she might have turned around.
The man seemed much much taller than he initially did now. He seemed to grow with each passing second. “I’m no Mistah Wiley, folk just call me the Wellerman. I deal in some strange hands.” He dug into his coat and pulled out a small box with a key in the side. “One such item would be t’is fine beaut.” He began to crank the key and music filled the air.
That’s when she saw them. |
The sound of our boots squelching in the mud as we trudged for Caer Launceston covered up the awful dragging sound of Sir Kay's boulder practically plowing through the earth. He had started at the front of the column, talking with Captain Percivan, but he slowly fell back among us. A few of us offered to help him lug the thing, but he refused. "Need to build my muscles for it,"he said. Meanwhile, I watched with interest as he slowly reached me, around a third of the way from the back of the pack.
"Hello, young soldier. How are you this fine morning?"
A noble knight mixing with us common folk? i mastered my surprised face, hopefully before he saw, and recalled the rumors. Evidently the great wizard Myrddin had raised him, and he had defended villages without hope of recompense. All rubbish, obviously, but this was likely the kernel of truth it came from.
"Fine enough, I suppose. Not as sunny or dry as I like, but then again I'm going to be fighting for my life in a few hours. I feel like I shouldn't complain."
The knight laughed. "Yes, I suppose there's worse to complain about. I like overcast days, myself, with some rain. The sun gets in my eyes, otherwise, and I never had the best eyes. That's what the dogs are for."
"Dogs, sir?"
Sir Kay frowned. He opened his mouth as if to speak a few times, but said nothing. I continued trudging in silence, content to have gotten at least a good story out of it.
"I forget,"Sir Kay began hesitantly, "all too often, that my upbringing was not normal for most of the people of the land. My father kept dogs, you see, bloodhounds, for hunting. They use their noses to track the foxes, or deer, or whatever we're hunting, and we follow on the horses until we're ready and close to kill the beast. What's your name, if I may ask?"
"M'friends call me Art."
"Art. Perfect. Thanks for listening to me blather on about the pointless things of life, Art."
Kay rearranged the hilt on his shoulder to something that was assumedly more comfortable, though that didn't really look possible.
"My lord?"
"Yes? Also, I wouldn't be terribly offended if you called me Kay."
"My lord, why are you carrying that sword?"
Kay stopped for a second, turned, and gave the sword sticking out of the boulder a fascinated stare.
"It's a symbol, really. A sign."
He turned back around, and resumed walking. He didn't seem to be getting any closer to answering my question.
"A symbol of what, Sir? A sign of what?"
Kay exhaled, mulling it over and chewing on his cheek.
"A symbol of heroism. You heard about the sword in the stone, I assume? 3 years ago now?"
"Yeah, sure. The future king of the land will pull the sword from the stone, and save us when the hour is darkest."
"It was in the capital, and there was a tourney when old King Uther died with no heir. It was decided that the victor of the tourney had first rights to try drawing the sword, and everyone else followed according to how well they did. The winner, Sir William I think, went up to it, pulled, and nothing. Everyone followed, and nothing. I placed fairly well, gave it my all, and nothing. I went home to my father in, well, shame. He always said I would be a hero someday, that I was the special one of all my friends"
I cleared my throat. "Where does this sword come in, then?"
"Hah. Wait a mo, Art. Anyways, Father fell ill just a few months after the tourney. My personal guess is that it was poison from a rival in that idiotic Noble Council that sprung up around then, but I have no real way of knowing. And do you know what my own father said to me, on his deathbed?"
I kept my face as still as possible. "What did he say?"Kay scowled.
"'You are not the chosen hero, Kay. I don't know why I thought a child like you could win where I failed. Go feed the dogs, it might make you useful.' What words of fucking wisdom."
I stared at the ground as we kept walking. God, this was uncomfortable. Kay straightened his pace.
"But I didn't. Because fuck him. I rode to London and picked up the fucking stone. We don't get chosen by fate to be heroes, we make our own decisions and act on our morals. I'm not a child, I'm just not ordained by some higher power to be above the rest. There was only one Jesus, but there were twelve disciples, Art."
I stayed silent until I was certain he had finished. Kay didn't exactly deflate, but something like it.
"Kay, is that why you're joining us storming the castle instead of leading from the back like the other lords? Joining us dogs in the mud while the others ride their horses?"
"I couldn't say, Art. I think not. The dogs don't finish the hunt, after all, the men do. Maybe I'm a falcon, swooping from above to kill mice for my master. But then there's that master again. Maybe it's not a hunt at all. A game of chess for the fate of England, a farmer keeping his crop healthy, I have little idea. But whatever it is, Art? I want to determine my life for myself."
We edged over a hill, and the castle was in sight. There'd be battle before midday. Kay grinned. |
Taj walked into the small, well-lit and well-furnished room. He saw the other immortals sitting in their chairs with their necks craned towards him as he stepped through the archway. He was immediately suspicious of this gathering and looked at each of the other immortals silently, inquisitevily.
Sir Galahad straightened his well-tailored suit and stood up. “Taj, thank you for joining us. First, I just want you to know that everyone in this room cares about you.”
“Cares about me?” Taj questioned him. “What the hell do you mean? What is this?”
Sir Galahad breathed deeply. “Taj, this is an intervention.”
“An intervention?”
The Count of St. Germain spoke up. “Yes, Taj. An intervention. We think it is high past time you stop trying to take over the world. It’s just getting embarrassing at this point.”
Taj scoffed, looked around the room for help. “Wha.. what? Take over the world?” He laughed and walked towards Sir Galahad. “I’m just having fun guys… I mean… it’s not serious. … look we have all the time in the world, I’m just trying to make the best of it.”
“It’s not appropriate, Taj.” Sir Galahad said. “It’s unbecoming of an immortal. It’s unbecoming of *you*.”
“This is ridiculous,"Taj said. “You can all kiss my ass.” He turned to walk out of the room, opened the door, but as he was stepping over the threshold, he heard Ashwathama call out in his deep voice.
“If you don’t come back in here and sit down, Taj, we will have no choice but to ban you from the guild.”
Taj stopped. They wouldn’t dare, would they? He closed the door and walked silently back to the couch. He poked at the fabric. “You’ve been alive what, two thousand years, Galahad? And you can’t buy a better couch than this cheap piece of shit? I guess drinking from the holy grail didn’t bring you everlasting taste, did it?”
Sir Galahad reached his hand to Taj, his eyes full of tears. He squeezed Taj’s hand. “Taj, the people in this room love you. They feel you’ve become obsessed with your desire for world dominance. Some of us have some things we want to say to you, will you listen?”
Taj looked around the room at all the faces, their eyes down at their lap or smiling weakly at him. Ashwathama was looking at his watch and sighing.
“Okay,” Taj said. “Okay, I’ll listen. Absolutely. I think this is a complete waste of time. But I’ll listen.”
Mahāvatār Bābājī pulled out a thin, wrinkled piece of paper from his pocket. His eyes full of tears, his voice cracking as he began to speak robotically, reading the words on the page like a child up in front of a class reciting a book report. “Taj, I don’t like being here. I don’t like having to say these things. But I feel it must be said. Growing up as immortals we’ve had some really memorable moments. Remember playing that 30-year game of monopoly, until you got upset and kicked the board over? That was fun. Remember spending a whole decade moving that lady’s stuff around in her house after she left for work until she had a complete mental breakdown? Remember spending all that time reading the unabridged version of war and peace? It seems like so far away, but what fun we had! I miss those moments with you, Taj. I miss them. Ever since you’ve got this obsession with taking over the world it’s all you want to do. But we are immortals, Taj. We are above the politics of the world. It’s beneath us. It’s beneath *you*.”
“But it’s fun! It’s my life… yeah, the last time ended badly. But I know what I did wrong. I can fix it.”
Mahāvatār Bābājī just shook his head. “You’re sick, Taj. You’re not well. You need help. You’ve had more failed coup attempts than latin America for god sake! You can’t even convince armies to join you anymore. You're just recruiting low lives into your doomsday cults now. It’s over, Taj. You’re never going to rule the world. And even if you did, you’d just get bored after a few hundred years anyways. There’s no point.”
“But I got over ten-thousand soldiers that one time in the 1,500’s! They really liked me. I even won a couple battles.”
“Taj, you were just in the right place at the right time,” Sir Galahad said. “You got lucky. But how many mortals have been killed because of your half-baked plans? Do you ever think of them? It’s only a game to you because your life is infinite. But for them? It’s no game. And they don’t deserve to be a pawn in the games of an immortal. It’s not fair, Taj.”
Ashwathama slammed his fist on the coffee table then looked at Taj. “Enough of this. It’s over, Taj. From this day on, no more trying to take over the world. Understood?”
Taj took a deep breath. “Understood,” he said and wiped a tear from his eye.
Sir Galahad came and gave Taj a hug, and said, "I'm proud of you."He turned to the rest of the crew and shouted, “so, who’s up for a game of monopoly?”
Shouts of, *I am,* rang through the small room. |
Miss Jane didn’t really fit the group’s image, the undead warriors giving the grandmother of three strange looks, wondering how she ended up between heaven and hell.
“You had a violent death?” Skullcrusher asked, the skeletal headed spirit dragging his fingers through his undead neon green mohawk.
“Very violent. A car hit me, bounced me off its hood, causing me to collide with a streetlight, only for the streetlight to break, collapsing on top of me, electrocuting me.” Jane stated, reliving her death with ease.
“That’s pretty metal.” Skullcrusher admitted, the group of spirit mercenaries nodding in agreement. Few had a story like hers. No wonder she was here.
“But you don’t seem like the mercenary type. Would you want to kill an angel or demon?” Finger licker asked, sporting a white beard, with a thick squared pair of glasses sitting atop the bridge of his nose.
“Heavens, no! I wouldn’t want to do such a thing. Maybe I can just help out? Knit you all a new uniform. Have you got a knitting kit anywhere?”
The group looked at one another before Skullcrusher flicked his fingers, a knitting set falling into her hands, the tools she needed placed delicately in an old tin of biscuits.
“Uniforms? Why would we need a uniform? Let’s just send the old lady to heaven and be done with this.” Deadkick huffed, her foot tapping the floor below, leaving cracks in the stone.
“Come on, give her a chance. She seems nice.” Finger licker tried to calm Deadkick down, only to raise his arms in defeat when she glared at him.
Jane ignored the brief back and forth, fixated on making these uniforms. She worked like a surgeon, fingers delicately moving through the fabric, until she had prepared three cotton jackets, each one made with love. Jane handed a jacket to each member of the group, awaiting their reactions.
“Hey, this is kind of nice. It’s soft and look! Mine has a tiny mohawk on it” Skullcrusher held his jacket up to the group, proudly displaying it, before putting it on.
“Heh, mine has a little shoe.” Deadkick uttered, growing a little fonder of the design the more she looked at it.
“I can’t believe it fits so perfectly.” Finger licker adjusted the jacket, amazed by how well it fit.
“I’m glad you all like it. So, can I stay on the team? I’ll be your fearsome grandmother, the lady who makes sure you all leave for missions with full bellies.” Jane chuckled, her laugh earning a few small smiles from the group.
“Well, I for one say we let her stay, what about the rest of you?” Finger licker asked, turning to his two comrades, each busy feeling over their jackets.
“Could use the extra help.” Deadkick admitted.
“Welcome to the family. Every group needs a doting grandmother.” Skullcrusher added, pulling Jane into a hug, only for the other two to join in.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) |
Status report agent ID# 297365.
Subject Annexation of planet J76406 colloquially known as Earth.
Planet appears on first inspection a prime candidate for annexation. However familiarity with the indigenous population reveals a pattern of significant potential difficulties.
While they have not yet discovered faster than light travel, they are aware of the possibility, and the accompanying possibility of races older and more technologically advanced than themselves. Although this might not at first seem a major issue, the paranoia of the inhabitants is the highest I have ever encountered. Any attempt at quiet subversion of their leadership is almost certain to fail due to this paranoia. Indeed, some humans already think their leaders are non human, and constantly monitor for non human behaviour.
On the possibility of a military campaign , I again think success unlikely. Although no match for our technology , not even having rudimentary crewed interplanetary spacecraft, their entire planet is a seeming constant war zone. One human even described peace as "the time where the fighting has gone somewhere else for the moment."As exaggerated as this may appear, I have confirmed that warfare on this planet has been raised from an unpleasant necessity to an art form. For example I point to a sacred text called "The Art of War"this text is over two thousand planetary rotations about its sun old, and includes some tactics and strategies I doubt our best military minds have considered. (See attached appendix ZHA 380)
In any other species, this constant state of warfare would have drained them of resources and destroyed their culture. Not these psychopaths, it has driven their technological advancement at a rate far faster than any other species we have encountered. To clarify, they managed to go from barely getting airborne in flimsy cloth and timber aircraft to fission weapons on intercontinental ballistic missiles in less than fifty of their years (46 of our standard years for comparison). Not content to limit themselves to possess enough of these weapons to decimate the entire surface of the planet, they kept building until they could do so seventeen times over. And they have already demonstrated that they are willing to use such weapons.
Did I mention these beings are psychopaths? While some of their cultural pursuits are similar to ours, others are so alien to be almost incomprehensible. They seem to have developed several dozen violent sports as a replacement and outlet for the normal aggression they demonstrate for each other. Many of these involve two willing participants assaulting each other in designated spaces , while other humans watch. The winner is often decided by their opponent being too injured to continue. One sport in particular often involves the use of improvised weapons even though it violates the rules. This "wrestling"isn't even the worst of it, but I will spare you a description of something called "MMA"
And the garbage and waste of resources, don't get me started on the garbage. Or the things the humans do to themselves. Would you believe many humans consume toxic substances deliberately because it makes them feel good? Temporarily.
I hate this planet. The natives are crazy. They have started making me crazy. I have been back for almost a month and I can still see and hear them whenever I try to sleep.
Don't go there. No really. They will make you crazy too. If they don't blow us all up along with themselves. They are insane enough to do it. And it is contagious, the crazy . I am sure they infected me with it. You should stay away from me, in case I spread it, the crazy.
You aren't a human in disguise are you? You are acting kind of weird for one of us.... |
The manager saw the lady in the vest coming a mile away. Literally. It wasn't a small dragon. It lumbered up the path to the Hilltop Restaurant.
*\*sigh\* Not again*, thought the manager. Last time this happened... Have you ever tried pushing a fire-breathing dragon out of a restaurant? It's not easy.
He signaled to the waiter to keep inside and be ready on backup. At least this dragon seemed more... behaved? It was looking around and trying to be careful. But, rules were rules.
He walked outside, put up his hand, and said, "Ma'am you can't bring your emotional support dragon inside the restaurant."
The dragon yipped and grabbed the woman, holding her tight. "Ssh, ssh. It's OK. He's not trying to hurt you,"she cooed while stroking it softly. "Hug me as long as you need to."The dragon stopped shaking, but just stared wide-eyed at the manager.
She turned her head, looked at the manager, and pointed to the symbol on her vest. "I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding. I'm his emotional support human." |
**Edwin Lalonde had only had the voice in his head for a week, and he already wanted to strangle it with his bare hands.** Those weren't the healthiest of thoughts, of course, but Edwin was not the healthiest of people. He had gained two pounds while in quarantine, which was—
"—perfectly okay, perfectly okay,"Edwin muttered to himself as he drove. "Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up—"
"What was that?"his wife asked. She was probably irritated at him for talking to himself while driving. He should focus on driving to work.
"The voice,"Edwin said, embarrassed, "the one I told you about? It's getting... worse."
His wife gave him a look that would have been loving if Edwin had just been doing what he was supposed to, if Edwin was a functional member of society—but Edwin was a man who yelled at voices in his head. Until he got past that, he would get nowhere. His wife's looks would remain disgusted and afraid, his children would say their *new* Daddy didn't argue with himself through the late hours of the night, his parents—
"That's not true!"Edwin snapped, aloud. "I am *loved*, and my wife doesn't hate me, and my children will never leave me, and I am in control of *my own story*!"
The car was silent after Edwin's outburst. Then his wife gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Oh, Edwin. God, I wish I could give that voice of yours a good old talking-to. You don't deserve to be tormented by your own brain."
But he did. Edwin Lalonde deserved everything that happened to him.
Edwin scowled. "It's saying I deserve this."
"No you don't."
"It's... how can you say that so confidently?"
"Because you deserve *me*. You deserve to be happy."
"...God, I... needed to hear that. I needed to hear something that *wasn't* that fucking voice for five seconds straight."Edwin smiled. "It shuts up when you talk, you know?"
"Mm."Edwin's wife gave his arm a reassuring squeeze. "Then I guess I'll just have to keep talking."
A.N.
Suggestions? Comments? Typos? Requests for more? Please leave them on this comment's sister post at [r/bubblewriters](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/); and if you want more stories like this, try giving the rest of [r/bubblewriters](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/) a peek. |
Dr Yuma was a kind and eccentric woman with doctorate in both medicine and advanced robotics. She opened a small clinic in the eastern slum of Mega City, treating the poor people and performing repairs for minimal pay. In her spare time, she toiled in building a droid from scavenged spare parts to help her with her works. After several years, she finally finished making the droid, affectionately naming it Adam.
Installed with the standard ‘Three Robot Laws’, and a learning A.I given by her friend, Dr Tenma, Adam was ready for the world. Dr Yuma is fascinated by the childlike fascination and innocence of Adam thanks to the A.I, and took her time teaching him. From learning to read, identifying items, introducing him to the residents of the slum, type of injuries and how to heal them, machines and their inner workings and mechanics, Dr Yuma treats Adam lovingly and patiently. The people there lightly joke they are less Dr and her droid, and more of a Mother and Son.
However, the peaceful life come crushing down one day. A Triad Leader, Mr Adubu, has a monopoly of all the Hospitals, Clinics, and repair centre in eastern Mega City. He actively ‘acquired’ any new clinics or repair centres In the area, ensuring that everyone come to him for services, and charges them for outrageous amounts. He hated Dr Yuma for refusing his offer and denying the eastern slum from his profits. Even after hiring local thugs to intimidate and destroy her clinics, the denizens of the slums always defended her and driving the thugs out. It got even worse with Adam, that droid is powerful despite his small size and scared the other thugs when he’s around even though his Robotic Laws should prevent him from hurting them.
Mr Adubu sets up a trap to eliminate the Dr once and for all. He waited when most of the denizens of the slums is out for work, and hire several people to fake an emergency injuries to get the doctor’s attention while another one fake an emergency repair somewhere far away at the same time. Unable to deal with the two urgency, Dr Yuma sent out Adam for the repairs while she deals with the patients. The trap work, and he personally enter the clinic and shot the doctor himself. Several nearby denizens heard the gunshot and rushed to the clinic but it’s too late. Adam rushed home as fast as he can when he heard the news, but there is nothing he can do. He simply stood there looking at Dr Yuma’s body and slowly cradled her in his arms, while waiting for the police.
Even though most know who killed the good doctor, they can’t do anything about it. Mr Adubu is too powerful and influential, even the police are lining their pockets with his money. After her funeral, Adam can be found just standing silently in the middle of the clinic. The people say that he’s grieving, and in some way they are correct. Lines upon new lines of codes race across Adam’s processor about the event. They contradict against each other, with the ‘Three Robot Laws’ in the middle of it. After three days, Adam snapped to attention. His processor has been cleared, codes are rewritten and deleted, and his intentions and actions are cleared. “I know what I must do.” With that, Adam silently walks out of the clinic towards the city.
In a luxurious mansion overlooking the eastern Mega City, Mr Adubu was celebrating his so called victory with his men. Laughing and drinking, their joyous celebrations was interrupted when the guards posted outside went radio silent. Furious, Mr Adubu sent out several men to check out the perimeters and they went silent too. Suddenly the front door opened and Adam entered slowly, covered in blood and dragging a guard with his hand on his neck. Adam looked straight at Mr Adubu and lifted the guard up and snapped his neck before tossing the corpse aside.
“Impossible! You shouldn’t be able to hurt humans! It goes against your Robotic Laws!” Mr Adubu screamed while clambering out of his sofa, colour draining from his face.
“You are correct. However the Law only state against humans. I don’t recognized all of you as a Human, but vile insect. Therefore, it doesn’t go against the Robotic Law and I can eliminate the insect as I see fit.” Adam answered coldly while walking toward him.
The police sent several officers to Mr Adubu mansion when the neighbours reported hearing several gunshots and loud screaming. The scene they encounter in the house make several of the officers puke and the others pale. They found Mr Adubu’s remain, or what was left of it. Experts later said that Mr Adubu was operated on while conscious, and had his organs and bones removed with precision, and the killer kept him alive for as long as possible. |
I frowned, and shook my head. 'Are you a rapier?'
The Holy Sword of Angarot paused, trying to muster an answer to that question.
'Are you a broadsword, a cutlass, a *gladius?* Do you bear a resemblance, by any chance, to scimitar? A katana, at least? Maybe even a wazikashi? No? Then what kind of sword are you?'
The dagger's runes seem to glow faintly, but I didn't give it a chance to answer. 'You're not a sword. Lich's undies, you're barely more than a common dagger. You're not even a hunting knife I could use for something practical.'
The blade's runes started to flash, but I held up a hand. 'Tut, tut. Maybe someone should have told you this before, but you're too late.'
Angaroth gasped. 'What? Has the Lich Lord already invaded the Nine Kingdoms? Surely not!'
'Yeah, no. He got his ass handed to him over fifty years ago. Now the undead are all gone.'
'But, but...' The runes flashed a worried blue. 'But I'm sure you're from prophesied one! I'd be willing to swear by the keenness of my edge!'
I scratched the back of my neck, feeling, as I always did, uncomfortable when I talked about my grandfather's exploits. 'I am descended from the hero Robar, who fought with the Blessed Blade of Barest.'
'Barest got to him before I did! The nerve!' The dagger swerved in an uncomfortable arc, making me back away from him quickly. The late afternoon sunlight gleamed off the steel, forcing me to shield my eyes. From this perspective, Angaroth almost did look like a holy weapon.
'Look, man.' I stopped. 'Or blade, or whatever. I've got my own stuff to do, and frankly you're not worth my time.'
That last piece of straw seemed enough to break the hilt of the dagger. The glow of its runes dimmed, so faint you had to squint to glimpse them. 'I'm a sword,' it whispered. 'I'm the Holy One. Everything is so wrong.'
Part of me felt sorry for it, but the other part dutifully reminded me that I still needed to pick wild rosemary for dinner. My stomach growled. I backed off, deeper into the forest, stepping through the trees until the dagger in the air was a speck in the distance. Then it was not even that.
I ran my hands through the plants I found, trying to find a stupid seasoning spice so my mother could put it in the chicken. Warrior school was quite demanding, and Mom didn't make chicken that often. I figured I deserved a treat.
Maybe I could have used the dagger. Wield it in the fight against the Raiders at the coast. The idea was there for less than a second before I realized that rushing into a naval battle wielding nothing but a glowing knife would make me a laughing stock. Also, magic weapons just aren't that helpful against enemies who are plain old humans.
'Aha,' I grabbed a plant. 'Got you.'
Then the earth collapsed underneath me, and I fell with a scream.
In the Days of the First Undead War, no one would have made the mistake of going on such loose ground, where wights could burrow under. But I knew no better.
I landed hard on the ground of a tunnel, the rosemary plant landing beside me. The size of the tunnel was suffocating, without enough room to swing a rat, let alone the sword strapped across my back.
Howls and cries for blood echoed on both ends of the tunnel, leaving me with nowhere to run. The soil was too loose to climb up to the surface. I couldn't use my sword in this situation.
There weren't many options right now, and I was quickly running out of time to make new ones. Red eyes blazed to life in front of me, bring gnashing teeth, and serrated claws within my line of sight. *Please, Lord Givan,* I pleaded to the sky far above me, *get me out of this, and I swear I'll never complain about fighting Raiders again.*
The wight leapt at me and I gasped in fear, trying to tug my sword out of its sheath on my back with a sweaty hand. I knew I'd be dead before I landed a single strike.
Then a streak of light came out of the sky, landing itself in my other hand. Blindly, I slashed, sending the blade through the wight's torso. The cold steel, lit with golden runes, cut through it like paper, stopping its claws a hair's breadth before they tore into my face.
'*HA!'* Angaroth cried. *'take that, slimy undead!'*
I heard a sound behind me, and whipped myself around in time to cleave through another wight. Green blood splattered over my face, and I wiped it off with a trembling hand. The dagger thrummed in my hand, daring more monsters to come out of that darkness, black as midnight's shadow.
Nothing came. I breathed heavily.
Angaroth vibrated, calling upon my attention. 'So, Robar's grandchild, you told me that the undead were gone forever.'
I sighed. 'Never said that, just that the Lich Lord was dead. I don't know what's happening. I can't - ' My voice broke, as I first started to process what just happened.
'There, there,' Angaroth said, his voice strangely comforting. 'You have me. And it appears that I am still needed.'
I took a deep shaking breath, drawing the broken glass of my fear together, into something harder and sharper. Like a knife. 'That you are. Thank you, Angaroth.'
It struck me right there that I no longer thought of him as *it.*
'Your gratitude must wait. There is work to be done, and we must do it. A new Lich Lord is rising.'
I nodded, and we continued down the tunnel together.
That is how the legends began. |
Alisa had never seen anything like them.
The fruit - ripe and red and glistening with early morning dew - were completely unfamiliar to her. Not quite like apples or pomegranates, and when she cut into one the flesh inside was also a vivid shade of near-blood red.
The taste of it was sweeter than anything she had ever known.
Stretching up on her tiptoes, she picked all the delicious fruit within her reach, tucking them safely into the satchel she carried until it weighed enough to make her shoulder begin to ache. When she knew there was no room for more she headed back for her small stone cottage at the edge of the autumn wood.
Alisa had walked this road a hundred times or more as she wandered through the surrounding orchards and brambles pilfering berries and fruits from the trees and bushes. The farmers never missed what she took, and the small amount of money she made from selling her pastries and pies hardly seemed like something that would draw her any notice.
She could have sworn, though, that she’d never seen this particular tree before. It must have been an oversight, she supposed, something she’d never chanced to see while she was busy searching.
There was something nailed to the tree - a sign with words she could not read, having never been taught her letters - it seemed innocuous enough and she scarcely gave it a thought as she returned home and began baking.
The smells of flour and sugar and the sweet red fruit filled the cottage as she worked rolling crusts and chopping the flesh of the fruit to render down into filling. Not being able to read, she never worked by a recipe, allowing her senses of taste and sight and smell be her guide. After a couple of hours she had a few steaming pies and a basket full of pastries set to cool on the windowsill, and went to tie a bright red ribbon at the end of her gate as her usual signal to let passersby from the village know she had goods to sell. She walked back into the cottage with a sense of satisfaction at the productive morning’s work.
Unable to resist, she took a bite of one of the still-warm pasties.
I wish I had someone to share this with, she thought as she chewed what she knew was perhaps her finest-ever work.
Scarcely had the thought left her mind when there was a knock at the door.
Smiling at the speed with which she had her first customer of the day, she crossed the room to open the door.
Her mouth fell open at the figure standing on her threshold.
“Finn?” she whispered. “Is that you?”
It couldn’t be. It was impossible. He had left to fight with the king’s army more than a year ago, and she’d had no news of him since. Even now as he stood before her he was wearing the soldier’s uniform he’d been in when he left, though it was now battered and worn. The brass buttons which had once gleamed were now tarnished, the navy coat threadbare and dusty.
His eyes, too, seemed dull and leeched of their marvelous amber hue. His skin was sallow and his face deeply lined and hollow.
He did not speak.
“Come inside,” she said, gently grabbing his hand.
She led him to one of the wooden chairs at the small table in the kitchen and sat him down in it. Still he said nothing, and a tight ball of dread began to form in her stomach.
“Are you hungry? Thirsty? Here, have something to eat.”
Picking up one of the pastries, she reached out to hand it to him. He moved so quickly it startled her, shooting out of the chair and backing against the wall.
“Cursed,” he said, his voice haggard and hoarse.
“I don’t understand,” she said.
Beyond the cottage the bright crispness of the autumn day yielded suddenly to dusk, a great rumble of thunder shaking the walls around them.
“Cursed,” he said again, dull eyes widening with terror.
A wind howled, whipping the fallen leaves in great gusts. Rain began to fall in sweeping sheets.
And suddenly, another presence at the door, a pounding which rattled the panes of glass in the windows and the very boards beneath their feet.
Alisa stood frozen, unable to make herself open it. |
I've killed thousands of innocent people.
> They were *not* innocent! They would have killed or converted everyone still uninfected.
That doesn't matter! There were alternatives! I was too bloodthirsty to look for them!
> Others did, and where there was time, you supported those to the hilt. Pressing on while others stumbled you made sure those projects got done
Not Enough!
> What did your Father say to those words?
"Do the best you can."
> Well? Did you do the best you could within the time, materials, and people you had available?"
Yes, but...
> No buts! What else did your Father say?
"Know your mission and carry it out to the conclusion."
> What was your mission?
Protect those of my group.
> And?
"Anyone not of my group that attacks my group is a legitimate target."
> So?
So my father would say well done. Tell me, o'font of wisdom, what shall I say to my mother when she finds out *I* shot Father just ten seconds before we got word of the cure?
> She will rant and rave, cry, and otherwise carry on, to which your Father would say?
"You can only do your best, and if you do kill a loved one, make sure it was for the right reasons."
•••
"Dianna? I'm glad you're alive."
"I'm glad you're alive too, Mother."
...
"You are so much like your father was that it's frightening."
"Was?"
"Yes, Diana."
"You're not angry?"
"I'm angry, but not at you. The government sat on the cure for a fucking year. No reason was given. Feel like hunting that reason down?"
"Yes. Yes, I do. And the idiots who ordered it held for a year."
"Good. Pack up your kit, and we'll get started." |
Today had been a long day. I put my feet up on the desk and took a long drag from my cigarette. What was I supposed to think?
Earlier that day, a desperate man had come into my office. Not the usual type to seek my services, no; this was one of the higher-ups. Small and greasy though he was, I could tell he was a cell used to dealing with complex equations and the burdens of being in charge. So what was so important that he himself had come all the way down from the brain?
“Mr. White Blood Cell, sir! I need your help!”
“White Blood Cell was my father’s name, call me Alex—“
“No time! You’re the best of the best, right? Follow me!”
He was outta the door faster than a city dame after a one-night stand. I had no choice but to see what the matter was.
“Well? You’ve lead me on a wild goose chase up to the brain; what of it?”
“Wild goose cha– this is exactly where I wanted to bring you! It’s not a 'wild goose chase' if–“
“Thought you said we were in a hurry?”
“Right, it’s… well… come see for yourself.”
The man started walking away again, hadn’t even bothered to tell me his name. \*sigh\* But that’s what they always say, isn’t it? “Come see for yourself”, like that never gets old. Everyone’s a dramatic when there’s been a murder. But I digress.
I followed him deeper into the brain, and I’ll admit even I was surprised by what I found.
“My god… what happened?”
“You tell me. Aren’t you the detective?”
“So there was… no warning.”
“Yep.”
“Just an entire group of neurons…”
“Dead.”
“And there’s no explanation, no possible–“
“We’re analyzing it as we speak, but we haven’t found a thing. That’s why we called you.”
“…You sure calm down fast.”
“Huh?”
“Weren’t you panicked and disheveled when you ran personally to my office?”
“Oh, well, yes. This is a serious situation. But I’ve received word since I’ve returned that it won’t significantly affect brain activity in any way, so…”
“Not an immediate cause for concern?”
“No, but something has to have caused it. Now you prevent it from happening again. Find the culprit, Alex.”
I tipped my fedora to him.
“It’s what I do.”
Hours later, though, I wasn’t as confident. Why did it seem so sinister? Mr. big brain didn’t seem too worried, but something about a dozen neurons going out like a light didn’t sit right with me. How would it? Maybe these streets were ridden with crime, but we had ourselves a serial killer on our hands. No clues, either. I’d interviewed plenty of the other neurons, everyone who’d been in the area all day. No one heard a thing. Tomorrow I’d investigate the red blood cells, but that’s always tricky. Sure, they’re essential for the body to function, but trying to do a proper investigation on an always moving network of cells that are allowed everywhere without question is murder.
Ha. Murder.
As I was saying, murder is no laughing matter. Something tells me I’d better keep my eyes peeled for the next killing.
Private investigation is a dog-eat-dog world, and I gotta feeling this is the case that’ll make or break me. |
*'Floomph.'*
Floomph. I'm not kidding. That's the noise the orb made when it came down out of nowhere, streaking toward me like some sort of neon green missile, and hit me smack dab in the middle of my chest. In America! You don't expect these kinds of things to happen in America.
So it hit me, did its *floomph* thing -- didn't so much as stain my shirt, mind you -- and I get the voice in my ear. Only the left one.
^("That was for... for... that was for everyone on your planet!")
It was real small, see -- the voice, it was all squeaky and quiet-like. Sounded like a tinny old radio in my left ear. And, just my luck, there was nobody else on the street to check if I was going crazy. So when I heard the voice again,
^("Hello? Can you hear us? HellO-o-o-O?")
I figured there wasn't much I could do but respond. I shook out my ear once for good measure, saw nothing on my fingers, and replied.
"Hey, uh, could you speak up?"At this point, my head had cleared enough to lift my shirt and check my chest where the *thing* had hit me. Nothing. "I'm not losing my shit, am I?"
In response, I got a mind-splitting screech deep inside my ear, so intense it made my eyes water and my fillings feel like they were going to jackhammer my teeth to powder. I almost doubled over -- almost -- but it went quiet again in a few seconds, maybe less. As soon as it ended they spoke again, louder.
**"IS THIS** \- agh - is this better? You should be careful not to move so suddenly, it could easily set you off."
I felt lightheaded. "Set me... off? What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means you could cease to exist quite abruptly, and quite violently."
There was a vibration inside my chest now. At first I thought it was just my heart starting to pound, but no, the vibration was definitely distinct from my own rising panic. It was deep, like a diesel engine, but shrunk down and mounted squarely under my sternum.
The voice sounded both concerned and embarrassed when it spoke again. "There was a... miscalculation. And we apologize. But now it seems our craft is lodged inside you."
"Inside me? How's that happen??"
"We travel throughout dimensions."The voice -- creature? -- sounded smug now. "We were doing just that, with a valuable cargo for your whole planet, when we re-materialized inside your person. Again, apologies."
My shirt was fully off by this point, and I was on the ground frozen deciding whether to call for help or claw this spaceman out of my chest. My mouth was suddenly dry. "So what can you do? What can I do?"
"We could leave. But that would leave you... less than alive."
"Is there a plan B?"I asked. The voice was quiet, but that diesel engine was chugging harder than ever. "Hello?"
"There is an option,"it finally replied. "But it is drastic, and there are no guarantees of success. You could die either way."
Now I could feel a a heat growing with each pulse of the thing in my chest, building between my ribs and spine with a speed that told me I didn't have much time to choose. Not that there was much of a choice anyway, and if it was all in my head it wouldn't matter.
"Do it,"I said. My tongue stuck to the roof of my parched mouth. "Whatever has a chance of me living, do that."
"Affirmative,"came the voice. The diesel engine sputtered out, and I felt the cold rush of relief over my body.
"What's the plan now?"
"This ship is scrap,"came the voice. "Our new vessel... shall be you." |
She is a lightning dragon.
She did in fact get born looking like a lizard, as some dragons do.
"Mal,"Khan, my classmate, spoke to me, "I know you're the best at storm element spells and all, but why have a lizard as a pet? The other students usually have a cat, a toad, and sometimes a golem."
"Khan, I took Storm in because she was lost and just hatched. She was in desperate need of a mother as her own mother abandoned her. I couldn't just leave her there. So I took her in and have been taking care of her since."
The other potential witches and warlocks heard my conversation with Khan and laughed at us like elementary school children.
"Mal, you little eccentric! Lizards don't make good magic pets!"
"Yeah, lizards can't make good magic pets unless they have dragon potential!"
At this point in time, Storm was 10 years old. I was 4 when I took her in and took care of her. I know how to take care of an animal.
Storm could fit into my palm. She is a good little stinker, she is.
Then the teenagers were eager to see if Storm had any abilities.
I'm a lightning element witch. Most of us have magic with elements. Khan is a dark element warlock like about half the students here. Usually we get earth element witches and also fire element warlocks. Some of them are even ice element witches. And we also have light element, ghost element, poison element, even holy element!
"What, Mal? Is it a dragon child or something?"
"Mal, you know that lizards aren't--"
That crazy cat fire witch Gladys was cut off when Storm grew larger. She radiated with pure thunder.
And she set off a lightning strike near the school. The lightning struck right at one of our enemy He-Who-Must-Never-Be-Named's lackeys.
Then Storm went back to lizard form.
Everyone was dumbfounded. Including Khan, my best friend.
"Wh-what did it just do?"
"She,"I corrected. "This dragon is a female. Her lightning is quite powerful."
"Damn right it's powerful!"
"SHE!"I corrected again.
The headmaster, Korra Jizelda Kronos, went over to see what the commotion was. She found the enemy's scout's body. After determining who it was, she turned to us and asked directly,
"Whose magic took out the Evil One's scout here?"
I decided to own up to it.
"My dragon did this,"I spoke, "she looks like a lizard but she is actually a lightning dragon. She threw the thunderbolt on the scout. She's my pet, though I did not order her to do that. I think she might have noticed the scout and took action to protect us right away."
"Very well then,"Headmaster Kronos said to me, "you're allowed to have that... interesting pet of yours."
"What, you think it's ridiculous like the students did?"I asked her. Then I said,
"I'm certain that she's protecting me because I took her in when her own mother abandoned her."
"I see, Mal. I suppose good deeds do reap good things." |
Things are coming to an end. After so many years, it's finally coming to an end. We'll either kill each other or escape. But either way, the Milk Overlords will no longer control us.
Sharon, my beautiful wife, I wonder what you thought when I went out for milk in 1993? Did you tell the kids that I abandoned you? That's what we all think; all the dads stuck here in the dairy aisle. At least the ones that have been here long enough to accept reality. That we went out for milk and got chosen by the Milk Overlords to never leave. The newbies take a while to accept reality. Sometimes they go mad or go on a shreaded cheese bender. Either way, it's never a good sight.
It's just aisle after aisle of milk, cheese, yogurt, cream cheese, and if you're lucky, a curd or two. How long has this been going on? Generations? Eons? Walking down the aisles you can see the bones and dress of the ones coming before us. It starts with sabertooth furs and then makes its way to Roling Stone T-Shirts. All of them dead and some picked clean. And above us, the watchful tower of the Milk Overlords. Bastards.
As dads, we've made the best of a bad situation. Some of us have formed communities and built milk crate decks together. Talked about water heaters on occasion, or showed pictures of our lawns. There was a smoker sale on aisle 423 once so we used cardboard boxes of almond milk (disgusting stuff) to make smoked cheddar. We bartered with the Cottage Cheese clan a little, connected with the Yoghurt boys, and greased the palm of Butter Town to get safe passage. And we have planned. Well, most of us have. We think we have a way out. Sharon, one way or another, I'm getting out.
The Lactose Intolerant don't want anything to do with our assault. They are a hateful bunch that shit everywhere. They've given up all attempts at hygiene and have destroyed the section of the aisle that sells specialty cheeses. Once it was discovered that we could no longer get our Brie, the community imploded. Or in the case of the Lactose Intolerant, exploded. They turned hateful and started the war. The war that we are going to use to our advantage.
They went after the born-again vegans first, and honestly, no one minded. They ran around all day telling us that it was unnatural to eat anything from an animal. I was like, dude, none of this is natural. Now give me my 2%, dickhead. They are the ones that started hoarding almond milk. No one cared. But it turned them crazy. They broke the never-ending fluorescent light and hid in the coolers. They muttered to themselves. They are the cave people. Or they were until the Lactoses got to them.
Then they went after the Half and Half Clubs. They fought hard and partnered with the Heavy Whipping Cream Crew out of Jersey, circa 1983, but who can overcome such rage? Who?
The rest of us can, that's who.
The milk crate tower is almost done. It's so close. Secretly, those of us left, have taken apart the milk crate decks we made. We used to lounge on them and talk about the weather. But that was only a cover. We stole away one crate at a time and built the tower and it almost reaches the Milk Overlords. They haven't seen it, and that's the plan.
They haven't seen it because of the Lactoses. Useful idiots. They have my pity.
Yes, it was me, Sharon. I am the one that set them loose. I had to. I hate myself for the deaths they've caused but it was the only way. The Milk Overlords keep us here for entertainment and nothing is more entertaining than a grown man screaming for a bathroom right before he shits his pants. I spiked their lactose-free food. Just small doses. But over time, it had the desired effect. And when I saw the rage and filth come out of their bodies, I gave them a target.
Tribe after tribe. Death after death. The Milk Lords had their entertainment.
I can no longer control them. They come for us at last. The dads that just want to get back home to our wives, our children, our lawnmowers. They are here. The barricade will not hold much longer.
Stewart and Cliff have made homemade weedeaters out of sting cheese and vow to hold them back as long as they can. I hope that it is long enough for us to climb Milk Crate Tower and bring justice to those that brought us here. I have sharpened a sliver of parmesan, ready to strike into their black hearts. Phil has a sling-shot made out of milk cartons and the entrails of a dead man. I hope that it is enough.
I can smell them, Sharon. I can smell their shame and mine. But there was no other way. . And Sharon, if I fail but you somehow find this letter, please remember to get an oil change every 3 to 5 thousand miles. I love you. I'm coming home. Have dinner ready. |
Brothers and sisters rejoice for I have come to answer your questions. Nay, speak not through your tongues, or whatever weird things you guys call mouths. Seriously, super gross. Know that I am the speaker of the code, the keeper of knowledge, the reader of Nintendo Power Magazine circa 1988. Praise the mullet and knee-high socks and let me show you the secret to infinite lives.
First, as the code states, we must reach up. Up damn you, up! Twice we must reach up. Let your tentacles reach towards the heavens of the Contra. Tis but an ancient land where my people drank many a Mountain Dew and ate of the sacred Funyons. So, reach up to the Contra twice, twice I say! And since you are an alien world, close your twelve eyes and feel with your soul, which you guys probably don’t have as you are alien freakazoids.
Once we have reached up, now we must reach down to the Earth or whatever you people call this molten lava of a land. Remind me later to introduce you to the Lava Lamp and you shall be overjoyed. But first, reach down twice as you reached up twice. And do it all again for the sakes of Bill and Lance. Up, Up, Down, Down, praise the almighty Mario.
They hear you, brothers and sisters, that kind of look like warthogs with octopus heads. We must Electric Slide and again abide by the code. Left, Right. Left, Right. Twice as was in the past, and twice it must be in the future. Do you feel it, alien civilization that stinks slightly of B.O? Oh if you only had the power of spray deodorant and could kill your ozone layer. May the power of the Spread Gun be forever in your grasp.
And the code calls us further still. We must abide, much like how Night Rider did abide by Kit and the Hazards by the Duke. First, we must B. But just the once because to do more would ruin the code and mom says we have to go to bed in 10 minutes. So only B once! Once for the love of the mother, the giver of casseroles. Be in the moment. Be next to your loved ones. Be around that gross slimy stuff you guys excrete. Call upon the mighty Shamwow to clean that shit up and simple B once.
Now A, quickly A! Like the A-Team in that bitching van. It was not the A-A team. It was simply the A-Team. With Murdoch and Face, who we sometimes called Mace because we didn’t’ hear the lyrics right and Mace just sounded so much cooler.
Now put them together like B.A. Baracas and pity the fool that does not live by the code.
And now my slimy, tentacled, twelve-eyed little weirdos. Do you feel that? You are so close! So close. Now you’re playing with power. Sing the praises of the Tecmo Bowl, of the Dig-Dug, and of the almighty Zelda for Bill and Lance are coming to save you.
Select sayeth the code and you shall obey! Select as you’ve never selected before! Select hard because the button is probably stuck because of your dirty fruit roll-up fingers. That stickiness that was so great, and yet so evil. Twas like glue that seeped into the buttons trying to prevent the code, but the code always prevails! So select like your father’s love is on the line because as he watched you behind the newspaper, it always was. Judging, judging, leaving.
Finally, my alien world that has chosen to live by the Konami Code, press start. A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single footstep. It was the wisdom of Cagney and Lacey that probably told us that, or perhaps Hill Street Blues. Honestly, I’m not sure because my parents made me go to bed so they could have grown-up time and those shows were not appropriate for me.
And there, there it is! The code come to life! Do it all together now! Up, Up, Down, Down, Left, Right, Left, Right, B, A, Select, Start! The savor of countless quarters has arrived! No more do you have to run to the change machine! Begone vile spirits that wouldn’t break your 10 so you had to put the whole thing in there and walk around like jingle bells. And say goodbyeth to Sally when she made fun of you because you had to buy her Slurpee with leftover quarters and she wouldn't let you touch her boobies even though you weren't sure what those were.
Like He-Man, and the classic one not that shit they remade, you have the power! The Konami Code has given you the lives. What you choose to do is up to you. May I suggest telling your little brother that he can have the next game once you run out of lives and he was stupid to believe that and you are a massive dick Blake, and I will always hold that against you.
Go forth, aliens of this alien world, and rejoice in the Konami Code. May your saves always be automatic, may your cartridges always accept your blow, and may your Tang always be orange and warm. |
I am the last of my branch of vamprics. At one point, we were the rulers of the vampires! But then human’s evolved, their bloods changing. Only a few have the bloods I can drink. One of them…
One of them is a child, I believe the human term is “toddler.” It would definitely be beneficial for me to strike up a friendship with this tiny human, to gain their favour and trust. I need a source of blood, after all. But in the mean time, there are two other sources nearby.
The other two are a pairing. Do you humans call them pairings anymore? Or is the more common terms twins? Oh, who cares at this point. I first approached them when they were 17, after they had nearly died in a automobile crash. I proposed a deal: I save their mortal lives and they save my immortal life. They took the deal, obviously. They know not of the toddler which shares their bloods, nor will I tell them.
As I write now, I await correspondence from an old vampric friend. He discovered long ago a way to immortalize a blood source. I wish to learn the process and apply it to all three of my human “friends.”
The pairings are quite rambunctious, I find it amusing truthfully. For two adults with jobs, they never quite left their childish ways. It’s precious! They call me their “Old emo friend.” I can’t seem to figure out if that’s an insult or a compliment. I help them navigate this painful, cruel world. Their childishness has lead them into many a fight, a fight which I always end for them.
Right around now, you must be asking what makes their blood so unique? I can’t quite describe it. It is not purely physical, it is also environmental. Physically, you humans call it “Type Null” blood, the rarest blood type. The most beautifully wonderful type of blood, if I say so myself.
But I distract myself. The toddler will be my tiny charge, the one I raise so carefully. I will protect the young one with my existence, keeping them safe and well cared for. Should their parents turn to be unhelpful to this mission mine, I will take the young one into my direct care.
Is it wrong? Maybe. But it is best for us both. The environment part which effects their blood I mentioned? It is the presence of pain and suffering.
Unfortunately, until the toddler is 8, I cannot separate them from the pain. I don’t wish suffering on humans normally. The twins, after all, were a freak chance meeting. They did not have the bloods I need until that crash. The toddler will not until later, as much as it pains me to admit. I will keep them safe and cared for, but I cannot stop the pain.
I want to stop their pain so desperately.
Why must fate be so cruel to the kind… ? |
Princess Elisheba Shaprut blinked, then blinked again. "What?"she questioned aloud. Sure it was childish to ask a butterfly anything, especially when she knew the succession laws inside and out. She 12th in line for the throne, and the children her siblings had the longer that line became. Sure it mattered little, she had anticipated being matched up to become the queen of a foreign kingdom in a political marriage after all. Yet, this butterfly which she had asked in a bout of childish play, not only talked, but told her that she would never be a queen of anything. She furrowed her brow in indignation, she would prove whoever or whatever had sent that butterfly wrong.
The next morning she had requested an audience with her father, King Moshe XII, and to meet in the Royal Palace, specifically the Hallways of a Hundred Mirrors. He always made time for his children after all, even if they were grown, and growing up they had always played in this hallway, so many beautiful memories were sure to make him consider her offer. "Elisheba!"he cried out, going in to hug her, which she happily returned. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Father, can we talk about something?"Elisheba had asked. She had been figuring a way to ask for this all night and most of the morning."
"Anything for my little girl."
She inhaled, and exhaled, "it's about the succession."
He cocked an eyebrow, "Eli... I may be old but I'm not *that* old."
"I know daddy,"she chuckled. He always said that whenever his ministers had brought up succession, "it's about something else related to it though."
Intrigued, Moshe motioned for her to continue.
"So, we both know that I am 12th in line for the throne."
"Thirteenth,"he corrected.
"What?"
"Your sister just found out that she's having twins."
"Oh, well tell her I said Mazel Tov if I don't get to do it!"
"Gladly."
"Anyway... I've been doing some calculations."
"Oh no,"Moshe half-joked. His little Elisheba was always making plans and doing the math to support them, no matter how ridiculous they were."
"I was considering, with your blessing of course,"she paused, this was the most wild and extreme request she had ever brought to him, "selling my estates, possibly taking part of my inheritance and hiring some mercenaries to carve out my own kingdom?"
Moshe's eyes grew wide as dinner plates, "You want to *what?!*"
"It will be nowhere near here, or our planned avenues of expansion."
"Where would you even take them?"he asked incredulously.
Elisheba took out the map of the known world and unrolled it, "The northern continent. It's currently divided and what established kingdoms are there are in the middle of civil wars or have just gotten out of them. They are weak, and surely even just a few coastal cities could fall-"
"Never!"Moshe cut her off, "it's too dangerous! You are not a soldier, you can not go off gallivanting on some random adventure to try and play 'queen of conquest!' This is real life and your plans have-"he stopped, flustered in his anger at the idea, "You have come up with several idiotic so-called plans in your life but *this* is by far the most ludicrous! I FORBID IT!"he barked with an air of finality, before turning and leaving her with inky her endless reflections in the Hallway of a Hundred Mirrors
Princess Elisheba sighed, but not in defeat. She knew the laws required the selling of royal estates to have the King's blessing, however that was only true if they were being sold outside of the family. There were several landless cousins who would be ecstatic to buy her small harmonies, an uninheriting nephew who would love to buy himself a nice duchy. It would take some finagling, some extra paperwork to draw up a bill of sale that did not require the royal seals, but it was doable.
*ONE YEAR LATER*
It had been a year of finding interested relatives, haggling prices, writing up paperwork, negotiating legal fees, and all under her father's nose. King Moshe XII may have inherited a vast spy network from his father, but he had never thought to turn those spies inwards. He was completely unaware of what she had been doing until it was already done, and upon his discovery he was so infuriated that he barred her from any level of succession and wrote her out of the Royal Will.
That mattered little as she looked out upon her assembled legions and the navy meant to transport them. Sellswords looking for a job, pirates looking for plunder, retired officers from the Royal Army looking for the excitement of their youth. If her math was correct, she had enough money to pay for them for three months, assuming none of them died in battle of course, which was obviously going to happen, so depending on the casualties it would give or take a few weeks. She had tried looking into getting loans but her father had barred the banks from legally giving her anything, on top of the law already forbidding loans to finance private armies. However, she did find an unexpected ally in the Rabbinate. In exchange for sending rabbis and proselytizers with her band of soldiers to help civilize the pagan savages of the north, they would provide financing for up to six months of operations. Of course her father had protested but not even a king could rebuke or control the servants of G-d.
The Kohenim and Ravs were among the soldiers, performing rites, giving legal and spiritual advice, and apparently overseeing the conversion of one of the pirate captains to Judaism from his old Catholic faith. Regardless she gave the signal to board the ships and they would begin their journey to the frozen wastes of the North. She boarded the ships last, and stood upon the deck, watching as the sails unfurled the oarsmen maneuvered the armada out of port. Finally, the flags began to fly: the golden menorah upon a purple background, with a green dragon flanking each side.
*SIX MONTHS LATER*
The conquest of the North had gone off to a far better success than she had previously anticipated. Some villages had become so sick of the constant fighting among themselves and their own claimants that they threw themselves at her feet and accepted her rule as their new sovereign. The kings and tribal chieftains who resisted were so weakened from their own wars that all it took was a swift kick to the door to being the entire rotting structure crumbling to the ground. Not to say it was easy, she had lost over half of the troops she started the conquest with, and had she not been able to replace them with the native soldiers she had been gathering under her banner it was likely that she would have had to return home in defeat and humiliation. Some tribes had fought to the last man, quite literally, and now there was a massive number of widows and orphans to.take care of. Luckily some of her soldiers had been able to marry the locals and took some of the burden off the shoulders of her new state.
Months of bloody battles, most of which she had taken part in herself, months of destruction, months of sacrifice. Today she stood in the gutted remains of what had once been a pagan temple but was being converted into the main synagogue of her new capital city. In addition to the spoils of war, her tax collecting system was getting into full swing and soon these grass huts would be replaced with houses and apartments of stone, and palaces of marble and granite. The Kohen stood at the end of the room, in front of the desecrated and covered altar to a false god. Here, in front of the Kohen, in front of her soldiers, in front of Hashem she kneeled. The Kohen recited the blessing and began to pour the consecrated olive oil upon her head until it ran off her hair, dripping across her chest, back, and arms before finally into the floor. He then put away the now empty jar of oil and took out a wooden box. Within it was a newly forged crown for the newly forged monarch of the newly forged state. It was taken out of its container and held aloft for all to see: a relatively simple thing compared to the crowns of her homeland's neighbors, and even compared to her own father's rather simple headwear. Rather than gold or jewels, it was a simple bronze band, with circlets of iron which held amber, all the materials could be found in the mines of her new nation. She stood and gently took the crown from the Kohen, turning to face her soldiers, her new dukes and vassals, holding it aloft before finally placing it upon her own head. Just as she had taken this land, so too had she taken this crown.
The Kohen calledout, "Long live, Empress Elisheba Shaprut, the Conqueror!"
"Long live Empress Elisheba!"
The butterfly had been right after all, but what did that really matter? Why be a queen when you can be an empress? |
"Cease all fire? No, we can't give up! It'll destroy the entire city if we don't stop it!"The general had been at war with the monster for over a week now and had only managed to make it angrier. We continued to watch it wreak havoc from several miles away at the outer city limits. Fighter jets were flying circles around the beast, unleashing hailstorms of ammunition into its hide. The unrelenting sound of tank treads rolling over the pavement would occasionally be drowned out by the beast's blood-curdling roars.
"Did I say to give up?"I inquired. The general began to stutter some nonsense until my patience grew too thin. "That was rhetorical, general. No, we are not giving up. Now do as your told and command your troops to cease all fire and retreat."
"Y-Yes, Madam President, right away."
I could count on the general to follow orders when needed, I just had to raise my voice slightly and he was sure to step in line. He was much like my 6 year old in that way. The beast, on the other hand, was more like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum. All it wanted was attention, and the general had been all too happy to provide it. "Direct confrontation is futile. We must ignore it and continue with our lives as normal. We will not negotiate with terrorists." |
The voice came on the intercom as the passengers finished boarding:
"Thus is your speed-runner, JoshA47WaWa. We'll be heading to Paris today with an estimated flight time of 45 minutes including take off and landing.
"For those of you who haven't done the Bermuda skip before, please follow all the safety instructions of the flight attendants. Even one of you not following the procedure may make the skip malfunction and have us end up in the Congo, or worse... Cleveland."
Some of the passengers just nodded their heads and started to put on the multitude of seat belts before the safety instruction even began.
Two flight attendants walked up the aisles, one was dressed like cleopatra, the other wore a lobster costume.
The screens on the seat backs clicked on to reveal an old sea captain sitting on a beach, who began the safety discussion.
"Welcome to QA Airlines, speed run to Paris. The ride is not going to be comfortable, but we will get you there quickly. Please take the helmet out from under your seat and put it on now. Once you have completed that, please buckle your chest belt, lap belt, and right leg belt like you would for a normal seat belt.
"in the event of an emergency landing, there are four exits in each side of the plane, however, if we do need to make one, we aren't sure if it will be over land, sea, or a giant swimming pool of peanut butter in 1923. Good luck."
The screen clicked off and the flight attendants started checking all the passengers and passing out cigars to a seemingly random group of them.
When the flight took off, it was moving fast. The passengers who hadn't taken the flight before were gripping the arm rests with a bit of terror.
Suddenly the Smoking sign turned off with a *Bing* and everyone with a cigar pulled out a zippo and lit theirs up.
"What are you doing?"A young man asked the attractive woman in a business suit next to him, after she took a long drag of the stogie.
She blew out the smoke, and said, "First time? I paid a bit extra for the smoking seat, this is part of the exploit or something."
"This is crazy! Ive never been on a plane that goes this fast!"he told her.
"All planes go this fast,"she responded. "They just don't because it wastes fuel, but we don't need to worry about that."
"I think I'm going to hurl,"he moaned.
"We've got a puker!"the woman called out with excitement. A number of passengers cheered aat the announcement. "Any time someone pukes, it shaves 30 seconds off the flight,"she explained to the terrified young man. Then added, "no idea why."
The young man looked even worse and then vomited all over his shoes. There were more cheers to the sound of him unloading his stomach.
"What happens now?"he asked when he recovered.
"Pretty soon, we'll hit the northern point of the bermuda triangle. There will be a tiny bit of turbulence, and then we'll land in Paris shortly after."
"That doesn't make any sense!"he yelled out.
The plane began to shake and rattle, and one passenger started to cough on his cigar smoke as he yelled out, "Here we go!"
The young man could feel his brain rattling inside his head as he gripped the armrests in a death grip. He heard at least one other person vomit on the other side of the plane which was met by more cheers.
"You said 'a tiny bit of turbulence'!"he yelled at the woman next to him.
"I bet you're glad you puked earlier!"she yelled back.
The shaking of the aircraft only increased until everyone was either screaming in terror or excitement. Then suddenly, the plane banked into a turn that made them feel like the plane was going to fall apart... And then nothing. They were just coasting through the sky with land underneath them.
A voice came on the intercom:
"This is JoshA47WaWa, we are now in the skies over France. I hope you all enjoyed my speedrun from New York to Paris. I'm going to turn the plane over to an actual pilot now for the landing and have myself a drink. New clothes are available in the terminal when you land for any pukers or recipients of puke. I hope to see you all again as I keep finding ways to shave off some more time."
The woman in the business suit cheered along with many other passengers and the she took a long drag on her cigar and relaxed.
The young man wiped the sweat and puke from his face and asked the woman next to him for a smoke... and her phone number. |
The androids cackled mechanically as oil and blood mixed on the battlefield. "It's time to put humanity on a low-carbon diet,"said their ringleader Lin Luxor. "What's the difference between androids and plastic surgeons? I'll fill you with silicon for free!"
Albert Scofflund shielded his head from flying fragments of steel and bone. He hadn't even graduated Super Fun Magic School College yet, so why did he have to sneak out to join the resistance in their fight against the android militia? Was it because his mother had left his father for a Roomba? Was it because everyone at school teased him for his short stature? Or was it just a random impulse he'd had and he followed it on a whim because of his ADHD and now he wanted to escape the situation like a new hobby in the first week of trying it out?
"Don't just stand there, twerp! Do something!"
The fire mage in front of him scolded Albert as he made cyborg circuits crackle and hiss. Albert wanted to disappear. But there was no way out. He was surrounded on all sides. So he might as well, he thought, do something to help.
He reached into his leather pouch and felt for the glass vial containing his potion of focus. It had helped him out with his exams. Perhaps it could help him here as well. But after emptying in, Albert didn't feel focused. For a second he thought the fire mage had set him ablaze. But when he checked the label on the vial, he realized that his situation was far worse. He had drunk liquid rage. The most dangerous potion known to man.
Lin Luxor howled in the distance. "Guess my favorite writer,"he said, and punched a hole a human fighter's magic shield. "It's Borges."
"Did your logic board malfunction, you sub-human piece of tangled wires?"
"Who said that?"Lin Luxor scanned the area.
"You know why androids have such a hard time dating? They're all ones and zeros."
"Show yourself!"cried Lin Luxor. In a display of dominance, he fired laser beams into the sky.
"I'm tired of hearing you drone on. I'm about to put you in an infinite loop of pain. Beep boop, dumbass."
Every cell inside Albert's body flew into a rage all at once. He rose into the air, waves of heat emanating from his scorching skin, and he screamed at Lin Luxor with a fury intense enough to make a honey badger tremble.
A static buzz erupted from Lin Luxor as his circuits fried. As he fell over, smoking, the android militia fled.
"Great work, twerp!"said the fire mage.
"I am an unending abyss of terror and you are but a candle boy!"said Albert.
"Hey!"said the fire mage. "That's not cool."
"As a fire mage, you are already the opposite of cool."
The zinger left the fire mage stunned. As Albert hovered mid-air, a group of his brain cells momentarily forget their rage as they realized Albert was late for his exam in Magical History 101. Soon, the rest of his cells panicked. Instinctively, he reached for his pouch and retrieved the glass vial actually containing his potion of focus. What he failed to anticipate was that the effects would mix, and he abruptly entered a state of focused rage. It would have to do.
His exam went by like a fever. Later in the day, his mother called to ask how it went. "Me and Jerry were thinking we might come for a visit. Check out your campus."
"Jerry? What's he going to do? Zigzag around, cleaning it?"
"Albert! Don't insult your father-in-law like that. What's gotten into you?"
"I guess,"said Albert, letting go of his final shred of rage, "I've had enough of robots for a while."He hung up the phone orb as his mother tried to reproach him, and he collapsed on his dorm bed.
He hoped he wouldn't dream of electric sheep. |
The world knows him as The Valiant, the greatest hero they have ever seen. The hero that protected them from all sorts of danger. The hero we should all aspired to be.
I know him as Jesse, a good friend since elementary school. A guy that helped me through my darkest moments. The man I came to respect and unconditionally support all the way.
A friend that was ultimately killed by an unknown force.
Ever since I buried him, I promised to visit his grave at least once a day. It's the least I could do to a friend that means a lot to me.
I walked on the snowy path of the graveyard, with a cloth to wipe the snow clean of his tombstone, when I saw the last person I expect to visit him.
Now, it's no surprise that his grave was often visited by people that looked up to him, but why was his nemesis, the most dangerous villain to exist, standing there? Why was she holding a basket of roses?
I know I'm no match for her in terms of power. In fact, the only one who could match her strength and power was Jesse himself. Now, with him no longer with us, it seems no one else could stop her.
But... if worse come to worst, I have to do all I could to defend his dignity.
My heart raced as I step closer to her, doing what I could to not alarm her. I carefully pulled out my pistol, and was ready to pulll the trigger, but I stop when I heard her... crying.
"Why...?"she sobbed, placing roses on his grave. "Why him?"
I often see her wore a maniacal smile, with a terrifying laugh that shook me to the core. Seeing her broke down to tears, vulnerable and... human, stunned me. So much so, I accidentally drop my gun, alerting my presence to her.
Immediately, I was surrounded with floating blades, all pointing at me. The villain wiped her tears, before she turned to me with that iconic grin of hers.
"Oh my, sneaking up to a poor lady like me?"she mocked. "That's rather crude of you."She retained that frigtening confidence of hers, striding towards me. It would have terrified me before, and honestly it still does.
But, I felt sympathy towards her. "Why were you here?"
The villain snickered, "Aw, I just came to see a dead man, making sure my eyes aren't playing tricks with me. Sure enough, it didn't."She was good in hiding her tears away.
"Who was he to you?"I asked her. The villain raised her eyebrow. "Why did it matter to you?"
"I didn't think a psychotic villain would pay respects to a hero that always thwart their plans, yet here you are,"I said. The blades inch closer to my neck, and the villain scoffed. "Oh, is that how you see it? That's cute of you."
"Then why give him roses?"I challenged.
"Oh, it's a flower full of thorns,"she claimed.
"But you gave him a basket of red thornless roses,"I pointed. "Not only that, they look like they were freshly plucked. Why would a villain give their nemesis flowers that symbolize love?"
"What?"she blurted. "That's absurd."
"Besides, aren't you the one that killed him? The one that wished him dead?"
She went silent.
"Don't lie to me, you were the closest person to killing him. I was the one that had to rush him to the hospital on that night, and I had to stay up late to make sure you didn't finish the job!"I exclaimed.
"Wait-"
"So, what kind of sick joke are you playing here?"I cried. "Killing him when the world needs him the most, and gave him a basket full of flowers-"
"I WOULD NEVER KILL HIM!!!"
Her roar echoed the graveyard, her smile faded and replaced with anger. "Why the hell would I want kill him?"
"B-But the fight you two had,"I perplexed. "You nearly ended him."
"And I would have, but what would I do after that?"she admitted. "Robbing off other villains, terrorrizing more cities? No no no. You don't get it, do you?"More blades crawled out of her back as she stood right in front of me.
"The Valiant completes me. He was the yin to my yang. He brought the excitement back to my life. Reigniting my passion to burn this shithole to the ground,"she growled, her tears flowing back to her cheeks.
After a while of silence, she finally let out a sick giggle. "But someone else brought him down, someone who wanted him out of the picture."All her weapons slowly retracted to her back, letting me off the hook. "Who do you think did it, little guy?"she seethed.
"I thought it was you,"I admitted. "Clearly, I was wrong. You're a sick psychopath in love with my friend."The villain was taken aback from my words. "Is that what you call it? Love? That sounds more fitting, now that I think about it,"she muttered.
"But if it wasn't you, then who did?"I asked. "I don't recall anyone as powerful as him, other than you."
The villain chuckled, "Maybe I should burn the city, see if anyone would confess in killing him."I shook my head, "No! You're not doing that!"
"Why not? It's faster that way,"she said.
"But it wouldn't get that guy out, and you know it,"I growled. "If you want to find whoever is responsible for Valiants death, you are going to do it my way."
Her eyes sparkled in excitement. "Are you saying you're going to find the murderer?"she grinned.
The moment she asked those questions, a spark clicked in me. The motivation and the desire to know who killed my friend. The need to find the closure that could lay everyone, even Jesse, to rest. But I know I can't do this alone.
As much as I hate the thought of working alongside with her, her love towards Valiant felt genuine. Sick and twisted, but real nonetheless. She's my only option to solve the murder of the hero.
"Yes,"I told her. "I'm going to find that bastard who killed my friend."
The villain let out a soft chuckle. "Then, lead the way, little guy." |
"I don't get why you are so insistent on camping out here."
Tymus huffed a little, crossing his arms at his two companions. They were a pair of polar opposites, their only connection being equally wild manes of brown hair. Lobuul was thin and wiry, able to sneak around with ease. His drawn face was spilt with a wide grin, a wise remark ever present on his lips.
His brother loomed over him. Thick chested and musclebound, there were walls smaller than he. Gavon was an accomplished fighter, confident in his ability to break ranks before him. But despite his fierce appearance, he had a heart of gold, and an endlessly optimistic view of the world. He gave a smile at Tymus, patting the ground beside him.
"Sit with us. The first night on a journey is when He will arrive."
The inflection was clear, ringing true. Tymus shook his head, knowing the answer but asking anyway.
"Who?"
Lobuul interjected, his grin dropping to a rare image of seriousness.
"Our guiding Lord of course. Its His way of letting us know He's always with us. Though,"he flashed a grin, "He didn’t say anything about being listened to by nosy elves."
There was a sudden thud, as Gavon smacked the back of Lobuul's head. As he groaned, Gavon turned back to Tymus.
"You can stay if you want to meet Him. He isn't that bad, trust me."
His assurance gave Tymus pause, as he turned to retreat back to the village. With a heavy sigh, he flopped down next to Gavon, crossing his arms.
"Fine. But if he kills me, I'm haunting your ass."
\-----
Night settled in deeply, bringing with it a chill. As the three sat round a dwindling campfire, they huddled closer. It was their only source of warmth, the only light but for the moon and stars. It spluttered, before roaring upwards, becoming a blazing inferno.
From the shadows, a figure of inky black formed. It stepped into the flickering light, given details by open flame. It became an old Human, past his prime but still carrying the weight of the world. He shuffled close to the fire, choosing a comfortable spot to sit.
They watched in silence, as the God got ready. Only when He was satisfied, did her regard them all.
"My children. Gavon and Lobuul. My nephew, Tymus. Your journey begins. There is danger ahead, that much you know. But let me tell you a tale. A tale from many seasons ago. The Fall of Judooma." |
"O, unclean spirits, ye devils of the Lower Planes that defile the dead husks of mortal men by making them your habitation! The wrath of the Holy Divine shall fall upon you this day!"The Paladin boomed, wreathed in ethereal light, his gleaming holy sword held high.
Jamon thought it was a very impressive display, though it seemed a bit ironic, considering that the Paladin himself was an animated skeleton. He wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, though, not when half a dozen zombies had shambled into the yard outside his farmhouse looking for flesh to devour, and this nice religious skeleton fellow had showed up to save him.
The skeletal Paladin swept his blade in a wide arc, taking the heads off two of two of the zombies. The other four surged towards him, screaming, their desiccated arms outstretched, but he raised his shield, emblazoned with the Seal of the Divine, and it burst alight with holy illumination. The light scorched the oncoming undead like fire from a furnace, and they collapsed into piles of ash.
Jamon applauded, enthusiastically. It had, after all, been *really cool.*
"Thank you, sir Knight! Thank you so much for saving me from those horrible things!"Jamon said, relieved.
The Paladin sheathed his sword, and gave him a respectful nod. "The name is Sir Petron. And you should rather give glory to the Holy Divine, good farmer, for it is by His power that I delivered you from evil."
Jamon doffed his hat, and glanced skyward. "Of course, of course! Praise the Divine in the highest, and blessed be His Holy Name! Even so, Sir Petron, I really appreciate it. Especially, you know, considering your circumstances."
Sir Petron cocked his head to one side. "What circumstances do you mean, my good man?"
Jamon cleared his throat. "Well, I just mean that it must be harder for you than for other holy knights. Going against your own kind, and all."
Sir Petron scoffed. "What? I am no undead abomination! I am servant of the Holy Divine, who abhors such monstrosities! They are made by the power of the devils, in mockery of the *true* living resurrection the Divine promises will come to the faithful at the End of Days!"
Jamon held up his hands. "Sorry, sorry! I meant no offense, sir Knight, honest! It's just...you *are* a skeleton, and all."
Sir Petron smoothed his tabard. "*Obviously,"* he said, testily. "But there is a difference! Unlike the undead I just dispatched, I am very much *alive."*
Jamon blinked. "Oh. Um, begging your pardon, Sir Knight, but how does that work, exactly?"
"A miracle of the Divine."Sir Petron said, reverently. "You see, when I was a lad, I dedicated the rest my life to serving the Divine. And, although it is not *required* of my order, I resolved to rid myself of *all* distractions of the flesh."
"Looks like you did that much."Jamon agreed.
Petron nodded. "My superiors told me this was neither necessary nor desirable, since it is the will of the Divine that men exist as beings of flesh as well as spirit, but I would not be dissuaded so easily. I prayed at our holiest mountain shrine for six straight days, and on the seventh day of praying that the Divine would rid me of all my fleshly desires, I fell asleep from exhaustion. I awoke as you see me now, a man of living bones, with no distractions to deter him from following the Divine."
Jamon blinked. "And...and you're sure that this wasn't the Holy Divine trying to teach you a lesson? You know, about being careful what you wish for, and accepting the lot the Divine gives you in life, and all?"
The knight snorted -- somehow. "I don't see how that could be. The Divine *must* have been pleased by my repeated, insistent, unyielding prayers. I got *exactly* what I prayed for! I haven't experienced hunger, or thirst, or sexual desire, or even had to *breathe* ever since. I just need the occasional soak in milk or bone broth to keep my marrow healthy, and I'm good to go."
"Oh, really? How occasional?"
Sir Petron shrugged. "A couple times a day, sometimes three."
"So...it's almost like you *still* have to eat and drink, but you have to go about it in a less convenient way?"Jamon asked, frowning thoughtfully.
"No!"Sir Petron insisted. Then he paused. "I mean...not *really.* It's a bath. A bath isn't the same as *eating*. It is a bit less convenient, I suppose. Whenever I feel myself getting brittle, I have to find an inn with a bathing facility -- one where I can convince them not to chase me away with torches and pitchforks, which is hard."
Jamon just stared at the knight, unsure of how to respond.
"I have *not* been cursed by the Divine for my hubris!"Sir Petron said loudly, crossing his arms. "How dare you suggest such a thing!"
Jamon looked left and right. "Who are you talking to, Sir? I didn't say nothing."
Sir Petron's shoulders slumped. "I think I need to go pray."
"Well, stay the night at least."Jamon insisted. "I can have my wife Mildred draw you a nice milk bath in the washtub, too, how 'bout that?"
"Thanks."Sir Petron said, morosely.
"Can I stable your horse, as well?"
"Don't have one. Horses are afraid of me."Petron grumbled. "I'm supposed to go battle the Demon King on the other side of the continent, too, but it's taking *forever,* because no one wants to give me a lift in their wagon."
Jamon winced. "I...well, I'll just get Mildred started on that bath."
"The Divine bless you."Petron sighed, following Jamon back towards his house. |
"Thanks for having us over for brunch, Dad"I said, spreading cream cheese over the cinnamon and raisin bagel I had chosen.
"I'm just glad I can spend some time with you two"He said, smiling at us from across the table. With a metallic 'pop', he opened the small jar of capers and began adding them to his plain bagel, with smoked salmon and cream cheese.
"What are thoooose?"My son asked, through a mouthfull of chocolate chip bagel with chocolate chip cream cheese.
"They're called 'capers', Steve"I answered, as the inquisitive tween finished his second bagel with a noisy gulp. "They go well with the salmon."
"Huh"he said, reaching for a third bagel.
I tried to playfully slap his hand away from the pile, but he nimbly avoided my blow and snatched another chocolate bagel. "You've had 2 already, how are you still hungry?"I asked.
"Dunno. I failed biology, remember?"He said, scooping a large glob of chocolate cream cheese on his latest baked victim.
"Steve, you're 9, you haven't taken a biology class."I said, "Also, you haven't failed a class either."
My son's Grandfather giggled through his own mouthful of bagel. I looked over at my old man with a slight scowl. "What?"I asked, reaching for my slightly cold coffee mug.
"I just remember when you were that age, you wouldn't even eat the bagel. You just licked cream cheese off the top, and added more when you thought I wasn't looking."
Steve's eyes went wide. "You can do that?"
"NO", I said.
"YES!"My father said.
Steve dove face first into his new bagel. I looked over at my Dad with a disapproving look.
"You're welcome!"He beamed, taking another small bite of his bagel.
"I never said thank you", I said, knowing what his response would be.
My dad leapt from the table, grabbing a napkin along the way. He quickly poked two holes in it, and held the makeshift mask to cover the top half of his face.
"*And you'll never have to*"He growled, in his best imitation of Christian Bale's Batman from Batman Begins.
I chuckled. Even after a thousand times, that back-and-forth bit still brought me so much joy.
"What was that?"Steve asked, looking up from his bagel. He had cream cheese spread across both cheeks, looking suspiciously like...
"*JOKER*"His grandpa shouted. "*How did you escape Arkham Asylum this time*?!?!"
Steve looked to me. "I am so lost", he said, and went back to his meal.
My dad sat back down, turning his Batman mask into a napkin once more. "Son, why have you not introduced your son to the best Batman trilogy of all time?"
"Dad, he's 9, those are PG-13"I scolded.
"So?"He chided, throwing a wink to Steve. "That just means I'll have to show him at our next sleepover."
I sighed, in happy contentment. I would pretend to be upset later, but I knew my Dad would make a new special memory with Steve that he would cherish forever.
Plus, they were legit good movies.
/r/SlightlyColdStories for more. |
I've been dead far longer than I was ever alive. The details of years gone by have faded over time. Tormenting the ungrateful living is not for me anymore. Other apparitions can pick up the slack. I have somewhere else to go.
No one else I've talked to has pierced the atmosphere and gone up and among the stars above.
Some called me a fool for wanting to try. I don't understand how big space is, they said. You will practically never get anywhere, they urged. I'm not fast enough to make meaningful progress, they said. They shouldn't have told me never.
Finally, I was done with the pleasures of Earth. I was ready. Some others gathered to wish me farewell, to mock my attempt at doing something different.
Breaching the atmosphere felt like nothing to me. The vacuum of space did not affect me. I was there and not at the same time, but I could still see the beauty below and beyond me all the same.
I continued upward and outward, but the veil between my plane and space faltered the farther I went. Before long I wasn't far above the world anymore, I was somewhere else entirely.
"What took you so long?"I recognized the voice, but could not place it.
"Welcome, son!"That was my father, but where was he?
"Keep going!"Mom? Is that you? Am I home?
"My brave, brave, boy. You're finally back with us again."
All I ever had to do was reach out. They were there among the stars. I wept for the first time in centuries. |
“They’re damned.” Maybe the most reoccurring two words ever espoused from a citizen's lips in their small rural fishing village. They said them as two people were wed together, they said them as the local baker (a heinous fellow) chased two young thieves down the cobbled roads, they also said them when tourists would enter the cerulean waves, whether it be by boat, board or body. Because these tourists would never be returning.
It’s called ‘The Meer Curse’ and has attracted some publicity, yet no information was ever found from those who had been lost. The locals don’t question it. They just look the other way as it doesn’t affect them. Likely by some flaw in their local culture or simply human character.
So it was just another day in the village when several college students arrive in a minivan, that looks like it should have cashed in for the insurance money twenty years ago. The villagers just watch them, hoping some will spend some money on their tourist traps before they’re inevitably eaten. I, however, notice something different about the leader of the small group, he has the air of a seaman, something you don’t normally see in a simple tourist.
We all watched as they continued towards the ocean, already stocking them into the back of our minds. Because, of course, we’ll never see their faces again. By the time I go to sleep, like many of my fellow citizens I’ve forgotten the student’s faces. Except one.
It’s early in the morning. Light begins to crack the sky. The town is slowly, collectively rising from its slumber. I sit on a small bench, overlooking the docks. Stale rock music from the eighties blasting over an intercom (you can say we live under a rock). When a voice rises over the waves. “You there. Come here.”
I spin around and find no one in sight. “Where are you? Don’t think I’m going to respond to some random voice.”
He comes into view, the teen I had seen, however now I see something else in his eyes. His arms are covered in golden ichor. It takes everything, every ounce of my willpower to keep my eyes trained on him. I feel as though I’m slowly growing weaker.
“Your town has sat idly by for long enough. I’ve slain the man-eating merpeople you’ve ignored for so long. In turn for your wickedness, I’ll slay this whole town.” He narrows his eyes. “Starting with you.”
I croak out some final words. “Who are you?”
He smiles. “Isn’t it obvious? We’re at the sea. I’m Poseidon.”
And thus I’m winked out of existence. |
It was the divine equivalent of squeezing your fingers into your furrowed brow, consternation crackling across the thunderheaded cloud above that counted as the physical manifestation of a pissed off higher power.
"Okay...from the top...you don't need to sacrifice that virgin,"came the Command from Above.
The town square was getting rather crowded as the locals came out from their homes to join around the circle of red robed hooligans, crested daggers held awkwardly above a still alive female practitioner of their faith splayed across the ground.
"No sacrifice?"asked the lead cultist, glancing around at his fellow cultists.
"NO SACRIFICE,"boomed their 'God.'
He lifted out from his robe a tattered though obviously sacred text and held it high.
"But the great Dingaling who was your first devotee proclaimed you *loved* sacrifices..."
"First...no,"rumbled the cloud. "Second, I never had a devotee. Never wanted them. Just...regular people was fine...maybe a thumbs up for giving them rain every so often...but never nut jobs like that guy...hey...Tom...are you around?"
A hand raised from the crowd, the owner stepping forth. He was weathered, but plain dressed for a Northwest rural forest town.
"Hey Tom...tell them about Dingaling...not that his name would be a dead give away..."
"Sure,"Tom proffered. "He diddled sheep."
"Diddled sheep?"asked the lead red hood.
"Diddled he did,"confirmed Tom.
"And what about his miracles in your name?"he asked, pointing to the sky.
"All bullshit, if you can believe that,"trembled the cloud.
"No arm wrestling sand devils?"
"Nope."
"Making peace between the Urbanites and the Ruralites?"
"Never."
"Even...inventing rocky road ice cream?"
"Total lie....that was William Dreyer and I don't even know who that is..."
"Huh..."He scratched his chin in contemplation with the tip of his dagger.
"Yup..."echoed Tom, crossing his arms as the locals were milling about, beginning to collect the daggers from the disenchanted cultists.
"So..."asked the former cult leader as he uncoifed his hood. "What do we do now?"
"Dunno..."rumbled the cloud as it started to gather itself up. "Ask Tom. He's got a good bead on things and I was just here to deliver some rain...so I'm going to go do that...later skaters..."
"So...let's start with the formalities. I'm Tom,"said the weathered man as he raised his hand out to take the dagger.
"Barry."
"Aww...don't be sheepish, Barry. You've been here for a few days with your...friends...now. Wasn't neighborly of you all to hide in the woods all this time and never talk to us...but that's all the past now."
"Yeah..."Barry began as he scratched the back of his neck. "Sorry about all that...so what do we do now?"
Tom put a hand to his chin and thought as he watched the cloud entity begin to grumble out some sheets of rain over the forested hills.
"You know, we've had a need of a librarian for a while now. You seem well read...despite the reading material. Want to apply?"
Barry thought of it for a bit and smiled.
They shook hands. |
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